RP Session 4: "A Halfday's Ride"

Rhoderick glances around the encircling crowd and tiredly starts to pronounce

Friends, Shepherds, Country men. Lend me you ears! As a proud Priest of the Storm Mother, I will welcome you to the Deep where the Silence shall be evermore. However I beseech you to stay with your voice and not antagonise my companions who will gladly send you to the Silence

As he talks he palms one of the daggers attached to the inner side of his shield, ready to throw at the first sign of violence

Ser Lancaelad had allowed himself to be lulled into a kind of painful trance by the ride; the aches in his thighs, back and rump from the long day's flight and ride and flight again mingling with the sharper pains of his wounds, old and fresh. It made it difficult to focus on anything but Ogre's next tread, the next yard of rutted road, and he lead the party straight into a woolly thicket without realising.

The smell of sheep dung and lanolin, the bleating of the flock surrounded them on all side like a bank of low cloud. Lan's temper, never held on a tight leash at the best of times, finally broke loose in an unchivalrous tirade. "Whoreson Endierans and your thrice-damned sheep! And oxen! Can you people not control your beasts of burden?! What gods-damned hour of vespertide do you call this to be driving your flock to pasture!? Did you tarry to admire the sunset? Was it SOOO delightful?"

He finished with a clench-jawed snort, his attention drawn by the scarred man who did not seem to be a shepherd. Perhaps the local lord of the land? Or perhaps another of the Prince of Rabbit's blackguards, and those shepherds were just waiting to draw bows and feather the companions while they were bogged down by the flock!

Lan drew the pike from his saddle, and rolled his shoulder to shift his shield from where it hung on his back to his arm. He didn't trust a word that came out of the man's mouth. "And who are you? You say you rode hard to catch us, yet here you are a-waiting. Only wolves seek to separate sheep from the flock." He paused, flushed red, and added: "And we are no sheep to be lead to the slaughter! Name yourself!"

"There is no need for anyone to be sent to the Silence, good Priest. Consider the situation; I am but a single man, you have all of the advantage."

"And who are you? You say you rode hard to catch us, yet here you are a-waiting. Only wolves seek to separate sheep from the flock." He paused, flushed red, and added: "And we are no sheep to be lead to the slaughter! Name yourself!"

The stranger listens to the knight's tirade with a raised eyebrow but doesn't seem worried about the pointy stick.

"Tis better no names be used. I am going to slowly draw a letter out of my shirt. I assume you know your letters?" the man asks the sheep who is not a sheep. "No reason to point out this man's error of logic."

As promised, the redhead slowly removes a folded parchment from his shirt.

"Who will retrieve this letter of introduction?" Come, come, you waste valuable time before your other friends catch you."

The square of folded parchment is sealed with thick red wax and a seal has been pressed in place. The device certainly looks important.

Corson looks to Lan for permission to approach before stepping up to take the letter and return it to the headstrong knight.

As Lancaelad is reading the letter, in an off hand manner, the stranger says to the squire,
"Have you heard news of barley out of Ghoere by the way?"

Lancaelad glowered at the insolent fellow who played games with his words, but waited for Corson to retrieve the letter. He re-stowed his pike and shield to free his hands and snatched the letter up, peering closely at the wax seal before cracking it open and squinting to read the message under the cold moonlight.

Meaaahhhh

"It appears to be Paidrig's hand," Lan allowed, scrutinising the meticulous script. He handed the letter to Tovrunn with a snap of his wrist, secretly hoping she might make better sense of the thinking behind it. "But we have seen false missives conjured out of thin air, have we not?" he said, thinking of the Vos wizard Pavel Petranova.

Blyaaaaaah

"Or perhaps you coerced my squire to pen it. What have you done with him, 'Coleburn'? Who do you serve, truly?" The pugnacious peacock of a knight did not reach for his weapon again, which was a measure of progress, at least.

Mhehhhhh

"And will someone move these bloody sheep!"

Coleburn ignores the knight of the peacock to focus on the man in the green tabard as he waits for a reply to his inquiry about Ghoere barley.

Corson makes no response to Rory, merely cocking his head slightly before taking the letter of introduction to Lancaelad.

"This is getting no where, time is short & names have been said. The knight is going to be a problem. I'll ask the group about the barley then bribe the shepherds to forget us."

"Has anyone heard about the barley harvest in Ghoere this year?"

Lan's green eyes widened. "What say you? Are you the one we seek? Did you send the beggar to accost me?" He stared at Coleburn's patient, knowing expression for a moment, then snapped his fingers to conjure a memory. "Yes, yes, the barley, its price will be high this season!" He gestured eagerly for the man to offer his counter-sign.

Hardly a masterly display of tradecraft.

"I favour Tuor barley for my beer in any case.'"

Cole gives the group a little while to ponder Cole's answer. In the meantime,

"Good shepards, gather 'round. Please accept this gift for the trouble we have caused your flock. Another party is coming down this road & they are dangerous. It is to your advantage to forget about us. We were never here."

Each shepherd receives 5 gp.

For once, Tovrunn fully understood Lancaelad's outrage. While she was somewhat less inclined to blame shepherds for the tending of their flocks than she was a pompous merchant for his obstinance, a road block was a road block, and they had encountered far too many obstacles in their path for comfort. The fact that at least some of them were paid to be in the way by their pursuers made the young druid all the more wary and suspicious.

That said, Tovrunn did tut a little at her husband-to-be's choice of wording. But then again, he did ask for a very unchivalrous song to cover their escape.

Pulling the remnants of her focus onto her spell craft as a stranger approached, Tovrunn kept quiet and let the men do the talking...for now. The stranger was right, it would not be a challenge to end him should he prove to be false, but violence amidst a herd of sheep wasn't likely to be seen as subtle, and she had set fire to more than enough on this trip.

Taking the letter from Lancaelad when he offered it to her, she read it in its entirety. Then she read it a second time, keeping a careful eye for any sign that Paidrig had been compelled to write this. The entirety of this situation was fully out of hand, and Tovrunn was exhausted, in pain, and paranoid in a way she had never been before. Stressors that she knew her companions were also suffering from, just from the looks of it. To reach their destination only for their as-yet unidentified assailants to have beaten them here did little favors for her ability to trust any newcomer that she was not expecting, especially one who was offering to help.

Cole makes no effort to hide his speech with the shepherds allowing anyone who is paying attention to understand Cole is warning them of the party's pursuers and asking them to forget this meeting.

It remains unclear if the shepherds were hired by Cole to hold up the group so he could speak with them. Perhaps, Cole is simply taking advantage of a fortune situation.

"...then Sarimie must smile on you," Tovrunn answered after a few moments, finishing the code phrase. Handing the letter back to Lancaelad, she leaned closer.

"We're running out of time and options," she said, trying to keep her tone neutral. "We need rest, you most of all. There's nothing in Paidrig's writing that gives me pause, and this man believes every word he's saying. We were waiting on someone, why shouldn't it be him?"

"...then Sarimie must smile on you," Tovrunn answered after a few moments, finishing the code phrase.

"Yes, lady mine," Cole answers Tovrunn. She might recognize the answer is constructed in the manner of her native language (Já, fú mim.)

It should be obvious that this man is doing what he can to put everyone at ease.

Lancaelad bridled a little at the obvious truth that he was worn and ill-tempered as he tucked the letter away, but nodded at Tovrunn's judgement. That he sought and heeded the counsel of someone else was perhaps remarkable in and of itself.

"Lead on, then," he said as the shepherds took their pay and dispersed the herd. "Though I warn you, any falsity of word or deed on your part will be grievously repaid." He gently spurred Ogre forward as soon as the bleating mob was out of the way, raising a hand to gesture for the others to follow.