The sage, Atrocles, was a member of a patrician family whose wealth derived primarily from the cultivation of olives. The younger brother of a prominent senator, Atrocles himself spent his life devoted to academic pursuits and had several dissertations and discoveries of note to his credit. Sufficient have an archeological expedition funded. With scant proof, Atrocles staked his reputation pieces of ancient scrolls, old rural legends, and conjecture.

That expedition's ultimate destination was the troubled village of Greenvale. Located near the border of Drenan and the Young Realms. Several of the Young Realms had recently been at war and now with a recent peace it meant that armies were disbanded and fighting men were without employment. Invariably some turned to banditry, and the region was troubled by bands of robbers accosting travelers and attacking many of the rural communities. Drenan's legions patrolled the roads, but their numbers were few and they were ever over-extended. More, bandits had informants that kept largers and more organized bands apprised of the legions' movements, thwarting many efforts.

Thus, Atrocles took on several mercenaries to safeguard his enterprise. Two wagons loaded with the tools to be used to excavate and dig were his main concern, and the lives of his six apprentices - young sages learning from the master, eager for discoveries that would launch their own careers. The apprentices were all soft, rich sons of rich men with little wordliness, and kept to themselves in the main. It seemed that one of these apprentices - an olive-skinned youth named Persens - was merely there to perform the duty of making Atrocles tea, as the sage was very particular about it.

On the final approach to Greenvale the group had come upon an outlying farmstead, recently raided by a bandit gang. The legion had arrived in time to deliver retribution to these bandits, but not soon enough to save the farmers. Atrocles had engaged the young captain of the cavalry troupe - a petty noble named Lukens - to accompany the group to Greenvale, plying Lukens by playing to the young captain's desire to be perceived as a man of culture. As a military man, he was professional if something of a martinet, however, and the men under Lukens' command comported themselves well.

So the remainder of the journey to Greenvale was completed in relative security. The combined group came upon evidence of a skirmish between some bandits and travelers. The men of the legion found the bandits slain and the sole survivor of the attack being a very disoriented Dusk Elf, whom they brought to join the group and convey to the village of Greenvale.

Upon arrival, Lukens engaged rooms for himself and his men at a local inn and tap house, the Blue Boar, intending to perform patrols for some days before resupplying and moving. Atrocles engaged rooms for the members of his expedition who wished to stay on - some of the mercenaries had signed on only for the journey to Greenvale, and now collected their pay and decided instead to pursue the more lucrative enterprise of bandit hunting.

The headman of the village, a man of advancing middle years named Vors, invited Lukens and Atrocles to dine with him on the evening of arrival. Both accepted, and left their respective underlings more or less to their own devices. Atrocles' apprentices unloaded valuables and retired to their rooms. Persens seemed somewhat lost without the task of making Atrocles tea to occupy his evening, but joined his peers in a truly vapid debate about an opaque philosophical topic. The soldiers of the legion attended to their horses and then engaged in games of dice and drinking without the stern eye of their captain upon them. Their sergeant, Kade, however, was keeping order and ensuring none of the men got too deeply in their cups.

As evening arrived, so did the locals of Greenvale, eager to slake their thirst after the day's labour. There was a small damper on the good spirits of the local folk, however: the local who typically provided entertainment had broken his arm in an accident and could not play his lute, leaving the tap room devoid of its usual music.

One group of labourers stood out among the locals. They were of a rougher mould, coarser in speech, and glanced at the legion men with sour looks. So far they did nothing save murmur among themselves, but with enough drink they might work themselves up to causing troubles. The legion men marked them, and there was an undercurrent of tension in the room.

Among the mercenaries originally hired was a dark-skinned, bright-eyed man in clothes of bright color and fine material.  His cheerful demeanor was almost out of place amongst the rest of the mercenaries, who tended to be more practical and dour individuals.  It was at camp that he really showed his value, telling elaborate tales of his past that couldn't possibly be true, but with such enthusiasm and charisma that nobody was minded.  During the day he would ride or walk beside his camel, a creature not uncommon in the Young Realms, a beautiful curved sword not far from hand.

In the tavern in Greenvale, despite the presence of ale, tensions were growing.  Faaid took it upon himself to approach the group of locals to learn what he could from them, as well as what was causing their discontent.  "My friends, Faaid greets you warmly!  The hospitality of your village has been without reproach, and the ale in this Blue Boar a pleasant reprieve from my parched throat.  Tell me, what is it that causes you such distress that you throw dark glances around?  Are we not all friends in a place such as this?"

The dark Dusk Elf who had been found amidst the remains of a group of slain bandits had indeed been out of it for a while. One had to admit however that such was not surprising considering both that her clothes had been drenched in blood and other organic material best left unidentified. On top of that, her clothes were maybe not those one could find at some noble's court but it was obvious they were more than decent. Or would be, once cleaned and dried as surprisingly, they hadn't suffered any damage in whatever had happened. Even then, it was obvious that their wearer didn't come from the gutters but on the contrary was a child or privilege, which was further proved by the signet ring she wore: all in all, someone likely vastly unprepared for such hardships.

And if that wasn't enough, she looked young, even for an Elf. Young enough that finding someone like her, whose family had to be quite wealthy if not powerful, in the country and alone, would raise eyebrows in the best of circumstances but still not so young that anyone would consider preventing her from doing whatever she pleased. Which may actually have played a role in explaining how she had found herself in such a situation.

She hadn't said much on the way to Greenvale besides giving a name - Aleesia Valhorn - and had mostly followed around, clutching a bag with all her possessions. Or maybe it was a bag she had found among the bandits' camp she had reflexively grabbed and had made hers. Unless one of the bandits happened to play the lyre however, it truly was hers.

Despite her silence, when prompted she had quickly shown that she possessed quite a bit of knowledge of the Arcane Arts. Nothing particularly powerful or even all that useful - besides maybe her ability to conjure water - but it was enough to prove that she had had quite the education in that particular field.

The question of the ownership of her bag was answered when one of the soldiers pushed her to play, something that she did quite competently. She was clearly not a Master - which given her apparent age was no surprise - but if the melodies were relatively simple they were clearly executed with skill and obvious, maybe not pleasure, but contentment assuredly.

As time passed, and the closer they got to Greenvale, Aleesia got more lively, clearly on the way to recovery. She still didn't say much, particularly regarding the bandits and whatever had happened or even how she had found herself in that particular situation, but she at least answered simple questions with more than a simple gesture, even accepting to sing while playing her Lyre on the last couple of nights on the road. Thankfully, she happened to have a very nice voice.

When expedition and escort finally arrived in Greenvale, Aleesia seemed to have mostly recovered by then and if she appeared lost, it had probably more to do with not knowing what she was supposed to be doing than with what had happened. She had followed to the inn and was nursing a hot cup of tea, but she very obviously had no real idea as to what she was going to do next.

Lyn had been loitering around Greenvale for a while now. Finding a way to safely and decently interact with bandits had proven much harder than she had thought it would. It vexed her considerably. Her pa had always said she was half-too-clever for her own britches, but she'd always taken it as the compliment it wasn't intended as. The people of the village had been interesting for a few days. Greenvale was big enough for her curious mind to entertain itself here and there trying to find the spies and agents of the larger bands of bandits. Truth was, she wanted to travel among them for a while and learn their lives and motivations. Telling that to the villagers would do no good though; they hated the bandits. She expected she would, too, if her kin had been marauded like that.

Still, good luck had favored her today. The local minstrel had broken his arm. She'd had to pretend to not be elated about it, of course. Wouldn't do people thinking she had been part of it or planned to make good off the man's tragedy.

Still, the afternoon, she'd taken the time to have her second set of clothes cleaned. Of course, that meant she'd done it herself. She trusted no one else to preserve the delicate shade of blue. It had taken some time for her to find the things she wanted and prepare herself in her room, but eventually, she descended the stairs into... madness. Madness that caused her to bite her lip in frustration. This would not do at all. There was too much hub-bub and hullabaloo for anyone to properly focus on her. She tamped her foot and then huffed before descending to the room. The bright blue swish of her skirts, the swing of her bare shoulder below the blue bands wrapping up and behind her neck to keep the bodice in place. One might suspect the clothes were fine until you got close enough to notice the fabric was flax instead of cotton and the flowers stitched in reds and yellows into the bodice were more likely a mother's work than a seamstress'. It was, in truth, garb tough enough to travel but pretty enough for a country wedding. Still, in a dress the shade of blue that'd make the ocean blush and warm, polished leather boots she strode through the crowd.

It was more than enough to send the corner of her lip sliding up just barely as many an eye trailed her. Still, she was feeling a bit grumpy now, so she stopped near a table, allowing some mercenaries a fine look, and surveyed the lot. Some fop was trying to upstage her near the locals, the soldiers and that lot seemed about to spark off, and there were a few other interesting sights among the taproom. Sighting the dusk elf, her eyes glowed with interest. She swished along the pathways until she got to the table and beamed down at Aleesia, "Mind if I sit?" But she had already slid into the chair opposite and arranged her skirts. "So, it's not often we see elves out this far. You seem, bedraggled? There must be some story involved. I am something of a collector of stories, humble as I may be. Would you mind sharing it?"
This message was last edited by the player at 03:44, Sat 25 Sept 2021.

Joining the expedition had been an impulse for Torstein. A long trek alone through wild lands had left the young High Man with a craving for human contact. He was a long way from the fortress-monastery and his brothers. But he knew that leaving was the right choice: staying there was just hiding from the world. He had to go out and do good. Oppose evil.

It led to many firsts for Torstein. The strange beast that Faaid rode did not exist Torstein's fatherland. The scholar and his apprentices were very different from even the most learned of his Brothers of the Red Cup. The philosophy they discussed was beyond him. They pursued points so opaque and esoteric as to be the stuff of hermits. But it was interesting to listen.

Another first was the Dusk Elf they encountered along the way, shortly before Greenvale. Torstein tried not to stare at the traumatized female, but he could not hide his fascination at the sight of her, nor of her behaviour. He prayed to the Source for her recovery, and it gladdened him as she came more into sensibility.

In the Blue Boar, Torstein went to his room to pray. He prayed with fervor, and in a manner that he abstained from on the road for lack of privacy. But he did join everyone in the tap room, and felt much refreshed and renewed when he did. His smooth, soft face was lit with an easy, unassuming smile and though he noted the tension between the soldiers and some of the local labourers he was not really disturbed by it. Faaid was speaking to them, and it seemed to Torstein that if anyone might calm things it was the enigmatic man from the desert.

The tall blond male got food for Aleesia and himself. He was across the room when Ahvylyn entered, and Torstein noted her entrance as few others did. He stared at her, showing some awe at her appearance. She was easily among the most striking females he had ever beheld, and her concealed heritage had some effect in amplifying what Torstein experienced looking upon her. The half-elf was seated with Aleesia by the time he recovered and joined the pair. He set down the food before Aleesia, and took a seat.

After a brief prayer of thanks to the Source, Torstein began to eat.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:28, Sat 25 Sept 2021.

Aleesia looked up at the woman in front of her, blinking in surprise. She took some time to determine how - and what - to answer, but before she could say anything Torstein had deposited a plate of food in front of her. She smiled briefly to him, nodding gratefully, “Thank you.”

The young dusk elf took a mouthful, then looking at Ahvylyn she slowly answered her question. “Some bandits captured me. Atrocles' expedition...found...me. A few days ago.” She glanced at Torstein then, as if asking him to add the missing details she didn't feel like sharing herself at the moment.

Torstein ate obliviously for a few moments and then sensed Aleesia's glance upon him. He finished chewing and wiped his mouth, and a lost expression settled upon his face. "Ah, well . . . there is little else to say. Some distance away, we came upon Aleesia in a much worse state. She was covered in blood and viscera, and the legion found dead bandits and another dead elf further on. The men of the legion said they had never seen men slain in such a way. And they are not unseasoned men."

He spread his hands out, unsure what to make of the event. "I have seen men savaged and slain by beasts, and by men who behaved as beasts." The youthful warrior shook his head. "And I have not seen its like either." There was an apologetic undertone to his soft voice, and he glanced to Ahvylyn expecting to see her displeasure at how little he could share about Aleesia's tale. A sheltered upbringing by warrior-monks made Ahvylyn's beauty disarm Torstein all the more, for he was not accustomed to dealing with females of even half the loveliness of the two he was seated with.

The men looked at Faaid and it seemed for a moment that all of the anger they were stoking in themselves might get turned onto him. But they stopped, and cast furtive glances around the table and at each other. Some were struck by fear, and others were eased. Ultimately, a sullen eyed man with sandy hair spoke up.

"Take a seat, Faaid. Name's Jok." He sniffed and raised his mug to his lips. He pursed his lips. "We ain't all friends on account of some us don't do our fair share." There was a nod of the head towards the legion. "I'll admit I ain't never cared much for pony boys - bunch of fancy lads never done any proper soldiering - but I don't think I'm too out of line to be cross with them. Last time we saw any legion . . . has to be almost a year if it was a day."

Another man slammed his hand on the table. "And then all they did was breeze through, only stopping long enough to take food from us before riding off again!"

Jok nodded his head solemnly. "Didn't pay, neither. Gave our headman promissory notes . . ." But the man shook his head as he trailed off. It was clear the money never materialized. "Came to Drenan because we heard we'd get a fair shake here. In the main, sure, we have. Vors's always been fair with us and ain't a man at this table who didn't have a bad turn that Vors didn't help set to right. But anyone above him?" Jok waved a hand dismissively, like he was trying to blow away a bad smell.

The other man to speak to Faaid shook his head. "Sorry for my bad manners. I'm Lek. I'm just out of sorts . . . my brother's farm got hit. You'd seen it, coming in." Lek slammed his hand on the table again and looked away, overcome with emotions.

"Better if we had some blasted music instead of listening to them pony boys." Jok said sourly, casting another withering look over at the legion. By coincidence in that moment one of them had won well on a hand of dice, resulting in whoops of congratulation for the winner from observers and exaggerated groans from the loser. Lek took special offense to it, as if they were being purposefully mirthful in the face of his personal tragedy.

Faaid listens and observes, his eyes curiously drinking in every bit of nonverbal communication presented.  Upon hearing the story and the complaints, he drums his fingers on the table for a moment while looking around the room before returning to Lek and Jok with half a grin.  "Music we can handle.  I know someone.  Money, however, is harder.  The Legion loves their notes and promises, but trying to ask for payment is often returned with commentary on the quartermaster and requisitions.  But I'd love to help try turning the notes into coin.  One way or another."  Faaid winks as he says this, making an obvious glance to the legionnaires playing dice.

His face turns solemn as he looks to Lek.  "I am truly sorry to hear of your brother's farm.  Banditry has gone too far as of late, though if it is the farm I am thinking of, vengeance was at least had.  Those bandits are no more, thanks to these young men and their fine pony's.  Don't be too hard on them, it's not the young ones who make promises they can't keep; they're the ones in the muck and grime and blood following orders.  It is those on top you should show your ire.  But perhaps not tonight, not with bellies full of ale.  Now before I blather on too much more, allow me to try returning music to this fine establishment!"

Rising from the table, Faaid looks around the room once more before locking his eyes on Aleesia.  He moves gracefully through the busy tavern, ale in hand, before taking a seat amongst the Elf and her current companions.  He waits for them to finish speaking before interjecting.  "No need to look so glum, friends!  Not when there is warmth from the hearth and ale to be drunk!  Aleesia, is it?  I seem to recall seeing you dragging that instrument around.  Do you perchance play?  Based on how everyone has been drinking, I'm not asking if you can play well.  But it would go a long ways in alleviating the obvious tension between some of the locals and our legionnaire friends.  And if not for them, it would warm Faaid's heart."  This was likely the most he had spoken to her since the expedition had found her.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:46, Mon 27 Sept 2021.

There was a small chance that something truly unacceptable was occurring. Lyn's face momentarily went blank as a sheet or parchment freshly pressed as Faiid took a seat. A moment later, a cookie-cutter smile spread across her face as her lavender eyes darted from person to person.

Finally, she turned her eyes to the aforementioned lute and her eyes lit up like lamps. Her hands fluttered to her lips to capture a soft gasp that blended smoothly into a giggle, "Oh, a musician? Oh my. I fancy myself something of a singer. Just local ditties mostly: bawdy tunes and rustic jigs. You wouldn't... couldn't... do you possibly know the Lay of Thrymm?" Smiling brightly, she started to hum a few bars of a song. The melody was a simple one used in a lot of songs. "You play and I'll sing. Kay?" Lyn reached out her hand to take the dusk elf's arm in a light grip and her eyes pleaded.

Aleesia looked away while Torstein explained what he knew. She ate her food silently, avoiding everyone's gaze. When he finished, she nodded her thanks, but obviously didn't feel like adding anything else to the story. Assuming she even could, and considering the now grey colour of her face, it would likely have been hoping for too much.

She finally looked up when Faaid joined them, nodding to confirm that Aleesia was indeed her name, or when he asked if she played Lyre though she looked a bit confused there: if he had been with them on the way to Greenvale, shouldn't he already know as much? Though maybe he had been scouting at those times. The days were still not much more than a blur to her so she couldn't tell.

While she didn't straight out reject Faaid's request, the glance she took of the stage - or what passed for it anyway - made it clear that she was a bit anxious about going there. Her head tilted to the side, she considered Ahvylyn for a moment, briefly nodding to confirm that she indeed knew what she was talking about. She hadn't exactly agreed to it yet though when the half-elf placed a hand on her arm.

She froze. Not for long, and she didn't escape in a rush or made a scene, but it was enough to show that physical contact was probably still a bit too early. Still, maybe because she had been convinced, or simply to escape the contact, Aleesia leaned away to take her instrument. She stood then and walked to the stage.

As she did, she didn't shy away from the looks, nor walked too fast or too slow. Clearly, even if it was a bit uncomfortable for her at the moment, she was used to be in public and knew how to comport herself. Once she reached her destination, she sat down and played a few notes, both to make sure her instrument was still well tuned and draw attention to herself making it evident once more that she knew what she was doing.

Very quickly it also became obvious that she indeed knew what Ahvylyn was talking about - albeit maybe a slightly different version of it - well enough that she could not only play it, but also add some discreet counterpoints in a clear soprano voice to the half-elf's singing.

13:36, Today: Aleesia Valhorn rolled 121 using 1d100+75.  [Challenging] Playing the 'Lay of Thrymm'.
Success.