It is late autumn in Scardic and the apple and pear orchards are finished with harvesting underwater in the fields of turnips, parnips and cabbage. The Dayne manor is making preparations for winter with provisions being taken in through the gatehouse to storehouses and granaries. The high stone walls surrounded the hall, stables, chapel and kitchens and children ran about in the town square beyond the gate.
Within the stables the scant horses and slightly more numerous mules and one hinny were calm in their stalls, bondsmen and women lounged about outside the kitchens drawing the watchful glare of Tommen the cook and his flock of staff.
Within the hall itself stands Sir Valor Dayne staring into the fire and considering his next move.
A few days ago he was called to Lord Falworth Daynes, his father’s, private chamber.
“I have good news,” said Lord Dayne.
. “Your second cousin, the Lady Angela and her husband, Sir Olvar, will shortly be blessed with a child. They deserve all the support our family can muster. I want you to escort Mother Clay to their village, Maiden’s Vale. She’s the finest nurse for leagues around, and sure to bring the child up to be proper and strong.”
Beside your father, hunched on a stool, was the old crone known as Mother Clay, a faithful retainer to your family since before written history. She is thought of fondly by the elders of the family, and with vague dread by the youngsters. Valor been subjected to her foul tasting ‘cures’ on more than one occasion.
“When you present yourself to them,” your father continued, “give them this gift with the best wishes of our family, and place yourself humbly at their service. If you are determined to be someone of substance in this world beyond the field of battle, this will set you on that road."
“The way to Maiden’s Vale is not too long but Mother Clay cannot travel at speed, and the path is not without some small danger. Take some companions and servants who you trust. The scribe and apothecary will likely be needed to record the childs official birth as neither your cousin or her husband have much in the way of letters and perhaps to assist Mother Clay in her ministrations. As Mother Clay will be riding the hinny perhaps a stable boy as well, you know horses but mules and their kind need a different touch."
“ My son.......Sometimes you let your heart rule your head. Stay sharp, and bring honour to our family. Dismissed.”
His father then handed over a package and a letter bound with the family seal. By his gruff manner it was clear that the meeting was at an end.
( All of you know of Maiden’s Vale: it lies in the west of Baron Aldred’s fief, at the edge of Helfax Wood and the first peaks of the Shriven Hills, but too small to appear on any map.)
"Almost!" said Argyle with a smile as he side-stepped the lunge and effortlessly swatted his opponent on the rear with the flat of his wooden blade.
The younger lad tumbled, nearly falling flat on his face as his momentum carried him into the dirt. "That's not right!" he cried out, looking back at his sparring partner. "You tricked me!"
"Do you not think that your opponents will use guile?" asked the young man, still smiling as he moved toward his defeated foe, offering his hand to assist him.
The other grumbled, but accepted the help. "Bitterness won't help," chided Argyle as his trainee stood. "You keep thinking that all fights are about honor, and it's true, a knight of excellence will strive to be honorable. But you will meet many who will use every trick, every invention, every underhanded lie and deception to win." He put his hand on the younger's shoulder, hoping his lesson would sink in. "There's no honor in dying in the street because you foolishly expected a knave to act like a lord."
The student sighed and nodded. "I know." He then smiled as he looked up defiantly. "Next time. I'll best you then. You can't keep winning forever!"
Argyle laughed as he put his arm around the lad's neck and they walked back to the Dayne manor. "Oh, but I intend to!" he said. "Didn't I tell you that I'm going to be the greatest swordsman ever?"
"Only about a hundred times," came the response as the boy attempted to elbow the fighter in the ribs, only to miss. His elder laughed again.
"Come now, enough tomfoolery!" he said, taking on a not-quite-mocking tone of stoic seriousness such as his elders might use. "Let's go see if it's time to be off yet."
"Patience, my friend. This is what fishing is all about."Out near a rocky ledge that stretches towards a skimpy river is a recovering Triton with an impatient young boy fidgeting on his right with a fishing rod in his two, skimpy hands. The former's rod is stuck onto the ground with its hook dipped into the crystal clear waterways. His trident lay next to his left foot and behind the rod itself. "This is what everyone, not just plain ol' sailors like me, will have to endure, especially out over the blank oceans. Some people would dedicate hours, even days, to achieve their goals. You're only just beginning, my boy." The Triton's voice was medium-low pitched and raspy. It sounded like he had a hard time with his former crew even after he lost them and tried to search for them.
"But sir", the boy whimpered. "It's been like this for the past 3 weeks or so. I'm sick of not being able to catch anything already! Can't we just think of better ideas instead of this?"
"A former crewmate once told me: More haste, less speed, my boy. Nothing would ever be instantaneous. Besides, do you have anything to suggest besides polluting this stream with useless traps and cut the supply for everyone including the wildlife here? I wouldn't even dare think of it."
"Alright, fine. I'll wait a little longer sir." pouts the boy as he sits back and fidgets with a block of wood. "If you really believe in that I will trust you."
"No need to call me sir. Just Mizzen would do." The Triton smiles... then eyes at his pupil's rod twitching. He points at it and smirks. "Wanna check again?"
"Oh my god!" The boy sees this movement and hastily pulls his fishing rod which reels in a small cod. It wasn't huge, but it was a start. Much better than waiting almost 3 weeks in a row for nothing. "You're right, sir- uh- I mean, Mizzen. I guess patience is a virtue after all, especially when I get older. I'll be sure to remember that!" He grins as he admires his first catch flopping inside a bucket.
"Shall we head back then? Everyone must be waiting." And with that, Mizzen reels in his rod although he didn't catch anything, and limps back to the village with his two weapons. It's pretty clear that while he is able to move, he's still recovering from his latest accident. The boy follows, occasionally helping him should he look like he was about to fall.
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Mizzen - Male Triton Paladin (Lvl 1), Currently In Sleeping Gods (Thank you Damian May for keeping my hopes of playing in at least 1 pbp alive)
Quote from Damian_May>> “ My son.......Sometimes you let your heart rule your head. Stay sharp, and bring honour to our family. Dismissed.” His father then handed over a package and a letter bound with the family seal. By his gruff manner it was clear that the meeting was at an end.
"Yes father," Valor said with a bow, taking the package and letter. His shoulder length dark hair was a mane, held back from his face with a complex braid and a large, but simple gold bead. His dark beard was thick, but well trimmed. His prominent brow and hooked nose matched that of his father, but his green-gold eyes that glittered brightly in the firelight were his mother's. He had a fierce look to him, though still young and almost eager, especially when compared to the steel determination of his father--how a falcon might look fierce, unless stood next to a hawk.
Over the next few days, Valor had gathered the resources he needed and prepared for the journey. He had packed a set of fine clothes, though he doubted he would need them in Maiden's Vale--still better to be prepared. He continued to inventory his own equipment, from armor to weapons, general equipment, and so forth. Once he was satisfied, he packed everything back up and slung his pack over his shoulder. While he was entitled to a servant or retainer, he preferred to back his own equipment, that way he knew exactly what he had and didn't have. Last of all, he packed the package and letter his father had given him.
He strode from the hall, his chainmail clinking softly under his green and gold particolored surcoat. Over his breast was embroidered the gold griffon that was the symbol of House Dayne, on a field of green. Valor's griffon was adorned with a five pointed star, denoting that he was the third son of the House--his oldest brother carried the same symbol with a three pointed label and his other brother carried an upward pointing crescent--however, unlike his brothers, Valor was knighted and so his griffon held a sword in its claws. The same symbol was painted on Valor's shield and engraved in the pommel of his longsword, as well as on his signet ring. Over his shoulder he hefted a maul, its steel head was hammered to look like a simple but fierce griffon's head.
As he walked out of the hall, he was met by Hemnes, House Dayne's head steward. "Sir." said Hemnes, inclining his head.
"Ahhh, master Hemnes. Tell me, are we ready to head out?" Valor's voice was deep and strong. As a youth of 23 summers, he was no pup, but still lacked the commanding presence and confidence of his father.
As the stable-hands attached to Dayne Manor began their morning chores, they discovered snoring coming from an unused stall. Upon investigation, there was a man curled up on the straw, with disheveled clothing, a wine bottle cradled against his body and a lute lying nearby.
"It's that Hotspur again,"they mutter to one another. Someone retrieves a bucket of water from the horses' trough and dumps it over his head. He sits up with a start, sputtering and blinking, shielding his eyes even from the dim light of the stable.
"Oy! There's no call for that! I'm just here minding my own business!" he says with a sheepish grin. He stands and brushes the remaining straw and droplets of water from his face, hair and clothing. His skin is fair, his hair auburn, and his eyes are violet, flecked with red. The superstitious peasants say that his eyes show that one of his ancestors was a demon, but of course that is utter nonsense. Probably.
Yawning and stretching, Hotspur executes a mini-bow to the stable-staff, and then wanders over to the kitchen of the main manor house. "Tommen! Good man! What have you got for breakfast today?" He ducks a ladle thrown at him. "Now, now, no need for theatrics. We have an understanding, you and I. You create delectable meals, and I consume them with gusto, and sing your praises throughout the countryside! Your fame has spread far and wide due to yours truly. Every tavern-dweller within twenty miles has heard the songs of Tommen the Magnificent and his culinary creations!"
Looking around for a scullery maid, Hotspur says, "Lass, please fetch my rascal Cousin, Sir Valor, and let him know I await the pleasure of his company."
Thatch looks on as his stablemates roust that rascal Hotspur up from the stall where he was sleeping off his latest bout of drink and out of the stable. Normally, he would be the first to get in on the fun, but not today. He had important work to do today for the Lord of the manor. The Stable Master had assigned him on the trip with the lordling, Sir Dayne and he had to prepare the animals for the journey.
Overly short and skinny, Thatch was used to getting lost underfoot of others. An orphan for as long as he could remember, he got his name from his tangled mess of straw colored hair. He was grateful for the work with the household, but longed to be something more than a stable boy. This was his chance to impress the family. Today, he was prepared for travel with worn, hand-me-down leather armor that was a little too big for him, a short bow and arrows slung behind his back, and a short sword belted to his waist. Observant bystanders would see the hilts of two daggers peeking out from hiding places along his body. The short sword was a gift from the old farrier, his parting words still with him “if you are going to travel with the family you have to look the part, not like a backwards stable boy, even if that is what you are.”
“Come on, Nibby”He pulled at the halter, but the hinny just looked at him stubbornly and moved from the stall at her own plodding pace. Thatch sighed. It would be a long trip to Maiden’s Vale. Still, he prodded Nibby out into the courtyard to meet up with the others to begin their journey.
Before the steward can answer, Valor hears a commotion from the stables. He looks and sighs, overhearing the voice of his cousin, though not his words. He shakes his head with a mix of affection and exasperation. His cousin had always been a bad influence and had gotten them into trouble more than once, but he was always quick with a tale and handy in a fight... even if he was usually the one starting them. His father had made it clear that Valor was to take Hotspur with him--more to get him away from the manor than because Lord Dayne thought he would be useful on the journey.
As he looked over, though, he saw the stablehand that had been assigned to come with them. He searched his head for the boy's name, but could only remember his nickname, Thatch. "Thatch," he called, walking over to the stablehand holding the lead to the hinny. He kneeled down in front of the boy, so he was at eye level. "Thatch," he looked around and leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially, "You've got a very important job. The whole point of our trip is to safely escort Mother Clay to Maiden's Vale. It's your job to make sure she makes it there safely. You'll be the one closest to her, managing her hinny. Mother Clay is proud, but she's more fragile than she lets on. I'll be counting on you to make sure she's okay, and letting me know if she needs anything. You understand?"
Morseth pokes his head out from a bush near the stables. A man of 30 years. He wears a thick coat with a crossbow strapped on his back and a dagger on his belt. He fusses with his pack and smooths out his dark brown hair and bushy mustache.
"Well met Sir Dayne. Is it time to leave yet. Don't you worry I have all my alchemist supplies" He pats is pack and you hear the clink of glass from his alchemist kit.
Argyle came near just in time to see Sir Dayne lean in and speak to Thatch. The youth let the two converse while he adjusted his blades and backpack and took in the surroundings; Thatch was young enough to need all the guidance he could get.
Not that Argyle was much older, or that he had been with the Dayne's more than a few years himself. He was fortunate that they had chosen to take a chance with him and not dig into his past; it wasn't one he was proud of, and he knew that despite the help he had been, assisting Sir Valor in fighting off a few brigands, he hadn't deserved the opportunity they had given him. But he also chose not to dwell on it too much--not out of ingratitude, as he was grateful, but simply because he knew that staring fixedly into the past simply caused one to stumble moving forward.
So, choosing to look forward, specifically to their current trip, he tried to spot all those who he knew to be going. Morseth he knew of, as well as Mizzen. And Hotspur. Of course... why have him loaf about here, when he could at least be another body to jump between Mother Clay and any trouble? But that Thatch seemed to be coming as well, he hadn't expected. It was looking like their troupe might be larger than the young swordsman had expected.
(( OOC: @Wizardously & DM - Hope you don't mind me inventing a meeting event for Argyle & Valor; let me know if you don't think it's suitable. ))
As Sir Valor conversed with Thatch, he was joined by Argyle, Morseth and Hotspur ( having been pointed the way by the kitchen staff). Mother Clay was slowly escorted out of the hall by Morris one of the older footmen, who staggered slightly under the weight of her belongings.
( We'll wait a few more hours for the others to post and then move you to the road with the others either NPC'd for now or staying behind. Travel will be on foot unless Sir Valor insists on bringing his rouncey, as Mother Clay is going to be travelling slow even mounted on the hinny.
"Excellent work everyone. You're all dismissed."As many as 25 students happily pack their bags. As the last student leaves, Yessenia also packs her scrolls and arcane focuses into her own bag before taking out her pendant and wearing it over her neck. To this day I still wonder where I got this. They say it's from a place where I was born called Romania but these days I wonder if this place is just fantasy.
She exits her classroom and approaches Lord Dayne as he was speaking to Thatch and Argyle and gives a polite bow. "Yes I heard my lord. I too am excited for them." As she spoke, there is an obvious accent to her voice, making it pretty obvious that she's not from this town. "As for Mother Clay, I will gladly take this mission for her own sake. I'm more concerned of her safety as I am of my own but of course. I won't let any of you down."
Yessenia then turns her head towards the creaking door. "You're late, Mizzen! What took you so long? Let me guess: You've been stalling with your 'follower' again, huh?"
Thatch’s eyes go wide as Sir Dayne approaches him and a quick thought crosses his mind Is this real? The lordling is talking to him, and kneeling down! Thatch’s face goes red and he stammers “Ye..Yes.. I understand mi’lord. Don’t worry, Nibby and I will take good care of Mother Clay. You can count on us.” He raises himself to his full, unimpressive height, and stands patting the hinny’s neck proudly.
He puts his words to action as Morris escorts Mother Clay to the courtyard, helping get her and her belongings situated and ready for the journey. “Here, let me help you, Mother. We will get you all set for the trip.”
Hotspur, having nicked a turkey leg and a flagon of red wine from the kitchen, approaches Valor and the others out in the open.
"Ah, there you are, coz!"he says, breezily. "What's all this about a journey? Of course, I'm more than willing to visit any place named 'Maiden's Vale'",he winks, "but taking that old crone with us is going to put a damper on the fun, don't you think? Maybe we could just stash her in a roadside inn somewhere and gallop along ourselves, eh?... No?... Oh well, just a thought..."
He munches on his breakfast and observes the others gathering in their travel group with interest.
A noticeable creak came from the entrance door. And in comes Mizzen who is using the hilt of his trident to keep himself on his foot now that the boy has gone back home. He eyes everyone that was with Lord Dayne, from Argyle to Yessenia, before adjusting his newly made sailor clothing and standing upright before Valor himself as to not disrespect him.
Yessenia then turns her head towards the creaking door. "You're late, Mizzen! What took you so long? Let me guess: You've been stalling with your 'follower' again, huh?"
"Well pardon me Miss Scholar-with-a-unique-accent-that-I-haven't-heard-of-until-now." Mizzen smirks without any sign of hostility towards her. "It's not like a sailor that's just barely out of rehab can turn agile into a matter of months. Besides, that boy that was with me was bragging on about his very first catch and dragged me behind so not entirely my fault." He bows to Lord Valor. "That aside, I'm aware of what I need to accomplish, my lord. I have my fine equipment ready to go. If everyone is also ready, I will leave and swear to defend her until we reach there."
Valor stands as the party begins to assemble. "Please, Lord Dayne is my father, and one day will be my brother. I am Syr Dayne. Though, while it is just the few of us, feel free to call me Valor." He considered the party and counted on his fingers as he mentally ran through those who were present and those who were expected but had not arrived.
There was his cousin, Hotspur, of course; his fellow warrior Argyle, who had been particularly helpful in training some of the Household's armsmen; Morseth, the apothecary; the sage Yessenia "Yess" Leonte, with the strange accent--Valor felt within her a strange power that he could not quite name; there was the odd sailor Mizzen, of whom Valor was not sure what to make--he seemed out of place, but still possessed of a certain strength; and of course the stableboy Thatch, who may have been little more than a boy, and one on the smaller side at that, but he moved with a kind of easy dexterity that spoke of greater things to come for the boy, plus, Valor had heard from some of the bondsmen that the boy was lucky. In addition to all these, there was Mother Clay, whose escort was ostensibly the purpose of the trip. He frowned; he was expecting at least two others, another huscarl, Gailleann and the forester Teryl.
He addressed those who were gathered, "Well, we're only missing two, Gaillean and Teryl, they may have to join us en route. I know you have been told before, but I will say again, we are heading to Maiden's Vale. Our cousin, the Lady Angela and her husband, Sir Olvar are expecting a new baby. We are going to provide my father's regards and to escort Mother Clay there to help ease the babe's entrance into the world. Master Morseth will assist Mother Clay with aught that she needs for the birth, and Sage Yess will attend to the record keeping, as my cousins are without a scribe at this time. The rest of you, along with me, are there to make sure they arrive safely. We try to keep the lands nearby free from brigands and bandits, as Argyle can attest, but it is not always possible. So keep your eyes open and stay alert. I know it is a long road and it will be easy to be bored, but I'm sure my cousin will entertain us along the way." He said the last with a look at Hotspur.
It has been a day on the road north and the glacial pace wears a little on some of the younger and fitter members of the troupe as they travel.
At the darkening of the first day they travel through empty fields and into the small village of Axbridge, to the north, lies Helfax Wood and Maidens Vale. To the west the road runs to the Coronach Marshes, along the mysterious raised dyke called Dobby’s Walk.
Not all of you are strangers here but none of you have spent much time in Axbridge, and you have spent the past few days getting the lie of the land. The villagers are hospitable and friendly to the Daynes and by extension Baron Aldred, whose castle is many days’ ride away to the east. Axbridge is the most westerly village of his fief; travellers pass through fairly regularly, so the villagers are better informed than most.
The fiefs of surly Baron Grisaille and Montombre,nicknamed ‘the Elfin Earl’, lie to the south and the commoners are glad to be Aldreds subjects and not those of his rivals.
Harvest-time has come to a close here as well, and the villagers are working long hours to store away winter provisions.
As you enter Axbridge you are hailed by Odo, a crippled old man who whiles away the day on a seat under the apple tree on the village green that those of you that have travelled here before recognise immediately. The old prattler claims to have adventured a little in his younger days, and offers to let you stay at his house for the night. Mother Clay refers to him as a " Lying old goat." but does not seem to object to the offer of a warmth hearth.
As the evening grows darker harvest celebrations ensue though somewhat less rambunctious than those held in Scardic and larger settlements. Cider is drunk and a service performed by the village priest, Bretwald. After the service, as the autumn evening turns to night, the villagers dance merrily in the churchyard.
Bretwald joins you. “Many of these rites are pagan, of course,” he says with a wry smile, “but it does no good to tell them that.” He rubs his back. “Bringing home the harvest has been hard work for us all. I have a cask of cog wine inside—come, join me for a drink if you wish.”
The thought of getting tipsy brought a smirk to Argyle's lips, but he merely shook his head--while he wasn't a teetotaler, ale wasn't his voice of choice. Instead, he stood and watched the dancing.
"Good sir, you give me an impossible choice... music and dancing without, and libations within? Have the heavens tasked you with tormenting me while I yet live? Very well, I choose to accompany you. The road has left my throat dry, and my music is always with me," says Hotspur, patting his lute as he accepts Bretwald's invitation.
"Thanks for the offer, Bretwald but I'm not a drinker myself" replies Yessenia. "I would love to enjoy dancing with the others though. Hopefully they don't mind me barging into the fun!" With that, she runs over and joins everyone whilst dancing merrily with them.
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It is late autumn in Scardic and the apple and pear orchards are finished with harvesting underwater in the fields of turnips, parnips and cabbage. The Dayne manor is making preparations for winter with provisions being taken in through the gatehouse to storehouses and granaries. The high stone walls surrounded the hall, stables, chapel and kitchens and children ran about in the town square beyond the gate.
Within the stables the scant horses and slightly more numerous mules and one hinny were calm in their stalls, bondsmen and women lounged about outside the kitchens drawing the watchful glare of Tommen the cook and his flock of staff.
Within the hall itself stands Sir Valor Dayne staring into the fire and considering his next move.
A few days ago he was called to Lord Falworth Daynes, his father’s, private chamber.
“I have good news,” said Lord Dayne.
. “Your second cousin, the Lady Angela and her husband, Sir Olvar, will shortly be blessed with a child. They deserve all the support our family can muster. I want you to escort Mother
Clay to their village, Maiden’s Vale. She’s the finest nurse for leagues around, and sure to bring the child up to be proper and strong.”
Beside your father, hunched on a stool, was the old crone known as Mother Clay, a faithful retainer to your family since before written history. She is thought of fondly by the elders of the family, and with vague dread by the youngsters. Valor been subjected to her foul tasting ‘cures’ on more than one occasion.
“When you present yourself to them,” your father continued, “give them this gift with the best wishes of our family, and place yourself humbly at their service. If you are determined to be someone of substance in this world beyond the field of battle, this will set you on that road."
“The way to Maiden’s Vale is not too long but Mother Clay cannot travel at speed, and the path is not without some small danger. Take some companions and servants who you trust. The scribe and apothecary will likely be needed to record the childs official birth as neither your cousin or her husband have much in the way of letters and perhaps to assist Mother Clay in her ministrations. As Mother Clay will be riding the hinny perhaps a stable boy as well, you know horses but mules and their kind need a different touch."
“ My son.......Sometimes you let your heart rule your head. Stay sharp, and bring honour to our family. Dismissed.”
His father then handed over a package and a letter bound with the family seal. By his gruff manner it was clear that the meeting was at an end.
( All of you know of Maiden’s Vale: it lies in the west of Baron Aldred’s fief, at the edge of Helfax Wood and the first peaks of the Shriven Hills, but too small to appear on any map.)
"Almost!" said Argyle with a smile as he side-stepped the lunge and effortlessly swatted his opponent on the rear with the flat of his wooden blade.
The younger lad tumbled, nearly falling flat on his face as his momentum carried him into the dirt. "That's not right!" he cried out, looking back at his sparring partner. "You tricked me!"
"Do you not think that your opponents will use guile?" asked the young man, still smiling as he moved toward his defeated foe, offering his hand to assist him.
The other grumbled, but accepted the help. "Bitterness won't help," chided Argyle as his trainee stood. "You keep thinking that all fights are about honor, and it's true, a knight of excellence will strive to be honorable. But you will meet many who will use every trick, every invention, every underhanded lie and deception to win." He put his hand on the younger's shoulder, hoping his lesson would sink in. "There's no honor in dying in the street because you foolishly expected a knave to act like a lord."
The student sighed and nodded. "I know." He then smiled as he looked up defiantly. "Next time. I'll best you then. You can't keep winning forever!"
Argyle laughed as he put his arm around the lad's neck and they walked back to the Dayne manor. "Oh, but I intend to!" he said. "Didn't I tell you that I'm going to be the greatest swordsman ever?"
"Only about a hundred times," came the response as the boy attempted to elbow the fighter in the ribs, only to miss. His elder laughed again.
"Come now, enough tomfoolery!" he said, taking on a not-quite-mocking tone of stoic seriousness such as his elders might use. "Let's go see if it's time to be off yet."
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"Patience, my friend. This is what fishing is all about." Out near a rocky ledge that stretches towards a skimpy river is a recovering Triton with an impatient young boy fidgeting on his right with a fishing rod in his two, skimpy hands. The former's rod is stuck onto the ground with its hook dipped into the crystal clear waterways. His trident lay next to his left foot and behind the rod itself. "This is what everyone, not just plain ol' sailors like me, will have to endure, especially out over the blank oceans. Some people would dedicate hours, even days, to achieve their goals. You're only just beginning, my boy." The Triton's voice was medium-low pitched and raspy. It sounded like he had a hard time with his former crew even after he lost them and tried to search for them.
"But sir", the boy whimpered. "It's been like this for the past 3 weeks or so. I'm sick of not being able to catch anything already! Can't we just think of better ideas instead of this?"
"A former crewmate once told me: More haste, less speed, my boy. Nothing would ever be instantaneous. Besides, do you have anything to suggest besides polluting this stream with useless traps and cut the supply for everyone including the wildlife here? I wouldn't even dare think of it."
"Alright, fine. I'll wait a little longer sir." pouts the boy as he sits back and fidgets with a block of wood. "If you really believe in that I will trust you."
"No need to call me sir. Just Mizzen would do." The Triton smiles... then eyes at his pupil's rod twitching. He points at it and smirks. "Wanna check again?"
"Oh my god!" The boy sees this movement and hastily pulls his fishing rod which reels in a small cod. It wasn't huge, but it was a start. Much better than waiting almost 3 weeks in a row for nothing. "You're right, sir- uh- I mean, Mizzen. I guess patience is a virtue after all, especially when I get older. I'll be sure to remember that!" He grins as he admires his first catch flopping inside a bucket.
"Shall we head back then? Everyone must be waiting." And with that, Mizzen reels in his rod although he didn't catch anything, and limps back to the village with his two weapons. It's pretty clear that while he is able to move, he's still recovering from his latest accident. The boy follows, occasionally helping him should he look like he was about to fall.
Mizzen - Male Triton Paladin (Lvl 1), Currently In Sleeping Gods (Thank you Damian May for keeping my hopes of playing in at least 1 pbp alive)
"Yes father," Valor said with a bow, taking the package and letter. His shoulder length dark hair was a mane, held back from his face with a complex braid and a large, but simple gold bead. His dark beard was thick, but well trimmed. His prominent brow and hooked nose matched that of his father, but his green-gold eyes that glittered brightly in the firelight were his mother's. He had a fierce look to him, though still young and almost eager, especially when compared to the steel determination of his father--how a falcon might look fierce, unless stood next to a hawk.
Over the next few days, Valor had gathered the resources he needed and prepared for the journey. He had packed a set of fine clothes, though he doubted he would need them in Maiden's Vale--still better to be prepared. He continued to inventory his own equipment, from armor to weapons, general equipment, and so forth. Once he was satisfied, he packed everything back up and slung his pack over his shoulder. While he was entitled to a servant or retainer, he preferred to back his own equipment, that way he knew exactly what he had and didn't have. Last of all, he packed the package and letter his father had given him.
He strode from the hall, his chainmail clinking softly under his green and gold particolored surcoat. Over his breast was embroidered the gold griffon that was the symbol of House Dayne, on a field of green. Valor's griffon was adorned with a five pointed star, denoting that he was the third son of the House--his oldest brother carried the same symbol with a three pointed label and his other brother carried an upward pointing crescent--however, unlike his brothers, Valor was knighted and so his griffon held a sword in its claws. The same symbol was painted on Valor's shield and engraved in the pommel of his longsword, as well as on his signet ring. Over his shoulder he hefted a maul, its steel head was hammered to look like a simple but fierce griffon's head.
As he walked out of the hall, he was met by Hemnes, House Dayne's head steward. "Sir." said Hemnes, inclining his head.
"Ahhh, master Hemnes. Tell me, are we ready to head out?" Valor's voice was deep and strong. As a youth of 23 summers, he was no pup, but still lacked the commanding presence and confidence of his father.
**By the Light of the Sun, you will burn!**
Previously BENEFICENCE
DM: Storm Lord's Wrath || Syr Valor Dayne: Sleeping Gods || tooltips | guides | dice |
As the stable-hands attached to Dayne Manor began their morning chores, they discovered snoring coming from an unused stall. Upon investigation, there was a man curled up on the straw, with disheveled clothing, a wine bottle cradled against his body and a lute lying nearby.
"It's that Hotspur again," they mutter to one another. Someone retrieves a bucket of water from the horses' trough and dumps it over his head. He sits up with a start, sputtering and blinking, shielding his eyes even from the dim light of the stable.
"Oy! There's no call for that! I'm just here minding my own business!" he says with a sheepish grin. He stands and brushes the remaining straw and droplets of water from his face, hair and clothing. His skin is fair, his hair auburn, and his eyes are violet, flecked with red. The superstitious peasants say that his eyes show that one of his ancestors was a demon, but of course that is utter nonsense. Probably.
Yawning and stretching, Hotspur executes a mini-bow to the stable-staff, and then wanders over to the kitchen of the main manor house. "Tommen! Good man! What have you got for breakfast today?" He ducks a ladle thrown at him. "Now, now, no need for theatrics. We have an understanding, you and I. You create delectable meals, and I consume them with gusto, and sing your praises throughout the countryside! Your fame has spread far and wide due to yours truly. Every tavern-dweller within twenty miles has heard the songs of Tommen the Magnificent and his culinary creations!"
Looking around for a scullery maid, Hotspur says, "Lass, please fetch my rascal Cousin, Sir Valor, and let him know I await the pleasure of his company."
Thatch looks on as his stablemates roust that rascal Hotspur up from the stall where he was sleeping off his latest bout of drink and out of the stable. Normally, he would be the first to get in on the fun, but not today. He had important work to do today for the Lord of the manor. The Stable Master had assigned him on the trip with the lordling, Sir Dayne and he had to prepare the animals for the journey.
Overly short and skinny, Thatch was used to getting lost underfoot of others. An orphan for as long as he could remember, he got his name from his tangled mess of straw colored hair. He was grateful for the work with the household, but longed to be something more than a stable boy. This was his chance to impress the family. Today, he was prepared for travel with worn, hand-me-down leather armor that was a little too big for him, a short bow and arrows slung behind his back, and a short sword belted to his waist. Observant bystanders would see the hilts of two daggers peeking out from hiding places along his body. The short sword was a gift from the old farrier, his parting words still with him “if you are going to travel with the family you have to look the part, not like a backwards stable boy, even if that is what you are.”
“Come on, Nibby” He pulled at the halter, but the hinny just looked at him stubbornly and moved from the stall at her own plodding pace. Thatch sighed. It would be a long trip to Maiden’s Vale. Still, he prodded Nibby out into the courtyard to meet up with the others to begin their journey.
Before the steward can answer, Valor hears a commotion from the stables. He looks and sighs, overhearing the voice of his cousin, though not his words. He shakes his head with a mix of affection and exasperation. His cousin had always been a bad influence and had gotten them into trouble more than once, but he was always quick with a tale and handy in a fight... even if he was usually the one starting them. His father had made it clear that Valor was to take Hotspur with him--more to get him away from the manor than because Lord Dayne thought he would be useful on the journey.
As he looked over, though, he saw the stablehand that had been assigned to come with them. He searched his head for the boy's name, but could only remember his nickname, Thatch. "Thatch," he called, walking over to the stablehand holding the lead to the hinny. He kneeled down in front of the boy, so he was at eye level. "Thatch," he looked around and leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially, "You've got a very important job. The whole point of our trip is to safely escort Mother Clay to Maiden's Vale. It's your job to make sure she makes it there safely. You'll be the one closest to her, managing her hinny. Mother Clay is proud, but she's more fragile than she lets on. I'll be counting on you to make sure she's okay, and letting me know if she needs anything. You understand?"
**By the Light of the Sun, you will burn!**
Previously BENEFICENCE
DM: Storm Lord's Wrath || Syr Valor Dayne: Sleeping Gods || tooltips | guides | dice |
Morseth pokes his head out from a bush near the stables. A man of 30 years. He wears a thick coat with a crossbow strapped on his back and a dagger on his belt. He fusses with his pack and smooths out his dark brown hair and bushy mustache.
"Well met Sir Dayne. Is it time to leave yet. Don't you worry I have all my alchemist supplies" He pats is pack and you hear the clink of glass from his alchemist kit.
Argyle came near just in time to see Sir Dayne lean in and speak to Thatch. The youth let the two converse while he adjusted his blades and backpack and took in the surroundings; Thatch was young enough to need all the guidance he could get.
Not that Argyle was much older, or that he had been with the Dayne's more than a few years himself. He was fortunate that they had chosen to take a chance with him and not dig into his past; it wasn't one he was proud of, and he knew that despite the help he had been, assisting Sir Valor in fighting off a few brigands, he hadn't deserved the opportunity they had given him. But he also chose not to dwell on it too much--not out of ingratitude, as he was grateful, but simply because he knew that staring fixedly into the past simply caused one to stumble moving forward.
So, choosing to look forward, specifically to their current trip, he tried to spot all those who he knew to be going. Morseth he knew of, as well as Mizzen. And Hotspur. Of course... why have him loaf about here, when he could at least be another body to jump between Mother Clay and any trouble? But that Thatch seemed to be coming as well, he hadn't expected. It was looking like their troupe might be larger than the young swordsman had expected.
(( OOC: @Wizardously & DM - Hope you don't mind me inventing a meeting event for Argyle & Valor; let me know if you don't think it's suitable. ))
Locke - V. Human Shadow Monk 3 / Undead Warlock 2 - [Pic] - [Traits] - in FOW - DMless West Marches
Nico - V. Human Swords Bard 5 - [Pic] - [Traits] - in Wysp's Hidden Tower
Sterling - V. Human Bard 2 - [Pic] - [Traits] - in Bards: Dragon Heist (w/ Mansion) - Jasper's [Pic]
Finn - V. Human Hexblade Warlock 5 - [Pic] - [Traits] - in Beneath the Mountain
Tooltips Post (2024 PHB updates)
>> New FOW threat & treasure tables: fow-advanced-threat-tables.pdf fow-advanced-treasure-table.pdf
As Sir Valor conversed with Thatch, he was joined by Argyle, Morseth and Hotspur ( having been pointed the way by the kitchen staff). Mother Clay was slowly escorted out of the hall by Morris one of the older footmen, who staggered slightly under the weight of her belongings.
( We'll wait a few more hours for the others to post and then move you to the road with the others either NPC'd for now or staying behind. Travel will be on foot unless Sir Valor insists on bringing his rouncey, as Mother Clay is going to be travelling slow even mounted on the hinny.
Argyles meeting with Valor is fine by me.)
"Excellent work everyone. You're all dismissed." As many as 25 students happily pack their bags. As the last student leaves, Yessenia also packs her scrolls and arcane focuses into her own bag before taking out her pendant and wearing it over her neck. To this day I still wonder where I got this. They say it's from a place where I was born called Romania but these days I wonder if this place is just fantasy.
She exits her classroom and approaches Lord Dayne as he was speaking to Thatch and Argyle and gives a polite bow. "Yes I heard my lord. I too am excited for them." As she spoke, there is an obvious accent to her voice, making it pretty obvious that she's not from this town. "As for Mother Clay, I will gladly take this mission for her own sake. I'm more concerned of her safety as I am of my own but of course. I won't let any of you down."
Yessenia then turns her head towards the creaking door. "You're late, Mizzen! What took you so long? Let me guess: You've been stalling with your 'follower' again, huh?"
Mfs select me or I rage
Thatch’s eyes go wide as Sir Dayne approaches him and a quick thought crosses his mind Is this real? The lordling is talking to him, and kneeling down! Thatch’s face goes red and he stammers “Ye..Yes.. I understand mi’lord. Don’t worry, Nibby and I will take good care of Mother Clay. You can count on us.” He raises himself to his full, unimpressive height, and stands patting the hinny’s neck proudly.
He puts his words to action as Morris escorts Mother Clay to the courtyard, helping get her and her belongings situated and ready for the journey. “Here, let me help you, Mother. We will get you all set for the trip.”
Hotspur, having nicked a turkey leg and a flagon of red wine from the kitchen, approaches Valor and the others out in the open.
"Ah, there you are, coz!" he says, breezily. "What's all this about a journey? Of course, I'm more than willing to visit any place named 'Maiden's Vale'", he winks, "but taking that old crone with us is going to put a damper on the fun, don't you think? Maybe we could just stash her in a roadside inn somewhere and gallop along ourselves, eh?... No?... Oh well, just a thought..."
He munches on his breakfast and observes the others gathering in their travel group with interest.
A noticeable creak came from the entrance door. And in comes Mizzen who is using the hilt of his trident to keep himself on his foot now that the boy has gone back home. He eyes everyone that was with Lord Dayne, from Argyle to Yessenia, before adjusting his newly made sailor clothing and standing upright before Valor himself as to not disrespect him.
"Well pardon me Miss Scholar-with-a-unique-accent-that-I-haven't-heard-of-until-now." Mizzen smirks without any sign of hostility towards her. "It's not like a sailor that's just barely out of rehab can turn agile into a matter of months. Besides, that boy that was with me was bragging on about his very first catch and dragged me behind so not entirely my fault." He bows to Lord Valor. "That aside, I'm aware of what I need to accomplish, my lord. I have my fine equipment ready to go. If everyone is also ready, I will leave and swear to defend her until we reach there."
Not happening on my watch, let alone Lord Valor's, that's for sure. He thinks.
Mizzen - Male Triton Paladin (Lvl 1), Currently In Sleeping Gods (Thank you Damian May for keeping my hopes of playing in at least 1 pbp alive)
Valor stands as the party begins to assemble. "Please, Lord Dayne is my father, and one day will be my brother. I am Syr Dayne. Though, while it is just the few of us, feel free to call me Valor." He considered the party and counted on his fingers as he mentally ran through those who were present and those who were expected but had not arrived.
There was his cousin, Hotspur, of course; his fellow warrior Argyle, who had been particularly helpful in training some of the Household's armsmen; Morseth, the apothecary; the sage Yessenia "Yess" Leonte, with the strange accent--Valor felt within her a strange power that he could not quite name; there was the odd sailor Mizzen, of whom Valor was not sure what to make--he seemed out of place, but still possessed of a certain strength; and of course the stableboy Thatch, who may have been little more than a boy, and one on the smaller side at that, but he moved with a kind of easy dexterity that spoke of greater things to come for the boy, plus, Valor had heard from some of the bondsmen that the boy was lucky. In addition to all these, there was Mother Clay, whose escort was ostensibly the purpose of the trip. He frowned; he was expecting at least two others, another huscarl, Gailleann and the forester Teryl.
He addressed those who were gathered, "Well, we're only missing two, Gaillean and Teryl, they may have to join us en route. I know you have been told before, but I will say again, we are heading to Maiden's Vale. Our cousin, the Lady Angela and her husband, Sir Olvar are expecting a new baby. We are going to provide my father's regards and to escort Mother Clay there to help ease the babe's entrance into the world. Master Morseth will assist Mother Clay with aught that she needs for the birth, and Sage Yess will attend to the record keeping, as my cousins are without a scribe at this time. The rest of you, along with me, are there to make sure they arrive safely. We try to keep the lands nearby free from brigands and bandits, as Argyle can attest, but it is not always possible. So keep your eyes open and stay alert. I know it is a long road and it will be easy to be bored, but I'm sure my cousin will entertain us along the way." He said the last with a look at Hotspur.
"Any questions?"
**By the Light of the Sun, you will burn!**
Previously BENEFICENCE
DM: Storm Lord's Wrath || Syr Valor Dayne: Sleeping Gods || tooltips | guides | dice |
Hotspur makes a half-bow with a hand flourish as his cousin acknowledges him.
"Onward to adventure! To feasts as yet untasted, ballads still unsung, maidens as yet unkissed and vintages unquaffed!"
It has been a day on the road north and the glacial pace wears a little on some of the younger and fitter members of the troupe as they travel.
At the darkening of the first day they travel through empty fields and into the small village of Axbridge, to the north, lies Helfax Wood and Maidens Vale. To the west the road runs to the Coronach Marshes, along the mysterious raised dyke called Dobby’s Walk.
Not all of you are strangers here but none of you have spent much time in Axbridge, and you have spent the past few days getting the lie of the land. The villagers are hospitable and friendly to the Daynes and by extension Baron Aldred, whose castle is many days’ ride away to the east. Axbridge is the most westerly village of his fief; travellers pass through fairly regularly, so the villagers are better informed than most.
The fiefs of surly Baron Grisaille and Montombre,nicknamed ‘the Elfin Earl’, lie to the south and the commoners are glad to be Aldreds subjects and not those of his rivals.
Harvest-time has come to a close here as well, and the villagers are working long hours to store away winter provisions.
As you enter Axbridge you are hailed by Odo, a crippled old man who whiles away the day on a seat under the apple tree on the village green that those of you that have travelled here before recognise immediately. The old prattler claims to have adventured a little in his younger days, and offers to let you stay at his house for the night. Mother Clay refers to him as a " Lying old goat." but does not seem to object to the offer of a warmth hearth.
As the evening grows darker harvest celebrations ensue though somewhat less rambunctious than those held in Scardic and larger settlements. Cider is drunk and a service performed by the village priest, Bretwald. After the service, as the autumn evening turns to night, the villagers dance merrily in the churchyard.
Bretwald joins you. “Many of these rites are pagan, of course,” he says with a wry smile, “but it does no good to tell them that.” He rubs his back. “Bringing home the harvest has been hard work for us all. I have a cask of cog wine inside—come, join me for a drink if you wish.”
The thought of getting tipsy brought a smirk to Argyle's lips, but he merely shook his head--while he wasn't a teetotaler, ale wasn't his voice of choice. Instead, he stood and watched the dancing.
Locke - V. Human Shadow Monk 3 / Undead Warlock 2 - [Pic] - [Traits] - in FOW - DMless West Marches
Nico - V. Human Swords Bard 5 - [Pic] - [Traits] - in Wysp's Hidden Tower
Sterling - V. Human Bard 2 - [Pic] - [Traits] - in Bards: Dragon Heist (w/ Mansion) - Jasper's [Pic]
Finn - V. Human Hexblade Warlock 5 - [Pic] - [Traits] - in Beneath the Mountain
Tooltips Post (2024 PHB updates)
>> New FOW threat & treasure tables: fow-advanced-threat-tables.pdf fow-advanced-treasure-table.pdf
"Good sir, you give me an impossible choice... music and dancing without, and libations within? Have the heavens tasked you with tormenting me while I yet live? Very well, I choose to accompany you. The road has left my throat dry, and my music is always with me," says Hotspur, patting his lute as he accepts Bretwald's invitation.
"Thanks for the offer, Bretwald but I'm not a drinker myself" replies Yessenia. "I would love to enjoy dancing with the others though. Hopefully they don't mind me barging into the fun!" With that, she runs over and joins everyone whilst dancing merrily with them.
Mfs select me or I rage