AA's Kingmaker Part I: The Stolen Lands

[RocketMan]

"Even if they are yours, which is legally disputable, that will only be the case for a few more seconds," Ilya quips. He fires a pair of arrows at the Stag Lord, hoping that this time they will find their mark.

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Arcane Strike and Rapid Shot.

Attack #1: (1d20+5)[20]
Damage #1: (1d6+2)[3]

Attack #2: (1d20+5)[20]
Damage #2: (1d6+2)[3]

[Blisstake]

"Not any more," is all Tireas says in response to the Stag Lord as he swings with renewed fury.

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Ki point to attack twice.

(1d20+10)[23]
(1d8+6)[10] + (2d6)[3] SA

(1d20+10)[19]
(1d8+6)[11] + (2d6)[4] SA

HP: 18/18, AC: 19
Ki Points: 0/4

[FireberdGNOME]

By the Gods is this beast strong! Katerina grits her teeth at the pain from the Stag Lord's blow, but knows to retreat is to court defeat. She calls out, "He's cornered and desperate! Kill this cur!" To add emphasis to her words she strikes a double handed blow back at the would be bandit king.

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Power Attack, Flanking, Sneak Attack (d20+10)[18] Damage: (d8+6)[8] SA: (d6)[2]

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If I am counting right, 24 starting HP, -6 from one bandit, +4 from Father Grigori and -12 from the SL for 10 Current HP. Can I just say that the Toughness Feat is looking pretty nice right now? :p

[Winterfell]

Viktor thanks Abadar for his fortune as he manages, barely, to keep the Stag Lord at bay with his shield. As the bandit's strikes come to an end, he returns the effort blow for blow, slashing with his blazing sword.

"Stay strong and we will emerge victorious!"

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Power attack with smite evil.

Attack roll: (1d20+13)[19]
Damage roll: (1d10+9)[17]

[Leviathan]

No, the Stolen Lands are mine, if I want them. You stand on the verge of defeat, and soon you will be only a stepping stone to my desires. With that thought in mind, Zinovia can't help but smile as she fires off another gout of flame.

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I guess that was evasion, but still, die! (7d6+1)[24], Ref DC19 for half (or none if it is evasion).

[ApatheticAbacus]

Ilya's soft leather boots dig into the dirt of the fortress ground as he comes to a stop, levelling his bow at the Stag Lord through the chaos of the fight. He lets loose two arrows in quick succession. The first pierces the bandit's right shoulder, making him do a half-spin around. The second strikes him in the side as he turns.

Tireas drives his sword down, a pair of quick slashes severing the bandit king's hamstrings. He crashes to his knees, roaring in pain now. Zinovia's flame bursts against his chest, and a moment later, Viktor thrusts his heavy blade – still burning with justice – through his chest. On his knees, the Stag Lord grunts, his hands clutching at the weapon, a rattling rasp escaping his evil helm.

"You... can't... kill me... She said... I cannot... die."

As if some unearthly power has taken hold, or perhaps just from sheer will to live, one of the Stag Lord's blood drenched gloves grasps for his fallen sword. He somehow pushes himself off the ground, struggling to stand, rage in his eyes as he collapses back down onto one knee. With a roar, he swings his blade.

"I will... not die!"

It catches with a clang on Katerina's duelling sword. The Swordlord protege twists it aside, spinning in close as the king of the Stolen Lands rises up again, every muscle in his massive body straining to survive, his dim eyes blazing. Her sword whips around, stabbing through his throat to the hilt. A wave of deep red blood washes down his neck. He slips from the blade, falling limply to the ground of his fortress.

A hand rises, fingers groping, clawing at the dirt. It grasps at nothing, closes, then falls. All is silent and still, except the flutter of ragged stag's head banners in the cool spring wind that rushes in from the east. The field is littered with the fallen, bathed in the red-orange light of the slowly setting sun. The Stag Lord, the terror and sovereign master of the Greenbelt, is dead.

[???]

Somehow, Grigori knows that the Stag Lord's shot is fatal. He feels his hands growing cold, his face ashen. Darkness tugs at the corners of his vision as he manages to pull himself upright against a wall. I am not afraid. There is time yet for one last prayer. Dimly, he sees the Stag Lord fall, a wan smile falling on his deathly pale face.

"Lord," he murmurs as the fortress quiets, his voice barely even a whisper. "Bless us and keep us all the day, until the shadows lengthen and the evening comes." He winces as the pain of his wound increases, a sharp throbbing. "Keep us until the fevered world is hushed, and our work is done. Then, in your mercy, grant us safe lodging and a holy rest, and peace at last."

He closes his eyes, and then opens them again. "My friends," Grigori breathes. "My friends, be not saddened by this parting. I go now to perfection without end, to rest among the celestial stars. You have before you a great duty. Hold true to it, and to each other. We shall meet again, my friends, if not in this world then in the next."

[Winterfell]

Viktor lets his blade fall limply to his side as the Stag Lord falls. The paladin's breaths are ragged and he can see the blood from his own wounds soaking through his tunic and armor. He feels oddly numb. All the battles we've fought to get here, and now it's done, he thinks, his stormy gray eyes survey the corpse-strewn battlefield.

Viktor hurries as fast as his wounds will permit to Grigori's side. His face turns ashen as he sees the extent of the cleric's wounds: they are surely fatal. He listens as Grigori speaks, his expression as still as if it was carved from stone. "That is a good prayer, my friend," he says solemnly. "You fought will valour; we will not forget that. We will meet again," he says, placing a hand on Grigori's shoulder, a final sign of respect.

"We will camp here tonight," the paladin says dourly to the rest of his fellows. "On the morrow, we shall bury the fallen and return to Oleg's Post with news of our victory here."

[Leviathan]

Zinovia stands over the battlefield, her red robes flapping in the wind around her frail body. Her face is unreadable as she looks down at Grigori, dying. She remains quiet for a long time. Then, at last, with almost imperceptible softness: "To rest amidst the starry skies... And he shall."

She turns away. And I will not. Even to herself, the wizardess knows not whether it is resignation or determination that draws out the thought.

She walks slowly over to the Stag Lord's corpse, bending down over it. With her skeletal, black-gloved hands, she grips his helm, pulling it away from his head. Her dark eyes fix on what lies underneath as it comes free.

[FireberdGNOME]

Katerina wipes clean her blade by force of habit more than anything and then hurries to Father Grigori. When she sees Viktor kneeling with their friend, she stops short and listens to Grigori's prayer. The storm in her eyes settles into the dull gray of a snow filled sky as a tear drops from her lashes. We had only met, but our hardships were so light with your steady presence and compassion. We are less without you. Having no voice to express her sense of loss, Katerina simply sobs quietly as she says goodbye to her friend.

[RocketMan]

There is no time to savour the victory for Ilya. He watches the Stag Lord fall then sprints to where Grigori is lying, hoping against hope. He kneels beside the priest. Please don't be dead, please don't be dead, he thinks frantically. The young man can tell the wound is serious, but it is Viktor's ashen face that reveals the finality of the situation. Ilya shakes his head unbelievingly - he doesn't want to believe it. "No, ypu can't be dying, you just can't," he whispers.

He listens to Grigori's prayer, blinking furiously to bat back the tears forming in his eyes, then finally succumbing to the inevitable and letting them fall silently down his cheeks. "Goodbye, Grigori," he says sadly, not knowing what else to say.

[Blisstake]

"I..." Tireas isn't entirely sure what to say as he watches the priest succumb to his mortal wound. Grigori's death could have so easily happened to any of them, but instead, it happened to the man who stayed in the open, risking himself so that he could save Zinovia and the bandit traitor that assisted the party.

"I'm sorry," are the words he finally settles with. This was the first time such a death meant anything to the tiefling, even after all of the bandits and creatures he personally eliminated in order to serve the group, and even after witnessing the senseless deaths caused at the hand of the Stag Lord. "I tried to stop him from killing anyone, but when... when I got close he started firing around me. You probably wish it was me instead of him, so... so I'm sorry.'

As Zinovia takes of the Stag Lord's helm, Tireas looks on with some curiosity. He is also contemplating the meanings of the bandit leader's final words, but decides that it is, perhaps, insensitive to bring up considering Grigori's untimely death.

[ApatheticAbacus]

The Stag Lord's helm comes from of his head with a slight scrape. Beneath, his face is scarred and pale – from death and from the helm that covered it. A thick black beard covers his lower face, his mouth slightly open and red with trickling blood. His eyes are glassy and vacant, but somehow retain their menacing darkness.

Vasily and Akiros come down from the upper level of the fort at a half-run. They come to a stop. Vasily wears a grin on his face, only slightly dampened as he spots Grigori's fallen form. Akiros has on a stony expression. "Bastard always said he couldn't be killed," he says, keeping his voice low, almost superstitiously, as if in the presence of a sleeping god rather than a corpse. "Gods, I almost believed him until the end."

____________________________

As night falls over the fortress, you can see the moonlight sparkling over the Tuskwater in the distance, its calm waters glittering with silver ripples. The fortress itself lies in darkness, save for a small bonfire that Akiros and Vasily have built on the upper floor of the fort-proper, sheltered from the elements, though the night is clear.

The bodies of the bandits are piled on the lower level, while Grigori is lain in the cool of the cellar. Near midnight, Vasily gathers everyone around the bonfire, holding a collection of bottles in his hands. "Stag Lord's finest," he explains, placing them on a stump that he's appropriated as a stool. "I dunno about you, but gettin' dead drunk's in my experience th' best way to deal with bereavement an' victory both." He takes a swig of liquor directly from one of the bottles.

[Winterfell]

Viktor watches the sun setting turn the sky orange and pink. The Tuskwater sparkles, and over the northern end of the fort the forest is beginning to fall into shadows. The man closes his eyes, breathing heavily. Movement is painful -his wounds have not yet been closed- so he sits himself on a wall, watching the sky over the battlement.

Abadar, I thank you for helping me to shoulder this burden. Today we have brought the wicked to justice, and, in doing so I pray saved innocent lives.

But Abadar, I pray to you to ask forgiveness. I came to these lands selfishly, following my heart. I do not know if my course has been for good or ill, but my motives were my own and not divine. For that I beg your foregiveness.

He sits quietly for a moment more, eyes gazing unfocused at the horizon. He beckons Ilya over, not wanting to rise. "You are unhurt," he begins simply. "I am glad." He sighs.

"Ilya," the paladin continues. "Would it have been so bad? Marrying a princess, staying in Brevoy. Ilya, I need to know why we're here. Because I am here for you," he says, voice oddly croaky. "Abadar's will is hidden from me, but I would follow you even if it meant breaking every commandment of my code. I have killed men I once counted as comrades. What was it for?" He stops and surveys the Tuskwater: the lake is shimmering darkly now with the last light of the sun. "We have defeated a cruel and merciless tyrant. Freed this land. That is surely good. But I didn't do it to be good, I did it to keep you safe. What kind of paladin does that make me?"

---

Viktor takes a bottle from Vasily. "To the dead," he intones, raising his bottle. He takes one swig, and then another. His expression is grim, but suddenly his face cracks into a smile. "Well my friends, we did it. For the first time tonight we might get dead drunk," he says with a nod at Vasily, "without having to worry about bandits ambushing us in the night."

[FireberdGNOME]

Later that night Katerina seeks out Tireas and says, "Do you have a minute to talk?" Seeing the tielfing's brief nod, she continues, "Don't be sorry about what happened to Father Grigori. You know you did the best that you could. Your courage in the face of that animal was glorious. Tireas, you did all that you could." She pauses for a second, thinking. Grigori's sacrifice was for all of us, he chose to give himself so we may be safe. Her voice quavers briefly but she continues, "We should honor his choice by celebrating his memory; blaming ourselves denies him that honor." Her eyes turn toward the darkened floor, long hair obscuring fresh tears.

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Forgive me if I overstepped with Tireas' nod, I just wanted to get a bit of dialogue rolling

[Leviathan]

Zinovia looks coldly down on the Stag Lord's scarred, bloodied visage as his helmet comes free of his head. Her eyes glimmer under her cowl. "Only a man, in the end," she whispers over the body. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, she turns her back on the Stag Lord.

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

Later, as dusk creeps into night, Zinovia keeps a quiet vigil of sorts in the fort's cellar. With meticulous precision, she lays out her herbs, spices, and tools around Grigori's body, working by the light of a single candle. With a broad, flat scalpel, she cuts away the flesh around the fatal arrow, removing it with a dispassionate gaze. She washes the wound, her cloth quickly turning red, then delicately places a poultice across it. She finishes by binding it in a bandage, laying the priest's hands out over his chest.

The wizardess looks over her work with a sigh. I am impressed, priest, she thinks. You have accepted your end with grace and dignity. Savagely, her thoughts rise, her pale face contorting in anger. That I cannot – will not – do. I would have raged until the light was utterly gone. You let go. I... admire your path, though it cannot be my own. But you were a better being than I will ever be.

Aloud, she finishes: "Goodbye, priest." She blows a quiet breath towards the solitary candle. It flickers and then goes dark.

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

Zinovia joins the others on the fort's upper level without a word. She grabs one of the bottles, taking a sniff of it with a scowl. "I suppose that one does not drink bandit liquor for the taste."

[Blisstake]

As Viktor and Vasily partake in the Stag Lord's stores of liquor, the tiefling smiles weakly and says, "All the same, Viktor, I think I'll pass. I will keep an eye out for trouble on the watchtower. It's not very likely we'll be attacked, but I don't want a single night of putting our guard down to end in any more deaths."

***

When Katerina comes up later to speak, Tireas replies, "I'm not blaming myself for what happened. The priest - Grigori, I mean, was slow, and the arrow killed him. It's just that..." He pauses uncomfortably as he tries to come up with the words that describe his situation. "I've had difficulties in this group, before you and Grigori came along. Viktor, Ilya and another priest did not entirely agree with my methods, and it certainly doesn't help that I'm a tiefling. What if that arrow was a few inches to the left? I'd be dead instead of the damn priest, and I don't think I would get the same respect."

[FireberdGNOME]

"No? For the short time I have known you there is no reason to see you as less than you are. You are a friend, a courageous swordsman and a clever one at that. Tainted blood or no, we can all come above our roots. Surely a street rat," she spits the insult distastefully, "like me doesn't deserve to be the friend of Prince Ilya, and surely Adabar never intended one of his Priests to die so far from civilization. And yet, here we are, and to me it looks like Viktor and Ilya have come to accept you." Katerina leaves the talk of methods alone. She has seen violence for it's own sake, and murders for scraps of food. She will not judge Tireas, only show him that she cares for all of their companions. Even Zinovia, as distant as she is...

[RocketMan]

Ilya sits beside Viktor, dangling one foot carelessly over the edge of the fort where the rampart has fallen down. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" he remarks at the sunset. "We did it, Viktor, and this is our reward. Sitting at the top of the Stag Lord's fortress looking out on his old domain." The young man beams at his friend.

"Yes, I wasn't hurt," he replies. "Perhaps it was my preternatural talent and prodigious skill in battle," Ilya says. He smirks, but then immediately looks stricken. "I shouldn't say that - Grigori fought bravely, and he didn't die because he wasn't good enough," the bard says fiercely, sounding choked up. "I just can't believe he's gone; I really did think we'd all make it through this together." He looks teary again.

"Viktor," Ilya says quietly. "You know I couldn't stay. I just couldn't." He sounds almost plaintive. "I... you're... it isn't that simple, I couldn't marry Feodora. Viktor, I can't marry any princess, that's just not who I am. Without you, I'd never have escaped; I'd still be in New Stetven, or in Pitax, suffering." The prince sighs dramatically.

"Then I suppose that I'll have to take extra care not to become an evil tyrant myself, or you'll be in something of a bind," Ilya says, smiling sympathetically at Viktor. "I think Abadar understands, Viktor, that you can't always be perfect. We're all just human in the end. Besides, Abadar's got a veritable menagerie of paladins – I've only got one of you! That means I need you more!" he says, laughing a sad laugh. "He might be a god, but he's going to have to share. Because I do need you, Viktor." He turns and gives the paladin a hug. It's a bit awkward because of the armour and trying to avoid making contact with Viktor's injuries, but Ilya still ferociously blinks back tears as he watches the sun set over his friend's shoulder. "Thank you," he whispers.

–––––––––––––––––

"You had best pass that over here, Vasily, before I come and take it from you!" Ilya giggles, grabbing one of the bottles from the ex-bandit. "Tireas, come on, drink up! You don't get to celebrate overthrowing evil antlered bandit kings very often, it would be a shame to pass up the opportunity. And Akiros, you should join us too. We don't know you very well, but liberal drinking is apparently one of the better ways to make friends."

[Winterfell]

Viktor returns Ilya's embrace stiffly, his usual rigid formality returning. "I will be by your side, whatever comes," he says gravely. "It has been my honor. Abadar willing, together we will see these lands civilized. Maybe then you will be serving the Lord of the First Vault yourself, and my duties will no longer conflict," he says. The paladin rises with only the slightest of winces. "Come, we should find the others. Night is falling-I will start a fire, if you can find wood. I would go myself but my mobility is lessened until the morrow."

---

"No, they don't," Viktor says, nodding at Zinovia. "This is vile," he says as he takes another swig, "but it will dull your pain and your senses. Exactly what you require after such a grim day. Or it can lend a brief moment of happiness to men otherwise deprived of it."

[Blisstake]

Tireas shakes his head at Ilya's insistance. "I don't drink. In the hands of a poisoner, spirits are one of the more dangerous tools, simply because of how willing most people are to drink it. And at least one of us should be alert and on watch."

***

She really believes my intentions are honorable. The girl could stand to be a bit more skeptical

With a weak smile, Tireas responds, "Thank you, I suppose you're right. And your swordsmanship was excellent as well; we should have a duel sometime."

[Leviathan]

"Have it your way, if you must, Tireas." Zinovia pulls her robes tightly around her as she sits by the fire, pouring a small amount of alcohol into whatever container is available for it. "It is a fair point that we ourselves used drink to help us overcome our foes. It would be ironic if we were to ourselves fall victim to the same."

[FireberdGNOME]

Katerina leaves Tireas to his guard post and goes to find a taper, paper and ink. It is time to write home about what this place is really like.. She find a quiet corner away from Vasily's ad hoc celebration. She lights the taper and thinks of the words to her family.

"To my Brothers,
There is glory in the Stolen Lands. But it comes at a hard price. This wilderness is savage, as if the land itself were angry. It seems that this place turns men to animals and animals to monsters. My new friends here have been with me in body, as you all are in spirit, as we fought wyrms, thorned carnivore bushes as well as someone that may have been the most frightful opponent of all.
He was called "The Stag Lord" and I do not know if he had any other name. The Stag Lord was a terror in these lands; so fierce that his men would rather die in his service that suffer his wrath. It is a terrible way to lead men, by fear, and it lacks the trust of true loyalty. When we fought the Stag Lord, it was with the help of his own men, two very courageous men to stand up for the right. I could speak of the fight itself, but I cannot. Trust that it was a hard fought victory; the Stag Lord's savagery was met by his endurance as well as his skills. But, he is dead now by our blades and skill.
I mentioned courage before. I will tell you now of true courage, and true fidelity. You may have seen the Priest that I departed with. Do you remember Father Grigori? We would all do well to remember his will and his sacrifice. It was his courage that saved us all, even as it condemned his mortal coil. His faith in Adabar rallied our newest ally, Akiros as well as our arcanist, Zinovia. It was his willingness, his accepting danger that allowed us to win this day. May he rest eternal as a Servant in the First Vault.
But enough of sadness! I was to tell you of glory. Would that you all cold meet these brave folk here! To look in the eye each of them! Viktor, his sword a blazing swath of vengeance. Ilya, a smile that could charm a merchant from his profits. Zinovia, effecient, cool and powerful. Even Tireas, demon tainted trickster that has proven again and again courage despite his blood. All of them are more than I could have hoped for in allies so far from all of you, my family.
With love and respect, your sister,
Katerina the Maid"

PS, Tell Grub I have still not found any Kellish Delights for him!

She stops writing and waits for the ink to dry. Then she rolls the paper and ties it with a bit of ribbon. She looks to the next paper and thinks of the words to tell Master Petyr of their success, and thier loss. No more crying, little girl! Katerina realizes her master's voice is in her mind and that she needs to stop feeling pity for Grigori's death. I told Tireas this already, do not dishonor your friend with blame Her delicate, if calloused, fingers curl around the pen again as she writes,

"Master Petyr,
Forgive the lateness of this report. Have faith that your student has succeeded with help from her allies. The Stag Lord is dead and the Stolen Lands wait to be settled. Father Grigori died facing the Stag Lord, he sacrificed his life for our success. We will soon be back at Oleg's trading post. I await your guidance,
Patiently yours,
Katerina"

This letter is rolled tightly and tied with a red ribbon and sealed with wax. Now to give these to a courier at Oleg's

Katerina goes to the bonfire and takes one bottle from the many laying about. She smiles and says good night to everyone and makes her way up to a lonely tower. She sits on the edge of parapet and looks out over the dark woods. Listening to the raucous celebration down below, she smiles into the night. Her voice is a whisper. "Thank you for teaching so much in so little time. Goodbye." With that she takes the bottle and drops it to the stones outside the keep's wall. Kat curls up with her cloak for a blanket and sleeps fitfully on the tower, in the shadows.

[Blisstake]

When left alone on the watch tower, Tireas also begins his own letter, slowly and carefully writing in each letter of the message.

Letter

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BUWVCY,

YVC AOWGDMV UL YVCYA AZWGD YCWN GOYY DDMAIWVJCY.
EVCY YWB GALL LV YO ALRB.
YVC YIBMGJ UL YVC WARBVLN EUWSMZ AHLMG AR, VOR AM VGL ZZLEW LV YVC YVCBLG.
AVCM DACLRZ EYNYGVRWZZ YIBLNMD CYGLRK UL W GDMAVBWJVML BUL REL LV EBWZZ BELR AAROHYJV DWG AWZZMY, DWG YVWP YVC YVCBLG GM YVC YGWS UL YVC ALBZLNAPM.

AVMBYW

[Leviathan]

As Tireas finishes his letter, the soft shuffle of Zinovia's robes greets him coming up the stairs. The wizardess appears slowly, looking him over languidly in the pale moonlight.

"You struck many good blows today," she says by way of greeting. "But then, if you wished to hear such trifling sentiments, you would not have volunteered to wait alone in a tower, so I shall dispense with them."

She looks out over the wall, pulling down her cowl. "You have been a... loyal companion, throughout out journeys. As have the others, but... not so much as you. I thank you for that. One day, I will repay you, but I cannot say when. I do not know where our paths will lead," she continues with an air of distaste at the admissions she is making, "but know that I consider you a... friend." She scowls at once, as if she's never said those words before. Zinovia turns quickly away, her robes swishing around her as she leaves as quickly as she had come.

She finds a relatively warm, dry place to bed down for the night, pulling her fur blankets tightly around her in the dark. Within moments, she is asleep.

[ApatheticAbacus]

22 Desnus, 4708

The first night of real peace passes without incident. The fortress roof is far from well maintained, and so dawn's light streams in golden beams through the chinks and holes in the old keep.

Vasily volunteers to take a horse and the letters north to Oleg's to inform them of your victory. He rides out the gates with a grin on his face. "You'll all be damn heroes when you get back, you know. As for me, hey, "ain't gonna get executed" works." He leaves with a whoop and a clatter of horse's hooves.

You begin the rather more grim work of burying the bodies. Akiros cuts each bandit's name into a plank of wood, and they're laid down into a single grave. The Stag Lord is the last to go in. His former lieutenant hesitates, carving knife in hand. He shakes his bearded head and writes nothing. "Doesn't have a name, and he isn't the lord of anything anymore," he explains gruffly.

Grigori gets his own grave, dug into the ground beneath a nearby tree. The priest's holy symbol is lain out over the turned earth when all is said and done. Akiros has taken a rock from the rubble of the fort and chiseled Grigori's name onto it. The slab of uniform grey rock is thrust into the ground beside the grave.

An hour later, with all preparations made, you are riding across the open fields of the Kamelands, heading north, feeling the heat of the late spring sun shining down on you.

22 Desnus, 4708

The next day sees you back to Oleg's Post. As you approach the walls, Kesten's detachment of Brevish guards cheer, lifting their helmets from their heads in recognition.

Inside, Oleg claps each of you on the shoulder as you enter and dismount, the usually-taciturn man so much as smiling jovially. Svetlana hugs everyone – even Zinovia.

Celebrations commence for a few minutes. Someone has brought out a fiddle, and a few hunters begin to sing a rowdy, ironic, and off-key rendition of 'the Defeat of Estruan Aldori.' But then, as quickly as the celebrations have begun, a hush falls over the crowd: Kesten Garress is turning towards the source of the commotion, saluting stiffly. Oleg scowls slightly, and Vasily seem to shrink visibly.

At the gates, a column of perhaps a dozen soldiers is riding into the Post's courtyard, each in a uniform of red-iron chain, their breastplates embossed with a pair of crossed duelling swords.

At the head of the column are three figures: In the lead is a tall, lean woman with dusky skin. Her black hair is tied back in a warrior's knot, and her sharp brown eyes seem to take in everything without looking right at it. Slightly pointed ears attest to elven heritage somewhere in her bloodline. She wears a suit of mithral armour – all bands of the silvery metal – that flows down to to her knees. A long Aldori blade is sheathed at her side. She rides with an air of imperial command, holding up a hand to bring the column to a halt.

The other two figures are similarly armed. One is a middle-aged man, his light brown hair greying at the temples, who wears a silken robe, tied with a wide sash, in which his sword's sheathe is held. His blue eyes are calm and collected, but with a mirthful shine to them. The other is a woman with short blonde hair, a long scar on one side of her face, and red leather armour on the rest of her.

Katerina

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The first woman is Swordlord Jamandi Aldori. She is the Grandmaster of the Swordlords, a consummate duelist, and perhaps the only single figure who can quell the bickering and pridefulness of the multitude of warriors under her.

The other two figures are Master Petyr and Swordlord Vanya, who assigned you to this task.

Ilya and Tireas

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The first figure is Swordlord Jamandi Aldori. She is the Grandmaster of the Swordlords, and a thorn in the side of House Surtova for some time.

The column stops inside the Post. "Grandmaster Jamandi Aldori, High Swordlord Petyr Aldori, and High Swordlord Vanya Aldori," one of the soldiers, acting as herald, announces.

The dark-skinned half elf speaks, her voice like a steel blade: no gentleness to it at all. "These are the Charter-bearers, I presume?" she demands, looking over the party in turn.

[Leviathan]

The famed swordlords of Restov, Zinovia thinks as the column arrives. Our task seems to have been more important than we were led to believe, if the leader of their order is here to commend us for its completion.

"We are," she replies simply. "We have your maps, and the bandit lord of the land is dead and buried."

[FireberdGNOME]

Katerina makes eye contact with Master Petyr, and smiles. Realizing that she is being rude to the Grandmaster, she focuses on business, and moves to the front of the group. When Grandmaster Jamandi looks at her Katerina makes a deep formal bow. "Grandmaster, we are honored by your presence." She stands up straight and states clearly, "We have done all that the charter asked of us and the Stag Lord is dead by our hands. It was my blade that was the last thing the monster felt." She stops, feeling flustered at her lack of eloquence. Ilya would know how to say this better than me.

[Blisstake]

"but know that I consider you a... friend."

For once, Tireas isn't quite sure how to respond, but the wizard leaves as suddenly as she appeared before the tiefling could think of something to say. In the darkness, he smiles, and resumes his uneventful watch.

I think I have an idea how you can repay me, Zinovia.

***

As the group arrives triumphantly to Oleg's post, Tireas finally allows his nerves to calm, and begins chatting up the jubilant party-goers. When the Swordlords make their ostentation entrance, Tireas bows and announces, "That would be us. Tireas Slate, at your service. Every threat encountered has been either been slain or forced into submission. I would say these lands are quite ready for colonization."

[RocketMan]

"Grandmaster Jamandi," Ilya says, eyebrows raised, not bothering to conceal his surprise. "Well, it is considerate of you to make an appearance here in person – I was only counting on a letter. But where are my manners?" he says, chastising himself with a smirk. "You are welcome here, Swordlords. I hope your journey here was most comfortable, and I hope the news you have received is pleasant to your ears."