Session Fifty-Three - January 5, 2008

[Matt]

Agrazhar 26, 731

Sir Ewen of Ravinargh swings up into the saddle as he glances about in the misting rain, surveying his companions as they mount briskly and prepare to depart Erone Abbey. Shaking his head, he sourly reflects that the last Abbess who irritated him so got his high-stepping Khanset mare named in her honor. Casting his practiced gaze about the company, his eyes come to rest upon two small but ungainly ale kegs slung athwart Kaelyn of Aletta’s beleaguered mount, the young Odivshan perched high, gathering her robes about her in distaste as Havard the dwarf struggles to balance himself in the saddle before her. Sir Ewen’s brow creases with incredulity as he considers the many leagues separating them from their quarry, and then his jaw snaps shut. “You’d best keep the pace,” he calls darkly to all through gritted teeth, and then he nods curtly and wheels Iblis about, spurring her forward.

The group hurries south along the road, passing through the villages of Ulben and Abeel as a cool, light shower slowly soaks them. By mid-day they cross the Nephen river after coming to Ternua Keep on the north bank. As they pause at the bridge, Sir Ewen leans down from his saddle and mutters briefly, invoking the First Knight of Kaldor on official business pursuing a felon, and the guard allows them to pass without paying the toll. They continue on, riding through numerous villages as the steady rain persists. They all recall, as they pass through Ledyne, that the Laranian abbey is the seat of the Bishop of Pagostra, and that the Reblena, the head of the chapter house, is close to Baron of Kobe.

The approach to Qualdris prompts an agreement to remain inconspicuous in light of their complex relationship with the new Earl of Osel. Few peasants have been encountered near the road, with most laboring in the fields in preparation for the harvest, but they have occasionally passed a journeyman or guildsman on the road itself. Pausing along the trail leading south into Qualdris, near a broad orchard laying off to their right, Kaelyn casts her fog spell, generating an impressive twelve yard long hovering cloud which promptly begins drifting with the wind southward over the town. The group turns right and heads down the western side of the village, a few peasants tugging forelocks in their direction as Kaelyn keeps craning her neck to track the progress of her creation. Taking the Henya Trail eastward, the other group members cast surreptitious glances over at the castle, gaining a good look at the battlements as they skirt the south common, passing by the mill and across the bridge. Unable to resist one final glance back, Sir Baris notices that, amongst the standards flying high over castle ramparts, the arms of Maldan Harabor are not present. Breathing a sigh of relief, the group achieves the opposite bank of the river, leaving Qualdris behind them as Kaelyn’s fog bank drifts toward the river to their rear. Their last image of Qualdris as they ride south is of peasants in the fields pointing skyward, gesticulating, mouths agape in stupid wonderment.

They press on about an hour’s ride beyond Qualdris, galloping down the muddy track a couple of leagues to the village of Torret, a local hundred moot. The horses having grown winded, they stop at a small inn of humble scale and meager accommodation, where the only other people in the common room are four merchants traveling north along the Genin Trail who attempt to keep to themselves. Nevertheless, Sir Baris asks them about a short woman, bright of eye and brown of hair, who may have been traveling through with some men in her company. Glum-faced, they just stare sullenly up at Sir Baris, untrusting, hunched protectively over their tankards. Sir Baris, nonplussed at this unforeseen impasse, grins easily from his imposing height and waggles his eyebrows at them, but their evident alarm only increases and two of them covertly eye the exit, clearly calculating their chances. Shrugging in disgust, the knight returns to his seat. Imarë, attempting a different approach, speaks to the innkeeper’s wife, asking if a young woman with a small retinue might have come through, but the woman just shakes her head indifferently. Stymied, the group gets to sleep early with hopes of a prompt start in the morning.

Agrazhar 27, 731

The rain has ceased by dawn, and an early fog lifts as the riders take to the mucky, trampled road. The morning quickly grows warm and humid under a close, overcast sky as they pass through Nebulan, a chapter house dominated by an impressive fortress-like central structure. Unpleasant riding on muddy roads brings them by mid-day to Kobing, with the Tab river off to their left. A helpful local readily directs them to two inns: the Road Warden’s Inn, favored by mercenaries and soldiers, located to the left of the little bridge, and the Dragon & Damsel, which is a walled compound in the center of town. They try the Road Warden’s Inn first, which consists of a stable and an inn of two stories. Quinn sees to the watering of the horses, while the rest of the party enters the common area, which is odiferous and fairly crowded, comprised mostly of soldier types who are likely the Baron’s men. A large, grizzled fellow with an iron cap at the end of his left arm where his hand should be tends bar. A couple of slatternly serving wenches bustle about, hustling ales to the soldiers. The barkeep bangs his iron cap on the bar’s surface, greeting them, and Sir Ewen calls for ale and a stout meal for the group. Serving maids bring crusty bread and decent ale, followed by bowls of what might be stew: pale, anomalous chunks devoid of texture in a bland, glutinous broth. Sir Ewen pays for the meal and orders a drink refill, asking the barkeep about the woman and her retinue, vouchsafing a description. Friends of yours, Ironcap asks, but Sir Ewen shakes his head: my sister and her retinue. Oh, she doesn’t look like you? Ewen coughs, glances aside, and then meets the barkeep’s gaze with disconcerting, unblinking blue eyes. Different father, he says softly. Oh, says Ironcap, and Ewen leans in: you saying something about my mother? Ironcap reddens, taking a half-step back, Oh, no, no, I don’t know your mother, I don’t know you, in fact – Hey, the ale’s on me. Look, look, they kept to themselves, stayed the night, got some provisions, don’t blame them for that, not much between here and Chybisa. She did mention Burzyn, see. She asked if there’s any good cartographers here in town, said she’s looking for certain manors in Chybisa, but I told her no, probably in Burzyn, though. She knew that. He shrugs uneasily.

They depart after quaffing the ale refill, spurring their horses onward. Oselbridge is a hard ride to the south, and they succeed in making it by nightfall. The bridge itself appears quite sturdy, with signs of previous repair, and the small settlement is typical of a trading post, with a common to the east where travelers may pitch their tents. Grunda of Tyune operates the trading post, and the group talks to him about topping off provisions, buying some salted meats, bread and water. Yeah she came through, Grunda agrees, a short attractive thing, right? Her and her escort, they spent the night on the common, I didn’t even see them in the morning. The group settles down for the night, kept awake for a time by the cacophony of nocturnal creatures in the claustrophobic dark.

Agrazhar 28, 731

The terrain gets less wooded and slightly more hilly as they travel further south. Kaelyn’s memory is vague on how many days it took her to ride from Burzyn to Oselbridge when she passed through the area some months ago; she admits to the bemused group that she must have been deep in thought at the time. Later, Imarë spots a wild boar foraging in the distant thicket, and Sir Ewen and Sir Baris wheel to give chase. Imarë looses a shaft before the boar is alerted, though, and lands the shot deep in the boar’s flank. Affronted, squealing, it jerks around briefly and runs about five feet before collapsing. A disappointed Sir Baris dispatches the boar, and a brief argument ensues regarding the disposition of the boar carcass before it is reluctantly abandoned in favor of pursuing their human quarry. And so they press onward until dark, and around the evening campfire mouths grudgingly mutter about the boar while gnawing their stale bread.

Agrazhar 29, 731

The rains return with a vengeance, and by midday the skies have fully opened up, the trail awash and the pace slowed by the execrable footing. The terrain is generally flat and open now, with occasional hills breaking the monotony and the faint silhouette of the Anadel Mountains marring the horizon off to the east. Flat countryside to the south, developing into the scrub of Setha Heath along the southern horizon as the day progresses. The hours are otherwise uneventful, and after evening camp is made they take turns at the watch throughout the miserable, rain-soaked night.

Agrazhar 30, 731

Pouring rain pelting down remorselessly as the hooded travelers break camp, hunching against the downpour. Interminable hours in the saddle and then, toward the end of the afternoon, Sir Baris’ mount stumbles in the muck of the trail, hobbling a hind leg badly. Imarë stoops to examine the horse, running her slender hand over the leg of the skittish animal, and attempts to heal the horse, but fails. Relieved to find the animal’s leg unbroken, yet dismayed at the implications for their pace, Sir Baris commandeers Quinn’s horse, while Quinn doubles up on Imarë’s steed, putting Baris’s steed on a lead. They travel further, and then make their camp in silent dejection.

Azura 1, 731

Still raining. Dark, overcast, rainy, cold, windy, no sign of the sun even after it rises at seven. They can no longer make out the mountains through the sheets of driving rain. Trudging along with Sir Baris’ hobbled mount, they eventually come to a village by mid-afternoon. One of them asks a bedraggled peasant the name of the place, and are told Meldun, a manor of the Kingdom of Chybisa. Relieved, they are directed to The Hearth Fire Inn north of the bridge, where they meet Larryl the ostler and Talvar of Shotha the innkeeper. No one else appears to be staying at the inn, and the mood of the travelers becomes ebullient when Imarë successfully heals Sir Baris’s horse, which canters happily about the yard of the inn, whinnying with delight in spite of the downpour. They find the food at The Hearth Fire substantially better than in Kobing, the broth being hot and the meat identifiable. The innkeeper’s wife and two daughters attend to the hungry party, while the innkeeper allows that he heard tell of a group of travelers, led by a woman, observed by the local peasants passing through the village a few days back.

They decide to push on to Burzyn, which they reach by nightfall after passing through three or four villages. They get in just before the gates south of the bridge are closed for the night. Kaelyn reports having stayed at The Blue Horse during her last visit, when she arrived by river, and leads the way to the establishment on the western side of town. Evin of Tremclas, proprietor, keeps a clean establishment, replete with fresh rushes and a room for bathing. Ablutions are indulged, and then to bed.

Azura 2, 731

The next morning the sky is completely overcast, the temperature having dropped overnight. A drenching rain recommences after dawn. Sitting down to a hearty breakfast in the toasty common room, the party peer out the window to discern the figure of Havard standing in the deluge, axe planted downward before him, gazing at the outline of the castle ramparts to the east. Some time later he stumps in, water running from his beard and pooling about his boots, and mutters in evident astonishment about round towers before sitting down and tucking an amazing amount of breakfast away. Inquiries reveal that a lexigrapher has an establishment in the third building along the wall from the Temple of Larani, and that the temple of Larani itself likely has archives as well.

Verlid VII is in his fifties, has an heir named Prince Balesir (Ewen has heard rumors that he is not right in the head) as well as some daughters. Sir Ewen details Kaelyn to the lexigrapher, and she drags Sir Baris out the door with her. Someone drops a penny in a beggar’s bowl, and they learn that the only two inns in town are the Southron’s Rest, north of Sabalyne Common, and The Blue Horse. The seaman’s hostel and various alewives serve drinks, but are unlikely places their quarry Kryste might have stayed at, as they don’t offer accommodations. Imarë proceeds to the Southron’s Rest at Sir Ewen’s behest.

Kaelyn finds the lexigrapher’s in the rain, sloshing past the woodcrafter’s place and other guildsmen, noting as she passes the local college of heralds (Sign of the Unicorn), the Temple of Peoni, the Temple of Larani, a litigant, and then the lexigrapher, with a locksmith’s shop located beyond. The lexigrapher is a small establishment, just one apprentice and an older man, the master, who turns out to be tart and irascible. They exchange names, Crissam of Pross, Kaelyn of Alleta, how do you do? And who is the tower of meat next to you? Sir Baris Tyrestal. The old man shrugs: forgive me, sir knight, I am too old to be respectful.

They talk of maps, and it turns out that a visitor, shorter and prettier than Kaelyn, purchased two maps here a day or two ago, leaving the lexigrapher with only one remaining map of Chybisa. The manors and settlements in western Chybisa were depicted on a map she purchased, and Crissam is unwilling to sell his last copy of the main map. Kaelyn bluffs her way forward, offering to perhaps find the woman and prevail upon her to bring back the purchased map to allow a copy, but Crissam admits to not knowing where she stayed. He judges that she was a Southron’s Rest type, however. Kaelyn studies the remaining map, which shows Burzyn and three other keeps along the Ulmerien river: Onden, Lerenil and, farther to the east, Geda. Just north of Burzyn it shows the manor Caermel, and to the south Aereben. Lastly, to the southeast stands Andazyn keep. She learns that these represent the seats of the five Barons of Chybisa, with Onden belonging to the king. Kaelyn contracts for a copy of the map for two-shillings, one shilling down, while Baris tries to sidle over to have a word with the apprentice. He describes Kryste to the lad, who shakes his head and professes sotto voce to not getting involved in the matters of his betters, glancing nervously at Crissom. As they prepare to leave the shop, the boy leans toward Sir Baris and whispers, I don’t like the beatings.

Havard scouts the castle from various vantages around town, meantime, detecting numerous signs of Khuzan architecture, especially evident in the inner portion of the structure. Near the gatehouse one tower is not round, showing clear sign of non-Khuzan engineering. He returns to The Blue Horse, his curiosity heightened. He talks to Evin about provisions and aquavit, engages in some impressive wheedling, and negotiates a bottle of Jarin aquavit for a scant 64d.

Imarë hies her way to The Southron’s Rest, where she immediately notices a group of Pagaelin tribesmen at a table in the corner, two wearing leather armor with rings and two with crude mail shirts, all with shabby clothing, wild beards and fierce countenances. A number of ladies, clearly for hire, circulate. The overall clientele are urban laborers not employed today, and the elf judges that the local Lia Kavair would be at home in this place if the thieves guild exists in Chybisa at all. Imarë enters and a haggard serving wench takes her penny for a breakfast of ale and gruel. The Pagaelin appear to notice Imarë, gesture in her direction, shaking their hairy heads in transparent disgust. Imarë later has to work hard to get the serving wench’s attention to ask for another drink, gives her a penny, and tells her she can keep the change if she gives her some information. The haggard wench sighs in disgust; they always want information, never a tip for the good service, mind you. She shakes her head at Imarë’s description of a pretty woman who has a retinue of men. She rolls her eyes, don’t they all, but she denies seeing Kryste. Overhearing, a laborer comes over as the wench departs, and Imarë offers him a “boon of money” if he has the information she needs. Narrowing his eyes, he slowly allows that he doesn’t quite know what a boon of money is, but adds that silver is good, and quim is even better. He leers as Imarë sighs philosophically at the ways of humankind, familiar with the evolving scenario. It would have to be some pretty good information, she warns, looking the fellow up and down, but his grin only broadens. Oh, it’s good, and the information is good, too. And so Imarë retires upstairs with the laborer, and afterwards the man is so thrilled that he forgets to ask for silver. But he does tell her about a woman who matched Kryste’s description who came to The Southron’s Rest but didn’t stay. She was trying to hire locals who were familiar with some ruined manors southwest of Burzyn that were destroyed during the Treasure War. Nobody goes to those places, he explains, they are ruined, after all, and so there were no takers among the patrons of the inn. Imarë departs her satisfied customer, who offers her any information he gets in the future that she might want, leaving the rest unspoken.

Imarë reports back at the Blue Horse that she “paid off” an informant, and they all compare notes. Sir Ewen dispatches Sir Baris and Kaelyn to the Tower of the Unicorn with a ten shilling stipend. There they find a parsonage and an archives building. Sir Baris is begrudgingly passed after claiming to be a knight from Melderyn. A junior herald greets them, escorts them to a reading room, and Kaelyn indicates her interest in manors destroyed during the era of the Treasure War. The herald peers into the donation bag, seems satisfied, and comes back fairly quickly with a map and scrolls, the map being more detailed than what they had seen earlier, with many more manors depicted, most of them in a broad swath south of the river Ulmerien. To the northwest and northeast are forest, and a band of clear land north of the river, the Barony of Caermel, is where the remainder of the manors are indicated. He then opens up a book and compares it to the scroll, and begins to make notations on the map. There are a number of manors north and south of the river that were destroyed during the Treasure War, he explains patiently. North of the Ulmerien, six destroyed manors, now in overgrown, forested areas. Meldun manor is the manor existing farthest north today, but the farthest in those days was called Darcen. The other five were, from west to east, Rineth, Dumerien, Valldy, Invarnay, and Shuris. These, he says, glancing up to meet Kaelyn’s intent gaze, were destroyed early on in the opening campaigns. A secondary campaign occurred around Lerenil, south of the Ulmerien, he goes on. The furthest ruined manor from this campaign is Forstane, the next being Gallar, both located along the river. South of them is Seanor, Omaldy, and Landin. Kaelyn sits back and asks about obtaining a copy of the map, but he shakes his head: it would take a great deal of money and time to copy the map. Sir Baris squints over Kaelyn’s shoulder, trying to identify landmarks. Landin and Omaldy are south of Lerenil, while Forstane, Gallar and Seanor are west of the keep. Most of the families connected to the manors are dead, the herald explains, likely killed defending their demesnes. And why were those particular manors destroyed, Kaelyn wonders aloud. The herald smiles acidly. You’d have to ask King Torastra that.

Back at the Blue Horse, Sir Ewen sits by the fire, brooding into the writhing flames, and then stares for a time at his tankard on the table nearby. Slowly the tankard glides to his hand, and Sir Ewen lifts it to his lips, smiling to himself. Behind the bar, the proprietor shakes his head, blinking, shakes his head again, and then goes over to the keg, tasting the ale and spitting it out. He calls shakily to his journeyman in the back, “Hey, we’re getting this keg outta here.” Cekiya paces impatiently, climbing up on the furniture until Sir Ewen throws her a dark glance. Nonetheless the proprietor comes over and asks Sir Ewen to do something about the girl. Sir Ewen calls over his shoulder, Oh Cekiya, go and hunt down Sir Baris, will you? And then, as an afterthought, when Cekiya hurries to leave: not literally, mind you.

Later, Kaelyn and Imarë go with the newly reconstituted Karl to the docks to inquire about Kryste. The shipwright, pilots guild, seaman’s guild, tavern, and chandler are all in one building. A bonding house and a smaller building serving as a seamen’s rest stand nearby. A man approaches, looking Karl up and down with evident respect: you heard of the longshoreman’s guild, bub? He’s with me, Kaelyn announces primly. She goes on, claiming to be looking for an old school friend traveling downriver to look at ruined manors, but the fellow shakes his head: no one matching that description went downriver lately. Kaelyn talks to the harbormaster, next, establishing passage on a talbar to Lerenil for the group and their horses, to depart first thing in the morning. Back at the Blue Horse, Sir Ewen nods grimly and admonishes them all to be ready for the early start: he hopes to steal a march on the ever-elusive Kryste, making her own way by land to the ruined manors of Chybisa.