–Threshing 7th, 15gp, (2 gp per day), 10 day rations, Healing Potion, Healing Kit 10 charges–
—Preparing to depart, scene altered-positive—
As I carry my possessions to the stables, I feel a bit of trepidation. I’ve lived at the tower for nearly eight years now, and it is as much a home as the village where I was born. The servants have become like family, and I know them well. I can scarcely recall what my brothers and sisters look like. I finish loading my books into my pack, a change of clothes, and then I tuck my purse into my belt, much heavier than the day before after taking my wage from serving as tax collector.
Milo brings Celeste out to me, and says that he’s going to miss the animal. I chide him that she’ll just be gone a day or two, that Roch will bring her back. He gets a puzzled look on this face and tells me that the Master said the horse was leaving with me. A parting gift. Then he shrugs his shoulder, “She’s really too old to serve a new apprentice for long.”
I ask if the Master intends to replace me. The old stablehand purses his lips as he finishes saddling my mount, and says that he expects the Master to find someone new.
Roch then arrives leading his own mount and a mule already loaded down with supplies. Four of the local farm hands are with him, armed with spears, to help serve as escorts until we reach Brevurg. “Time to go Love,” he says, as he often does. I roll my eyes as I always do, before pulling myself up onto Celeste’s saddle. We leave the White Tower, and pass by the workers in their fields. It’s a familiiar trek, but a strange feeling…leaving home.
—Encounter checks, 3-checks- Morning, Afternoon, Evening–Bandits in the morning, No encounter midday, Wild Goats in the evening—
—Decide 2d6 is a good number of bandits, roll an 8. Bandits have time to prepare. Use a group target of 104 (8X13) to defeat Mendy’s passive Perception of 13 (highest in the group)They will catch us by surprise—
We are riding along the coastal road, Roch and I are talking about my horse, and how she might be able to serve as a good mount for another couple of years with any luck, before age starts to creep up on her. Suddenly, I realize we are in danger..and crossbow bolts start whistling through the air!
One of the guards cries out in pain, but I see where our attackers are hiding, and race Celeste up into the brush, and summon tha hands of flame to drive them out. One of them leaps away, while the other stumbles and is burnt badly. Briefly, all eyes are on my and several quarrels whistle past me!
As the shock of the ambush fades, Roch and two of the men follow me into the brush, while the other two try to deal with the group that was behind us. Spears and blades clash. More bolts fly, and I hurl bolts of fire at our enemies! A crossbow bolt grazes my arm as I watch two of the bandits trying to drag our mule away, the guards lying in the dirt.
I chase after them, striking them down with arcane fire, and retrieveing the mule.
When I return, I see Roch dragging two unconscious bandits onto the road, while Mavis, the last guard standing, tends to the wounds of his fellows. I kneel down to check his work, and to make sure the injured men are coming around.
“We are halfway between home and Brevurg, aren’t we?” I ask Roch. The old soldier nods, then he puts down the two captives. I recoil in disgust.
“Three men who are too badly injured to walk, a year’s worth of tribute, two horses, and a mule,” he says grimly. “I as hoping for a bounty on these men.” He shrugs. “Mavis and I will carry the coffers, you lead the mounts. Let’s get the men on them,” he commands.
As strong as Roch is, it is nothing for him to help get the injured men up on the horses. They can ride, but not well, and not if anything spooks the animals, but it’s only a few miles to safety.
—Mechanically, the battle played out alright. Surprisingly, all of the injured militiamen either made three death saves or were successfully treated in time. One bandit got a Nat 20 on a death save, crawled away, and got another nat 20 on stealth. Two of the bandits made three saves, but were then executed. Two others will killed outright in battle, a third was executed by Roch upon falling, the last two simply had bad luck on the saves. Normally, I don’t check on fallen enemies, but for this fight, captives can make a difference—
We are soon in the village of Brevurg. Men and women stop their work to watch our battered procession enter the small village. One of the mailed solders greets us, and seeing our injured men says, “We’ll take care and get them back home.” Roch nods his appreciation, and we head over to the manor house where Squire Lennart should be waiting with Brevurg’s taxes and half a dozen militia and a sergeant to join us on the next leg of the journey!
—Scene change–Something Negative—
As we transfer our wounded into his father’s care, the squire asks about the trouble. We tell him it is inevitable that someone would try to rob us during tithing. He tells me that impatience is our undoing. Best to wait for the royal collectors to come by, but my master, and his father are both far too eager to remain in His Lordship’s good graces to wait. I sigh…he’s right about that!
—UNE for Squire Lenart-support valor, institute harmony, support the law, Sounds like a classic paladin to be!—
“You are wounded,” the Squire notes, “it is unfortunate that you got caught up in the fray. I hope you acquited yourself well as an apprentice battlemage.” He says this with just a hint of sarcasm, for he knows that my master does not train battlemages. In fact, his own sister had sought to study under my master, but was rejected as he prefers to train seekers of knowledge, rather than brides for landed nobles and arcane warriors for the King’s armies. “In any event, we will not be travelling with you. I have persauded my father to wait until the tax collectors come for their due. My men and I will go police the bodies of your bandits, and see if any more lay in wait between our two manors. If you wish to return to High Tower with us, we can escort you there. Otherwise, you are on your own.”
I look at Roch with shocked disappointment. The old soldier scratches the back of his neck. “A knight of fearsome renown, two sergeants and half a dozen men need not fear a gang of robbers in these lands, but an old sergeant and a girl? We are easy pickings for anyone who knows what we carry. And this time of year, who doesn’t?”
—Is there a tavern here? Unlikely-Yes, Generate name Solo Adventurers Toolkit-“The Evil Wizard” excellent quality, neutral service-8 rooms, 4 rumors. Donjon and Chaotic Shiny are also good options for inspiration—
“Let’s get a drink,” Roch suggests, and I follow him to the tavern.
This place always amuses me. it is called, “The Evil Wizard” and the wizard on the plaque outside looks an awful lot like Master Tegast. The building itself is rather impressive, built of stone and heavy timber frames, with actual glass windows and eight private rooms with locking doors! I’m not sure why peopel from Caravos come here so often that such a fine tavern was built, but it is alway a joy to visit, though i’ve only slept here once.
A couple of laborers are playing cards in a corner. Roch and I set at a table, and are brought tankards and a plate of salt pork with beans, bread and some hard cheese. “So, what do you think?” I ask.
—A thought occurred, Roch has a chance here to steal 750 gold crowns with no witnesses if he kills Mendy on the road. There are no guards to join them right now. Nobody expects her to return. He could disappear with two years of wages, and find work elsewhere. Will he take the chance-Unsure-Oracle says Yes! Yikes!—
I notice Roch is unusually quiet. Halfway through the meal, he says, “We’d best get going. We need to get to Caravos by nightfall.”
—His deception roll of 6 was beaten by my insight of 16, Mendy knows something is up, but she’s not quite sure what her “friend” is contemplating—
“Alright,” I say slowly, regarding the sergeant with some trepidation. There is something about his demeanor that has changed, and I’m not quite sure what it means. “I’ll get the horses.”
He loads the coffers back onto the mule and we mount back up to continue our journey.
–Altered Scened-Negative- Well, so much for a reprieve!-Immersion Roll-Speech, UNE Conversation Topic-The Character–
We are on the road towards Karsa, and Rocha tries to get me to talk about myself. His curiosity is unusual. He asks if I’ve ever written to my siblings, or recieve a lette from them since we were separated. He asks what it was like to study magic. I answer his questions. While I am sad to have heard nothing of my kin over the last eight years, it is fun to talk about learning magic and of all the hours I spent in his library after he taught me to read. But something seems…off.
His blade flashes from its sheath, but I’ve already kicked Celeste into motion, sending a spray of innerant darts at the man I had considered a friend. But he is a skilled rider, and races after me, narrowly missing me with his blade as he draws close. His horse is young and strong. Celeste’s finest years are long past, and my days may be numbered as well!
Hurling a bolt of fire at him, I guide Celese down a ravine, but his horse catches up as we try to climb out the other side. I roll to the side in my saddle as I feel cold steel tearing through my sleeve. “Don’t do this!” I cry.
He knocks me from my horse, and leaps down with blood in his eyes. He swings his blade once, twice, three times. I roll this way and that, hurling bolts of flame that do little more than singe his cloak. He then thrusts his blade down, stabbing me in the thigh, and I hurl a bolt of flame right into his face.
He falls on top of me. I roll him to the side, breathing heavily. Shocked and in pain. I look over at the man I once trusted, and his breathing grows shallow…and then stops altogether.
i fold his eyes down. Then gingerly rise to my feet. I tie both of the horses up next to where he lies, wrap up my injured leg, and then limp back up to the road to find the mule.
It is right where we left it, casually nibbling at some wildflowers by the side of the road. I go and retrieve the beast, and lead it to the edge of the ravine where I tie it down to a nearby shrub.
Then I strip Roch of his armor, and throw it into his saddlebacks. Then I lift him up onto his horse. It’s not easy, but as the man is dead, and had tried to murder me, I am not too worried when I drop him twice. I tie his horse to the mule, and guide the mule from mine, conintuing on the road to Karsa.
—Lucky is an amazingly useful feat, it turns out. Alert with the +5 initiative and cannot be surprised is also a lifesaver!—
I arrive in the village of Karsa late in the afternoon. Everyone stops to stare, just as happened at Brevurg. I lead the dead man to the manor house, where the sergeant at arms greets me with alarm. “Bandits? Why is he burnt? What happened to him.”
I glare at the sergeant, “This is Sergeant Roch from White Tower. He was to escort me to Caravos on orders of Master Tegast. See to it that his remains are taken back home to his kin.”
“What happened to him, woman?” the sergeant presses.
My eyes flash with rage, “He betrayed our Master, and died for it!” I shove Roch’s corpse off of his horse. “Send his body back home or throw it in the dung heap for all I care!” I then kick my train of horses forward, with little patience to talk anymore about this. The sergeant stares after me, dumbfounded.
—I rolled, and found that Roch had a wife. Curious as to why he would risk it all to rob and murder me. Rolled a 1 to intimidate the sergeant on leaving, but he rolled a 1 to resist the contested check, and I have a higher charisma, so…no pursuit—
—Scene change, no modification–
I lead my string of mounts through the rest of the day. In the waning light, I see a herd of shaggy looking goats crossing the road up ahead. No dogs, no goatherds. I suspect they are wild. I halt my team, and we wait in the dark. My thigh aches from. My arm hurts. My heart breaks. i just sit, and wait.
After a few minutes, the goats move off, and I continue on the road.
–Scene change, no alteration–
It is dark by the time I reach the north gate of Caravos. Caravos is a massive city, with squat white walls, numerous stone towers, and a web of chains that stretch between the towers. The buildings are made of stone with tile roofs, and heavily armed solders man the walls. Outside the walls is a maze of shanties that look far more decrepit that any impoverished farmstead. As I approach the gates, the watchmen eye me curiously, for a lone traveler at night is a strange sight, especially a woman leading a team of horses.
“Sergeant, I am Mendy of White Tower, bearing tribute from Master Tegast of White Tower. I trust you’ll assign a detachment to escort me to His Majesty’s steward?”
The guard looks at me, the laden mule, and the riderless warhorse, and then back up to me. “Corporal,” he calls to one his men, “take a detachment and escort this lady to the keep.”
The solders then fall in alongside me was the corporal leads the way. The streets bustle with activity, for a city this size never truly sleeps, only its tired, honest workers do!
Arriving at His Majesty’s palace, I am escorted to the Steward’s office. We walk on white marble floos, pass by polished white pillars, there are beautiful tapestries woven of blue velvet, embroidered with gold and silver threads. Guards in blue tunics and slivered mail, servants in crisp white dresses and tunics. And my thigh aches with every step. My torn breaches are stained with blood. The cut in my arm distracts me, the sleeve of my blouse is torn open, the bloody bandage plainly visible. I am filthy from falling in the mud, and I stink of sweat.
Arriving at the Stewards quarters, with my escorts carrying the coffers full of silver and gold coins, the Corporal announces my arrival.
The steward scrunches up his eyes, and regards me with some distaste.
—UNE Motivation Generator: Chronicle ghosts, weaken prosperity, assist allies- The steward iss fascinated by tales of fallen heroes. He is prone to embezzlement, making himself rich by skimming from His Majesty’s taxes, and he looks out for his friends, alowing special exemptions in exchange for personal favors. Pleasant guy, huh?–
The Steward turns his attention away from the the other guests in his office, visiting dignitaries, and a handful of clerks. “Tribute from White Tower? Could this not have waited until morning?” he says, visibly disgusted by my hagard appearance. “Or aat least until you’ve had a bath and a change of clothes.”
I bow my head, “Please forgive my trespass, Milord,” I plead,”my escorts were slain, and i did not want to trust the locks of an unfamilar inn without guards of my own. With your permission, I could sit with one of your clerks while they count out our tributes and provide my master a letter confirming receipt of his tribute. Then I will be on my way.”
The steward considers for a moment, and then waves me off, “Very well.”
The escorts leave, and a short time later, I have a letter verifying our taxes have been paid, sealed by the High Steward. Leaving the palace, I walk across the main square to the “Eyes of the King Inn.”
—New scene, no alteration—
I arrive at the Inn, tired, sore, and hungry. The smell of roast pheasant washes over me, setting my stoomach growling. My horses already in the stables, I carry my saddlebags straight to a table, and collapse into a chair. There are few patrons present. It seems they must all be at the palace, for there was some sort of party underway, which is why the Steward was frustrated by my arrival. A tavern girl brings me a plate and cup, and I am soon savoring the sweetest fowl I’ve ever eaten. Glad to be alive. When she comes by to refill my cup, I tell her I’ll need lodging. She apologizes profusely, and says they have no rooms to let tonight. I look around, “Then where are your guests? How did you have room for two horses in the stables.” The girl shrugs her shoulders.
Suddenly, I lose interest in my meal. I don’t want to walk around an unfamiliar city at night.
“Is there nothing that can be done?” I ask the inkeeper. He regards me with some distaste and suggests that perhaps “The Filthy Sabre” would have some lodging for a woman like me. I ask if there is anyone who can show me the way, but he shakes his head explaining that his clients do not visit that part of town. I roll my eyes and sigh. “”Down the street four blocks, then six more to the left? Thanks!” I say, leaving the coin for my meal on the table.
My boots echo on the deserted cobblestone streets my string of horses behind me. I see a cat hunting for its dinner, and I hear a couple arguing from inside one of the townhomes I walk past. I sing a song from my childhood to keep myself company:
“The one with a pearl can rule the whole world if the pearl of wisdom is his,
But even a fool can live like a king with a pearl as big as his fist.”
The Filthy Sabre is nearly empty, and they eagerly take my animals, give me a room, and draw me a hot bath. The servants fall over themselves in their eagerness to please. Soon, after cleaning the cuts to my arm and leg, the aches and pains of the day seem to fade away. The bed is soft and warm, and I sleep deeply. Memories of betrayal are washed away by exhaustion.
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