Marabir scrambles hastily up the remainder of the slope before reaching the tangle of roots and tree trunks at its crest and then sprinting down the far side. Dalmar moves swiftly and adroitly ahead of him, having no trouble seeing in the dim light. At first Marabir attempts to keep pace, as an almost inherent, unspoken rivalry seems to develop between the two. Dalmar darts nimbly beneath a mass of branches, while Marabir athletically leaps over a fallen log. Dalmar then balances along a branch to clear a wall of brambles while Marabir slips between a pair of knotted trunks. However this little competition comes to a rather abrupt and untimely end when Marabir's foot catches on a jutting root in the gloom and he is sent hurtling headlong across the mass of dried leaves and into the trunk of a large elm. He picks himself up, wincing as he limps on at a much reduced speed, deciding that the time for making things a competition is well past.

"We should find somewhere to make camp, and continue on in the morning," he pants, still limping as the last remnants of daylight fade and a light mist begins to descend in the darkness about them.

"I agree," Aerendir-- third in this contest, mostly by virtue of not actually participating-- says sourly, dropping some brambles in place to cover the latest spot Marabir has stepped directly on moss. "We also need food. And since I'm not starving two days in a row and I'm not leaving you alone with him while I get some, you are going to come with me while I find us some supper."

"If by 'supper' you mean more of your fungi..." Marabir frowns darkly as he nevertheless follows after the elf.

"Yes, well, I too wish corn and carrots grew in the middle of overgrown forests," Aerendir says sourly. "Anyway, where are we going? I need to know where in order to guide us because 'not where Ravalor is' isn't going to get us anywhere."

"Indeed," agrees Marabir assertively, ignoring the low grumble his stomach gives at the mention of corn and carrots. "First of all we need to head back to Lastorn. We need to find Cyralas and Taesir. Our supplies, rations and coin are in their saddlebags. I am also tired of walking everywhere when two of the finest and fastest stallions in Thane are standing around with nothing to do. Or at least they had better be."

"True," Aerendir agrees. "Well, if we're going to head back to Lastorn, we want to be going that way," Aerendir points in what Marabir assumes is probably the right direction. "We also want to light fires. Not only so we can cook, but so whoever Ravalor hires to find us can do so. They'll probably have horses and when we deal with them, we will get supplies."

"Falnis mentioned he has a small army..." Marabir replies, trying to keep his voice low so that the varim doesn't hear him actually giving weight to his words. "I would imagine he will have many men searching for us, and probably hardened warriors, not the thugs we encountered with Lady Veldorn's uncle. I would prefer to acquire horses from some farmer once we are out of this forest, and ride to Lastorn from there."

"Most likely, but he will also have put a reward on you if he's sensible, which means they will have a vested interest in not finding you together and sharing it. If they're hardened warriors, I doubt they can climb. Just go up an oak tree and so will I, we have Aldaran's bow. I'll shoot them."

Marabir looks like he would rather take his chances with an army of warriors than climbing to the top of an oak tree.

"They can certainly climb as high as I can," he argues. "And Falnis also mentioned they have crossbows. I desire some decent food as much as you do," anyone at all familiar with Aerendir would know this to be highly unlikely, "but we shall simply have to tighten our belts until we are out of the forest. If Ravalor is indeed aligned with these rebels then our entire kingdom is in peril and we must get word to my father.

"Your father is going to get assassinated if you do that," Aerendir says crushingly. "He's going to charge in personally, get shot by a crossbowman, and I am going to get in trouble from Vard and my brother. Is there anybody else in this area who is loyal?"

Marabir frowns reprovingly at Aerendir's unflattering prediction of his father's actions, however he does seem to agree that seeking out loyal allies in the area is a good idea.

"Well the Vordren's are certainly loyal, though they don't command a force like that of Ravalor. Lord Alvarn Vordren's son, Tyrald, is a formidable swordsman too, from what I hear. Once we have our horses we should make for their estate and there we can plan how to proceed."

"...As good a plan as any, I suppose," Aerendir allows. "Assuming they aren't traitors too. I suggest we do things a bit more subtly than your brother handled things with Ravalor just in case."

Marabir nods thoughtfully as he negotiates a series of twisted roots in the darkness.

"I personally always felt there was something off about Ravalor," he says after a moment, though it is certainly the first time Aerendir has heard him say as much. "Always had a very gruff demeanour, you know? No charm at all, and no sense of humour."

"I never liked his chef either. But he was a good soldier in the south and my brother spoke highly of him. I have no idea why he's turned traitor now."

"Indeed," says Marabir in a noncomittal tone that suggests he spends far less time in the south than Morfion or Tyronius. "But yes, you are quite right, we must be cautious in how we approach the Vordrens. Are you still there, Falnis?" he adds to the darkness about them as they continue to walk.

"No, I decided 3,000 carens was not worth putting up with listening to Aerendir bemoaning the need to spend a whole hour without food, and decided to bid you both farewell and return empty-handed to Mereldinor and explain to the supplies department and the Council why I am on foot and now need another 20-odd thousand carens worth of poisons allotted to me, and by the way, both Thane's princes are unaccounted for and Caledormists now control all the trading routes in the north," 'Falnis' voice sounds smoothly from the gloom. "Come, Marabir, do try to be reasonable. Do you think humans are the only ones who mind if their reputations are shredded?"
This message was last edited by the player at 15:28, Fri 17 Mar 2023.

"He shouldn't be paying a you that much in the first place," Aerendir says, (somewhat ungratefully, given recent events) with a resentful glare at the shadows. "He shouldn't be paying you at all. We allocate Vard that budget so his agents can rescue us if we happen to need saving, not so he can outsource the job to varim assassins."

"The Caladormists are a long way from controlling anything," Marabir replies, his tone more indignant than assured. "And I am still skeptical that your poisons are worth anything like the sum you claim they are. If anyone is going to be having trouble explaining their financial requirements to councils, as Aerendir said, it is Calvorn."

“There’s a spider on your leg,” Falnis points out helpfully, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with Marabir’s point.

Marabir squints down at his leg, snapping off a nearby twig and flicking the enterprising arachnid off toward a nearby tree. He then clambers down into a narrow hollow between a pair of trees.

"This seems as good a spot as any to rest for the night," he asserts, stifling a yawn. "Aerendir, you can take the first watch? Wake me in a few hours and I'll take the next watch through to dawn."

Aerendir grunts something unintelligible. If he has not the slightest intention of waking Marabir, however, that’s clearly something he’s sensible enough not to share with his weary future king.

Fortunately for all three, the night passes mostly without incident. Once or twice, Marabir stirs, roused by the distant howling of wolves or by the eerie snapping of twigs somewhere distant as some animal makes its way through the undergrowth, and several times Marabir is sure he feels the crawling feeling of spiders and insects making their way over his face, but the prince is able to drift off again. Whether by chance (or simple incompetence) no Caledormist trackers find them, and there is no distant shouting or screaming to suggest anyone managed to find Aldaran either. In the end, the worst the party have to deal with is the cold mist and stale sweat from their run, which by sunrise the next morning have managed to soak Marabir's and Aerendir's clothes, leaving them sodden and itching.

(It's unclear if Falnis shares this discomfort, but he certainly doesn't seem to share the same smell of stale sweat. Whether this is due to some kind of varim magic (entirely possible given the cost of noble's garments in Mereldinor) or merely because the dark elf has washed at some point in the night is unclear.)

Marabir is awakened just before dawn by the lively chirping of birds in the trees about them, groaning before opening his eyes and pulling himself stiffly up to stretch his back and arms.

"So much for waking me in a few hours..." he yawns at Aerendir, not sounding too displeased with the elf.

Aerendir, in the middle of eating some dubious looking fungi, grunts.

Marabir seems content to skip this would-be breakfast, and it isn't long before they are off once more, making their way through the forest as the dawn begins to dissipate the mist about them. It only takes an hour to reach the southern edge of the forest, and by the time the mist has fully risen, they find themselves exiting the trees and looking across an expanse of open farmland once again. Keeping behind hills, embankments and the intermittent trees that line the paddocks, they begin to pick their way toward the nearest farmhouse, and soon the trio lie at the foot of a large cypress tree, an embankment shielding them from a farmhouse a couple of hundred yards away, and the tree's foliage shielding them from the road behind.

"Only one horse," Marabir observes grimly as he peers over the embankment at the yard beside the farmhouse. "And a packhorse by the looks of it."

“It should almost be strong enough to carry you.”

Aerendir seems to be checking if he can spot the farmer.

Marabir shoots Dalmar an unimpressed glance, but even as he does so, Dalmar and Aerendir's elven ears detect the distant sound of approaching hoofbeats from the direction of the road behind them. Aerendir can see no sign of the farmer, though he does see a plump, middle aged woman who he guesses to be his wife bustling about the house as she moves back and forth past the farmhouse's open doorway.
This message was last edited by the GM at 06:32, Sat 18 Mar 2023.

“Incoming horsemen,” Aerendir warns.
This message was last edited by the player at 07:22, Sat 18 Mar 2023.

Marabir swiftly ducks back below the embankment, making sure he is concealed by the trunk of the tree.

"Friends or foes?" he whispers back.

A few moments later a party of riders rounds the hill behind them, cantering along the muddy road in the direction of the farmhouse. Aerendir counts eight riders, dressed in gambesons over which they wear chainmail hauberks. Their leader is a grizzled, middle aged veteran, and each carries a sword strapped to his side and a crossbow on their saddles.
This message was last edited by the GM at 09:33, Sat 18 Mar 2023.

Dalmar goes to start signing something, checks himself when he remembers nobody present understands varim sign language, and then silently begins padding in the direction of the farm house, clearly having the intention of listening.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:12, Sat 18 Mar 2023.

Marabir decides it's definitely better if he doesn't attempt to follow Dalmar to the farmhouse, and carefully shifts around the tree truck to keep out of sight as the riders pass. He then slithers forward to the embankment once more once they are on the far side, slowly unsheathing his blade.

The riders do not spot Dalmar as they pass, drawing their mounts to a halt in the farmyard even as the portly farmer's wife comes out to see what all the commotion is about. The leader of the riders dismounts, approaching the woman with a respectful nod.

"Forgive my men and I for the intrusion, Dalia, is Enwyn around?" the man asks, glancing about.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:43, Sat 18 Mar 2023.

Dalia-- a burley woman in a threadbare dress and a cap that is failing to stop flyaway hairs from escaping, and whose flour-covered hands suggest she was in the middle of making breakfast, wipes her hands on her apron.

"Aye, he's over in that field yonder. He's not been makin' trouble, has he?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:31, Sat 18 Mar 2023.

"He has not," the man assures her with a wry smile, before his expression turns grim. "I shall talk to him now, but you do not happen to have seen a young knight passing through these parts? Possibly accompanied by an elf? Maybe going by the name of Sir Varonil?"
This message was last edited by the player at 11:56, Sat 18 Mar 2023.

The look Dalia sends Tarth is very much like he's grown a second head.

"There's no knights been passing through these parts, Tarth. And there are those what say I have the eyes of a hawk up here," Dalia taps her temple, "so you can be sure if they did I'd not have missed them."

"Indeed, indeed," Tarth nods, clearly knowing better than to argue with the woman. His attention turns to a young girl of perhaps three or four who has appeared at the doorway behind, flour all over her hands and face and down her front. "Er, well, I can see you're busy, Dalia. I'll have a quick word to Enwyn and we'll be on our way."

Dalia’s eyes slit the moment she spots her errant offspring. As Tarth leaves, he hears Dalia’s voice assuming a sharper note asking what has mommy told you about playing in the flour?!
This message was last edited by the GM at 10:17, Sun 19 Mar 2023.

Tarth, meanwhile, makes his way down the slope behind the house, and is lost from sight from Aerendir and Marabir's vantage point, however, following at a discrete distance, Dalmar observes him walking to the bottom of the slope to where a ruddy skinned man in a coarse linen shirt and pants is tilling a field with a pair of teenage boys.

"Enwyn! Putting the boys to good work, I see," calls the warrior, waving with a grin as he reaches the foot of the hill and approaches the farmer.

Said boys seem only too happy to run over to Tarth and abandon their tilling, the one job clearly being more interesting than the other and Tarth clearly being a regular enough visitor here that he's a welcome sight.

If Enwyn privately thinks the correct term is was putting his boys to good work, he's sensible enough not to voice this in front of a man whose pouch is always plentifully endowed with gelds, and who never talks about oversupply issues to barter down wheat prices come harvest time.

"Tarth," Enwyn says. "Finally manage to get that day off ye was talking about applying for?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 08:51, Tue 21 Mar 2023.

Tarth gives each of the boys a good natured ruffle of the head as he reaches Enwyn, the boys in toe. He gives a wry chuckle at the mention of time off.

"A day off? What's that? But no, I'm afraid I'm here on business today," he responds as his expression grows serious. "Listen, Enwyn, you don't happen to have heard of a knight wandering around these parts? Possibly claiming to be a Sir Varonil? Young man, light browning hair and possibly injured?"

It's clear from the perplexed look that Enwyn sends Tarth that he hasn't.

"...One of ye lads gone missing?"

"Not quite," Tarth replies, lowing his voice in such a way that the two young boys seem to sense that something interesting is being discussed and prick up their ears. "They say it's Prince Marabir Carendil, though you didn't hear it from me. I know for a fact that Lord Ravalor has his brother, Prince Tyronius, captured. Lord Ravalor is calling all able bodied men to join him at Fort Ravalor in three days time, and he remembers those that stand by him in times of trial, regardless of rank. My advice is get Dal and the children up to the old monastery. I know a good number of folk who are doing the same. This is it, Enwyn, the moment our forefathers have waited for."

"..." Enwyn says as enthusiastically as possible.
This message was last edited by the GM at 10:53, Tue 21 Mar 2023.

"Anyway," says Tarth, who doesn't seem to have picked up on any lack of enthusiasm on Enwyn's part, giving the man a bracing pat on the shoulder. "I'd best be off, got 23 more homesteads to reach before nightfall. I'll see you at the fortress soon, all right?"

Without waiting for a response, and with a final smile at the boys and ruffle of the nearest one's hair, he begins to stride back up the hill.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 11:01, Tue 21 Mar 2023.

Enwyn eyes his crops regretfully, clearly pondering what a war is going to do to his harvest.

Dalmar, whose concerns lie more with 'horses' than with harvests, seems to be skirting his way back to the farm, keeping an eye out for where these particular humans keep their stables.

Unfortunately for Tarth's work schedule, at that moment, as he makes his way back up to rejoin his men, the rich smell of warm bread and porridge wafts out.

"Will ye and your men be joining us for breakfast?" Dalia calls, who has clearly been chatting with his men as she cooks and waits for Tarth to finish chatting with her husband, blissfully oblivious to the doom of monasteries and rations that lie in store for her.
This message was last edited by the GM at 09:44, Thu 23 Mar 2023.

The expressions on the faces of Tarth's men make it clear that while the Caladorm cause is indeed of paramount importance, so is a free hot breakfast, with several already half dismounting from their horses. Tarth himself does not appear to need much convincing from his men, possibly because based on the general lack of supplies, Lord Ravalor certainly doesn't believe in lunch breaks.

"I suppose we can make up the time along the way," he says with a grin as the remainder of his men dismount, tying their mounts outside before disappearing inside the farmhouse.
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:28, Fri 24 Mar 2023.

The moment the last of the men disappears into the farmhouse, Marabir gives Aerendir a nod and the pair clamber over the embankment, keeping behind the wooden fencing and trees that line the road as much as possible as he picks his way down towards where the horses are stabled outside the farmhouse. Fortunately for the prince, the men inside appear to be chatting boisterously and their focus is very much on the food before them and not the farmland outside. The pair reach the farmyard and are halfway to the tethered horses when the scent of the freshly baked food wafts out to them.

OOC: Marabir Carendil rolled 16. Hide Check.
Marabir Carendil rolled 21. Move Silently Check.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:44, Mon 27 Mar 2023.

Marabir glances are Aerendir with a frown.

"Aerendir, focus."

"I am focusing."

Marabir seems tempted to add 'on the important things', but feels that this too might be misinterpreted by the elf. Instead he contents himself with sending Aerendir an unimpressed glance as he reaches the mounts. The prince seems to be very familiar with handling horses, petting and murmuring to the nearest one to calm it down as he begins to untether it.

OOC: Marabir Carendil rolled 24. Handle Animal.

Reluctantly, with real willpower, Aerendir does the same.

Dalmar, who seems to feel it’s a good thing all humans are partly deaf, makes himself busy cutting the crossbow strings, sensibly also abstaining from any patronising remarks about human stealth while right outside a packed farmhouse.

After a few moments the trio have successfully untethered three of the horses, with Marabir directing the others to cut through the straps of the saddles of the remaining horses to avoid any chance of pursuit. He then pulls himself into the saddle along with the others and urges his mount to a gallop as he speeds out of the farmyard.

OOC: Marabir Carendil rolled 20. Ride Check.

Aerendir sends Marabir a look that says he doesn't need Marabir to tell him to do this to do it, but nevertheless busies himself doing exactly this. Job done, with the grace of someone who's been around horses for centuries, Aerendir swings himself up onto his own stolen steed, following Marabir.

OOC: Aerendir rolled 31.  Ride Check.

If Dalmar feels that merely cutting through some straps is going to be far less useful than actually making those horses bolt (or simply cutting some hamstrings), that's a feeling the varim is sensible enough not to voice in the vicinity of employers who are not only skilled horsemen but (apparently) actually like these beasts. Once the last strap is cut, Dalmar, too, swings himself up onto a horse and kicks its flanks, urging it after Marabir's.

Luckily for Dalmar (who certainly is no born horseman), his horse is apparently used to following Marabir's (who appears to have stolen Tarth's own steed), because with little resistance, the stolen steed gallops off after the rest of the party, leaving the rest of the horses (after a placid snort) to keep chewing their oats.

OOC: Dalmar Argant rolled 24.  Ride Check.

The combination of loud, overlapping chatter from men enjoying a hearty breakfast (or, in the case of two of Tarth's men, engaged in an unspoken competition to tell the most humorous joke and be the most popular with Dalia and her offspring) along with the fact that Enwyn has horses on this farm and sons who are not above galloping them into the yard to get simple things like pails of water while pretending to be knights means it's a critical moment before the sound of the thunder of hoofs from outside registers as what it is with the breakfasters indoors. It's not until a full 20 seconds later that Tarth recognizes his own steed bolting up the hill, a prince of Thane gamely attached to its back, riding recklessly up the road in the direction they came, followed by two equally job-destroying cloaked figures if this news ever gets back to Lord Ravalor.
This message was last updated by the GM at 00:30, Tue 04 Apr 2023.

Tarth mutters a curse, half choking on a mouthful of porridge as he hastily rises from the table, breaking into a coughing fit as he motions frantically for his men to follow. He leaps onto one of the nearest remaining mounts, cursing once again as the sabotaged saddle slides from the horse's back, Tarth along with it, to crash heavily to the ground. Beside him another of his men repeats the exercise, also landing heavily with a curse.

"They've cut them all sir," observes another of his men grimly.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" fumes Tarth, running a helpless hand through his hair. "Find a way to get them fixed!" As his men hastily move off toward the barn, he spares a final hopeless glance after the retreating riders as they disappear over the crest of the hill and are gone. "Do you hate me or something?" he snarls at the sky above him, before giving a nearby bail of hay a violent kick.

Marabir, meanwhile, spurs his mount into a gallop as he speeds across the grassy fields.

"I assume you know roughly in what direction Lastorn lies?" he calls to Aerendir as they ride.

“I do,” Aerendir confirms, urging his own steed in the necessary direction.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:09, Sat 20 May 2023.

The sky does not grace Tarth's query with an answer, but the sun certainly shines brightly on Marabir's escape, and thanks to farmers in these parts keeping their barns locked when not in use, it's a full thirty minutes before any materials to repair saddles can be found, by which point the trio are long gone.

A skilled tracker might have been able to trace their path, but that is certainly none of the Caledormists here, who certainly do not have the skill to differentiate between a new hoof print today and their own from yesterday (or indeed today.)

This, combined with Aerendir's exceptional hunting skills, mean the party encounter no pursuit or Caledormists at all on their ride-- exceptional luck which Aerendir is certainly attributing to himself, not the sky. All three horses being in reasonably good condition, they are able to make good time, and the sun is only just starting to set in the sky as they near the town of Lastorn.

"All right," Marabir murmurs to Aerendir as he dismounts amongst the trees which dot the hill overlooking Lastorn, tethering the appropriated horse to a tree before creeping forward to peer over the crest of the hill at the sleepy town below. "We need to make our way to the tavern and hope that our mounts are still in the stable."

Aerendir grunts agreement, clearly approving of these priorities.

“…But not, I trust, in broad daylight?” Dalmar says, in the tone of one who trusts nothing of the sort when it comes to Thanians and stealth.

Marabir ignores Dalmar as he peers down at the town.

"No sign of any guards," he observes. "Not surprising now that they have revealed themselves as Caladormists. I expect they have likely fled to Ravalor's fortress. I just hope they didn't harm our horses before they did so."

OOC: Marabir Carendil rolled 21. Spot Check.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:45, Sat 20 May 2023.

“Indeed. If they’ve harmed them, they will pay a much steeper price than they bargained for,” Aerendir agrees, also ignoring Dalmar.

OOC: Aerendir rolled 24. Spot Check

Dalmar narrows his eyes slightly at both Marabir and Aerendir, but makes no comment (since the varim seems to be aware that this, too, would be ignored). However, the varim-- whose keen eyes note well the dozen or so horses partly-concealed at the base of the hill which the distracted Marabir and Aerendir seem to have missed-- also makes no comment on them, apparently feeling that if they do spot Marabir and Aerendir, this is no more than both deserve.

OOC: Dalmar Argant rolled 43. Spot Check

"No sign of anyone," Marabir asserts after a moment in a low voice as he begins to climb over the hill and move stealthily down through the sparse trees towards the town. "I'm going in."

OOC: Marabir Carendil rolled 15. Hide.
Marabir Carendil rolled 15. Move Silently.
This message was last edited by the player at 09:23, Mon 22 May 2023.

"Indeed," Aerendir agrees, following Marabir, stepping on several twigs as he does so which lie partly-concealed under the long grass. "The sooner we find Taesir, the better."

OOC: Aerendir rolled 10. Hide.
Aerendir rolled 7. Move Silently.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:51, Mon 22 May 2023.

Only an astute observer-- or someone looking behind them-- would notice the slightly cruel smile of anticipation that twists Dalmar's lips as the varim slips into the shadows himself, moving far faster than either Aerendir or Marabir down the slope. (Whether out of an altruistic desire to deal with anyone lying in wait before they spot Marabir and Aerendir, or a desire to make sure he isn't in the way of any stray crossbow bolts sent their way once they are spotted-- a fate Dalmar seems to feel is inevitable-- is anyone's guess.)

OOC: Dalmar Argant rolled 37. Hide.
Dalmar Argant rolled 49. Move Silently.

Dalmar reaches the outskirts of the town before the others, seeing no sign of anyone at first. However, as he moves through the town he catches sight of several figures picking their way along the rear of the tavern on the far side of town. They appear to be Thanian men, dressed in dark, nondescript leather and armed with an assortment of swords, maces and crossbows.

Dalmar seems to feel these men may be a Marabir problem, not a Dalmar problem (if indeed they are anyone's problem) for the varim does not engage with them, instead climbing up the side of a house opposite the tavern with the grace and silence of a thief, the better to see what goes on down below.

OOC: Dalmar Argant rolled 44. Spot Check.
Dalmar Argant rolled 36. Listen Check.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:23, Tue 23 May 2023.

Aerendir sends the shadows behind him a dark glare as he follows Marabir down the slope, apparently sure that this is where any varim is going to be skulking.

Marabir reaches the outskirts of the town himself, moving along the rear of the tavern where Dalmar was, moments earlier as he peers out into the streets. The dark clad men appear to be making their way towards the tavern, and by this time even Marabir catches a glimpse of them, quickly ducking back behind the tavern.

"We don't appear to be alone after all," he observes in a low voice to Aerendir.

"Well, I am not leaving Taesir here," Aerendir says, glaring at the men, fingers twitching towards his bow.

OOC: Aerendir rolled 27.  Spot Check.

Marabir seems to feel the same way about Cyralas, as he gives a grim nod in return, carefully unsheathing his blade as he continues to pick his way along the side of the tavern toward the stable entrance.

Even as he moves along the building, a bearded man in his mid twenties appears around the corner of a building to their left, his eyes widening as they alight on Marabir. He swiftly raises his blade, as several more dark clad men appear behind him.

"Who are you?" he demands, his tone wary.

"Where is my horse?" Marabir demands in return, ignoring the question as he raises his own blade, grimly counting the number of men before him.

The bearded man seems a little perplexed by this response, but does not lower his blade.

"I said identify yourself," he repeats.

"...I certainly don't recognize them," Aerendir says, who spends extremely little time in the north, coming to stand beside Marabir, bow notched, an arrow in hand.

The bearded man's eyes narrow at the sight of the elf, giving a gesture as a couple of the men behind him raise crossbows. However, even as the man opens his mouth to speak, a voice sounds from behind him.

"Marabir!"

"Nod? How did you...?" responds Marabir in disbelief, lowering his blade as the minstrel, who has appeared around the corner behind the men, hurries forward with a wide grin.

"Your Highness!" says the bearded man sheepishly, kneeling as he swiftly gestures for his men to lower their weapons.

"I rode to the Vordren Estate," Nod explains lightly, squeezing past the kneeling warriors as he continues to approach. "Lord Vordren and his oldest son are away at the Carnauger front. This is Samnir, his second son, and the handful of men who were manning his estate."

"...Well it's good to know not everyone up north is a Caledormist," Aerendir says sourly. "Though they do seem to score badly at recognising their future king."
This message was last edited by the player at 17:35, Tue 01 Aug 2023.

Vordren murmurs something inaudible as he and his men cough and stare at their feet.

"Cyralas?" Marabir asks Nod hopefully, this seeming to be a higher priority than the men kneeling before him.

"He's here," Nod assures the prince. "I rescued him and Taesir from the stable, and they both refused to remain at the Vordren Estate when we began our journey back here."

"Good man," Marabir smiles approvingly, giving the minstrel a pat on the shoulder as he moves forward to turn his attention to Vordren and his men as he gestures for them to rise. "It is good to know there are still some men in these parts who are loyal to their prince, Samnir. I am well acquainted with your brother, Tyrald. If you are half the warrior he is, your sword will be a welcome addition."

“Here as in where?” Aerendir says sourly to Nod.