A Courtier's Course
7th of June 867 A.D.
These woods are fair and in their way familiar, like lonely Forostar in spring where birdsong mingles and is long among the curtains of rain and amphibian symphonies rang amid the mossy columns of a temple far vaster than any that could be built of human hands. You had heard it said among the elves that they do not build temples to the Valar nor to the One they claim is above even them because they do not think that any mortal artifice could not compare to the wonders of the world. It is easy to scoff at such words with a cup of wine in hand, stout walls of stone and all the leagues of Numenor between one and the true wilds. the words glimpsed only in a book, but here as rays of crimson and gold spill out from the west piercing the last drops of rain like bloodied arrows tis harder by far to shake one's head at eldar fancy.
Though young Helgi rides as fast as his steed can trot, held back from a canter only by the tangle of roots and burrows tis hardly more than a walk for you or Ular on steeds that had been breed to carry a man in armor into battle and be fresh at the end of it, leaving you plenty of time to wonder at the strangeness of a noble of high blood fled into the night with little warning and only so many provisions as could fit into their saddlebags.
Tzitzak would not be feasting on any elven waybread that much you are certain and in these sparse and wooded lands a traveler alone, even one accustomed to spear and bow would be easy pray for bandits, enough so that you worry about how the three of you are going to share the watches into the night.
The boy is practically shaking in his seat after two hours ride along an uncertain trails of what might hoof marks in by the rain and might just as well be nothing more than Helgi's hopes.
"If she means to make it back to her people's lands Tzitzak would be best served heading to the nearest village for provisions then try to cut across the wilderness east and south."
"We have to follow the trail..."
"Can you say for sure there is a trail?" You let the silence linger. "If she is as you had said the victim of a plot she has but recently discovered then she will not be prepared to ride scores of leagues." If looks could kill the boy's would have... left a bruise maybe, but he has no argument to use against you, not with the sun well and truly set and the trail plunging into the narrow but swift currents of a stream flowing west to the great lake.
***
8th of June 867 A.D.
So the three of you in mismatched company make it to the village of Holt, a scattering of low houses roofed with beaten earths and tangled weeds that had obviously chosen to hide under the brow of the forest rather than ward itself with walls of wood. There from the mostly toothless mouth of a affable old fellow you finally hear news of your quarry. She'd passed this way at a near-gallop and the locals, being canny sort, understood that haste marked desperation, earning themselves more silver than any of them had likely seen in their lives for the headman's surly pony and as much lard lathered biscuit as the beast could carry.
Regaining the trail: 55 + 14 (Intrigue) = 69 (Success)
With directions from the villagers and an actual path to follow, even if it it more fit for deer than man you soon see clear marks of a rider leading a pony about a half a day ahead of you.
"What are you planning to do once we find her?" you ask, breaking the long but fairly companionable silence that you had fallen into since Holt
"Offer my oathsworn protection."
Fate guard me from the pridefulness of youth. You pinch the bridge of your nose, you can't exactly tell a prince that the woman he is currently riding after, wouldn't think much of his protection otherwise he wouldn't have run to begin with.
"You have to figure out who would be plotting against her or her people and put an end to it and it would be good to have the idea in mind before we catch up to her rather than making up a pledge on the spot."
The prince is quiet a long moment, enough so that you wonder if the words had bounced right off his skull, but then he speaks at last."Meaning no offense to you and yours Eriol son of Henderch you seem to be more skilled in such backbiting than me, what pledge do you think I could make that she would be minded to listen to?"
What do you reply?
[] Oath of Blood: tell the prince to offer to find who had plotted against her and get vehemence
[] A Cunning Pledge: Advise him to focus on the fact that the assassination failed and many of the assassins were killed, if the lady could distinguish any marks on them that would spoke the wheel of any plotters good
[] No Need for Oaths: if you are gaining on her now than she will not be able to flee once you've found her, insist than she accompany us back to Rurik's court and leave your options open
[] Write in
OOC: Time to give some hoary old advice from the decadent court.
