The mist has fully fully set in by the time the trio reach the edge of the forest, rendering it impossible to see more than a few feet ahead. Their riding cloaks are soon drenched, and both their breath and the breath of their horses billows out into the gloom. The road is fairly straight and flat, and despite the poor visibility they make decent time. After half an hour of travel the ground beneath them begins to slope gently upwards, and not long afterwards they are able to make out the dull orange light of torchlight in the mist ahead. A moment later the town gate of Lastorn comes into view.
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:46, Thu 30 Dec 2021.

Beside the gate, which appears to be a chipped, wooden barrier built into the eight foot high stone wall which surrounds the village, stands a guard. He is a dark haired young man, dressed in a patched fur cloak under which a chainmail shirt is visible, along with a mace which hangs at his side. This he unclasps as the hoofbeats approach.

"Who goes there?" he demands, squinting into the gloom.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:40, Thu 09 May 2019.

"We are travellers from the south," Marabir calls as he approaches, "I am Sir Varonil, and with me are my herald and ranger. We came across a murdered man on the road, some miles back. Who is in authority in these parts?"

OOC: Prince Marabir Carendil rolled 19 using 1d20+5. Bluff.
This message was last edited by the player at 10:07, Fri 11 Jan 2019.

The guard swiftly reclasps his mace upon hearing that he is being addressed by a knight (even one so odd as to travel with a herald he apparently does not use). However, at the mention of a murdered man, he frowns and-- after a quick glance to confirm that the large, long thing wrapped in a cloak on the back of the knight's horse does indeed look like a person's body-- hastily begins unbolting the gate.

"Of course, m'lord! Captain Deran is in charge of the militia in this town. I'll take you to the guardhouse right away; he'll want a report of what you saw in detail so we can catch the murdering swine who did the killing!

OOC: Guard rolled 12 using 1d20. Sense Motive.
This message was last edited by the GM at 10:49, Fri 11 Jan 2019.

After the guard has rebolted the gate behind them, the guard proceeds to lead them to the guardhouse. Lastorn is a small town, and seems to consist of little more than a main street, lined with sturdy wooden and stone buildings. Most are quiet and dark. Indeed, the only source of noise, mostly laughter and song, emanates from a large, three story wooden building halfway along the street. Light floods the street from its many windows, and the large sign outside reads 'The Northern Pint'.

Nod stares longingly at the tavern as they pass, but dutifully follows after Marabir and the guard.

Aerendir also sends the tavern a longing look as they pass it, though his look is reserved for the wafting scent of well-cooked stew escaping into the night air, not the music.

The guardhouse, once they reach it, turns out to be a double story stone building. The heavy wooden door is flanked by two torches in sconces, which send a hazy orange light into the mist. Another guard stands outside, armed with a mace similar to the one carried by their guide. He watches the party pass with interest, but makes no attempt to impede or challenge them as they pass.

"You can tie your mounts here," says their guide, gesturing to a low, wooden tethering post as he opens the door to the guardhouse and enters.

Marabir dismounts and proceeds to do so, along with his companions. He then hoists the body of the murdered man, wrapped in his spare travelling cloak, off his stallion and follows after the guard.

"Yes, yes, we'll get to the tavern soon enough," he says to his companions with just a hint of annoyance at their continued glances back down the street.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:40, Sat 12 Jan 2019.

Aerendir sends Marabir an unimpressed look that suggests that "soon enough" would have been sooner if they had not decided to go carting human bodies around instead of ignoring them.

Upon entering the guardhouse, the companions find themselves in a small room, modestly furnished. At a small table in the rear of the building a grizzled, middle aged man is seated, scanning a piece of parchment on the table before him.

The man glances up, and quickly rises as his gaze alights on the body in Marabir's arms, then on the prince's armour and sword.

"What happened?" he asks as he approaches.

"This is Sir Varonil, a knight-" the guard begins excitedly, but breaks off as the captain raises a hand for silence, his attention focused on Marabir.

"As he says, I am Sir Varonil," Marabir replies with a gracious nod, "My companions and I stumbled across this body near the edge of the Faldar Woods, just before nightfall. He was dead when we found him, but we figured he may have kin here, and that the authorities should be informed."

"Indeed," the captain replies, moving forward to examine the body as Marabir places it down on the flagstone floor of the office. He frowns as he pulls back the cloak to reveal the man's features.

"I do not recognise him. He isn't a local, and he doesn't have the appearance of a woodsman or ranger. Possibly a mercenary passing through these parts? You say you found him in the forest?"

"We did," Marabir asserts, "A little way off the road. My elvish companion is a skilled woodsman and noticed his track leading off into the trees as we passed. As you can see, he was shot with a crossbow of some kind."

The gate guard coughs awkwardly.

"Um, sir? I recognise this man. He passed out of the southern gate shortly after I began my shift, just after noon."

"Oh?" the captain glances up at him, "Did you notice anything odd about him? Did he have anything in his possession that you do not see here now?"

"I... I don't believe so, sir," the guard says uncertainly, "Although, I do recall he seemed a little odd. Ignored me completely when I greeted him as he passed. Seemed to be muttering to himself."

"I don't suppose you happened to hear what he was muttering?" Aerendir asks, with reluctant interest.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the GM at 09:07, Sat 12 Jan 2019.

"Not really," the guard replies with an apologetic shrug, "He was more mumbling than muttering, really. Though I did hear him say something that sounded like 'garden crypt'. I know, it makes no sense. I just remember it made me think of the garden maze and graveyard over at Caldorn Castle."

Marabir trades a querying look with Nod, who shrugs, shaking his head.

"I see..." Caln replies, raising a skeptical eyebrow at his guard, "Well, worth noting I suppose."

"Did you happen to notice anyone holding a crossbow leave after him afterwards?" Aerendir asks, as the guard captain jots the guard's note down in his journal.

"I don't think so," the guard shakes his head, "Just the usual farmers and a merchant or two. Oh, there was a varim who arrived in town just before sunset. Seemed pleasant enough. Said he was a lord passing through on his way back up north. He had a crossbow strapped to his saddle. I think he headed to the tavern, if you want to question him."
This message was last edited by the player at 09:41, Sat 12 Jan 2019.

"A varim?" Marabir says in a 'well why didn't you say so?' tone. He exchanges a nod of agreement with the guard captain.

"Indeed, I believe I do."
This message was last edited by the player at 09:49, Sat 12 Jan 2019.

"I'll accompany you," says the captain to Marabir, then, to the guard, "Weld, return to the gate, and tell Tarn to get in here and watch the body."

"Am I the only one who feels it is a little unfair to instantly suspect the varim in town?" Nod murmurs to Aerendir as they follow after the pair of warriors.
This message was last edited by the player at 09:46, Sat 12 Jan 2019.

"Yes," Aerendir replies.

Nod sends Aerendir a reproving frown as he exits after the ranger.

Marabir falls back a few paces as they make their way down the street until he is beside Aerendir.

"The varim will be on his guard the moment we begin to question him," he says in a hushed tone, "And the captain may not have enough to hold him for if he is able to thwart our questions. The guard mentioned a horse. Perhaps you could do a bit of... investigating while we proceed with our questioning?"

"Good point," Aerendir says, nodding. "If he tries to kill anyone, send Nod to fetch me before you die, won't you?"

With this not very encouraging order, Aerendir disappears off to the side, making his way towards the stables.

Marabir grins, before hurrying to catch up the captain as he arrives at the tavern.

The taproom in which they find themselves is large and homely. A fire roars in a hearth on the far wall, and men sit at tables all around, laughing and chatting merrily. An elderly human bard stands on a small stage in the corner, playing a slightly out of tune flute. A few patrons cast him dark glances, but the rest seem content to ignore him.

The bartender, a well rounded and good natured looking man hurries through the tables with a tray of mugs, laughing and chatting to patrons as he goes. Marabir and the guard captain find themselves on the receiving end of numerous glances and stares, ranging from apprehension to awe. For a moment the tavern goes quiet, then the conversations resume. The whispers and glances at the pair do not diminish as they make their way into the room.

Glancing about, Marabir notes the room to be mostly full of farmers, with the odd merchant or tradesman. A pair of human men, well armed, sit at a table by the hearth, and appear to be conversing with an attractive young noblewoman. Marabir's gaze lingers on the woman, before he recovers himself and heads after the captain toward a table in the corner at which the varim in question is seated.

"All right," he murmurs to the captain, "How do you want to handle this? Should we attempt to-"

"All right, varim," says the guard captain, plonking himself into a seat opposite the varim with a suspicious glare, "We have a few questions to ask you."

"Or we can just try the blunt aggressive approach..." Marabir mutters under his breath as he seats himself beside the captain, assuming his most artificial reassuring smile.

"Indeed. Not that this is an interrogation or anything," he adds with a stern glance at the guard captain.

Behind them Nod pauses, frowning at the would-be bard in the corner. He spares a glance at Marabir and the captain as they seat themselves, and, deciding that they have the situation well in hand, unclasps his mandolin and approaches the bartender to address the other atrocity being committed in the vicinity of Lastorn this evening.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:47, Wed 15 July 2020.

The varim, who is wearing a cloak that conveniently shields most of him from view, seems have picked the corner not just to be sinister, but because there is a convenient shelf between him and the bright fire crackling merrily in the hearth which shields his light-sensitive eyes from the brightness.

He does not seem particularly distressed by the captain's words, or Marabir's.

"I am so pleased to hear that this is 'not an interrogation or anything,'" he says, dryly. "Go on, human. How can I help you?"

The captain seems a little puzzled at Marabir's suggestion that this is not in fact an interrogation. He shrugs and turns back to the varim.

"When did you arrive in Lastorn this evening? And from where were you travelling?"

"I arrived in Lastorn just before sunset, and I travelled here from the south. I highly must applaud you for your management of your forests, by the way. The snows of the north make for poor entertainment for one who enjoys hunting, but the local wildlife of Thane is truly excellent."

"Oh?" the captain prompts, eyes narrowing.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:00, Mon 14 Jan 2019.

"There is a certain thrill in hunting cave bears, wolves and giant centipedes, but since I like living, I prefer it when my quarry is running away from me rather than at me," the varim explains.

The captain seems to have lost half of the varim's attention, which seems to be with Nod and what looks to be, based on his gestures and the apoplectic-looking elderly bard, his unflattering assessment of this individual's talents. Both the guard captain and Marabir get the impression the varim agrees with whatever Nod is saying.
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:04, Mon 14 Jan 2019.

"What is your name, if I may ask?" Marabir asks, as the captain scowls at the varim, "Is this your first time hunting in these parts?"

"You may. I am Falnis Orthran of House Orthran, and yes, it is indeed my first time hunting in these parts," the varim assures them with what they suspect is questionable truth. "And since this is not an interrogation, may I also ask whom I have the pleasure of addressing?"

OOC: Dalmar Argant rolled 25 using 1d20+21.  Bluff.
This message was last edited by the player at 06:15, Mon 14 Jan 2019.

Marabir nods thoughtfully. At least the varim appears to be telling the truth about his identity and the fact that he has not been in these parts before. Still, when a varim feels comfortable enough to be honest it is a sign to be particularly on one's guard.

"I am Varonil," he says politely, if a little stiffly, "A knight and visitor to these parts like yourself. And this is-"

OOC: Prince Marabir Carendil rolled 13 using 1d20+12. Sense Motive.
Prince Marabir Carendil rolled 16 using 1d20+5. Bluff.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:14, Mon 14 Jan 2019.

"The captain of the guard in this town," Deran cuts him off with a dismissive wave of his hand, determined to remain suspicious of the varim, regardless of his explanations, "Now, you say you are a hunter, but I don't see your crossbow around here. Do you have one hidden under that cloak of yours?"

OOC: Caln Deran rolled 16 using 1d20+1. Sense Motive.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:39, Thu 30 Dec 2021.

Nod meanwhile, has successfully taken the elderly bard's place on the stage. He appears to be tuning his mandolin whilst playing a dulcet Thanian lullaby called 'Forandis'. A few nearby patrons murmur quietly, and a couple give him nods of approval.

OOC: Nod the Minstrel rolled 20 using 1d20+4. Perform (mandolin).
This message was last edited by the player at 03:40, Thu 30 Dec 2021.

The varim doesn't look like he'd know a Sir Varonil from a Sir Tranvir, but he nods politely at the introduction. At the captain's interruption, however, he tilts his head slightly to one side.

"I do, as it happens, happen to have a crossbow. But I do not have it with me in here, and I do not recall mentioning I preferred hunting with crossbows, Captain."

OOC: Dalmar Argant rolled 1 using 1d20. Sense Motive.
This message was last edited by the GM at 04:34, Mon 14 Jan 2019.

The captain narrows his eyes, opens his mouth, then closes it.

Marabir places a pained hand to his forehead.

Meanwhile, amongst the hay and smell of the stable, Aerendir is faced with his own form of adversity. The sturdy, wooden structure contains a total of eight stalls, no less than four of which currently house horses.
This message was last edited by the GM at 04:08, Mon 14 Jan 2019.

Luckily for Aerendir, while there may be four horses in the stables, two owners clearly intended to stay the night. Their horses' saddles are hung up, their coats are neatly brushed and they are eating a large helping of oats. And while the third option is indeed still saddled, it is also a piebald mare. Arendir makes his way confidently over to option number four, a grey, unfriendly stallion, still saddled, that nips at his fingers when he approaches.

"Got you," Aerendir says, sidestepping the bite, and clambering nimbly up on the railing and balancing there to search through the horse's saddlebags.

OOC: Aerendir rolled 32 using 1d20+22. Spot Check.
Aerendir rolled 24 using 1d20+10. Balance.
This message was last edited by the GM at 04:36, Mon 14 Jan 2019.

Aerendir has indeed picked the right horse. The saddle might not look like much on the outside, but inside there are ropes, poisons, and a light crossbow with several bolts missing from its quiver that are an exact match (insofar as the generic bolts that can be purchased at one geld a quiver from any Thanian blacksmith can be considered an exact match), to those used to shoot the dead man.

More interestingly, there are several letters penned in high elven.

Keeping half an ear out for any signs of death and destruction from the tavern, Aerendir opens the first one and begins to read.

"S,

As promised, with this letter goes the Seal of Binding. Its barer is my trusted servant. Do not disobey the instructions she gives you, and do not fail to use it at the appropriate time. I trust I do not need to remind you of what happened to Captain Valnis when he failed me.

For the Glory of House Alcazar!

The second is rather shorter, penned by a different hand.

They are suspecting me. I am worried I am being hunted. You tell me I am safe, but yesterday I know I was being watched. I need...

(The rest of it is unreadable, obscured by something Aerendir correctly identifies as a bloodstain.)
This message was last edited by the GM at 04:35, Mon 14 Jan 2019.

Meanwhile, in the tavern, death and destruction may not be as far off as many happily oblivious patrons believe, their attention on Nod as he finishes his lullaby to scattered applause interspersed with a cheer or two.

In the corner the captain seems to have recovered himself enough to respond to Falnis.

"I... it's a... reasonable... assumption."
This message was last edited by the player at 04:48, Mon 14 Jan 2019.

Their cover seemingly blown, Marabir seems to decide that a bit of direct questioning is in order.

"A body was found on the edge of the Faldar Woods, just before sunset," he says, watching the varim's reaction carefully, "A middle aged human man, shot with a crossbow. The time of his death coincides with the time you would have been passing if you were coming from the south. Did you see or hear anything unusual in the forest as you travelled?"

"It was, was it?" the varim says. "How tragic."

Marabir gets the impression 'inconvinient' might be more honest here.

"I assume this is your roundabout way of asking me if I happened to shoot this unfortunate middle-aged man on my way into town? If so, my answer is no. I strongly advise you to seek out whoever found the body, and ask them to tell you more. Clearly, they are clairvoyant if they are able to judge the time of death to be 'just the time I would have been passing through' without knowing how fast I was riding, or how many times I stopped to admire your scenery. Now, if you will excuse me," the varim says, rising haughtily, "I will be going over to that half of the tavern, where there is decent music playing, and-- possibly-- decent humans. I will do you the courtesy of not leaving immediately, since you have decided I am a murderer. I will thank you to return the favour by not conversing with me again until you have the slightest shred of proof to back up your accusations."

OOC: Dalmar Argant rolled 40 using 1d20+26.  Bluff Check (+5 conceal thoughts).
Dalmar is using Conceal Thoughts.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:23, Mon 14 Jan 2019.

"You handled that well," Marabir says dryly as he watches the varim depart.

The captain throws Marabir an unimpressed glance, before turning back to Falnis retreating form.

"He did it," he shakes his head darkly, "I'm tempted to arrest the smug snake before he has a chance to slip out of town and through our fingers."

"Arrest a varim noble without proof?" Marabir shakes his head grimly, "We'd be inviting a diplomatic incident which my- the king- would not look kindly upon. I'm afraid that at this point we have little choice but to let our smug Lord Orthran walk free."

He does spare a hopeful glance in the direction of the stable as he says this.

Nod meanwhile, has finished his tuning, and as Falnis moves to take a seat closer to the stage, he raises his hands and bows.

"Good evening, good people of Lastorn!" he says with the air of one practised in oration, "I am Nod, a humble minstrel, and it is my pleasure to entertain you on this delightful evening. Next I shall play a song which I suspect a number of you might be familiar..."

With that he breaks into a flawless rendition of the 'Lorance' step dance. Bobbing his head animatedly as he plays.

OOC: Nod the Minstrel rolled 35 using 1d20+16. Perform (mandolin).
This message was last edited by the player at 03:43, Thu 30 Dec 2021.

If the smug Lord Orthran has any lingering concerns about being accused of murder, or the dark look the glowering captain is sending at his departing back, these vanish at the first few strings of Nod's music. Weaving his way over to the stage, and pausing only long enough to cast his cloak over the back of an unoccupied chair (the seats in front of where the elderly bard was being the most empty in the tavern), he launches into a flawless solo of the Lorance step dance.

OOC: Dalmar Argant rolled 42 using 1d20+27.  Perform (Dance) Check.

The tavern about them erupts into cheers and applause as many of the farmers gathered rise themselves, clapping in time. A pair of adventurous, and inebriated, lads even attempt their own renditions of the step dance on a table in the centre of the room, though they draw more laughs than cheers. The bartender beams with joy as he bobs and jogs through the crowd, distributing another round of drinks.

OOC: Lastorn Lads rolled 16 using 1d20. Perform (dance).
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:17, Thu 17 Jan 2019.

The guard captain glances sourly at the animated crowd, and then to the varim who appears to quickly be gaining celebrity status.

"We're not arresting him, are we," he says in a defeated tone.

Marabir shrugs helplessly as he follows the man's gaze.

"No we are not."

Meanwhile, inside the stables, Aerendir is finishing appropriating the last of the varim's possessions. He looks like he is debating between a more thorough search for the Stone of Binding (whatever that is) and opening the next few letters when he hears the uproar of deafening applause and cheering from the tavern. Aerendir hesitates for a moment, and then decides no one is going to think this pack has not been rummaged through anyway once they check it. He pockets the letters, several poisons, the crossbow, and the quiver of incriminating arrows. (Though he looks tempted, however, he does not touch the corked bottle of Syrador wine-- though it is clear this lawful action requires considerable restraint.)

"Tell me that is not our murderous varim dancing up there with Nod," he says flatly at Marabir's elbow three minutes later, having slipped in an open side window.

"I wish I could," Marabir sighs, placing a hand to his forehead once more, "Tell me you have some good news?"
This message was last edited by the player at 21:21, Mon 14 Jan 2019.

"Well, I have good news and bad news from my search of his possessions," Aerendir says, as the crowd roar eagerly. "The good news is that he is definitely an assassin. He was carrying poisons, a crossbow, and bolts identical to the one found in our dead friend. He was also carrying several bloodstained letters, and if it was deer blood on them then I am a human. I have them with me if you want to see them while he and Nod are busy showing off."

More patrons flood into the tavern as the tune continues, people clearly having rushed out to let their friends and neighbors know about the fact that 'There's a real dark elf here and Bernard's bloomin' got a bard what can actually play!'

"The bad news is, those bolts are standard Thanian bolts cast in the standard molds everyone everywhere purchases from the dwarves, and he was not kind enough to poison them or mark them with an insignia to distinguish them from any other Thanian bolt. And while his letters are definitely incriminating, they point more towards a private feud with another of the Mereldinor Great Houses than to the criminal activities he is certainly up to in Thane. I am sure his other letters will have something more damning in them though, and we can always arrest him for carrying poisons even if there isn't. What did you two manage to find out from questioning him? Anything useful, beyond the fact that he is, apparently, an exceptional dancer?"

OOC: Aerendir rolled 14 using 1d20+5.  Knowledge (Elven Lore).
This message was last edited by the player at 04:23, Tue 15 Jan 2019.

"We learned he is a noble of House Orthran," Marabir replies, "And that he does not appreciate being accused of murder, however indirect the accusation. You mentioned other letters? May I take a look at them?"

"If you don't have qualms with searching through his possessions without an official warrant from a crown representative, his cloak is just on those chairs near the front," the guard captain murmurs to Aerendir, jerking his head surreptitiously in the direction of the stage.

"It's not moral objections that are preventing me from getting through that crowd," Aerendir assures the guard captain as he looks at the dense throng.

"You may," he says in response to Marabir's question, seating himself and spreading his cloak out across the back of his chair so that it's a bit less obvious what he's doing. "Just so you both know, by the way: that House values it's males as much as Thane values it's females, so if he's telling the truth, I doubt we'll cause a war by whatever we do to him."

With that, Aerendir pulls out the letters.

Over on the stage, the varim curses softly. (He does not, however, stop dancing, apparently judging that the crowd's adoration will give him a lot more diplomatic immunity than stopping the trio from seeing whatever is in those letters.)

OOC: Aerendir rolled 18 using 1d20+15.  Dexterity check to hide what he is doing (+5 cloak, +5 Dex, +5 distance).

Dalmar Argant rolled 37 using 1d20+27.  Perform (Dance) Next song.

Dalmar Argant rolled 26 using 1d20+23.  Spot Check to see what Aerendir is up to.

The captain assesses the density of the crowd which still continues to swell, and gives an irrititable grunt of acknowledgment to Aerendir, arms crossed.

"We value our females," Marabir responds defensively, shooting Aerendir a reproving glance, "And we both know the varim are not above pretending to value their males in order to create a diplomatic incident."

With that he proceeds to unfold and read the first of the letters.
This message was lightly edited by the player at 02:55, Tue 15 Jan 2019.

The first of the untouched letters seems to be penned in high-elven.

Uncle,

I have need of your... services. When you find yourself outside my dear mother's web long enough not to be scryable, do keep me in mind. (I will not be pleased to find that you wasted your time dallying about in The Redwood like last time, though if you are going there anyway, be sure to send me a dozen or so bottles of Velynwis. My apprentice-- moons curse him-- discovered the last lot. How I ended up saddled with a human for an apprentice I will never know.)

Walk in shadow,

Lord Zaelinor Orthran, High Mage of Varinyal
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:54, Tue 15 Jan 2019.

The next letter looks to be a map of some sort. There is a mark on two intersecting crossroads, and a small rune that (if the reader is fluent in high-elven) reads, Noon, when the moon is highest.

OOC: DC 15 Knowledge Geography Check to recognise Northern Thane.
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:16, Tue 15 Jan 2019.

The 'Lorance' chooses this moment to come to an end. Applause thunders about the tavern, accompanied by many a hoot and cheer. Many of the patrons gathered seem to be aware that they have just witnessed a historical event which will be long remembered in the town of Lastorn. Commons, gelds, and even carens are tossed at the stage, as the applause begins to fade into excited conversation and laughter. The barman darts about still beaming proudly, as if he has played just as central a role in the performance as Nod and Falnis themselves.

"So tell me, Sir Minstrel," Falnis says to Nod after the applause has faded enough to allow him to be heard, still panting from his recent exertion, "Where do you come from, and however did you manage to land yourself in the company of a human and a high elf with so much less taste and artistry than yourself?"

A wise or experienced human would probably recognise this flattery for the gentle interrogation it is.

Nod is not one such human. He grins, taking his fifth bow before turning to Falnis.

"I hail from Carendisal," he says brightly, then, following the varim's gaze to the table at which the trio of prince, elf and captain are hastily refolding several pieces of parchment, he chuckles, "Varonil may lack a certain appreciation for the performing arts, but he is brave and noble and a master with a blade, an art form in its own right. And Aerendir... Well, Varonil likes him, I guess. But enough about them. Who are you, good elf? I've never seen such skillful footwork in all the dance colleges of Carendisal."

He seems to have firmly decided there is no chance that this varim could possibly be the killer they are seeking.

Falnis looks like he has just made several logical inferences from the fact that the high elf stealing and looking through his private papers has the same name as the younger brother of Thane's extremely notorious High Commander; the fact that the trio hail from Carendisal; and the fact that Nod seems to see nothing special about having attended all the dance colleges in the capital city of Thane. He also looks like any plans of quiet assassination attempts in the night to resolve his current difficulty have just been regretfully abandoned.

"I am Lord Falnis Orthran of House Orthran of Mereldinor, and I can certainly believe that skill such as my own is not something any human dance academy could produce. Even in The Redwood I am considered exceptional," Falnis preens, apparently either susceptible to flattery or good at pretending he is. "But, to quote your own words, enough of me. You failed to introduce the only member of your party I have the slightest interest in: Yourself. Who are you, and what brings you to this peaceful nest of hovels in the woods?"

OOC: Dalmar Argant rolled 24 using 1d20+4.  Elven Lore Check (Recognize Aerendir's name).
This message was last edited by the player at 05:00, Tue 15 Jan 2019.

Unlike Marabir and the Guard Captain, Nod has actually heard of House Orthran. This prestigious house is numbered among the Great Houses of Mereldinor (that is, its leader, the Matron Mother of House Orthran, has a seat on the Council of Nine, the ruling council who vote on all major legal and political matters relevant to the dark elves of the north.) Its ruler is known to be deeply religious-- almost fanatically so-- and a powerful battle-mage. House Orthran, along with Houses Alcazar and Arashi, were key players in the truces forged between the surface races and Mereldinor 87 years ago, and are known (publicly) to have a good relationship with each other.

Less is known of Lord Falnis Orthran (at least in any books Nod has been able to access on Thanian history) but if the informative book, "A Travellers Guide to Mereldinor,"-- penned by Geran the Bard 70 years ago-- is to be trusted then he is a generous patron of the arts, "a dabbler in magic, like nearly all varim," and rumored to be either a brother or cousin of the current Matron Mother. In addition to his own House, he has connections with both the Redwood (where he served as an assistant to the ambassador for several decades), and several influential assassins guilds in Mereldinor. "I found him pleasant to deal with, but I do not know that I would care to cross him," Geran's footnote, from Nod's memory, had concluded.

(Nod also recognises the oval pendant hanging around Falnis' neck as bearing the family crest of House Orthran; a spider cut from amethyst set into a platinum ring.)

OOC: Nod the Minstrel rolled 14 using 1d20+9.  Bardic Knowledge.
Nod the Minstrel rolled 30 using 1d20+17.  Knowledge (history).
Nod the Minstrel rolled 31 using 1d20+14.  Knowledge (heraldry).
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:33, Tue 15 Jan 2019.

Falnis has no trouble reading in Nod's expression that he recognises both his house and himself.

"House Orthran?" Nod repeats, impressed, "Matron Uvariel Orthran, right? They say her beauty is such that men have turned to stone just by gazing upon her! Are you well acquainted with her? What is she like? Is she really as... fanatical as the stories say?"

He then seems to remember that Falnis actually asked him a question, and hastily responds.

"Oh, I'm Nod. Nod the Minstrel. To be honest I'm just accompanying Varonil. He's on a quest of a... personal nature," he seems to realise he might be talking a little too freely regarding his companions, and finishes with "So, um, yeah, nothing that interesting, really."
This message was last edited by the player at 22:20, Tue 15 Jan 2019.

"Believe me, it is not her beauty turning humans into stone," Falnis mutters, softly enough that Nod can't be sure he heard the dark elf correctly.

At Nod's obvious discomfort about revealing his companion's objectives, Falnis waves a dismissive hand. "Very well. I will not press you. I perfectly understand one can't always choose the missions one goes on, or the company one keeps. Perhaps we can turn matters to more pleasant topics again, and away from the politics of the Great Houses and your reasons for being here? Such as, for example, if you know any more tunes you can play as well as the Lorance? Perhaps one with a simpler dance, since it seems our good townspeople would also like to join us in the revelries?"

At that moment Marabir rises indignantly from his chair and strides purposefully across the room. At first his companions assume he is making for the stage, but they quickly realise he is in fact making his way over to the table at which the young noblewoman and the pair of mercenaries are seated. The reason for his sudden action is becomes apparent a moment later. One of the mercenaries has half risen, his hand firmly clasped about the woman's wrist. Her expression is a mixture of indignance and pain.

"Excuse me, sir," he says sternly upon reaching the table, one hand held threateningly on the hilt of his gilded longsword, "Is there some sort of problem here?"

OOC: Prince Marabir Carendil rolled 21 using 1d20+5. Intimidate.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:36, Wed 16 Jan 2019.

The man glances disdainfully up at Marabir, appraising his weapon, armour and general appearance. At length he releases the woman's wrist, before rising slowly to square off against the prince.

"Nothing that concerns you," he replies coolly, resting a hand on the hilt of his own blade as his companion rises behind him, "Now why don't you keep your nose out of matters which don't concern you? Hmm?"

OOC: Tared Garn rolled 27 using 1d20+8. Resist Intimidate.
This message was last edited by the player at 07:11, Sat 23 Mar 2019.

Marabir's eyes narrow.

"A thug behaving like a brute towards a lady always concerns me."

The man's lip curls as he slips his blade a few inches out of his scabbard.

"The lady and I have an arrangement. This is your last chance. Back off."

Falnis takes advantage of this distraction (the whole tavern has fallen silent, watching this exciting event unfold) to step off-stage and retrieve his cloak.

"Is there a problem here?" the guard captain repeats from Marabir's shoulder.

The mercenary turns his disdainful glance to the captain.

"And you are?"

"Caln Deran," the captain replies evenly, "Captain of the guard in this town."

The barman seems torn between getting involved in this violence to try to calm everyone down, and staying safely by the bar.

The mercenary's lip thins even further. He does not seem eager to confront the entire town guard, however. He scoffs, and sheaths his blade, turning to the woman.

"It seems you have made quite the scene. Do you want my help or not?"

The lady in question eyes him venomously. She glances at Marabir, then the guard captain, and then back to the mercenary.

"I do not," she sniffs.

The mercenary clenches his fists, glaring at Marabir.

"You will regret this," he hisses at the prince, before storming through the crowd and out of the tavern, his companion in toe.

The atmosphere of silent tension hangs in the room for a few moments after the pair depart. Then a sea of murmurs and whispers sweeps throughout the room, as the patrons return to their drinks and conversations once more.

Nod sends Marabir a concerned glance for a few moments, but then recovers himself, glancing about for Falnis.

"Indeed!" he agrees to the varim's earlier suggestion, "Are you familiar with the 'Caldan Waltz'?"

With that he breaks into the lively waltz to a series of cheers and laughter as the patrons about them begin to perform the well known dance, what remains of the tension being swiftly forgotten.

OOC: Nod the Minstrel rolled 32 using 1d20+17. Perform (mandolin).
This message was last edited by the player at 02:09, Wed 16 Jan 2019.

"I am not," Falnis admits, as the first few chords of the music start, as he ties his cloak neatly so that it will not interfere too much with any dancing, "But it should not be too hard to pick up the steps."

Picking up a partner might normally be the problem for a varim dancing a waltz in a tavern full of humans, but if the dark elf is daunted by the prospect he does not show it. He does, however, take the time to scan the tavern for a partner who might actually be able to dance. Apparently deciding that in a tavern like this such a partner does not exist, he selects the next best thing, which is the best looking female in the room (and the one most likely to annoy the person who has most annoyed him this evening).

"Would you do me the honour?" he says, approaching the woman Marabir and the guard captain are standing next to.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:49, Wed 16 Jan 2019.

The woman glances at him with mild surprise, her gaze still on the doorway out of which the mercenary disappeared. She hesitates, clearly not in the mood for a lighthearted waltz, but the cheers of encouragement about her, along with a good many shouts of 'Go on then!' and 'Do 'im the honour!' seem to convince her, and, blushing slightly, she reluctantly takes his hand and follows him back to the stage.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:54, Thu 30 Dec 2021.

Marabir frowns at the elf as she departs, shaking his head darkly.

Marabir doesn't think he's imagining the smug look the dark elf sends at him from behind Lyria's back as the possible assassin leads her off.

Despite his claims to Nod about not knowing the steps, this doesn't seem to be affecting the grace of his performance in any way. Either he is a quick learner, or he was lying.

OOC: Dalmar Argant rolled 41 using 1d20+22.  Perform (Dance) Check (-5 for unfamiliarity with Dance).

The woman, in contrast, does not seem at all familiar with the dance. That or the evening's ordeal has flustered her to such a degree that she is unable to focus on her timing and footwork. Or, the more feasible scenario, many a patron thinks, no one could look good dancing next to her partner. She smiles politely at the varim as they dance, but her gaze continues to dart towards the door and to Marabir.

OOC: Lady Lyria Veldorn rolled 10 using 1d20+8. Perform (dance).
This message was last edited by the player at 03:59, Thu 30 Dec 2021.

Marabir smiles encouragingly at the lady as her eyes meet his, but the moment she looks away he resumes his frown, directed at the varim as he seats himself next to Aerendir, pulling out another of the letters and reading it with deliberate intent.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:02, Thu 30 Dec 2021.

It's the varim's turn to send Marabir a dark look before he himself is forced to adopt a bland smile as the lady turns back to him.
This message was last edited by the GM at 04:03, Thu 30 Dec 2021.

Falnis does not imagine he catches a smug smile playing at the corner of Marabir's mouth as he begins to read the letter.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:04, Thu 30 Dec 2021.

The next letter seems to be a bit more incriminating.

It is Her Will that you will journey to the barbaric lands of Northern Thane. One there has uncovered what he should not. He does not know what he holds. See that he never does, and ensure that it returns once more to its rightful place.

For the Glory of the Dark One,

Marabir glances grimly at Aerendir.

"We need to get a look inside that cloak," he murmurs.

"We do. Are you volunteering to knock him out in a private backroom? I doubt we'll manage to peel it off him by any other method."

"I doubt he will be obliging enough to enter a private backroom with us," Marabir replies wryly as he refolds the letter, "And we still do not have enough proof to arrest him officially."

The guard captain seems to have managed to pick his way through the crowd to their table.

"Well, I'm afraid I'd best be getting back to that body," he says, leaning in closer to be heard over the laughter and commotion about them, "Unfortunately I don't think we'll be arresting a varim this day. I'll try to follow up whatever leads I can on the identity of the dead man, but I'll be honest, I don't like my chances. I hope you have a pleasant journey, Sir Varonil, and that you don't come across any more corpses. Or varim," he adds with a dark glance at the stage. With a polite nod he turns and slips out of the room.

"Back when I first came to Thane, we didn't let things like lack of evidence stop us from arresting guilty varim," Aerendir says, unimpressed. "Like it or not, this is your chance to arrest your murderer. Just because he's popular shouldn't stop you from locking him up."
This message was last edited by the player at 04:02, Wed 16 Jan 2019.

"Back when you first came to Thane we didn't have a treaty with Mereldinor," Marabir replies firmly, "We have no proof that these letters were written to him, and unless you plan on locking him up permanently, word of his treatment will eventually get back to Mereldinor. Regretfully, I'm afraid that we shall have to let Falnis go free. Still, I shall pass these letters to Vard upon our return. Perhaps his agents can put them to use. Keep them on your person. I don't want our saddlebags being raided by him or his allies."
This message was last edited by the player at 03:54, Wed 16 Jan 2019.

"I will," Aerendir says, with the air of someone who had already been planning to do that. "At least we'll get something out of this if we really can't put an arrow in him."

The waltz comes to an end, and with much laughter, chatting and panting, the patrons about them begin to once more take their seats, ordering another round of drinks which the delighted bartender is only too happy to provide.

Nod bows to another round of thundering applause, before leaping lightly from the stage.

"Care to join us?" he invites both Falnis and the lady, "I believe the evening's interrogation may be over, and I think you and Varonil may have got off on the wrong foot."

The woman, flushed from either the exertion or the attention and applause being directed at her and Falnis, glances at the varim, then back to Nod.

"I would be honoured," she says at length, accepting his hand as she climbs down from the stage.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:07, Thu 30 Dec 2021.

"As would I," Falnis lies, smiling, his eyes on Aerendir's front pocket where his letters are.

OOC: Dalmar Argant rolled 29 using 1d20+26.  Bluff Check.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:18, Wed 16 Jan 2019.

"Excellent!" says Nod pleasantly as he leads the way over to the table.

OOC: Nod the Minstrel rolled 19 using 1d20. Sense Motive.

Behind them, the barman makes short work of clearing up the scattered carens and gelds tossed earlier on the floor, since it seems like neither of the intended recipients is interested in them.
This message was last updated by the player at 12:41, Sat 30 Mar 2019.

Nod certainly seems to have little interest in them, ignoring the reproving glances thrown in the bartender's direction.

"Allow me to introduce my patron, Sir Varonil," he says to the lady as he reaches the table, withdrawing a chair for her to sit on, "And this is Aerendir. And this..." he says to his companions, faltering as he realises he does not know the young lady's name.

"I am Lady Lyria Veldorn," the woman curtsies before taking the proffered seat. She then turns expectantly to the varim.

"That's Falnis," Marabir informs her dismissively, before smiling politely, "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lady. I hope you will forgive my inquisitiveness, but are you all right? You seemed to be quite distressed by that mercenary."

Lyria's face darkens.

"I thank you for coming to my assistance," she nods sincerely, "In truth my plight is desperate."

Falnis spares only a short glance of irritation at Marabir for leaving off the title parts of his name. Most of his irritation seems to be reserved for Aerendir, who has put one booted foot on the seat of the only free chair next to him, and who is watching the varim with open hostility.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:54, Wed 16 Jan 2019.

"Don't even think about trying to sit next to me," Aerendir snaps in high elven. "Keep your distance, and keep your hands where I can see them."

"This, from the thief who actually did the stealing," Falnis snipes back, also in high-elven, but nevertheless complies, seating himself next to Nod.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:00, Wed 16 Jan 2019.

Marabir, fluent in High Elven, pretends he is oblivious to the exchange between Aerendir and Falnis, focusing on Lyria, his brow creasing sympathetically.

"Oh?"
This message was last edited by the player at 04:10, Thu 30 Dec 2021.

Lyria pauses, glancing between Falnis and Aerendir. She may not speak High Elven, or even normal Elven for that matter, but she doesn't need to in order to sense the open hostility between the pair. At length, as Falnis seats himself beside Nod, she begins.

"As I said, I am Lady Lyria Veldorn. I own a modest estate to the north. My father, Lord Ardanus Veldorn passed away several months ago. As his oldest daughter he left his estate to me. It was his will, and I have the documents to prove it. However my uncle, Galnor Veldorn, desires my father's lands, and will stop at nothing to steal them. He has sent thugs to terrorise me and my tenants, burning fields and looting houses. Three times he has come to me in person, demanding that I relinquish my claim to the estate, instead naming him as guardian until my younger brother comes of age. Each time I refused. Then, four days ago, my brother was kidnapped. My uncle came to see me the following day, stating that unless I relinquish my the estate to him, I will never see my brother again. I have travelled for the past few days, seeking assistance from mercenaries. That vulgar brute you chased off had agreed to help track down and rescue my brother, but decided he wanted more than gold," she shudders, giving the door to the tavern a look of distaste. She then turns back to Marabir, giving him a pleading look.

"You are clearly a man of honour and courage, Sir Varonil. Will you please aid me and save my brother?"

Marabir, who has been listening intently to Lyria as she speaks, frowns grimly.

"You have my sympathies, Lady Veldorn. Might I inquire how far from here your estate is? I would be more than willing to assist you, but I am on a quest of my own and must be-" he catches himself, glancing darkly at Falnis, "I have somewhere I must be in three days time."
This message was last edited by the player at 05:26, Wed 16 Jan 2019.

"Not far," Lyria replies hastily, "My estate is less than a day's ride from here, and if we left at dawn we would reach it by tomorrow afternoon. As for my uncle, he has taken up residence in 'The Grey Stallion' inn in Calarn, twenty miles from my estate."
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 05:27, Wed 16 Jan 2019.

Marabir nods thoughtfully, before turning to Aerendir.

"That seems... doable."
This message was last edited by the player at 04:12, Thu 30 Dec 2021.

Aerendir sends Marabir a long-suffering look.

"I hesitate to be tactless, but have you any reason to think your brother is still alive?" is Falnis' helpful contribution. "If I wanted to steal an estate, the first thing I would do would be to eliminate the rightful heirs."

"I'm sure that's what you would do," Aerendir agrees.

Falnis sighs.

Lyria swallows, giving Falnis a determined look.

"I have to believe he is still alive."

"Quite so," Marabir says bracingly, shooting Falnis a reproving glare, "Perhaps in Mereldinor that is the way things are done, but in Thane the death of a noble's son results in unwanted questions and attention. Besides, Galnor is clearly using the boy as a bargaining chip. He won't harm the boy until he has what he wants from Lady Veldorn, or else is convinced his ploy has failed."

"Where burning down fields and looting houses, naturally, only results in people talking about how bad the weather has become recently," Falnis says dryly, ignoring the reproving glare.

Marabir opens his mouth to respond, then realises that all the answers he can think of may result in giving those listening the impression that the Thanian authorities value the well being of the nobility somewhat more than the common peasants. He decides to ignore Falnis' comment, instead turning back to Lyria.

"We would be honoured to assist you in locating your brother," he asserts with a gracious nod.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:17, Thu 30 Dec 2021.

"Where was your brother when he was captured?" Aerendir asks, more practically.
This message was last edited by the GM at 04:18, Thu 30 Dec 2021.

"He was in the garden at the rear of the estate," Lyria informs him, "It was around noon and he had gone out to play before lunch. The garden has a stone wall around it, but it is not high, maybe six or seven feet. The kidnapper must have scaled this wall. None of my guards or servants reported hearing or seeing anyone, but we could not find him anywhere. It was not long afterwards, just as we were preparing to mount a search, that my uncle arrived and made his ultimatum."

"Fair enough. It shouldn't be too hard to track him to wherever they took him, if they kidnapped him from that obvious a spot," Aerendir says, with the air of someone making the best of a bad business.

"Indeed," says Marabir optimistically, "Now, have you eaten, my lady? I don't know about you two," he directs at Aerendir and Nod, "But I am quite famished. Order me something, would you, Aerendir? And acquire us some rooms for the night. I shall go and ensure that the horses are adequately stabled for the night."

A loud rumbled from the vicinity of Nod's stomach does the talking for the minstrel.

"Apologies, my lady," he says, reddening slightly as he attempts to stifle a second rumble.

"May I have a private word, Sir Varonil?" Falnis asks, as Aerendir rises and stalks over to the bar in pursuit of food (a job the high elf seems to find much more palatable than the prospect of a rescue mission.)

"Oh?" Marabir says suspiciously, glancing back as he exits the tavern, "What is it?"

"I'll tell you when we get to the stables," the dark elf smiles, rising to join Marabir and walking beside him. "After all, I need to check on my horse too, and I'm sure neither of us want Nod or your damsel in distress to hear what you can probably guess I want to talk about."
This message was last edited by the player at 03:51, Thu 17 Jan 2019.

Marabir's eyes narrow as his hand instinctively strays to the jewelled hilt of his longsword.

"Indeed."

Nod watches them leave, before shrugging at turning to Lyria brightly.

"So, Lady Veldorn, who is your favourite historical Carendilian king?"

OOC: End of Chapter I...