Birthright 2: Promises to Keep

[ewancummins]

The Eve of the Dead, 551 M.R.

Croaker Norge

The cloaked man aims the beam of his bull’s-eye lantern at the drop-off and turns in a slow arc, moving the light circle through the heavy fog. The glare catches something flat and white below the lip of the gorge. He angles for a better look.

Stepping away from the edge, the scout kicks snow from his boots and brings the lantern closer to his face to feel the warmth of the burning oil. He turns round and calls out in a soft voice- “I’ve found the way down. Tell His Grace.”

-----------------------------------------

Pechallin province, western border

The outrider draws reins to halt his mare atop a hill. Before and below him nothing but snow, boulders, and wind-twisted pines for miles, and then, far out, the brown and fallow fields of the Tuornen plain.






The woman guides her chestnut gelding up to join him, waiting a moment in silence at his left side. She pushes her hood back and turns towards the outrider with a pained expression on her heart-shaped, youthful face. Her ear tips and cheeks blush red in the wind.

“I am sorry I can’t stay on with you longer. This trouble in the east…bah, politics! But if I don’t get out there myself, soon, and set it right, we’ll see members of the order killing one another instead of fighting goblins or the Manslayer’s raiders.”
She places both her hands on the saddle horn, leans forward a little, and sighs.
“I will make an offering for your success.”

After trotting her mount a short distance downhill, she turns back to look up at the man she’s leaving behind.
“Good luck, Foerde.”

[Brock Marsh Runoff]

PECHALINN

Rennault Ghonallison and his two followers, Sevet and Gatt, stand some distance away from Foerde and the halfbreed they called "The Sword." Alien minds to the younger son of House Ghonallison, yet soon he'll be tracking still stranger prey.

Sevet, the younger of Renn's companions, rubs his hands together in the cold. "Crickey, and I thought winters got bad in the Seamists!" Despite the complaint, the young man wears a grin of anticipation. "Still, can't wait to see what the elf-lands hold. Reckon they got new kinds of birds there?" Sevet always kept a sketchbook of various avian life with him, always keen to draw new specimens.

The companion called Gatt grunts and shrugs. "Long as we can eat 'em."

"The hunting will be good, I'd wager. It's how those...it's how they live off the land." Renn catches himself before saying those savages. "But keep your wits about you, or else we'll be the hunted."

Rennault knows that's inevitable anyway. If their search brings them into the lands of The Manslayer, then Renn and his companions would surely be the quarry as often as they were the pursuers. But no sense letting his boys know about that bit of inevitability. They'll learn for themselves soon enough...

[VAN]

Croaker Norge

Filbert paces nervously outside the tent where Duke Devlin is waiting the news from the scouts. The Halfling has never been in Croaker Norge before and hasn't met the witch Meave either, but he has heard many rumors about her and thus his nervousness. Who knows what quest she will get the young Duke to do. Listening the scout's voice gets a deep breath to calm a bit, gets inside the tent and says:

"Your Grace, a scout has found the way down the gorge. Will we get there now or will we wait till tomorrow morning?"

[ewancummins]

Croaker Norge

Filbert paces nervously outside the tent where Duke Devlin is waiting the news from the scouts. The Halfling has never been in Croaker Norge before and hasn't met the witch Meave either, but he has heard many rumors about her and thus his nervousness. Who knows what quest she will get the young Duke to do. Listening the scout's voice gets a deep breath to calm a bit, gets inside the tent and says:

"Your Grace, a scout has found the way down the gorge. Will we get there now or will we wait till tomorrow morning?"

The man inside the tent's near portion turns round to face Filbert.

The Halfling lord sees his mistake in an instant. Father Michael stands the same height as Devlin, with the slight build. But the priest, the Duke's newly appointed chaplain and physician, shows none of Devlin's Elven grace in his gaunt features, and his chestnut hair could only be mistaken for Devlin's fiery locks in this poor light.
Father Michael wears an armored jack and hip boots with plain but well made travelling clothes, with a rapier at his left hip and a holy symbol hanging from a silver chain around his neck.

''Lord Filbert."

The priest bows.

[VAN]

Croaker Norge

The halfling rubs his eyes with his small hands hoping to clear his sight. He should be more careful in the future even if he knows that the priest will not take offense for the missunderstanding.

"Oh right, I'm sorry Father Michael, with that poor light I thought you were His Grace. In any case I'm sure you will be intrested as well to know that a scout has found a way down the gorge. Do you know where I can find His Grace and inform him?"

[ewancummins]

Croaker Norge

The halfling rubs his eyes with his small hands hoping to clear his sight. He should be more careful in the future even if he knows that the priest will not take offense for the missunderstanding.

"Oh right, I'm sorry Father Michael, with that poor light I thought you were His Grace. In any case I'm sure you will be intrested as well to know that a scout has found a way down the gorge. Do you know where I can find His Grace and inform him?"

"He's just gone to see how the farrier and the grooms are doing with his roan mare. The beast threw a shoe."

The priest motions towards a bench in the tent. "If you like, wait for him here, my lord. He'll be back any moment."

[JMaytr]

Devlin Flaertes, the Duke of Tuornen emerges from his tent. He smiles widely as he sees Lord filbert, his most trusted friend and constant companion.

"I hope you're warm enough my friend. Soon we will be traveling deep into the Norge, and if you think its cold up here, wait until we start descending into that place."

Looking around the Duke spies the warrior Gunnar. Since the war the man had been slaying goblins in the peaks.

"I'm glad to have your sword with me Sir Gunnar."

[ewancummins]

Father Michael bows to the Duke.


"Your Grace."

[JMaytr]

Devlin puts his hand on the priests shoulder.

"Well met. Tell me some of yourself Michael. From whence do you hail?"*












*character reading.

[ewancummins]

"Your Grace honors me with his curiosity."
The priest bows again, and then relaxes.
"I was born in Riverton but educated in Haes at the temple school."

[Lord Skybolt]

Devlin Flaertes, the Duke of Tuornen emerges from his tent. He smiles widely as he sees Lord filbert, his most trusted friend and constant companion.

"I hope you're warm enough my friend. Soon we will be traveling deep into the Norge, and if you think its cold up here, wait until we start descending into that place."

Looking around the Duke spies the warrior Gunnar. Since the war the man had been slaying goblins in the peaks.

"I'm glad to have your sword with me Sir Gunnar."

Gunnar stops what he was doing . Preparing his gear for the journey down into Croaker Norge at the "Sir" part of the address since as far as he know he has not been knighted as yet . Gunnar bows silently and respectfully to his Grace and gets back to making sure all his gears is ready for the word to leave .

[ewancummins]

PECHALLIN

PECHALINN

Rennault Ghonallison and his two followers, Sevet and Gatt, stand some distance away from Foerde and the halfbreed they called "The Sword." Alien minds to the younger son of House Ghonallison, yet soon he'll be tracking still stranger prey.

Sevet, the younger of Renn's companions, rubs his hands together in the cold. "Crickey, and I thought winters got bad in the Seamists!" Despite the complaint, the young man wears a grin of anticipation. "Still, can't wait to see what the elf-lands hold. Reckon they got new kinds of birds there?" Sevet always kept a sketchbook of various avian life with him, always keen to draw new specimens.

The companion called Gatt grunts and shrugs. "Long as we can eat 'em."

"The hunting will be good, I'd wager. It's how those...it's how they live off the land." Renn catches himself before saying those savages. "But keep your wits about you, or else we'll be the hunted."

Rennault knows that's inevitable anyway. If their search brings them into the lands of The Manslayer, then Renn and his companions would surely be the quarry as often as they were the pursuers. But no sense letting his boys know about that bit of inevitability. They'll learn for themselves soon enough...

While waiting for Foerde to ride back up the trail, Renn spots a smudge of dirty smoke rising from behind a hill less a hundred yards away.

[Varrus the Ethical]

PENCHALLIN

"Straighten your back, Reece, no one likes a squire who slouches," Roald says as he rides up to Renn and his party.

He opens he mouth to greet him, but pauses when he notices the man staring at the smoke in the distance. "I don't suppose someone's burned their breakfast, have they, Captain?"

[kintire]

CROAKER NORGE

Safana glares resentfully at the fog, then down at the snow covered ground. Initially fascinated by the stuff, the novelty has long since worn off. And the cold! It went on and on...

She gazed at the fog shrouded mouth of the gorge with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. Supporting the Duke in this quest had seemed like a great idea in the warmth of the capital. Impress the powerful, gain gratitude, improve standing: a plan with few drawbacks.

Only one drawback, in fact: the necessity of descending into the ominous gorge of Croaker Norge and meet a witch of unknown power and intentions. This drawback seemed to loom rather larger on the eve of its arrival than it had back in a lighted and warm tavern.

She sighed, pulled her warm cloak around her thickly clad form and trudged off to find some news of when the insane enterprise might commence.

[ewancummins]

CROAKER NORGE

CROAKER NORGE

Safana glares resentfully at the fog, then down at the snow covered ground. Initially fascinated by the stuff, the novelty has long since worn off. And the cold! It went on and on...

She gazed at the fog shrouded mouth of the gorge with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. Supporting the Duke in this quest had seemed like a great idea in the warmth of the capital. Impress the powerful, gain gratitude, improve standing: a plan with few drawbacks.

Only one drawback, in fact: the necessity of descending into the ominous gorge of Croaker Norge and meet a witch of unknown power and intentions. This drawback seemed to loom rather larger on the eve of its arrival than it had back in a lighted and warm tavern.

She sighed, pulled her warm cloak around her thickly clad form and trudged off to find some news of when the insane enterprise might commence.

Safana runs across some ducal guards, who inform her that scouts have found the ancient stairs leading down into the Norge.

They offer to escort her wither she wishes.