In reply to DM (msg # 35):

((I said I'd post by Wednesday. I never said which Wednesday))
This message was last edited by the player at 11:43, Thu 14 Apr 2016.

In reply to Valerian Hawke (msg # 36):

The lords gather in the upper hall of Dulmorth Castle for a dinner to which you are both invited, the Queen is eating in private so the lords are for the most part relaxed, trading crude jokes and after a few jugs of wine have been drunk singing a little. Between themselves they drop the lofty titles in favour of first names and invite you to do the same, they are clearly all old friends or at least favourably acquainted and growing closer, they share a casual approach to the dignity of their noble positions. At various points as all bonding groups do they take jabs at those on the other side of the war along presumably pre-existing enmities declaring they expected nothing more of such and such than to turn out to be a bad sort that none of them like. But, every so often a voice will dare to say they are surprised that so and so has been unreasonable and that they could probably be persuaded given time. One thing you learn is that no one here likes the ‘treacherous, malodorous, ugly, cowardly and dishonourable’ lord of Hatheril or rather not enough to try and mediate the Earl of Dulmorth’s loud and vehement opinions on the man, his parentage and his appetites. It is unclear if this is a generational dispute between the two families, a personal matter of hatred between two men or a sense of outrage created by a perceived betrayal on the issue of the royal succession by a once close friend. They don’t seem too fond of the ‘false’-Regent either with the most frequent charges being that he is presumptuous, greedy and scheming. With previous knowledge of Aravigia’s nobility you probably could have learnt how the shifting network of personal relationships has been changed by the war. With no one really able to guide you through whom this person or that is you rather just get the impression that as much as antedating factions had joined one camp or another in the debate that has become a civil war, such factions have also broken apart and so for the most part been replaced by the two factions now at odds. The issue was sufficiently personally and morally important to at least this side of the conflict.

Over the hours of waiting after the eating was all finished the group collectively composed a cheery song about the evils of the Regent and the virtues of the Queen that never seemed to get past the first chorus, people kept shouting out new things to append to either list that both grew and grew until people began to forget what was in the middle causing much amusement as people all sung different things every time and corrected each other. Halfway through another rendition on the verge of breaking down a servant walks in whispering something in the Earl of Dulmorth’s ear who waits a moment before standing up and declaring it’s time to leave for Lokston.  Still humming the general theme they all go downstairs and swing onto horses waiting in the courtyard, your own are waiting for you too. There is no ceremony given it is late at night and most of the army is asleep or at least in their tents save for the dots of torch light hefting watchmen passing in a series of overlapping circles around the boundary. The Earl of Dulmorth kisses his wife, slaps the scar faced man on the shoulder and rides off down the main road through the town and out of the castle walls hush each other as occasional refrains break out. Waiting at a fork in the main road is the Queen and a collection of about eighty knights and possibly twice that of the regular mounted soldiery that came with you from Ecthesis. The forces are a small guard to accompany the Queen on her journey. Despite being admonished for making her wait the Earl of Dulmorth asks permission to double the forces but the Queen declines firmly. They are traveling to meeting of the nobility in an attempt to end the conflict before any blood is spilled.

---

The trip is ordinary for the first six days over which good distance is made. It’s still slower going than independent travel but with substantially smaller numbers in tow much faster than the whole army marching. The Earl’s divvy is slightly more densely habited than Ecthesis but not substantially, you pass through numerous well-tended hamlets and peaceful small townships uneventfully even though the majority of your trip is supposedly either through enemy territory or at best neutral land. The only remarkable thing you saw was during the second day when Hatheril Castle was off on a distant hillside, you couldn’t make out any details but overheard that the banners flying from it would be the Queen’s after the enemy had abandoned it without battle during the night you arrived at Dulmorth. On the sixth night camp is made just past the border between the Earl’s Divy and the lands administrated by Lokston, the weather is getting ever colder and it rained most of the last few days.

The seventh day dawned a little differently.

You are awoken in the pre-dawn grey of the very early morning by the sounds of rather a lot of shouting in the camp, as the party has been traveling lighter both of you have been sharing a tent. Between the two of you the word “attack” is picked up several times and you dress and step out as quickly as you can. It’s frosty without any sunlight to warm you up and you can see your own breah. The first thing you notice is a huge plume of smoke rising from to the south. You camped in a woodland clearing off the main road last night so you can’t see what is burning. At a very good guess you would say it was the market town of Cresthill that you passed through yesterday late afternoon. Soon everyone is outside their tents, armoured knights running for their horses, servants fervently trying to pack things away, sergeants bellowing soldiery out of beds and into formations and so on. Most importantly the Queen is outside of her tent dressed in her traveling clothes and thick furs with two ladies in waiting. She looks questioningly at the Earl of Dulmorth who has just come roaring out of his tent trailing a pack of squires trying to finish putting his armour on. You are ideally place then to hear the following exchange:

Queen: What’s happened?
Dulmorth: Stop messing with the clasp just push it shut first then tie it off
Beasly: *In conference with a scout* Cresthill is under attack by a small force that came from the South-Eastern foothills.
Dulmorth: No that’s the dress helm stupid boy, I can hardly see out the damn thing and its soft as a feather bed, you want to get your lord killed?
Queen: Bandits? Rebels? Orc? How many?
Dulmorth: Give it here you wretch, you have to twist it like thi-urgh
Beasly: No more than a hundred, a scouting force at most. They are flying the banners of Kaling and …Hatheril
Dulmorth: *Unintelligible roar* Blessed be Neumia for this gift, I’ll have them you see if I don’t. Sound the muster! Bring me my mace! Chiswick! A horse!
The Earl of Dulmorth strides off and the others look to the Queen.
Queen: Go save the townsfolk you can, withdraw if a larger force arrives, you will have to drag the Earl back. Go
Collectively: Yes your highness
and they head off at a run after the Earl.

---

Half an hour passes with the camp being fervently disassembled even the Queen, the elderly Baron of Lepton and the guard of twenty junior knights pitch in. In almost record time the essentials are on one wagon or another and everyone is mounting up when there is a sharp yelp followed by a dull thud. The knight walking the Queen’s horse to her has fallen off his own steed and is lying face down in the mud with an arrow protruding from his neck. Servants are running after the bolting horses when suddenly everything is deadly chaos, a group of armed men erupt from the eastern treeline and charge headlong at the knights that just have time to draw steel before the enemy is on them. The melee breaks down immediately with the enemy in amongst those still on foot, each knight is quickly engaged in a deadly personal combat with at least one assailant though some are fending off up to three. The few knights that managed to mount spur their horses free of the brawl and thunder off into the woods in pursuit of a group of archers at the forest edge as directed by the Baron of Lepton who then yells “The Queen! Save the Queen, get her out of here!” to the world in general before turning to stab one man in the face and subsequently getting dragged from his horse. Three of the knights that had been at the back run over and stand shoulder to shoulder with raised shields to make a defensive circle around their monarch, stepping her away from the fighting. A handful of servants with nothing more than daggers and whatever heavy objects they feel they can heft as weapons join them.

You are just about to spring into whatever action you were going to take when a strangely dressed figure steps out from behind a tree and throws something at the group around the Queen. The new assailant is head to foot in a tight black cloth tunic that has a strange hood leaving only a slit for his eyes. The weapon he just threw was on the end of a chain and it wraps itself around the helmet of one of the knights. The brave young man has the presence of mind to drop his sword and grasp the chain because the next thing the shadowy figure does is pull on the chain with all his might beginning a tug of war between the two. One of the squires tries to disentangle the chain but quickly stops and says “It’s got a spike lodged in the armour” and a host of similarly dressed figures emerge from behind trees, a second one grabs the chain to lend his strength to pulling the knight down. This is countered by the squire grabbing the chain but slightly muffled by the enclosed helmet the noosed man shouts for his comrades to get the Queen away. Breaking into a jog the group sweeps you up as they head away from both the skirmish and the black clad men.  You make the trees just as the majority of the unengaged attackers race with uncanny speed to catch up. It’s another confused mess as people are forced to stop and defend themselves during the dash through the underbrush. After a minute of tumbling up and down verges and over shrubbery you find yourselves in surprising quiet, having made the distance for whatever fighting is still going on to be a faint background noise. Just yourselves, the Queen and one remaining knight have manged to keep going and you all pull up to gather when you realise there is no immediate pursuit.

You get a paltry few seconds to catch your breath before the knight that was leaning up against a tree chokes once and slowly keels over, behind him is standing a slightly different version of the black clad figures, he is wearing an Orange Belt and an embroidered leather chest piece. Most importantly his hands are billowing smoke from blue fires he holds in his hands that he raises to his chest in turn and seems to push inside himself while exhaling loudly through a clench jaw. He seems to radiate a palpable aura of death, not as a threat but as an abstract concept, somehow his presence has recalled to the front of your mind the fact that you will at some point cease to exist and it locks everything else out of your mind.

Raising his right arm and pointing his first two fingers at Valerian specifically he advances towards the rest of your group [Language unknown: “Verconthu stndos Icaatilat nd Icaredure, P u ar paen wit ni heer ss artsanstr”]

((Can both of you please roll a DC 14 Wisdom save against fear))
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:03, Tue 26 Apr 2016.

This message was last edited by the GM at 12:02, Sun 10 Sept 2017.

Those few that found you call for aid by use of horns, there is no immediate threat of enemies arriving before allies it is explained and the blood splattered here and there on their armour makes you think they would probably be well informed on that score. A party of ten common soldiers arrive first followed quickly by another group then another till some fifty or sixty knights, lords and soldiers are gathered close by making the little clearing and the surrounding woods suddenly feel very crowded. There is a great noise of relief and joy that the Queen has been found unharmed, you can hear the message being taken up and shouted all around the surrounding trees no doubt in a chain back to wagons. For each of her warriors that approach her as though a saint she responds to lord and commoner alike in a pragmatic way that she is unharmed and thankful for their concern and the protection and sacrifice of her followers and friends. She calls for a stretcher to be brought for Valerian and the fallen knight because no one else seems to be doing it. Covered more than any other in the multitudinous stains collected at the thick of a melee the Earl of Dulmorth as a man of great passions makes a noticeable late arrival at the scene by barging to the fore, thrusting this sword into the hands of a guardsman and embracing the Queen in a colossal bear hug which for it’s good intent her dignity does not protest. When released again she declares herself quiet alright with a finality in her tone suggesting she has had quiet enough of the fawning.  While the unconscious Valerian would be very familiar with the concept it is probably the first time that Queen and the far wandering Drast has come across the habit of large groups of fighting men to gravitate to intense emotion in the hours either side of their violence business, the Queen is a form of talisman to these men while in your homeland such an idea is far less prevalent given the nature of wizarding wars as direct contests between individuals or small groups via arcane duels in the place of armies that play a secondary role at best.

So the fallen are taken up and born back along with your captive. The latter is gagged and thoroughly tied then chained as per the instructions of Drast while the former two are placed carefully inside one of the covered wagons that have been given over to the immobile wounded. The walk back to the old campground wasn’t as long as you felt it had been in the heat of running for your life from the attack but Drast catches the Queen staring thoughtfully at him with one hand resting on Valerian’s chest to keep is folded arms in place and the other touching the amulet about her necklace. When they are lifting Valerian into the makeshift cot you notice that the man leaning over the other wounded occupant in this wagon is the Baron of Beasly, he gingerly removes the last piece of the helm from the knight and you are reminded how young some of these outwardly fearsome metal clad knights are. Heavy armour adds a certain span and a little extra height to the wearer and he was already a strapping lad by any definition but the fresh face underneath that curly hair was almost certainly a year or two away from twenty at most. The Baron leans down with a tense expression putting his ear to the youth’s lips before sitting back up with a sigh of relief that seems to deflate a great tension from him. Noticing your gaze he gives a brief smile and explains “My son, he still breaths. Thanks to you both” before laying a hand on Drast’s shoulder to communicate a sentiment he can’t find words for and climbing out. Despite the fact there had been a battle and how poorly things seemed to have gone during the ambush with the terrible feeling of danger you had personally experienced there are remarkably few casualties to the extent that no one had died, a few unfortunate infantry had been seriously wounded but no one had been killed in the fighting that had been brutal but short. That sudden panic was probably not natural it occurs to you and a fact that gets stored away from later consideration.  Valerian wakes from the stupor the attack had left him in but remains in the comfortably swaying cot to recover his strength and quickly falls into a deep sleep again.

Shortly after everyone is accounted for the force is on the move again, heading north along the road, having checked that Valerian is securely resting Drast rides along the column to reach the lords and notices the baggage train had grown. When you draw up next to the lords they have just started a report to the Queen.

Dulmorth “Wasn’t much fight in them your highness, couldn’t fathom what they were about with all the burning and btuchering the villagers then retreating just out of a good charge distance when we drew up, they just abandoned any of ‘em that we caught. Led us on a merry little chase.”
Lepton who has his arm in a sling and removed most of his armour says“That was the point! Those cowardly curs. They knew the Queen would feel obligated to defend Cresthill and wanted their chance to end the war in their dishonourable way”
Dulmorth joins in the murmurs of agreement then says “Well we caught the filth! Mething and Bodem looped up behind them and we trapped ‘em in the square. If any bastard slipped the net it’s only because we heard the call from the baggage train and came back quick as boiled asparagus to find their little ambush.”
Lepton “Aaaaaaah but my boys and I had seen them off before yeh got back Roger. They didn’t last long, ran off as soon as they realised we’d stand to a fight, didn’t they lad?“ and he nudges a young knight riding next to him who had presumably done something heroic but who modestly declines to comment.
Dulmorth “True enough, the lads did a man’s job of it today and we owe a lot to them and our guests” he raises a water skin he had been sipping from in your direction as he notices your presence again to general noises of approval from the others.
The Queen chimes in “More than we can understand I’d warrant. How is Valerian recovering, I worry for what that man’s black arts did to him.

((OOC: They are talking to Drast here and whatever conversation results from your response will go here and be followed by as much of the following as is valid))

---

You all ride on in quiet for a little bit and then the Baron of Mething say “Well they may have burnt half the town down but at least most of the people could be saved from their treacherous blades.”
Beasly “True enough and they will be safe enough to take the road to Lokston for refuge but it begs the question of where we are to head. Our scouts saw a much larger force on the move from the south-east. They can only have come this far north to secure the Queen should their plot have succeeded and chase us off north, further away from our main force”
Dulmorth “Bah! Once I’d have learned what they were about while we stopped their slaughtering I’d have chased the scum right into the heart of their army and lopped of Hatheril’s head while I was there”
Beasly “Quiet possibly but regardless the road south to our own ranks is still cut even if they don’t have their prize to bait us into charging their whole army. Should we even follow the road north? We might race them for Chepstow and the road to CaerLok or across country straight for Lokston but we’d have to leave the wounded and the baggage here.” And there is an uncomfortable silence, it may end up proving necessary but they don’t seem to care for the idea or their situation in general.
Lepton “What little honour is to them that they use an offer to end this dispute peaceably to try something so knavish. Should we even make Lokston would they dare to besiege that holy place?”
The Queen “We won’t be stopping long enough to give them the chance, Cresthill was burnt because we camped to close to it and I won’t risk Lokston on the good auspices of evil men and foreign assassins. We will sail as soon as we can across the lake for CaerLok and send word to your son. ”
Dulmorth “Mmmh but I don’t trust those priests. They’ve always muttered into their sleeves about unclear signs when asked to declare and I could see them closing the port rather than let us sail away and risk the wrath of the rebel army in our wake. I’d rather head for the Berrywine* and seize a ship for us to sail down to the sea and round to the Ashebay, right past Dalham and the Kingsfort. They’d be sniffing around for us up here while we float on past. Ha!” it taken as a joke and there follows a bit of jovial talk about a disguise being needed and the Earl dressed as a great bearded washerwoman and the Queen with a colossal hat and pipe dressed as the captain of the most highly armed fishing vessel ever to terrorise the Silver Sea trout stock.

---

Camp is made late that night despite the battle in the morning as the men press on till there remain only a few hours to rest before the sun rises again. They risk no fires and have the good fortune of a dry and unseasonably warm night so that they can get away without setting up tents and thus sleep rough with just canvas draped over a rope between a tent poles to wall off direct wind.


Valerian wakes late in the night after a full day of rest feeling much better than the few moments of hazy consciousness he experienced in the morning when they loaded him on the wagon. Strong enough to not just sit up in bed but to have stood up if the ceiling had of been tall enough. Things are particularly cramped in the wagon, the armour that had been stripped off the two wounded occupant had been piled at one end and the Baron of Beasly was sitting on a stool in the middle gangway facing his son’s bed. He was dozing but Valerian’s movements wake him too and while you dig out your armour from the pile and put it on ((assuming you want to do that)) he checks his boy again. When you climb out of the wagon he joins you and is clearly a very worried man “His breathing is steady and we’ve checked him for cuts or bruises but there’s nothing. He just won’t wake up”

*The large river that flows down from the mountains between the Berrylands and the gift of Lokston then down between the Earl’s Divy and the Kingsland. It is on the far right of the map further up this thread.
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:39, Sat 09 Sept 2017.

Drast stays a little apart from this, using the relative solitude to reflect on the days events.




As the baron turns away, Drast asks quietly, so as to not disturbe the sleeping/unconscious occupants "I'm glad he still lives. Do we know anything about who the attackers were? Have we got any information from the assassin?"
After he responds
"Would you let me know when he is to be interrogated. I wish to listen in, and perhaps ask a few questions of my own."




Drast nods his head to Dulmorth in recognition of the comment, as a way of replying.





Drast responds "Nothing a good long rest can't fix I think. Any lingering residue of the assassin's power seems to be fading quickly. I'm afraid I know little of those arts however so my assessment is little more than educated guesstimates. I have read that one can gain great martial power by harnessing the inner strength of the body and mind and channeling that into the martial arts, but have never seen it before myself." Drast considers for a moment "Up until now, that is."




Drast pauses for a moment, considering his words "I believe destiny can find you whomever you are or wherever you may go. Prophecy, however, is a fickle thing. I met a man once, every prophet he spoke to told him the same thing."He had a great destiny, and his great deed would be remembered throughout the land." His magical power was so potent it practically swirled around him like a hurricane. After hearing about his destiny, the son believed himself unbeatable, and to be above the rest of humanity. His father as well was a great mage, who had conquered death itself with the power of his magic. In his undeath his mind had become twisted and he sought to do the same to the denizens of city he ruled. The son's *great* destiny came to fruition when a neighbouring kingdom's lord found out about his father's plan. They sent seven thousand and seven of the kingdom's mages to kill his father and take the city. The son decided he could defeat the army single handedly. He opened the city gates, and strode out to meet them, one man against thousands. He decided to summon death itself on the army. No one really knows what happened, but needless to say the spell did not have it's intended effect." Drast pauses again, taking a long toke of his pipe. "It failed, and the entire city and approaching army died out to the last man, father and son included. To this day no one still travels there, and no one knows quite what caused all the death. Nevertheless I learnt from that tale to put little faith in destiny or prophecy truth be told."




Drast finds Valerian after speaking to the queen, and finds a quiet area where he would not be overheard.
Speaking in quiet tones, Drast spoke "The assassin we defeated; spoke Marian, didn't he. What did he say to you?"

After hearing that the Barons son yet lives Valerian asks
"Have you interrogated the attacker? It is likely he might know of a cure for whatever it is that he has done."

Whatever the answer Valerian will seek permission to interrogate the death monk from the queen saying

"The assassin spoke Marian with a Border Kingdom's accent it may be that he was of the same province that the Third so recently reclaimed. We know that the regent intended to hire troops from that area."



Whenever it is that Drast catches up with him Valerian replies
"The assassin spoke Marian poorly, it seems he was from the Border Kingdoms. I'm hoping that an interrogation will teach us more."

Drast catches up with Valerian not long before you find the Queen and you are given full permission to interrogate the prisoner as you see fit. They have tried briefly to speak to him under the threat of violence but he has said nothing. It is left to your discretion if you will need any of her men present or if you wish to speak to him in private, largely they are considering him: your prisoner.

You find him sitting cross legged on the muddy ground at the back of a baggage cart to which they have attached the chains which are binding his arms very tightly to his back. Apart from the entangled limbs he is clearly in some sort of pose from his order as he had his eyes closed and was rocking ever so slightly back and forth while humming faintly through the gag that is tied about his face. They have pulled back his hood and revealed that he has a shaved head with several words tattooed on his skull (and presumably in other places) in a script you have never seen.

When you approach he opens his eyes which seem as sharp and deadly as ever even if there are still raw cuts across his cheeks and his clothes are still somewhat crispy. He says nothing.

After removing his gag Valerian talks to the man in Marian


He doesn't wait for a response before sighing and continuing
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:01, Tue 07 June 2016.

He stares at you in a trailing silence long enough to make you think he isn't going to answer you before quietly saying "" he shrugs ""

Valerian looks affronted at the suggestion that he might have 'new' loyalties "" the Marian changes tack "."

The man has been making slight, slow movements with his shoulders while you have been talking, uncomfortable fidgeting in the chains you thought but he makes a final more violent jerk of his arms and gives a murmur of approval as you hear the chains that bound him drop to the ground. He remains sitting cross legged as he slowly stretches his now unbound arms. After clicking his shoulders he places his palms together and makes a short sitting bow in Valerian's direction he says "[Language unknown: It trni, Wh ou beelekol]" in response to whatever action you and any observing guards had begun to taken at him having freed himself.

In a lithe motion he rises vertically to his feet from the cross legged stance without leaning on anything or bending over. He makes a longer bow to Valerian then takes a very deep breath extending his arms out in front of himself with the hand held in a manner that reminds him of what little he has seen of Marian priests and mystics. After a brief martial yell in lighting fast motion he pulls his arms back and slaps himself across his own chest with both palms and throws his arms back behind him all the while exhaling through a clenched jaw making a deep hissing sound. When he is out of breath he doubles over as if he has been kicked in the gut.


He stays bent over for a few minuets gulping in air as if he had just run a marathon but eventually stands back up to bow once again to Valerian. When he speaks again it is not just far more fluid, thought somewhat hoarse, than it had been but he has a new accent and for all his cheek it sounds like a carbon copy of Valerian's take on the Marian imperial dialect down to every pitch.

"[Language unknown: Elweet iv Andhisard, n ionencera essel stiratugh na ere noati oun. Elpr iveiad ee einc ulfieeli.]" he takes one more meditative deep breath before "[Language unknown: Eenersnte strsanles hasund'artlinrattho Di naetol ssic ng omeau fortheast tersomnotrea usort redournteing ourectove n terconpre om waserewit mosi Ne&#inul&#his t&#dip u thatedugh offor fohou asle ncelinart ie ri ver caol. Oneoulwil p tedencion ine siwawhiv n eihat eeout tervirenc itma werlarnother t hat m tra ut T vor koronepre foel adarhate u tioonsstrtra nce na reek Mi outnteect ame arie san. Io os alpowa a poweit ho osdihoiver ri heri kor k e wantin wilol a natafo K ar uronan pa i taonos t unof thahasith ereyindin som tioouroutder thul rieret elntesng a ast ek. Tadi he chstr i ol ted Larouness]" he bows again.

Valerian looks at him and thinks for a moment ""

When the ((totally not death-monk ninja)) has answered Valerian nods sharply and says ""

The ((totally not death-monk ninja)) makes a point of holding eye contact very carefully with you when he says [Language unknown: Eeus m hore fitostck ith Ic plent ulthta. Ut atihatard pril wa dayainint. Plica ingndeles esive a somaveany, sheersund ni ndekfoal.]

He pauses a moment after you have asked him of the boy and then nods to confirm he is moving on to a new topic.

[Language unknown: N to poei ndeta rom tick ai toon re, mo host ul ee ure. Encdaypre pares singll ntewerame nde chei hielee ng lin wite il menectenc for nti M redon al nti al erol m men ol cepoce ie secewi. Oul mi ha, ofisur ratei nceestble.

O ave was pl ur st i, roos t tedev ev pracmo lehi be ametedant om. Nc sathni ll artameven li dinaei the ca romho of for ic butounest ad etioli venthient. Ul prntwa wasticcon he fincha ivel iouhaswhi men p ll helese. Is itcael reun icne hifipo a ulich K&#venwet&#il m&#whhim en wit seom ounel an ri m terureure.] He is of course talking figuratively since he is not in any chains anymore.
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:56, Wed 21 Sept 2016.

In reply to DM (msg # 49):



Valerian stands bows as captor to prisoner and heads to find the Queen and the boy's father. Once he has got them together he bows to both.

"I have spoken to the assassin. He has been remarkably frank about somethings and elusive about others. It seems the attack was ordered in revenge for the death of some soldiers. He has not informed me who did the ordering, but he called him General."

Valerian pauses, he looks sympathetically towards Lord Dulmorth and continues.

"There are, as I'm sure you know, ways to make people talk. I have refrained from using them for two reasons, firstly the prisoner is a professional, I'm almost certain that any torture that we attempt will kill him before he reveals anything of worth. Secondly, he's the only one who can save your son my lord. He has offered to reverse what he has done to your son in exchange for his freedom. I believe that this is probably the only chance he has."

At this Valerian waits for a response from both the Queen and the Lord
This message was last edited by the player at 20:52, Wed 21 Sept 2016.

As you leave him the prisoner sits back down into his cross legged pose and closes his eyes.

You find the Queen with the Baron of Beasley quietly sitting on the bed Valerian had recently vacated, they are mopping the brow of the baron's son who is looking very pale and barley sipping in narrow breaths. When you tell them what you have found out the baron looks up at the Queen and though his eyes have an unspoken pleading to them there is a set resolve to his expression, his feelings are clear but he has immediately accepted that it is not his decision to make.

She is silent under the gaze of those assembled for no more than a second of two before shaking her head "Your son's life is of far more worth than anything this assassin could tell me. I am well aware there are many men who would have me dead or captured and enough of them have proven so unworthy it hardly shocks me anymore that they have hired mercenaries to do their cowardly work. Fortunately so far for every low soul they can buy from beyond the border I have been able to rely on the freely given aid of foreign friends. Drast has already foiled one attempt and today again they failed, clearly I can be no safer than here amidst my warriors and allies than at any other place even were we not cut off from the bulk of our forces and I was free to travel. IF they do not already know their plot has failed they soon will and he will have learnt little the enemy can't already have known to lay the first trap. No I do not care who this General is and I find the risk of letting one failed assailant go free worth buying the life of a knight that has already proved himself willing to die in battle for me"

Beasley is visibly relived as he turns to you to say "If you can make that villain undo whatever black spell he has on my son..." he has already been unable to speak his thanks for your service to his progeny before and hits the same stumbling block again trailing off in an expressive silence.

((I assume you do return as promised to the prisoner who stands again at your comming and inform him a deal is struck, feel free to elaborate on how you do this))#

When you are done he nods his head and launches directly into what will have to be done "[Language unknown: Si Butlesica n a setter'ourver tincomrea, E ntcach erweac iciv an unmeom n nte ess llmock stwer unla i vermi illthiwil ichlo ecmo t kor dernd. U oer olng amemanect prodiness te ma ich tr taat. Butichove meio icant conomeain a con hi ta ortdereve olng tackol re relin iv lar ersenthas k manereillthi k roinsi encho poulth i onnili. K laril nofota wi m fondit a il ckmahi lo arpe pl ch ameandrom ek n nde nde.

Ersicadinhatver ers sares ckaris ti witoeeet ma ar ta melo. Son outbe it ngast t celes u atst eraineticnte e nc acac font ck wasin er daywerdayear si foernt isosev ca tioartate ceusmi. Ul wi leloca ntiverpre ndtha a ha verineout aiicet ovetereen ri ntant elpeun k artfi ekenc ngoffoin tioeraderenc dile thowhiugh ratom ortlarrat e n leosio. On t et u his itth ei eauughect a ho rionos korwh andreater erehe pona ouswasday. Ei ca achena thathasan ekol any p neceni ec ntstr nteand-ecters ulncmo, prteca comsetain realno meustr et deric wasshelin pr st whisoncom. N hore ndure ecut nonipe un forencith wi en n in untrindi om al, me nedi ee esstedeen es fi pomech we estoek herareeen o st plti re erael aithel.

Ri notch urouta ine k noterslin wepete.]

and he closes his eyes and begins to chant quietly.

You glance heavenward and estimate there are about six hours before sunlight.
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:30, Wed 21 Sept 2016.

Valerian returns to the tent and hands over the eagle to the monk.

You find the robed figure where he had been, sat cross-legged behind the wagon he had previously been chained too, there are four footman around him watching him but he doesn’t appear to notice as he mumbles away rhythmically in a language you don’t understand. While you have been away in the forest they have brought the young knight out on a litter and an empty one sits beside it. In between the makeshift two beds a stone has been placed with an intricate pattern drawn in red. Evidently the monk has been busy while you were away. Standing by the side of the bed is Baron Lepton with a companionable arm on the shoulder of Baron Beasley who is sitting on a stool at the side of the comatose young man. The father rises as you draw near and gives you a single nod and walks away with a miserable expression on his face despite Lepton’s encouragement that it will all work out fine. Clearly he doesn’t want to watch whatever is about to happen. A man approaches with a drawn sword held tightly in his hand and a foul expression. You don’t know his name but you remember him to be Beasley’s elder son, he pulls you up short before you approach the monk to say
“Tell him that I will stand behind him while he does his black arts and should he play us false or any more harm come to my brother I will happily thrust my sword through his back and cut his cowards head from his shoulders” And then drops his hand with a nod to the guards to let you approach the last few steps.

When you inform the Monk you have brought him the animal he asked for he points at the rock without opening his eyes and stays seated and chanting. Just as you are finished securing the cord you have bound the fractious bird’s feet with to a stake in the ground the shadowy figure rises to his feet in that fluid motion of his “[Language unknown: N Ur, p isermo whrat fo, t ofar ameatiare]” and then he holds an open palm towards the spare bed “[Language unknown: Aiart fi ingis llprli thoereoer reaar halaos encterdin. Ouil icol ereureyin p sonoreenc at prar evis ove oer t weout anheic adear ckbut vor a wire ioeielre not an ivilwhad. Lat li inul rius oulndecon ive ilek st arfond neusof i olss. Ai P eauhatine itpre. Llhour butch chos beonadnato tate aveal e hisul in poioiv laeepe eiut rutac linstitin eemo tharesati di. Ticicheve nti inepr and ivof thoencven liol betiev onehisoutare ckin. Ectipo le ma out ithnceone no ndeessntisom tiev alsi waunch ichorecon din ugh n ticatiour. Larwasles ticreaich ear ectlatset i man. Ertr hi M are ckom vir erssheers hi ect taev nde ame we iouencich ol hi ekfito earwhewil ion ticentnce osofnt o out ectsomson atitel. Ol teos tic fo strstrson, O wh undma cesiek lesof wh ain ac antiv whiek romreaard acwas u wisa wheblehis sonentart o est]”

Assuming you lie down as he asks he places his clenched right fist in the open palm of his left hand in a salute to you and crushes a small purple orb produced from his belt under your nose making you almost instantly fall into a dreaming sleep.



Simultaneously Valerian and the young knight gasp and rocket up into a sitting position to hack and cough and gulp in more air as though they had been held underwater for the past few minuet rather than lying down.

The Monk is one again seated cross-legged on the floor, both forefingers curled to touch the thumb and the back of his each wrist resting on each knee and his eyes closed in a serene expression.
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:39, Fri 11 Nov 2016.

After regaining his breath Valerian looks around him and says in the common tongue

"That was unpleasant" Shaking himself he walks over to the young knight and clasps his hand saying, "welcome back to the land of the living, I'm sure your family has much to say to you."

With that he gestures Baron Beasley and the elder son over saying "The Monk has been true to his word, the young man lives. I'm sure all of us can give you some privacy for your reunion."

Turning to the monk Valerian slips into his mother tongue.


With this he gestures to the Monk and to any other spectators so that they may give the Beasleys some privacy.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:39, Fri 11 Nov 2016.

The younger knight seems to have had a worse time of whatever ‘unpleasant’ thing it was that just happened at least on a physical level as he is still coughing terribly as you clasp his hand. He manages to hold it all in when you clasp arms and gives you a nod before another fit of coughing takes him. The Beasley’s both run over to the cot and embrace their youngest, a call for water goes out, the father grips your shoulder briefly as you rise to leave and nods.

When you walk away the Monk rises and follows you a few paces until you appear to be out of earshot of everyone “[Language unknown: Yinnotrea whewasset ce whce wertheich hi acble unpaur fifipa. A ear ich for entami no ereha ro oueipe na pl o, il acpeha n enc whmiha u manaan lo laravemenwhe lin allndewit ivck ngch peerck diadpl iotass tio po ilte der. M cafoou oul pr whebe whlinc foomwhst icstin napro chpo miiona rat ich en t erweil o outeic ev wil n rea ove llofll k. Ti adpl ek u us oulomewer dayinthou erman icdiil ortng icaie Nt&#proussi&#rutch pr&#kortrho aiceur utro ekngpo to laivis ashe, has ecusas m pr tondch omestaast wasie di eveatidereen ofhato. Etnti ble nti e foos pradwh tinun ch onsiveome witri sanwertio ol artallore he. Nele hat Tahas Ersrattha ekoun liwe’k whlame ai le ee n aibewi heati? Stivirtio Adwhne”] he bows and walks away into the surrounding forests.

11:19, Today: DM, on behalf of Wizard Drast, rolled 14 using 1d20+2. Because i'm a lazy bitch.

It’s the day after the battle. A chilly day with thankfully clear autumn skies.

---

All told it was a minor battle of no more than 600 men contesting a convenient passage over a river, both of you have seen greater losses of life in your time for more important things. Valerian has never seen a magically appearing and vanishing dwarf however, he will have to ask Dain about that the next time he sees him… if the dwarf ever comes back from his trip to Numorea.

The fighting had come to a swift and brutal end when the final barricade had been thrown over the edge and the cavalry charged the enemy forces. A particularly well aimed spear throw from the elderly Baron of Lepton caught the nominal Captain from the Capital at the bottom of the throat, lifting the man clear off his feet as the weapon buried itself in his upper torso. Without even the minimal authority he had offered to provide discipline the militia broke almost as soon as the charge struck home on the front lines and the mercenaries having lost all senior officers followed suit quickly after when it became apparent the battle was lost and the reserve wasn’t advancing to support them. Those that couldn’t escape the advancing mounted warriors in the confusion were part butchered and part crushed under hoof as the cavalry gained the other side to engage what little resistance the reserve could muster. The guards then set off into the surrounding woods and fields to chase down and capture the fleeing enemy. Half an hour later the recall was sounded and the returning pursuit brought with it some one hundred and sixty surrendered captives. After the prisoners were put to work piling the enemy dead and the fallen and wounded allies had been collected, the supply train was brought across the river. As promised the Queen had ridden in the cavalry but she had been at the centre of the pack and never had cause to use her weapons in anger. The Baron of Lepton had seen to it that the reigns of her horse were caught in the brief melee on the far side of the bridge to prevent any suggestion of her being part of the chase. As was apparently customary, being technically the senior commander on the field, she was proffered the defeated (and dead) commander’s sword amidst much cheering by the Earl of Dulmorth to signify the battle was won. It had been a bloody affair, though heavily armoured the knights that had attacked the bridge on foot were to a man wounded in some fashion and weary but far more gruesome was the damage they had inflicted on the comparatively lightly protected enemy in the melee. The close confines had left little room for mercy and in the aftermath a horse did more than a little damage when it rode over an already wounded body unable to get out of the way. At a rough count not far under three hundred enemy dead were piled up.

The captured enemy weapons that did not find new homes with the victorious were broken as far as was possible within and hour and put on rafts hastily made from the timbers that had been made ready for use in barricades. Anything left that wouldn’t fit was just thrown into the river. The armour was left on the bodies along with any personal effects and when the Queen’s forces were ready to move off they left behind the disarmed prisoners to look to the care of the enemy dead and wounded. Concerned over the large enemy force known to be following a day or so behind and the likelihood of the more enemy forces being in the area to block the last stretched of the road to Lokston at other locations the army pushed on till nightfall to camp no more than half a day’s travel from the city. On the principle that if there were enemies in the country nearby then they would spot the Queen’s forces regardless all the normal fires were lit with a few extra to give what medical expertise was on hand all the possible light to work with. By midnight all those that could be helped were and the death toll was remarkably light. Eighteen of the guard had been killed and five given grievous wounds while nineteen of the knights had been lost, mostly to ranged fire. At the evening feast a solemn toast was made by the Queen to their honour and all sung a prayer to the spirits wishing them to marshal the souls of the dead to a worthy resting place. Valerian of course knows a very similar prayer though the Marian version focused more on the central unborn demiurge from the Imperial cult, it feels odd to mouth the words with the missing words and verses. Most are to their beds afterwards with an early start planned as none are quite sure on if they will find sanctuary at Lokston or a city already in the hands of the regent’s forces.

During the night a brawl broke out between several drunk knights and the newly conscripted mercenaries from the most recently reconquered border territory. The likely correct assumption seemed to be that the wickedly effective repeating crossbows had likely been responsible for a number of deaths in the Royal forces. The knights were not abundantly interested in the fact that the change in where they pointed their weapons had probably killed at least twice as many of the enemy and helped turned what could have still been a gruelling battle for potentially bogged down cavalry into a total rout. The timely arrival of Valerian prevented it going much beyond a lot of shouting and a few punches.

---

Lokston is before you at long last.
((Roll Religion for general information about the city))

Having travelled the main road you passed a number of farmsteads and through two quiet villages to get here. None descript places of modest but not affluent living in the same style as can be found across the length and breadth of the Aravigian countryside. What locals as can be seen when you pass by are polite and curious but are neither scowling at you nor cheering your presence. The woodland is mostly well tended on either side of the road where it has not been cleared for fields but there is a resurgence of foliage in the last valley before the city itself as though the populace was loath to interfere with the area. The first thing that catches the eye is the vast expanse of Aquaephrace Lake stretching off to the Eastern and Southern horizon. During your first westward crossing of Aravigia you took the Kings Highway, a well-established road that runs along the south of the kingdom linking the nation’s ports between the major population centres of the Capital and Ecthesis. This is the first time you have seen the lake which from where you stand almost looks like an inland sea. The broad Numorean River drains into the lake basin from the North having cut a path through the rocks to leave a wide cannon snaking away into the highlands. You are approaching the lake from the North East with the main road leading directly up to the high gateway of a city nestled in the curve between the river mouth and the lake. It is a walled city of white stone sitting on several layers of the Cliffside. At a distance it looks like all of the buildings are made of the same material but a second glance you can spot a multitude of much smaller buildings crowded into the spaces between the high walls and the huge towers they link. At the highest point of the cliff is the city’s two tallest towers which are crowned with domed roofs supported by Ionic columns.

The gates are open and unguarded save for two men in the simple robes of cult priests, they welcome and wish peace to each man as he passes through the threshold which leaves them partially out of breath by the end of the line. The city itself has a tranquil atmosphere with the populace appearing by their attire as being not that much less modest in their living than the villagers though they are equal in having much the same polite, curious and uncommitted reaction to your presence as the villagers had to the large number of heavily armed and not entirely fresh men riding into their city. A large and apparently otherwise rarely used public square is offered up as a place for the Queen’s host to assemble and organise themselves.

You have the freedom of the city which is physically large though not fully populated and peaceful. Let me know if there are any locations you want to head to or things you would like to look for in a the market or similar.
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:19, Sat 09 Sept 2017.

Valerian agrees politely with the Earl and says

"I'll separate the Third Army from your Queen's forces, and follow a day or so later. We'll barrack them separately in the city as well. I can see us needing all the men we can get if the situation in Lockston requires more than just talking. Before that though, I'd like to say, your knights fought well, very well considering."


As the Queen's camp breaks up the next day Valerian orders his troops to remain behind and spends the rest of the day getting to know them and arranging for some Third Army insignia or banners to be made.

Upon arriving in Lockston, I request barracks space separate from the Queen's forces and from the Regent's forces from the priests who meet us (if we get the same reception as the Queen's Army). Then parade the troops to whatever location we have been given before going to look for the various delegations.



18:56, Today: Valerian Hawke rolled 2 using 1d20+1 with rolls of 1.  Knowledge religion. I apparently know fuck all about Lockston (which is fair enough I guess :D )
This message was last edited by the GM at 10:01, Thu 02 Feb 2017.

You camp out on the road side and spend some time with the fifty eight men that you have just conscripted into the third army. While you hear every man’s name at least once (roll INT to try and remember them all) and a handful of personal details from the leaders you find out that these expatriated mercenaries all have one common thread. They all lost at least half the male members of their family to their cities war with the Marian Empire, more specifically with the third army you have drafted them into. They are not particularly resentful of the Marian Empire however, some are positively relieved to now be at least technically part of the conquering army. Their Captain Quintus Lo speaks for them on the matter
“What happened, happened. What is, is. The reasons and causes of a war are for the nobility to create and loses are theirs to lament over when it is all done. We are just soldiers, not all by choice but it is what we are.”
Quite how far you trust this soldierly philosophy for their acceptance of the death of their family members is up to you but given you are alone in their company there is no reason for them to fear punishment if they do not appease you. Indeed given it is one of their men tending to your wounds they could just as easily march away and leave you for dead as gut you themselves. You know part of the reason they are not exactly has angry with the Empire as they might be is the brutal methods the Kingdom’s rulers had employed to maintain control during their loosing war. One thing you had been thankful for about the otherwise bloody taking of their capital was that there was no civilian resistance and almost instant capitulation once the “Grand Princely Viceroy” had been run down to his palace cellar and slain. There had been no general massacre of the populace that your studies taught you could very easily have followed the taking of the walls.
You are told by the Captain that the defeated people had not been sure of the good behaviour of the legionaries in the dying light of the battle and when it was clear that the fight was lost several different units of survivors had taken flight and slipped out of the city with their families in the chaos. This group of mercenaries was a collection of the survivors from several such units that had gathered together in a neighbouring kingdom. Part of the local potentates bargain to allow their families to settle was for a levy of soldiers to serve as mercenaries for him to rent out to foreign powers, a not uncommon practice in the border realms. Another reason they are quite pleased to be part of your army is that should word of their conscription reach the ruler who held their family farms hostage he is very unlikely to act, for all his rage at losing the income the Captain at least thinks it is unlikely he will harm legionary families with the entire Third Army just over the border, soon to be rested and replenished from their last war and looking for an excuse to once again cover themselves in glory and plunder. The Marian Legion actually represents the best means of them extricating themselves from his control. While he will privately admit that he accepted your authority on the bridge purely out of fear of Marian vengeance should they hear of your death, he is finding more and more he likes about being a legionary.

With your permission they arrange a cathartic ceremony just before moving off to burn their old standard and each man’s pennant laying to rest the last ghost of their old kingdom for them. Unfortunately they do not have any materials to make new emblems of the legion but it is only a short walk to the city. You have barley taken ten steps from your camp when the rear-guard spots a lone horseman behind you, the Captain takes five men and approaches the new arrival to find out who he is and returns with the man’s reigns in hand and announces “A scout of the Regency forces”

---

When you arrive at the city you find the pair of monks at the still open gates still welcoming in travellers even though in the lamplight of the night that is just you and your men. They are not alone however, at least ten armed knights of the Queen’s army are seated on stools and benches around the gateway and you can see vague shadows of men milling about far overhead on the battlements. They give you a nod and allow you free passage, clearly some trusted men that are not abundantly bothered with the presence of turn coats. You do not get very far before a man comes bustling out of a door on the main street, he presses a coin into the palm of a child and tussles the boys hair before walking over to you rubbing sleep from his eyes. He is wearing priestly robes with the same emblems of the local cult that you saw on the monks by the door but his are cut from a much finer cloth and are finely embroidered. He greets you politely and informs you of the arrangements that have been made on your behalf, an unoccupied but not derelict Inn has been prepared for your private use for the duration of your stay but you will have to arrange for your own food and any other supplies you require. He leaves you at the doors of a very large coach house with a key and the promise of his return in the not exactly distant morning to bring you to the Queen in time for her meeting with the High Ecclesiastic of the cult.

Valerian nods to the knights and thanks the Monk asking where the nearest temple or shrine to Alethea is.

Before leaving to worship at the shrine Valerian hands Fen Hien 300 gold pieces saying "This is for the provisioning of the men for the next three days, along with some spending money. Tomorrow you'll need to look for rations for a fortnight's march and keep the men out of the bars used by the other two armies. I shall return shortly, use the Marian standard watch schedule."

Valerian then heads to the nearest shrine to Aletheia gives a 10GP donation before kneeling at the alter with the holy sword before him and praying for around half an hour, thanking the Spirit for her angel's gift of the sword, asking forgiveness for laxity in worship, giving thanks for the most recent battles (that with the ninja and the battle of the bridge) and asking for her guidance and wisdom in the battle tomorrow, a battle not of martial strength but of words and wisdom so that the Marian Peace may be preserved and the Heliod's will be done.

After praying Valerian heads back to the inn to catch what little sleep he can before the monk comes to take him to the High Ecclesiastic.

Drast wanders into the city proper, loosing himself in the endless streets.

Religion roll of 6.

Time passes, as Drast continues wandering around the city proper, heading in the general direction of the market albeit in a detoured manner. Without any haste, he stops from time to time, doing little more than experiencing the sights, sounds and smells of the city. A tune can be heard, hummed from the wizard as he smiles at the locals and winks at those who stop to stare at his wizardly travel attire.
He buys some fruit as he peruses the market, chatting amiably with the fruit vendor. If the vendor seems interested in conversation, he enquires further "Where are these fruits from?".  "Are they grown natively in Arravigia?" "So which of these fruits are in season?" and "What would you recommend I purchase?" as well as more general questions such as "Where's a good watering hole around here?" "How has business been?"

Drast is attempting to engage the merchant in conversation, first and foremost to garner a good impression and build rapport. Drast wants the vendor to experience how fabulously amazing he is and to enjoy and actively want to converse with Drast. Further, to try multiple fruits for little cost, to make a purchase of said fruits, to learn a bit more about the merchant, how his business is doing, and general information about the city.

Persuasion Roll "21:03, Today: Wizard Drast rolled 20 using 1d20+6."