Session One Hundred Twenty-Eight - April 9, 2016

Wherein the ongoing story of the FtF campaign may be found ...

Session One Hundred Twenty-Eight - April 9, 2016

Postby Matt » Thu May 19, 2016 12:28 pm

The hunting party enters a wide clearing in the forest, early morning sun slanting in low through the rustling trees. The master huntsman holds up his hand and beckons the noble riders and their attendants to halt. “We are close!” he calls back to them in a hoarse whisper. This, he tells them, is where they must dismount and proceed on foot. The long file of lords, squires and servants draw up into the broad, sun-dappled glade. Reins are silently handed down to attendants, and the highborn of the kingdom of Kaldor begin to dismount.

As one tall, broad-shouldered figure starts to swing down from his saddle, two arrows fly from somewhere in the wooded undergrowth and strike true, dropping him heavily to the forest floor with an abrupt crash. All heads turn and the clearing falls silent as, motionless, the figure comes to absolute rest, spread-eagled, face skyward, two cruel arrow shafts protruding from the great lord’s chest ...


Azura 22, 732

Kaelyn of Aletta sets down a well-trimmed quill, carefully blots the parchment, and holds her work up to the morning sunlight streaming through her window at Raven Hall. While her duties within the household of the new Baron of Ternua have frequently included composing letters for her lord, on this occasion she is serving as amanuensis for a lovelorn Sir Baris Tyrestal. The knight is desperate to attract the attention and stir the bosom of the lady Meleine Curu, youngest daughter of the Earl of Neph, petite of stature, red of hair, a vixen by natural endowments and born well above Sir Baris’s station. Kaelyn sighs, scrutinizing her composition, all too aware of the mischievous irony in her facilitating the hopeless courting of the one individual who has proven a thorn in her side throughout these past sixteen months of membership in Ewen Ravinargh’s unusual household. But she had, after all, suggested the letter to Sir Baris this very morning, and she supposed a part of her took pity on the knight, clearly at sea in his devotion Sir Meden Curo’s youngest sibling. Sending the bolt of cloth gifted to him by the Earl of Balim to a fine clothier, inviting the Lady Meleine to visit the clothier to view the fabric and have some piece of finery fashioned to her liking, followed perhaps by a cozy dinner … Kaelyn had to admit that she harbored some curiosity as to whether the scheme had even a remote chance of succeeding. Content with her handiwork, she folds the parchment carefully and rises, wondering idly whether Sir Baris possesses a seal with which to stamp the missive. The knight had returned to the house earlier, having retrieved from Sotor of Pelanby copies of the earlier letters the physician had penned on behalf of Sir Baris to the same lady. Cekiya had gone out earlier as well, muttering only that she needed to visit the busy bees to get some more honey, which for some reason had made the little hairs stand up on the back of Kaelyn’s neck when the odd girl had spoken the words.

Walin of Vastair, meanwhile, knocks upon the study door on the second floor of the house and delivers two sealed envelopes into the hands of the new Baron, greeting Ewen as “my Lord” with a pronounced note of satisfaction. Ewen considers the packets, one bearing the royal stamp and one affixed with the seal of his sister Rahel. The former proves to be an invitation to a hunt to be held on the morrow, an all-day affair to hunt boar at a manor east of Tashal. Ewen scans the details. The recipient is requested to present himself, should he wish to attend, in Kald Square early in the morning ... with the hunt consisting of the royal counselors and retinues as defined, specifically the tenant-in-chief in question, a knightly attendant, squires of the same ... and an equal number of servants fully mounted, four spears, no need for any bows... Sir Torald Ethasiel, the King’s master of the hunt, is to lead the hunting party. The communication is signed by Sir Harapa Indama, Lord Chamberlain of the kingdom.

Rahel’s document is short and to the point. I have something for you. Come and get it at your convenience.

Marhet of Lak’s housekeeper presses much ale upon Kaelyn and Ewen’s squire Goreg early that afternoon. Marhet, seating himself awkwardly, admits that he does not have any specific knowledge of Verdreth House, but vows that he will look into it. Kaelyn alerts Marhet to Ewen’s new baronial status, asking him to more broadly investigate any other properties pertaining in any way to the Barony of Ternua. Marhet allows that it might take him a day or so to report back. Departing, ignoring a stream of innocuous chatter emanating from Goreg, Kaelyn pays special attention to the amount of traffic in Mangai Square, curious as to whether the complaint made at the castle by the guildsmen is reflected in the state of business in the city. She finds herself unable to apprehend anything unusual.

At Hag Hall, Eleere seems a trifle emphatic in asking, “Is there anything I can get for you, m’Lord?” Ewen demurs, which causes the woman to add, her tone a trifle strident, “I only ask because I don’t believe I will be making another appearance in this room.” Ewen considers her in mild astonishment, noting that Eleere actually appears peeved. “Ah. Thank you, Eleere, you are always so attentive.” The guard who admitted Ewen returns with Rahel, who sweeps into the room, vetoes Ewen’s refusal of refreshment, and sends the guard across the hall to fetch someone. Eleere mumbles under her breath as she returns with a tray and sets it down. She then departs at a rapid clip. Rahel gestures for Ewen to sit at the head of the table, and seats herself to one side. The guard returns, trailed by a modest-looking balding man of middle years, wispy hair to either side of a barren pate, reasonably well-dressed. Rahel dismisses the guard. The newcomer, Ewen notes immediately, is a Deryni.

“My lord, this is Gatanis Nildar.”

The Deryni sketches a bow. “M’lord.”

“Master Nildar is from Melderyn,” Rahel supplies, her tone neutral. “He is in need of employment.”

“I see. Are you newly arrived, Master Nildar?”

“I came in the summer with the Genin Trail caravan.”

Ewen smiles. “And what manner of employment suits you best, Master Nildar?”

The man adjusts himself primly in his seat and clears his throat. “I have been a bailiff of a manor for twenty years. My father was the holder of Cilbur Manor, near Shenap in Melderyn...”

Master Nildar, it appears, has an elder brother who inherited the family property when Nildar senior died. A middle borther had become a Laranian priest, and Gatanis, the younger son, for years was bailiff of Pahn Manor until his brother inherited and wanted the bailiffship for his own younger son. Gatanis subsequently made his way west, hoping to find opportunities for advancement beyond the orbit of his family lands, but ultimately ran out of money upon his arrival in Kaldor. At that point, he had applied for assistance to the Baron of Stimos.

“… who in turn introduced me to Sir Harth Hurlis, and to this gentle lady,” he nods to Rahel, “who said she would keep me in mind if something became available.”

Ewen smiles, reflecting that the ink was scarcely dry upon the writ declaring him the Baron of Ternua and Rahel was already busy supplying him with a potential steward for the barony.

Offering some trifling polite remark in response to Master Nildar’s account, allowing his hand to brush Rahel’s in a gesture of apparent thanks for her referral, he allows his mind to touch hers.

I assume he has been vetted properly?

Yes … Harth engaged in rapport early on. He does have a certain penchant … fortunately he has no interest in me. He is 41. Eleere slapped him. Considers himself something of a Lothario – but just look at him! Nevertheless, he seems to know his business. It did occur to me that a Deryni steward would serve you well. You will need a steward in Ternua, after all, and I didn’t expect that you would be using the former one ...


Ewen leans back in his chair, appraising the man before him with keen attention. “Master Nildar, it might be best that we spend a day or two reviewing the particulars of my household. If all goes well, perhaps we may be able to formalize a relationship.”

“I would be happy to go through whatever papers and records you can make available.”

“Are you staying at Dickon House?”

“No, m’lord. I have lodgings not far from Kald Square. I have undertaken some minor accounting work for a number of guildsmen since my arrival in Tashal. As I indicated, my small inheritance, alas, did not last long.” His mouth twists in a brief, bitter smile, and it is clear that there is no love lost between this man and his family.

Ewen suggests that Master Nildar return with him to Raven Hall, where he will be settled for the afternoon in the solar to review the available details of Ewen’s pre-baronial manors, while Ewen pays a visit to the widow Verdreth to see if any Ternuan papers might be in her possession here in Tashal.


A superannuated manservant peers rheumy-eyed from the doorway into the unusual sunlight streaming in from Haldan Square. “Oh, armed men,” he says in a faltering voice. “There’s no trouble here.”

“No need to be alarmed. I am Ewen Ravinargh, newly the Baron of Ternua. I would speak with the lady of the house.”

“The Baron of Ternua is not here. Being deceased,” he quavers. “Perhaps you should come in.” He steps aside as they file in, his arm arthritically gesturing. “If you care to have a seat …”

“Thank you. We shall stand.”

“I shall tell Lady Evadia you are here to see the Baron, but unfortunately you missed him. Can I offer you a libation?”

Sir Baris, having been offered no ale by Sotor of Pelanby earlier in the day, pitches in. “Yes.”

The manservant nods, turns and wearily ascends the stairs. The hall falls silent.

“Okay ...” Kaelyn observes after several long moments have passed. “You don’t need a libation, Sir Baris.”

After a further spell, the servant can be heard returning, the sound of his creaking tread audible long before he arrives. He hobbles back in empty handed. “Lady Evadia is at her toilet, but will see you shortly. May I offer you a libation?”

Sir Baris, hope reviving, says, “Please!”

The servant nods and goes out of the hall through a door, but time passes and he again does not return. They stand, surveying the musty, dimly lit hall. Sir Baris keeps glancing in the direction of the departed manservant.

A matronly lady eventually comes down the stairs trailed by a younger serving woman. The widow is broad of girth, and sails into the room with a certain stately dignity.

“My steward stated that you are seeking my late husband.”

“Your steward misunderstood. I am Ewen Ravinargh.”

The lady stiffens, her eyes flashing. She glares down the length of her nose at him. “I know who you are! You have a great deal of cheek. What is your business here? State your business and be gone!”

“I have come to take possession of any papers pertaining to the barony of Ternua.”

Her hand flies to her bosom. “You horrible man! Be gone immediately.”

Ewen pitches his voice to placate, while attempting to truth read the matron. “Now, Lady Evadia, we can certainly let the litigants handle matters if need be. Any possessions of yours, as opposed to those which properly belong to the Barony or Ternua, shall remain unmolested.”

She draws herself up indignantly. “Everything in this house belongs to me,” she says with finality. Ewen, weighing her words with his inner intuition, is surprised to find himself convinced that she is being entirely and completely truthful in this assertion.

He nods stiffly, reassessing, and disposes with some heavy-handed options. He scowls. “In that case, Lady Evadia, I am sorry to have disturbed your afternoon.”

As they emerge onto the street, Kaelyn notices money discreetly changing hands between the two soldiers Ewen had brought with them, the guard surrendering the coin looking morose and somewhat surprised to have lost his bet. The Baron of Ternua appears pensive as they walk. As they make their way back through the streets toward Raven Hall, Kaelyn thinks for a moment and then recalls to Ewen that Master Sotor took rather copious notes while reviewing the papers at Ternua.

Sir Baris, parched, pipes up, stating that just this very morning Master Sotor had indeed remarked, upon hearing that Ewen had won himself a barony, that he had taken voluminous notes in his accounting of the situation at the keep.

Ewen, bestirred from his reverie, glances at Kaelyn and then Baris with mild incredulity. “Well, Sir Baris,” he says, “did Master Sotor indicate if he left those notes … upstairs? At Raven Hall?”

Moments later, unlocking his study door and striding straight to the bookshelf full of papers and pipe rolls, he quickly finds the Ternuan notes taken by Sotor filed just next to where the manorial papers are always kept. Seizing them, he ascends to the solar to place them before Master Nildar, who has been diligently making out a long list of observations on the manorial properties.

Azura 23, 732

Kalas and Goreg rise early in the morning to fetch the horses from the ostlers’ yard. Goreg spends the time regaling Kalas with choice details exerpted from the book he was given by the Earl of Balim, the Song of the Chase, the reading of which has kept him up late into the wee hours. They walk the horses back into the city where they meet up with the worthies from Raven Hall in Kald Square, where a plethora of nobles and their attendants are congregating in separate groups.

Sir Torald Ethasiel, the King’s Royal Huntsman and master of ceremonies for the day’s coming exertions, makes his round of the clusters in order of precedence, eventually arriving at Ewen’s hunting party.

“Lord Ternua and party?” the weather-beaten features of the huntsman scrutinize them with frank curiosity.

“Good morning, Sir Torald. Yes, we are assembled.”

As the huntsman nods and moves on, Goreg scans the square to assess who else has taken up the putatively royal invitation to hunt. Maldan Harabor, Sir Arlbis Hirnen, Orsin Firith, and Sir Prehil Firith had been present upon Ewen’s own arrival. Since then, the rest of the council of the King’s tenants-in-chief have been arriving, while Sir Harapa discreetly informs each group that the Queen’s Grace had declined to participate in the hunt. Goreg observes Lord Balim and his eldest son, Sir Scina, enter the square trailed by a single servant and a menacing pair of hard-bitten villains whom Goreg assumes must be the ‘squires’ stipulated in the invitation. Scanning over to Lord Osel, the squire observes a knight whom Ewen has just identified to Sir Baris as Sir Hovan Mindar, whom the Baron apparently interviewed at a bawdy house a week ago, as well as two ‘squires’ and a ‘servant,’ all three of whom could pass as stock Agrikans in a Laranian morality play.

When Sir Meden Curo arrives with Sir Dregald and three savage-looking ruffians, Goreg gives up on his inventory and sighs, glancing around at Sir Baris, who is certainly stout enough, Mistress Kaelyn, sitting primly side-saddle atop her palfrey, and young Kalas, barely adorned with pale fuzz upon his chin. Goreg stifles a shudder of foreboding, and busies himself with ensuring that the saddle on Iblis, the Baron’s highbred black Khanset mare, is cinched just so.

The party of the Archbisphop arrives, Sir Harapa Indama is joined by Sir Kytem Curo, and Tarkin Hirnen, Sir Arlbis’s uncle and former lord chancellor, takes his place beside his nephew. Sir Gorbar Elorieth is the last to reach the square, attended by Sir Arwin his brother. At this point, Sir Torald and five lesser huntsmen, as well as some servants from the castle, pass out stirrup cups as the noblemen prepare to saddle up. A momentary awkwardness ensues when Sir Torald confiscates a proscribed bow and quiver full of arrows from Sir Gorbar’s possession, echoing the letter of written invitation by audibly grumbling that “this won’t be necessary.”

Handing off the contraband bow to a servant, the master huntsman then turns and addresses the august assembly. “M’lords, the destination of today’s hunt is the Forest of Endrunel, where we shall hunt wild boar for the table. Please move out in order of seniority, which you all know.”

Sir Torald and huntsmen lead the procession out the Heru gate. It is still early, with sunrise only a hint of rose beyond the fields and scattered copses of trees to the east. The hunting party maintains a moderate pace, strung along the road with the occasional early-risen peasant ducking clear and tugging a deferential forelock to his betters. At one point the Archbishop’s horse shies, perhaps due to stepping in a hole or being stung by some insect, and the unfortunate prelate is thrown. When a quick thinking member of the Lady of Paladins intervenes and try to arrest his fall, his own horse bolts and both tumble to the ground in a tangle. No one is harmed, and the horses are gathered up, but the dignity of the Archbishop’s office is bruised. Sir Prehil, perhaps having lubricated his palate prior to the distribution of the stirrup cups, rides inexpertly, while at one point Sir Gorbar requires his brother to reach out and take the reins to help steady his mount. Lord Ewen’s steed Iblis, meantime, ignores the bumblings of these lesser creatures with high-stepping insouciance, and in little time the hunting party reach the very first manor east of Tashal and turn off the road.

The royal hunting preserve is comprised of a forested expanse of land to the north and east of the manor proper. Sir Torald strains to amplify the drama in the prospect before them, lingering upon the potential dangers in hunting the wild boar, such a fearsome and wily beast, the imperative of everyone staying together, the possibility that the party might fail to locate their prey, and so on. While no one is taken in by the final claim, all attend to Sir Torald’s orientation and with an air of slightly impatient tolerance.

As the master huntsman leads the mounted party along a trail through the thicket, histrionically casting about before him, ostensibly tracking the boar, Cekiya notices he is not in fact tracking, and attempts to brief Ewen. From the corner of his mouth, the Baron says, “I know. Now be quiet.” They follow Sir Torald along a well-worn path, all aware that beaters are almost certainly somewhere ahead preparing the coming drama.

The hunting party enters a wide clearing in the forest, early morning sun slanting in low through the rustling trees. The master huntsman holds up his hand and beckons the noble riders and their attendants to halt. “We are close!” he calls back to them in a hoarse whisper. This, he tells them, is where they must dismount and proceed on foot. The long file of lords, squires, and servants draw up into the broad, sun-dappled glade. Reins are silently handed down to attendants, and the highborn of the kingdom of Kaldor begin to dismount.

As one tall, broad-shouldered figure starts to swing down from his saddle, two arrows fly from somewhere in the wooded undergrowth and strike true, dropping him heavily to the forest floor with an abrupt crash. All heads turn and the clearing falls silent as, motionless, the figure comes to absolute rest, spread-eagled, face skyward, two cruel arrow shafts protruding from the great lord’s chest.

Sir Baris, still saddled and having caught a flash of movement from the corner of his eye, bellows and wheels, kicking his horse in the direction from whence the arrows came at the edge of the clearing. Ducking, he crashes through the undergrowth, sword aloft, sweeping aside cruel limbs and self-referentially crying “Up Sir Baris!” as he goes. He reins ups in a small cleared area, spying two bows and a pair of quivers abandoned in haste on the forest floor. Scan as he might, he can detect no sign of which direction the assassins might have fled. He dismounts and collects the weapons and then swings back into his saddle. He peers through the forest one last time, hoping to see some clue before him. Reluctantly, he turns his horse the way he came and picks his way through the thicket and back to the larger clearing.

Meanwhile, in the wake of the initial, appalled silence and Sir Baris giving chase, a form of slow motion pandemonium has ensued. In the midst of it, the figure on the ground suddenly emits a strangled, gargling cough. Silence falls again over the assembly. This is followed by a moment of spastic thrashing from the recumbent form. When a volcanic eruption of oaths and blasphemies fountains upward from the figure, the Archbishop, already dismounted and hurrying over to administer last rites, skids to a halt and retires a step or two. Brushing the two shafts furiously from his chest, struggling to his feet while still cursing up a storm, Lord Maldan Harabor stands upright and glares about him, a glimpse of a mail habergeon briefly visible beneath his torn surcoat as he brushes himself off and sets himself to rights.

The Baron of Ternua, a droll smile touching his lips, scans the other principal members of the hunt, assaying their response to Osel having survived an evident attempt at assassination. Sir Gorbar looks, as he himself might say, bumberfluted. Sir Arlbis is serious, Lord Meden is smiling, Balim is wearing a furrowed brow, Orsin Firith is taking things personally, Sir Harapa looks worried, and poor Sir Torald is aghast.

As Harabor subsides a bit, stomping around the clearing, Ewen’s even baritone cuts through the chaos. “Sir Torald, did anyone beside your men know of our destination this morning?”

Sir Torald, squinting, gulps. “My lord, per instructions, I kept the location of this hunt secret. Only I knew it, and the beaters I sent ahead.”

Harabor waves irritably. “Enough of this! Where are the boar? Let’s get on with it!”

Sir Baris returns, announcing, “I found these, over there.” He gestures broadly.

Firith says, “As Lord Marshal, I’ll take possession of them. It does tell us there were two of them. But even if apprehended, they can’t be identified by having bows. Clever!”

Sir Torald, wandering a bit during all of this, seems at a loss. As he draws near, Ewen addresses him. “Sir Torald, perhaps we should proceed in a different direction, in the event that one of your men has been corrupted.”

The master huntsman looks embarrassed and glances about. “Might I speak frankly, m’lord? If we do that, there will not be a pig to be found. They are all rounded up and ready.” His head jerks, indicating the direction they have been heading.

Ewen’s smile is sour. “The trouble, Sir Torald, is that we are all rounded up and ready as well. But let us proceed, then, I suppose. The afternoon is bound to be entertaining one way or another.”

“I do vouch for my men, m’lord. And when I get back, I will double-vet’em.”

Sir Torald huddles with his men and sends one of them spurring ahead after a brief discussion.

Shortly thereafter they come into a long valley in the forest down which the boar might have been driven. The entire hunting party contrives to not hear the sound of muffled squealing until a little rumble is discernible over the other side of hill. And then, lo and behold, a half dozen boar break like a wave over the crest to the right and come swarming, snorting and grunting down into the declivity.

“My lord of Balim!” Sir Torald cries in feigned astonishment, “your quarry!”

“I shall allow my son the honor of the kill,” Balim responds blandly as Sir Scina dismounts and, boar spear in hand, charges forward. The Dariune scion ably dispatches his beast with deft skill, after which Sir Gorbar, Orsin Firith, Ewen and Sir Baris all wade in, spears thrusting. Everyone gets their kill.

Afterward, with the hunt successful and no further attempts made against the human prey in the party, tensions seem to ease and a certain degree of masculine bantering ensues. Kaelyn of Aletta watches the proceedings with interest, fascinated by the undeniable social jousting which seems to provide a second narrative layered beneath the factual outcome of the hunt. From overheard comments, she manages to piece together that the new Baron of Ternua is viewed as having acquitted himself well, while she is surprised to note that Sir Scina is generally seen as having usurped his father’s privilege, with the consensus being that he should have deferred to his father. Sir Arlbis Hirnen, with little justification as best as she can see, is dismissively seen as only talking a good game, as it were.

Sir Meden steps up to Ewen, nodding primly. “Congratulations. I noticed that you did not seem to have your blood up.”

Ewen shrugs. “When not clumsily handled, Sir Meden, such weapons can be effective. That is all.”

Sir Meden studies Ewen. “True enough.” His smile is sly. “I don’t think my lord of Osel was serious about his threat against you. I trust your men got away cleanly?”

Ewen’s gray eyes are unblinking, inscrutable. “I think you misunderstand the situation, Sir Meden.”

“Do I?”

“If it had been me, the outcome would have been different.”

“I’ll mark that down. In any event, it seems my lord of Osel was prepared for the situation.”

“You seem a bit padded yourself.”

Sir Meden ignores the observation, his gaze falling on Harabor as they speak. “He is such an obvious man. He would make a terrible king. I am quite sure that not one man here would bend the knee to him. I think he knows it, but does not know how to overcome it.” His eyes return to Ewen. “If it was not you, I suppose it means Balim bears additional watching.”

“Why do you think this hunt was called?”

“Doubtless the reason we just saw. Lord Balim’s idea. I believe it was Sir Harapa who suggested the boar, however.”

At this point Sir Kytem Curo, Sir Meden’s younger brother, begins moving in their direction, but Sir Meden subtly waves him off with a low hand.

“It should not surprise us that Balim bears a grudge against Osel. He did kidnap his son, after all. Would Balim go to such lengths to thwart other claimants, I wonder?”

This time Lord Curo shrugs. “These things become a cliché when they don’t work … which in turn can make them a surprise when used.”

“I almost think you are wishing to recruit the assassins to your own retinue, Sir Meden.”

“Well,” he chuckles reasonably, “I would at least set up a butt and give them a run at it. Your man was quick to react. It is almost as if, for him, the true quarry had revealed itself.”

“Sir Baris will never be a diplomat, I admit, but it would be unwise to underestimate his instincts as a soldier.”

“I believe I am coming to agree with that. I understand he did good service at Olokand ...”

On the ride back to Tashal, Sir Torald is largely ignored, his function now superfluous. Surprisingly, a lack of acrimony continues to characterize the tenor of the hunting party throughout the ride. Sir Baris, his social instincts again criminally deficient, tries to be nice to Sir Meden, who bears the burden for a short time before eventually interposing Sir Dregald to put an end to it.

Squire Goreg rides up to Baron Orsin Firith and makes so bold as to solicit his advice for young squires coming up.

Lord Orsin harrumphs and goggles at him with the one good eye, the patch covering the other bristling as he barks in amusement. “What would I tell a young squire? A young man eagerly anticipating a knighthood of his own? Impoverished? Destitute? Looking for a scrap of bread at his lord’s table? That’s what you want?”

Goreg swallows convulsively but keeps his head high. “Yes, my lord.”

“Ha! You have the first one, then. Honesty with your lord. That’s always the first thing.”

Goreg nods eagerly.

“The second thing. Loyalty! And the third. Courage! Willingness to lay down your life for your lord.”

“Honesty, loyalty, and courage,” Goreg affirms. “Yes, my lord.”

“You’re done,” Firith waves dismissively, but not unkindly. “Go back to Lord Ewen.”

To Sir Prehil, from the corner of his mouth, the Baron adds, “You know, he could make something of himself …”

They return to Tashal just after dark. The squires groom and put away the horses. Upstairs at Raven Hall, Master Nildar has spent the entire day in the solar going through the details of the manors and Sotor’s precis of the barony of Ternua.

He says, “My lord. We should talk.”

“I will have drinks sent up.”

Moments later, Master Nildar embarks upon his review.

“I shall start with the four former manors, and then discuss the more recent acquisitions. You have been using Pesera of Hendel, who I gather has kept the fact that you have multiple irons in the fire from being unduly burdensome to you. However ...” He consults a long paper covered with columns of figures, then glances up with upraised eyebrow. “The problem being Pesera is not dishonest, but he is working for himself. He has been taking a somewhat large percentage of your income, my lord, larger than I would think is quite appropriate.” He smirks. “But what do I know? I am from Melderyn.”

Ewen, at ease, crosses one leg over the other, choosing to ignore the other man’s tone while studying him over his glass. “I should say, Master Nildar, that your findings do not take me greatly by surprise. In truth, I consider the luxury of allowing Pesera to handle my affairs while I diced for a barony to be a sound investment. How do you recommend I proceed now?”

“The investment has paid off. Now that the harvest has arrived, perhaps it is time to cash in. I do not wish to impeach Master Hendel. He has done his job. I do mean that you can do better. He has taken ten to twenty percent, and has guaranteed you a payment. Not a bad investment when dicing for a barony, but Master Hendel hedged his bets very well.”

Master Nildar goes into detail regarding the four manors, reciting numbers and technical details at length. “As you can see, Master Hendel has reserved all but the guaranteed upside to himself. Now let us, if I may, turn to Ternua as a whole. I have incorporated Varayne, Inbernel, Selapan and Claydon into the total figures I am about to reference. The income from last year’s harvest, including the existing manors plus the manors of the barony yield a gross income of just over £1,037. If you were to continue with Pesera of Hendel under existing practices, you would net approximately £800.” The eyebrow arches again. “It would be a very good year for Pesera of Hendel.”

When Ewen declines to comment, he goes on. “Your anticipated expenses and maintenance costs are unclear at this time, but I believe of 22 total manors and a combined acreage of some 40,200 acres, you should receive the service of 26 knights and 27 light horse, most of whom are squires. In Melderyn, we speak of 57 light foot equivalents, medium foot or light bowman substituting two for one.

“Now you will owe to the crown as feudal dues just over £542. You also owe 28 knights, 28 horse, and 57 light foot equivalents. This means that your own service owed is almost equal to the amount you owe the crown, being shy but 2 Knights and 1 light horse. Further, I note that Ternua itself has six manors directly held, including Varayne and Inbernel, by bailiffs, and eight, including Selepan, held by knight bannerets.”

Master Nildar places his notes upon the desk and sets down his quill.

“My lord, whether you retain me or not, it seems crazy to provide a merchant guildsman more than two hundred pounds of your own substance.”

“Do I need Pesera of Hendel’s services at all?”

“You need someone to handle your affairs. All I ask in return is fair consideration and not to be turned out.”

Ewen rises from his seat, and Master Nildar follows suit.

“I shall consider what you have said, Master Nildar, and we shall meet again in the morning and come to an agreement. The hour is late. You are welcome to bed down on fourth floor if you like. Good evening, Master Nildar.”

Around eight o’clock, Goreg returns to Raven Hall and reports to Ewen that he has seen to it that the horses have been stabled from the hunt. He relates that he gave Iblis her extra grooming and an approved number of special treats. Goreg tells Ewen that the actual squires from the other nobles houses, not the supposed squires that were at the hunt, were doing the same. Ewen thanks the Goreg and dismisses him for the night. The Baron of Ternua then spends a few hours reading and reviewing the books, and retires around eleven.

Azura 24, 732

The scream, blood-curdling and reverberating, brings Kaelyn of Aletta bolt upright in her bed. Her heart pounding, she has thrown off the covers and swung her legs to the floor before she realizes that the sound, extinguished now, had been contained entirely in her own head. The insight causes her to pause, standing there barefoot in her room at Raven Hall, and concentrate as best as she can upon the cry which awakened her. To her surprise, she finds herself inexplicably convinced that the scream has originated from the direction of the Heru Gate, clear across town. She has no idea why she is certain of this.

Stepping out onto the darkened landing and heading down the staircase, she hears the thunder of steps from above. Goreg and Gatanis Nildar’s headlong descent from the fourth floor above tells her that others have been awakened by the surreal scream as well, likely Master Nildar from the look on his face, while Goreg simply follows in alarmed bewilderment. Gathering her wits, arresting Goreg in his plunge down the stairs with a curt word, she peremptorily orders the squire to fetch his sword and to meet her downstairs. Impelled perhaps by her tone of voice, he obediently wheels and races back up the steps.

On the second floor landing, Ewen is standing in his bedclothes looking pensive and concerned. He briefly confirms that he experienced the same scream, concurs that the sound came from the northeast, and adds with an abstracted frown that he does not believe it emanated from Hag Hall. Master Nildar, wrapping a robe about himself, chimes in, echoing this opinion and suggesting that the sound came from closer to the city gate than to the residence of the Lady Rahel. Nobody is able to explain quite how they know these things.

Kaelyn surprises herself by asking Ewen for permission to lead a small party to Eastside to investigate the occult scream, which prompts an unexpected nod from the Baron. Kaelyn announces that she will take Goreg and Cekiya with her, and the squire in turn suggests that Sir Baris and Kalas might prove helpful as well. Cekiya volunteers to take wing as fast as a dragonfly to stir the redoubtable knight from his cups at the Elf and Dwarf, and slips out the door in a trice. Moments later, dressed and shod and with Goreg at her side, Kaelyn hurries from Raven Hall out into the night-shrouded streets of Tashal. A glance up at the position of waning Yael tells her that the hour is around midnight.

The Elf and Dwarf is still quite packed with clientele at this time of night. Weaving her way adroitly though the churning mass of inebriated journeymen, Cekiya finds Sir Baris still at the bar, punishing a brimming, dented tankard while a more abstemious Kalas looks on in glum resignation. While Sir Baris initially gazes down in bleary-eyed surprise when Cekiya materializes at his side, her cryptic instruction that he should find his sword and follow her sharpens his features instantaneously. He assures her that his sword is on his hip, cocks his head at Kalas to follow, upends the tankard and slams it back down all in one motion. He hits the streets with Cekiya ranging swiftly off into the murk ahead. Calling behind him for Kalas to keep up, Sir Baris Tyrestal lengthens his stride.

They catch up with Kaelyn and Goreg at Mangai Square, and Kaelyn offers a brief summary of the issue at hand. As she is doing this, Aethel Atan steers incongruously into view, heading toward the street to the right of the Coin and Broom. Noting that he is heading in the approximate direction they themselves were taking to investigate the scream, they confer and decide to follow the mage. They all hurry toward Nistoria Way, in the general direction of Aeomund’s parents’ house. On the corner of Ibithune Way they come upon a small number of persons gathered in the street, including Garth of Kerrina, Aethel Atan, Sir Arren Lydel, and Sir Harth Hurlis. Kaelyn approaches Garth, with whom she is on decent terms.

“Garth, what has happened?”

“Did you hear the scream?”

“Yes, that is why I am here.”

“Something has been unleashed.”

“What do you mean, something?”

Garth seems distracted, and mutters under his breath, “…there are no trees in sight…”

Kaelyn turns. “Aethel?”

“Ah Satia-Mavari Kaelyn. You are here. Good. I fear for friend Lumede. This is his house. Something terrible has happened here.”

Cekiya looks around the group and leans in close to Kaelyn’s ear, “Should I go in?”

“Aethel, has anyone been inside?” Kaelyn asks.

“No. We are not entirely sure what has happened here. What do you know?”

“I heard a pain-filled scream, and it was abruptly cut off. I had a sense of direction which led me here.” Kaelyn waves her hand to indicate the area encompassing the house as well as the others standing around.

“I as well,” Aethel says, with a tone suggesting that he feels remorse for not knowing more.

Kaelyn takes a deep breath. “Are we going in?” she asks. She had never been one to sit patiently waiting, and her time with Sir Baris and Ewen has only served to shorten the time she is willing to sit still before taking action.

“Not without at chair and a whip,” Aethel says with a half laugh and a step backwards.

Kaelyn nods and turns now to Cekiya. “Scout only. Come out at the first hint of danger. Ewen needs you to return.”

Cekiya slips over to the door on Ibithune Way. She whispers an invocation and sees into the darkness – proof that her god has favored her this night. A wafting of ale fumes tells her that Sir Baris has come to stand behind her. She steps up to the door and tries it, but finds it locked. Sir Baris offers to open the iron bound door, prompting a nod from Cekiya, who steps aside. Sir Baris takes a few paces back and, using his shoulder as a battering ram, thunders into the door. He has managed this feat on numerous occasions, though not always with a deft touch, and so it is now. Sir Baris and the door sail together into the house and well into the room within, creating an awful din of crashing and splintering furnishings as they go. The front door, and Sir Baris Tyrestal, end up laying across a stout table in the front room. The knight, splayed upon the surface, hiccups and mutters, “So much for stealth.”

Cekiya steps into the room and appraises Sir Baris in mild disgust. “Sssshhhhh.”

Goreg follows Cekiya into the house, while Kaelyn and Aethel walk up to the opening where the front door used to be, peering inside.

“Fools rush in,” Aethel announces.

Kaelyn shrugs and follows Goreg into the room with Cekiya and Sir Baris. The space is barely illuminated by the flickering light from the torches held by those in the street.

Cekiya, not needing light, scans the room. She sees a small hall with the table where Sir Baris came to rest, as well as another table in a perpendicular section of the room to the right. The walls and buttresses are made of stone. To her left is a sitting area with chairs and a rug. She sees a staircase going up. Directly in front of her appear to be a pair of sliding doors. Cekiya points to the sliding doors and realizes that no one else can see what she is pointing at, or even the fact that she is pointing. She walks over to Sir Baris, back on his feet, and whispers that there are sliding doors in that direction. Sir Baris goes over and gropes around, finding the doors to actually be curtains covering the entry into the kitchen. Cekiya quickly moves through this opening and finds a staircase going downward. She glances around and notes that the kitchen is quite grand with a rather impressive stock of firewood. She listens at the top of the stairs and hears an unidentifiable sound below. She backs into the entry way and in a stage whisper informs all that are now in the house that there is something downstairs. Kaelyn looks over her shoulder and asks Aethel, who is hovering in the doorway, “Where is Lumede’s study?”

“Upstairs.”

“Cekiya, please clear the upstairs first.”

Cekiya nods and creeps upstairs. At the landing she sees to the right an open area that looks down upon the sitting room. Ahead of her she sees a landing around an open area. At the open area there is a door, another opening, and then a second door. Investigating the opening, Cekiya sees one door to the left and a staircase going up on the right. 
She returns to the landing area and starts to methodically work her way across the second floor. She listens at the first door and, hearing nothing, opens it to find an empty bedroom. 
She goes to the second door and discovers another empty bedroom. She finds the door through the opening locked, but not for long as she employs her skills to elicit a satisfying snick from the mechanism. She is rewarded with only another empty bed chamber. She then moves up the stairs and finds herself in the middle of a small room, with a door directly ahead. Scanning to her right, she sees another door and then, continuing to turn, a sliding door that was behind her as she reached the landing. There is one final opening with a sliding door partially opened at the end of her circuit of the room.

Cekiya moves to each door in turn and finds three of them easy to open with the subsequent areas empty. The door that would have been behind her when she reached the landing is locked and, after listening for a moment, she hears nothing and opts not to investigate further. She slips down the stairs to the first floor and reports to the group.

Kaelyn nods towards the kitchen. “Check the basement quickly, Cekiya’s, and then you can go back up to try to get through the locked door.”

Cekiya turns to Sir Baris, her smile in the torchlight looking to the knight like an array of tiny tombstones. “Follow me.”

“I’ll follow you, too.” Goreg protests, mildly impatient to be included.

Below, at the foot of the stairs, there is a bed and an opening to the left. Cekiya slips through the opening and finds an open chamber with more beds as well as barrels and other items typically found in a storage area. Sir Baris, coming through the opening, pauses a moment to listen and hears something to his left. Cekiya, alert to Sir Baris’s nod, creeps to the left and searches the wall. Behind a large crate she locates an opened, previously concealed door. She silently crosses the threshold into a corridor about ten feet long leading to another opening straight ahead. About seven feet along the length of the corridor there is a passage to the right. She steps only a few feet in.

Sir Baris, watching Cekiya disappear through the secret door, instructs Goreg to return to Kaelyn and inform her that they have found a hidden door, and that Cekiya has gone in for a look. The squire dutifully hurries back to the first floor where he finds Aethel and Kaelyn waiting together. He provides his report.

“Secret door. That could be a problem. What do you think?” Kaelyn turns to Aethel.

A cloaked figure moves from behind Aethel into Kaelyn’s view. “A secret door usually means you’re fucked.”

Kaelyn cocks her head. In a tone of mild surprise, she identifies the figure.

“Astaroc?”
User avatar
Matt
The GM
 
Posts: 2556
Joined: Thu Sep 16, 2004 3:38 pm
Location: Weymouth, MA

Return to The Melderyn Chronicle

Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 5 guests

cron