"Pixie? That must be elvish for mosquito, we'll have to look that up somewhere... don't let me forget," Regdoc muttered to Chomper.

"C'mon then, The Path leads ever onward!"

Regdoc the Seeker shuffled through the gates, leading the way with a pace not unlike that of a funeral procession.

Eron moves through the gates in a position that's clearly away from the old cleric and his dog.  The pixie shoots a few glances at them, and his hands instinctively reach for the hilts of his swords when he does.

"Yes. Excellent. Thank you, Sir." Sasar mutters to the other wizard and hurries after Seeker Regdoc.

"To the Baron's court chamber? Interesting. Interesting indeed!"

"The guards will lead you to the Baron's court chamber. Good luck to you all."

The baron?  Surely they weren't properly dressed for such an occasion as an audience.  Brodd decides not to worry about it, nor does he daydream about the fancy food that might be on offer.  Instead, he asks the axeman:

"From where do you hail, Amalrik?"

A guard takes over the escort as the scribe departs to his primary duties.

"When you see the Baron, you bow and say 'Your Grace'. You do not sit until he bids you to sit. Make no threatening moves or speak out of turn. Do not turn your back to him. Failure to comply may land you in the stocks at best or joining HIM at worst."

He points to a collapsed skeleton inside a human-shaped metal cage dangling from a chain and lumber platform.

Your band of six is lead through the courtyard, busy with workers and guardsman. You are lead into a stone building. Inside, light streams in through window openings in the stone. A banner hangs on a rafter overhead with the Baron's coat of arms. In the arms the blue saltire of the Exemplars makes up the background, but it's escutcheoned, meaning inside a shield shape within the arms. Heraldically it means he protects the legacy of the Knights, but isn't (any longer) a member himself.

Taking up most of the room is a table, upon which is engraved a map of the coastline. A small metal disc embedded in the lumber marks the city of Masondain, presumably right where you're standing. The Baron himself sits at the head of the table opposite the entrance. His frame is solid from years of carrying arms and armor but beginning to decline from the inevitability of age. He wears the circlet indicative of his station. His salt-and pepper-beard adorns his grim visage. With a sharp gaze he looks up at you form the table, his blue eyes reddened with grief.

In reply to DM (msg # 29):

"Your Grace."

The thin hunched wizard says and bows slightly, following strictly the orders of the guard. If the Baron looks at him, Sasar will calmly meet his gaze.

The pixie looks at the wizard, scratches his face a bit, and decides to mimic his movements and demeanor.  "Your grace."  He then smiles brightly at anyone looking at him.

"When you see the Baron, you bow and say 'Your Grace'. You do not sit until he bids you to sit. Make no threatening moves or speak out of turn. Do not turn your back to him. Failure to comply may land you in the stocks at best or joining HIM at worst."

Brodds nods along, grateful for the advice.  This was certainly going to different from peeling potatoes and scrubbing pots.

The young priest's bow is low and words crisp and dutiful.  "Your grace."

Noting the lord's grief, Brodd feels a strong empathy but is wary of letting his compassion show, lest it be mistaken for pity and thus cause his fate to be the same as HIM.

"You see that! That's what I'm going to do to YOU if you steal my flail again, you scruffy pot-licker!" Regdoc pointed out the caged corpse to his pack-hound.

He followed the others inside, hearing only half of what the guardsman had to say, and caring less than that amount about the little he'd understood. His head turned one way and then the other, looking around to take in the Baron's place.

It was the table and its huge map that caught the old man's attention. As a follower of the Wanderer, maps were a passion, especially those showing lesser trodden paths or place as of yet unexplored! It was Chomper's gentle bite on the faded maroon-colored surcoat that, perhaps, kept Regoc out of the stocks that day.

"Hrrmmph?" he tore his gaze from the map and noticed the distraught Baron. "Oh... my... Blessings of He Who Wanders be upon Your Grace." He hoped he'd gotten that right.

What that guard said? Regdoc glanced at Chomper as if the dog might give him a timely reminder.

Following Brother Brodd into the castle and taking a seat at the table after the Baron sits.  "Yer Grace" Amalrik says as he sits.  Shifting uncomfortably in his chair he lets others do the talking for him.

(Assuming Creston compliesto speed the story...)

The Baron nods.”You nay be seated.” He casts a sidelong glance at Amalric who helped himself to a seat.

“I had friends among the Northern Tribes. Sit first at the campfire is their way, I recall. Well met, Warrior.”

He chuckles, then snaps his fingers. “You did find a Thief didn’t you?”

Two guardsmen enter, escorting a man in sackcloth and shackles. They sit him down roughly in a seat and keep him down by holding his shoulders firmly.

“Yes, this one will do...”

In reply to DM (msg # 35):

Sasar promptly sits down. He opens his mouth to ask something, but a heartbeat later snaps it shut again. Weren't you just said NOT to speak out of turn, you fool!

So he leans back in the chair and puts his both hands gently at the table, waiting for the Baron to speak.

Regdoc heard the sound of shackles and quickly turned to the source. That sound evoked many a memory for the old chap, some good, some so very NOT-good. He tried to see if it was one of the riff-raff from the tavern.

He chuckles, then snaps his fingers. “You did find a Thief didn’t you?”

Two guardsmen enter, escorting a man in sackcloth and shackles. They sit him down roughly in a seat and keep him down by holding his shoulders firmly.

“Yes, this one will do...”

Brodd scowls, not hiding his distaste for the law-breaker as he is introduced, so to speak.  He understood that such people had a specific set of skills, but surely they didn't need a scoundrel in their midst.  Look into the shadows and you will find the dangers .. a common saying in the Solar Temple.

In the meantime, Eron decides to flutter his wings to get a top a chair.  At first he tries to sit, then decides to stand when it is clear that no one could see him from a sitting position.  He is fascinated by the table and figures on the table before him.  This was something new....

This thief is a courageous-looking human woman, no older than...well, somewhere in her twenties to the other humans, and no doubt "young and reckless years old" to the non-humans.  Her skin is marked with scars from knife-fights and dog bites, and her head is shaved completely bald.

Saying nothing, she takes in the motley crew before her, looking almost disbelieving at the pixie.  After a moment, she looks at the guards as if to say, "Well?".

The guard looks down at her. “Say ‘Your Grace’ then state your name and occupation, lass.”

Creston is the last to enter. He barely nods as he says, "Well met, your grace," also taking off his hat as he speaks. He folds the hat, lays it neatly on the table, takes off his quiver and hooks it over the back of a chair, then sits down.

"Your Grace..." The woman says, regarding the nobleman with a surprising amount of respect.  "I am called Iphigeneia.  Or 'Iffy'." She hesitates, and then adds, "I once worked as a rat catcher."

The Baron taps his fingers on the table a moment, then clears his throat and stands, leaning one hand on the table bend closer to the assembled.



"Due to the war with the Eastern Imperium, I cannot afford to send troops to the north into Braunstein, which is technically still allied territory. The fact that my daughter Starshell slipped out of the castle without my permission to rescue her fiancee makes this a purely personal matter. Add to the fact that refugees are flowing in, telling us that the earldom has fallen to humanoids...well that makes matters even no complicated. That is where you all come in. I have assembled all of you here for this mission.

First: Slay the Minotaur and bring me one of his horns.

Second: Rescue my daughter if she's still alive...or if she hasn't survived...bury her with last rites and return my shield and sword she took with her. And a word of warning, only an adherent to the ways of Law may safely touch the sword."

Third: Go to Castle Braunstein and find out if anyone's still in charge. The Earl of Braunstein, his son Hrothgar, the court wizard Anselm, anyone.

When you've returned with the Minotaur's horns accompanied by my daughter, or the sword and shield, you shall be handsomely rewarded. If in addition to what I've mentioned you bring me back a signet-marked letter from whomever is the current ruler of the Earldom, you'll each get an offer for a position as an Enforcer in my kingdom, along with a horse from one of my stables.

And of course any prison sentences will be pardoned...*sidelong glance at Iffy*...or if you can't ride a horse, *looks towards the pixie* we can probably find you a scroll of spells to add to your grimoire. Or something."
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:11, Mon 17 Sept 2018.

Quite used to taking in details from lessons and lectures, Brodd listens closely to the details of their mission.  It was thrilling to be undertaking such a task for king and country, but he has serious doubts if certain individuals in this troupe were to be trusted ...

Looking away from Iphigenia for a moment, the priest stares hard at the warrior who had first mentioned minotaurs.  So it was true.  Brodd doubts they were going to be able to slay such a beast unless they were dedicated and tactical.

May the Light bless us!

After waiting long enough to be sure the lord was done, Brodd speaks: "We will do our utmost to find the missing baroness and recover the arms of office, your Grace."

Mustering his courage, he continues: "If I may be so bold as to ask a favour from the quartermaster, in order to bolster our equipment?  I must admit myself to feeling wholly inadequately outfitted for such an important mission as this with only my sanctuary leathers and no travel rations."
This message was last edited by the player at 17:21, Mon 17 Sept 2018.

The Baron nods, and unfurls a scroll.

"I've already asked the quartermaster what we can spare for this mission. Castle Braunstein is a week away from our border on foot, so we'll provide each of you two weeks rations for the journey to and from.

As for armor, we have two chainmail hauberks with helmets. We also have three wooden shields in adquate condition.

For weaponry we can provide:

Four oaken cudgels from the constabulary.

Four hand axes, used for target practice and festivals.

Two stout spears.

One large spiked club, taken from an ogre I defeated in my youth.

One halberds.

Two bows with full quivers.

One crossbow with full quiver, confiscated from a poacher."

"I like the sound of this.  Kill the Minotaur and save the girl."  Standing up and grabbing his goblet he lifts it toward the Baron; "I'm in.  I just want the other horn from the Minotaur, will make a nice beer stein...and perhaps one of those suits of chain mail."  Gulping down his drink; "Yes..that would be great." He says, filling his goblet and then sitting back down drinking.

Eron looks around and enviously watches the barbarian quaff his drink.  Where did he get that?  More importantly, how come I didn't get one!  After a little bit, he seems dissatisfied, crossing his arms and tapping him foot.  Suddenly, he stops and smiles.  "Could you quartermaster spare some drink to keep us warm at night, when a fire may be ill advised?  Pixies are sensitive to the cold...especially, the northern chill."

The Baron clears his throat.

“Ah, spoken like a true Northerner! Yes, the other horn can be your drinking horn, laced with gold and gems!”

He turns to the others.

“This Amalrik is of particular importance to this mission. He’s the only warrior in this band. And he’s brought his own goblet and wineskin I see. I’d expect no less. But yes, everyone who agrees to this mission may join me in a bottle!  Even the prisoner here.”

“From having your head shorn for the headman’s axe to a drink with the Baron! What strange fortunes you must have!”