"I did. I should warn you though that we are to keep 'a bit of an eye out' for rats, according to an interfering farmer's wife whose name I do not know. Apparently they are nesting, and more than one patron has woken up missing parts of their hair."

This prospect seems much more daunting to Marabir than walking alone with a varim assassin at night. He frowns, but nods.

"Noted."

Lyria, whose mood has visibly lightened since Marabir returned, takes this pause in the conversation to address the prince.

"So, Sir Varonil, from where do you hail?"

"From Carendisal, Lady Veldorn," Marabir responds, politely but carefully, "As I mentioned, my companions and I are on a quest of a personal nature."
This message was last edited by the player at 05:07, Thu 30 Dec 2021.

"Indeed?" Lyria smiles, "I've never been to Carendisal. My father used to travel down once or twice a year for the Lord's Council. Do you have family there, Sir Varonil?"
This message was last edited by the player at 05:07, Thu 30 Dec 2021.

Marabir's brow furrows slightly but his smile does not waver.

"I... do," he says cautiously, "I am from the House of Aravor."

OOC: Prince Marabir Carendil rolled 9 using 1d20+5. Bluff.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:08, Thu 30 Dec 2021.

Lyria seems to sense his hesitancy in responding, and raises a quizzical eyebrow. She is polite enough not to pry further, however.

"I see," she replies, shrugging, "Well I am very pleased fate brought you along when it did. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't intervened. And now, I shall retire for the evening. Shall we meet back here at dawn?"

OOC: Lady Lyria Veldorn rolled 19 using 1d20+8. Sense Motive.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:09, Thu 30 Dec 2021.

"We shall," Marabir replies, trying not to appear too relieved that the questioning session is over, "I bid you a pleasant evening."

After Lyria has disappeared up the chipped, wooded staircase to the bedrooms, he leans in closer to Aerendir, his expression grim.

"So, what shall we do about Falnis? He wants those letters back, and went so far as to threaten me with violence if I did not return them. I doubt he will simply continue on his way without them."
This message was last edited by the player at 05:11, Thu 30 Dec 2021.

Nod gives Marabir a look of disbelief as he finishes the last of his soup.

"Letters? Mar- Varonil, did you steal the property of a member of the varim nobility?"

"He's a murderer who has disobeyed the laws of our realm," Marabir responds firmly, "And the letters all but prove it."

"'All but'?" Nod repeats sceptically.

"All but," Marabir repeats firmly, "The question is, what should we do about Falnis?"

This question is deliberately directed at Aerendir.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:11, Thu 30 Dec 2021.

Nod places his head in his hands, giving a low groan.

"Typical varim arrogance, to think he could emerge the victor from a violent solution," Aerendir scoffs. "I don't think you need to worry. If he tries anything, that will give us the evidence we need to put an arrow in him."

"Now, for the last time, Nod, are you planning to finish that stew?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:13, Thu 30 Dec 2021.

Meanwhile, on a dark forest path, Lord Falnis Orthran (nursing thoughts about as fond for Aerendir and Marabir as these individuals' are for him) rides at a swift canter, following deep hoof-marks left less than an hour ago. While a human might have had trouble seeing in the dense gloom-- for the branches overhead are thick and dense, and the moon tonight is only in its first quarter-- it is clear that the varim is having no trouble at all picking out the right path.

He seems to be listening carefully for any signs of his quarry ahead (or indeed any other enemies).

OOC: Dalmar Argant rolled 42 using 1d20+22.  Listen Check.
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:15, Thu 30 Dec 2021.

It isn't long before he catches the sounds of trotting hooves in the dim gloom ahead. Two sets of hooves, if Falnis' ears do not deceive him. The owners of the pair of horses seem to also pick up the sound of his own mounts cantering hooves, since after a moment the pair halt.

"Who goes there?" a coarse voice demands through the gloom.

OOC: Reln Calund rolled 26 using 1d20+10. Listen.
This message was last edited by the GM at 04:07, Fri 18 Jan 2019.

Falnis halts his steed, still in the darkness.

"Someone who thinks that Sir Varonil needs to be taught a lesson in manners, and who is willing to pay for this tutoring," he replies. "I assume the usual price of two thousand carens-- half now, and half when the job is done-- will suffice to pay for your services?"

“Two thousand carens?” the coarse voice replies in a tone which suggests that this amount is rather in excess of the going rate in Hyrond.

“Sir Varonil?” repeats a second voice, which Falnis recognises as belonging to the mercenary from the tavern.

"To share between you, of course," Falnis amends smoothly in response to the incredulity in Reln's voice, correctly deducing that it is possible he can halve his costs here. "You would know him better as that strutting knight backed by the local town guard, who is overly fond of helping damsels in distress and intruding generally where he is not wanted. I take it, then, that neither you nor he are regulars in these parts?"
This message was last edited by the player at 12:20, Sat 19 Jan 2019.

"Do you care if I kill him?" the mercenary asks after a pause, ignoring Falnis' last question. Falnis gets the distinct impression this may be a deal breaker.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:18, Mon 21 Jan 2019.

"How you choose to educate him is your own affair, but I will not weep if he does not live to regret his mistakes. He will be travelling with a red-haired high elf, equally as obnoxious as himself. That elf should be taught a lesson as well. I would advise shooting to sunder his bowstring first, though; like all his kind, he is an excellent shot. In the interests of artistry everywhere, however, the minstrel travelling with him is not to be harmed."

Tared gets the impression that this is a deal breaker for his potential employer, too.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:58, Mon 21 Jan 2019.

"Kill Sir Asked-For-It and the elf, and leave the minstrel alive," the man repeats.

"You mentioned half up front?" the coarse voiced man puts in pointedly.

"Exactly," Falnis says, pleased with Tared's ready understanding. "And naturally half upfront. They will be travelling in the company of one Lady Veldorn tomorrow; something about an uncle torching her estate and a soon-to-be dead brother. I am sure you know better than I what road the Lady Veldorn is likely to advise them to take. See to it that you, and whatever thugs you deem fit to hire, are waiting for them on that road."

A moment later, there is a soft thud in the darkness, followed by the sound of retreating hoofbeats. Upon investigation, the pair find it indeed to be a pouch of one thousand carens' worth of gemstones.
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:20, Thu 30 Dec 2021.