prologue

[Distorted Humor]

Each of you, Coenbeorht Kneecapper, Husker Wilkenburg , Felgorian Belrain, Beya "the Blade", Michael Alenson, and Sjorvuld Ernhinsait had lead mostly normal lives, heading off for adventure in your own places. Then in the night they came, entering the Inns you where located in, holding you down, bag over your heads, long rides on a horse, blind to the world around you. When the bags where removed, you found yourself in a dark imperial prison, stripped of your goods, and no idea what caused your arrest.

The day is hot and muggy, and the night cold, eating the thin gruel that they called oatmeal and hearing the laughter of the goalers who held you. Kneecapper was there for 12 days, Wikenburg and Beya for six days, And the rest for three days when in the morning the guards came again, manhandling you and hooding you. Marching you out, all of you find yourselves together for the first time, breathing in fresh air. You enjoy the fresh air for a few moments, and then the hoods are removed, and you see the gallows in front of you.

"A odd group for a hanging, funny enough they don't list your crimes, but no matter, you will each be dead before noon. Anyone want a priest to bless your souls?" the toothless hangman smiles at his charges. He makes a joke about measuring Kneecapper for a noose, letting him know that he has a few nooses "little person sized", when you see a Captain of the Guard arrives.

"Good, now our Imperial witness in here, so we can get our work finished." The hangman grins.

The Captain looks at the hangman with distaste, "Beylor, sorry to disappoint you, these five are coming with me, they shall not be harmed by the likes of you."

You are then marched to the gatehouse, when you see your supplies, armor, weapons, spell books, all neatly organized. The Empire might be many things, and have many failings, but it always organized. The Captain orders your bindings to be cut, and makes sure each of you get your items back.

"My Name is Rollo Cena, I am a captain of the 21st Legion, First on behalf of the Imperial government, sorry for the misunderstanding. I hope this makes up for the small inconvenience that you had." as he tosses a coin purse to each of you. "I hope none of you have too many flea bites from the cells. Now here is a sealed letter, for each of you, don't be going breaking that wax seal. Present that letter to a Master of Arms of any city garrison or legion, and they might find you some work, or at least point you to the way. Now, there is a old Master of Arms by the name of Nailor Gladiolus in the town of Arnhaven which is two weeks ride from here that would love to hear from you in time. No rush, as he very willing to wait, but he can always find work for a odd assortment like yourselves. " He laughs "And what a odd sight you five make." He holds out his hand to the town "For those who don't know where you at, this is the town of Ashecroft, A little over a month ride north of the Imperial city. Small enough, but it has a Legion post, a inn, and your usual craftsmen. Remember, do not break those wax seals." Rollo gives a curt nod, and walks away.


In each of the pouches is 10gp.

[Jester]

Sjorvuld has many marks and bruises from trying to escape, and the straps that had been binding his hands have left distinctly red marks on his wrists. All though the exchange with the hangman he glared with contempt and hatred at the imperials but never made a sound, he wouldn't give them the satisfaction. It was clear that he had no fear of dying but was not pleased not having a change to take at least a few of the enemy with him.

After being taken away by Imperial Captain Cena the bewilderment on his face was clear to anyone looking his direction. The idea of not being put to death clearly leaving the intimidating Wilder-man utterly baffled. Still he says nothing and quickly puts his weapons away after testing each in turn, dagger, sword, club, and finally short bow. It's clear that Sjorvuld is proficient with each and they all show signs of being used, and maintained.

After strapping on his mismatched armor he finally speaks, "So, are our fates bound together in some way? Have the Spirits spared us as a way of making their will known?" Looking to Michael Alenson and pointing, "You there, you are a servant of the gods what say you? Is this a sign?" His superstitious mind looking for any reason he is not dead for his crimes against the Empire.

He quickly looks around to the other ex-prisioners in turn to get their reactions too.

[Delazar]

Sorry for the misunderstanding, Felgorian thinks, looking at the little pouch with the 10 gold pieces. He tries to keep his composure, to not show frailty to these humans, but he barely succeeds.

Only a few weeks in human lands, and he had been arrested, stripped of his belongings, and brought to the gallows. He had thougth he would die! And now they tell him it was all a misunderstanding.

He thinks he has made a mistake to leave his father's household, but then his pride has the best of him. I will not run back crying little a little boy.

He forces a smile, barely catching the words of the tall warrior, so lost in his thoughts.

Even though he hadn't been adressed directly, he says "You may be right, good sir." He didn't hesitate when he called the human sir, even though it was obvious he was a wildling. Etiquette was just too ingrained in his mind.

"It may have been Fate that has spared our lives. I guess we should all make the best of it." Then he made a little bow, as his manners kicked in and replaced his previous distress. "I'm Felgorian, it is an honor to meet all of you".

[Diamond_Spear]

Sjorvuld has many marks and bruises from trying to escape, and the straps that had been binding his hands have left distinctly red marks on his wrists. All though the exchange with the hangman he glared with contempt and hatred at the imperials but never made a sound, he wouldn't give them the satisfaction. It was clear that he had no fear of dying but was not pleased not having a change to take at least a few of the enemy with him.

After being taken away by Imperial Captain Cena the bewilderment on his face was clear to anyone looking his direction. The idea of not being put to death clearly leaving the intimidating Wilder-man utterly baffled. Still he says nothing and quickly puts his weapons away after testing each in turn, dagger, sword, club, and finally short bow. It's clear that Sjorvuld is proficient with each and they all show signs of being used, and maintained.

After strapping on his mismatched armor he finally speaks, "So, are our fates bound together in some way? Have the Spirits spared us as a way of making their will known?" Looking to Michael Alenson and pointing, "You there, you are a servant of the gods what say you? Is this a sign?" His superstitious mind looking for any reason he is not dead for his crimes against the Empire.

He quickly looks around to the other ex-prisioners in turn to get their reactions too.

“A sign? Believe it,” Michael, replies. “I did pray for the deliverance of us all and we were delivered. Tell me, are you a follower of the Seven? If not you should seriously consider converting as they have saved you. They may not be so generous to an unbeliever in the future.”

[Vargr1105]

The halfling, Coenbeorht, has been silently retrieving his meager equipment: two axes, a small chainmail vest and a shield; cursing lowly in some obscure dialect as he does so. He fumes when he sees the 10 gold coins on the pouch given to him, not even a gold crown per day of his imprisionment.

The comment of the priest finally makes him address the group:

"We were delivered, if you call it that, by the same force that had us imprisioned: human whim. I try to stay out of the Gods' attentions and don't thread under their shadows if it helps keeping it away. Only for uncaring Vash I sometimes spare a prayer, because it is unfit any man under the sky be fully godless."

"I am Coenbeorht, called "Kneecapper" by my tribe, the Keltabrii who dwell near Feras in the far north." he finishes donning his armor and picks up the sealed message, "The ill-disguised attempt at recruiting us after such degradation in the dungeon makes me wish to deliver this..." Coenbeorht hold the scroll up, "into a certain orifice of the one that delivered it to us."

He pauses..

"But, I will go to meet the Master of Arms, if only because I am destitute and in need of coin to make the trip of return to the north."

[Delazar]

What a unusual halfling, Felgorian thought. He had met a few before, but they usually were jovial and smiling, tilling their fields, or stuffing their bellies.

This one looked like a wildling, and his tone was grim and cinic. Yet, he seemed to have the right of it. What others calle Fate, very often was nothing more than chance, or someone else's whim.

"It isn't a bad idea" Felgorian exclaimed "we should probably all go. Certainly, we will have more chances to survive whatever is ahead of us if we stick together"

He hoped he had sounded convincing enough, but deep inside himself he knew why he wanted this. This was the beginning, this was probably the same situation his father had been in when his own legend started. This was were heroes found each other, and forged a bond that would be sung for time immemorial.

Afraid he had been lost in his thoughts too long, he composed himself, and awaited the others' reactions.

[JobaTett]

Husker picks up and fashions his equipment and supplies. GOLD! It's been so long, my friend. Husker stares to the coins for a second before turning his attention to the others. "Gods? 'Twas probably my charm that got us out. But I'll help deliver this letter."

[Diamond_Spear]

Taking up his equipment Michael sighs and follows the others towards the master of arms. They might be an irreverent lot but so be it, it just meant there was an opportunity for conversion that wouldn’t be present if they were already believers.

[Jester]

Sjorvuld gives a quick look at the Elf addressing him with a kind of start. Having never just talked with one of his kind, it seems very odd and his eyes show his bewilderment. "Um, right?" He says quickly.

Then he turns to look at Michael with a doubtful air and says, "The seven do not exist, there are only the Spirits and they don't interfere in the lives of men. They only want, what they want, and if we are chosen then it is only so long as we do their will, after that they will look away from us." Once again looking over his former prison mates, he thinks, what a thrice damned strange sight we make, the ancestors must be having a good laugh at this.

Taking a deep breath, Sjorvuld addresses the Halfling (and to a lesser extent the rest of the group) introduces himself, "I am called Sjorvuld Erhinsait from the north reaches of Tal Amar. My people are the Wyldling Clans of which I'm sure you know something about." Looking pointedly at the Elf to see his reaction, and then turning back to the Halfling. "Well met Kneecapper, small warrior if our fates are intertwined so be it."

Squinting as he starts out the door, into the too bright sunshine, after being in a dank prison, he asks, "Are we all of one mind about seeing this imperial man with arms?" As he holds up the Sealed letter to emphasize his point. As the group is making its way through the area outside the prison Sjorvuld calls out to by passers. "Hey, You there, what city is this? Where are we?" As he tries to determine just where the hell he is compared to where he was before being captured.

[Distorted Humor]

The passerby goes "The town is Ashecroft" and seeing a few puzzled faces "One month ride to the Imperial City and two months to Aeroch Nor"

[Vargr1105]

Coenbeorht stops and addresses the rest of the party, an important factor has just crossed his mind.

"That Master of Arms that was mentioned...Nails or something. The town of Arnhaven where he lives is said to be a two weeks' ride away. Any ideas on how to undertake such a journey with only two handfuls of gold each? We cannot even buy mules with pittances such as we have...not to mention supplies for that long on the road."

[Delazar]

"I am called Sjorvuld Erhinsait from the north reaches of Tal Amar. My people are the Wyldling Clans of which I'm sure you know something about." Looking pointedly at the Elf to see his reaction, and then turning back to the Halfling.

Yes, he had heard of the Clans. Of their savagery, of their pillaging. He had never been allowed to join the elven warbands, but he had seen the wounded and the dead coming back, he had stood by his father's side as he embraced widows and orphans.

He supposed he should hate this man, for the sins of his clan, maybe his own sins. But he decided then and there to keep and open mind, and judge a man by the acts he witnessed, not by those recounted.

"Yes, I've heard of them" he said, "fierce people, one and all. Hopefully you shall live up to their fame".

He then turned to the halfling "Two weeks is not such a long trek, and surely with what little gold we have, we can buy some rations. Maybe not the durable type, but I'm pretty sure an halfling knows how to cook a good meal" He stopped.

This was not one of those peaceful, jovial halfling he had met in his life. This was a wildling, who apparently followed some feral god. He had been led astray by his preconceptions. He needed to be more careful. "Or we could always hunt on the way..."

[JobaTett]

Coenbeorht stops and addresses the rest of the party, an important factor has just crossed his mind.

"That Master of Arms that was mentioned...Nails or something. The town of Arnhaven where he lives is said to be a two weeks' ride away. Any ideas on how to undertake such a journey with only two handfuls of gold each? We cannot even buy mules with pittances such as we have...not to mention supplies for that long on the road."

I just so happen to have a Mule, but that brings another problem, I've but one Mule and more people. How would we go about this?

[Diamond_Spear]

“Our lives were not meant to be always convenient,” Michael says. “If we have no mounts and no way of acquiring them then we must walk.”

[max_vale]

Beya was NOT having a good day. So far; this "adventure" had led to spending some time in jail as a case of 'mistaken identity' and now she was thrown into a group composed of what appeared to be a tall remorseless killer; a halfling remorseless killer; a Cleric; an Elf and what looked like a possible pick pocket. Beya considered them all for a long moment and a thought suddenly hit her...

Well....it's not a tavern; but this certainly seems to be VERY much like many of the tales of Adventurers I've read or heard the Bards sing stories of....

Brightening at the prospect of being a member of a party of adventurers; Beya made sure her Spellbook and other supplies were all in her backpack and slung it over her shoulder. Adjusting her Bandolieer of throwing daggers; she also quickly checked to make sure that her boot daggers were both still there and her silver dagger was on her hip.

Smiling to the men all around her; Beya spoke up in a bright voice; "Greetings! I am Beya of Falcon Bay; frequently called 'the Blade' due to my love of throwing daggers. I am an aspiring mage and while this was CERTAINLY NOT the way I envisoned it begining; I WAS hoping to go on an adventure with some capable companions. You all certainly seem capable and I'm happy to set off to see this Arms Master with those of you willing to go."

Turning to the Cleric and the Warrior; Beya speaks up in a neutral tone; "I wouldn't pretend to know anything about the various Gods' intentions or capabilities; but in Falcon Bay I have seen Clerics heal horrible wounds and perform similiar miraculous events. Perhaps we should all respect each others' beliefs?"

Turning back to the group at large when the issue of money and travelling comes up; "I have a small amount of coin in addition to these I was just given. Perhaps we can utilize it to help us on our way? I also suggest asking around to see if there's a route that takes us past known towns or hamlets with inns and such."

[Jester]

As the group continues to walk and talk down the city street Sjorvuld continues to look around at the buildings around him. It's clear that this city, any city really, is something unusual to him. His attention is drawn back to the group by the fierce Halfling warrior quick speech and unintentionally he meets eyes with the Elf. Sjorvuld's eyes are that of a young boy full of naivety and wonder. Where he should see fear and hatred from the elf he sees only a weighting and measuring look. Where he was expecting violence there is only the acceptance. "Fear not Elf," because he has no other name to call him, "the spirits look on, and while they do not care about my life they will take an account of how I die. When that day comes they will whisper my deeds to the ancestors. I will not shame myself in their sight." His fear and reverence of the supernatural is plainly visible on his face for anyone to read. He quickly schools his face back into the hardened mask of a warrior however the play of emotions gone as quickly as a summer snow in the mountains.

Turning his attention to and addressing Coenbeorht, "Riding is something I know very little about. There are few ponies where I'm from and most are used on farms. However I've seen something called a cart that one can hitch a pony to and they can pull things. If we had such a cart we could put heavy things and food into it and then walk from here to this Arnhaven, yes?"

While trying to think about how much food they are going to need to hunt along the way and idea occurs to him. He quickly turns to address the short hooded man walking with them, "Do you have enough to get a cart here? If you not I can give some of this coin to help. We will also need food and water for this trip because the hunting will be poor. The Imperials have a tendency to hunt everything into scarcity, at least they do when they are in my lands, and since this is the very seat of imperial power I'm sure that there is little food to be had between here and Arnshaven."

As the dark skinned Beya begins talking Sjorvuld just stares with open admiration and wonderment at such a lovely sight. It is again clear that he is a young 18 year old confronted with a beauty that is both exotic and breathtaking. He says nothing while she speaks but watches her intently. HIs hand moves almost on its own to touch her skin, wondering what it would feel like. It is clear that Sjorvuld has never seen a woman of color before and his curiosity is piqued to say the least. He quickly realizes his hand and jerks it back before touching her, almost as if he had been burnt and looks abashed at having made his intentions so clear.

[max_vale]

Beya caught the young warrior admiring her and smiled at him; though only in a friendly way as she didn't want to give the poor lad the wrong idea. "I think Sjorvuld here is right. Let's see about getting a cart and the gear to hitch it to the mule. Then; we can plan a route swinging past any known towns or villages if we can; and in the meantime; I have a week's worth of rations I'm happy to share...though, of course; with more than 1 of us eating them; they won't last more than a few days. Also; as I said before; I have a little coin to throw in as well."

[JobaTett]

"I've not much gold, but if someone could get us a cart, I'd allow Marty the Mule to pule it. I could also buy some rations."

[Vargr1105]

"The grand total of my wealth is 2 and 10 gold crowns." says Coenbeorht, "We should pool our monies to cover our expenses for the trip. If the more affluent among us must contribute more, they can be reimbursed once we obtain some wealth."

"As for hunting..." he says looking at Sjorvuld, "We can always take what we need on the way if we run out of both coin and victuals. After all, if the Empire sees fit to abduct persons willy-nilly, drag them for hundreds of miles to toss them into dugeons, I see no reason for us to abide to their "laws".

[Delazar]

"As for hunting..." he says looking at Sjorvuld, "We can always take what we need on the way if we run out of both coin and victuals. After all, if the Empire sees fit to abduct persons willy-nilly, drag them for hundreds of miles to toss them into dugeons, I see no reason for us to abide to their "laws".

"That, I'm afraid I cannot abide" said Felgorian. "Beign wronged by the law, does not mean that we should ignore the law. We would be making a very bad example, wouldn't we?"

He had promised himself he would do what he could to mingle with the humans, to understand them and accept them,and be accepted by them. But he would not sacrifice his highest ideals for this. What the halfling was hinting at looked a lot like stealing, or pillaging, and he would have no part in it.

"As I said, two weeks is not such a long trip, I'm sure we will be able to get enough provisions to last us that much, or hunt animals" he stressed that last word, looking at the halfling "if necessary" .

"Now, we should move on, we've lingered here too long already"