The Heroes of the Hook

[Julian928]

Through the thunderous pounding of 400 hooves, the Land Council of the wilderness tribes see the looming shadow of the Hook, that ancient structure from which pours the water that sustains them.

At the lead, mounted upon a somewhat strained looking moose, is the seven foot half-orc called Ogan the Crusher. His tremendous size is enough to signal the clan's arrival, but the horn of Votlin is still heard trumpeting throughout the crags of the Hallek. The Folk of the Land have come.

Ogan looks to the two young riders at his flanks, representatives from the noble tribes Umvilvu and Wilderkund.

"Ogan fears only three things: first-person pronouns, spiders, and that horn!" He crows, the baritone voice audible over the horses. "Tell Ogan, have you two tasted battle?"


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From the Conclave camp, the volunteers from the Flint are nearly deafened by the triumphant war-horn. It means that the purpose of their presence draws near, and that there are new customers to be had for those who came as merchants.

A younger tradelord, by the name of Barrow, was attending to his books when he heard the horn, and quickly came to attention. He sent a runner to find a dwarf in his employ, the message being only: "Find the ones for sale."

In another area of the makeshift bazaar, a rotund gnome scrutinized the pelt of a large bear. The beautiful but feral woman who was offering it stood before him.

"I can do twelve gold, if you also have the claws." He states, aloof and uninterested.


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High Chronicler Zartuk had been arguing with Ambassador Haim in the diplomat's tent for days on how to handle the Clan's information. Only Knight-Captain Clarke had received any credible information, and his unbreakable will wasn't yielding to a scribe and a politician.

"Perhaps the barbarian is bluffing. It wouldn't be the first time they attempted such a feint. We both know that he and Thomas are close. Could the captain be working against us?" Haim offered, carefully eyeing a territorial map of the peninsula.

"Jocastus is a fine tactician, but not a liar. And nobody is as loyal to Queen Ahara as Clarke. Advisor Hom trusts in him, does he not?" Zartuk returned, running a hand down his Chronicler's sash.

"Willem, do you have an opinion?" Haim had turned to the younger Chronicler, who's task it had been to await a dictation from either of his superiors.

[Blade Conduit]

Nailo


Dressed in his finest outfit, Nailo knows that his voice will be needed here as much as his bow and hopes to do his best by his tribe. Having a good relationship with the other tribes of the wild will be paramount to his success. Knowing this he converses with Ogan quite freely. "I have hunted the lands of my people for beasts that walk upon four legs and the wicked that walk upon two" he smiles a faintly wicked smile as he rides. "Both fall to my arrows easily enough. I must admit though, it has only been on the hunt that I have let my arrows fly against another."
His memory begins to fall back to that encounter with the poacher all those years ago when he believed he would die. The rush of blood, the knowledge that life and death sway on the narrowest of blades at times.
"I do not fear battle Ogan, but nor do I long for it."

[Silverbit]

Mathrad tells the messenger to confirm his readiness, and walks away from the Flint tents, taking his harp.

"The Votlin are hard men, and strong, but with little subtlety. T'will not be much effort to single out the more... agreeable of them. The traders will drive a hard bargain with those bellicose spear - wavers."

Mathrad wanders in the direction of the Votlin.

[oyzar]

Aiyana Chetori is dressed in a patchwork of furs. The think clothing protects against weather and blows, but leaves some cracks through which fair skin is visible. The clothing is well made and shaped to follow her body so she can move freely, though this also leaves her curves clearly outlined. She is walking beside her tiger Elata. The big cat got blackstriped white fur, and standing on all fours it's head reaches almost up to Aiyana's chest. The tiger is covered in protective barding as well. Sewn together hides wrapping around it's body to offer a thicker layer of protection against potential blows. On Aiyana back is a heavy backpack, she seems to suffer from the weight, sweat streaming down her brow under the strain of the weight. Clearly she is not as powerful as the warrior beside her.

Aiyana's sharp green eyes keeps on her suroundings, taking in as much as she can of the sight of the unfamiliar land. At the sound of the big champion's voice she turns towards him. "There have been hunts to feed and to protect the tribe. However the short time of my life have not allowed for much experience fighting against men and other humanoid beings. Much of the time available have been spent in practicing and learning magic and knowledge so survival is easier when there is confrontation. Horns and pronouns we can at least hear, that which kills unnoticed is much scarier. Tell, have you been at such many such gatherings, negotiations or confrotions yourself, what are they like?"

She thinks to herself. What does fear of first-person pronouns mean? Will be difficult to deal with him if we can not speak freely. I wonder what this council will be like. Best to learn what is going on before I act so I can better know what to do.

Spoiler

Show

(1d20+8)[26]Perception, what does Aiyana see of the surrounding land?

[Jobuu]

Willem

Willem took a deep breath as he prepared his response. The magnitude of his situation was not lost on the young bard. Still only an Apprentice, and here I stand, in consult with the chief diplomats of the Queendom on the verge of a historic conference, he had thought as he entered the tent. Willem did not consider himself a vain person, but he swelled with pride at the thought.

While I agree, Ambassador, that Votlin has deceived Mastal in the past, everything I have learned of Jocastus himself creates the image of a man of honor. There is a particularly relevant passage in the Twelfth Hallekian Epic which.... Willem broke off as he realized that he was about to quote a passage to the man who had composed it, and grinned sheepishly. Well, it doesn't matter. At any rate, for however little my opinion is worth, I think we should listen to what the Clan has to say. If Votlin is willing to reach out, Mastal should at least hear what they have to say. He paused. As to the question of Knight-Captain Clarke's honor, sirs, I have very little opinion.

[Tsriel]

From the Conclave camp, the volunteers from the Flint are nearly deafened by the triumphant war-horn. It means that the purpose of their presence draws near, and that there are new customers to be had for those who came as merchants.

A younger tradelord, by the name of Barrow, was attending to his books when he heard the horn, and quickly came to attention. He sent a runner to find a dwarf in his employ, the message being only: "Find the ones for sale."

In another area of the makeshift bazaar, a rotund gnome scrutinized the pelt of a large bear. The beautiful but feral woman who was offering it stood before him.

"I can do twelve gold, if you also have the claws." He states, aloof and uninterested.

It had been an exhausting trip. Seven days ago, Viera set out into the wilderness, her pack full of rations and supplies. Now it only served as a rack in which her bedroll and a small collection of animal furs, coiled up in bundles appropriate to size, were strapped to. There was also the large chunk of salted meat inside.

Her favorite pelt out of this trip was also the most lethal one. Two days into her trip, a black bear approximate in size of a large brew vat fell into her spiked snare pit trap and survived. The trap itself wasn't enough to kill it outright nor was she lucky enough that a spike managed to pierce its heart. She would have to kill it. Remembering Oren's advice about how dangerous a caged animal can be, she chose a perch in a nearby tree that would help deliver the fatal blow.

Taking care as to not slip and fall into the pit herself, she climbed to the desired branch and took out a vial from her survivalist pouch and a single arrow from her quiver. Taking off the lid from the vial, she dipped the arrowtip inside, coating it in a black goo. The arrow itself wouldn't be sufficient enough to kill it, but the paralypic poison administered to the arrow would allow her to slit the beast's throat in relative safety.

Before Oren died, he taught her how to make this poison under the condition that she would promise to never use it on another person. She could understand why. One arrow was usually enough to take down an elk in just a few minutes. She hadn't really used it on a bear before, but knew it would work as she had seen Oren bring back bear pelts and meat when she was younger, and Oren was still spry for his age.

Her confidence assured, she put away the vial and took out her bow. With practice precision, she knocked the arrow back. She needed to hit a vital blood artery in order to quickly and effectively administer the dose. She settled her aim towards the bear's neck, just near its heart. A heart shot itself would work, but there wouldn't be any guarantee that her bow had enough draw to pierce through all the fat and muscle. No, a neck shot would be best. Less resistance and greater chance of success.

Like so many shots before, her sinew made the sound of air being cut shortly followed by the snap of the sinew on her leather forearm guard as the arrow went forth. A furious cry of pain and anger arose from the beast. Unsure exactly if the arrow struck where it was intended, she watched in terror as the beast arose and attempted to climb out from the hole. In a frantic, she grabbed the vial and another arrow. She adminstered poison to the tip and let the arrow fly, this time striking its shoulder. No good. she thought to herself. She again went for the vial but clumbsily dropped it.

Like a demon rising from the abyss, the bear slowly ascended from the pit, spikes still buried deep into its side and two arrows, one in the neck and another in the shoulder, lumbered its way to Viera's tree with blind rage into its eyes. Blood was gushing forth from the spike wounds, but even Viera knew that it could probably kill her before the beast would succumb to its injuries. Her only hope now was to deter the beast from coming, as trying to run from it would be a death sentence. She cursed herself for not preparing any pepper bombs as she fired arrows as fast as she could, hoping to take out an eye or two.

Arrow after arrow stuck into the beast, none of them slowed or deterred the creature from coming or from beginning a climb up the tree. Every fabric in her body screamed at her to run, and she was ready to. She knew she had time for one more shot before jumping from the tree to flee. Her aim shook with adrenaline and fear as she did her best to make this very last shot of her life count. She let fly the arrow.

Thunk!

Bearseye!

The arrow hits mark, causing the beast to momentarily forget about its grip as it fell from the tree and onto its pierced side, finishing the job. Viera stayed up in that tree the entire night just to make sure it was safe. She spent all of the next day skinning and tanning the hide. She would have to lug around salted meat and the pelt for the rest of the trip, but it would be well worth it. Quality bear pelts always fetched a premium in the open market.

Four days later, Viera returned to civilization eager to offload her wares. Aside from the bear pelt, she had bagged numerous smaller game and skins from rabbit, racoon, and a badger. They wouldn't sell for much individually, but as a bundle, they would cover the cost of the trip. Her eye caught glimpse of a gnome in the bazaar selling furs and various home decor. Perfect.

Viera approached the gnome, currently busy in his book, and stated that she had a fresh bear pelt to sell. The gnome turned his attention from his book to the pelt. Then the horn sounded.

Tch...terrific...

Viera hated that horn for two reasons. The obvious one is because it is so rediculously loud. The other is because what it brought. This bazaar would soon be flooded with an overabundance of goods and wares, meaning that any delay in selling now would only further cut into her earnings. She knew that the gnome knew this and was clearly taking advantage of it.

"Of course I have the claws, I wouldn't take pride in what I do if I didn't. However, you must realize that bearclaws come at a premium for not only alchemical regeants, but for the symbols of strength that they stand for with many of the surrounding people of the Folk. Twenty gold would be a fair exchange."

[Julian928]

Nailo


Dressed in his finest outfit, Nailo knows that his voice will be needed here as much as his bow and hopes to do his best by his tribe. Having a good relationship with the other tribes of the wild will be paramount to his success. Knowing this he converses with Ogan quite freely. "I have hunted the lands of my people for beasts that walk upon four legs and the wicked that walk upon two" he smiles a faintly wicked smile as he rides. "Both fall to my arrows easily enough. I must admit though, it has only been on the hunt that I have let my arrows fly against another."
His memory begins to fall back to that encounter with the poacher all those years ago when he believed he would die. The rush of blood, the knowledge that life and death sway on the narrowest of blades at times.
"I do not fear battle Ogan, but nor do I long for it."

Aiyana Chetori is dressed in a patchwork of furs. The think clothing protects against weather and blows, but leaves some cracks through which fair skin is visible. The clothing is well made and shaped to follow her body so she can move freely, though this also leaves her curves clearly outlined. She is walking beside her tiger Elata. The big cat got blackstriped white fur, and standing on all fours it's head reaches almost up to Aiyana's chest. The tiger is covered in protective barding as well. Sewn together hides wrapping around it's body to offer a thicker layer of protection against potential blows. On Aiyana back is a heavy backpack, she seems to suffer from the weight, sweat streaming down her brow under the strain of the weight. Clearly she is not as powerful as the warrior beside her.

Aiyana's sharp green eyes keeps on her suroundings, taking in as much as she can of the sight of the unfamiliar land. At the sound of the big champion's voice she turns towards him. "There have been hunts to feed and to protect the tribe. However the short time of my life have not allowed for much experience fighting against men and other humanoid beings. Much of the time available have been spent in practicing and learning magic and knowledge so survival is easier when there is confrontation. Horns and pronouns we can at least hear, that which kills unnoticed is much scarier. Tell, have you been at such many such gatherings, negotiations or confrotions yourself, what are they like?"

She thinks to herself. What does fear of first-person pronouns mean? Will be difficult to deal with him if we can not speak freely. I wonder what this council will be like. Best to learn what is going on before I act so I can better know what to do.

Spoiler

Show

[roll0]Perception, what does Aiyana see of the surrounding land?

The half-orc laughs heartily, striking any intimidation value he may have had on those around him. "Yes, little ones, you have hunted. You may even have killed! But Ogan, Ogan has ended wars, laid siege, tasted the blood of dragons! Little ones should be lucky to never savor what Ogan has gorged upon."

He grows solemn again. "Today, though. Today, Ogan sits at a brother's table again. But it is not for a meal. The little ones would be wary of talkies from the queen. And give respect to the scarred."

The champion stops short, briefly allowing the both of you to pass him so that he may see you both at once. "And do not let the one that claims to listen speak. Ogan no longer wishes to know those who hear his Talky One."

Spoiler

Show

You can see that the enclave is on the southern edge of the hook, no doubt to avoid being drowned out by the sound produced by the flowing Mastal. There are two somewhat small clusters of tents, one which flies the flag of the Queendom, the other flying no flag in particular. Running along the outer edge of the ad hoc town are uniform tents with a red-orange hue, and the occasional movements at their perimeters go a long way to telling you that the Votlin are tightly policing and scouting the summit.

Mathrad tells the messenger to confirm his readiness, and walks away from the Flint tents, taking his harp.

"The Votlin are hard men, and strong, but with little subtlety. T'will not be much effort to single out the more... agreeable of them. The traders will drive a hard bargain with those bellicose spear - wavers."

Mathrad wanders in the direction of the Votlin.

Nobody pays much attention to the wandering dwarf, as he is no fresh sight. Even so, Mathrad can clearly feel the eyes of roaming Votlin spearkin on him. When he arrives at their camp, he is greeted by a half-elf gentleman entering the second half of his life, with silvering red hair neatly slicked back, though he still wears the leather and mail so commonly seen on the shieldfolk.

"What brings you to this side of the enclave, brother Dwarf?" He says, putting his hand on the rogue's shoulder and walking him the direction he came (with noticeable force).

Willem

Willem took a deep breath as he prepared his response. The magnitude of his situation was not lost on the young bard. Still only an Apprentice, and here I stand, in consult with the chief diplomats of the Queendom on the verge of a historic conference, he had thought as he entered the tent. Willem did not consider himself a vain person, but he swelled with pride at the thought.

While I agree, Ambassador, that Votlin has deceived Mastal in the past, everything I have learned of Jocastus himself creates the image of a man of honor. There is a particularly relevant passage in the Twelfth Hallekian Epic which.... Willem broke off as he realized that he was about to quote a passage to the man who had composed it, and grinned sheepishly. Well, it doesn't matter. At any rate, for however little my opinion is worth, I think we should listen to what the Clan has to say. If Votlin is willing to reach out, Mastal should at least hear what they have to say. He paused. As to the question of Knight-Captain Clarke's honor, sirs, I have very little opinion.

"See there, the boy agrees!" Zartuk throws the words out as if they were some sort of trump card, clearly pleased that his pupil agrees with him.

"Yes. He agrees with his teacher by quoting your own works to you. Still, I cannot argue with two such astute Chroniclers. Our diplomatic decisions here are still ultimately my choice, though, so don't count me swayed." A slight edge enters Haim's voice, but it is clearly audible to those who have perfected their own voices to an art.

"Now, if you don't mind, I need to prepare." The ambassador strides out of the tent with a will, the two knights that had stood its guard following him.

"He's... colorful." Tartuk says to no one in particular.

It had been an exhausting trip. Seven days ago, Viera set out into the wilderness, her pack full of rations and supplies. Now it only served as a rack in which her bedroll and a small collection of animal furs, coiled up in bundles appropriate to size, were strapped to. There was also the large chunk of salted meat inside.

Her favorite pelt out of this trip was also the most lethal one. Two days into her trip, a black bear approximate in size of a large brew vat fell into her spiked snare pit trap and survived. The trap itself wasn't enough to kill it outright nor was she lucky enough that a spike managed to pierce its heart. She would have to kill it. Remembering Oren's advice about how dangerous a caged animal can be, she chose a perch in a nearby tree that would help deliver the fatal blow.

Taking care as to not slip and fall into the pit herself, she climbed to the desired branch and took out a vial from her survivalist pouch and a single arrow from her quiver. Taking off the lid from the vial, she dipped the arrowtip inside, coating it in a black goo. The arrow itself wouldn't be sufficient enough to kill it, but the paralypic poison administered to the arrow would allow her to slit the beast's throat in relative safety.

Before Oren died, he taught her how to make this poison under the condition that she would promise to never use it on another person. She could understand why. One arrow was usually enough to take down an elk in just a few minutes. She hadn't really used it on a bear before, but knew it would work as she had seen Oren bring back bear pelts and meat when she was younger, and Oren was still spry for his age.

Her confidence assured, she put away the vial and took out her bow. With practice precision, she knocked the arrow back. She needed to hit a vital blood artery in order to quickly and effectively administer the dose. She settled her aim towards the bear's neck, just near its heart. A heart shot itself would work, but there wouldn't be any guarantee that her bow had enough draw to pierce through all the fat and muscle. No, a neck shot would be best. Less resistance and greater chance of success.

Like so many shots before, her sinew made the sound of air being cut shortly followed by the snap of the sinew on her leather forearm guard as the arrow went forth. A furious cry of pain and anger arose from the beast. Unsure exactly if the arrow struck where it was intended, she watched in terror as the beast arose and attempted to climb out from the hole. In a frantic, she grabbed the vial and another arrow. She adminstered poison to the tip and let the arrow fly, this time striking its shoulder. No good. she thought to herself. She again went for the vial but clumbsily dropped it.

Like a demon rising from the abyss, the bear slowly ascended from the pit, spikes still buried deep into its side and two arrows, one in the neck and another in the shoulder, lumbered its way to Viera's tree with blind rage into its eyes. Blood was gushing forth from the spike wounds, but even Viera knew that it could probably kill her before the beast would succumb to its injuries. Her only hope now was to deter the beast from coming, as trying to run from it would be a death sentence. She cursed herself for not preparing any pepper bombs as she fired arrows as fast as she could, hoping to take out an eye or two.

Arrow after arrow stuck into the beast, none of them slowed or deterred the creature from coming or from beginning a climb up the tree. Every fabric in her body screamed at her to run, and she was ready to. She knew she had time for one more shot before jumping from the tree to flee. Her aim shook with adrenaline and fear as she did her best to make this very last shot of her life count. She let fly the arrow.

Thunk!

Bearseye!

The arrow hits mark, causing the beast to momentarily forget about its grip as it fell from the tree and onto its pierced side, finishing the job. Viera stayed up in that tree the entire night just to make sure it was safe. She spent all of the next day skinning and tanning the hide. She would have to lug around salted meat and the pelt for the rest of the trip, but it would be well worth it. Quality bear pelts always fetched a premium in the open market.

Four days later, Viera returned to civilization eager to offload her wares. Aside from the bear pelt, she had bagged numerous smaller game and skins from rabbit, racoon, and a badger. They wouldn't sell for much individually, but as a bundle, they would cover the cost of the trip. Her eye caught glimpse of a gnome in the bazaar selling furs and various home decor. Perfect.

Viera approached the gnome, currently busy in his book, and stated that she had a fresh bear pelt to sell. The gnome turned his attention from his book to the pelt. Then the horn sounded.

Tch...terrific...

Viera hated that horn for two reasons. The obvious one is because it is so rediculously loud. The other is because what it brought. This bazaar would soon be flooded with an overabundance of goods and wares, meaning that any delay in selling now would only further cut into her earnings. She knew that the gnome knew this and was clearly taking advantage of it.

"Of course I have the claws, I wouldn't take pride in what I do if I didn't. However, you must realize that bearclaws come at a premium for not only alchemical regeants, but for the symbols of strength that they stand for with many of the surrounding people of the Folk. Twenty gold would be a fair exchange."

"Aye, ye may be a lass of pride, but this is a tough market. Ya can't think that this is the only bear skin in my inventory." He rolls his hand in his money purse, the jingling of numerous coins clearly audible.

"I could see to throwing ya another four gold. If only to get some proper clothes on you." He chuckles.

[Tsriel]

"Aye, ye may be a lass of pride, but this is a tough market. Ya can't think that this is the only bear skin in my inventory." He rolls his hand in his money purse, the jingling of numerous coins clearly audible.

"I could see to throwing ya another four gold. If only to get some proper clothes on you." He chuckles.

That cheeky son-of-a-bitch!

Viera did her best to not appear flustered, but she couldn't help manage a coy smirk. He was right though, her attire was filthy and ragged after spending so much time inside thorny thickets and covered in loose mud. During the warmer months, she often chose to forgo long breeches in favor of the short, cut-off variety for the sole purpose that it was easier to "camo up" her bare skin in mud than cloth. Wearing knee high brown leather boots helped alleviate how much time she would have to spend blending in. Underneath her dark brown leather armor she wore a faded green tunic with the sleeves removed for the same purpose as her legs. Her summer hunting attire didn't leave much for the imagination to figure out. It was hardly a concern when you spend more time tracking animals than with people.

"I'll take your extra four gold if only you stow away your remarks for women whose only use is being in the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant."

[Silverbit]

"Well, sire, one could be more profitably employed stating why I do have every right to be here. I, good sir, am a performer of great skill on the harp, doubtless well known to many in your camp. Would it reflect well on an individual (be he ever of such high rank as you evidently are) who prevented my entry, to entertain the men?"

Spoiler

Show

(1d20+5)[6]
Mathrad isn't wearing armor or carrying any weapons, which may come in important if he has to flee,or sneak.
Edit: Ooooooh dear...

[Blade Conduit]

Nailo

"The one who claims to listen?" Nailo looks at Ogan with puzzlement in his eyes. "Of which one do you speak? I am an unfamiliar with these civilized people." The word civilized comes out cold and unforgiving.
Having witnessed first hand what civilization can do to the lands his people live off of, Nailo has gained a certain level of contempt for those that feel they must take all they can from it for their own personal gain. Those that will use a land til it is barren and dead, leaving the animals of the land with nothing for themselves.
The shaman of his village has entrusted this great task to Nailo and he knows that what is to occur here must be of great import to gather all the people of the hook together like this. He will take what advice he can from who he can but he must be wary as well, trying to find a grain of truth in a vast ocean of lies.

Spoiler

Show

Sense Motive on Ogans answer to Nailo's question if he answers it (1d20+6)[21]

[Julian928]

That cheeky son-of-a-bitch!

Viera did her best to not appear flustered, but she couldn't help manage a coy smirk. He was right though, her attire was filthy and ragged after spending so much time inside thorny thickets and covered in loose mud. During the warmer months, she often chose to forgo long breeches in favor of the short, cut-off variety for the sole purpose that it was easier to "camo up" her bare skin in mud than cloth. Wearing knee high brown leather boots helped alleviate how much time she would have to spend blending in. Underneath her dark brown leather armor she wore a faded green tunic with the sleeves removed for the same purpose as her legs. Her summer hunting attire didn't leave much for the imagination to figure out. It was hardly a concern when you spend more time tracking animals than with people.

"I'll take your extra four gold if only you stow away your remarks for women whose only use is being in the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant."

The gnome bursts out laughing. And then he keeps laughing. And he laughs some more.

At one point, you even see tears rolling down his cheeks.

While he doubles over, he smacks 17 gold onto the counter.

"Well, sire, one could be more profitably employed stating why I do have every right to be here. I, good sir, am a performer of great skill on the harp, doubtless well known to many in your camp. Would it reflect well on an individual (be he ever of such high rank as you evidently are) who prevented my entry, to entertain the men?"

Spoiler

Show

[roll0]
Mathrad isn't wearing armor or carrying any weapons, which may come in important if he has to flee,or sneak.
Edit: Ooooooh dear...

The man continues to lead Mathrad away. "Haha, what makes you think I matter? Nooo, I just keep the lying rabble away from the camp from time to time. Now let's go get a drink, you and I, and maybe we'll see if that harp can keep the mercenaries happy."

The spearkin begins to drag Mathrad towards the Flint encampment, which has also become the place to bed down for observers of the summit. It's already becoming a little notorious for shakedowns.

As the two walk, the half-elf's grip loosens for just a moment, and Mathrad can clearly see that there is no legitimate guard at the Votlin camp behind him.

Nailo

"The one who claims to listen?" Nailo looks at Ogan with puzzlement in his eyes. "Of which one do you speak? I am an unfamiliar with these civilized people." The word civilized comes out cold and unforgiving.
Having witnessed first hand what civilization can do to the lands his people live off of, Nailo has gained a certain level of contempt for those that feel they must take all they can from it for their own personal gain. Those that will use a land til it is barren and dead, leaving the animals of the land with nothing for themselves.
The shaman of his village has entrusted this great task to Nailo and he knows that what is to occur here must be of great import to gather all the people of the hook together like this. He will take what advice he can from who he can but he must be wary as well, trying to find a grain of truth in a vast ocean of lies.

Spoiler

Show

Sense Motive on Ogans answer to Nailo's question if he answers it [roll0]

Ogan is quiet for a long minute. "Ogan... hopes he won't be there." He says at last.

Spoiler

Show

You pick up that Ogan knows plenty more than he's telling, and that there's a lot of emotion wrapped up in that topic.

[Jobuu]

Willem

"See there, the boy agrees!" Zartuk throws the words out as if they were some sort of trump card, clearly pleased that his pupil agrees with him.

"Yes. He agrees with his teacher by quoting your own works to you. Still, I cannot argue with two such astute Chroniclers. Our diplomatic decisions here are still ultimately my choice, though, so don't count me swayed." A slight edge enters Haim's voice, but it is clearly audible to those who have perfected their own voices to an art.

"Now, if you don't mind, I need to prepare." The ambassador strides out of the tent with a will, the two knights that had stood its guard following him.

"He's... colorful." Zartuk says to no one in particular.

Willem watched the elder statesman leave the tent feeling somewhat bemused. While Ambassador Haim could be a bit headstrong at times, he was clearly a skilled negotiator, and a worthy chose to represent Queen Ahara here on the Hook. It was clear to Willem, however, that he did not respect his master's opinion on diplomatic matters.

Not for the first time, Willem wondered, Why couldn't she have also sent Hom? If the Royal Advisor were here, Willem knew he could bridge the gap between the two sides and present a united front at the conclave. However, Willem feared that deep down he knew the answer to his question. Because she could not get by without him, even for such a short time. The Queen was growing more and more dependent on the halfling to help her run the Queendom. He rarely left Queensholm nowadays, even though he used to travel often on royal business. Like the day he found me, Willem thought. But of course he would never speak of these thoughts to anyone, not even Master Zartuk. It would be treasonous to alert others to the true state of the Queen's health, especially during a crisis such as this. So he guessed that Mastal was stuck with two bickering diplomats and a silent knight for the time being.

Master, I hesitate to ask, Willem said, but what if Ambassador Haim is right? Is it possible that Jocastus has tricked us all, and that the threat of which he speaks is his way of declaring war on the Hallek?

[Silverbit]

"Yes, let's go for a drink. You deserve one, with all the hard work you do, guarding the camp. Why, no one would dare-by the gods! Look, someone is scaling the wall, over there! They could get into the camp!"
Mathrad hopes this, admittedly clumsy, ploy will give him a chance to hide in the cluster of tents nearby.

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Bluff: (1d20+5)[17]
Stealth: (1d20+6)[10]

[oyzar]

Aiyana is riding along uncomfortably on a big redbrown mare. She is trying to adjust to the mode of travelling, but she is more used to travel and track along the ground than on horseback. The color of the mare almost match her long hair. The hair reaches well below her shoulders, and looks well cared for, brushed and quite clean, in contrast to the rest of her somewhat wild appearance.

"Hopefully this meeting will not come to blows, there would be many dead if the sides here fought. What is the plan? We are going to need somewhere to camp. How and where will we hear what we are called here for?"

Aiyana turns to study the half-elf riding next to her. "There can be reasonable people in civilization as well. In my experience there are good and bad people everywhere, and how they are is largely dependent on the individual. Though of course a culture which only takes for itself without care of the future does not encourage people to behave well. Despite what we think, I belive that we might be better off if we do not openly share all our thoughts with the other cultures gathered here. Provoking hostility might make negotiations difficult. There are sure to be arguments of some sort."

[Julian928]

Willem

Master, I hesitate to ask, Willem said, but what if Ambassador Haim is right? Is it possible that Jocastus has tricked us all, and that the threat of which he speaks is his way of declaring war on the Hallek?

Zartuk eases himself into a chair, and produces a pipe from his satchel. With meticulous care, he packs the bowl with a blend of tobacco and herbs that he cultivates himself.

The middle-aged Chronicler casts Spark to light it, then inhales the smoke deep into his lungs.

He lets out in a long exhale from his nose, his eyebrows knitted in thought and anxiety.

"I cannot say, my boy. If that is his plan, then we have fallen into the trap as moths flock to light." Zartuk takes another pull, then removes the stem from his mouth.

Walking over to Willem and putting an arm around him, he shares a brief smile with his apprentice. "We shall hope that Jocastus is as honorable as Thomas claims. But we shall be rea--"

A lone dwarf comes sprinting into the tent, out of breath and looking over his shoulder.

"Yes, let's go for a drink. You deserve one, with all the hard work you do, guarding the camp. Why, no one would dare-by the gods! Look, someone is scaling the wall, over there! They could get into the camp!"
Mathrad hopes this, admittedly clumsy, ploy will give him a chance to hide in the cluster of tents nearby.

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Bluff: [roll0]
Stealth: [roll1]

The spearman briefly looks in the direction Mathrad pointed. "Wall? What wa-- Hey! Stop the dwarf!" He cries, as Mathrad dashes away.

Through the advantage of being short enough to hide in the crowd, and being careful enough not to push anyone over, the Flint dwarf maneuvers through the mass of people with all plausible speed.

Finally he ducks into a tent, where an older looking half-orc has an arm around his young human companion, finishing a conversation whilst smoking.

"--dy for anything..." The older fellow mumbles, obviously surprised at their guest.

Aiyana is riding along uncomfortably on a big redbrown mare. She is trying to adjust to the mode of travelling, but she is more used to travel and track along the ground than on horseback. The color of the mare almost match her long hair. The hair reaches well below her shoulders, and looks well cared for, brushed and quite clean, in contrast to the rest of her somewhat wild appearance.

"Hopefully this meeting will not come to blows, there would be many dead if the sides here fought. What is the plan? We are going to need somewhere to camp. How and where will we hear what we are called here for?"

Aiyana turns to study the half-elf riding next to her. "There can be reasonable people in civilization as well. In my experience there are good and bad people everywhere, and how they are is largely dependent on the individual. Though of course a culture which only takes for itself without care of the future does not encourage people to behave well. Despite what we think, I belive that we might be better off if we do not openly share all our thoughts with the other cultures gathered here. Provoking hostility might make negotiations difficult. There are sure to be arguments of some sort."

Ogan, making a clean transition from his more painful thoughts to practical ones, shrugs his massive shoulders.

"Ogan says that if the fight starts, Ogan will ride home with blood on Axe and Ogan's knuckles. Until then, Ogan will let the Stabby One handle things. Unless the Stabby One wants to fight, then Ogan will crush the Stabby One with Axe! Friendly crush. Stabby will understand."

[oyzar]

"Who is stabby one?" Aiyana asks Ogan. He does like using nicknames for everyone, just gotta learn who is who. Also even if Ogan is supposedly the strongest champion, he does not care much for practical matters like where are we sleeping, who are we meeting and how are things set up. I suppose I should look around for someone who does care and know what is going on. Aiyana looks around to the people riding near by. Hmm I wonder who would be best to ask...

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(1d20+4)[23]Sense motive if I can use it to figure out who cares about not just what we are going to do at the meeting and negotiations themselves but also cares for how we are arranging things.

[Jobuu]

Willem was stunned by the intrusion of this dwarf into his master's private tent. So stunned, in fact, that for several seconds he stood, gaping at the man. He managed to regain his faculties soon, however, and looked the dwarf over to see if he could discern anything about him or where he is from.

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Perception Check: (1d20+3)[23]
Knowledge (Local) Check: (1d20+7)[10]
Checks to see if Willem notices anything on the dwarf which could tell him where he is from, or who he may be traveling with.

[Silverbit]

Mathrad freezes as he spots the other occupants of the tent.
"Could be worse, it could have been an elven paladin. Again."
"Look, I can explain. I'm Mathrad, from Flint. You have probably heard of my employer, whose name I will not mention."
Mathrad explains about the guard, tactfully omitting his reason for trying to enter the encampment.
"So... could someone guide me back to the Flint area? I rather lost my bearings in that incident."

[Julian928]

"Who is stabby one?" Aiyana asks Ogan. He does like using nicknames for everyone, just gotta learn who is who. Also even if Ogan is supposedly the strongest champion, he does not care much for practical matters like where are we sleeping, who are we meeting and how are things set up. I suppose I should look around for someone who does care and know what is going on. Aiyana looks around to the people riding near by. Hmm I wonder who would be best to ask...

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[roll0]Sense motive if I can use it to figure out who cares about not just what we are going to do at the meeting and negotiations themselves but also cares for how we are arranging things.

Ogan narrows his eyes at Aiyana in confusion. "Stabby One is Stabby One..." He mumbles, clearly unsure how to answer.

Riding some distance behind this trio is a terribly overworked human asleep in his saddle. He has countless scrolls protruding from his saddlebags, and wears the white hand on a green field that marks him as one of the Tunalo tribe, the same as Ogan.

Willem was stunned by the intrusion of this dwarf into his master's private tent. So stunned, in fact, that for several seconds he stood, gaping at the man. He managed to regain his faculties soon, however, and looked the dwarf over to see if he could discern anything about him or where he is from.

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Perception Check: [roll0]
Knowledge (Local) Check: [roll1]
Checks to see if Willem notices anything on the dwarf which could tell him where he is from, or who he may be traveling with.

Mathrad freezes as he spots the other occupants of the tent.
"Could be worse, it could have been an elven paladin. Again."
"Look, I can explain. I'm Mathrad, from Flint. You have probably heard of my employer, whose name I will not mention."
Mathrad explains about the guard, tactfully omitting his reason for trying to enter the encampment.
"So... could someone guide me back to the Flint area? I rather lost my bearings in that incident."

Tartuk widens his eyes at the dwarf, taking in the tale. Then he takes another draw from his pipe, and slaps Willem on the back.

"I'm writing this down. Handle it." He says amicably, then sits and begins scribbling on a piece of onionskin at his travel desk.

[Blade Conduit]

Nailo looks at the human with great interest. He doesn't often get the chance to interact with those from other tribes and this one. Well for one she had the largest wild cat Nailo had ever seen walking near her. It was either trained or under her control, though that definitely didn't look like the case, but just the understanding that she could have such a relationship with animals put Nailo at ease about her.

"Benefits? Maybe but all I see is an inability to live at one with the world around them. I see a need to change their environment to suit their own greedy needs. Yes maybe there are individuals with more sense than that within the civilized world but it is as a whole that they cause damage. I will share my thoughts as I see fit but I believe you are right and there is no need to make what will undoubtedly be a difficult situation even worse."


Stabby one, one who listens, making sense of this one was going to be difficult Nailo thinks.
Seeing the human asleep on the horse Nailo slows his own mount until they are side by side. "You may want to awaken friend, riding and sleeping is a dangerous combination under the best of circumstances." Speaking louder than he must to attempt to waken the human.

Am I out of my league here? I belong in the wild, hunting beasts and the evil that stalks our lands. What could possibly drive this many different peoples together.. Ogan may have the right of it, this is a fearful thing indeed.

[Jobuu]

Willem recovers from his surprise and nods to his mentor. "Of course, I will see him off. If you need me for anything, I should be in my tent later this evening." He walked over to the dwarf, nodded, and led him through the tent flap.

As soon as he left the tent, Willem flashed the dwarf a bright smile. "Nice to meet you, Mathrad. I am Willem Swifttone, Apprentice Chronicler of Mastal. I arrived on the Hook three days ago, and so I know my way around fairly well. I believe that is the Flint encampment over there." Willem pointed to a large group of tents to the southwest, then began to lead the dwarf in that direction. "Tell me, Mathrad, are you here as part of the official Flint delegation, or do you have some other purpose for attending the conclave?"

[Tsriel]

The gnome bursts out laughing. And then he keeps laughing. And he laughs some more.

At one point, you even see tears rolling down his cheeks.

While he doubles over, he smacks 17 gold onto the counter.

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****ing pig...

OOC: Yay, 17 gold!

Veira reached out and grabbed her coin from the counter, then left the gnome to his fit of laughter. She sighed to herself out of mild frustration once out of earshot. I suppose I could deal with worse for two months worth of pay. Taking a coin from her purse, she bit into the metal, leaving teeth marks where she had bit into. It was a mild relief. Other merchents, all of them men, had at one point attempt to take advantage of her through the use of fool's gold. Since her bite was present on the coin, she could safely surmise that the rest of her pay was legitimate too. Yet another worldly trick Oren had taught her.

Viera felt her mind drifting elsewhere as she walked down the pathway. As expected, merchants from various parts of the world were pouring in, going in the opposite direction than her. She remembered that she had a small assortment of pelts to sell. It would just have to wait. She had enough of bartering for one day. More than anything, she wanted a hot bath to soak in, a good smoke, and a good meal. That too would have to wait.

Viera decided to take soliace underneath the shade of a nearby tree. She watched in lazy content with a smoking tobacco pipe in her mouth and a half-filled waterskin by her side. She wasn't sure why exactly she felt compelled to take up smoking as a habit. Oren didn't do it. Any elf she'd ever met often went out of their way to bombast her for it. Viera didn't nessesarily mind the smell often left behind. It was more of the taste for her. The rich, musky, earthy tinge was soothing and satisfying. Her only explanation as to why she blamed on her human blood.

As she drank from her waterskin, she wished it was a hearty ale, or a fine red wine. Viera wondered if there was a place around to get a better drink than the one she had.

[Silverbit]

"Oh, my master is with the delegation, and I'm with him. I'm his... assistant. Things he wants to know, I find out."
"Secrets, where someone's gold is kept, exactly how many fake "Ancient Dwarven" axes a merchant owns."
"You seem to have remarkable good sense, Willem. I hope we meet again, preferably in less rustic surroundings."

[oyzar]

Aiyana gets a look on horror on her face as the Nialo starts shouting at the sleeping man. "Hush! Don't you see that he is tired? He should be allowed to sleep, it will be enough to do once we do start setting up camp anyway." Shouting the half-elf is not likely to prevent the man from waking up though, but at least he might stop if the first attempt fails.

[Blade Conduit]

Nailo looks at the human quizzically. "But would it not be better, being this close to our destination and with his being on horseback that this man be awake?"
Since joining the ranks of the Aroheim Nailo has been talked to thusly by very few people. The village elder at times to rectify a mistake he had made and his mother who never failed to take that tone with him when it suited her needs. Never once in his years has someone who has known him for such a short time.
This one is strong, she has an inner strength that will be an asset to her people

[Julian928]

Willem recovers from his surprise and nods to his mentor. "Of course, I will see him off. If you need me for anything, I should be in my tent later this evening." He walked over to the dwarf, nodded, and led him through the tent flap.

As soon as he left the tent, Willem flashed the dwarf a bright smile. "Nice to meet you, Mathrad. I am Willem Swifttone, Apprentice Chronicler of Mastal. I arrived on the Hook three days ago, and so I know my way around fairly well. I believe that is the Flint encampment over there." Willem pointed to a large group of tents to the southwest, then began to lead the dwarf in that direction. "Tell me, Mathrad, are you here as part of the official Flint delegation, or do you have some other purpose for attending the conclave?"

"Oh, my master is with the delegation, and I'm with him. I'm his... assistant. Things he wants to know, I find out."
"Secrets, where someone's gold is kept, exactly how many fake "Ancient Dwarven" axes a merchant owns."
"You seem to have remarkable good sense, Willem. I hope we meet again, preferably in less rustic surroundings."

From out of nowhere in the milling crowd, the half-elf warrior appears behind the both of you.

With surprising strength (given his lean build) he grabs hold of both of you by an arm.

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There was a grapple check involved, but his CMB was already higher than both of your CMDs.

Making use of quite a bit more force than with Mathrad, the Votlin steers both of you towards the Clan's camp.

"I don't know who you think you are, dwarf, but you and your friend are going to answer to the Clan for your subterfuge."

Nailo looks at the human with great interest. He doesn't often get the chance to interact with those from other tribes and this one. Well for one she had the largest wild cat Nailo had ever seen walking near her. It was either trained or under her control, though that definitely didn't look like the case, but just the understanding that she could have such a relationship with animals put Nailo at ease about her.

"Benefits? Maybe but all I see is an inability to live at one with the world around them. I see a need to change their environment to suit their own greedy needs. Yes maybe there are individuals with more sense than that within the civilized world but it is as a whole that they cause damage. I will share my thoughts as I see fit but I believe you are right and there is no need to make what will undoubtedly be a difficult situation even worse."


Stabby one, one who listens, making sense of this one was going to be difficult Nailo thinks.
Seeing the human asleep on the horse Nailo slows his own mount until they are side by side. "You may want to awaken friend, riding and sleeping is a dangerous combination under the best of circumstances." Speaking louder than he must to attempt to waken the human.

Am I out of my league here? I belong in the wild, hunting beasts and the evil that stalks our lands. What could possibly drive this many different peoples together.. Ogan may have the right of it, this is a fearful thing indeed.

Aiyana gets a look on horror on her face as the Nialo starts shouting at the sleeping man. "Hush! Don't you see that he is tired? He should be allowed to sleep, it will be enough to do once we do start setting up camp anyway." Shouting the half-elf is not likely to prevent the man from waking up though, but at least he might stop if the first attempt fails.

Nailo looks at the human quizzically. "But would it not be better, being this close to our destination and with his being on horseback that this man be awake?"
Since joining the ranks of the Aroheim Nailo has been talked to thusly by very few people. The village elder at times to rectify a mistake he had made and his mother who never failed to take that tone with him when it suited her needs. Never once in his years has someone who has known him for such a short time.
This one is strong, she has an inner strength that will be an asset to her people

The sleeping rider, having already slept through the Votlin horn and the 100 horse entourage, appears completely undisturbed by Nailo's slightly raised voice.

Coming towards the delegation from the direction of the now quite-nearby enclave is a human man with clean brown hair and a full beard, wearing half-plate and two longswords, astride a red charger. His Mastalian tabard marks him as a knight. Beside him is an elven Clanswoman on a white mare, whose long braid of hair is a strange, natural combination of black and straw blonde. She wears studded leather armor with a tower shield and longspear strapped to her back.

The two pull to a halt in front of the mass of tribal representatives, and the woman rides forward to the tribal vanguard.

"People of the Folk, the chieftain Jocastus, in his glory, demands that you camp the bulk of your group here on the outskirts. Only the Land Council shall be given leave to bed down on the Hook's southern side, with us." She has angled her horse so that its flank is facing the tribals, in the manner of a gatekeeper.

The man, still hanging back, smiles at you all. "It turns out that the Votlin get all hot and bothered when you bring the same number of troops as them." He takes a moment to throw the spearmaiden a dirty look.

[Jobuu]

From out of nowhere in the milling crowd, the half-elf warrior appears behind the both of you.

With surprising strength (given his lean build) he grabs hold of both of you by an arm.

Making use of quite a bit more force than with Mathrad, the Votlin steers both of you towards the Clan's camp.

"I don't know who you think you are, dwarf, but you and your friend are going to answer to the Clan for your subterfuge.

Oh, terrific, thought Willem, and he turned to face the enraged guardsman.

"Now, now, I'm sure this has all been a misunderstanding," Willem said, in a soothing voice with a small smile. "I'm sure we can all act like adults here. Whatever issue you have with the dwarf can be cleared up here, between the three of us. No need to get the Clan leadership all riled up right before the conclave. They might be...unappreciative."

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Diplomacy Check: (1d20+8)[20]

[Silverbit]

"Ah, you again, my friend!"
Mathrad listens to Willem's diplomatic speech.
"Quite so. As he said, it would be unwise to take this further. Look, we had an ill-fated first meeting. Maybe we should all go for that drink after all?"

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Aid another with Willem's Diplomacy. Edit: I didn't know you had to roll: [roll]1d20+1[/roll]. Edit the second: roll didn't work, I rolled here.

[Julian928]

Oh, terrific, thought Willem, and he turned to face the enraged guardsman.

"Now, now, I'm sure this has all been a misunderstanding," Willem said, in a soothing voice with a small smile. "I'm sure we can all act like adults here. Whatever issue you have with the dwarf can be cleared up here, between the three of us. No need to get the Clan leadership all riled up right before the conclave. They might be...unappreciative."

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Diplomacy Check: [roll0]

"Ah, you again, my friend!"
Mathrad listens to Willem's diplomatic speech.
"Quite so. As he said, it would be unwise to take this further. Look, we had an ill-fated first meeting. Maybe we should all go for that drink after all?"

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Aid another with Willem's Diplomacy. Edit: I didn't know you had to roll: [roll0].

The spearman chuckles wryly. "I don't think you know much of the Votlin, Chronicler. We've all been itching to kill someone. A drink just doesn't quite match up to breaking bones with your bare hands."

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Believe it or not, this is what he says after improving his disposition by two notches. I just put this here so you can know that you did well!

He guides both of you into the Votlin encampment, and there is an oddly small number of people seem to care that one of their own is dragging two foreigners with him. The guard is leading you towards a tent that seems somewhat larger than the others.

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You each get one more shot to get away from this guy. It would take one hell of a diplomacy check, but it can be done, so weigh your options carefully.

[oyzar]

Aiyana is riding out in the front. She is not very comfortable speaking up, but seeing as the only other people at the front is one who is just as inexperienced as her and a man who might just create a misunderstanding she says. Then again she was not known for her way with words either, but better that this silence do not continue for too long. "Well met. I am Aiyana Chetori shaman of the Umvilvu tribe. Of course we do not plan to bring all our escort to the meetings. It would be nice to know what the plan is going forward. You say that some of us are welcome to bed down with you at the southern side, but clearly we did not come here to copulate. When are we meeting, where and with who? I imagine the majority of the people can start setting up camp here while we go with you to find out why we are brought here. Though these words really should be shared with the rest of the council and not just us here up front.

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[roll]1d20+4[roll]Sense Motive, what are they up to?