The spears, though mildewed, can serve and Omm adds one of them to his armament. The shield, far more heavily mildewed and pitted in places with rust, can also serve. It wouldn't serve for a high tournament in its current condition.

Felix leans against the double doors and listens. Snoring! Scandalous at this time of day. What time is it anyway? Long past dawn.

The great creaking and clattering of the doors fail to waken the slumberer, and the sour fumes exuding from him explain why, as do the empty jacks of wine about the throne. With distaste, you notice a sharper, more pungent smell in the air and damp slick along the man's well-oiled leathers. His raiment has the cast of bile, yellow and viscous. You whisper amongst yourselves: he's the spitting image of the Prince.

The great hall is dominated by a large throne set atop a high dais. Flanked by statues of white marble lions, chased in silver and jewels and sheltered by a canopy of the darkest velvet, the opulent throne is fit for a sorcerer-king.

For all its grandeur the throne sits abandoned. Cobwebs hang from the canopy and dust has gathered on the once majestic lions. To the left of the dais sits a much simpler demi-throne of dark, polished wood, carved in the likeness of rearing lion. A warrior sits sprawled atop the throne, his head hung with melancholy. A discarded broadsword rest against the throne.

Time: Dawn no more
Location: The Throne Room
This message was last edited by the GM at 06:22, Wed 20 Nov 2013.

Omm draws his sword and silently crosses the distance to the demi-throne, senses keenly focused on detecting any sudden movement within The Throne Room. Perhaps closer inspection of the Prince might shed light on this unfolding mystery...

''Omm!'' Zar hisses in hushed tones. ''Put that sword away. The man will think you have come to slit his throat. We do not want a fight.''

Felix creeps toward the throne, not to approach or examine the man sitting in it, but rather the bottles sitting around him.  Perhaps one bears the mark of a vineyard or merchant and can thus shed some (figurative) light on the party's current location.  Or perhaps one will turn out to have not been consumed yet, which is always nice to know.

Bill brings up the rear of his troupe and eagerly watches the seemingly sleeping warrior upon his chair. With the dust and cobwebs about, it appears the warrior may have been in this slumber for quite some time, however even a confidence artist knows that not all is always as it appears to be.. Bill's hand rests easily on his dagger, hoping its not needed yet none can ever be certain....

Omm turns around, a wry grin plastered to his face, and raises a single gloved finger to his lips. He proceeds forward nonetheless, with sword drawn, but not in an overtly aggressive manner. While Omm appreciates Zar's well-reasoned admonition, if ever there was a time for caution, it was now!

Brandish his sword as he might like, Omm's not like to wake the swordsman from utter stupefaction. And were he even to land a heavy foot, the thick, woven rug that leads to the throne and covers too much floor would absorb the impact. The rug depicts a party of mounted warriors pursuing an enormous serpent.

Felix examines one empty flagon and then another, first of Medoc and then of De Grave. From there he can espy a larder to the side of the throne room.  It has a pipe of wine, 130 gallons, and doubtless many not quite spoiled foodstuffs, hard cheeses, salamis, and the like. It's one of the few unruined rooms in the manor that you've seen besides the throne room.

On the other side of the throne room, opposite the arbor, is a set of descending stairs.

Time: Unknown
Location: In the Throne Room with the Stupefied Prince

Omm shrugs his shoulders and turns back to address his companions, "He's out. Cold."

He takes a couple more steps toward the slumbering warrior and examines the broadsword resting beside the throne. "Maybe the feel of steel in his hand will awaken the warrior trapped within?" he asks aloud.

''Hello, Sir Prince!'' Sidd booms. No apparent reaction. ''You know, Omm, I think you are right.''

''Still, I would not touch his sword. Let it be. Hmm, with the throne vacant and the prince stupefied, obviously things are ill in this realm. I suggest we go outside again and take a look at the first floor?''

Omm, in his characteristically oafish mannerism, shrugs his shoulders and replies "Okay. Sure. Not like he's going anywhere anytime soon."

Glancing over his other shoulder, at the provisions stacked up against a distant wall, "Maybe we check the larder before moving on?"

Then to the stairs, "What about down there?"

Zar shrugs. ''Sure, let's check the larders. But I would search the floors above first before descending down the stairs.''
He shudders a bit. ''After our recent experiences at the keep and all that.''

Bill moves over to the larder and begins to look through the contents there, hoping to find something useful. He can't remember when he last had good, hearty food but with this stockpile it looks like he is about to remedy that. He calls over his shoulder to his companions " Not sure about the rest of you , but I could sure go with something to eat. Shall we munch a bit while we look about?"

Arnie is struck by sudden inspiration, courtesy of still getting used to his recently increased competence in the priestly arts.  He does not touch any of the swords, as per Zar's suggestion, but he does look closely at the unresponsive prince.  He even moves his hands over the still body, not making contact but no more than a centimeter away.  Perhaps he can gain some insight into the man's condition, if not how to cure it.

Sidd  booms, his voice stentorian. Verily, it must have parted the grey mists across the vale.

The prince of swords, as you know him to be, rubs his eyes wearily at the start of yet another day. He gapes at the melange before and about him: Arnie gesticulating in a ritualistic manner; Omm grandstanding with his blade; and Bill in the larder, his hand thrust in a barrel of pickles. The capering of fools, really.

"I dream?" he asks. He wrinkles his nose as Arnie leans in, the smell of Arnie upon him. He answers himself, "No, I do not."

He stands and towers over the tallest of you. His long lengths of black hair offset a pale yellow cloak. He pays no heed to Omm fiddling with his broadsword.

He addresses you, "I, Captain Kaschei, welcome you to Vale of the Three Magi" -- with no welcome in his voice, only the weight of days. "You, who have just arrived, must be weary with travel. See to your needs. The larder is full. Unlace your boots. Find a couch for repose."

"Share with me my wine and my doom, and, tonight, tonight, we hunt."

You look around. You don't see any couches.

Time: Unknown
Location: In the Throne Room with the Captain
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:26, Mon 25 Nov 2013.

Hold on now buddy, Felix responds.  I'm happy to share this wine and cheese, but I've had enough doom for one life already.  You can keep that for yourself.

Arnie chides the little man, saying Worry not, Felix.  Surely he meant it metaphorically.  He does not intend to doom us, merely to... hm.  He looks at the prince with an expression that is certainly not pleading for help but might be mistaken as such.  He's still having a little trouble adjusting to this whole "wisdom" thing.

Omm jerks backward with a start when the prince booms in greeting, nearly dropping his sword in the process. Once his heart has returned to its rightful place, Omm stammers a response, "Th...th...thank you kindly, my lord, b...b...but I am quite full indeed."

Standing there with sword held limply, Omm calls out to his companions, "Lads, let's not trouble the good prince for his wine..."
This message was last edited by the player at 07:07, Tue 26 Nov 2013.

''Yes, well, as you can gather from my friends' answers we are actually well rested. Couldn't be better, thanks.'' Replies Sidd amiable.
''Now, once it is night, who or what is it you intend to hunt? And why wait until dusk? And what of the yellow wizard? And the two other magi? You see, we have quite a few questions.''

"Questions, so many of them. Why waste them all today when we have all of the tomorrows?"

"Fate chooses the hunted." He sticks a finger in his mouth and scrapes a length of gristle free. He tosses it on the rug where it sits, just long enough not to ignore.

With the same finger, he points around the room. "It could be you or you or you -- or me." With a princely flourish, he attains his full height, his yellowish cloak snapping to attention. Fate should choose more wisely, you aver.

"Today, I serve the wizard, Darjr -- as do they."

Two swordsmen step out of the shadows and into your view. Have they been here all along?

"He is not currently here to serve, making the tower by the lake his retreat. There he sees to his droll pursuits."

"Or it could be none of us," Omm calls back in response. "For we are hunters, all of us, to a man. Our lot is to hunt!"

Head held high, the warrior's posture assumes a more commanding posture, his chest now prominently displayed in a show of dominance.

Zar's head rises as the Fates are mentioned. He has had dreams... ''Are these the ladies in waiting?''
He is refering to the cards the jester revealed when this all started.

''Anyway, so your own wizard is up to droll pursuits, whatever that means. What are the others doing? There are three of them, ain't there? And the signs of all of them grace your lintel. Where are they?''

As the two swordsman appear, Bill decides that now is probably not the time to have his hand in the pickle barrel. He quickly trades the pickle for his dagger and moves in at an angle behind the throne. He has only heard snippets of the debate going on and wants to hear more. As his companions continue to talk, he keeps a weary eye on the swordsmen...

Arnie listens to the prince's explanation (or close enough) and replies And the men laying in the field, who did they serve?

About the other two magisters he produces no more then that they must be "plotting."

Captain Kaschei fixes Omm with what at one time must have been implacable eyes. "Agreed. Tonight, we hunt," he replies to the warrior, a twitch of a smile about his lips. "Until then, we drink, and then -- we drink as well."

He addresses Omm, "Have your man bring fresh skins," his man plausibly being either Bill, just now sorting himself out, or Felix who, due to his stature, seems more boy than man.

You have a chance to get a closer look at the two swordsmen. They wear mud-caked boots, much like your own from having tromped through the furrows. Also, they have a feeble yellow gleam to their eyes. One of them, a grizzled chap, answers Arnie's plaintive question.

"They serve whom they served. We all do until we don't."

Omm shoots a glance back to his companions while fumbling for his own wineskin.

With a quizzical look, he asks Captain Kaschei, "Haven't you any goblets or mugs we can drink from?" He surveys the room once more for a serving table where these things might be found.

"And," he interjects, "What shall we drink to? The hunt? If so, what shall we hunt?"

''Uh, Omm, let's not dally. We still have business to attend to. Let's not pester our hosts. We can always go hunt later.'' Old Zar pats Omm's hand while unobtrusively pulling him away.

Sidd takes up the cue, and for once agrees with Zar. ''Ah, yes. I think we should move on. We will make sure to be back for nightfall though, with the hunt and everything! And if not, I am sure we will meet again nonetheless.''

He tries to usher out Arnie, Bill and Felix, too.