At the Keep

"Loanus of Timber Creek!" a younger man with dark hair cries out to the guards. "Here to help clear this area of any threats to the Keep and her people."

---

Seated by the driver of the lead wagon is a tall, slender young man with a full beard and long, dark hair that is tied into a ponytail. The man has skin that is lightly tanned, perhaps from many hours under the sun, and deep, bright-gray eyes that are keen and soulful. He is clad in functional travel clothes worn underneath a cuirass and shoulder pauldrons of thick animal hide, all in the manner of a warrior-huntsman.

This man has been part of this caravan since it had first set off, but for all this time, he really hasn't found out the reason for being here, in this Keep at the Borderlands. All he knows is that his secret, otherworldly patron, the dragon-sword Wyrmfang, has been sending him impressions that have led him here. And so here he is, following a mystical hunch from his mystical master.

Looking up to meet the leading guardsman's gaze, this man stands to his full height, smiles and stretches his arms to either side of him. In a clear, loud voice, he calls out in reply, "Hail, good sirs! My name is Stefan, and we mean you and your fair settlement no harm. We are able-bodied men and women, looking to find honest work and to contribute to the community, if you will have us."

During the long journey from civilization to the Borderlands, Brother Gregor, a cheerful and affable young human male walked alongside the wagons, helping the common folk who were trudging with caravan, carrying all of their worldly possessions in seek of a new life in the outer-kingdom's colonies.

Over his gleaming chainmail hauberk, the white surcoat emblazoned with a sunburst symbol, which was echoed on his white round shield, and the golden amulet around his neck marked the young man as a priest of Pelor. At his side was a trusty mace and he carried a spear, which he often used as a walking stick.

His closely cropped black hair, clean shaven light brown face, and bright brown eyes made him look even younger than his 21 years. With a youthful vigor and large frame the warrior-priest bore the hardship of the journey well.

Once the group has halted in front of the gates of the Keep looming up above them, Brother Gregor answers the challenge from the guardsman.

"Brother Gregor, in service of blessed Pelor, and so at yours!" He holds up a worn leather bound book "I bring the good word to your Keep, praise Pelor!"

Xan had ridden along with the caravan since almost the beginning chatting with everyone and entertaining people with minor illusions and creations and displays of druidcraft as well as keeping the head of the caravan informed about the coming weather. Xan was a happy little chatter box with an optimistic outlook. She has silver hair with violet eyes but tends to change this up. When she is not talking with people she is often drawing or painting.

When they get to the keep she looks for the ladder and scrambles down with her belongings.
"Why hello, I am Xantria Noble. I am here for adventure, friends, and to have fun." he smiles up at the guards.

When his turn to present himself came, the straggler who had joined the caravan on the previous afternoon stepped forward, his elven heritage and aristocratic finery in full display.

"In your tongue, you may call me simply Caelymbor, my surname translates as the Wise, Isael in our ancestral tongue. I come here seeking shelter after tragedy struck my traveling companions and I; waylaid by bandits. I barely escaped with my life, my companions struck down before I could do much. I seek to rest, and then seek revenge against these vagrants!"

It seems clear the high elf before you was ill equipped to fight off a band of highwaymen: he bore no armor, though an elegant yew longbow and corresponding quiver, as well as a rather long dagger can be seen on his person. His fine clothes dirtied by the road and splattered with blood seem to be his only garments.

Despite his predicament, this elf exudes an air of authority. His lavender eyes and golden-blond hair knotted in a functional pony tail complete the picture of a man used to issuing orders and being obeyed. His age cannot be determined, as is often the case for those of his heritage.

The other trappings of the common adventurer -- his rather empty backpack and pockets, the gurgling of his empty stomach -- are a dissonant signal that all is not as it might seem with this young man. He has not spoken much since joining the caravan, but his soft, velvety tone is clearly recognizable.

Uldrik stood quietly and imposingly waiting for the others to introduce themselves. His large frame and muscular build made him seem much older than he really was. His long unkempt hair and full beard didn't help either. Clad in furs and leather wrappings with a greataxe strapped to his back he was an intimidating figure. The young barbarian eyed the keep warily. Having grown up in the wilds he had never seen such a sight as this keep with its armed and uniformed guards and many people going about their lives. When it was his turn to introduce himself he spoke quickly and gruffly, "Uldrik of clan Fanghammer, I'm here for work and to bring back the honor of my clan." With that he crossed his arms and waited.

Liam had been a raucous addition to the caravan on their way in. Partying, playing dice, challenging Can to weirder and stranger illusions than the last (the cow-squid-rooster chimera request was adorable in a nightmare-fuel sort of way) or jokes and barbs like telling Brother Gregor 'quit loafing and get back to work' when the sun set. A pleasant companion but one that always managed to not say much about himself aside from that he 'used to be in a circus'.

When the guards ask his name he calls out "Liam!" but offers little more unless pressed. During the speech, he stays quiet, observant, which is unusual for him to say the least. With his twin swords and crossbow he looks like a mercenary as any other and, for once, seems content to blend in with the crowd.

Brother Gregor thanks the man "Thank you Castellan. Is there a shrine to Pelor anywhere in the Keep? " He thumps the book and adds "Though as the good book says, ‘Let Creation be a temple onto ye’."

Xan walks in and says, "What kind of investigation did you need help with ?" Her wide eyes looking up at the imposing Balliff.

---

"Peace bonding, right." Stefan pulls the woodsman's axe from its sling on his back. Under most circumstances, that axe is very unremarkable, practically indistinguishable from other axes aside from the name 'Stefan' in Elvish runes carved at the end of the wooden handle. In truth, however, he has performed a ritual on the axe, channeling his arcane energies through it - in battle, the axe transforms into one with draconic designs in its construction and draconic runes engraved along its length.

But because this is not a battle, the axe remains unremarkable, and its head is protected by a sheathe. To conform with the rules of peace bonding, the half-elf ties a leather strap around and over the sheathe, securing it to the axe-head so that the weapon's edge is not so exposed. Then, he tests the strap before the constable, demonstrating that it is indeed secure. "There, good sir. My axe, peace-bonded."

Then, the tall, slender half-elf walks over to stand a step behind Xantria. "My friend Xan here has a point, Bailiff Berin. We might be of a skill set that might lend to 'a little detective work'. Or if you have any particular task of great importance, I might be able to help with that, too."

---

"Law and order, yes, that is precisely what I seek. And rest, so that I can get to the business of finding the lawless thugs that have injured me, and doubtlessly many others... this Wildsedge tavern seems like the perfect place to begin..."

As the elf talked, he made sure that the bailiff and his men could see that he was unstringing his bow. " A man’s knife, must it be bounded? I have nothing to do it with... any straps of leather available?"

At the talk of the bailiff having tasks he needed done, Caelymbor nodded severely as the others suggested they may be the people to carry them out. Though the travellers had only met the elf a day before, he had made clear that he sought company and was inclined to seek adventure as part of a group, should the opportunity arise.

Uldrik watched as the others began to cover and take apart their weapons, living his life in the wilds he had never had to hide his weapons before. He drew his greataxe from his back and held it out. "Anyone want to help with this?" He asked his traveling companions.

Ties up her scimitar as requested.

"I will keep alert, it seems we would need to go out though, to the caravan if they are arriving light. I will try to look into it, maybe one of these big folk will join me in doing it ?"

"Sure," says probably the least big of the folk. Sweeping his long hair over his ear, Ian steps forward to hear the Baliff's request, nodding slowly as he peace bonds his swords in place.

"Quick question. Y'said supplies're missin'. Are we talkin' weapons, medicine, food? What's missin'?"

---

Standing at over six feet tall, Stefan might be counted among the 'big folk', though he is too slender - a physical representation of the elven half of his ancestry - to really be considered 'big' in the traditional sense. But still, he has come to understand Xan's references enough to know that he indeed is counted as 'big folk' to her.

Placing a reassuring hand on Xan's shoulders, Stefan adds in his musical baritone, "Aye, of course I will be with you, Xan, m'dear. Once we've settled in, maybe gotten accommodation at the inn, we should be able to get right on with this investigation."

Though he sounds and acts casually, Stefan is worried. Theft of the keep's supplies seems to be a rather involved sort of crime, one that most organizations would like to keep to themselves. If these lawmen are so willing to entrust such an investigation with strangers, it is either that the situation must be rather desperate, or that the lawmen are trying to distance themselves from its eventual outcome.

Either way, the young half-elf - well, only young in appearance, for the power of his patron has sustained him so for some decades now - is fully committed to this course of action. To appease his own curiosity, if nothing else.

Xan smiles up brightly to Stefan, "Thanks, I am glad to have some company. Your right though getting something to eat does sound like a capital idea !" Xan seemed a lot happier now that someone was going to help out.