Book 1 - Chapter 1: Under the Harvest Moons

[Asta]

Thedrin:

"A far cry less barbaric than a knife in the back because someone covets your worthless Dukeship" Your uncle replied, but knew you wouldn't understand. "They don't use titles, because they don't need them. Their people follow because their prowess and leadership is enough. They have the respect of the common folk, real respect, not fear that some petty lordling will kill them for looking the wrong way."

Bregan sighed, "I digress. I'll assume your lessons in Albion didn't cover Thuinich history as much as they might. The War of the Wolves was the longest, bloodiest civil war in recent history. Probably in all of Fearann. For twenty straight years without respite two factions of cooperating clans fought for control of the Steppe. The Marr's, their signet a white direwolf on blue, and the MacArtain's, their's a black one on red each led a faction." Pausing, he ran his fingers through his beard. "Though it can't be said that either side had a moral high-ground in the conflict, each side fought fiercely for their goals. Both sought to make a unified people out of the clans of the Steppe, though they had differing views on what that future country might be. Eventually, through an impressive maneuver, Torcull Marr managed to get the MacArtain forces into a double envelopment. Though routed, Baltair MacArtain managed to survive with much reduced numbers and some months later an accord was struck that ended hostilities leaving the Marr's and their allies victorious. Torcull ended up as the Righ, and founded Aite-Aerd near the location of that last major battle."

"The lesson here, that you should take away, is that these are a people of conviction Thedrin. They do not falter in the face of adversity, they don't shy from hardship. They are not a people to be underestimated. Two-hundred years of peace is not enough to make them throw away their ideals."

After his explanation, Bregan rode in silence for a time. You were nearing the stables of the estate, and after a few minutes more you had arrived. Your uncle swung down from his saddle and hitched his horse, then made for the pen where the destrier was kept. The great black beast eyed the two of you warily from behind the chest high gate. It was a wonder the creature hadn't decided to simply jump it and leave, perhaps the oats Bregan's stablehands fed him were too tempting to leave. As you approached, it snorted wickedly.

"Ill tempered thing isn't he. Though that's what they look for in a war horse after all... If you'd be so kind as to bridle him, I'll fix the saddle on and we can be on our way back just as the festival starts."



Cecilia:

The peddler caught the coin with adroitness equal to the flip you made. Just as he snatched it from the air it seemed to disappear up his sleeve in a fashion that, had you not known better, you might have thought was magic. "The wisest purchase you'll have made all week, young miss!" The peddler surrendered the tome to you in a grandiose fashion, bowing just a bit. "Please, if you should find yourself so satisfied, send others my way. I'll be here for the duration of the festival, and doubtless there might be others that seek wisdom such as yourself."



Rhenri:

"Naturally, I'd trust naw wan else" the ranger replied, you could sense the earnestness behind her playful tone.

Before long, after winding your way through the growing crowds the two of you reached the stall manned by MacBreid. The tanner had an impressive display of his work laid out for festival goers to peruse. From bags and pouches, to scabbards, hats, and wineskins. There was even an entire set of hardened leather armor, though the price tag told you it was mostly there to serve as an example of his skill. Behind it all, the burly man stood watching the crowd. When he caught sight of you, he ran his hand over his bald pate and gave a wave.

"Cor, and here I thought you'd wandered off and forgot girl. How you manage to track beasties out there on the plain is beyond me sometimes! How'r ya now Rehnri? Told her to fetch you near an hour ago!" Though he was chastising Scathach, he did so with a wide smile that made it in jest. To your left, Scathach just shrugged.

"Oh here, before I forget" he started, and then fished around in the pocket of his leather apron. "There you go, bit of a gift I made for you, on account of you always bringing me such fine hides. Now I know I give you fair coin for em, but the quality's been so consistent I felt I needed to do a little extra." The object, now lying flat in the palm of his massive hand was a flat piece of black leather, tooled to resemble the head of a raven in profile. At one edge, a small metal clasp had been affixed at the end of a short iron chain with fine links. "It's a bit of decoration I s'pose. The little clasp there is to hook to your quiver. Made it from one of the hides you brought last week. It ain't much, but I'd made some fine pieces from some of the materials you bring me and its been a real windfall for the family."

Scathach, still standing next to you, gave a slow whistle of appreciation.

[pringerbeam]

     "Maybe if they had a proper royal court with titles and etiquette they wouldn't need to slaughter each other on the plains like savages."  Sighed Thedrin after his uncle finished, dropping the subject for the remainder of the trip back to the manor.

     "Ah yes, if I could take a minute to get properly attired? A magnificent warhorse requires a gallant knight alongside it to properly showcase it."  Said Thedrin, spurring his horse on and taking a quick detour to ride up to the manor proper before his uncle could interject. He quickly made his way to his room to change out of his leisure clothes to put on his armor and parade dress, checking himself over in the mirror.  He wasn't allowed to wear the grey and gold of his family anymore so had started to wear a rich vermilion to accentuate the curled horns and serpentine scales that had been the fee for his family's continued success.  He had been keeping his more vibrant clothes in good condition and protected for just such a special occasion, a chance to show the villagers a glimpse of true nobility.  He finally straightened his scale shirt once more and strapped on his belt with both his warhammer and sword hanging in reach.  He took out his shield and stared at the blank red field that had replaced his family Crest. "We'll see you properly adorned. Soon, I will have a proper title and rank once again with a new Crest to go with it."  He said as he slung the shield over his back before making his way back out to the stables.

     He walked up to his waiting uncle and his current project. As far as Thedrin was concerned, if there was one thing the wide steppe was good for it was producing a good horse. As much a black sheep as his uncle was among the family, every Ashewake that managed to secure their knighthood made sure to get one of Bregan's horses for their steed so renowned were they. "Okay, now lets get started. Got to get back to the festival... For the showing."  He said as he reached for the nearby bridal. His mind drifting back to one of the village girls he had been admiring earlier. He was never good with animals, the wizards of Albion said it was due to his demonic blood, but hopefully his last few months helping with his uncle's ranch had helped temper the horse's natural disdain for him.

[Oath]

Packing away the book carefully in her bag, Cecilia nodded. "If I see anyone else that looks like they might be interested I'll let them know you're here!" She waved farewell and continued to explore the festival.

[pringerbeam]

Requested Handle Animal Check

Rolled 1d20+6 : 19 + 6, total 25

[Throndir]

Village Square
Present

"Well ain't that just a beautiful thang... Ya even picked out my favorite buhd, a raven." Rhenri displayed a wide smile as she proceeded to take the pendant from MacBried. "Cain't help but feel you're the one gettin' the short end of the stick though. Ah've gut nothin' ta give in return. Apart from huntin', Ahm not really much for show for anythin' else really."

"Let's see here... Scathach ya free? We can afford ta help out MacBried over here fowah bit right? Ah reckon two pretty gals'll draw the attention of the festival!" Rhenri threw a wink at the man.

[Asta]

Thedrin:

Bregan eyed your outfit when you returned, but didn't make comment on it.

When you approached the horse, it snorted and stamped the floor of the pen. However, with either luck or some measure of skill with horses you picked up in your stay here; the massive beast accepted the bit in his mouth.

"Impressive" Bregan said, raising an eyebrow. "Go on and mount him and we'll be on our way."

Spoiler

Because of your high degree of success, the horse will accept you as a rider without complaint on your way back to town.

[close]

Cecilia:

For another hour or so you wander along among the stalls, perusing wares, seeing the sights, smelling the food. Farther up ahead in one of the squares you can hear a crowd cheering loudly at what you can only assume is the drinking competition. Perhaps it's worth taking a look, at the very least the sight of young men full of braggadocio brought low by excessive drink would prove amusing. A flier you passed earlier stated that afterwards would be a display of this years best horses from the surrounding ranches.



Rhenri:

MacBreid returned a smile to your wink. "Well, I won't turn down a bit of help..."

For the next hour the two of you holler and wave to passersby and manage to draw more than a few customers.  Eventually MacBreid gives you the okay to leave, thanking you once again.

From the nearby square, you hear a cheer as the drinking competition begins. "Ah! tha drinkin' competishun started! if we 'urry we can still catch it!" Scathach makes a makes a quick motion indicating you should both head over.

[pringerbeam]

     Thedrin let out a small sigh of relief that betrayed the bravado he had been showing and began to mount the huge horse.  He was never particularly great at the aspects of mounted combat that he was trained in at the knight's academy and always came last in the jousting competitions.  "Well, off we go then!"  He said as  he gingerly drove the horse back towards the village center, envisioning the adoration of the villagers as he rode in.

[Throndir]

Village Square
Present

"It was nice helpin' and tawkin' to ya MacBried!" Rhenri said noticing that her companion wanted to go to the drinking competition. Tipping her one more time in farewell, Rhenri proceeded to follow Scathach towards the next event of the festival.

"Not sure if I want ta join ya with that liquor competition..." Rhenri said, eyeing the exceptionally loud villagers who were cheering. "But Ah suppose if you're doin' it... Maybe just a bit?" She flashed a grin. "Ya reckon the booze is free of charge?"

[Oath]

Festivals were always a great experience for Cecilia. They reminded her that no matter where she ended up people could come together and celebrate just like at back home. However, usually in her travels she got to just enjoy the festival instead of helping her family manage a booth. Hearing the jovial crowd drew her towards the drinking contest. She didn't think she would partake, but watching everyone would at least be enjoyable.

[Asta]

Thedrin:

The ride back to the town proper was uneventful. You spent it largely in silence, your uncle riding alongside you on his own bay gelding. Every so often, the massive destrier jerked its head to the side ever so slightly without deviating from your course as if to remind you that while it tolerated you riding it, it could buck and trample you in a heartbeat. The muscular horse, the color of midnight, was a frightening beast.

When you last arrived back in town, the drinking competition was in full swing. Nearly all of the townsfolk gathered had their attention locked to the contestants, mostly young men, as they guzzled their way through tankard after tankard of ale. A few people, near where you came riding in gave you and the horse an appreciative nod as well as a wide berth to move towards the makeshift stables that were erected for the livestock display.

Your uncle unsaddled, and hitched his horse then indicated you should stable the destrier until the drinking competition was over.



Rhenri:

"Ah 'tis free awright, but I'll take naw part in it t'nite. Yer nu 'oy oi git whaen oi'm in me cups" Scathach warbled, accentuating the statement with a shrug. Regardless of intent to join, by the time you pushed through the crowds to where the small stage had been erected it was too late to register. A line of young men, a handful of older ones, and one woman had already started laying into the ale with reckless abandon. The crowd cheered wildly, and in the corner of your eye you spotted a pair of men riding slowly through the crowd toward the temporary stables. One, a fair bit older than the other, with back-swept hair with spots of grey; the other a younger man with horns wearing resplendent armor. Of particular note, the younger one was astride one of the largest horses you had seen in town.

"Loit! He's a biggun ain't he?" Scathach asked, barely audible over the crowd.



Cecelia:

The crowd gathered for the competition was whipped into a frenzy by the competitors, the cheers were nearly deafening as one of the young men dropped a tankard and slammed his head to the table in defeat. A few moments later so did another, each dropout raising yet another whoop from the crowd. As you watched, you saw a pair of young women sidle up to the back of the press of bodies. One was a half-elf, as evidenced by the slightly pointed ears poking past the fiery auburn braid she wore her hair in. The second woman, ebon-haired, wore a long cloak and a wide brimmed hat. The half elf was chattering excitedly, and occasionally added her cheer to the crowd, particularly when another competitor fell backwards out of his chair in a drunken stupor.



All:

The three of you stand by, watching the tail end of the competition. Thedrin by the temporary stable, Rhenri next to Scathach at the back of the crowd, and Cecelia a short distance from the other two women. The battle of beverages is nearly at an end, the last two hangers on being a graying old man with an oversized beard and his rival, a young woman that looks sleight enough that a stiff breeze could carry her off. The pair of them have consumed, by your nearest reckoning 15 massive tankards a piece with little sign of slowing down. As the duo continue their clash, the sun begins to set on the horizon, the last of its rays winking out to the sound of the festival in full swing. What a celebration it's shaping up to be indeed, the next two days should prove to be just as exciting with more games and expositions to come.

It's then, that the boisterous revelry is interrupted when an arrow whizzes low over the crowd and buries its head into one of the large kegs. It's soon followed by another. Then another. Then ten more. Now a different kind of emotion washes through the crowds: panic.

Chaos erupts as the press of bodies begins to flee like horses out on the Steppe. People shove each other, screaming in fright and begin to stampede away from the direction the arrows flew from. It is fortunate that each of you were positioned where you were, and you manage to avoid the hysteric trampling of the villagers. As the mass of bodies begins to clear the square you can see the origin of the projectiles: Goblins.

A handful of the little green creatures jog into the square brandishing crude swords and bows, beyond them saunters another humanoid shape. The lanterns of the square cast a dim light on its grey skin; a hobgoblin stands behind its lessers and cracks a cruel smile. Farther away, in another part of the village you can see a house has caught fire, the conflagration cuts through the darkness and the smell of smoke is all around you. The hobgoblin raises its hand and shouts an order in its guttural tongue: "Spet ahn, kahl trav det!"

Even if you can't understand what he said, the intention of his words is clear when the head of every goblin in the area whips about to face you.

"Det det det!!!" They begin to chant as they scuttle towards you waving their swords and gnashing their teeth.

Please roll initiative.

Spoiler

I'll have a roll20 link in the next post.

[close]

[Oath]

Cecilia does her best to keep her balance as the people push past her. She does her best to hype herself up. She might not be the strongest person around, but surely she can do more to the goblins than the average villager. She would stand her ground.

Prepared spells: Mage Armor, Color spray

Initiative:

Rolled 1d20+6 : 10 + 6, total 16

[pringerbeam]

Initiative

Rolled 1d20 : 20, total 20

[Throndir]

Initiative 1d20+5 : 19 + 5, total 24

[Asta]

The goblin closest to Thedrin burst into a charge, oddly brave for its kind, waving its sword wildly and taking a hacking swing. A second armed with a bow closed the distance between it and the dais in the center of the square and fired at Rhenri, though its shot went wide.

Goblin 1 charges Thedrin (short sword), and deals 1 damage

Goblin 2 moves to partial cover and attacks Rhenri (shortbow), Misses

Rhenri to take turn.

Combat

Roll20
Initiative Order: Goblin 1, Goblin 2, Rhenri, Goblin 3, Thedrin, Hobgoblin, Cecilia, Scathach
Log:
Round 1
Goblin 1 charges Thedrin, dealing 1 damage
Goblin 2 shoots at Rhenri, misses

[close]

[Throndir]

Village Square
Present

Taking a deep breath, Rhenri focused inwardly, to the center of her body where ki was stored. Drawing it out, and making use of it was something one learns and trains, and being a disciple of one such master of the arts, Rhenri began to make use of those powers. First, as she let out the deep breath, she pulled out her bow in a single motion aiming it towards the goblin who fired upon her.

As she pulled back the arrow and let it fly, the ammunition would begin to spark, then burst into fire.

Swift action: Stance of the Piercing Rays
Move action: Withdraw bow
Standard action: Shoot Goblin 2

Stance of the Piercing Rays Reference

Stance of Piercing Rays
Discipline: Solar Wind (Stance); Level: 1
Initiation Action: 1 swift action
Range: Personal
Target: You
Duration: Stance

DESCRIPTION

A Solar Wind disciple learns to cause his ammunition to pierce like the burning rays of the sun itself. While in this stance, the initiator's ranged attacks inflict an additional 1d6 points of fire damage. This bonus damage increases by an additional 1d6 points of fire damage every eight initiator levels. This is a supernatural ability.

[close]