In Service of House Bohorov -- IC

[Maxymiuk]

Baron Marcel's fist makes a small thud each time he rhythmically taps it against the armrest of his chair. His expression neutral and his gaze distant, he appears simply as a man lost in thought. However, to those who have been around him long enough to know his tells, that fist going up and down tells a different story entirely.

Baron Marcel is furious.

Trouble showed up a little over an hour ago, which was when the sentry on the walls spotted the rider approaching the castle. And only trouble would make someone drive the horse forward like that, forcing it to run uphill so that by the time it passed through the castle gate, it was swaying with exhaustion and foam covered its flanks.

"Murder!" cried the rider, right before his horse stumbled and he fell face-first into the muddy puddle still left after last night's rain.

Everyone could agree that murder's a serious matter, so the guards sent for Steward Ludolf, while lifting the rider to his feet. The Steward arrived quickly and questioned the man -- which took half an hour and put the former's legendary patience to the test, as the rider has been chosen for the job for his horse riding skill and not his smarts.

His name was Fyodor and he was a cooper in the village of Tarno -- and also a militiaman there. Also, there hasn't been a murder. But there was going to be. Which is why he was sent to inform the baron. Men were fighting in the village inn. Only they weren't, because they stopped after one of them got hit with a crossbow. And they haven't really been fighting in the first place -- they were going to, but the men inside the inn shot at them before they could start. Oh yes, there were men with crossbows in the inn. Three of them. And they had a fourth one with them, who had his hands tied, and they told the innkeeper to lock him in the basement while they ate. And then those other five men in armor showed up and one of them got shot through the leg with a crossbow. And then the rest hid behind miller Jobe's cart that they've overturned, and started cursing out the ones inside the inn using words that would make any honest man blush. And then Provost Krystof and Vicar Berick came out and asked them to stop fighting and they got told to go do immoral things to one another. They both got really offended and they found Fyodor and told him to borrow farmer Iosep's horse and go tell the Baron. And so here he is.

And now Steward Ludolf stands before the Baron having given his assessment of the situation -- a dispute over a bounty between two bands of bloodhounds. You -- the Baron's camaraderie -- are here as well, waiting for his decision on what to do.

And the Baron is furious.

"They dare," he growls through clenched teeth. "On my land. In my village," his fist comes to a rest and he looks at Ludolf accusingly. "If I ask you for counsel, you will advise prudence."

"I will, my Lord," the Geravian nods calmly. "If these men are willing to shed one another's blood over a bounty, they will shed it if you march the garrison or the militia against them. There will be casualties. And if their back is put against the wall, the village could suffer for their attempts to escape. Who knows what damage they could do when pressed."

The Baron's mouth twists in displeasure and he nods slightly -- whether in agreement with Ludolf, or because he correctly guessed the Steward's opinion, you do not know. Then, his glance slides over to you.

"And you lot. I don't pay you to just stand around counting flies on the ceiling. Well? What's your take on this?"

[Ski-Bird]

Milo straightens up when Lord Marcel addresses the group. He had been trying earnestly to follow the steward's accounting of Fyodor's tale, but to be honest, Milo was sure there were some details that he had missed as the story tumbled out. He was dressed in the usual manner of an off-duty garrison troop. A comfortable, loose-fitting tunic and some leathers. His sword slung low on his hip. His hair was pulled back, secured with a simple leather thong. By the simple firelight of the manor, his swarthy complexion seemed somehow darker than it did under the sunlight, accentuating his Chernian heritage.

"Well, my Lord," He begins, slowly at first, as he chooses how best to handle the Baron and his prickly temper. "It has oft been said that there is no honor among thieves. But I have found that indeed there is … of a certain kind. These bounty hunter types being much the same as — and at times, little better than — common brigands. The same would hold true for them."

At this Milo turns and acknowledges his compatriot, Taran. "Present company excluded of course, brother." He says with a hushed tone and a playful wink. His smirk was almost wiped clean before turning back to continue speaking to the Baron.

"I guess what I'm getting at Lord," Milo says, quickly finishing the thought, rather than testing Baron Marcel's patience any longer than was necessary. "Is that if these two bands are at each other's throats, and willing to shed blood over it as well … there must be something quite substantial to make them forget their honor and attack one another."

Turning to the steward, Milo poses a question. "Did Fyodor give any clue as to who this quarry might be? If these rogue hunters are willing to wreak havoc in my Lord's village over him, my thinking is that Lord Marcel might be interested in who exactly these two companies are fighting over … and perhaps we can save them the trouble by removing their prize and allowing the Baron to decide what, if anything, happens to this man while he is on Marcel land."

[Still_I_Rise]

Taran inclines his head calmly towards Milo, indicating that no offense was taken.

"I share Milo's curiosity and Ludolf's caution, my Lord. It seems we know very little about why these bloodhounds are here and who they are fighting over. Rather than make any hasty use of force, which we may have cause to regret, it may be better to learn who they are and why they here. We can then seek to defuse the situation as Milo recommended, without unnecessary bloodshed."

[HopeHubris]

"Don't need to shed any blood to rough the unruly bastards, could probably do it with both hands bound"
Mikhail laughs, before remembering where he is
"I usually leave the thinking to Taran, we both know that's not the reason you hired me. I'm here 'cause you aren't one hundred percent sure that that boast isn't true"
He laughs again
"If anyone's going to find the guy before those hunters, it'd be our hunter"

[Maxymiuk]

"If everyone around me asks for caution, then who am I to refuse?" Baron Marcel mutters to himself, his mouth twisted in displeasure. "Can't risk heavily armed vagabonds gutting my villagers or setting fire to houses, can we? Even if it means we have to dance around them like a philanderer courting a virgin," he spits. "Fine. Go. Get them out of Tarno. I don't care how, as long as the village stays intact. If you have to let them off scot-free, I can live with that. Just don't expect me to thank you when the news spreads that you can start hacking one another to pieces in Bohorov lands and all the baron will do is tussle your hair and tut at what a rascal you are."

"Should there be opportunity to punish them, however," the Baron leans forward, his voice as cold as his eyes, "I expect you to hold nothing back when showing my displeasure. Your idea," he points at Milo, "to take away their quarry -- I like. What I don't like is your suggestion that there may be anything resembling honor in what passes for souls in these parasites. On your way to Tarno, ask one of your comrades to correct this notion for you."

"Now get going," the head of the house leans back and waves you away. "Before they really do decide to set fire to the village."

[Still_I_Rise]

Taran bows.

"As you will, my Lord."

He then looks to his comrades. "Let's make our way to the stables, then," he says before heading out.

[HopeHubris]

"You're the boss"

Mikhail turns to Taran, "Lead on, oh marvellous hunter"
He follows.

[Ski-Bird]

Milo follows his sword-brothers out of the manor, heading toward the stable. An impish grin on his face.

""Who said anything about being cautious?" He asks, wearing a look of mock reproach. "It's been far too long since we've had a good dust-up. I'd say we're due. After all, we have your bow," he says, gesturing to the sometimes-bounty hunter, Taran.

"We have my sword." He continues, giving a little presumptuous flourish. "And we have … well, we have the Bull, don't we? Or at least we have his cousin, or his nephew, or … what was it again, Mikhail?" He chides his larger-than-life companion with a light punch in the shoulder.

"I'd say these bounty hunters aren't going to know what hit them. Come on lads!" He says, quickening his step to the horses. The promise of a good fight had gotten his blood pumping, and Milo was now securely in his element. Charging headlong into odds that didn't necessarily favor him...

[Maxymiuk]

In the stables, your horses are already waiting for you saddled and ready to go. When you enter, Honse, the castle's stablemaster looks at you briefly and then shrugs.

"T'ain't good news if you have t'ride a beast that hard," he offers as an explanation before going back to brushing down the horse you recognize as the one the messenger from Tarno rode in on. The exhausted animal has its nose buried in a feedbag and you can see fresh water in the through in its stall.

[HopeHubris]

Mikhail laughs at the comment about his ancestry
"Something like that"


Knowledge Folklore: [roll0], if necessary
How long ago did The Bull live, and what would be the most believable line of descent?

[Still_I_Rise]

Taran smiles grimly at Milo's optimism.

"Caution is seldom misplaced brother, especially when we are ignorant," he says while swinging onto his horse.

He gives a nod to Honse as they begin to ride off.

"Let's go Hal," he mutters, patting his horse on its neck.

Straightening in his saddle, he looks over at Milo again. "I doubt that our rushing in there like so many glorified troops would do much to further the Baron's purposes in sending us. If I understood correctly, we are going to prevent an explosion of violence in Tarno."

[Ski-Bird]

"Well, there is that." Milo says, conceding Taran's point of not allowing the town to suffer needlessly.

Taking a moment to retrieve his gear, he pulls his chain shirt on, and adjusts the straps and buckles. Slinging his shield over his back, he mounts the horse Honse had saddled for him.

"Right." He says, nodding at the other members of the camaraderie. "Shall we be off then?"

[HopeHubris]

"Don't see why not, quicker they're dealt with, quicker I can get back to drinking, and by drinking I mean honing my skills to better serve my lord, of course."
Already wearing his armour, and carrying all of his gear, Mik jumps on his horse, ready to leave

[Still_I_Rise]

"Let's get to it then," Taran says, spurring Hal into a fast trot.

"I want to make good time, but not wear out our horses like our illustrious messenger did his. We don't know when we'll need to ride back, after all."

[Maxymiuk]

In Selezia, an easy way to claim descent from an implausible source has always been to say that someone in your family has been conceived during the Spring Equinox. The end of winter is celebrated in every village and town, and there are several places known for setting up fairs that draw in people from an entire area, with the largest and most famous one in the capital being said to draw in visitors from all corners of Selezia -- and even from other kingdoms.

As a large part of the celebration's tradition is wearing masks, many participants take this anonymity as an excuse to abandon their inhibitions for the evening, with many spontaneous flings taking place through the evening -- with many a "child of spring" being born nine months later.


It has been just past midday when the messenger arrived and it is early afternoon when you ride out the gate. Despite the season being late spring, the weather has been miserable for a week and shows no sign of improving -- it has rained daily and the sky remains covered in heavy, gray clouds.

It typically takes two hours to reach Tarno from the castle when riding at a leisurely pace. Balancing the need to hurry with your desire not to overtire the horses, you see the first village buildings an hour after you've set out.

"Thank Auster!" Krystof, the village provost, exclaims when you approach. He, along with the vicar and a few other worried looking villagers has been standing by the side of the road, obviously waiting for you. "We were starting to think Fyodor hasn't made it. You have to come quick! They're threatening to burn down the inn!"

[Still_I_Rise]

Taran dismounts. "We'll deal with it. Will you have someone look after our horses?"

And just who are they, anyway?"

[Maxymiuk]

Of course," the provost waves a couple of peasants over to take the reins of your horses. "Bounty hunters is who they seem to be, good master. Leastways, the ones who came first almost certainly are. They had a man in chains with them, and the innkeeper's daughters say they talked about the gold they'd earn over their meal. The ones who came later... well, they also wear armor and carry more weapons than any honest man does. They called the others thieves and honorless curs -- and many other words as well."

"The man leading them is a knight," the vicar adds. "He carries a crest on his shield, at least. But when I appealed to his sense of justice, asking that he resolve whatever dispute led him to threaten bloodshed and ruin peacefully, with the Baron as arbiter, he called me words I will not repeat here -- suffice it to say that they would not come from the mouth of a true noble."

[Still_I_Rise]

"An awful lot of the knights around these days are such in name only," Taran replies. "What does his crest look like?" he asks. "Perhaps one of my comrades will have heard of him.""

He begins heading towards the inn as he talks.

Taran doesn't have any ranks in Knowledge nobility. Here's local, if that works:
[roll0]

I'll keep quiet for little while and give the others a chance to post, I don't want to dominate the thread.

[Ski-Bird]

Milo nods as Taran makes his inquiries. Dismounting, he hands the reins to peasant boy who had been waved over.

Milo will unsling and ready his shield, keeping a keen lookout for these miscreant would-be-knights (Perception, [roll0]). And if it helps, here is his Knowledge (nobility) check [roll1]

[Maxymiuk]

Knowledge (Local) does not cover nobility.


"His crest was... blue, I think?" the provost furrows his brows and looks to the vicar for help.

"All I've noticed is that it did not look familiar," the Vicar shakes his head.

Tarno, while large for a village, is still not so big that you would not be able to see the inn from its edge -- were it not for the curve in the road, wrapping the settlement around the base of the rise upon which the mill is built.

As you walk through the village, you notice the small groups of peasants standing around, while holding muttered conversations while casting the occasional worried glance towards the center of the village -- others peek out fearfully from behind windows and doors. However, when they see you walk past, their expressions b, showing visible relief. "Go and get those bastards!" someone calls out encouragingly. "Show them you don't mess with the baron!" adds another.

You soon round the bend and the village square comes into view -- it takes you a moment to take in the scene. The first thing you notice is the cart that Fyodor mentioned, lying on its side, with sacks of flour scattered on the ground, some of them torn and spilling their contents out onto the ground. It's also impossible to miss the two crossbow bolts sticking out of the frame. You notice two men -- presumably the bounty hunters -- taking cover behind the cart. One is letting a mace hang loose from a leather strap wrapped around his wrist. The other is keeping his right hand on the haft of an axe hanging from his belt. They both carry bucklers and wear studded leather.

A third man is hiding behind the village well -- he wears a worn-looking chain shirt and is fiddling with the release lever of a heavy crossbow. A short sword rests in a scabbard on his belt.

The fourth man stands out in the open -- facing the inn, so you can only see him from behind. His armor seems a piecemeal collection of various plates and metal pieces, but the most prominent is the breastplate on his torso -- it looks dented and tarnished even from this distance. He also wears a helmet with a tattered blue plume and does carry a large shield strapped to his left arm -- which indeed bears a faded, blue crest that you nevertheless can't quite make out given the angle and distance. At his side hangs a longsword.

"Come on, I dare you!" he yells out towards the inn in a ragged baritone that speaks of a few too many nights spent drinking cheap wine. "Shoot at me again, Treblin! And then, when you miss like the blind that rat you are, I'll smoke you out of there, spill out your guts, and then, as you lie there dying, I'll make you watch as I feed your manhood to the pigs! So come on! Now's your last chance, you thieving scrote!"

He then throws his arms wide open, exposing his chest. However, the shot does not come. Instead, you see the door to the inn swing open a crack and a helmeted head poke through.

"And why would I waste a good steel bolt on your cankered hide, Blevik, when someone's already here to give it a good trashing?" it calls out. "I told you the locals don't like blustering fat warthogs like you stinking up the place -- and here they come to take you away."

[Ski-Bird]

"OY!" Milo barks, grabbing the attention of the bickering men as he strides into view. "Maybe you didn't know? Tarno is under the protection of Baron Marcel."

Grandstanding a bit for the benefit of the onlookers, Milo continues. "The Baron doesn't take kindly to breaches of the peace … much less the burning of his villages. So he sent his Camaraderie to put a stop to it."

"I am Milo. Swordsman without equal." He says, jerking a gloved thumb at his chest. "This is Taran. Best archer in a hundred leagues." He says, nodding at his sword-brother. And finally, "This is Mikhail Buhay, kinsman to the great Bull himself!"

"Blevik, is it?" Milo says, addressing the piece-meal knight. "You have one option, and one chance only … stand down and tell your men to do the same."

"And don't you get any funny ideas." Milo adds quickly, pointing a gloved finger at Blevik's crossbowman. "You so much as raise that crossbow, and Taran here will sink two arrows into your skull before you've pulled the trigger."

Milo will advance to a point where he can see the front of the inn, the swordsman, and the crossbowman. He won't get too close, but will be within the distance required for a potential charge action against Blevik. Shield is at the ready, sword is sheathed.

[HopeHubris]

"What, so a 'knight' from outside our good Baron's lands wants to come in here and throw his weight around? Well, we can't have that now, can we?"

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mik follows Milo as he leads the way to the confrontation.
"Yes, you do the talking, there is no way this could end poorly'
He whispers to Milo as he begins his spiel, flexing when he is mentioned, before drawing his large blade and sticking it into the ground, leaning on it casually as his ally continues.


I really would like to know what the noun form of a camaraderie member is, if it has been mentioned, I can't remember it.

[Still_I_Rise]

Taran sighs inwardly as Milo gives his impromptu speech, but unslings his bow and prepares to make good on Milo's promises on his his behalf.

[Maxymiuk]

The bloodhound leader turns around at the sound of Milo's voice and you see the face of a man in his late thirties. His countenance could be called striking, or even noble, with sharp contours and a solid, square jaw, but the impression is wholly ruined by a large nose that looks like someone took a lump of dough and stuck it on his face.

His shield, you note now that you can see it from a good angle, is a black bear pierced by three white spears on a blue field rimmed with white.

The man's small, watery eyes narrow slightly at Milo's brash tone, but he calmly hears him out, his free hand placed on his hip, where it stays even when his own men reach for their own weapons after Taran and Mikhail draw theirs.

"Well, look at this, lads. The camaraderie has arrived. And, by the sound of it, it's simply packed with warriors of legend. I supposed this means we should all be very impressed."

His men guffaw.

"Since we seem to be doing introductions, I am Sir Blevik of House Berron." Here, the knight's voice hardens and his eyes flash dangerously. "And while I will forgive your ignorance this once, from now on you will address me as befits my station."

"Also, while I realize that you and your merry band are not exactly the sharpest knives in the drawer, I would ask that you at least take a look around before you start waving your pig-stickers around," the nobleman gestures at the inn and the overturned cart. "You treat us like criminals, but we're the victims here. My man got a crossbow bolt through his leg simply for trying to peacefully enter that inn over there. The men inside have attacked us without reason or provocation -- furthermore, they are thieves who have stolen our property. They are the ones you should be threatening and telling to throw down arms."


Since Knowledge (Local) covers law, your previous roll would tell you that commoner-noble formalities and forms of address are a Pretty Big Deal. Even if the knight is scum of the earth, he still holds a noble's rank and there's precedent for some moderately horrible things happening to commoners for disrespecting title and birth.


The proper word for a camaraderie member is "comrade."

Everyone aside from Ski-Bird can roll Knowledge (Nobility) if they want to see if they know more about the noble based on his heraldry and family name.

[Ski-Bird]

… I will forgive your ignorance this once …

"I'll be sure to inform Baron Marcel of your forgiving nature." Milo replies, keeping his voice cool and measured, letting the other barbs slide off of him without finding any purchase. This was no common thug he was dealing with, a lesser man would have bolted, or reacted wildly at being addressed so.

Probably a seasoned warrior to boot, if Milo had correctly judged Blevik's reaction — or controlled lack of one, rather.

Like two dangerous predators sizing one another up, the two men eyed one another now. Sir Blevik clearly thought himself the better, that much was plain. If this turns nasty, perhaps that is my edge, Milo remarks to himself.


… furthermore, they are thieves who have stolen our property. They are the ones you should be threatening and telling to throw down arms.

"If they are indeed thieves, justice will be done, Sir Blevik. But they weren't the ones threatening to burn down Baron Marcel's property. I am as you say, a simple man. One problem at a time, you see?

"What is it that was taken from you, perhaps I can retrieve this property for you?"

[Maxymiuk]

Sir Blevik harrumphs, marginally mollified by Milo's change in tone.

"The man inside," he growls, "is known as Treblin of Duuve. And you will not meet a baser cur than him walking this world. Me and my men have entered a contract with him -- a shared effort to jointly capture a valuable bounty. We agreed on a fair share and hunted side by side. Little did I know that I was riding alongside a snake in human skin, who would take the first chance to play me for a fool, stealing away the bounty for himself. And even not that I caught up to him, magnanimously resolving to calmly address my grievances with him rather than putting a hook through his eye socket and dragging him for ten miles behind my horse, he responds by putting a bolt through the leg of one of my men -- if you don't believe me, just go see the village doctor, where he's currently learning whether he'll be able to walk or ride a horse ever again. So if I stand here and threaten retribution, it is because I am entitled to it against this liar, sneak, and thief!"

"Oh, go bother a goat, Blevik!" comes a cry from the direction of the inn. "First, yes, we did have an agreement, but you were of no help in actually catching the lad, so I don't consider myself bound to it. Fair pay for fair work and you've done nothing but cheat at dice after I let you join me. Second, yeah, we shot your man, but that was meant to be a warning shot -- how was Jeri supposed to know he'd dodge right into it? I offered to pay for his healing, didn't I? Besides, don't know what kind of discussion you wanted to have coming at us with your weapons drawn and murder in your eye. And third -- a thief? Me? Your aforementioned incompetence aside, that's some rich words coming from the man who stole our horses!"

"Unlike some people I could name here," the knight turns towards the inn, his face darkening, "I don't appropriate the property of others. If I took your mounts, it was to stop you from doing something stupid -- like running away. And if you want them back, you can come and get them -- we're just going to have a little talk first."

He turns back to Milo.

"I trust you now understand my grievance here. And though I may yell and threaten in my righteous anger, you must also see that, for now, the only crime here was done to one of my men by one of his. Unless, that is, your baron sees nothing wrong with wanton discharge of ranged weaponry within settled areas?"

[Still_I_Rise]

"The Baron also takes issue with the damage and destruction of property, Sir Blevek," Taran says evenly, not betraying any emotion.

He then mutters low, for only Milo and Mikhail to hear.

"Milo, try to get their leaders to come out in the open without killing each other. We can offer the Baron's authority in seeking a legal resolution, and hopefully get them out of here."

[Ski-Bird]

Milo nods as Taran gets to the heart of the matter. Deceptively wise, that one. The young swordsman had, as he often did, gone charging in without thinking things through.

"Sir Blevin," Milo calls out, careful to not let his personal impression of this ill-mannered knight cloud the issue. Maintaining the Baron's image and keeping his property whole were the Camaraderie's primary objective here.

"My Comrade has just had a grand idea." He says, sweeping a hand back at Taran. "We are, the three of us, at odds here. We cannot allow further harm to Tarno."

Continuing, he adds, "You can neither allow the attack on your man to go unanswered, nor can you allow your bounty to stay unrecovered."

"And Treblin there," Milo says, raising a gloved hand to indicate the inn. "Well, he can hardly allow himself to be killed." Despite his best intentions, a grin creeps onto Milo's face before adding, "An understandable urge."

"Here is our proposal." Milo continues, switching into a more authoritative tone. "On Baron Marcel's honor, I will see your bounty returned to you. Justice will be served to the man who attacked one of your own."

"In exchange for this, you will allow Treblin and the rest of his men to recover their horses and leave this place. No more harm will come to Tarno this day."

"Are those terms agreeable?"

I guess the plan, at its simplest, is a truce. We get to keep the attacker and make a (non-lethal :small wink: ) example of him. Blevik gets what he's asking for. And Treblin (other than selling out one of his men) gets to live another day. Hopefully, that is motivation enough for him to turn his man over to us.

Win-Win-Win (well, not counting the prisoner or the guy who shot the crossbow … life still sucks for them)

[HopeHubris]

"Should we not have tried to find out who the bounty was on first? Since they are clearly worth doing all of this for, might not be great if the bounty turns out to have powerful friends that don't like us just handing him over."
Mik says quietly, standing upright and stretching.

He pulls his flail from his belt and starts twirling it idly, clearly bored by the prolonged exchange

[Still_I_Rise]

"If they are reasonable, they will be more angry with these bands of bloodhounds than the Baron Marcel." Taran speaks back just as softly.

[Maxymiuk]

"Agreeable? Certainly," Sir Blevik grins wolfishly. "On those terms, I'd even pay for the cart and flour that I assume your man over there is mumbling about," he indicates Taran. "Of course, you'll understand if I have some reservations, however," he turns towards the inn and yells out. "You hear that, Treblin?! I get the bounty, your sharpshooter goes on trial, and you get to keep your hide intact. What do you say to that?"

"Up yours!" the callback from the inn brims with indignation. "And you! Baron's man! You can take those terms of yours, fold them up until all that's left is corners, and you can shove them right where the sun don't shine! Give up my bounty that I've caught? Give up one of my men? Has your mother dropped you on your head when you were a wee one, or were you born stupid?"

Sir Blevik turns back to face Milo and shrugs, a faintly amused expression on his face.

"I think that one will still need some persuading."

[Ski-Bird]

"I'm not sure you understand the predicament you're in, dog." Milo says. "My lord called for blood when he sent us here. He was none too pleased that common thugs had turned his village upside-down."

"Turns out … one of our thugs, wasn't. Sir Blevik here is noble-blooded. His station protects him from my blade. You," He says, drawing his longsword, "Have no such luck."

"Sir Blevik wants to kill you and I'm starting to see why. The deal I offered is the only one left, and the only one where you get to live."

"My patience is wearing thin, scoundrel. Come out and claim your horses, leave your prisoner with Sir Blevik, and leave your man with us … that's the only option where people don't die." Then, taking on a deadly serious tone, leveling the tip of his sword at the doorway to accentuate the point.

"If I have to come in there, you're a dead man."

Milo's done with these fools. Milo will Intimidate [roll0] Treblin, try to bully some sense into him. @HopeHubris, any chance for an aid another action from Mik?

[Still_I_Rise]

Taran raises his longbow, preparing to fire a shot at any crossbowman that makes himself visible by firing at Milo.

[HopeHubris]

"I've been looking for an excuse to whet my blade, I would just love it if you gave me one"
He calls out, putting his flail away and pulling his greatsword from the ground and resting it on his shoulder


Intimidate Aid Another: [roll0]

[Maxymiuk]

There is a long silence from the inn -- almost long enough to be taken as a refusal. But only almost.

"Fine."

That single word carries a virtually palpable amount of bitterness, resentment, and helpless, rage at the raw, glaring injustice this world allows.

"Unlike some people here, I am not about to start setting fire to buildings or doing violence to people for the sake of some gold," Treblin steps outside the door as he speaks -- you see a tall, lean man in his forties, dressed in dark leathers and with an axe on his belt. His shoulders slump in defeat, even if his eyes continue to burn with anger. "You can have the damned mark -- neither me nor my men want to die over that piece of trash. However," his head snaps up and his jaw juts forward defiantly. "If you expect me to abandon one of my men to the kind of 'justice' you've showing me here, you have another thing coming. Blevik," his eyes snap to the knight. "Twenty Chernian thalers is what I've offered you for wounding your man -- you and I both know it's a fair price -- more than covers the time and money he'll spend on healing. So is that good enough for you, what with everything else you're getting?"

Treblin raises his hand and deliberately lays it on the haft of his weapon. To a casual observer this seems to be the only thing he did, but any practiced fighter can tell he has almost imperceptibly shifted his stance, readying for a fight.

"Because you won't be taking one of my own without going through me first."

Sir Blevik grimaces, then shrugs.

"Funny as it would be watching you get chopped to bits after this piece of grandstanding, Treblin, I suppose I'm fine with taking your money instead," he turns to Milo. "As long as he pays up, I have no quarrel with him. So if you're still looking to bring his man to justice for some reason, you'll be doing it without my help."


Sorry for the delayed reply -- holiday stuff got in the way.

In any case, not sure how well that came across in IC, but Treblin is anticipating a fight now -- this means no surprise attacks and there's a good chance he has readied an action of some kind as well.

[Ski-Bird]

"...if you're still looking to bring his man to justice for some reason, you'll be doing it without my help."

"No need. The payment will suffice." Milo says.

Then, aloud to the inn, and Treblin, "Your terms are agreeable, Treblin. Twenty Thalers for the assault and breach-of-the-peace, you get the horses, and Blevik gets the prisoner."

"We're coming in. Peaceably." He says, sheathing his sword. "I will handle the exchange of money, and when everything is in order … I'll send you and your men outside to gather up your horses and leave."

Then, to the piecemeal knight, "Sir Blevik, I will hold your money and the prisoner inside with me and my men. After Treblin and his men take their leave, I will see them over to you."

Turning to his sword-mates, Milo continues. "Looks like we have a deal, lads. Let's go settle up."

Milo is purposefully ignoring Treblin's readying-type action. He has agreed to Treblin's counter-demands. He'll head inside to take the coinage from Treblin, and is looking forward to having a quiet moment out of earshot from Sir Blevik. He'll head toward the inn immediately after making the above statements.

@Maxymiuk, Assuming all goes well, how much cash will cover the damage to the cart and such? Milo's plan is to deduct that amount from Blevik's monies before he hands the cash over.

Still sort of looking for a way to wrest the prisoner from both of these goon's control … might not happen though.

[Maxymiuk]

Psh, as if I'd care enough to screw myself out of this kind of deal at this point," Sir Blecik shrugs. "I suppose while you're busy being the important intermediary, I'll have my men grab their horses."

As the three comrades approach the inn, Treblin disappears inside, leaving the door slightly ajar. Following him inside, the first thing you notice is that the tables and benches, usually placed in neat, widely spaced rows, had been pushed together near the door, leaving only a narrow venue of possible attack. You are also met by three sullen gazes as you enter through the door -- from Treblin and from his two men -- a crossbowman, and a stocky, muscled fellow carrying a steel warhammer.

"I'm surprised you decided to come through this door like that, baron's man" Treblin remarks testily to the first person to enter. He takes a small pouch off his belt and tosses it at him with strictly more force than necessary. "Or did you think I didn't consider sticking a blade between your ribs the moment you stepped through the threshold? That's a lot of money your justice is costing us."


Two thalers should be enough to cover the damages.

[Ski-Bird]

"Or did you think I didn't consider sticking a blade between your ribs the moment you stepped through the threshold?

"The thought had crossed my mind." Milo confesses, relaxing a bit when his shield wasn't peppered with crossbow bolts upon entering.


"That's a lot of money your justice is costing us."

Milo catches the pouch as it hits his chest. Giving it a cursory glance to make sure its contents were as promised, he addresses Treblin. "You could have picked anywhere to hole up. You chose my lord's village … your choices are what cost you, not mine." There is no anger in his voice. His delivery very matter-of-fact, as if mentioning that the sky were blue.

Tossing a conspiratorial look over his shoulder, Milo continues, "Listen, I didn't see any other way out of this. I don't particularly care about your grudge with Sir Lump-Nose out there. In fact, if there was a way to put it to him, I'd be sorely tempted."

"In any event, you have your horses back … and that evens things up a bit. He may have the prisoner … but after his man took that leg wound, he'll be leaving here with one less in his party. I'll hold him back for a bit as you leave. A prudent person would use that advantage to put some distance between them and their enemy … a less prudent person might use that time to their advantage. Double back, perhaps, and set up an ambush."

Then, fixing Treblin with a steely-eyed gaze, "As long as it happens outside of Tarno, I don't care which type you happen to be Treblin."

"Who in the blazes is this prisoner anyway? Is he worth that much to you, that you're willing to take up arms against a blood-crazy knight? This Blevik sort looks like the type that would rather gut you and leave you cold, than to deal with you as equal partner."

[Still_I_Rise]

Taran slings his bow back over his shoulder and heads inside after Milo, seeing that no ill befell him on going inside. His guard is not entirely relaxed however, and he takes up a spot near the door where he can watch both groups of bloodhounds.

[Maxymiuk]

Treblin looks at Milo for a long moment through narrowed eyes, without saying a thing.

"Go get the mark, Jeri," he says curtly, still without breaking eye contact. The crossbowman nods and leaves through the door leading down to the inn's basement. "You'd like for me to do that, wouldn't you, baron's man? Bet you think that's a clever plan you came up with -- sick two bloodhounds at one another, have them tear each other's throats out. And you just have to follow with the body cart to have something to show for your master. Well, baron's man, you can piss right off with your sly glances and meaningful suggestions. I ain't doing your job for you."

The prisoner enters the room first -- or rather, is propelled into it by a strong shove. He stumbles over the entryway's threshold, runs forward a few steps, frantically trying to recover -- a feat made all but impossible due to having his hands tied behind his back -- catches against a corner of a table with his stomach, bounces off and falls to the ground, making pained grunts through the gag in his mouth.

Jeri re-enters the room, his face twisted with anger and splattered with a purplish red liquid. The entire front of his clothes is similarly stained and soaked through. He strides towards the man on the ground and plants a solid kick in his ribcage, drawing another high-pitched grunt from him.

"Bastard got on those shelves above the door somehow," he answers Treblin's questioning glance. "Nearly brained me with a wine barrel, the sodding louse."

"All that with his arms still tied?" Treblin, if anything, sounds impressed. "Tenacious one, ain't he? Must really not want to meet the headsman," he turns back to Milo and his expression immediately hardens again. "You can tell Blevik that I hope he chokes on those hundred Palshan guineas," the bloodhound names a sum sufficient to outright buy a decent-sized homestead along with a few acres of land. "Hells, with any luck, the mark will try and brain him with a rock somewhere along the way. Maybe, this time around, he'll even succeed."

Treblin spits and motions to his men.

"Now, if you don't mind, we're going to leave. And if I feel like it, maybe I won't tell Blevik about the little stunt you just tried to pull."



Something about the way Treblin talks to Milo during their entire exchange -- the coldness in his voice, the hardness behind his eyes -- gives you the impression that the bloodhound is beyond angry with your comrade -- he's outright furious. It is quite possible that Milo just made an enemy for life here.

(I rolled 23 on your Sense Motive check if you're curious)

[Ski-Bird]

"Now, if you don't mind, we're going to leave. And if I feel like it, maybe I won't tell Blevik about the little stunt you just tried to pull."

Milo knew that the only way this little three-way truce held was if Blevik and Treblin stayed at odds. So rather than giving Treblin any of the half-dozen barbs that came to mind, he chose to hold his tongue as the bounty hunter leaves with his men.

As soon as they leave, Milo shuts the door behind them and slumps against it releasing a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "By the gods, that was a close one."

[Still_I_Rise]

Taran steps aside to let Treblin and his men pass, then closes the door of the tavern behind them. He nods passively at Milo's expression of relief.

"You'll need to keep your eyes out for Treblin, Milo. As angry as he is, he's as likely to set an ambush for us as anyone else. I daresay if you passed each other in the street twenty years from now you'd need to have your guard against him planting a knife in your back..."

He pauses to let his words sink in, then looks over at the prisoner.

"Just who are you, to be worth all this trouble?"

[HopeHubris]

"So, that went well"
'The Bull' smiles
"We may even have to deal with the lot of them if you keep it up, Milo"

He walks over to the prisoner, pulls him upright and takes off the gag

"He might find it easier to answer if without this"
Mikhail says, throwing the gag at Taran

[Maxymiuk]

"I'm innocent!" are the first words out of the man's mouth the moment the gag comes off.

A merchant, or perhaps a banker -- that would be the snap assessment of this man in his late twenties. An archetypal representative of the emerging class of so-called "citizens" who have come into prominence in recent decades, filling the niche somewhere between peasants and landed nobility. A commoner, but with the money, education, expensive clothes and manners of the nobleborn.

Of course, that's what he would've looked like several weeks ago. Now, he more resembles a hunted animal, with bruises and cuts marring his gaunt face, his eyes sunken and fearful, darting this way and that like a frightened rodent. His clothes, once finely tailored, are now torn and stained, and hang loosely on his emaciated frame. And there is no missing the stench of an unwashed body trapped in fabric soaked through with sweat, mud, blood, and other, even less pleasant substances.

"I'm innocent!" he repeats, looking at Mikhail pleadingly. "I didn't kill her! It's all a lie, I swear! You have to believe me!"

[Still_I_Rise]

"Calm down man. We aren't your accusers. So let's start with the basics: What is your name, and where do you come from?"

Taran is unmoved by the man's protests, but his voice is not cruel either.

[Maxymiuk]

"I... my name is Edmund. Edmund Clait. I live in Morlich," he names a river port city several days by horseback due northwest, near the Geravian border. "I swear by Auster, I didn't kill the girl!" he raises his voice again. "It... it's a plot against me. I was set up!"

"Hey!" you hear a shout from outside, muffled by the closed door. "What's the holdup there? Cause they aren't leaving until we have our mark!"

[Still_I_Rise]

"Can you keep them calm for just a minute, Milo?" Taran gestures to the door.

"And just what makes you important enough to be worth framing, Edmund Clait of Morlich?"

[Maxymiuk]

You get points for clever use of "afk" PC, but someone still has to come up with some kind of excuse Milo can give.

Also, apologies for fairly slow posting rate from my end. Holidays are keeping me busy. Things should improve within the next few days.


"I don't know!" the man explodes. "I don't know why someone would do something so... so heinous. But I didn't do it! I didn't kill her! I couldn't have killed her! I didn't even know her!"

[Still_I_Rise]

"Ah! Then who is she?"

Perhaps the woman was an important target, and this is nothing but an unfortunate scapegoat, Taran reflects. Unfortunate indeed, because he wasn't about to resist the bloodhounds outside over justice for a stranger outside the Baron's lands. A pity, but his duty was strictly to keep this area safe...

Still, it would be nice to have something to satisfy his lord's curiosity.

__________________________________________________ _______________________

"One moment! Milo says through the door. "My companions and I are checking the tavern to ensure there haven't been any damages."

Actually not a bad idea, he thinks, giving the tavern room a cursory sweep over.

Bluff or Diplomacy? I'll let you roll it if need be.

[Maxymiuk]

Milo's quick tongue seems to temporarily placate the bounty hunters -- though not without some grumbling.

"She was... I never saw her before I woke up next to the corpse. They -- the bloodhounds -- told me she was Henrik Riventropp's daughter," he says the name in a manner indicating that everyone should be immediately familiar with it. "He has to be the one who posted the bounty on me. Do you realize what he'll do if he gets his hands on me? I swear by all that's holy that I'm innocent! You have to believe me!"

[Maxymiuk]

The prisoner's matter-of-fact mention of the name is justified. It would, in fact, be difficult not to know of Henrik Riventropp, as he is one of the wealthiest merchants in Selezia. He rose to prominence shortly after the Year of Woe -- unusually for a Geravian trader, he had no obvious ties to the Church of Auster during a time when such connections were viewed with suspicion, at best. This, coupled with good financial instincts and a talent for making connections, allowed him to lay the foundations for his business in the region.

Today, he is, by and large, one of the wealthiest individuals in Selezia. It's said that he has his hands in almost every pie -- his financial empire encompasses everything from fur and logging trade, to salt mines and clay pits, to cloth and pigment manufactories, to glassblowers and shipyards. Of course, with the world being what it is, it was impossible for him not to encounter opposition and make enemies on his way to achieving such amount of wealth and influence -- and he has earned a reputation for a certain amount of ruthlessness in dealing with such obstacles, enough that rumors began to circulate about forced buyouts, intimidation, acts of sabotage, and even an assassination or two -- though none of it confirmed officially.

Although Henrik himself is a commoner, decade and a half ago, he married a noblewoman from a moderately prominent, but financially destitute family. While permissible -- if unusual -- under Selezian law, this act did not grant him a title, or the right to inherit the family's holdings -- however, his children would most certainly hold noble rank and rights.

[Still_I_Rise]

"I see. I don't believe you, and nor do I disbelieve you. Your plight is no concern of ours." As he speaks Taran picks up the gag and replaces it on the prisoner. His face is stone and his voice as hard and even.

"Let's hand him over then."

[HopeHubris]

"Once a bounty 'unter, always a bounty 'unter, ey Taran? Yer not being harsh at all"
Mikhail says laughing

[Still_I_Rise]

Taran shrugs. "Someone has to be."

[Maxymiuk]

"NO!" Edmund cries out as Taran goes to gag him again. He lunges forward with desperate strength, attempting to head butt the comrade in the nose.


[roll0] vs. flatfooted AC.
[roll1] damage on hit.


However, Taran manages to anticipate the attack and grab the man by the shoulders while stepping back, harmlessly absorbing the blow with his chest.

Edmund recovers from his failed attack, yanking himself backwards and turns to run for the tavern backroom.

[Maxymiuk]

I'm going to take the liberty of rolling for everyone in this situation to save some time. I hope nobody minds too much.

Taran: [roll0]
Milo: [roll1]
Mikhail: [roll2]
Edmund: [roll3]

[Still_I_Rise]

Taran mutters a curse under his breath, then lunges after the prisoner to replace the gag..

"Don't put us through more trouble than you're worth, Edmund!"

I guess this is a grapple?

Melee touch: [roll0]
Grapple check: [roll1]

If it's just an unarmed strike, use the first roll.

[Maxymiuk]

Perhaps it's that Edmund is more nimble than anyone had reason to expect, or perhaps it's just that Taran isn't taking him very seriously -- regardless, his grab just barely misses the wild-eyed man.

"I did nothing wrong!" Edmund screams, stumbling backwards. "I'm innocent! You're not taking me back!"

His shouts are loud enough to be clearly heard by Milo outside the door -- as well as by the bounty hunters.

"What in the seven hells are you doing in there? Where's my mark?" Sir Blevik demands, stepping forward.

[Ski-Bird]

"Erm ... Just a moment!" Milo says through the door, stalling for time.

What in the Seven Hells is right, Milo wonders as he hears Edmund's story. This man's story was fire. No. This tale was worse than fire, this was an inferno. Just waiting to envelop them all. To be close to it was to burn ...

Milo was tempted, as Taran was, to simply hand Edmund over. To be done with it and trouble himself no more with petulant knights seeking riches, with doomed merchants telling tales of dead noblewomen.

But there was something about this lad, something that Milo identified with on an intrinsic level. It wasn't just that he was an underdog, although that was a large part of it. It wasn't that Edmund was probably just a simple, unwitting pawn in some Noble's machinations, although that was part of it as well.

Mostly, it was because Milo believed Edmund. And for him, that was enough.

"Listen." He says, cautiously eyeing the door. "We're outmanned here, Edmund. There's no escaping us and the pack of bloodhounds right outside the inn. For what it's worth ... I believe you. I can promise you that I'll bring your tale to my lord. Perhaps, he'll allow us to look into this on your behalf, bring the proper men to justice. There may be some leverage to be gained by House Bohorov if we uncover the truths of these matters."

And if needs be, he thinks grimly, If nothing else, I can avenge your wrongful death ...

Milo will step forward and help subdue Edmund. Forcefully, if needed, but not violent to the point of harming him.

[Maxymiuk]

I'm treating that speech as taking up your entire round -- especially since you haven't made a grapple role or anything to that effect.


As Milo begins to -- unsuccessfully -- appeal to Edmund's reason, the disheveled man stumbles away from Taran's unsuccessful grab and heads for the backroom door, somehow managing to keep his balance despite his hands still being tied behind his back.

OOC: AoO opportunity for Taran.Should he miss:

Edmund shoulder-checks the door, bursting into the corridor behind it. From their own visits to the inn, the camaraderie remembers that beyond it is a short, narrow corridor ending in a door leading to the inn's backyard -- a small, muddy scrap of land, which contains an outhouse, a chicken coop, and a back entrance into the inn's stable.

OOC: Mikhail's turn -- he should still be able to catch up with Edmund in the corridor.

[Still_I_Rise]

Now quite irritated, and a little worried about the bloodhounds waiting outside, Taran makes another grab for the prisoner.

OOC: Assuming that hit and the grapple worked:
He restrains Edmund and gags him again roughly and efficiently, ensuring the man doesn't bite his fingers in the process.

[roll0]

Grapple if hit: [roll1]

[Maxymiuk]

Despite his earlier failure, Taran is not done yet -- he extends his foot and hooks Edmund's legs out from under him just as the latter begins to dash for the door. The prisoner goes down with an anguished cry, which cuts off sharply when the fall knocks the air out of his lungs.

Before Edmund can recover, the entire camaraderie is upon him, holding him down and stifling his protests by replacing the gag in his mouth.

Just as they are done restraining him, the inn's door flies open, revealing Sir Blevik, his face filled with suspicion. He regards the three comrades clustered around the prisoner for a long moment -- he is clearly expecting some sort of explanation.

[Still_I_Rise]

Taran turns to face Blevik calmly. "We had a few questions for the prisoner," he says. "Our lord will no doubt be curious to know just who caused such a disturbance in his lands.

At any rate, he is yours." Taran shoves Edmund towards him, none too gently. "He's proven himself trouble enough. I don't envy you having to deal with him in the least."