On the Shores of the River Vingaard
Trouble Landing
It takes the combined efforts of Merituuli, Modri, and Decimus to rescue the boat from running away down the river.
Sprained Ankle
Coltan helps where he can and mends the ankle in question.
“Bless you!” the old man says, “Praise Reorx!”
Shivering
Hunni lights the fire for the elderly couple with magic—an act they regard as nothing short of miraculous.
“By the gods!” they say, “Thank you so much, Ms. Hunni! Hail the heroes of High Hill!”
Naughty Looters!
Artanis’s silver-tongued speech soothes the hearts of the troubled neighbors and they grumble apologies at the man they were trying to loot before slinking off, heads hung low.
“Thank you, Ser Artanis!” the victim of their thwarted looting attempt says. “If there’s anything I can do for you, good sir, ask it!”
Processing
To Mery, Darrett nods. “I get where you’re coming from. Thank you, but I’m just going to need time. All I see when I look at her is her holding up that missive from Belepharian or whoever, demanding we quarter her army.”
Former-Mayor Raven considers Mery’s words. After some consideration, she looks to Derrett and then back to Michelle. She pulls a tube out of her own pack, pops the top off, and pulls out a small map of the region. “Get up. Mark on here where your your lands are so we can get my people off the banks of the river and start rebuilding their lives. If you think for one second that enough space on ‘your’ lands isn’t going become ‘New Vogler’, then I’ll kick your teeth in.”
Michelle stands and nods, and takes a quill and some ink, once provided, and marks an outline—to the best of her memory, of the Folketh lands.
“Ser Artanis, since I don’t know how familiar you are with the area, I’ll lead us to Kalaman,” Raven says. “Besides, I’m a baronet, so that should help smooth over this ‘processing’ horse manure.”
Raven rolls up the map and hands it to Mery. “You take them, see what you can find there. I half suspect the place has been taken over by others.” She turns to the village elders—the people you remember being in the strategy meetings with her in the Brass Crab. “Go with Ms. Mery. See what you can make of these lands, figure out what we can do with it and what we have to do to get it ready for habitation.”
With that, she departs with Artanis, Michelle, Coltan, Hunni, and Decimus.
After a two-and-a-half mile walk, you reach the processing station—it’s little more than a table with a bureaucrat and about fifty knights all with halberds and swords at their sides. None of them looks remotely willing to engage in banter. A line of thirty people has already formed. As you approach, you see a Voglerite bowing and thanking the bureaucrat who waves him off with a loud “NEXT!”.
The man walks briskly past you carrying a corded placard just a tad longer than his fist clenched around it. It looks to have some markings of some sort on it.
As you get closer, you can see a stout dwarf using a small axe to deftly split wood into just such placards. He takes a brand out of the fire, brands one side and then passes the item to another person who takes a brand out of his own, separate brazier and brands it. A third man uses tongs to switch out chunks of metal from his own brand at the direction of the bureaucrat, and then brands the other side. Finally, it’s handed to the processing bureaucrat.
He writes down their information and then he takes a brand out of the brazier on his table and burns his mark into it. Handing the still smoking placard to the person with a lanyard, he quickly yells, “NEXT!”
As you begin walking past the people in line, several knights run up to you.
“What do you think you’re doing?! Get in line with the rest! Back of the line with you! NOW!”
Several Voglerites speak up. “Sir, that woman is our mayor! And those are the Heroes of High Hill! If they need to go ahead, they can be in front of me!”
“Saddup, you!” the knight says winningly.
However, the entire line, mumbling and grumbling all dutifully move back enough paces for your whole group to be ‘next’. A villager runs off back to the camp with his newly acquired placard and then you’re called forward with a “NEXT!”
“Name? Party size? State your business and intended length of stay . . .” he says in a bored tone.
“Baronet Raven uth Vogler, mayor of the Village of Vogler,” Raven says, mildly amused, “accompanied by Darrett Highwater, squire of the late Ser Becklin uth Viharin, Ser Artanis Solamnic Knight Order of the Crown, Hunni and Decimus—they’re here to see Wehan, the Blackrobe—and . . .” she grits her teeth here and virtually chokes out, “Baroness Michelle Folketh of Kalaman.”
The last one gets his attention and you all see eight sets of eyebrows raise high in surprise.
“E-excuse, me, but,” the bureaucrat says, “Is this a joke? The Folkeths were driven out ages ago by the Ferrohs—who are all dead, now, too. Their barronies are about five miles that-a-ways,” he says, flicking his hand in the direction Michelle had indicated.
“No, it’s not a joke,” Raven states, “It would seem they joined the Dragon Armies of Takhisis, who just burned my village to the ground. The baroness, here, it seems was an officer in their ranks whom Ser Artanis here, along with his friends, captured. We’re here to see her brought to justice.”
The bureaucrat gets up and talks with several of the knights—many of whom appear to have officers’ insignia, and a couple of other bureaucrats working with him. After some discussion, he returns. One of the knights mounts his horse and rides back into the city just about one or two jousting tilt-yardsA tilt-yard, otherwise known as a list or list yard is the field where jousting took place. It’s anywhere from 110 to 220 feet long. Here, I didn’t want to say ‘football field’, which most American’s can readily conceptualize the length of, because I don’t know how many of you are Americans, or how that relates to a soccer field; and, because I want to sound high fantasy and not modern. But, yes, a 100-yard-long (300 feet or 91.44 m) football field would be the best approximation, here. behind the processing station.
“As for you, Madam, being a ‘Raven uth Vogler’, that presents us with a problem—in fact, this entire situation presents us with a serious conundrum.”
“And that would be?” Raven asks testily. “My town burning down and being responsible for over three hundred refugees makes me less than patient nor sympathetic for mere ‘conundrums’.”
“Yes, well, Madam,” the bureaucrat says, “Your leader reached us last night and informed us that the townsfolk were armed and regrouping to help him retake the town from a group of invaders. He also indicated that many of the town’s governing figures had all been last seen on the wharf, directing refugees to safety and fighting the invaders—and that they were likely either dead, or at best, captured.”
“What is this crock of bull feces!?!” Raven growls. “And who is this ‘leader’ supposed to be, if not me!?!”
“Is Baron Bakaris uth Estide not your rightful, Royally appointed leader?” the bureacrat asked incredulously, as if he were asking if water were not in fact wet. “Well, instead, we’ve yet to encounter as single Voglerite with more than butter knife on them, and no one seems to know anything about ‘regrouping to retake the town from invaders’. In fact, several of them have said that the town doesn’t even exist anymore—they claim to have been amongst the last to leave and saw ‘mile-high flames’,” he continues. “To which we are predisposed to lend credence—the city was rather alarmed by what some described as ‘the sun rising in the west!’ last night. Either way, we’ve sent someone to discuss this development with people better suited to sorting it out—way above my pay-grade. Please wait over there,” he says, pointing to some benches that had been erected. “NEXT!”
“No!” she says, slamming her palms on the table, which causes a number of the knights to put their hands on their sword pommels. “I am the leader of Vogler. I am Baronetess Raven uth Vogler of the Vogler Baronetcy, commonly called ‘the Village of Vogler’! Estide is a barony next to the Vogler Baronetcy! He only lives there!”
“Tell it to someone who can do something about it. Like I said, ‘above my pay-grade’. NEXT!” the bureaucrat yells, waving you all off to the benches.
With that, the next person steps forward and you are all directed to sit.
Entering Kalaman
Eventually, the knight who’d ridden off returns with several more knights in tow.
“Come with us. We’ll escort you to Ser Corpher and Governor Miat. I hope you’ve brought proof of your claims—they’re quite serious!”
Raven nods, and pulls a decorated metal tube out of her bag that any noble would recognize as a scroll of pedigree, and holds up her hand to show the ring of her house and office.
They look to Ser Artanis and find the Solomnic insignia on his own armor.
Then they look at Michelle. “And her? How do we know she’s not some common criminal? She certainly doesn’t look like a Lady Baroness, nor does she look like an enemy officer; she looks like a dirty, torn-up trollop with mud on her face.”
They lead you into the city.
At Wyhan’s
(Decimus & Hunni)
One knight tugs on Decimus’s robes and points down a different thoroughfare. “This way, to Wayhan’s. I’ll be waiting outside. No. That’s non-negotiable. We’re on very serious lock-down right now, so we’re all tasked with ensuring the city’s safety. No funny business, mages.”
You reach the shop. Foggy windows obscure a selection of charms and occult trappings for sale. Wyhan’s Apothecary smells of licorice and pepper. The modest shop has a few meager tables displaying good-luck charms, odd animal bones, and vials advertising various remedies. At the rear of the shop, a human woman with raven hair and a dark dress with feathered, winglike sleeves stands behind a counter heaped with open books. She looks up from her reading, eyes you with disinterest, then goes back to her book.
“Well . . .?” she says, not looking up again, “Do you have them? Set them there . . .” She waves her hands at a gold-inlaid ironwood tray on the counter.
At Castle Kalaman
(Raven, Artanis, Coltan, Michelle, Darrett, and whoever wishes to join them)
After Decimus and Hunni, and their escort split off, it’s not long before a familiar face riding a horse through the streets trots by you. He stops and looks down at all of you with disdain. It’s Bakaris the Younger.
“My father has matters well in hand. We’ll be sure to send for you and the rest of the fish-folk once we’ve determined what’s best for them.”
With that, he trots off, laughing arrogantly. He and his horse fades into the traffic of horse-drawn carriages, carts, and wagons.
“Arrogant shit,” Raven curses.
You’re led through the castle gates and the courtyard towards a tower. Inside the huge tower are offices full of cubicles of bureaucrats on several levels. The offices get nicer and nicer as you climb up. Finally, you reach the top. There, they knock and they’re bidden to enter after identifying themselves.
Inside, a huge, single office with an ornate desk at the back sits between you and Governor Miat. On one of the couches set in an oval with the desk at its head, a gnome in flamboyant Solamnian heavy plate armor sits, his feet not reaching the floor. His huge mustache twitches side to side under his bulbous nose.
“Oh, my, oh my! Are you Ser Artanis of house Brightblade?!” he asks excitedly.
Governor Miat has his back to you all. He stands with his hands clasped behind his back as he looks up at the gigantic stained glass window behind him. It depicts a grand battle of epic proportions of Kalaman’s ancient past.
In the Barony Folketh
(Mery and whoever wishes to join her)
Mery leads a party of town elders, including Jarnathan to the Barony Folketh. What she finds is a severly over-grown farm—actually a series of farms. Each one is separated by a line of trees acting as a windbreak. Most of them are also walled off—in fact, the entire barony has a low—4-to-5 feet tall—along the entire border of it. It’s not been maintained, and it’s falling apart in a couple of places, but stone doesn’t really need very much ‘maintaining’, and it looks sturdy enough. A ditch runs the length of the wall between the wall and the road running parallel to it.
When you reach an entrance, the road goes through a stone gatehouse whose heavy wooden doors are rotting off their hinges. The road isn’t well trod as you approach the center of the barony and the manor house.
As they approach the manor house, they find a stately palatial villa at the heart of a number of homes. The closer you approach, you find that just one farm is planted and actually used. The rest seems to have been completely left fallow for the decade the Folketh’s have been gone.
It doesn’t take long for several men to come out of their homes, some holding farm implements, but quite a few holding longbows and arrows.
“We tol’ to fu’kin’ Duskridge bastards to stay off the lord’s land, now git, ’r we’ll start shooting! We’ve had enough o’ you bastards trying to take over Folketh lands!”
The manor house looks unmaintained, and in disrepair. And you can easily spot a number of its shingles now patching holes in the surrounding homes.