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+ | < | ||
+ | turn: 169 | ||
+ | title: The Foreign Tutor | ||
+ | start: 1001/10/12 10:00 | ||
+ | end: 1001/10/13 08:00 | ||
+ | posted_date: | ||
+ | played_date: | ||
+ | weather: chilly | ||
+ | location: in the cith of Maelbourg, the barony of Huerten, the kingdom of Rang | ||
+ | xp_corbyn: 18800:Bonus for character history | ||
+ | xp_voss: 18400:No XP this turn, but bonus for character history. Voss hasn't started yet. | ||
+ | </ | ||
+ | |||
+ | < | ||
+ | |||
+ | Frost hung in the air as Corbyn' | ||
+ | |||
+ | The widow' | ||
+ | |||
+ | He regretted again the necessity of selling his horse in one of the farmsteads outside of town, but there had been no other choice, really. It hadn't been that difficult to get over the wall of Maelbourg once night had fallen, especially with the unusual cold. The guards had walked briskly from tower to tower along the tops of the walls, lingering indoors as long as they could get away with. But that was no route for a horse, and with the city sealed, he could not have just ridden up to the gates. Still, a horse would be a good idea, in case he had to leave quickly. | ||
+ | |||
+ | Corbyn wondered how long he should dally in this gloomy city. For the most part, the nature of the Morenthians was no better than the weather. Maybe it was the dramatic recent events, he told himself, that led these people to make Zahirans appear optimistic. Having an invading army upon their doorstep and an evil sorcerer preying on their populace might have put a crimp on things. Corbyn had heard about the dazzling defender of the city as well, the Golden Priest who walked upon the air. Politics could go hang for all they mattered. Didn't the people of Maelbourg see the wonder that was before them? What was truly important? Magic, witnessed by hundreds, if not thousands. | ||
+ | |||
+ | The status of the army was a bit puzzling. While the town officials had rallied the people of Maelbourg to repel the attempted invasion, more than a few residents seemed keen upon welcoming this Balban fellow and his forces. | ||
+ | |||
+ | As much as the descriptions fascinated him, Corbyn had concluded he should give the evil sorcerer a wide berth. A man who could bend minds was nobody to tangle with, though if he could be observed from a distance... No matter. It wasn't even clear whether the evil sorcerer was still alive or not -- opposing rumors ran rampant. And nearly a week had passed here and Corbyn found himself with no real leads. Keep calm, he told himself. A handful of days hardly represented a thorough investigation. He had to give it time. Maybe the Golden Priest was the place to start, at the House of Morenth. Better than looking for a possibly dead evil sorcerer at any rate. But first there was the matter of the rooms. | ||
+ | |||
+ | A right at the crossroads ahead led away from the heart of Maelbourg. Several vendors had said good things about the Eight Tails Inn, so Corbyn had decided to pay the place a visit. The rooms were said to have good locks on the doors for an extra fee, and the inn was crowded enough that the innkeeper might not notice a room out of use for a day or two. | ||
+ | |||
+ | Though it was still late afternoon, the city's streets were far too quiet. No matter what he might do, Corbyn was readily noticeable, and now was not the time for creeping down alleys. As he drew near the inn, Corbyn was approached by member of the watch who was patrolling the thoroughfare. "Hold there," | ||
+ | |||
+ | Corbyn drew to a stop and stood erect. He looked at the guard unflinchingly and then, and this was the important part, nodded his head just a bit, enough to acknowledge the fellow and show respect, but not enough to appear overly deferential, | ||
+ | |||
+ | The watchman' | ||
+ | |||
+ | It worked, thought Corbyn. The fellow is going to be polite. He knows I'm not some farmer or apprentice. "That is true, officer. However, good report of this customhouse had reached my ears and I ventured forth today to determine if yonder inn might be worthy of my future patronage." | ||
+ | |||
+ | "You want a room at the inn?" he asked eventually. | ||
+ | |||
+ | "Yes, good officer." | ||
+ | |||
+ | "Who are you, and why do you need a room at this inn? Where are you moving from?" | ||
+ | |||
+ | "My name is Corbyn and I am looking for more suitable lodgings. I had taken a room at the house of a respectable widow-woman, | ||
+ | |||
+ | "Why is that?" | ||
+ | |||
+ | "Well, to be frank, though the widow is a very respectable lady, I find she intrudes upon my solitude more than I prefer." | ||
+ | |||
+ | The guard laughed at that. "Guess that's pretty understandable. You're not from Maelbourg, are you?" | ||
+ | |||
+ | Corbyn shook his head. "Nay, I was a visitor to your city, and truly hope it sees fairer days soon. But given closing of the gates, I will be staying in Maelbourg for the foreseeable future. Hence my need to locate some suitable long-term lodgings." | ||
+ | |||
+ | "What brought you to Maelbourg? What is it you do?" | ||
+ | |||
+ | "That is a fair question, and not one with the best of answers." | ||
+ | |||
+ | "So what brought you to Maelbourg?" | ||
+ | |||
+ | "Well, I was partially attracted by a chance for scholarship -- I had never visited the city before -- but primarily, it was for a position as a lecturer and tutor. I had been offered a reasonable commission for my services for a period of a few months, and had journeyed here to take up the offer." | ||
+ | |||
+ | "What family?" | ||
+ | |||
+ | "Alas, my employer was Goren Malblanc." | ||
+ | |||
+ | The guard looked downcast. " | ||
+ | |||
+ | " | ||
+ | |||
+ | It took a moment for the watchman to realize that Corbyn had finished speaking. "Fair enough, sir. Sorry to trouble you, but my eyes were drawn to the gear." The guard pointed to the armor and whip. "Is there a particular reason for those?" | ||
+ | |||
+ | Corbyn shrugged. " | ||
+ | |||
+ | The guard chuckled, apparently taken with the idea of some rich townsman' | ||
+ | |||
+ | "Thank you officer. And if I might suggest, perhaps when you go off duty you could come join me in the taproom? It would be my honor to buy you a mug or two in return for your watchfulness. I feel it's the least I could do and I'd like to make some new acquaintances while I am here." | ||
+ | |||
+ | The guard slapped him on the back, a blow that made the slight man quiver. "That would be most welcome, friend. I've got another two hours out here, but then I'd be happy to join you for a round or two." Corbyn nodded once again and made his leave, casually strolling into the inn, which had a sign over the door with eight snake tails arranged in the same way as Morenth' | ||
+ | |||
+ | ---- | ||
+ | |||
+ | Working for Gerrit Argol was probably the easiest job Jehrad Voss had ever had. Argol, a spindly, pot-bellied man in his sixties, had been attacked, and both his legs broken, in some political maneuver Voss didn't understand. From that moment, he'd become completely paranoid, spending inordinate amounts of money on locks for his doors and bars for his windows, and constantly checking around corners on the rare occasion that he left his house at all. Even the journeyman money-lenders and the loan sharks he also controlled were kept at a distance, just in case. That was Voss's job. In the beginning, he'd been led to believe that the townsman had dangerous enemies who were lurking around every corner, and desperately needed protection. Now he knew that Argol was just a scared little man who needed a hulk like Voss to stand between him and his visitors and look intimidating. | ||
+ | |||
+ | As one of a handful of people from the Eastern Kingdoms anywhere in Rang, let alone in the backwater that was Huerten, Voss would already have stood out for his intensely pale complexion, pocked with red blotches from the southern sun beating on stubborn skin that refused to tan, and his completely shaved head. But he was more than just a pale-faced stranger. Standing at nearly six feet tall, he gave the impression of being much larger. Big bones, canon ball shoulders and cobra-like neck and upper back only added to his overall marked appearance. His appendages were just as massive. Thick muscular arms complete with fat sausage fingers sprouted out of large, veiny bear-sized hands. His crooked nose had clearly been broken more than once, and he was missing nearly half of his right ear. A five inch scar marred his forehead above the right eye, and clipped the center of his eyebrow. Cold, ice-grey orbs were what make up his eyes. If that wasn't enough, his entire body was covered with scarification designs, even if only the edges of many of them could be seen when he was in full dress. On the left side of his neck was the image of a small key and opening door, with a hand reaching out and beckoning for someone to enter. | ||
+ | |||
+ | In short, standing around and looking intimidating was a job that Voss was very, very good at. | ||
+ | |||
+ | It was almost a relief when Argol, hobbling around on his crutches, walked in on Voss while he was scrubbing a stain out of his tunic. Designs covered his entire upper body, but the most notable was an intricate white hot scarification along his entire right forearm. It depicted a kneeling nude woman with her hands thrown to the air in an act of anguish or despair. Strange letters surrounded the depiction in a spiral pattern. | ||
+ | |||
+ | Argol stood there and stared, unable to speak. Finally, he muttered, "This won't do... No, this won't do at all..." | ||
+ | |||
+ | ---- | ||
+ | |||
+ | Several days after he'd rented his room at the Eight Tails, Corbyn was starting to become comfortable in the strange town. Besides his room, he'd rented out an old stable that wasn't being used anymore. The loft, with its poorly shuttered window, looked conveniently out on an alley. Corbyn liked to be prepared for anything. He kept a hooked rope in the loft, able to be clipped on the window and lowered the alley below. Another hooked rope sat on the roof, with a thread tied to the loose end. The thread dangled almost invisibly near the window. If he had to, he could drop the first rope out of the window on the alley, then pull the thread and use the second rope to go up to the roof and pull the rope back up after him. If he was being followed, a pursuer who entered would only see the rope leading down to the alley. | ||
+ | |||
+ | Corbyn had explained to the landlord, a cobbler who lived in a small house on the same property, that he would be giving lessons to children there. He already had a group of five children from among the poor of the town, whose parents were more concerned with keeping them out of trouble than in the religion of their teacher? He even had one student who paid with more than an occasional apple. Weret, the son of a journeyman chandler, came in with a few diyars for each lesson. Besides giving him semi-gainful employment, the children provided Corbyn with information about Maelbourg and what went on on a day-to-day basis. | ||
+ | |||
+ | Finding a guard to watch over his school during lessons proved difficult. The entire town guard and more had been scooped up by townsmen for personal protection, and by Captain Duddan to protect against Balban' | ||
+ | |||
+ | Corbyn had learned a lot about Maelbourg in his short time there. He was good at that. He knew all about the recent political conflict that had escalated to violence. He knew about the disappearance of Ulan and the murder of Galgewe that left a power void in the town. What he did not know, and what he wanted most to know, was what had happened to the Golden Priest. The man had appeared from the House, battled with the sorcerer, and retreated back to the House, never to be seen again. | ||
+ | |||
+ | Corbyn rubbed his eyes. Something about the past few days was making him and many other people in Maelbourg tired. He woke and slept at basically the same time he usually did, but he felt like he wasn't getting enough sleep. Focus... | ||
+ | |||
+ | The obvious thing would be to stroll into the House and ask, but that was far more difficult than it seemed. Getting in required being a Morenthian, and people in this town seemed really good at guessing he wasn' | ||
+ | |||
+ | After the sorcerer was supposedly killed by the Golden Priest, two jewelers were murdered, and messages were written on their walls in blood. The sorcerer had returned, everyone said. The House made no comment, but the priests were still out in force, as if waiting for something. Then, finally, the sorcerer showed himself, right near the House. Corbyn was one of many witnesses to the event, where Leera, Ulan's daughter, reflected the sorcerer' | ||
+ | |||
+ | The day after the vanquishing, | ||
+ | |||
+ | < | ||
+ | |||
+ | Welcome to the game, Brendan (Corbyn) and Christopher (Voss)! | ||
+ | |||
+ | < | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | ~~DISCUSSION~~ | ||
+ | |||