It is late afternoon above the military camp that Prince Tyronius Carendil of Thane has set up in a convenient clearing, apparently preferring this to the idea of taking his injured brother the dozen or so hours it would take to get to an inn in his current state. (Or perhaps merely preferring it to the idea of losing several unnecessary hours of time on his mission.)

While it's clear that nether of the princes (or indeed Lyria, Nod, or Falnis) could pick a vein from an artery in terms of staunching a wound properly ("Hold it tight and cauterise it if you need to," being the extent of mandatory training in any land of Verun), Aerendir clearly can. With the air of someone who has done this before, he does an admirable job of binding up Marabir's wounds. He accompanies this with a much less welcome stream of acid criticism of Marabir's swordsmanship, his lack of sense in accepting duels from commoner thugs, and the general advantages of bows over swords in general (which Marabir endures like someone who's done this before, too.)

Lyria stands a few feet behind Aerendir, hand over her mouth as she watches silently. Aerendir endures this for all of twenty minutes before assigning her the job of boiling water to sterilise rags.

Nod-- banished from the healing tent for general queasiness at the sight of the blood bubbling up from the nastier gashes on Marabir-- seems to be trying to distract himself by composing a song about the day's events. Falnis, lounging on a tree branch next to him (one with a long branch connecting it to other trees in the forest that will offer a quick route of escape should Tyronius prove to be as racist regarding dark elves as the rumours claim), seems to be dividing his time between assessing the layout of the camp, and helpfully critiquing Nod's work for "accuracy".

OOC: Aerendir rolled 22 using 1d20+10.  Treat Injury.
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:53, Thu 30 Dec 2021.

"So, if I may ask," Falnis remarks to one of the guards stationed a few feet away (in a gap between lyric composition while Nod experiments with the right-sounding chords to go with his new melody), "What brings a Prince of Thane to these provincial parts of Thane?"

He accompanies this with a friendly smile, apparently judging that-- whatever his personal feud with Marabir and Aerendir-- antagonising a group of more than twenty humans armed with ranged weaponry is a bad idea.

OOC: Dalmar Argant rolled 16 using 1d20+6.  Diplomacy Check (Guard).
Dalmar Argant rolled 27 using 1d20+10.  Gather Information Check.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:14, Thu 14 Mar 2019.

The guard sends Falnis a sideways glance which leaves the varim with no doubts about just how easy antagonising this particular group of humans might prove to be. The guard seems to be either under orders, or simply disinclined to answer Falnis' question, and proceeds to ignore him after a moment. Falnis' question is met by a question in turn by a gruff voice as a middle aged human man approaches. He is the only member of Tyronius' party not dressed in gleaming plate mail, instead wearing a dark leather tunic and pants, mud stained boots, and a worn travelling cloak.

"One might ask the same question of a varim wandering these parts," he says evenly as reaches Falnis, "A noble of House Orthran, eh?"

"I am indeed," Falnis says to the newcomer, gesturing to the jeweled insignia hanging around his neck and abandoning his attempt to extract information from the uncooperative guard. "And one might, if one wanted. One might even get an answer, which is more than I can expect from the average human, apparently. What is your name?"

The human regards him appraisingly for a moment, before giving a shrug.

"Calvorn," he replies, "I see you've made friends with Nod."

It is not clear who he feels is the more unfortunate in this situation.

"You two know each other?" Falnis says, arching an inquiring eyebrow.

He does not outright say that it is odd that this ragged, unfriendly stranger should know Nod, but his tone implies it. He also speaks loudly enough to make it clear that this question is also directed at Nod (though it's not clear if Nod, wrestling with chords, sharps, and flats, is in a state to hear him.)

Nod, quite engrossed in his efforts, frowns as he glances up, continuing to strum as he does so.

"Hmm? Oh, yes, he's one of the castle rangers."

"I see and hear a lot more of Nod than he does of me," Calvorn replies irritably, "His music is tolerable. Less so his talking."

"You know, coming from one of Vard's men that's almost a compliment," Nod replies brightly, ignoring the ranger's scowl as he returns to his chords.

"One of Vard's men, are you? No wonder you are over here risking the ill opinion of your fellow humans to attempt to extract information from me, Falnis says, sounding sympathetic. "Tell me, does the current Vard still need full reports every time you come across things like varim wandering in Thane, or was it just his great-grandfather who used to insist on those?"

OOC: Dalmar is shielding thoughts. (1MP).

Calvorn continues to scowl at Nod a moment longer, but as it becomes apparent that Nod is no longer paying him any attention he ceases in his efforts. He turns back to Falnis, forcing a disturbingly unnatural smile to his face.

"Varim have been free to wander these lands since the signing of the Adris Concordant eighty-seven years ago," he replies, "Though I am curious as to what a noble such as yourself is doing in these parts?"

He gets the impression that Falnis is as pleased with Nod's slip as he is annoyed by it.

"I am taking advantage of the peace treaty to hunt the local wildlife of Thane... or was, before the gallant Sir Varonil and his high-elf friend saw fit to steal my belongings to send to your Vard, for, and I quote, 'riding into town from the same direction that we happened to find a dead man in a ditch'. Perhaps you can assist me to get said possessions returned? I am-- perforce, due to my guess as to their rank-- restraining myself from taking action on this. However, my patience is not without its limits. I am sure you are as aware as I am of what the Adris Concordat has to say about either of our great nations stealing from each other and accusing each other on pretexts so slight, without bothering to provide any evidence at all."

OOC: Dalmar Argant rolled 41 using 1d20+27.  Bluff Check.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:10, Tue 20 Aug 2019.

"I am aware of what the Concordance says," Calvorn frowns, sending the tent in which Marabir is being treated by Aerendir a disapproving glance, before turning back to Falnis, "And what were these possessions?"

OOC: Calvorn Areldan rolled 18 using 1d20+5. Sense Motive.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:50, Sat 16 Mar 2019.

"A handful of private letters-- I need the originals, by the way, so kindly refrain from returning me forgeries, if that is still protocol for the current Vard-- a crossbow, and thirteen thousand carens' worth of poison. Aerendir is carrying most of them on his person, or was until he entered that healing tent."
This message was last edited by the player at 04:23, Sun 17 Mar 2019.

"I can assure you that is not the protocol of the 'current Vard'," Calvorn responds with questionable honesty, "Wait here."

Swiftly turning, the ranger stalks over to the tent, brushing aside the entrance flap as he ducks inside. Ignoring Marabir's condition, he stands over both the prince and Aerendir.

"Tell me you haven't stolen the property of a varim noble?" he says in a voice which suggests he feels this is too much to hope for from the pair.

OOC: Calvorn Areldan rolled 7 using 1d20. Bluff.

"If you aren't here to help with the healing, get lost," Aerendir snaps, ignoring his question.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:57, Sun 17 Mar 2019.

Calvorn seems quite accustomed to and unperturbed by this response. He also seems to take it as a confession of guilt.

"Are you trying to start a war?" he asks sourly, before glancing about, "All right, where is your pack?"
This message was last edited by the player at 04:40, Sun 17 Mar 2019.

"He is an evil assassin who murdered a Thanian man. If anyone is starting that war, it's him. And why do you want to know where my pack is?"

"I assume you have some sort of proof of this?" Calvorn says in a tone which suggests he assumes very much the opposite. He ignores the second part of Aerendir’s response.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:54, Sun 17 Mar 2019.

"It depends on the intelligence and wisdom of the person who needs to be convinced by it," Aerendir retorts, in a tone that suggests he also thinks Calvorn may be lacking in these areas. "But when a Varim from House Orthran is wandering around in Northern Thane, saying he's 'hunting the local wildlife', when he reputedly arrived at town at exactly the time he'd be expected to if he'd done the killing, missing one crossbow bolt from his quiver that exactly matches the single, very accurately aimed bolt used to kill the man, and when he carries a letter saying, 'It is Her Will that you will journey to the barbaric lands of Northern Thane. One there has uncovered what he should not. He does not know what he holds. See that he never does, and ensure that it returns once more to its rightful place,'" Aerendir has paused in stitching up a gash on Marabir's arm to tick these evidences off one by one on one hand, "Then you really don't need to be a genius to know he is the killer. Besides, who carries black lotus extract around with them if they're just on a hunting trip?"
This message was last edited by the player at 04:06, Sun 17 Mar 2019.

"I'm not the one you need to convince," Calvorn replies, narrowing his eyes at Aerendir's inferred suggestion, "It is the Mereldinor High Council who will require indisputable proof, and you know what they are like when it comes to weaselling their way out of things. And really, name one varim who isn't loaded with a dozen of Verun's most deadly poisons?"

He shakes his head darkly.

"Aerendir, why is it that every time you get out of Carendisal we almost have an inter-regional incident?"

Marabir winces as he lifts his head at this point to intervene on Aerendir's behalf.

"In his defense, Calvorn, it was I who suggested that we-"

"I'll get to you in a minute," Calvorn cuts him off with a scowl, "Running off to the heart of Caladorm territory without so much as a word to your father or the Council, with no one but Aerendir and, and Nod for protection! Do you have a death wish?"

"I can handle myself," Marabir replies defensively.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:52, Mon 18 Mar 2019.

"Yes, I can see that," Calvorn replies dryly.

Marabir scowls, opens his mouth, then closes it again, before lying back down once more in sullen silence.

Calvorn turns his attention back to Aerendir.

"Tell me that this murdered Thanian you found was at least some high ranking lord or official, warranting us taking such an extreme step as confiscating the property of a high ranking varim noble?"
This message was last edited by the player at 21:58, Mon 18 Mar 2019.

Aerendir is stubbornly silent.

Aerendir is spared from further interrogation at that moment by the arrival of Prince Tyronius, who strides into the tent, Lyria hot on his heels. They appear to be in the middle of an argument.

"...wasting men on the dispute of a local estate," Tyronius is saying dismissively, "My orders are to return to Carendisal at once, and that is what I shall do."

"'Dispute of a local estate'?" Lyria repeats indignantly, "This is my brother we are talking about! His life is in danger! Sir Varonil will need to be tended at a healing hall anyway, and the nearest is in Calarn, where we are headed. All I ask is that while he heals you use your men to save my brother's life."
This message was last edited by the player at 22:46, Mon 18 Mar 2019.

Tyronius seems quite unmoved by her pleas.

"We will not be continuing to Calarn," he says flatly, "We shall return to Lastorn, and the healer there can attend my- 'Sir Varonil'. You can also contact the authorities there. They can render you any assistance you require, if indeed this uncle of yours has in fact committed any crime."

Marabir forces himself up once more.

"Tyronius, I gave Lady Veldorn my word-"

"You've caused me quite enough trouble as is," Tyronius shoots back coolly, before addressing Aerendir, "Well? Can he ride?"
This message was last edited by the player at 06:03, Thu 30 Dec 2021.

"No, he cannot ride," Aerendir replies flatly, "In fact, he will need strict rest for at least two days if he doesn't want those wounds to split open again."
This message was last edited by the GM at 06:04, Thu 30 Dec 2021.

Tyronius lip curls at Aerendir's unfavourable answer regarding Marabir's condition, however he nods slowly in acceptance.

"Caled," he says curtly to another warrior who has entered behind Lyria, "Ride to the nearest farm and acquire their wagon. Preferably lined with hay. Pay them whatever price they demand," he tosses the knight a small pouch, "If they refuse, inform them it is required by Prince Tyronius Carendil. Oh, and take Cyralas with you. You'll need him to pull the wagon back."
This message was last edited by the player at 06:04, Thu 30 Dec 2021.

Caled deftly catches the pouch and nods curtly before sweeping from the tent.
This message was last updated by the player at 23:58, Wed 20 Mar 2019.

"At least spare a few of your men," Lyria continues after the knight has exited, "This is the son of a Thanian lord we are talking about."

Tyronius appears unmoved.

"Noble's sons die in the war with Carnauger every day," he replies, "My men and I have already been absent for longer than necessary as a result of Sir Varonil here," he shoots Marabir a reproving glare, "We will waste no more time on local kidnappings."

Lyria does not relent.

"My father gave his life fighting in the war," she says fiercely, "And my older brother too. Saving my brother is the least you can do to respect their sacrifice."

"Your father and brother clearly understood the importance of sacrifice for the good of Thane," Tyronius replies, "Something you might learn from. I shall report the disappearance of your brother to the authorities upon my return to Carendisal. I shall leave further investigation in their hands."

Lyria is not at all pleased by this response.

"You are completely heartless!" she fumes before storming from the tent.

Tyronius waits calmly until she has gone before turning to Aerendir.

"See that my brother is patched up enough to travel by the time Caled returns."
This message was last edited by the player at 04:43, Tue 19 Mar 2019.

"Prince Tyronius," Calvorn says as the prince turns to leave, "There is another matter you should be aware of. Your your brother and Aerendir have seen fit to pilfer the the property of that varim lord out there. I trust you understand the political implications of such an act without conclusive proof," he scowls at Aerendir, "of the varim committing any crime."
This message was last edited by the player at 04:43, Tue 19 Mar 2019.

Tyronius halts, glancing back at Aerendir with curiosity.

"Explain."

Aerendir glares at Calvorn.

"He is a varim. That's all the conclusive proof you need. The fact that every single piece of evidence there is on that scene points to him being there at that place and time, is purely a bonus. But if you need proof, then consider this: If he wasn't guilty, and if those documents we took weren't incriminating, there's no reason for him not to have gone whining back to Mereldinor the moment I took them to cause the political incident you're so worried about. The fact that he is abusing Nod and Lyria's combined stupidity to stick with us suggests he's guilty and he knows it, and there's not a thing his precious courts can do to help him if this goes public."

"Documents?" Tyronius prompts.

Sensing a possible ally, Aerendir withdraws one document (the one he quoted to Calvorn) and passes it across.

"See?"

Aerendir appears to have found one in Tyronius. He swiftly unfolds the document and scans it, his eyes narrowing with each line he reads. At length he glances up at Calvorn.

"He was clearly sent to Thane to murder one of our citizens and take some sort of item from them. That hardly sounds innocent."
This message was last edited by the player at 05:27, Tue 19 Mar 2019.

"There is no proof it was one of our citizens," Calvorn corrects him, "For all we know it was a fugitive of their own land who had fled across our border. The varim are within their rights to hunt down such fugitives. I can assure you that is what Lord Falnis and his matrons will be claiming should this letter become public knowledge."

"That sort of cowardly attitude is exactly what got the Adris Concordat passed in the first place," Aerendir sneers. "And I think you're wrong. If their fugitives flee to Thane, they need to ask us nicely before they kill them exactly the same way that we need to ask them before we charge into their lands hunting down our criminals who flee there. If they don't or we don't, we're perfectly within our rights to claim we misunderstood their intentions when we find them wandering around murdered humans in ditches."

Calvorn shakes his head darkly at Aerendir.

"Tell me, have you or Morfion ever actually read the Concordant? You know as well as I do that the reason Thane does not hunt down criminals in Mereldinor is because few of our criminals are foolish enough to cross their border, and even fewer of our forces are foolish enough to follow them. Now, I suggest you hand over those letters and allow me handle this situation."
This message was last edited by the player at 00:24, Wed 20 Mar 2019.

Meanwhile, outside the tent, Lyria has made a beeline for Falnis.

"It seems His Highness is not willing to lift so much as a finger to save the life of one of his loyal subjects," she says coldly, "Are you still willing to help save my brother's life? I can still pay you for your assistance."

"Naturally I am still willing to help you, Falnis assures her, with questionable honesty. "But I think you are a little premature to assume there is nothing His Highness will do to help you."

As he speaks, Falnis descends nimbly from the branch, and moves further away from the guard, beckoning for Lyria to follow.

"For example, if you gave your word that the land around an unused hunting lodge in a dreary forest-- I'm sure every Thanian estate has at least one of those-- would belong to the person who helped you, I'm sure there would be enough racism and paranoia between the the four of them on that tent that they would leap to help you so that I did not get it."

"You think so?" Lyria replies as she follows obediently after him, clearly not seeing how offering a varim a dreary hunting lodge would move a prince of Thane to jealousy.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:49, Wed 20 Mar 2019.

"Well, if it didn't move them to paranoia, it would still leave me with a hunting lodge and legal possession of former Thanian land, which would naturally then be under the jurisdiction of Mereldinor," Falnis smiles. "Either way, your brother and your lands would be safe, and your relationship with either your royals or my fair kingdom would be much improved, so you win either way."

Falnis doesn't need to point out that naturally he wins either way as well.

"Are varim allowed to possess lands in Thane?" Lyria frowns, "I've never heard of a varim owning land outside of Mereldinor."

"My Lady Veldorn, the point is not if it is legally possible-- the point is that no one in that tent is any better informed on the matter than you are. And if I am wrong and they do not stop us, then the only person who loses if varim are unable to own lands in Thane is me."

OOC: Dalmar Argant rolled 19 using 1d20+4.  Knowledge (beaurocracy) check.

Lyria considers this.

"Very well, it is worth a try, I suppose. If it doesn't work though, you will still help me?"

"Of course," Falnis assures her.

Lyria shrugs, turns, and strides back towards the tent, shooting dirty looks at each guard she passes. She flings open the tent door once more (Falnis trailing after her), and enters to find Calvorn perusing the second of Falnis' letters. He does not glance up as she approaches Tyronius.

"I have decided to offer Lord Falnis the hunting lodge on my estate in return for his assistance in rescuing my brother. Unlike some, he is not completely heartless."
This message was last edited by the GM at 08:59, Wed 20 Mar 2019.

Calvorn's eyes dart up from his letter in an instant.

"A varim cannot own land within Thane without official permission and documentation from the crown," he replies firmly, "Thus your offer would be proved void should he succeed."

OOC: Calvorn Areldan rolled 28 using 1d20+10. Knowledge (bureaucracy).
This message was last edited by the player at 07:25, Wed 20 Mar 2019.

"I'll... find a way to give it to him," Lyria says defiantly after a moment.
This message was last edited by the player at 07:26, Wed 20 Mar 2019.

Calvorn raises a sceptical eyebrow, before shrugging.

"You are welcome to try," he says dryly as he resumes reading his letter once more.

"I won't return with you to Carendisal unless you aid her," Marabir groans to Tyronius from the floor of the tent.

"I fail to see what choice you have in the matter," Tyronius replies firmly.

With a wince and a pained gasp, Marabir summons all the effort he can muster and pulls himself unevenly to his feet. He gives a cry a moment later, clutching his leg as he stumbles sideways into one of the poles supporting the tent and falls backwards.

"Aerendir, please control him," Tyronius says, eyes narrowing in what he will never admit is concern as Marabir crashes to the ground.
This message was last edited by the player at 07:38, Wed 20 Mar 2019.

Falnis chooses this moment of general distraction to speak.

"You know quite a lot of Thanian law and the Concordat, Calvorn. But I wonder if you know as much as you think you do? Regardless, my Lady Veldorn, your word is perfectly adequate for my purposes, with or without the backing of the Crown of Thane. Our agreement is thus: You will grant me one secluded hunting lodge, and five acres of the forests surrounding it in each direction, as mine to travel to and do with as I wish while I live, subject to no interference from yourself or other authorities within the power of a Lord of Thane to control, provided that your or your brother's bloodline continues to own those lands.

This agreement is conditional upon my succeeding in helping you rescue your brother and disposing of your usurping uncle, and also upon His Highness refusing to assist you now. Let His Highness, Aerendir, and the ranger Calvorn stand witness of this agreement, should any see fit to dispute it later. If these terms seem fair to you, give your word now and take my hand in agreement, knowing that should you or your descendants knowingly choose to break your oath on this, the price will be exacted in blood, without legal retribution from Thanian authority."

Falnis extends a hand to her as he finishes speaking his half of his oath, clearly waiting for her to confirm this agreement.

OOC: Dalmar Argant rolled 42 using 1d20+27.  Bluff Check.
This message was last edited by the player at 09:00, Wed 20 Mar 2019.

"Sir Varonil, if you don't want to actually die, then stop acting like an idiot and undoing the good my treatment has done you," Aerendir scowls, catching Marabir up with practiced ease and forcefully pushing him back where he belongs on his cushions. "And don't you dare shake his hand on that, Lyria. That is political and literal suicide you are agreeing to, for you or any descendants you may have."
This message was last edited by the player at 09:02, Wed 20 Mar 2019.

"No failure to uphold an agreement in Thane is 'extracted in blood'," Calvon replies darkly, "Who Lady Veldorn and her descendants choose to allow onto their lands is their own business, but should you commit any malicious actions toward them you shall be held accountable by the crown."

"And before any agreements are made between you and her," Tyronius says coldly, unfolding the first letter Aerendir showed to him earlier, "Perhaps you would care to explain the meaning of this letter which was found in your possession?"
This message was last edited by the player at 11:21, Wed 20 Mar 2019.

Calvorn shoots the prince a disapproving glare.

Falnis' lips thin with displeasure at the sight of his letter in Tyronius' hands.

"I do not care to, Your Highness. My private correspondence is my own business, not that of yourself or any other entity of Thane. And until you have more evidence to accuse me with than plausible suppositions and one corpse with a standard-issue Thanian crossbow bolt in it-- one, moreover, that was moved from where it was supposedly found before anyone but my extremely biased accusers ever saw it there-- it will stay that way.

Now, your reply, Lady Veldorn?" Falnis presses, his hand still invitingly extended. "Assuming His Highness will not be aiding you, do we have a deal?"

OOC: Dalmar Argant rolled 29 using 1d20+27.  Bluff Check.
Dalmar Argant rolled 7 using 1d20+4.  Knowledge (Bureaucracy) Check.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:11, Wed 20 Mar 2019.

"I shall handle this matter with Lord Falnis shortly," Calvorn says to Tyronius, extending a hand expectantly for the letter, "Lady Veldorn, make whatever agreements you want with him, and be on your way."

Tyronius ignores Calvorn, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at Falnis as he refolds the letter and slides it neatly into a pouch at his belt. He then turns to Lyria.

"Four men," he says at length, "Four men shall accompany you to Calarn bearing my authority to resolve this matter with your uncle as they see fit. In return you forget this nonsense with this varim. Do we have a deal?"

OOC: Prince Tyronius Carendil rolled 22 using 1d20+9. Sense Motive.

Lyria does a commendable job of concealing her delight in Tyronius' offer. She hesitates a moment, appearing to consider the offer, before nodding slowly at length.

"Very well, Your Highness. I accept your offer."

OOC: Lady Lyria Veldorn rolled 24 using 1d20+6. Bluff.

"A pity. l will miss the hunting lodge," Falnis says, with regret. "Is there an emblem or any other symbol they will carry to prove that they go carrying your authority, by the way? Unless you are one of those four men, I doubt their own word will carry much weight."
This message was last edited by the player at 23:50, Wed 20 Mar 2019.

"They shall carry my seal," Tyronius replies coolly, "And you shall not be accompanying them, if you are thinking of stealing it."

"You wound me, Your Highness. We are not all of us thieves in this room."

Judging by his enigmatic smile, though, and the quick, searching look Lord Orthran gives to all the possible places on Tyronius' body armor that a royal seal might be hiding, he is indeed considering this.

Tyronius does not fail to note the varim's searching glance, and he smiles grimly.

"Indeed," the prince agrees, "But just to ensure my men make it safely to Calarn and back, I shall be holding onto your possessions until their return. In fact," he rubs his chin thoughtfully, "Given your apparent zeal in regards to assisting the lady, I think it best you do accompany my men. If you behave yourself and my men are satisfied that you are indeed the innocent varim hunter that you claim to be, you have my word they shall be returned to you upon the completion of the assignment. What say you?"
This message was last edited by the player at 06:48, Thu 30 Dec 2021.

"Your men are highly unlikely to be satisfied with me whatever I do, seeing as I am a varim," Falnis objects. "I will agree to this only if 'successful completion' counts as at least one of your men returning alive with your seal to report the Lady Veldorn's dispute has been resolved, and that I assisted on the mission and did not injure, kill, or deceive in a manner resulting in the harm of either the Lady Veldorn or your men. I will also need your word that no copies or forgeries will be made of those letters, and that Calvorn will not report them to Vard. Well?"

"I will make no promises of what Calvorn will or will not do," Tyronius replies, "However I shall agree to your terms in regard to what constitutes the successful completion of the mission. The return of my seal, with one or more of my men who can confirm your actions and that the matter has been resolved."

"I rather thought I might be being optimistic there," Falnis agrees, resigned. "Still, it is encouraging for your keeping your word if you recognise and are happy to admit you can do nothing to control Vard's men, and I suppose I have worked for worse rewards than the return of possessions already lawfully my own. Very well, we have an agreement. Care to introduce me to the fine gentlemen who will be assisting me on this mission?"

Tyronius nods curtly. He ignores the latter part of Falnis' response, however the varim's question is partly answered in the instructions he proceeds to give a nearby guard.

"Inform me as soon as Caled returns," he says briskly to the warrior who nods obediently.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:47, Thu 21 Mar 2019.

"My job would, of course, be easier with my poisons," Falnis observes, while they wait for Caled.

Making Falnis' job easier does not appear to be a priority for either Aerendir, Tyronius or Calvorn. Tyronius exits the tent a few moments later to begin issuing orders to the men outside. Aerendir continues to patch up Marabir's wounds, and Calvorn waits impatiently for Falnis to exit the tent, a bunch of letters visible in the hand he holds behind his back.
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:02, Thu 21 Mar 2019.

"You may go," the ranger informs Falnis after it becomes clear that the varim does not seem inclined to do so of his own accord.

Falnis rolls his eyes, but obligingly departs.

OOC: Dalmar Argant rolled 36 using 1d20+22.  Listen Check to Hear What's Happening Inside the Tent.

"Tyronius will be fortunate if those men don't all end up dead," Calvorn remarks to Aerendir in a low tone after Falnis has departed, "Still, at least it will get rid of that varim for the time being."

He is silent after this, and Falnis is able to make out the sound of scrunching parchment.

Lyria, who has exited with Falnis, does not seem to be aware of his efforts to eavesdrop on the goings on within the tent.

"You were marvellous Falnis!" she says in a soft yet excited voice, "I can't believe we you convinced him to send four emissaries of the crown with us. Surely my uncle won't dare to contend with them."

"Racism in Thane has always accomplished wonders for us," Falnis agrees, moving away from the tent and regretfully abandoning his attempts at listening in. "Just between us, by the way, would you prefer it if your uncle were dead or merely deposed at the end of this mission?"

"I don't want him dead," Lyria replies slowly and with questionable honesty, "But I would like him to stop interfering with the lives of my brother and I for good."

"Kill him if I get the chance. Understood," Falnis says, nodding.

Lyria sends him a reproving glance, but not that reproving.

An hour or so passes. Tyronius' guards remain on alert, and the prince spends the majority of the time inside the tent, scratching out a letter which he passes to one of his riders to dispatch. Calvorn also remains inside the tent, continuing to read and re-read each one of the letters appropriated by Aerendir. Marabir rests in the tent, slipping in and out of a feverish sleep, while Aerendir continues to tend him. Lyria paces restlessly about the camp, glancing up hopefully every few minutes for a sign of Caled's return. Falnis appears much more relaxed, and rejoins Nod to resume his critiquing of the minstrel's experimentations to pass the time.

At length the sound of hoof beats can be heard, and a moment later Caled canters into view, a wagon trundling behind him, pulled by a less than impressed looking Cyralas.

"I'm not seeing the straw," Aerendir says critically, emerging from the tent to examine it."But I guess that is what feed and bedding is for. Get moving, men."
This message was last edited by the player at 03:43, Thu 21 Mar 2019.

Tyronius' men swiftly do so, and within minutes Marabir lies nestled in the wagon amongst a number of cloaks, bedrolls and packs of feed. The tent is dismantled with as much efficiency as it was constructed, while Tyronius strides over to Caled.

"Caled, take Larend, Ralen and Vandal. The four of you are to accompany Lady Veldorn to resolve this dispute with her uncle. Take my seal with you and deal with the matter as you see fit. Catch up with us when you are done. Oh, and Lord Falnis will be accompanying you. See to it that he behaves himself."

Caled glances at Falnis with mild perplexion, but nods obediently, accepting the seal and placing it carefully in a pouch at his side. He then strides over to where the other warriors are finishing packing away the last of the tent.

"Larend, Ralen and Vandal, prepare yourselves and mount up!" he calls, before heading over to Falnis, "Apparently you're coming with me."

"Wonderful. And where should myself and any surviving men rejoin you once the mission is completed, Your Highness? Will you be keeping to the high roads, headed back towards Carendisal? Or will you be detouring in Lastorn?

"He shall be taking the high roads back to Carendisal," Caled answers for the prince who is already busy getting his men mounted and ready to move out, "We will return to Lastorn as soon as our mission is complete, and if the His Highness is not there we shall continue toward Carendisal until we catch up with them."

"Excellent," Falnis says.

Approaching Nod, he extends a hand.

"Well, it seems this will be farewell for now. It has been a rare pleasure, meeting a minstrel as fine as yourself in these uncultured lands. Do ride safely. I hear the Caledormists have been terribly active in these parts recently, and it would be a terrible loss if they killed you while targeting His Highness."

Nod, who has packed his mandolin away in his pack and is preparing to mount his bay mare, shakes the proffered hand, though the mention of the Caladormists causes him to cast an uneasy glance at the forest about them.

"Good luck getting your things back," he says with an apologetic grin as he glances back to Falnis.

Lyria casts a guilty glance at the wagon as it passes. She looks as though she wants to say something to Marabir, but decides against it upon seeing that he seems to be either sleeping or unconscious. Instead she turns, mounts her own mare, and trots over to Caled.

The remaining warriors, along with Calvorn, mount their steeds and with a sharp command from the prince the procession set off in the direction of Lastorn. Caled and the three men with him urge their mounts in the direction of Calarn, accompanied by Falnis and Lyria. It is late afternoon by this time, and the sun is already beginning to approach the Varymor Mountains to the north.

"Remind me again why we are riding to Calarn instead of directly to your uncle's estate, given the looming deadline of your brother's execution?" Falnis remarks, riding abreast of Lyria.

"Oh, I guess you weren't there when I was telling Varonil," Lyria replies as they ride, "My uncle doesn't have an estate, as the entire Veldorn lands were bequeathed to my father. He is currently lodged in 'The Grey Stallion' inn in Calarn. He did inherit quite a tidy sum, so he has coin enough to stay indefinitely in the town and house his band of mercenaries."

Overhearing the pair discussing her uncle's location and situation, Caled slows his stallion to join the pair.

"And just how many of these mercenaries does he have at his disposal?" the young knight asks keenly.

"Honestly I don't really know..." is Lyria's unhelpful response, "A dozen? Two dozen perhaps?"

Caled responds with a look which says there is a significant difference in the two numbers. Still, he does not seem overly perturbed.

"I doubt he will openly oppose a Thanian prince," he says confidently, "Though he may try to conceal your brother from us and deny having taken him prisoner."

"Well, if he tries that, I am sure you will give your seal of approval to my trying the obvious alternatives," Falnis says comfortably.

"Your job," says Caled, turning to Falnis, "Will be finding the child. You're good at all that sneaking and snooping around business, I assume? Once you have located him, we shall launch an assault on his captors and rescue him."

"A sound plan. And if I am discovered after I find him, because I assume that unlike myself, he will not be good at 'all that sneaking and snooping around business', do you also authorize me to defend myself and the boy?"
This message was last edited by the player at 09:19, Thu 21 Mar 2019.

Caled sends Falnis a stern glance.

"We shall do the rescuing of the boy," he says firmly, "You need only do the finding."

"I can handle a blade, if need be," Lyria offers resolutely.

"You will do no such thing, Lady Veldorn," replies Caled as though he can think of nothing more perverse, "My men are well trained and shall handle any combat, should it arise."

The look Falnis sends Caled at this has the air of one too polite to comment.

The party of riders do not say much more after this. They do not take any breaks in their riding, and reach the town of Calarn shortly after night has fallen. The town is larger than Lastorn, and is surrounded by fifteen foot high stone wall. Several watch posts stand at intervals about the walls, with a pair flanking the heavy, oaken gates leading into the town. A guard stands in each of these, squinting down as the party rides into the light of the pair of large sconces which stand at either side of the gate.

"Who goes there?" demands the left most guard warily.

"I am Caled Aravor," Caled replies, riding forward, "I come in the name of Prince Tyronius Carendil of Thane."

The guard's wariness shifts to uneasiness, or so Falnis' believes he detects. Still, he wastes no time in nodding and hurrying down a narrow flight of stone stairs on the interior of the wall, and along with his companion, lift the large, wooden beam sealing the gate. After few moments of panting and grunting the gates swing open with a loud creak.

"Welcome to Calarn m'lord," the guard bows curtly, still panting.

Caled returns the bow with a curt nod.

"Where is the 'The Grey Stallion' inn?" he asks as he rides through the gate.

Even Caled does not fail to notice the uneasiness in the guard's features as he glances quickly at his companion.

"Just up the road there, m'lord," he replies after a moment, "Take a right turn at Andral's General Goods and it's not far up on your left."

Caled stares at the guard appraisingly for a moment longer, before nodding and leading the way in the direction indicated. Once they are out of earshot of the guard, he turns to the others.

"Keep a sharp eye," he murmurs, glancing warily at the darkened buildings as they pass.

The buildings within the town seem to be mostly formed of oak. As they wind their way down the cobbled street they pass a blacksmith, fletcher and butcher's shops nestled amongst the residential houses. All are dark and quiet. Andral's General Goods store is a two story building, also darkened save for the flickering light of a candle somewhere on the second floor. Turning to the right, they find themselves riding down a more lively street. Light and laughter pour out of a building to their right, outside which a sign reads 'The Golden Geld'. Further along on their left they spot a similar level of activity emanating from a three story stone building bearing the insignia of a rearing grey stallion.

"There it is," Caled rather unnecessarily informs the others.

"My cue then, I believe. What signal shall I send you if the young Veldorn is indeed conviniently inside that inn?"
This message was last edited by the player at 23:07, Thu 21 Mar 2019.

Caled nods thoughtfully.

"Larend, you and I shall enter the inn first. Ralen, Vandal, you two will escort Lady Veldorn to that other tavern over there. Falnis, you will slip in shortly after us, and search the bedrooms and the basement. The boy is most likely being held in one of those locations, assuming he is in the building at all."

"I am not afraid of my uncle," Lyria replies evenly.

"If your uncle sees you it may cause him to take action to conceal or harm your brother. For his safety it is necessary that you remain out of sight."

Lyria considers this, before nodding slowly.

"Don't let anything happen to him," she says to Falnis earnestly before riding off with her escorts in the direction of 'The Golden Geld'.

"If it were me," Falnis says pensively, "I would be assuming from the expression of our friendly gate guard that her presence and your own had already been reported to said uncle. Thus, I would not be sending her into a tavern I had not first scouted, with only two guards escorting her. I would instead have her wait there," Falnis gestures to a dingy little alley running alongside the inn that from the smell, serves serves as the spot where scraps and chamber pots are emptied.

"I imagine no one would be likely to stumble across her there, and it would have the advantage that she would be able to catch her brother should it prove necessary to jump from a window during the rescue. But far be it from me to critisise your plans, Caled," Falnis adds, untruthfully.

Caled's opinion of Falnis' plans seems to be matched by his opinion of dingy, smelly alleyways. He wrinkles his nose, before shaking his head firmly.

"She shall wait in the tavern," he says firmly, "I'll not have her assaulted by some footpad."

Lyria may share Caled's sentiments with regard to the alleyway, however she appears to have a higher regard for Falnis' ability to plan.

"I shall wait in the alleyway," she says flatly, turning her mount in the direction indicated, and taking a rather deep breath.

Caled scowls at Falnis.

"My lady, you are in my care until this mission is completed," he says with as much politeness as he can muster, "You will obey my instructions."

He glances at his men for support, but the three of them are careful to avoid his gaze.

Lyria ignores him. Reaching the mouth of the alleyway, she dismounts and places a hand tightly over her nose.

"Falnis, can you please escort Aralya to the tethering post outside the inn?" she says, holding out the reigns to the varim.

"No," Falnis says, dismounting lightly and joining her in the alley, apparently indifferent to the smell. "Tethering our horses in full view where any crossbowmen can shoot them from the window is also not something I recommend. I will leave Xanthis in your care here; he is a craven wretch, so I have all faith that if you are attacked by anyone here we can trust him to neigh extremely loudly and thus warn us before he bolts."

(Xanthis, apparently sharing Lyria's opinion of smelly alleyways, snorts disapprovingly and sends Falnis' back a resentful look as he is led into the darkness.)

Lyria nods, seeming to accept the logic of this. She winces at having to hold the reigns of each horse, and thus have no hand free to cover her nose, but she resolutely strides into the shadows with the pair.

A nerve in Caled's jaw spasms slightly as fixes Falnis with a venomous stare. He sighs.

"Ralen, Vandal, accompany Lady Veldorn."

Fanis may or may not send Caled a smug smile. It is difficult for Caled to be sure in the darkness.

As his two warriors dismount and disappear into the alleyway after Lyria, Caled turns his horse and canters over to the inn. He dismounts with slightly more force than is necessary, and tethers his mount with a tighter knot than is probably required. He then strides into the tavern.

The tavern appears to be full of mostly mercenaries or travellers. Almost all are armed. Men in leather jerkins or chain shirts laugh and shout about the place, while a table of dwarven traders are engaged in a drinking contest by the fire. A lone human merchant seems quite out of place in the corner, eating a bowl of soup and trying to avoid eye contact with those about him. The bartender, a beefy, bearded man stands behind the bar passing out a steady supply of pints.

Caled does not seem perturbed. He barely spares the taproom a glance before striding over to the bartender.

"I am looking for Galnor Veldorn," he says curtly.

"Eh? Veldorn?" says the barman gruffly as he slides a trio of pints across the bar, "Ain't seem 'im since this afternoon. Left in a hurry when them-" he pauses, peering at Caled with sudden suspicion, "Why do ye ask?"

"I'm his cousin," Caled replies without bothering to sound sincere.

OOC: Caled Aravor rolled 11 using 1d20+1. Bluff.

The barman seems about as convinced by this explanation as one might expect.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I have customers ter attend to. If ye'll excuse me..."

OOC: Barman rolled 18 using 1d20. Sense Motive.

Falnis, in the process of moving stealthily up a wall to select which window above to target for entry, pauses as his sharp ears catch the, "he left in a hurry," part from the barman. A moment later, he winces at Caled's reply.

OOC: Dalmar Argant rolled 29 using 1d20+16. Search.
Dalmar Argant rolled 41 using 1d20+22. Listen.
Dalmar Argant rolled 35 using 1d20+23. Spot.
Dalmar Argant rolled 49 using 1d20+30. Move Silently.
Dalmar Argant rolled 35 using 1d20+30. Hide.
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:04, Fri 22 Mar 2019.

Caled seems tempted to pull what he and his men would call 'a Tyronius', but manages to control himself, turning away from the bar with an expression of distaste.

"Split up and see if you can find anyone who knows anything," he mutters to Larend in a low tone.
This message was last edited by the player at 07:02, Thu 30 Dec 2021.

There appear to be four rooms which open onto this side of the building. All have their windows slightly ajar to let in the cool night air, and two of these have candlelight flickering from within. It is as Falnis passes the leftmost of these that something within catches his interest.

Even as he watches, a young, greasy haired man slips into the room.

"There's a pair of knights downstairs asking for Veldorn," he says in a low, urgent tone, "No sign of his niece. Or the prince."

From his angle Falnis cannot see who he is addressing, but the voice that responds is only too familiar.

"It's as Galnor suspected. The prince must have gone back to Lastorn with the lady. I'm surprised he bothered to send even these poor fools to investigate. Still, we don't want loose ends. Lure them up here. Tell them you know where the boy is or something. I'll handle the rest. Oh, and have a couple of barrels sent up. I'll need a way to dispose of the bodies..."

OOC: End of Chapter III...
This message was last edited by the player at 02:54, Wed 28 Aug 2019.