The mist outside has completely fallen as Marabir and Falnis exit the tavern and make their way down to the guardhouse, Marabir striding along in his plate mail, Falnis padding lightly beside him in his leather. They walk in silence until they are well out of earshot of the tavern, or, more accurately, until the tavern is out of earshot of them.

"So," Marabir speaks at length, "What was it you so desperately wanted to speak to me about?"

"I would not say I was desperate, Sir Varonil," Falnis objects mildly. "But I hope you understand that I do need the letters your friend stole from me returned, along with any other possessions of mine he saw fit to appropriate. I am assuming I am not wrong in thinking he took them on your orders, and that he would-- albeit reluctantly-- return them at your request?"

"And why would I order him to return those letters, Falnis?" Marabir replies evenly, "Surely they are not essential for your 'hunting trip'."

"I assume the answer, 'because it is illegal to steal even non-essential items just because you feel like it' is not the answer you are looking for, Sir Knight?"

OOC: Dalmar Argant rolled 15 using 1d20+4.  Knowledge (Bureaucracy) Check.

"There is as much proof of my friend's theft as there is of your murder," Marabir shoots back, "Tell me, who was he? Had he wronged you, or were you simply feeling vindictive?"
This message was last edited by the player at 04:41, Thu 17 Jan 2019.

"Come now," Falnis objects. "That is a leading question: You will recall that I am very firmly not admitting that I put that crossbow bolt into him. But if I had, and if you had seen me do it the way I saw you smugly reading my private letters not ten minutes ago, I am sure we would not be having this conversation. Even you must agree there is a difference between merely suspecting me because I am a varim, and personally witnessing a crime. After all, you haven't arrested me yet."
This message was last edited by the player at 14:45, Thu 17 Jan 2019.

Marabir raises an unimpressed eyebrow at the varim.

"I may not have enough evidence to convince the rulers of Mereldinor of your guilt," he admits, "Hence I am not arresting you. I have more than enough evidence to consider myself justified in confiscating your letters."

"Very well," Falnis allows, voice hardening. "If that is how you intend to be, so be it. But do not claim later to your own rulers that I did not ask you nicely for my possessions before I resorted to less... amicable methods. Because I have now done more than enough to convince the rulers of Mereldinor, should they choose to delve into my memories, that it was you, not I, who started this feud."

With this ominous statement, the varim turns on his heel, moving towards the stables.
This message was last edited by the player at 09:41, Thu 17 Jan 2019.

Meanwhile, back inside the tavern, Aerendir (armed with three platters of stew, the largest of which he sets before himself) takes advantage of Falnis' absence to make certain facts plain to the two humans seated at the table.

"I am not sure which of you is responsible for inviting that varim to come and sit with us," he says, looking between Lyria and Nod, "but he is currently under suspicion of murdering a man not five hours ago by shooting him in the back with a crossbow, and leaving him to rot in the woods. We are short on proof, I admit, but all of the evidence points to him and it's the sort of thing his kind do. I would thank you to both make it clear to him when he returns that we are not in need of his company."
This message was last edited by the player at 09:25, Thu 17 Jan 2019.

Nod, who had been halfway through explaining to Lyria the intricacies of King Algandis III's reign, shoots Aerendir a peeved look as he seats himself.

Lyria, who looks visibly relieved to have been rescued from the coerced history lesson, nevertheless raises an eyebrow at Aerendir's warning.

"Short on proof?" she prompts, not hiding her scepticism.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:15, Thu 17 Jan 2019.

"He means that Lord Falnis Orthran is a varim and happens to possess a crossbow," Nod answers for the elf as he nevertheless begins to eat his stew hungrily, "The first fact alone is apparently enough to condemn him for murder, and the second is just a convenient happenstance."

He shakes his head darkly, swallowing a mouthful of stew before pointing his spoon accusingly at the elf.

"Aerendir, any number of bandits, woodsmen or mercenaries could have killed that man. You can't just go blaming varim for every crime committed in Thane."
This message was last edited by the player at 04:25, Thu 30 Dec 2021.

Aerendir watches both of them, unimpressed, before turning his attention back to the stew.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:22, Fri 18 Jan 2019.

Marabir, meanwhile, reaches the guardhouse and approaches the mounts. His first order of business, after a wary glance in the direction of the stable, is to remove a pair of letters, a signet ring and a tiara from his own saddlebags, stashing them hastily into the pouch at his belt. He then untethers his stallion, along with Aerendir's, and leads the pair in the direction of the stable, keeping an eye out for Falnis.

He finds the varim inside the stable pointedly checking through his saddlebags for missing items.

Marabir strides impenitently past him, leading each of the mounts into an empty stall and removing their saddles. He pets them both, withdrawing an apple for each as he brushes them down, all the while ignoring Falnis. At length he departs once more to fetch Nod's mare. He does not tie up either of the stallions, but neither makes any effort to wander from their stall. Both stand, watching Falnis wary, giving an occasional snort.

"I will be tethering my beast in the forest," the varim calls after him as he leaves. "In case any other humans share your belief about what it is fine to steal from varim saddlebags. I will rejoin you in the tavern later. Do tell your high elf friend that if he uses any of the poisons he has stolen from me, I will be expecting their full worth of thirteen thousand carens in compensation."

Marabir doesn't glance back as he exits into the night.

Falnis and his horse are gone when Marabir returns with Nod's mare.

Back in the tavern, Nod has somehow managed to turn the conversation back to King Algandis Carendil III. Lyria stares at the wall behind the minstrel, chin resting on her hands, eyes glazed. Aerendir glances up from his almost empty plate of soup every now and again to throw the minstrel an irritated glare.

"...and to think, Aerendir, you were actually there!" Nod falls back into his chair, a dreamy, contented look on his face, before sitting up once more, "Tell me, Aerendir, what was he like? Did he really defeat Lord Cynorian I with only his dagger in the Battle of Haldaran?"

"I can't remember," Aerendir says dampeningly. "Are you going to eat that stew?"

Nod sends Aerendir a sour glance as he sullenly picks up his spoon and continues to eat his half finished stew.

Marabir returns a few minutes later. He glances about the tavern, which has by this time emptied considerably.

"Falnis isn't back yet?" he remarks idly as he seats himself and begins to eat his stew.

"Not yet. And may I request that the next time you feel like walking off to have a one-to-one talk with a varim assassin at night, you give me a bit of advanced warning?" Aerendir says, tartly. "I am not in much of a position to help you in a fight or even hear if there is one when I am stuck in the middle of a throng of farmers ordering stew."

"I can handle myself," Marabir replies with a grin at the elf, working his way through his stew at thrice the rate of Nod, "Did you secure us some rooms?"

"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.

Reln dismounts to examine the pouch, glancing at the gemstones appraisingly.

"Looks like the curn might actually be legit," he grunts, impressed, as he stashes the pouch and mounts once more.

Tared shrugs, a cruel smile playing at his lips as he stares into the mist.

"I'd be happy to gut Sir Varonil for free."

Reln looks tempted to hold him to this statement, but knows better than to try it. He dutifully begins to divide the gemstones into two equal shares as the pair trot off into the mist.

By the time Falnis returns to the tavern the taproom is almost empty. Marabir and his companions appear to have retired for the evening, and all the farmers have gone home. The only patrons remaining appear to be a pair of young farmhands, who chat and laugh by the bar, quite inebriated, one of the merchants, who sits by the glowing embers of the fire, writing in a small notebook, and a new arrival, a dwarf, who sits on the other side of the hearth, eating a bowl of stew and casting the merchant's notebook a look of distrust. The bartender stands by the bar, wiping ale glasses with a wet cloth. He glances over as Falnis re-enters.

"Ah, m'lord," he calls, grinning, "Thought you might'a snuck off without givin' us a chance to pay a few well deserved compliments. I'm not usually one for gushin', but that be the finest bit o' dancin' I've ever seen. Was an honour to have you grace this 'umble establishment. I don't suppose you feel like stayin' in town for a few more days? I'd be 'appy to offer you accommodation, and we've got the Lastorn Fair 'appenin' in a couple o' days. It's not to be missed, take me word for it!"

Falnis seems more interested in the dwarf than the barman's compliments (but nevertheless, it is clear he is enjoying these too).

"Oh, I make a point of never sneaking off before I collect the compliments due to me," he smiles. "And I will be sure to grace this town more often with my presence in my future journeys to Thane, since such open-minded and discerning humans seem to live here. But as for this trip, however... alas that duty calls me North so soon. It forces me to miss what I can already imagine will be an unforgettable event. Is the fair what brings the dwarf here, too?

The dark grimace the dwarf sends his way informs Falnis in no uncertain terms that it is not.

"I'm a smith," he grunts after surveying Falnis at length, "On me way up ter Caldorn if ye must know."

Whatever interest there was appears to die at this news. Falnis murmurs the necessary pleasantries, and abandons the dwarf in favour of booking a room for one more night (definitely not three). The barman being only too happy to oblige, it is not long before Falnis is in a quiet room upstairs.

In it, he proceeds to lock the doors and windows before, upon consideration, withdrawing several more letters from his cloak and disposing of them in the small fire crackling in the hearth. He then settles himself into a chair in the corner, and allows himself to drift into a reverie. And if this restful daydream happens to feature all the possible things Tared Garn may be planning to do to a certain knight tomorrow, there is no outward sign of it except the slight smirk twisting the dreaming varim's face.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:36, Wed 23 Jan 2019.

The following morning Marabir descends the staircase to the taproom to find Aerendir and Lyria already seated at one of the tables. It is still dark outside, and the pair appear to have just started their breakfast of porridge and hard boiled eggs. There is no sign of Nod or Falnis, and the only other person in the room is the bartender, who leans by the bar, yawning sleepily.

Marabir strides over to the table, glancing at their meals and then at the bartender, who nods and heads off to the kitchen.

"Good morning, my lady," Marabir bows politely, then to Aerendir, "Nod isn't up yet?"
This message was last edited by the player at 05:25, Thu 30 Dec 2021.

Lyria, partway through a mouthful of porridge, gives the prince an apologetic look and places a hand over her mouth. She swallows, then smiles.

"Good morning, Sir Varonil."

"He's not, and I'll thank you not to wake him. I'd like to save any history lessons until after I have eaten."

Marabir seems to feel that this comment is well warranted, acknowledging the remark with a nod as he seats himself and begins his breakfast.

Aerendir seems to believe that eating is best done in silence and with full attention to the meal, and makes no effort to contribute to any conversation.

It is a stilted silence that greets Lord Falnis Orthran half an hour later when he descends the stairs to the taproom, interspersed with the occasional attempts at conversation by Lyria (clearly deeply impressed by Marabir and desirous to know more of his background and personality) and the awkward deflections of Marabir (clearly torn between the desire not to lie to fair, innocent maidens and not to reveal anything about himself or his real purpose).

"Still here, are you?" the varim says, making a beeline for them and ignoring the instant death glare this earns him from Aerendir. "I would have thought with a brother to be rescued you would not have had the appetite for breakfast. It would seem you still have some faith left in your uncle if you are making the time for a hot breakfast instead of starting an hour earlier and eating rations."

This seems to be directed at the Lady Veldorn.

Marabir answers on behalf of the lady.

"We will not get far in the dark," he says evenly, "The horses will make much better time in the daylight and the roads will be safer to travel."

He refrains from adding that they would have more luck trying to make a peace treaty with Lord Cynorian than forcing Aerendir to give up a hot breakfast in place of trail rations.

"And no," Aerendir puts in, when the dark elf opens his mouth, "Nobody cares about how easily a dark elf like you can walk around in the dark. Nobody is stopping you from leaving and doing just that now, either."

"I might point out the obvious, but I won't," Falnis replies, apparently unruffled by this hostility, waving an authoritative hand for the barman for his own breakfast. And then, in High Elven: "Not in Common, anyway. You and your friend know exactly what you need to do to be rid of me. Believe me, nothing would please me more than to part ways and be spared the company of a high elf glutton and a meddlesome, sanctimonious knight."
This message was last edited by the player at 20:03, Sun 03 Feb 2019.

Aerendir's scowl darkens.

You're wasting your time, assassin. Sticking with us isn't going to get you your incriminating documents back or your poisons any time within the next century," he sneers back, also in High Elven.

"Then it looks like, unless either your king or my Council do us the favour of voiding our treaty and allowing us to kill each other, we will have plenty of time to enjoy each other's company, won't we?"
This message was last edited by the player at 00:58, Fri 25 Jan 2019.

Aerendir narrows his eyes.

"Not like a varim, to let little things like laws get in the way of killing people you want to kill."

"But why go to the trouble when if I stick with you long enough, someone else will undoubtedly do the killing for me? With your personalities, you and your human friend must surely attract assassination attempts wherever you go."
This message was last edited by the player at 06:48, Mon 04 Feb 2019.

"Assassination attempts I am sure you will be only too happy to arrange and participate in," Aerendir sneers.

"You have a tragic lack of diplomacy. Has anyone ever mentioned that to you?"

"They have. They have not, however, criticized my judgement of character or profession, assassin."

"I am very sure you are lying. I am certain that Nod, at least, has criticized you for both of those things. I took the liberty of waking him up, by the way, on my way down here. I imagine he will join us shortly; I thought we could all use a lesson or two on the history of The Alliance Wars or some other equally riveting historical event as we finished our breakfast."
This message was last edited by the player at 20:04, Sun 03 Feb 2019.

If looks could kill, Falnis would be dead.

This fact looks like it pleases Falnis.

"Aerendir and I were just discussing how I will be joining you on your mission to rescue your brother," he lies in the common tongue, turning to Lyria. "I was thinking about the matter for some of last night, and while it is a little odd that you care if your brother dies-- I assume he is as much of a rival for your position and a liability as he sounds?-- it really is against the laws of nature anywhere that a male should presume to inherit instead of a female, or use force against one of higher rank than his own. Therefore, I would like to assist you. Assuming, of course, that you are willing to accept the help of a varim, which our high-elf friend seems less than sure of?"

OOC: Dalmar Argant rolled 43 using 1d20+26. Bluff Check.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:07, Sun 03 Feb 2019.

"She is not interested in any help you are offering," Aerendir cuts in. "Because she knows that nothing good comes of getting tangled up with your kind. Don't you, Lady Veldorn?"
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 03:39, Tue 05 Feb 2019.

"I assure you, my being 'tangled up' with anyone does not feature in any of the ways I am planning to assist her in her quest, Aerendir," Falnis says soothingly.

"You know what I mean," Aerendir snaps. And then, coercively: "And so does Lady Veldorn. Don't you?"

Lyria shoots Aerendir a dark glance. She may not know much about recognising untrustworthy varim assassins, but she can certainly recognise a rude elf when she meets one.

"I think Lord Falnis seems very decent," she replies to the elven ranger evenly, before turning to Falnis and smiling encouragingly, "I would be happy to accept your assistance in rescuing my brother."

OOC: Lady Lyria Veldorn rolled 15 using 1d20+8. Sense Motive.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:15, Tue 05 Feb 2019.

Marabir frowns, glancing quickly at Aerendir before turning back to Lyria.

"It's not that we don't think Falnis is decent-" he begins delicately, but is cut off by Nod who arrives at the table at that moment.

"Lord Orthran is joining us?" Nod exclaims excitedly, having overheard the last part of the conversation, "I must say this is going to be an enjoyable adventure!"

He then seems to remember that the 'enjoyable adventure' pertains to several potentially gruesome fates for Lyria's brother, and he glances awkwardly at her.

"I... when I say 'enjoyable'... I mean... well, it will be good to have Lord Orthran joining us."
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 22:24, Tue 05 Feb 2019.

Aerendir scowls viciously and breaks the shell of his hard boiled egg in a way that makes it clear that it isn't what the high elf wishes he was breaking right now.

Falnis rewards Nod and Lyria with an approving smile, and Sir Varonil and Aerendir with a smug one. The amused glint in his eyes at Marabir's, 'it's not that we don't think he's decent' suggest that the Knight may not be living that down any time soon.

"Thank you, Nod. It will indeed be a most enjoyable venture. And you also, Lady Veldorn, have my thanks for your support. I assure you, neither you nor your brother will look back with regret on your choice.

The look which Marabir sends Falnis promises that he will be doing everything in his power to ensure the varim will look back with regret on his choice.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:58, Tue 05 Feb 2019.

Unaware of Marabir's glare, Lyria smiles at Falnis, then at Nod.

"I know what you meant," she says kindly to the minstrel, "Now come, the breakfast is getting cold and we must depart shortly if we want to make good time."

Nod smiles brightly, seating himself comfortably between Falnis and Lyria.

"So, who wants to hear why the ruined tower near here is called 'Cerald's Bane'?"

"Perhaps you weren't listening to the part where we said we were in a hurry," Aerendir says.

OOC: Aerendir rolled 24 using 1d20+10.  Initiative Check (to stop story).
Dalmar Argant rolled 17 using 1d20+11.  Initiative Check (to agree to story).
This message was last edited by the player at 06:35, Wed 06 Feb 2019.

"Why is it called Cerald's Bane?" Falnis asks, with an interest that Marabir suspects is certainly not as genuine as it sounds.

Falnis seems to have given the answer Nod wants to hear. Ignoring Aerendir he eagerly proceeds.

"Well, the tower was built during the Alliance Wars by the forces of King Marnir Caladorm as a bastion against the forces of King Eurnir Carendil. Or General Eurnir, as he was at that time. But the ruins didn't acquire their current name until the reign of King Halrandis I, when the tower was under the control of Lord Cerald Aldaron. Legend has it that he acquired an exotic creature of some sort, imprisoning it in it's dungeons, and that one day the creature broke loose and slaughtered everyone inside the tower."
This message was last edited by the player at 23:36, Thu 07 Feb 2019.

Lyria glances at Falnis and shares a grimace, before turning back to Nod.

"What was the creature?" she asks intently.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:37, Thu 07 Feb 2019.

Nod leans forward, relishing her reaction.

"Some say it was a sphinx, imported from Puristan. Others say it was a dragon. There are even rumors that it was one of his own kin who had become a vampire. Then of course there are those who dismiss the existence of all these creatures and cite mundane causes such as plague or assassination."
This message was last edited by the player at 23:38, Thu 07 Feb 2019.

Marabir, who seems to belong firmly to this latter group, raises an eyebrow at Nod, arms folded across his chest.

"Fascinating," he says blandly, before turning to Aerendir, "We had best start preparing the horses. The sun will be up shortly."
This message was last edited by the player at 23:15, Thu 07 Feb 2019.

"Agreed," Aerendir says, rising. "And only you would call plague and assassination 'mundane', Nod," he adds critically.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:50, Fri 08 Feb 2019.

Falnis opens his mouth.

"And you, of course," Aerendir sneers.

"What I had intended to comment, my overly cynical friend, was that if there are sphynxes and vampires there, the place sounds like it is well worth the visit. Does it lie on the way you intend to travel, Lady Veldorn?"

It seems to occur to the varim that this may not go down too well with a noble on a rescue mission for her brother.

"For when I am returning from the successful mission, of course," he adds.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:45, Fri 08 Feb 2019.

"Horses, dark elf, Aerendir snaps, before either Nod or Lyria can reply. "If you are actually coming with us. I imagine you have more preparation to do than the rest of us, if you really did tie him up in the woods like you said you were going to."

"Oh, that. I changed my mind about that, and ended up stabling him in the inn after all. The wolves were howling, and upon rechecking, I came to the conclusion there is really nothing in my saddlebags worth stealing anyway."

Aerendir narrows his eyes.

"I didn't hear any wolves howling last night."

"I am sure you didn't, since you were sleeping in a tavern and not riding in the woods," Falnis agrees blandly.

Aerendir scowls, but apparently has no reply for this. Turning, he stalks out of the room in the direction of the stables, presumably to organise the horses (or at least his, Nod's, and Marabir's horses).

The others join Aerendir outside the stables shortly thereafter, just as the first rays of sunlight are beginning to creep over the trees of the Faldar Woods to the east. Marabir strides to his stallion and swings lightly into the saddle. Behind him Nod, shivering in the fresh morning air, clambers onto his mare, hugging his patched cloak tightly about him as his breath turns to mist before him. Lyria wears a thick, fur riding cloak, and seems no stranger to riding as she swings lightly onto her chestnut mare and trots forward to fall in line beside Marabir.

"Perfect weather for riding," Marabir says brightly as he glances at the sky above, "We shall make excellent time."

"Wonderful," says Falnis, who has his own reasons for being pleased that they are making good time.

OOC: Dalmar Argant rolled 24 using 1d20+22.  Spot Check.
Dalmar Argant rolled 33 using 1d20+22.  Listen Check.

Aerendir, easily the best horseman in the group, brings up the rear, looking like he would like nothing better than to but an arrow in the back of the shady-looking, cloaked varim riding next to Nod in front of him.

OOC: Aerendir rolled 39 using 1d20+20.  Ride Check.
Aerendir rolled 27 using 1d20+22 with rolls of 5.  Spot Check.
Aerendir rolled 28 using 1d20+22 with rolls of 6.  Listen Check.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:00, Sat 16 Feb 2019.

The mist gradually rises as the party trot down the rutted road that leads from the town, and within a couple of hours the morning sun shines down brightly upon them. They make good time, in keeping with Marabir's prediction. That is, until they reach a small copse close to halfway between Lastorn and Calarn. Turning the corner to pass through the foliage they are met by a rider, seated calmly astride a dark mount. The party recognise him instantly as the mercenary from the tavern. On a fallen tree by road beside him another man is seated, his horse beside him, which they recognise as his companion from the night before.
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:14, Thu 07 Mar 2019.

The man watches them approach coolly, but does not address them until Marabir, trotting ahead of the others, arrives within a few yards of him.

"We meet again, Sir Knight," he smiles cruelly, "And this time your precious guard captain friend is not here to hasten to your rescue."

Marabir stares back coldly.

"I suggest you move aside," he says with dangerous politeness.

"I think not," says the man with a bland smile, "I am here to challenge you to a duel, you see. I demand satisfaction for our encounter yesterday evening."

"A duel?" scoffs Nod incredulously from behind, "He is a knight and you are a commoner, as far as I can tell. You have no right to challenge him."

The mercenary fixes Nod with a dangerous glare and the minstrel swiftly falls silent. He then turns back to Marabir.

"Unless, of course, you intend to hide behind your title as you did the guard captain last eve? It would show consistence, I'll admit..."

Marabir's eyes narrow as he surveys the mercenary stonily.

"I have no objection to ridding this land of one such as you," he replies with a shrug, "And I am sure my companions will spare me the few minutes it takes to do so. I accept your challenge."

Swinging nimbly from his saddle, the prince steps forward, unsheathing his blade.

This reaction seems to please the mercenary, who smiles coldly as he mirrors Marabir's actions, unsheathing a gleaming blade with a worn leather hilt from his own scabbard.

"No interference from your friends, mind you," he says suspiciously, "Nor mine," he directs a stern look at his companion seated on the fallen tree who gives a curt nod of acknowledgement.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:15, Thu 07 Mar 2019.

"We wouldn't dream of interfering," Falnis assures the two mercenaries. "We understand that for humans and high elves, death comes before dishonor, don't we Aerendir?"

Aerendir ignores the varim.

"You need multiple minutes to deal with this thug?" he says skeptically.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:34, Thu 07 Mar 2019.

Marabir allows the elf half a grin as he swings his blade experimentally.

"Minute," he corrects himself.

The two men approach each other, pausing momentarily to eye each other darkly. Then the duel begins.

OOC: Tared Garn rolled 18 using 1d20+6. Initiative.
Prince Marabir Carendil rolled 5 using 1d20+5. Initiative.

Marabir moves forward to slash at Tared, but the mercenary is faster, ducking deftly beneath the blow and slashing upward with his own blade to gash Marabir across the side, slicing through his gambeson which swiftly begins to stain with seeping blood.

OOC: Tared Garn dealt 17 points of vitality damage to Prince Marabir Carendil.
Tared Garn dealt 10 points of wound damage to Prince Marabir Carendil.
Prince Marabir Carendil dealt 12 points of vitality damage to Tared Garn.

Marabir gasps in pain, gritting his teeth as he turns to face the mercenary once more. The mercenary opens his arms invitingly with a cruel smirk. Marabir frowns, before staggering forward once more to thrust at the mercenary, who once more dodges to the left, avoiding the sluggish blow.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:33, Sun 10 Mar 2019.

The mercenary spins his blade up to slash Marabir's leg and then arm as the prince passes and with a gasp the prince staggers forward, his blade slipping from his grasp as he lands on his back in the mud.

OOC: Tared Garn dealt 14 points of vitality damage to Prince Marabir Carendil.
Tared Garn dealt 5 points of wound damage to Prince Marabir Carendil.

Tared glances down at Marabir with a smug grin, kicking the prince's blade out of reach as he stands over the injured man. Aerendir, however, seems to feel this duel has gone quite far enough, and swiftly reaches for his greatbow. The mercenary's companion seems to have anticipated this action, and raises his own bow to fire as the elf aims an arrow at the mercenary standing over Marabir. They fire simultaneously, with both Aerendir and the mercenary darting sharply to the side in order to avoid the pair of arrows which fly harmlessly past, one to skitter across the muddy path, the other to impale itself in a tree with a dull thunk.

OOC: Aerendir dealt 22 points of vitality damage to Tared Garn.
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:03, Sun 10 Mar 2019.

The mercenary doesn't spare the arrow a second glance, kneeling swiftly to press his blade firmly against Marabir's neck as Aerendir fits a second arrow to his bow.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, elf," he says coldly, "Assuming you value your noble friend's life?"
This message was last edited by the player at 00:06, Sun 10 Mar 2019.

"Well, you were right that resolving this matter would not take you more than a minute," Falnis remarks to Marabir in the dirt.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:46, Tue 12 Mar 2019.

Nod does not seem to think this is quite the moment for such remarks, and sends Falnis a disapproving frown.

"Well, it appears we are at a bit of an impasse," the mercenary says, half to Marabir and half to Aerendir, "Given that your 'oh-so-honourable' elven companion does not appear to-"

He breaks off as the sound of thundering hooves becomes audible through the trees, growing rapidly louder.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:36, Sun 10 Mar 2019.

A moment later a party of no fewer than twenty riders gallop into view. All are armoured and bear the standard of a silver lion on a deep, blue field. The standard of the royal house of the Carendils. The riders come to a halt as they come across the scene in the middle of the road before them. Several of the riders level crossbows at the mercenary and his companion, while the lead rider trots his dark steed forward.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the GM at 05:41, Thu 30 Dec 2021.

"Is there a problem here?" the rider address the mercenary in a cold, disdainful tone, eyebrow raised at Marabir's blood and mud stained form.

Marabir manages to turn his head just enough to get a glimpse at the newcomer, who he eyes resentfully.

"No problem," he manages weakly, "We were just resolving a small matter of honour."

"Precisely," smiles the mercenary thinly, eyeing the crossbowmen, "Nothing you need concern yourself with, my lord."

"Unfortunately it is," replies the rider bluntly, "I shall handle things from here. You may be on your way."

"Really, Your Highness?" Falnis says, having no trouble recognising that heraldry. "One really is forced to wonder if it is the standard practice of Thanian knights to abandon honour and interfere with other knight's duels when they are not winning. No wonder the knights of Thane are so courageous in accepting duels to the death here."
This message was last edited by the player at 00:56, Sun 10 Mar 2019.

The rider seems to become aware of Falnis for the first time, along with Lyria, and raises an eyebrow. His question, when he asks it, is directed at the varim.

"And you are?"

"Lord Falnis Orthran of House Orthran of Mereldinor. A companion of the unfortunate Sir Varonil, who lies yonder in the dirt," he adds, emphasizing the "Sir Varonil" part a bit too pointedly for Marabir's liking. "As all here can witness, he accepted and lost a duel to the death-- and there is no need to look like that, Aerendir. A promise to "rid the world" of your opponent cannot be anything other than a duel to the death. So I am at a loss, Your Highness, as to why you must intervene in this."

"He's an evil assassin, Tyronius," Aerendir puts in, scowling at Falnis. "And I wouldn't put it past him to have set this entire duel up himself, the evil snake."

"Come now, you know perfectly well you have not the slightest shred of proof to back up either of those accusations."

Tyronius seems unperturbed by Falnis' words. He shrugs.

"The honour of 'Sir Varonil' is hardly my concern," he replies, also emphasising Marabir's alias, "I have instructions to locate and return him. An assignment I intend to fulfil."

"How convenient for him."

While he may have recognised the royal standard, the mercenary seems to have been hoping that the rider was not himself a member of the royal family. Upon confirmation that he is in fact dealing with Prince Tyronius Carendil, second son of the king, he grows even more wary, though he seems to decide to see how far he can push his luck.

"But wouldn't it be unfortunate, my prince, if Sir Varonil were slain and your assignment result in failure?"
This message was last edited by the player at 02:06, Sun 10 Mar 2019.

The second mercenary shoots his companion a concerned glance that suggests he does not feel the decision to push the prince a wise one.

Tyronius narrows his eyes.

"It would," he agrees coolly, "I fail to see how you would benefit from such a situation, however, as you would find yourself dead beside him a second later."

OOC: Prince Tyronius Carendil rolled 27 using 1d20+11. Intimidate.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:33, Sun 10 Mar 2019.

The mercenary also seems to fail to see how he would benefit from such a situation. He hesitates a moment longer, before withdrawing the blade from Marabir's throat.

"True enough," he agrees with a shrug, "I suppose my honour has been suitably defended here. Come, Reln."

With that, he strides over to untether his mount.

OOC: Tared Garn rolled 21 using 1d20+8. Resist Intimidate.
This message was last edited by the player at 10:06, Mon 11 Mar 2019.

Reln seems only too keen to oblige, still glancing warily back at Aerendir and the crossbowmen as he untethers his own mount.

"And that, as they say, is that," Falnis says, watching the mercenaries leave. "Is this the part where we blame His Highness for leaving the honour of Thane in the dirt, or where we thank and congratulate him for an extremely timely rescue?"
This message was last edited by the player at 02:56, Sun 10 Mar 2019.

Tyronius ignores Falnis, calmly watching the pair of mercenaries mount and canter off in the direction of Calarn. He then dismounts and strides over to where Marabir lies, staring down at him with a quizzical expression.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:49, Sun 10 Mar 2019.

Marabir, ashen faced and struggling to stay conscious, attempts to muster as much dignity as he can manage as he stares up at his brother, hand pressed tightly against his bloodied side.

"He insulted the lady's honour. I was defending it."

Tyronius glances at the blood and dirt which covers the majority of Marabir's prostrate form.

"Indeed."

Marabir chooses not to grace this comment with a reply. Closing his eyes, he sinks back into the mud and gives a rather heartfelt sigh.

OOC: End of Chapter II...
This message was last edited by the player at 03:56, Sun 10 Mar 2019.