Chapter 1: A Peaceable Kingdom

[Jeff]

Would Oss know if it was odd for a gnome to rattle off a prayer to the Sovereign Host?

Ed: Not odd at all. The Sovereign Host is the most common faith on the continent of Khorvaire. There are no racial gods like in the Forgotten Realms. Besides, this is mostly just taking a god's name in vain, not so much an actual prayer. There's nothing clerical about it.

[Darren]

Realizing that his dragonmark is still visible, Kalarian realizes there is little point in trying to lie to the gnome. "It is true that I am a member of House Deneith, but I assure you that I am as much a victim in this as you are. I have no knowledge of what happened on that rail car beyond the fact that I was nearly killed by it. If you are in some trouble with the house, I may be able to help, but I promise I have no interest in making things worse for all of us than they already are. I am Kalarian Jaeran d'Deneith, and I give you my word that I will use all of my resources to protect you. Now, please, put away your wand, come down here, and let's talk."

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Have I had a Diplomacy roll, yet?

[Jeff]

Kal seems to have calmed Fenwolt down a little bit. He places the wand on the floor of the loft, but he doesn't come down. He gives Oss a brief, puzzled glance. "All right." He takes a few deep breaths.

“My name is Fenwolt Ferenthoron. I live with my brother in Aundair. He’s a member of the church. I…recently applied to the Tinkerer’s Guild*. But they…they turned me down. I’ve been out of work. It’s been hard. Then one day this man approached me. Said he had a job for me. Said it might even help me get into the guild. But…things just got worse.”

“It was supposed to be…well, a sabotage. Of the lightning rail…of property, and cargo. Not...people! I didn't agree to that, you have to believe me. That man, that 'guard.' He was no Deneith defender! A charlatan, a fake. He betrayed me, and nearly killed us, you and me. And those other people....oh, Onatar."

Even as they listen, both Grafth and Cutter realize that although she was walking behind them, Pellorien never entered the barn with the rest of the group. When they look up, she is not there. The others are too weary to notice.

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* The Tinkerers Guild and the Fabricator’s Guild are two main guilds of House Cannith. The Tinkerers Guild repairs damaged structures and vehicles, maintains infrastructures in major cities, and other major "fix-its."

[Darren]

Kalarian's eyes narrow slightly when he hears that the Deneith guards were false, although it would seem that the two who died were genuine members of the guild.

"You were foolish to accept such a task, but I understand that times are hard and everyone does what they must. Do you know who it was who hired you? Or what the cargo was supposed to be? Maybe if we know how the job was SUPPOSED to go happen, we can piece together what actually happened."

Kalarian turns to his companions. "Meanwhile, if that half-orc returns and finds another in the barn, he may start asking more questions. Perhaps one of us should wait outside and calm him before he comes in and is surprised?" He looks at Oss. "You seem to have formed a rapport with him. Would you mind?" It's unclear from Kalarian's tone whether he's asking Oss or dismissing him.

[Jeremy]

Goran's face betrays a flash of irritation at Kal's presumtuous nature, but regains his composure quickly, not wishing the gnome to think the group fractious.

"My friend..." he addresses the gnome, in a weary but friendly voice.

"You are right that they are after you. Probably you were meant to die in the explosion, anyone planning such a monstrous attack would not only care little for your life, but probably would rather have you dead than alive and able to tell your story. It is, from what I've seen in the world, the way of these sorts of surreptitious dealings."

Goran's eyes are closed, and he remains leaning against the wall while he speaks.

"So, you have two choices: run from them while they hunt you, keeping your mouth shut in loyalty to those who would spend your life without the slightest hesitation, or share what you know with us, trying to make some good after your part in this hideous deed.

"They will still hunt you, it's true, but at least you'll have a chance to undermine their conspiracy and possibly end the threat by bringing about your employer's downfall. Call it revenge, or just plain smart. As far as I can see, and it's true my experience is limited in these matters, it would seem your only chance at safety is to help us. But of course, we have our own reasons for wanting the knowledge you keep, so you shouldn't listen too much to us, but to what seems best for you."

He pauses, and opening his eyes, looks at the gnome intently.

"All I ask of you, personally, is that if you choose to keep your secrets to yourself, please also keep it secret that you met us, and whatever else you may have learned about us. We've made enough enemies for one night."

---

Jeff: Diplomacy check?

[Lara]

As the group moves into the barn, Pellorien keeps to the back. Watching the others, she drops further back, then moves as quietly as possible along the west side of the barn. She carefully scans the around her, checking to see whether any of her fellow travelers are following or whether any of the farm's inhabitants have noticed her. Finding a place to hide, she pauses to consider her options.
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You have the numbers already:
Move Silently check
Hide check

[Jeff]

Fenwolt sighs. "I will. I will tell you, and trust you. But you must promise me you'll help me save my brother, and his family. From them. I can...I can bring you to where I met with them. We can expose them."

Fenwolt stands up. "Will you return with me to Fairhaven? You all look like righteous mercenaries. I believe you could help." He points to Kal. "And these men are making House Deneith look bad."

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Goran's Diplomacy = 21

[Josh]

Grafth considers the strange gnome's words. "I'll return with you to Fairhaven, this much I promise. The rest, well- I'll need to know more."

Looking around at his compatriots, he says "For now, we rest. Fairhaven's a day's constant travel from here- Passage is at least a fortnight of travel. ... and none of us seem prepared for that."

His eyes linger briefly on Fenwolt, then move to Cutter. "Someone, or all of us, should stand guard tonight. I feel as if none of us deire to harm each other, but who knows what else might find its way here."

[Darren]

Kalarian shrugs. "Yes, I believe I will also accompany you. I'd like to know what these imposters are doing, and I'm sure others within the house would like to know as well." He turns his full attention to Fenwolt. "You make one mistake, though, my friend. I am no mercernary. I do this because it suits me to do it and because I believe you need the help."

Kalarian seems to relax, a smile coming over his face. "Our shifter friend is correct. We should wait until the morning to set out. We could all use a bit of rest, and this seems like a good place to do it." He looks down at himself, seeing his clothes covered in dirt and blood from the previous events. "Hmph." He waves his hands in front of his clothing, speaking a few arcane words, and the clothing is restored to it's previous state, all sign of stains gone and all wrinkles removed. The red shirt with its high collar looks as though it had been newly laundered. "That's better," he says with a smile and a flourish. He quickly tightens up one of the many straps around his leg, bending his leg a few times to test the adjustment.

Kal glances towards the still open door as he says, "That half-orc has been gone for some time. And if I'm not mistaken...one of our group is still outside. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go check on Tangat." Kalarian walks just outside of the door to join the wolfdog.

______________________
Kalarian is casting Prestidigitation.

He is also checking with Tangat to see if he can track the missing member of the party.

[Jeremy]

Goran speaks after the others are finished.

"Fenwolt, you seem a wise fellow, and I think you speak the truth. I'll help you get to Fairhaven."

He turns to the others. "I'll take first watch, if you like, I need to sew up my clothes a bit, and clean up. But I'll need some sleep before we set out, so we should do two shifts. Any volunteers?"

[Jeff]

When Kal emerges from the Barn, he doesn't see Pellorien anywhere in plain view. There is a nearby shed or perhaps the barn itself that she may have disappeared around. However, he does hear the sound of people coming out of the house nearby. It looks like it may be the Halmers, the owners of the house. Running before them is the boy, Lerem.

Tangat wags his tail as they approach.

Inside the barn, Fenwolt beams at Goran. "Thank you." Then he looks up to the door where Kal is turning to face the people approaching. He lets out a yelp and dives into a pile of hay within the loft, out of sight. "Shhhh!" he hisses from his innovative hiding place.

[Josh]

Grafth turns to Goran, "I'll take the second shift- it might be best to divide our skills for the night, when it comes." Looking toward the door, he muses aloud, "I hope the Halmers offer us something to eat. I could go for a late lunch!"

[Jeff]

The rain is increasing! It drums on the barn roof in a steady pattern.

An elderly couple steps before Kal, huddled together under a single cloak. The older man regards the Deneith heir with scrutinizing but not unkindly eyes. The woman attempts to courtsy, an unwieldy act considering the rain and the dripping cloak.

"My lord, please, come out of the rain! Bring your friends along. The day is hard enough on you, and the Host be praised that you are all right. Please, come into the house!"

The old man gestures to the house. The boy holds out his hands to Kal, indicating his war-scythe. "Can I see your weapon? It's really...wonderful."

"Get on it, boy!" his grandfather yells at him.

With that, the couple turns away back to the house. You don't see Vars yet.

Those within the barn heard the exchange but of course did not see. From his hiding place, Fenwolt exclaims, "You go in! I'm staying here until we leave."

[Josh]

"Well, I can see no reason to disagree with that invitation!" For the first time, Grafth's stern visage lightens, but just a bit. Before following Kal out of the barn, he turns and whispers "Be sure that you do, if you want our help." Then, in a less dour tone, "I'll see if we can get some food out to you, later."

Those looking at the shifter might see, just for a moment, a sparkle in his eye at the thought of possible sustenance.

[Darren]

admin said:

The rain is increasing! It drums on the barn roof in a steady pattern.

An elderly couple steps before Kal, huddled together under a single cloak. The older man regards the Deneith heir with scrutinizing but not unkindly eyes. The woman attempts to courtsy, an unwieldy act considering the rain and the dripping cloak.

"My lord, please, come out of the rain! Bring your friends along. The day is hard enough on you, and the Host be praised that you are all right. Please, come into the house!"

The old man gestures to the house. The boy holds out his hands to Kal, indicating his war-scythe. "Can I see your weapon? It's really...wonderful."

Kalarian returns the woman's curtsy with a bow of his own. "Dear woman, thank you for your kindness. I would be happy to take you up on your offer. Please thank Vars for making our introductions. I am sure that the coins we gave him for you will be of great use to you," he says, a slight hint in his tone that he suspects that the coins may have found their way into the half-orc's pocket.

Kalarian does not turn back towards the barn as he begins to follow the Halmer's towards the house, almost as though he has forgotten the presence of the gnome or his companions for the moment. He rolls down the sleeve of his shirt, covering the previously visible dragonmark. He regards the young boy with a kind smile. "It is a magnificent weapon, isn't it? It's a sharaash, crafted by the noble halflings of the Talenta Plains. I began my study in its use while I was there during the war." He leans closer to the boy, a playfully conspiritorial whisper, "Would you carry it into the house for me?" Laughing, he hands the scythe to the boy. "Careful now! Don't hurt yourself." He walks a few paces behind the boy with Tangat at his side, both of them watching the boy.

[Paul]

Cutter glances at Grafth. "I'll take the final shift. I don't sleep that well anyway." His gaze drifts to where Kal and the boy are walking through the rain. "I don't know about you lot but I could do with some hot food in my stomach."

So staying, he jogs through the downpour.

[Jeff]

The remainder of your party exits the barn—excepting Pellorien, who is nowhere to be seen—and follows the Halmers along the path to the house. They usher you out from the rain and through the front door. The old woman, gray hair all bound in one long braid, points to a section of hardwood floor where the your wet cloaks and packs can be laid, then points you to the chairs and couches of the living room.

The Halmers' home is comfortable and commodius, but clearly in need of repairs throughout. Two sturdy buckets collect the water from leaks within the living room alone. It seems more a lack of materials than labor. The building consists of two stories, with the ground floor comprising a small foyer, an adjoining family/living room (where you've been prodded), dining room, kitchen, a stairwell leading up, and cellar stairs leading down. Given the house's size and the profusion of small painted portraits adorning the walls and mantle, it looks as though the Halmer clan had once done well for itself for a family of Aundairian commoners. But capricious fate and the ever-shifting fortunes of war have clearly had their effect.

On one side of the living room, two suits of armor—truly little more than fragments of banded mail—are propped up by makeshift supports. Small flags depicting Aundair's crest—the head and wings of a dragonhawk, on a field of blue, beneath a tome of knowledge and grains of wheat—are wrapped about the base. Battered longswords hang in place beside them, and portraits of the two young soldiers hang on the wall behind them. They seem small tributes to the Halmers' lost sons.

"The name's Fargen," the old man says when everyone makes it through the door. "Glad you folks are all right. A right damned shame, what Vars told us. Hope they finds those responsible and hang 'em good."

He gestures to the woman. "This here is my wife, Nissy. She'll have some warm bread and water ready for you in a flash. Our daughter, Nimina, she's in town selling our latest crop. Won't be back until tomorrow or the next. So it's just me, my wife, and the boy. And Vars, our farmhand."

He slicks back his remaining sections of hair and shakes his head. "I told you, Niss, today was an ill day. Didn't seem right for workin'...'least, not the usual type. Didn't I say so?"

"You did, Farg." She starts to disappear toward the kitchen. "But Vars ain't one for sitting still. Where'd he run off to?"

"He'll be back, soon." Fargen eyes the group. "I'll admit, if I saw you on the road armed like y'are, I might have s'pected that maybe you were mercenary types. But seein' the gold you offered—Sovereigns, bless you—I'm proud to say you're welcome here with us. Dishonest folk don't give you gold only to rob it back from you."

He shakes his head again as he gazes out the window in the direction of the lightning rail line. "A right damned shame."

Lerem enters the house—whereupon Fargen widens his eyes, glances over to see if his wife is watching, and grabs Kal's sharash from the boy's hands. He scrambles to set the exotic blade against one wall. "Host, boy, not with your gran' watchin' you! You know better!"

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As a reminder, if you don't post anything for a while, your character is going into an "auto-pilot" mode, whereby he or she becomes rather complacent of events. Even if he or she is remaining relatively inactive, you can post just that.

[Darren]

Smiling at the old man, Kalarian looks around the room for whatever appears to be the most comfortable chair and places himself casually in it. "My apologies for indulging the boy. I did not mean to cause trouble. Where I come from, we learn at an early age to handle and respect weapons. I think it's good for a young man." Gesturing towards the armor and swords, he says, "Where did they serve?" Kalarian reaches down next to him to scratch Tangat's head, seeming completely comfortable and at home in the Halmer's house.

[Ed]

Oss moves to the pictures and armor and, after a few moments, turns to face the man. Hearing Kal's question, Oss winces at the bluntness but listens with care.

[Paul]

Cutter throws Kal a disgusted look and sits down at the table.

[Jeff]

Grafth becomes quite aware of the aroma of bread wafting in from the kitchen. Tangat also looks that direction, then stands up from his position near Kal, and drifts off toward the kitchen.

Fargen looks long and hard at Kal. He waves his hands at Oss and Cutter. "It's all right. My boys fought on the eastern border, making those Thranes pay with blood for every inch of our soil they wanted. They gave their lives in Thaliost, and we never got to have 'em back. Godsdamned siege engines....nothing was left of 'em. The war wasn't quite the same for me, back when I could use an axe."

He looks with suspicious eyes upon the group, as if wondering if any of you are Thrane. He seems ultimately satisfied that you are not.

"Where did you serve...my lord?" he asks, then. "Are you with the Marshals?"

Nissy enters the room with a basket of newly warmed bread rolls. The old woman seems to instinctively gravitate to Grafth first, as if sensing his need for something to eat. She doesn't seem the slightest bit uncomfortable around him as a shifter, which puts her in a minority of humans.

"Here you are, dear." She presses three rolls into his hands, then moves among the group, handing out two for each. You find that the bread isn't particularly fresh, but it's hale and a welcome sustenance. Nissy quickly follows this up with wooden cups of fresh well water.

Tangat roams between the party members, seeming to appraise the most likely to give him some of their bread. Kal finds it rather endearing, as well, that the farmers don't seem the slightest bit fazed by Tangat. Strongly resembling a full-blooded wolf, he can be off-putting. The boy, Lerem, tries to play with Tangat but the dog is on the hunt for a free meal.

[Darren]

admin said:

"Where did you serve...my lord?" he asks, then. "Are you with the Marshals?"

As soon as the rolls are in his hand, Kalarian tosses one to Tangat and takes a bite out of the other. "I don't suppose you have any wine?" he asks his hostess with a wink.

He turns his attention back to the old man, and seems to be lost in memory for a moment. When he answers, his tone is more solemn than it has been since he entered the Halmer's house. "No, I'm not with the Marshals. I served with the Defender's Guild during the war, out on the Talenta Plains. I saw some truly horrifying things during that time. I lost a lot of good friends. I also saw a great deal of heroism. I witnessed men dying to protect a fallen comrade or defend a group of civilians. The war was hard on all of us, and I know your loss must have been great. I'm sure your boys fought bravely. It may be little comfort, but it should be a source of pride." Kalarian sits back, silent, closing his eyes for a moment, as though the remberance has drained his energy.

[Jeremy]

Goran does not speak for a while, but smiles and bows slightly when the food is offered, which of course he takes and eats with relish. He is used to living on simple commons, the fact that the bread is warm and the water fresh are seeming luxuries, though secretly he longs for a bit of meat or cheese, something substantial. Just as off-put as the others by Kal's arrogance, Goran also longs for a sip of wine to ease to aches and pains wracking his body. He sits in whatever chair is not occupied, finishing his bread. Catching the boy's eye once or twice, he smiles and gives him a wink.

Goran has decided at some point to go back out to the barn, both to keep an eye on the gnome, maybe calm him down if necessary, and also to act as a scout for anyone creeping up on the house. He has no desire to bring more death upon these people simply because of their hospitality. Not wanting to share such thoughts openly in front of these kind folk, he keeps his thoughts to himself for a moment. He might, if the chance arises, whisper his thoughts to Cutter and Grafth, but soon he will find a polite way to slip back out to the barn. On the way, he will look for Pellorien. For the moment, however, he is pleased to enjoy the warmth and gather what information he can on these people and their plight...and his companions.

Goran, while in the barn on watch, will light no lantern or fire of any kind. He suggests strongly to Cutter and Grafth that they do the same.

[Josh]

"Thank you, ma'am" Grafth says as he quickly inhales the first of his rolls. "Fank oo ferry muth!"

He is more sparing with his second roll, breaking it apart and taking his time. The third he pockets for later.

[Jeff]

Goran excuses himself before long, citing the need for air again (he seems used to the wild, or perhaps just restless or curious about the whereabouts of the missing survivor, Pellorien).

Faren nods at Kal's words. "They did fight bravely." He stares out the window with distant eyes. "I hope...this peace lasts. We can't take any more."

After a short while, the front door opens again and Vars steps into the house. He is breathing heavily as if catching his breath from a brisk run. His already lank hair is wet, his clothes completely soaked through. He is exerted, more than a hearty farmhand like him should be if just moving between the buildings on the farmstead. He looks to the group, waiting to catch his breath.

“Vars?” Fargen asks.

“I had to see,” he says between breaths. “I’m sorry. I believed you, but I had to see it with my own eyes. The wreck. If I could help even one person…then I’d try. But it was just as you said. Bodies…everywhere. No survivors."

Nissy Halmer sits herself down as if she can stand no longer. "Sovereigns bless those people."

"But there was more," Vars says, "and I’m hoping you folks can tell me more about it. There were two dead men further up the hill who didn’t look like they were in the crash. Soldiers or something. Wearing national colors and chain mail but no real symbols.” Vars moves closer and speaks quieter, as though not wanting the boy to hear him, who is moving around the kitchen at that moment. “Sword strokes, clear through the heart, both of them. And heads...cut off and taken. Maybe some spellwork, too. One of the dead men had the scorch of lightning on his mail.”

"Oh, dear," Nissy remarks.

He describes the scene a little more. It seems only two of the three defeated soldiers were there, and none of the three horses. He makes no mention of the red-haired human or the halfling, either, as if they weren't there at all.

Vars eyes your weapons. “Those dead men...weren't on the rail, I think. Can you tell us more about what happened? Please speak plainly."

[Darren]

Kalarian opens his eyes at Vars' description of how the soldiers died. He looks around at the others, assuming that they, too, realize that someone has come to the scene behind them and ensured that the soldiers were more dead than they already had been. "I can honestly tell you that we had nothing to do with the removal of those men's heads....."

Kal calls Tangat to his side, but does not rise from the chair.

[Ed]

Oss stares on at the pictures of the dead young men, studiously staying out of the current conversation until Kal speaks.

"I'm sorry you had to see such gruesome business, Vars. Now, if you will all excuse me, I believe I'll join Goran."

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Oss will leave after Goran, probably not trying hard enough to cover the glare he shoots at Kal.

[Jeff]

Fargen widens his eyes at Kal's words, but then seems more off-put by Oss's sudden departure, especially so soon after Goran's. Fargen asks his wife to take Lerem away.

"What is goin' on here?" he demands. "You boys in trouble?"

Vars shakes out as much rain from his clothes and hair as he can, then sits cross-legged on the hardwood floor so as not to get anything else wet. "I can see you were all in that wreck; you look it. So why are you hiding something? Making up names. You fought those men, right? But you're saying you didn't....take the heads."

Fargen shakes his head. "What are you 'fraid of us for? We're not makin' trouble for you."

Vars looks Kal straight in the eye. "Listen to me, Myron d'Deneith. I am Varsdor Geryn'Taran, once a mercenary employed by House Tharashk out of Zarash'ak, hired to guard the house's expeditions to find and collect dragonshards in the Vile Marsh. I left that job, and my country of birth, when the expedition leader gave his mind to a cult of the Dragon Below* and began to sacrifice our team, one by one, to some abomination beneath the earth. I have seen enough death, and evil, to make your war look like a tavern brawl. I came to Aundair to seek employment in a place where the folk rallied for their own safety, and I ended up here, at this farm, where I've found a simple life and the hospitality of the Halmers a poultice to my memories."

Vars stands. "I have spoken my truth to you. Now you, d'Deneith, will speak yours to me." His challenging eyes and tusked visage move to take in the remaining group as well: Grafth and Cutter. "Who are you and what happened?"

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* The Cults of the Dragon Below are any of a diverse group of fanatical sects that revere darkness and the power and creatures of the subterranean realm. Some sects seek to draw Khyber, the mythic Dragon Below, back into the world, or to free powerful aberrations or other demons from the depths below Eberron.

[Darren]

"Yes, I figured you for a Tharashk mercenary," Kal says. He remains silent in his chair for a moment, looking at his hosts as though determining their trustworthiness. Finally he speaks, addressing all of them equally.

"I am Kalarian d'Deneith, and except for my name, everything else I told you was true. I did serve on the Talenta Plains during the war and we were not responsible for those men's deaths. You can understand my hesitation to trust you after surviving the sabotage of a lightning rail car and then being attacked by men who claimed to be there to help."

Kalarian waits a moment to see if there are any reactions to what he has said. He looks over at Grafth and Cutter for a moment, then turns his attention back to Vars. "After the crash, those men you found appeared on horseback and called to me that they were part of the local militia, and wanted to help any survivors. Grateful for their assistance, I bid them come. Once they saw our guard was down, they chose to attack, and so yes, we did fight with them. After rendering them unconscious, we thought it would be best to leave the scene before others followed. Clearly we made the right choice, since someone obviously does not want these men to speak."

Kalarian now rises from his chair, the creaking of the many buckles and straps around his leg strangely loud in the silent room. He walks to the corner where his sharash was placed. Turning back to his hosts, he seems almost sad. "You say you only saw two of the so-called soldiers. There were three, and I fear that either he or the ones who removed those heads may come looking for us and I do not know why. But I was truthful when I said that I wished to bring no trouble to you, and so I think that it would be best if we left." Picking up his scythe, Kalarian moves towards the door. Stopping, he turns again. "Thank you for your hospitality. It is truly rare to find good, honest folk these days. I will go collect the others and we will be on our way."

[Josh]

Grafth listens to the dialogue, eyes narrowing. When Kal has finished, he breaks the seemingly infinite silence. He looks squarely at Vars.

"We are all beholden, to each other. We only know that a group of men with dire intentions attacked us while we were still reeling from the crash- only by Olladra were we gathered, and spared.

"We cannot be responsible for the actions of others- only our own. We are shaken, but still we realize that we are all taking risks here. For you, your risk is to aid a stranger. For us, it seems... our risk may merely be staying alive."

He pauses, thinking about those words, as if the gravity of the last few hours has collapsed upon him.

"What this man says is true- after the crash, we were set upon swiftly by horesmen. After disarming them, we escaped to your farm- our only option. And now it appears that someone has come to finish the job...

"Please pardon me. I'm not typically one for words... if we must leave, we will do so immediately."

He remains seated, looking exhausted from the strain of verbal communication.