[Game Thread] Prologue - A new journey

[Rohor]

Brevoy is a proud land known for its able warriors, regal nobles and clever rogues, yet its two regions, Issia and Rostland have long held each other in contempt and are now on the brink of civil war. Until recently, House Rogarvia maintained a fragile peace between these two regions. A decade ago, House Rogarvia mysteriously disappeared and the opportunistic leaders of Issia's House Surtova supplanted them as Brevoy's rulers. The result of House Surtova's takeover is a complex political landscape full of secret alliances, provincial loyalties, and nefarious plots; civil war seems inevitable.

In Rostland to the south, the Swordlords see many of Issia's political moves as the swift approach of a civil war, and rightly so. Rostland is much smaller than Issia, it has fewer armies and the rolling hills and grasslands offer very little in the way of natural defences. Issia's northern border stretches along the Lake of Mists and Veils, providing it with some defence, whilst Rostland's southern border stretches into a wilderness infested with bandits and monsters. If Brevoy falls into a civil war, it is certain that the bandits and monsters will use that opportunity to move into Rostland.

The wilderness south of Rostland is called the Stolen Lands, named so because it has been stolen by bandits and monsters. Many attempts have been made to settle in the Stolen Lands but to date, none have succeeded. As tensions continue to rise in Brevoy, some of Rostland's Swordlords hope to change this fact. On the 20th day of Calistril 4710 AR, the Swordlords of Restov advertised four sets of charters against the Stolen Lands. Each of the charters seemed simple enough: Re-open old trade routes along the rivers and scatter or defeat the bandits who have made these trade routes too dangerous to use. Numerous adventurers quickly heeded the call and travelled to Restov to sign up for the charter, with interviews conducted to determine each adventurer's suitability. Four days later, it was decided that six adventurers be assigned the Greenbelt Region.

The six adventurers now stand with the Lord Mayor Ioseph Sellemius in his office at the town hall. A single window provides light into the otherwise dull looking office, overlooking the southern side of Restov. A number of items cover the shelves of the office - dusty books covering various topics including leadership and Brevoy's history, a puzzle box and a compass amongst other quirky items. Sitting on the mayor's desk is a silver tray and on it, a bottle of wine, seven empty glasses and six envelopes.

The mayor Ioseph Sellemius, a somewhat round man with ash brown hair and hazel eyes is wearing a noble's outfit. His face is full of joy and excitement as he looks at them.

"Welcome to my office. Allow me to be the first to congratulate each of you on this once in a lifetime opportunity. Before we get down to business though, perhaps a drink to settle down? A chance for the six of you to get to know each other? After all, you will be together for a very long time."

The mayor opens a drawer and fumbles around a bit, picking up a bottle opener. With some effort, the bottle opens with a small pop. A dark red liquid falls into the glasses as the mayor pours the wine.

"Hope you don't mind Corentyn wine. It has a nice, sweet-tart flavour to it. One of my absolute favourites."

Once the mayor finishes pouring he grabs a glass filled with the red liquid and swirls the glass around before taking a sip from it. His face immediately relaxes and a small sigh escapes his mouth. He then gestures towards the remaining glasses sitting on the silver tray.

"Come on now, don't be shy. There's plenty to go around. So, who wants to introduce themselves first?"

OOC Yay, let's get this underway! The basics - each of you, for your own purposes have signed up but the Swordlords won't just allow anyone to sign up. They conducted a series of interviews to determine the suitability of each applicant and decided that the six of you are the most appropriate to undertake the Greenbelt Charter. As a result of this, you were asked to meet up with the Lord Mayor Ioseph Sellemius in his office on the 24th day of Calistril to receive the charter and to have the opportunity to meet your fellow applicants who will join you in undertaking this task. It is assumed that you did not carry any weapons of sorts on the way to his office. If you normally carry weapons, they would've been confiscated on the way in and you would be met with extreme suspicion if you attempted to conceal your weapons, although it is expected you have no reason to do this in the first place.

[VaerSheth]

Brune shifts uncomfortably from one booted foot to the other. He rubs his sweaty palms on the sootstained flaps of his heavy leather smock. After a moment, he reaches out with his left hand to pick up one of the wine glasses. He stares at it with a furrowed brow for a moment, and then raises the glass carefully to his lips. As he raises the glass, he watches the mayor, mirroring Sellemius's action precisely. Brune takes a precise sip of the wine, and definitely does not relax after having done so. He does speak.

The name's Brune. As you can no doubt see, I am a dwarf. I am also a true Healer and a smith. Oh, and if you have something to say about my beard, you'd best get it over with.

Brune's beard juts out from the right side of his face in three red-brown spikes. Rather than braiding the mess, he appears to have oiled it. On top of his head, his thick hair flows down to the middle of his back in a tangled wave that has clearly not seen a wash in several weeks, if not several months. The left side of his beard is missing. In its place sits a broad burn scar which covers the entirety of Brune's left cheek and a good portion of his chin and neck. Tufts of hair sprout on that side down near his collar line, but they do not appear to have met with much success.

Overall, Brune stands 3'11". He is thickset and sunburned, to the extent that he appears to be almost wider than he is tall. His bare arms shine; they are hairless and burned to a brick red. The portions of his face that are not covered in hair or scars are baked to a similar color. His eyes are black and small. Brune currently wears a simple brown sleeveless tunic and similarly brown trousers. Both are stained with mud. Over these, he wears a sooty leather smock. This smock, although obviously designed for a smithy, appears to have been reinforced and extended to serve as armor as well. Plates of leather have been added recently to the sides and back which are clearly designed to be unbuckled and removed again when smithing time comes. Beyond this, Brune carries wears two items of note. A bronze token depicting a stylized warhammer hangs on a leather thong around his neck. On his right arm, a clean white linen kerchief displays the same warhammer in golden thread, with a shield depicted behind it in the same color.

OOC Most of Brune's gear was left with the door guard.

[Finder of Paths]

Satinder greets the guards at the door with a beaming smile, and unbuckles his sword belt and hands it over before they can open their mouths to speak. More carefully he pulls a longbow from his back, wrapped in an oilskin for protection from the rain. "Can you make sure this one is under cover? I've just had her restringed." Though Satinder's clothes seem high class and there's a haughty air about him, there isn't but the slightest touch of noble condescension in his voice, and the few silver coins laid atop the bow should help see his request fulfilled. Not waiting to see if his bow is stored as asked (that would be rude), Satinder enters the mayor's office, leaving his cloak hanging by the door.

Now bereft of cloak, you can now get a proper look at the man. It's instantly clear that he's a half-elf, standing slightly taller than the average human with a lithe grace, and of course the slightly pointed ears. Accentuating his elvish facial structure is a pair of olive green eyes and sandy blonde hair, falling to the base of his neck in straight locks. To complete the look is a well tailored tunic and breeches of deep blue, plus a hat of the same colour, a large red feather stuck into it. As he walks to the table, and offers his hand to both Ioseph and Brune there's the slightest clinking sound that might indicate something under the tunic, but it's impossible to tell unless he removed his tunic.

After introducing himself as "Satinder Medvyed, Chronicler.", he takes a glass from the table and thanks Ioseph, complimenting him on his choice of wine. "Good wine for an important meeting, light enough to be able to enjoy and take the edge off any discomfort or hostility." Enjoying the slightly fruity smell, Satinder takes a decent sip, savouring the sweet-tart flavour. It's clear the half-elf is no stranger to the finer things in life, and you can't help but wonder if he's really suited for taming the Stolen Lands.

[LupusRegalis]

With an aggressive, martial and slight bow-legged gait Kostas approaches those responsible for guarding the Lord Mayor. As he nears he observes a tall, lanky man of colorful disposition hand over his weapons and hang a cloak before entering. With a scowl on his face, Kostas stops before the guardsmen and gives them a once over, left hand lightly resting on his curved saber and right with thumb tucked into the wide belt holding it and his long, curved dagger in place. He silently undoes the simple steel buckle and carefully wraps the belt around the weapons. He hands them to the guards, and with an accented and emphatic "You, you will not misplace these." he nods once and steps past to enter.

His dark blue hooded robe billows as he smartly moves on, showing glimpses of the black surcoat and scaled armor beneath. Kostas is not a short man, and his long frame is well-muscled in the way of a plains-lion, all lean grace ready to launch itself at need. He snaps his arms out to slide the sleeves back, and raises his hands to adjust his long braid and the tooled leather circlet upon his brow.

Kostas eyes those inside the Lord Mayor's office, trying to gauge each man's value and what skills they brought to the mission. He bows with, rough, grace to Mayor Sellimius and nods to each present to acknowledge their presence. Whatever their skills, he knows the Lord Mayor had been exhaustive in judging who would win the charter. He accepts a glass of wine with a rumbled "Gratitude, my Lord Mayor", throwing the wine back with a fast gesture before setting the glass back upon the silver tray. He listens carefully to the first two members of his new group. He is pleasantly surprised to find a Healer and follower of Torag among the group, and gives the dwarf a bow of respect as well. He is less pleased to find a ... clerk, this Chronicler, would be accompanying them but assumed he must have other skills of value as well. Time would tell. The man was due respect as a Nobleman in his own right though, and Kostas bowed slightly to the Medvyed as well.

He steps forward next and introduces himself in his accented common. "Kostas Achtzavar, I. Hussar, how you say Cavalier, Knight-Errant of the Order of the Lion. Varisian by birth, though much of Brevoy have I traveled." He turns so he can address the dwarf Brune, and says "Though all natural gods I do honor, Mighty Torag, he is my Patron." He bows to the Lord Mayor once more and steps back to observe in dark silence.

[Ryoga]

Harken looks down at the man attempting to relieve him of his weapons. He looked down not because the man was small, no, he was quite average, it's just that Harken himself was quite a large young lad. He kept his stare locked on the man, he seemed to have quite the cool composure, as he barely flinched. Harken simply smiled and nodded to the man, handing over his smaller weapons before asking where to place the axe, as he was certain the man would struggle with it had he attempted to heft it to any height above waist-level.

After being allowed in he looked at the crew assembled, and the mayor. The mayor was not a man of power or strength. He'd come to find that out in his time in the cities that the most clever and under-handed would win the position over the strong and courageous. It was not something he agreed with, but was forced to respect. It was these small men that had freed him from his chains of imprisonment. As the mayor offered a nobles drink in dainty glasses Harken smiled once more, he had not seem something so...'cute' in some time. He poured the entirety of the drink in his gullet and downed it in one shot before placing the glass back down. Some had already gotten around to introducing himself, and he took his time to listen, they could be potential allies, or even a hindrance if he wasn't careful.

As the first introduced himself, A dwarf known as Brune, he nodded, listening to the mans short introduction, and taking note of the wounds and scars he'd recieved. 'He is one to depend on, rough, reliable...' Though they were first impressions, with Harken, they were hard to break once set.

The second, Satinder, was a man of words. Words were important, even for one so rough as Harken. Another he could respect for his knowledge, though he already wasn't too sure of how he'd be fighting against the likes of himself. He'd been a brigand for some time, and he'd seen all too many scholars flail and rave at the sight of a brigand, intent on killing him, or taking his possessions. Harken would be sure to keep an eye on him the first time they came to blows with any ill-natured types.

Harken immediately disliked the third. flashy, dark, brooding it seemed. As if he was too good to be there, his current situation a mere speed-bump. He didn't make any comments during his long-winded introduction, but made note to watch his possessions, and back while the man was on the battlefield.

As a slight silence fell over the room, Harken took this as his time to introduce himself. The large man that was easily over six feet tall stepped forward, his garbs almost telling his story for him. He was dressed in a mixture of furs on his upper-half, and cloth leggings, supplemented with a fur belt on his lower-half. His long, dark black hair was pulled back into a pony-tail, and his skin had a slight green hue to it. If anyone looked close enough while he was talking, they would also see slight fangs, and an underbite. He certainly looked the part of the 'Barbarian'.

'I am Harken Ragtusk. Former Boar-Tusk member. We were a sizable group of brigands, terrorizing travelers and the like....' He laughed one heavy grunt-like laugh and crossed his arms. 'I am originally of the Swift Panther tribe in the River-Kinhdoms, they have since been exterminated, much like my brothers in the Boar-Tusk.' his expression goes dark for a moment before softening. 'I am here simply because I do not wish to be in the filthy dungeons your like call 'humane imprisonment'. I know the 'Stolen Lands' as you call them well, I grew up on the northwest lands, so I can only assume that's why one so rough as myself has been allowed in such company..'

[VaerSheth]

Listening to Harken's little speech, Brune's mouth twitches between a smile and a scowl. He eventually settles the internal argument by downing the rest of his wine and replacing the glass onto the silver tray. His hands shake, ever so slightly. He turns first to respond to Kostas.

I do not know what a Hussar is, but I trust you will act with honor in the name of the Father.

He pauses, scowling slightly at no one in particular.

For that matter, I trust that all of you will act with honor. You can do that in the name of whatever gods you please. Now, does anyone know what the road south is like?

Brune raises both of his bushy, singed eyebrows and glances around, looking for a response from anyone, although his gaze lingers on Harken and the mayor. As he does so, he raises his (now empty) hand to rub the bare side of his cheek.

Ah, Satinder. Chronicler. I must speak to you later about the name-book.

OOC The name-book in question is a village tradition of writing down the names and birth-days of children. If I run afoul of any established Golarion customs, please let me know.

[moggthegob]

Alistair is sitting around the back of the room visibly bored as the others finish their introduction. His fine silken cape is wrapped around his finely pedicured and pruned body.

He gives a loud yawn. The young man carries himself with prudly carrying visual arrogance. He gives a quick deep bow And I am, of course, Alistair Lebeda of the fine Lebeda family and master of a powerful destiny which has brought me to your presence and into these wilds where I will become king. My family motto is: "Success Through Grace." So I can assure all of you that under my guidance and leadership we will of course not only be successful, but wildly so. He picks up his glass and takes a sip.

Utter rubbish. Anyhow, I look forward to having all of you to serve with, it sounds as though you all possess a variety of skills that can be wielded to a magnanimous effect.

[arguilios]

“Call me Rogan,” a lanky, clean-shaven man of Taldan descent takes a deliberate step from the wall, accepting the Lord Mayor’s invitation to wine with a curt nod and brooding gaze. The deeply tanned woodsman half-raises the glass and turns his dark eye to address the assembled group. “Ranger, bowman/fletcher, woodland guide, hunter and killer of brigands….” He pauses to regard the half-orc impassively before continuing; “I’ve lived among the green shadows – dealing death where I could to the lawless men who’ve taken the land for their own. If you’re determined to hunt predators in their dens, I’ll lead you there, stand by your cause, cover your back.” He touches the cool liquid to his lips but sets it aside and returns to his otherwise silent vigil at one side of the chamber.

In a forested setting, the baleful man would blend into the scenery like reeds among rushes. The mottled green great-cloak pulled back as he stands among civilized men, his armor can be seen to be all light riveted leather, tethered chain, and bone – oiled and waxed for waterproofing and silence. Even without the dark bow and scimitar he left at the door or the uneasy menace of his social customs among civilized men, you might've known him for a ranger by reputation of the group. He seems to fit one's expectation of the type.

[Finder of Paths]

Satinder takes a liking to Brune, though he frowns in confusion at the term 'Name Book'. "I'm afraid that is not my area of expertise. My skill and passion is in the chronicling of worthy events, battles, adventures and the odd royal wedding for a bit of coin." Spreading his hands to encompass everyone within the office he continues speaking, an excited tone creeping into his voice. "I'm hoping that the work we are about to undertake will be my life's masterpiece. The taming of the Stolen Lands at the hands of a small band, what could be more thrilling and glorious?"

Similarly, Kostas Achtzavar scores a high ranking in Satinder's mind. He simply must remember to ask the knight about his order when they have the chance, it would make an excellent introduction to his character, about what drives him forwards through the harsh terrain. Harken seems a tough sort, the type you need in the Stolen Lands, and though it seems he may not quite know what a bath is, Satinder hopes to find him agreeable...if perhaps prone to social faux pas. Rogan occupied the same boat, intriguing Satinder, a mysterious man of the wilds...ah yes, the chronicles of their adventure should be great indeed!

Alistair on the other hand, immediately rubs him the wrong way. Of noble birth himself, Satinder could partially understand the disdain for the common man, but more so in the lack of cleaning, teeth and rougher speech. Not because they weren't born into luxury, how is that their fault? The half-elf expected trouble between the Lebeda nobleman and the other members of the group, thinking it likely he would have to act as a mediator between them more than once. Though how Alistair would take to Satinder he couldn't guess, the Lebedas always were a haughty bunch. Taking another sip of wine and again enjoying the texture and flavour, he flashes a sympathetic smile to Ioseph for Alistair's rude comment.

[moggthegob]

Alistair lets out a slight grin at the mention of the adventure of this undertaking. Oh I agree my young Medvyed. There is romance in the air, almost as though a new chapter in history is waiting to be written and those characters playing the starring roles are all sitting around enjoying wine with the Lord Mayor, before beginning their climb to eclipse even him.

Alistair flashes a smile RoganAnd you my good boy, you are the one I will rely on most in these coming days. A master of the wilds is sure to be a much more valuable addition to this team than any other I could possibly imagine. I imagine the history books will be very kind to you my friend and as you will find anything associated with the great Lebeda family makes it into those books one way or the other.. so it is up to you how your name will be remembered, yes.

[Rohor]

The mayor's expression changes from excitement to seriousness as the conversation between the group escalates. The tone of his voice suddenly becomes stern and one of slight frustration, as though a parent was telling their child off.

"Alright, there's no need to continue the snide remarks. Each of you have been chosen for a reason, but can be easily replaced if necessary."

His eyes briefly settled on each adventurer, but particularly focused on Alistair for some time. Setting his glass of wine on the desk, he picks up the envelopes and hands one to each of the adventurers. The tone of his voice remains unchanged.

"We might as well get on to business. In the envelope is the charter explaining your duty in the Greenbelt region. Quite self-explanatory. Read through it carefully. If you have any questions, now would be the time to ask."

OOC When each of you open your envelope, you receive the following charter below: Be it so known that the bearer of this charter has been charged by the Swordlords of Restov, acting upon the greater good and authority vested within them by the office of the Regent of the Dragonscale Throne, has granted the right of exploration and travel within the wilderness region known as the Greenbelt. Exploration should be limited to an area no further than thirty-six miles east and west and sixty miles south of Oleg's Trading Post. The carrier of this charter should also strive against banditry and other unlawful behaviour to be encountered. The punishment for unrepentant banditry remains, as always, execution by sword or rope. So witnessed on this 24th day of Calistril, under watchful eye of the Lordship of Restov and authority granted by Lord Noleski Surtova, current Regent of the Dragonscale Throne.

[LupusRegalis]

"kampó Issian" Kostas mutters under his breath. The Medvyed, him at least shows respect. Even the tall barbár does no insulting, yet. He accepts the envelope and carefully opens it to reveal the Charter within. He reads it with intensity and quickly finishes the rather short document, giving a grunt at its contents. With deliberate care he places the Charter back within the envelope, and sets this inside his belt pouch.

"The Charter, my Lord, it is not much. Rights to Travel and Explore, and administer the King's Justice. Any caravanserai might claim the same! What of settlement and land-rights? There will come a point when we must raise armed men, as well. I do not wish to be seen as a rossz bandita, myself."

[arguilios]

"A grant of rights to lands already beyond their authority to administer?" the tanned human ranger murmurs curiosity from his side of the room. "The sage swordlords aren't going to put their fingers in that pie for you. You'll seize it for yourself if at all. This charter's a commission to deploy arms by right of self-defense -- not any grant of regency by claim of suzerainty."

Rogan stands silent, arms crossed and watchful, waiting to see whether or not the Lord Mayor contradicts his observation.

"What?" the ranger bristles at a quizzical look with which the half-elf appears to be studying him. "I read a book once; don't read too much into it."

"We're not going to be laughing about historical coats-of-arms by campfire light," he grumbles into his cloak.

[LupusRegalis]

"They are called the Stolen lands, yes? That would imply a claim of authority." Kostas responds, but he shrugs and concedes the point with a nod to Rogan. "Say I wished the weight of words at my back. Such things aid the sword-arm and silver-tongue, alike."

[moggthegob]

Alistair reads it carefully So we are responsible for killing as many bandits as we can...this is the mandate here?