"Wise choice," Galnor smiles coldly as with a jerk of his head two of his men hurry forward to grab Tyonius and force the princes' arms behind his back.

"Now, tell that curn of an elf of yours to come down from the roof. The boys are getting sick of his annoying arrows up there."
This message was last edited by the player at 08:08, Thu 30 Dec 2021.

Tyronius stares stonily back at him as his arms are forced behind his back.

"Surely you can deal with one elf," he says coolly.

Galnor smiles thinly back at him.

"Search the rooms," he instructs his men, "And bring Tyronius outside."

With that he shoves Marabir's unconscious form into the hands of the pair of men beside him and marches outside the tavern once more. He places his blade at the throat of Tyronius and peers up into the darkness above the tavern.

"All right elf!" he calls, "It's over. Surrender yourself and get down here, otherwise Tyronius' tale ends here."
This message was last edited by the player at 08:13, Thu 30 Dec 2021.

Tyronius does not appear at all perturbed by the sword at his throat while they await a response.

"Do you really think, Veldorn," he says after a few moments of silence, "That he would be foolish enough to wait around after you had captured my brother and I?"
This message was last edited by the player at 08:14, Thu 30 Dec 2021.

Galnor shoots him a dirty look, but does not give up.

"You here me elf?" he calls again, "Last chance. Surrender yourself."
This message was last edited by the player at 08:15, Thu 30 Dec 2021.

"I will surrender myself on the condition that neither Tyronius nor Marabir will be harmed for one week, and that I will be allowed to attend to Marabir's wounds. That's assuming I can restrain myself from strangling him myself. Well?" Aerendir calls down from the roof, lining up a shot in case the answer is no.

Galnor gives Tyronius a smug smile, before glancing up at the tavern roof once more.

"A week?" he repeats, "That's very specific."
This message was last edited by the player at 08:16, Thu 30 Dec 2021.

"It is. But one week it is. 'Not harmed today' can be interpreted as being killed tomorrow, which is obviously not what I want, or worth agreeing to. Assuming you actually keep your word."
This message was last edited by the GM at 08:18, Thu 30 Dec 2021.

Tyronius waits patiently while the pair negotiate.

"Why does no one trust me?" Galnor once more glances at the men around him, sounding hurt, "All right, neither Marabir or Tyronius will be harmed for a week from now. However, the deal if off if they try to escape, or if they or their allies attempt to attack my men. Deal?"
This message was last edited by the player at 08:21, Thu 30 Dec 2021.

"That is fair," Aerendir allows, "But if any of their men-- or anyone who isn't their men, for that matter-- try to rescue them without them organising it or participating in it, then it doesn't count as them trying to escape or breaking the agreement, and the agreement will still be valid. Your men can only harm the attackers. And as I mentioned before, I will be allowed to attend to Marabir's wounds until he is recovered. Agreed?"
This message was last edited by the player at 12:52, Sun 31 Mar 2019.

Galnor rolls his eyes.

"Yes, yes, agreed," he sighs, then in a lower voice to a nearby mercenary, "You need a bloody lawyer here for these deals."
This message was last edited by the player at 08:25, Thu 30 Dec 2021.

"Good," Aerendir says, with ill-grace, descending from the roof and landing lightly on the ground. "If any of your men damage my bow, by the way, I will be holding you personally responsible," he says, passing it to one of Galnor's thugs, along with his quiver and a small hunting knife and all of the stolen poisons. "Those aren't mine, by the way. I acquired them off a varim who I found wandering these lands, who Marabir wouldn't let me kill. He's probably still wandering around somewhere if you want to deal with him for me, since obviously things like laws and treaties aren't something you consider binding. Now, lead me to Marabir, so I can heal him up enough to punch him in the face."

If it occurs to Aerendir that it's not a very good idea to send a bunch of Caladormists off after a varim who is (supposedly) riding around with four knights carrying Tyronius' personal seal, it is obviously not a consideration that weighs heavily with the high elf.
This message was last edited by the GM at 08:25, Thu 30 Dec 2021.

Galnor's men take Aerendir's weapons, eyeing them suspiciously as though they expect the bow to suddenly summon an arrow and shoot of its own accord.
This message was last edited by the player at 08:26, Thu 30 Dec 2021.

Judging by Galnor's expression, hunting down a varim assassin seems to be the last thing he would attempt. He gestures to a nearby guard.

"Bring Marabir out here and put him in the wagon. The rest of you, round up the wounded and prisoners. We depart in half an hour."
This message was last edited by the player at 08:27, Thu 30 Dec 2021.

Meanwhile, the mercenaries upstairs have broken their way through Nod’s makeshift barricade, and storm into the room. The first moves over to the open window, glancing out, while his companion stoops to peer under the bed. As he rises, the thug glances at the wardrobe in the corner. It is slightly ajar, and even as he watches, it seems to close slightly. He tilts his head as it once more creaks open a crack, the is surreptitiously pulled closed once more. He nudges his companion as the pair make their way over to the wardrobe and tear open the door.

OOC: Nod the Minstrel rolled 5 using 1d20+1. Hide.
Caladormist rolled 11 using 1d20. Spot.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:04, Mon 01 Apr 2019.

Poor Nod is sent sprawling out onto the floor before the pair of mercenaries.

"Got ya!" grins one of the pair triumphantly.

Nod quickly pulls himself up, straightening his collar and assuming the haughtiest look he can muster.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demands, "More of Prince Tyronius' ruffians, I take it?"

OOC: Nod the Minstrel rolled 24 using 1d20+8. Bluff.

The smug looks on the men before him morph into looks of uncertainty and confusion.

"Tyronius' men?" one of them repeats, frowning.

OOC: Caladormist rolled 5 using 1d20-1. Sense Motive.

"Indeed," Nod replies huffily, "Just because he's a prince he thinks he can barge into any tavern he pleases and throw travellers out of the finest room after they have paid in full!"

"Ye ain't with the Carendils?" the other man asks, scratching an ear, "But then why'd ya barricade the door?"

"I most certainly am not," Nod lies disdainfully, "I am Elansir the Merchant, from the land of Verindisal. And you would barricade your door too, if an elf came barging in out of nowhere with a drawn bow and climbed through your window."

OOC: Nod the Minstrel rolled 23 using 1d20+8. Bluff.

By this time the pair are starting to look decidedly sheepish. One of them, however, seems determined to justify himself.

"Merchant, eh?" he says, "Well where's ya wares then?"

OOC: Caladormist rolled 5 using 1d20-1. Sense Motive.

To the man's dismay, Nod does not seem at all put off by this question. He reaches into his pack and smoothly withdraws his mandolin.

"Musical instruments. Hand crafted by the elves of Redwood themselves," he says proudly, "They say the melody of that land can still be heard when one plucks its strings."