A Champion of Gods & Rogues (Warhammer Fantasy/Exalted)
- Thread starter Slamu
- Start date
Medieval Recipes from France
Imagining the Culinary Past in France: Recipes for a Medieval Feast
One example of a complete, 9-course feast for French nobility in the middle ages :
Recipes:
http://blogs.getty.edu/iris/files/2011/01/kings_feast_recipe_pack.pdf
Update is being reviewed by editors, I hope to post later this week.
Discussion now turns to Warhammer financial institutions and how nations are expected to maintain fiscal solvency in a setting where "a guy went crazy and burned down our everything" is as serious a threat as "demons ate all our bullion". Hard mode; can't use the dawi to solve all your problems.
Discussion now turns to Warhammer financial institutions and how nations are expected to maintain fiscal solvency in a setting where "a guy went crazy and burned down our everything" is as serious a threat as "demons ate all our bullion". Hard mode; can't use the dawi to solve all your problems.
Obviously, you
bookwyrm
Doom of Public Libraries
- Location
- Wichita, Kansas
The Reinassance++ technological level of the Empire should provide sufficient printing and literacy for moving from promissory notes and bills of exchange to transactional agents and accounts, and from shares and bonds on grain, salt, textiles etc... to shares of shares, at some appreciable scale?
Last edited:
- Location
- West Michigan
That's simple. We use Bureaucracy charms to stabilize everything as needed.
..."What happens after Sal dies," you ask? He's a Solar. That couldn't possibly happen.
The Tribunal of the Most Holy Office of the Inquisition of the Promotion of Faith and Purity of Doctrine would like to have a discussion with you, señor.
That's simple. We use Bureaucracy charms to stabilize everything as needed.
..."What happens after Sal dies," you ask? He's a Solar. That couldn't possibly happen.
Who needs an Ulthwan Vortex when you can get the Order-Conferring Trade Pattern?
bookwyrm
Doom of Public Libraries
- Location
- Wichita, Kansas
I imagine if bullion is really too volatile then the various looted "discovered" and sanctified relics of Khemrian Bronze, Elvish Sky-Silver, and Dwarf Gromil found in ancient battlefields and lost cities would be a strong store of value for the Cult of Verena and the Myrmidian heirarchy they're joined at the hip with. Plus small amounts of Cathayan jade, Ind gems, alum, and an index of luxury spices, dyes, incense, and textiles and you got yourself a nice basis for church talents (presumably the Cult keeps minting faces of the old archonates and royalties the way the Papacy acted as Rome's Urban Prefect) that the rest of the Southern World uses to move between currencies and gold markets.
Yes, I have paid my tithes, Cardinal. In full.
Perhaps a donative to your cousin is in order? The one with the .....vast tracts of land?
Arc I: Nothing ever happens in Mousillon (Breaking fast and holding faster)
Salvadore nods. "Of course, sir. I would not wish to impugn the lord's hospitality." He unbelted his sword for the old knight to take, and some of his more easily discovered knives in his sleeves and collar to Sir Durand's surprise. "I would not wish there to be a misunderstanding between us."
"That is pleasing to hear, Sir Chavez." A pointed cough. "You seem to have forgotten the dagger at your waist."
"Sir Durand, I have neither forgotten nor neglected it. Arabian corsairs deny their chattel any weapon, so even the frailest maid keeps one once they come of age to signify their status as a free man or woman under the sun. To attempt to take this from me would be a most grave offence, one I know you did not mean to give." Salvadore held up a hand to forestall protest. "In recognition of Lord Malegent's requirements I will consent to a peacebinding done by your own hand. Does this satisfy your own honor and your lord's command?"
Sir Durand seemed to bristle for a heartbeat before calming. "Aye, that it does." It took a few minutes before a servant returned with a ball of thick wire with which the old knight bound his dagger well and truly tightly. When done he preceded Salvadore in, announcing him to the duke as "Sir Captain Chavez of the Foam Dancer", using the Bretonnian translation.
Lord-and-maybe-a-Duke Maleagent was not the large, imposing figures that the Bordelan and Claude had been. He was instead of average height, a bit long of limb in the way that teenagers were but seemingly beyond that stage of his life. Compared to the martial giants Breton nobility seemed to breed he was almost sickly, the runt of his litter, and yet Salvadore could see both intelligence and cunning in those dark eyes of his. His skin was pale and his eyes sunken, his black hair cut short in the way of those who commonly wore a mail coif. Today he was dressed in linens and leathers, a simple tunic and leggings with, of course, an arming sword belted to his side. If someone told Salvadore that he was meeting an impoverished knight putting forth a best face, it would have been a believable lie were it not for the rings of office and commanding presence the lord exuded.
Maleagent and Durand exchanged a series of meaningful looks and subtle gestures that likely had a great deal of substance to them but Salvadore's attention was stolen by the second figure sitting at the table. To the left of Malagent was a familiar figure wrapped in blue silks and sitting stiffly, almost as if she hadn't gotten much sleep last night. Salvadore bowed deeply and gave a bit of leg, sweeping his hat off to hide his grin. "I am most honored to break bread with the lord of the city" a tiny pause, just enough to be noticed "and the damsel of the harbor."
Even before he rose from his bow, Salvadore could hear someone grinding teeth. "Ah, I see you've met." Maleagent's tone was light, almost joking but Salvadore could hear reproof in the tone. "Come, sit at my table."
His table bore a number of dishes. The duke favored certain breads and cheeses, plainer ones, and a water broth of barley. Lady Elaine, however, was quite pleased to acquaint herself with quail eggs dusted in cinnamon, some very thinly sliced red meat covered in a honey glaze and a bottle of the best Bordeleux had to offer.
Once Salvadore had dipped himself a selection of vegetables and rabbit, Maleagent spoke up. "What brings you to Mousillon, Sir Chavez?"
The words 'my ship' died on his tongue as Salvadore read the room. Cordial though his talk with Sir Durand had been, the armored man stood behind him presumably with his hand coincidentally resting on his sword. The damsel was a hostile participant before he stepped foot in the room, but Maleagent had involved Salvadore in the lord's affairs as soon as he came to the city. Admittedly returning with an elf ship without elves and a hold full of rescued peasants ought make at least a modest impression upon the local lord, but Maleagent was clearly a man who had spent years fighting shadows and plots. "I came to bring my uncle and his son, my cousin, to tournament milord. Originally I had intended to see them well-off here before continuing to Bordeleux, but my injuries have given me cause to rethink that plan."
"And your new plan?" Maleagent asked lightly, cutting a wedge of cheese with his knife.
Salvadore smiled politely. "My lord, I have risen from my sickbed only a short while ago."
Maleagent returned the smile inch for inch. Holding a goblet in his hand he gestures back to Salvadore. "Nearly a full day, I understand, and a busy one at that. Your men certainly seem to respect you as well." He removed a small slip of paper from somewhere below the table and appeared to read it in heavily accented Estalian. "Zhe capitan, e' alwayz lands on e's feet, see? Alwayz gots a plahn." It was hard to tell through the man's accent but it sounded like something Jaime would have said, were he in his cups.
The lord gave Sal a look that politely gave him the opportunity to rephrase his answer without being so crass as to outright say "I'm not an idiot, don't treat me like one". Which, given the observations Salvadore had made of the man's operating methodology already really should have made him reconsider some of his prior assumptions. Like how a Bretonnian lord wasn't going to have a spy network under their own roof, or that it would be as efficient as it was. Salvadore knew that he'd committed this error of judgement of his own accord, however.
Salvadore nodded, acknowledging the point. "I have sent my first mate to continue on to Bordeleux as planned while I recover here. If I am recovered in time I might enter myself in competition, but regardless I make for Périgord."
"And what lies in Périgord that causes you to depart with such alacrity that you neglect convalescence?" Maleagent's tone was probing but polite. Sir Durand's cuirass creaked behind Salvadore, which could have been simply the man shifting from one sore foot to another if the grail damsel's eyes hadn't betrayed a sense of advantage. This meant more to the lord than idle curiosity, that much is clear.
He could probably lie. No, he could absolutely lie and spin some yarn the lord would, if not believe then hold enough doubt to stay his hand. He could speak truth in such a way as to cast himself a liar or a fool enough for the truth to be discarded in the search of fact. What he said instead was the heart of the matter. "I bear a letter from a dead man to his lady. To the best of my knowledge the only rush is a matter of heartache and not knowing, but to ease such is to deny the cruelties of elves in even this. I have lingered as long as I must, and having now executed my familial duties would see to this errand." Good courtly ettiquette would have him completing that sentence with some variation on 'with your leave' but Salvadore was going to make the journey one way or another, and while Lord Maleagent probably would not forbid his travels it would be even ruder to disobey his expressed preference that Salvadore not leave the port city to sojourn deeper into Mousillon. The sort of rudeness that occasionally resulted in bared steel and a call for a Morrite to practice their trade. Better to keep to the adage of 'easier to ask forgiveness than permission', especially if the duke waited to take umbridge to his decision after the Foam Dancer returned.
The damsel chimed in with a studiedly polite tone that did little to mask her emotions. "There exist many knights in Mousillon who would be most able to deliver your...message." The pause was too extended to be mistaken for anything but a deliberate aspersion upon the validity of the message he bore and, by extension, his own truthfulness as both a courier and a man of honor. An Estalian less experienced in the nuances of foreign lands would have visibly bristled at her insinuation, possibly challenged her to a duel of honor then and there. To do such would be folly of course; any number of knights would volunteer to champion her even were they complete strangers, so many so that she could have her choice of champions and for all the many things said of Bretonnian chivalry rarely was it said that they were unlearned in the martial sciences. Not that Salvadore had any doubt that he would be able to match or best any who stood against him in the ring of honor, but even victory there would be a loss. To rise to the incredibly obvious bait would be to make a misstep near her, costing both esteem in the eyes of those who heard of his deeds and favor of the lord of these lands before whom they sat now.
No, Salvadore recognized the attack for what it was; a ploy, one she had successfully used before in one fashion or another and reliant upon him fitting the mold of either a stereotype of more sunlit lands or an errant knight more learned in esteem for the Lady's damsels than rhetoric. To respond to words with steel was itself to concede the field. "It is most kind of you to mention this, Lady Elaine, though perhaps irresponsible of me to accept your charitable, if oblique, offer." Deliberately acknowleding her overt point while ignoring the more subtle attack, more practiced than skillfully delivered, nettled her. "I swore to Sir Blanchman that I would see this letter to Magdalene of honeyed tresses. Were I to simply surrender his final words to a stranger, however honorable and capable, when I am yet able to complete this task betrays his trust in me, makes my honor forfeit as an oathbreaker, and denies a grieving lady the comfort of one who was with him at his last." By describing his honor this way, Salvadore invited her to continue her attempt to needle him in such a way that drew attention to it, defending himself through increased vulnerability.
Maleagent, whose expression flickered between a hint of annoyance when Elaine spoke up and hardened slightly when Salvadore finished his response. The knight had followed the subtext, or at least enough of it to matter, and a pointed look made the damsel abort her response before it could begin. That byplay was interesting in and of itself; this didn't seem to be the first conflict of...interests? Opinions? the two held, but the lady was still clearly held in Maleagent's confidence enough to see her allowed in his presence armed with her magic when he himself was vulnerable as he was now; unarmored, seemingly at his ease and with only a single bodyguard near at hand. A very capable bodyguard, granted, and by no means unarmed himself, but given the presumably justified paranoia of the man there was either a measure of trust or, failing that, mutual understanding of one anothers' position.
The lord was silent for a time, upon first examination merely focused on his food but Salvadore recognized the motions of a man buying himself time to think. "Inspiring words, Sir Chavez." Maleagent's tone was not polite, but said with intent to segue into a new statement using that phrase as a sort of dismissal of sorts. However Salvadore could tell that the words had disrupted his line of thought somehow, answering one question and spawning three more of equal importance to be gauged. Favorably, Salvadore estimated, though neither overridingly nor unreservedly. Smoothly, as though the Bretonnian's planned dialogue hadn't dramatically shifted between heartbeats, he continued. "And in spirit I approve of your stated goal. Yet it would be a negligent host that were to allow you to undertake this journey, wounded as you are. Mousillon is dangerous to the hale and hearty moving in force, a single man or even a small band would be at risk from the unquiet woods." Elaine's scowl tipped off Salvadore that Maleagent was attempting to surprise him somehow with his next words. "Allow me to find a proper escort for you."
'Find', Salvadore noted. Given what Blanchmann had suggested of Maleagent's competent and trustworthy if not loyal retainers, what resources he had were likely stretched to the limit preparing for the tournament. Truth be told, waiting a day or two before haring off to deliver his message was not completely without merit, even if he was loathe to do so. A broken heart was apt to heal crookedly if set late. Still, to allow both he and the lord of Mousillon to save face, and to show he was willing to accommodate the lord somewhat, he relented and played up the headstrong fool being brought unreasonably to his senses. "I suppose it would be little good to anyone were I to bumble along blindly, finding every league of Mousillon save Périgord. I suppose it would be...." here he seemed to stumble over an unfamiliar word "sensible to delay long enough to find one who knows the way to that place."
Maleagent paused momentarily, and Salvadore could see further revision underway as the Estalian began to fit into a mental cubbyhole marked 'knight errant, foreign, some talent'. Now that the lord seemed to feel comfortable he was on more solid ground regarding Salvadore, the Estalian decided to reinforce that impression by artlessly steering the conversation towards the greatest social event in the region. "It would at least give me more time to see towards preparations for the tournement."
Elaine seemed to choke a bit on her wine. "You, competing?" She dabbed at the corner of her mouth, ostensibly to clean a spill but doing little to hide the growing smirk. "But the tournament is closed to those not of noble blood."
Salvadore nodded along. "That appears to be one obstacle overcome then. My father is hidalgo solariego, as is my uncle his brother with whom I traveled." He gestured with a chunk of rabbit speared upon a skewer. "The preparations I mention is the securing the use of a suitable mount. Alas, there is little room for a proper stables aboard a ship, so both my horsemanship and access to suitable mounts has waned over the last few years." He waited a half second before responding further. "By and by, I must thank the lady for her loan of her horse last night. It was quite charitable of her." As he'd hoped Elaine choked on one of her quail eggs, growing red faced from the indignation. Maleagent's face assumed a still expression that seemed more practiced than genuine, obviously not trying to show amusement at her being caught flatfooted.
"Voleur!" She managed to spit out. "Return at once my horse which you have stolen!" She caught on to Salvadore's wide smile only after the accusation had left her mouth.
With an air of affrontedness that wasn't actually much feigned, Salvadore made as if to rise from his seat. "Such accusations, priestess, and from you of all people! Look this very moment and see that Guiding Star stands in the very stable of this manor, and well-tended to at that! I dare say better treated than under your own care, no less. Recant your words, or have all know you as false." A minute amount of irritation leaked through into his words, but not so much that the woman didn't respond with a glower of her own. Her response showed greater escalation than he had allowed for, however.
"Honeyed words from an assassin."
At this Maleagent, who had been seemingly content to let the two bicker until now, quietly and calmly asked "Is that true, captain?"
Salvadore sat back down with an annoyed sigh. "Of course not. Firstly, if I was going to kill every self-important noble who annoyed me I'd still be in Matorca getting nothing useful done. Secondly, if I was going to assassinate her, it would be done with skill and finesse. She did more to endanger her life last night than I did. Being the last person seen with her before she's found dead in the morning? Who else would you suspect? Thirdly, the lady has already cheapened her testimony by accusing me of a prior crime with similar vigor, and that is easily proven false by the guards you had posted this very morning who saw me ride in. One with a lazy eye and the other with the..." Salvadore motioned to the side of his face, indicating a large blemish on the skin of the other guard. Maleagent glanced behind Salvadore to the knight standing guard, who nodded presumably in confirmation. "What worth is her word, when it is so easily squandered?"
Maleagent appeared nonplussed. Elaine appeared livid. "What? How...how dare you!"
"Are you asking the specific mechanics of how I dare, or simply expressing outrage that someone is calling attention to inconsistencies of deed and word? I fear you should be more specific." The air seemed to grow thicker, and the sun's morning rays gathered upon her garb in ways that felt unnatural.
Salvadore, for his part, maintained eye contact and placed another wedge of cheese in his mouth.
With a degree of calmness that Salvadore was surprised to think the Bretonnian probably actually felt, Maleagent spoke softly. "My lady, if you are going to kill him for his impertinence please do so somewhere else. You know how I'd hate to have this particular room cleaned up." The light dimmed in the room as the damsel visibly mastered her emotions. "And Captain Chavez, if you wouldn't mind doing a better job defending yourself than stating...what, that you are an assassin and are offended at the insinuation that you do sloppy work?"
"It would be easier if my accuser did a better job in mounting her offense. While it is true that sloppy work offends me, that is true of more than simply amateurish assassins. A poorly tied line in a storm can kill an entire crew, and a poorly made breakfast sours your entire morning." Salvadore was pretty sure most people had their breakfasts in the morning, at least. "While yes, I imagine I could do well for myself as an assassin, that is largely due to having complementary skill sets. Just because one knows the methods of cutthroats and scoundrels does not inherently make one a ne'er-do-well themselves. A fact I trust you to recognize, if anyone." When Maleagent raised an eyebrow, Salvadore continued. "Are you, yourself, a poisoner? It is possible, I suppose, but I daresay not. Not unless you count poisoning oneself. Your dark hair hides many of the signs normally present, but your fingernails show the kind of discoloration associated with iocane powder poisoning. Small doses, over a long period of time, you are developing an immunity to it. I suspect you have other such poisons already tested upon your person as proof against later malicious use. Dangerous, unless handled with both care and precision, but for a man in your position more likely to lengthen your span of years than quicken it. Further evidence of this is your preference for simple meals, where it is more difficult to hide the flavors of simpler poisons in a more complicated texture, and that ring on your finger. It changes colors near your goblet, which is where I suspect your morning's iocane rests. A further safeguard against poison, milord? Or would you like me to discuss the fascinating things I have deduced about this room? The iconography is a recent touch, and while the balcony behind you leaves much room for sunlight to come through-"
"Enough. Your skills of deduction, at least, are proven to my satisfaction. Your skill at self-restraint less so, though oddly that may be helping your case. Assassins with fast mouths make poor long term agents." A fey look, as though it had just occurred to him even though Salvadore had noticed the thought had came to him soon after Salvadore began expostulating on his poisons routine. "Why are you being so forthright about this?"
A shrug. "A few reasons. Largely because I am telling you things you want to hear. No, let me explain; I see in your position one I recognize in my own past. In my home it is considered a manful thing to wear one's heart on their sleeve. If you are happy, act happy. If you are sad, it is no shame to weep. When I first visited Tilea, it was as though sense had fled that place of the world; what one felt should be different from what one showed the world. In Bretonnia I suspect it is much the same as Estalia, yet uneasy sits the Duke d'Mousillon surrounded is he by the bitter cast-offs of Breton society. How often you have sat at table and smiled with one you held naught but contempt for, or distanced yourself from someone you would have considered friend if you could? I do not know, but I can suspect and that is enough for me. I give you something refreshing in its rarity in this world; truth, or near as I can find it." A pause. "...with the caveat that I do not claim to be unbiased. I am rather fond of myself, as my uncle would be the first to tell you."
There was silence for a long minute. Salvadore was almost beginning to fidget when the Bretonnian lord began to laugh quietly. "I have finally found an honest man in Mousillon. Miracles can exist, after all." It didn't take long before his tone returned to the business at hand. "I don't suppose there's anything the most honest man in my city thinks I should know?"
Salvadore considered for a long moment. A number of possibilities occurred to him, but pointing out flaws in Maleagent's otherwise well-tested security arrangements would be counterproductive. He was in the heart of his power, and presumably as relaxed as he was going to get for now. Judging by the number of times Sir Durand had tensed up already it would be difficult to make any critique sound like anything but a threat. At the same time, however, Maleagent has spent every day of his reign considering threats. Hmmm.... "Well, milord, there is one thing that occurred to me." At Maleagent's raised eyebrow Salvadore continued. "Judging by the vessels in the harbor, your ability to project strength throughout the duchy seems to be limited. Similarly I presume that the Black Ark that came through eliminated your seagoing presence as well, for I saw little evidence of them either. The Grismerie extends well into the heart of Bretonnia, and the best first line of defense against raiders striking into the interior is the city right here, something I presume the Bretonii who built the city considered when they selected this site to lay stone upon stone. I see little in the way of harbor defenses, or even a chain spanning the length of the river."
Maleagent's frown was thoughtful rather than disapproving, his visitor telling him things that he had considered and discarded already but now giving him the opportunity to reexamine in a new light. "Bastonne and Gisoreux would ill-like the idea of our being able to cut off their access to the sea." He said carefully, trying the idea out. "And if I chained the river Bassot would have his own chain, then if it looked like I was unable to stop him every riverine castle north of him would have their own."
Salvadore shrugged. "I know little of the character of the men you described, but by the way you phrased it a stern enough reprimand, delivered with alacrity and precision, would nip that in the bud. A tercio to cut the chain and naught else costs him the chain and prestige, while for you they are armed retainers performing a patrol against" here Salvadore waved his hand vaguely "unsavory elements. Surely he has requested aid from his liege to deal with such before, yes?"
"A tercio, you say? As well ask for a lance of Grail Knights to ride through and burn away all the corruption of this land."
"Alas, I cannot deliver to you the lance of knights, but my cousin comes of the age where young men of his station are commonly assigned a small troop of militia to learn to command. And as you mentioned once already that Mousillon is dangerous to lone travelers, it occurs to me that near five dozen other souls need to begin their return to Périgord as well. An escort to ensure that they do not turn to brigandage out of desperation would be needed anyway, but if you were permit Alonsico to cut his teeth instructing men to march in file, turn on command and other such minutia it would appear that two difficulties solve themselves. And while sixty souls does not a legion make, great things have small beginnings."
Maleagent gave this thought, while Elaine wanted to speak against it. She had social capital to spend on another assault against Salvadore's credibility, but having defeated and deflected the prior two she was probably awaiting a more opportune moment to make mischief. Good, hopefully the next attempt on his life would be more stimulating. After two minutes of silent contemplation he shook his head ruefully. "The gesture is appreciated, but I cannot trust any man held by those raiders to have fight left in them. Would that I could prevent such from happening again instead."
Salvadore paused at that. "I...am less sure I can help you there. While I do not as yet have an answer for you, I can at least leave you with a more informed sort of ignorance." He cleared out a section of table before him, shoving plates and dishes to the side. "Estalia has a similar though not identical problem dealing with corsairs from Araby, though they have a number of key differences to them I will address in a moment. Firstly, being able to defend against an attack relies on knowing of an attack. To that end a series of heliographs are spread along the coast, maintained by the Cult of Myrmidia with the assistance of local laity. These allow scouts to quickly relay basic information to a response force tasked to shadow any coastal raiders. These caballeros move quickly along well mapped roads between villages, which the local villages are tasked with maintaining. They also have the right to call up the local militias of the villages and townships they pass through, but usually do so when they are close to the raiders so as to maintain good marching time. The militia are likewise well-drilled, being exempted from taxes on days they have drilled to the satisfaction of the district militia warden." As he described the system, he drew lines on the table with discarded silverware and bits of wine on his finger. "That is the shield, but the spear is a well-maintained bluewater navy ready to both intercept the raiders using the same heliograph network, and to retaliate against whatever city sponsored the ships to attack."
Maleagent was interested enough to stand and move closer for a better look, leaving the ring of daylight near the window. "I see what you mean. No, this system may indeed work well for Estalia, but...." He sighed. "At every point this scheme fails in Mousillon. Still...I thank you, Sir Chavez, for giving me such to think on."
Salvadore walked to the open window and gazed out upon Mousillon. The city was a stinking wreck, with an entire district covered in soot and burnt to its foundations just across the river, and holes in the walls only halfheartedly repaired. Beyond that lay a series of evenly spaced mounds, a mass grave. Nearer there could be found activity, city folk going about their daily tasks with a furitive, defensive look or, more often, just sitting somewhere and staring at nothing at all. Shallya wept, is this what Maleagent looked out at every morning? "Lord Maleagent, if you don't mind I do have a question for you." At the other man's noncommittal reply he continued. "My uncle and first mate tell me that Mousillon has no Shallyans, yet if ever there were a people needing succor I would think they would be found at this place and time. Why, then, are they gone?"
Turning around he saw Maleagent looking older than his years. In a voice too quiet for Salvadore to suspect it was meant for anyone but the lord's own ears, the duke murmered. "What good is a Shallyan when suffering cannot be brought to an end?" A sigh, and at a more normal volume. "Some time ago, I cannot recall exactly how long now, a plague swept through Mousillon. I was new to the city then, and thought it a terrible catastrophy. The high priestess came to me and asked for aid, and the fool I was then gave it to her." His normally even tone wavered for a second, though Salvadore doubted someone else would have noticed it. "I have seen knights lay into monsters with less holy fury than these doves fought the sickness, and for a time it looked like they would best the miasmas. Then..." Salvadore noticed a moment of hesitation, less than a heartbeat but there all the same. "The sicknesses fell upon the Shallyans. They, and those helping them, died to a soul." Maleagent was telling him the truth...but not the whole truth.
"A battle worth remembering, I would think." Salvadore replied. "Perhaps worth comissioning a tapestry? It seems like not the first worthy plague to be remembered that way."
A snort. "Hardly something to celebrate." Ah, there it is. A practiced deflection. "Nor would it be politic to celebrate something in so similar a fashion as Merovech. My neighbors have long memories, when it suits them, and their neglect promises to be more aid than their attention would."
Elaine interjected here before Maleagent could elaborate. "I believe I have finished with my breakfast. Lord Maleagent, there were those other matters to attend to this morning." Turning to Salvadore she gave him a prim "You may leave us."
Salvadore bristled at her presumption, but at a nod from Maleagent the Estalian rose, gave an impeccable courtly bow, and strode from the room.
Salvadore has a few days before he moves on. What does he do?
[] Tour the city, there has to be something interesting here beyond poverty and misery
[] Check the markets. There's something on offer here if you can just sniff it out
[] Check the "specialty markets", you never know what people can get their hands on when lawful authority isn't looking
[] Spend time with the crew
[] Spend time with your uncle and cousin
[] Write in
"That is pleasing to hear, Sir Chavez." A pointed cough. "You seem to have forgotten the dagger at your waist."
"Sir Durand, I have neither forgotten nor neglected it. Arabian corsairs deny their chattel any weapon, so even the frailest maid keeps one once they come of age to signify their status as a free man or woman under the sun. To attempt to take this from me would be a most grave offence, one I know you did not mean to give." Salvadore held up a hand to forestall protest. "In recognition of Lord Malegent's requirements I will consent to a peacebinding done by your own hand. Does this satisfy your own honor and your lord's command?"
Sir Durand seemed to bristle for a heartbeat before calming. "Aye, that it does." It took a few minutes before a servant returned with a ball of thick wire with which the old knight bound his dagger well and truly tightly. When done he preceded Salvadore in, announcing him to the duke as "Sir Captain Chavez of the Foam Dancer", using the Bretonnian translation.
Lord-and-maybe-a-Duke Maleagent was not the large, imposing figures that the Bordelan and Claude had been. He was instead of average height, a bit long of limb in the way that teenagers were but seemingly beyond that stage of his life. Compared to the martial giants Breton nobility seemed to breed he was almost sickly, the runt of his litter, and yet Salvadore could see both intelligence and cunning in those dark eyes of his. His skin was pale and his eyes sunken, his black hair cut short in the way of those who commonly wore a mail coif. Today he was dressed in linens and leathers, a simple tunic and leggings with, of course, an arming sword belted to his side. If someone told Salvadore that he was meeting an impoverished knight putting forth a best face, it would have been a believable lie were it not for the rings of office and commanding presence the lord exuded.
Maleagent and Durand exchanged a series of meaningful looks and subtle gestures that likely had a great deal of substance to them but Salvadore's attention was stolen by the second figure sitting at the table. To the left of Malagent was a familiar figure wrapped in blue silks and sitting stiffly, almost as if she hadn't gotten much sleep last night. Salvadore bowed deeply and gave a bit of leg, sweeping his hat off to hide his grin. "I am most honored to break bread with the lord of the city" a tiny pause, just enough to be noticed "and the damsel of the harbor."
Even before he rose from his bow, Salvadore could hear someone grinding teeth. "Ah, I see you've met." Maleagent's tone was light, almost joking but Salvadore could hear reproof in the tone. "Come, sit at my table."
His table bore a number of dishes. The duke favored certain breads and cheeses, plainer ones, and a water broth of barley. Lady Elaine, however, was quite pleased to acquaint herself with quail eggs dusted in cinnamon, some very thinly sliced red meat covered in a honey glaze and a bottle of the best Bordeleux had to offer.
Once Salvadore had dipped himself a selection of vegetables and rabbit, Maleagent spoke up. "What brings you to Mousillon, Sir Chavez?"
The words 'my ship' died on his tongue as Salvadore read the room. Cordial though his talk with Sir Durand had been, the armored man stood behind him presumably with his hand coincidentally resting on his sword. The damsel was a hostile participant before he stepped foot in the room, but Maleagent had involved Salvadore in the lord's affairs as soon as he came to the city. Admittedly returning with an elf ship without elves and a hold full of rescued peasants ought make at least a modest impression upon the local lord, but Maleagent was clearly a man who had spent years fighting shadows and plots. "I came to bring my uncle and his son, my cousin, to tournament milord. Originally I had intended to see them well-off here before continuing to Bordeleux, but my injuries have given me cause to rethink that plan."
"And your new plan?" Maleagent asked lightly, cutting a wedge of cheese with his knife.
Salvadore smiled politely. "My lord, I have risen from my sickbed only a short while ago."
Maleagent returned the smile inch for inch. Holding a goblet in his hand he gestures back to Salvadore. "Nearly a full day, I understand, and a busy one at that. Your men certainly seem to respect you as well." He removed a small slip of paper from somewhere below the table and appeared to read it in heavily accented Estalian. "Zhe capitan, e' alwayz lands on e's feet, see? Alwayz gots a plahn." It was hard to tell through the man's accent but it sounded like something Jaime would have said, were he in his cups.
The lord gave Sal a look that politely gave him the opportunity to rephrase his answer without being so crass as to outright say "I'm not an idiot, don't treat me like one". Which, given the observations Salvadore had made of the man's operating methodology already really should have made him reconsider some of his prior assumptions. Like how a Bretonnian lord wasn't going to have a spy network under their own roof, or that it would be as efficient as it was. Salvadore knew that he'd committed this error of judgement of his own accord, however.
Salvadore nodded, acknowledging the point. "I have sent my first mate to continue on to Bordeleux as planned while I recover here. If I am recovered in time I might enter myself in competition, but regardless I make for Périgord."
"And what lies in Périgord that causes you to depart with such alacrity that you neglect convalescence?" Maleagent's tone was probing but polite. Sir Durand's cuirass creaked behind Salvadore, which could have been simply the man shifting from one sore foot to another if the grail damsel's eyes hadn't betrayed a sense of advantage. This meant more to the lord than idle curiosity, that much is clear.
He could probably lie. No, he could absolutely lie and spin some yarn the lord would, if not believe then hold enough doubt to stay his hand. He could speak truth in such a way as to cast himself a liar or a fool enough for the truth to be discarded in the search of fact. What he said instead was the heart of the matter. "I bear a letter from a dead man to his lady. To the best of my knowledge the only rush is a matter of heartache and not knowing, but to ease such is to deny the cruelties of elves in even this. I have lingered as long as I must, and having now executed my familial duties would see to this errand." Good courtly ettiquette would have him completing that sentence with some variation on 'with your leave' but Salvadore was going to make the journey one way or another, and while Lord Maleagent probably would not forbid his travels it would be even ruder to disobey his expressed preference that Salvadore not leave the port city to sojourn deeper into Mousillon. The sort of rudeness that occasionally resulted in bared steel and a call for a Morrite to practice their trade. Better to keep to the adage of 'easier to ask forgiveness than permission', especially if the duke waited to take umbridge to his decision after the Foam Dancer returned.
The damsel chimed in with a studiedly polite tone that did little to mask her emotions. "There exist many knights in Mousillon who would be most able to deliver your...message." The pause was too extended to be mistaken for anything but a deliberate aspersion upon the validity of the message he bore and, by extension, his own truthfulness as both a courier and a man of honor. An Estalian less experienced in the nuances of foreign lands would have visibly bristled at her insinuation, possibly challenged her to a duel of honor then and there. To do such would be folly of course; any number of knights would volunteer to champion her even were they complete strangers, so many so that she could have her choice of champions and for all the many things said of Bretonnian chivalry rarely was it said that they were unlearned in the martial sciences. Not that Salvadore had any doubt that he would be able to match or best any who stood against him in the ring of honor, but even victory there would be a loss. To rise to the incredibly obvious bait would be to make a misstep near her, costing both esteem in the eyes of those who heard of his deeds and favor of the lord of these lands before whom they sat now.
No, Salvadore recognized the attack for what it was; a ploy, one she had successfully used before in one fashion or another and reliant upon him fitting the mold of either a stereotype of more sunlit lands or an errant knight more learned in esteem for the Lady's damsels than rhetoric. To respond to words with steel was itself to concede the field. "It is most kind of you to mention this, Lady Elaine, though perhaps irresponsible of me to accept your charitable, if oblique, offer." Deliberately acknowleding her overt point while ignoring the more subtle attack, more practiced than skillfully delivered, nettled her. "I swore to Sir Blanchman that I would see this letter to Magdalene of honeyed tresses. Were I to simply surrender his final words to a stranger, however honorable and capable, when I am yet able to complete this task betrays his trust in me, makes my honor forfeit as an oathbreaker, and denies a grieving lady the comfort of one who was with him at his last." By describing his honor this way, Salvadore invited her to continue her attempt to needle him in such a way that drew attention to it, defending himself through increased vulnerability.
Maleagent, whose expression flickered between a hint of annoyance when Elaine spoke up and hardened slightly when Salvadore finished his response. The knight had followed the subtext, or at least enough of it to matter, and a pointed look made the damsel abort her response before it could begin. That byplay was interesting in and of itself; this didn't seem to be the first conflict of...interests? Opinions? the two held, but the lady was still clearly held in Maleagent's confidence enough to see her allowed in his presence armed with her magic when he himself was vulnerable as he was now; unarmored, seemingly at his ease and with only a single bodyguard near at hand. A very capable bodyguard, granted, and by no means unarmed himself, but given the presumably justified paranoia of the man there was either a measure of trust or, failing that, mutual understanding of one anothers' position.
The lord was silent for a time, upon first examination merely focused on his food but Salvadore recognized the motions of a man buying himself time to think. "Inspiring words, Sir Chavez." Maleagent's tone was not polite, but said with intent to segue into a new statement using that phrase as a sort of dismissal of sorts. However Salvadore could tell that the words had disrupted his line of thought somehow, answering one question and spawning three more of equal importance to be gauged. Favorably, Salvadore estimated, though neither overridingly nor unreservedly. Smoothly, as though the Bretonnian's planned dialogue hadn't dramatically shifted between heartbeats, he continued. "And in spirit I approve of your stated goal. Yet it would be a negligent host that were to allow you to undertake this journey, wounded as you are. Mousillon is dangerous to the hale and hearty moving in force, a single man or even a small band would be at risk from the unquiet woods." Elaine's scowl tipped off Salvadore that Maleagent was attempting to surprise him somehow with his next words. "Allow me to find a proper escort for you."
'Find', Salvadore noted. Given what Blanchmann had suggested of Maleagent's competent and trustworthy if not loyal retainers, what resources he had were likely stretched to the limit preparing for the tournament. Truth be told, waiting a day or two before haring off to deliver his message was not completely without merit, even if he was loathe to do so. A broken heart was apt to heal crookedly if set late. Still, to allow both he and the lord of Mousillon to save face, and to show he was willing to accommodate the lord somewhat, he relented and played up the headstrong fool being brought unreasonably to his senses. "I suppose it would be little good to anyone were I to bumble along blindly, finding every league of Mousillon save Périgord. I suppose it would be...." here he seemed to stumble over an unfamiliar word "sensible to delay long enough to find one who knows the way to that place."
Maleagent paused momentarily, and Salvadore could see further revision underway as the Estalian began to fit into a mental cubbyhole marked 'knight errant, foreign, some talent'. Now that the lord seemed to feel comfortable he was on more solid ground regarding Salvadore, the Estalian decided to reinforce that impression by artlessly steering the conversation towards the greatest social event in the region. "It would at least give me more time to see towards preparations for the tournement."
Elaine seemed to choke a bit on her wine. "You, competing?" She dabbed at the corner of her mouth, ostensibly to clean a spill but doing little to hide the growing smirk. "But the tournament is closed to those not of noble blood."
Salvadore nodded along. "That appears to be one obstacle overcome then. My father is hidalgo solariego, as is my uncle his brother with whom I traveled." He gestured with a chunk of rabbit speared upon a skewer. "The preparations I mention is the securing the use of a suitable mount. Alas, there is little room for a proper stables aboard a ship, so both my horsemanship and access to suitable mounts has waned over the last few years." He waited a half second before responding further. "By and by, I must thank the lady for her loan of her horse last night. It was quite charitable of her." As he'd hoped Elaine choked on one of her quail eggs, growing red faced from the indignation. Maleagent's face assumed a still expression that seemed more practiced than genuine, obviously not trying to show amusement at her being caught flatfooted.
"Voleur!" She managed to spit out. "Return at once my horse which you have stolen!" She caught on to Salvadore's wide smile only after the accusation had left her mouth.
With an air of affrontedness that wasn't actually much feigned, Salvadore made as if to rise from his seat. "Such accusations, priestess, and from you of all people! Look this very moment and see that Guiding Star stands in the very stable of this manor, and well-tended to at that! I dare say better treated than under your own care, no less. Recant your words, or have all know you as false." A minute amount of irritation leaked through into his words, but not so much that the woman didn't respond with a glower of her own. Her response showed greater escalation than he had allowed for, however.
"Honeyed words from an assassin."
At this Maleagent, who had been seemingly content to let the two bicker until now, quietly and calmly asked "Is that true, captain?"
Salvadore sat back down with an annoyed sigh. "Of course not. Firstly, if I was going to kill every self-important noble who annoyed me I'd still be in Matorca getting nothing useful done. Secondly, if I was going to assassinate her, it would be done with skill and finesse. She did more to endanger her life last night than I did. Being the last person seen with her before she's found dead in the morning? Who else would you suspect? Thirdly, the lady has already cheapened her testimony by accusing me of a prior crime with similar vigor, and that is easily proven false by the guards you had posted this very morning who saw me ride in. One with a lazy eye and the other with the..." Salvadore motioned to the side of his face, indicating a large blemish on the skin of the other guard. Maleagent glanced behind Salvadore to the knight standing guard, who nodded presumably in confirmation. "What worth is her word, when it is so easily squandered?"
Maleagent appeared nonplussed. Elaine appeared livid. "What? How...how dare you!"
"Are you asking the specific mechanics of how I dare, or simply expressing outrage that someone is calling attention to inconsistencies of deed and word? I fear you should be more specific." The air seemed to grow thicker, and the sun's morning rays gathered upon her garb in ways that felt unnatural.
Salvadore, for his part, maintained eye contact and placed another wedge of cheese in his mouth.
With a degree of calmness that Salvadore was surprised to think the Bretonnian probably actually felt, Maleagent spoke softly. "My lady, if you are going to kill him for his impertinence please do so somewhere else. You know how I'd hate to have this particular room cleaned up." The light dimmed in the room as the damsel visibly mastered her emotions. "And Captain Chavez, if you wouldn't mind doing a better job defending yourself than stating...what, that you are an assassin and are offended at the insinuation that you do sloppy work?"
"It would be easier if my accuser did a better job in mounting her offense. While it is true that sloppy work offends me, that is true of more than simply amateurish assassins. A poorly tied line in a storm can kill an entire crew, and a poorly made breakfast sours your entire morning." Salvadore was pretty sure most people had their breakfasts in the morning, at least. "While yes, I imagine I could do well for myself as an assassin, that is largely due to having complementary skill sets. Just because one knows the methods of cutthroats and scoundrels does not inherently make one a ne'er-do-well themselves. A fact I trust you to recognize, if anyone." When Maleagent raised an eyebrow, Salvadore continued. "Are you, yourself, a poisoner? It is possible, I suppose, but I daresay not. Not unless you count poisoning oneself. Your dark hair hides many of the signs normally present, but your fingernails show the kind of discoloration associated with iocane powder poisoning. Small doses, over a long period of time, you are developing an immunity to it. I suspect you have other such poisons already tested upon your person as proof against later malicious use. Dangerous, unless handled with both care and precision, but for a man in your position more likely to lengthen your span of years than quicken it. Further evidence of this is your preference for simple meals, where it is more difficult to hide the flavors of simpler poisons in a more complicated texture, and that ring on your finger. It changes colors near your goblet, which is where I suspect your morning's iocane rests. A further safeguard against poison, milord? Or would you like me to discuss the fascinating things I have deduced about this room? The iconography is a recent touch, and while the balcony behind you leaves much room for sunlight to come through-"
"Enough. Your skills of deduction, at least, are proven to my satisfaction. Your skill at self-restraint less so, though oddly that may be helping your case. Assassins with fast mouths make poor long term agents." A fey look, as though it had just occurred to him even though Salvadore had noticed the thought had came to him soon after Salvadore began expostulating on his poisons routine. "Why are you being so forthright about this?"
A shrug. "A few reasons. Largely because I am telling you things you want to hear. No, let me explain; I see in your position one I recognize in my own past. In my home it is considered a manful thing to wear one's heart on their sleeve. If you are happy, act happy. If you are sad, it is no shame to weep. When I first visited Tilea, it was as though sense had fled that place of the world; what one felt should be different from what one showed the world. In Bretonnia I suspect it is much the same as Estalia, yet uneasy sits the Duke d'Mousillon surrounded is he by the bitter cast-offs of Breton society. How often you have sat at table and smiled with one you held naught but contempt for, or distanced yourself from someone you would have considered friend if you could? I do not know, but I can suspect and that is enough for me. I give you something refreshing in its rarity in this world; truth, or near as I can find it." A pause. "...with the caveat that I do not claim to be unbiased. I am rather fond of myself, as my uncle would be the first to tell you."
There was silence for a long minute. Salvadore was almost beginning to fidget when the Bretonnian lord began to laugh quietly. "I have finally found an honest man in Mousillon. Miracles can exist, after all." It didn't take long before his tone returned to the business at hand. "I don't suppose there's anything the most honest man in my city thinks I should know?"
Salvadore considered for a long moment. A number of possibilities occurred to him, but pointing out flaws in Maleagent's otherwise well-tested security arrangements would be counterproductive. He was in the heart of his power, and presumably as relaxed as he was going to get for now. Judging by the number of times Sir Durand had tensed up already it would be difficult to make any critique sound like anything but a threat. At the same time, however, Maleagent has spent every day of his reign considering threats. Hmmm.... "Well, milord, there is one thing that occurred to me." At Maleagent's raised eyebrow Salvadore continued. "Judging by the vessels in the harbor, your ability to project strength throughout the duchy seems to be limited. Similarly I presume that the Black Ark that came through eliminated your seagoing presence as well, for I saw little evidence of them either. The Grismerie extends well into the heart of Bretonnia, and the best first line of defense against raiders striking into the interior is the city right here, something I presume the Bretonii who built the city considered when they selected this site to lay stone upon stone. I see little in the way of harbor defenses, or even a chain spanning the length of the river."
Maleagent's frown was thoughtful rather than disapproving, his visitor telling him things that he had considered and discarded already but now giving him the opportunity to reexamine in a new light. "Bastonne and Gisoreux would ill-like the idea of our being able to cut off their access to the sea." He said carefully, trying the idea out. "And if I chained the river Bassot would have his own chain, then if it looked like I was unable to stop him every riverine castle north of him would have their own."
Salvadore shrugged. "I know little of the character of the men you described, but by the way you phrased it a stern enough reprimand, delivered with alacrity and precision, would nip that in the bud. A tercio to cut the chain and naught else costs him the chain and prestige, while for you they are armed retainers performing a patrol against" here Salvadore waved his hand vaguely "unsavory elements. Surely he has requested aid from his liege to deal with such before, yes?"
"A tercio, you say? As well ask for a lance of Grail Knights to ride through and burn away all the corruption of this land."
"Alas, I cannot deliver to you the lance of knights, but my cousin comes of the age where young men of his station are commonly assigned a small troop of militia to learn to command. And as you mentioned once already that Mousillon is dangerous to lone travelers, it occurs to me that near five dozen other souls need to begin their return to Périgord as well. An escort to ensure that they do not turn to brigandage out of desperation would be needed anyway, but if you were permit Alonsico to cut his teeth instructing men to march in file, turn on command and other such minutia it would appear that two difficulties solve themselves. And while sixty souls does not a legion make, great things have small beginnings."
Maleagent gave this thought, while Elaine wanted to speak against it. She had social capital to spend on another assault against Salvadore's credibility, but having defeated and deflected the prior two she was probably awaiting a more opportune moment to make mischief. Good, hopefully the next attempt on his life would be more stimulating. After two minutes of silent contemplation he shook his head ruefully. "The gesture is appreciated, but I cannot trust any man held by those raiders to have fight left in them. Would that I could prevent such from happening again instead."
Salvadore paused at that. "I...am less sure I can help you there. While I do not as yet have an answer for you, I can at least leave you with a more informed sort of ignorance." He cleared out a section of table before him, shoving plates and dishes to the side. "Estalia has a similar though not identical problem dealing with corsairs from Araby, though they have a number of key differences to them I will address in a moment. Firstly, being able to defend against an attack relies on knowing of an attack. To that end a series of heliographs are spread along the coast, maintained by the Cult of Myrmidia with the assistance of local laity. These allow scouts to quickly relay basic information to a response force tasked to shadow any coastal raiders. These caballeros move quickly along well mapped roads between villages, which the local villages are tasked with maintaining. They also have the right to call up the local militias of the villages and townships they pass through, but usually do so when they are close to the raiders so as to maintain good marching time. The militia are likewise well-drilled, being exempted from taxes on days they have drilled to the satisfaction of the district militia warden." As he described the system, he drew lines on the table with discarded silverware and bits of wine on his finger. "That is the shield, but the spear is a well-maintained bluewater navy ready to both intercept the raiders using the same heliograph network, and to retaliate against whatever city sponsored the ships to attack."
Maleagent was interested enough to stand and move closer for a better look, leaving the ring of daylight near the window. "I see what you mean. No, this system may indeed work well for Estalia, but...." He sighed. "At every point this scheme fails in Mousillon. Still...I thank you, Sir Chavez, for giving me such to think on."
Salvadore walked to the open window and gazed out upon Mousillon. The city was a stinking wreck, with an entire district covered in soot and burnt to its foundations just across the river, and holes in the walls only halfheartedly repaired. Beyond that lay a series of evenly spaced mounds, a mass grave. Nearer there could be found activity, city folk going about their daily tasks with a furitive, defensive look or, more often, just sitting somewhere and staring at nothing at all. Shallya wept, is this what Maleagent looked out at every morning? "Lord Maleagent, if you don't mind I do have a question for you." At the other man's noncommittal reply he continued. "My uncle and first mate tell me that Mousillon has no Shallyans, yet if ever there were a people needing succor I would think they would be found at this place and time. Why, then, are they gone?"
Turning around he saw Maleagent looking older than his years. In a voice too quiet for Salvadore to suspect it was meant for anyone but the lord's own ears, the duke murmered. "What good is a Shallyan when suffering cannot be brought to an end?" A sigh, and at a more normal volume. "Some time ago, I cannot recall exactly how long now, a plague swept through Mousillon. I was new to the city then, and thought it a terrible catastrophy. The high priestess came to me and asked for aid, and the fool I was then gave it to her." His normally even tone wavered for a second, though Salvadore doubted someone else would have noticed it. "I have seen knights lay into monsters with less holy fury than these doves fought the sickness, and for a time it looked like they would best the miasmas. Then..." Salvadore noticed a moment of hesitation, less than a heartbeat but there all the same. "The sicknesses fell upon the Shallyans. They, and those helping them, died to a soul." Maleagent was telling him the truth...but not the whole truth.
"A battle worth remembering, I would think." Salvadore replied. "Perhaps worth comissioning a tapestry? It seems like not the first worthy plague to be remembered that way."
A snort. "Hardly something to celebrate." Ah, there it is. A practiced deflection. "Nor would it be politic to celebrate something in so similar a fashion as Merovech. My neighbors have long memories, when it suits them, and their neglect promises to be more aid than their attention would."
Elaine interjected here before Maleagent could elaborate. "I believe I have finished with my breakfast. Lord Maleagent, there were those other matters to attend to this morning." Turning to Salvadore she gave him a prim "You may leave us."
Salvadore bristled at her presumption, but at a nod from Maleagent the Estalian rose, gave an impeccable courtly bow, and strode from the room.
Salvadore has a few days before he moves on. What does he do?
[] Tour the city, there has to be something interesting here beyond poverty and misery
[] Check the markets. There's something on offer here if you can just sniff it out
[] Check the "specialty markets", you never know what people can get their hands on when lawful authority isn't looking
[] Spend time with the crew
[] Spend time with your uncle and cousin
[] Write in
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] Spend time with your uncle and cousin
New
[X] Tour the city, there has to be something interesting here beyond poverty and misery
[X] Tour the city, there has to be something interesting here beyond poverty and misery
Last edited:
- Location
- West Michigan
[X] Check the "specialty markets", you never know what people can get their hands on when lawful authority isn't looking
King Arthur
The Once and Future King
[X] Spend time with your uncle and cousin
I'llNameThisL8r
Bad at names
- Location
- Here
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] Check the "specialty markets", you never know what people can get their hands on when lawful authority isn't looking
Well, I was initially against going out and causing trouble in the good lord's city, but with an argument like that, how can I say no? Changing my vote.
Heretek
Techpriest of Tzeentch
I vaguely recall plans to purchase a magic sword or ship when last this great beast awoke. Are those things we could look into? Magic anything is pretty much never sold on an open market, and this area's been hit rather hard by raiders so I doubt they have a ton of ships to sell, but it could point is to the right people to talk to.
[X] Check the markets. There's something on offer here if you can just sniff it out
[X] Check the markets. There's something on offer here if you can just sniff it out
Last edited:
I was originally planning to have a vote on 'what to spend money on from the treasure you got' but I decided to let this vote go first so I could start writing.
It is possible to purchase magic items on the open market, though there is a very large degree of caveat emptor involved. If you're lucky you got swindled, or picked up a dairy sword, but if you aren't....ah, you'll be fine. In the Empire the Colleges of Magic try to keep a close eye on who has what flaming axe or sword that ignores metal, but there's enough confusion from looting after battles, thieves stealing things, idiots dabbling in things they really shouldn't, tombs being opened and sundry other cracks for information to fall through that they don't hope to keep track of everything. In Bretonnia it's a bit simpler; if it's a magic item of some sort it is held either by the Damsels or some member of the nobility in trust from the Lady of the Lake.
There have been instances where a verified useful magic item has been auctioned off (Marienburgers, no respect) but that was a closed auction under very tight security.
