DAY -1. An hour past sundown, in the taproom of the Centaur’s Hoof [Village of Rifford]:
Stanilus’ spoiler-
Two days after he had been tasked to act as a messenger for Lord Borlin, Stanilus learned that his patron had been killed and that he, himself, was in danger. Fleeing in order to save his neck, Stanilus sought passage on the first boat that he could find and, although the Swift Gosling was anything but fast, it was the only boat leaving Ostgall that fateful day. After reaching the boat, Stanilus spent two interminable weeks on the small knarrskip, as it laboriously tacked and poled its way up the River Lorkyng.
Arriving in Rifford, the aspiring bard became disheartened when he found that the ruler of the region, Eorl Hroxim, was currently in the south. Performing his duties to the crown, the eorl wouldn’t need the services of a bard in the foreseeable future. Depressed, and weighing his options, the dandy had been drowning his sorrows at the Cantuar’s Hoof for most of the last week.
Mulling his situation, Stanilus glanced to his left. There, at the end of the bench, sat the unassuming man called Hempel- the only other person in the village that seemed honest. Like Stanilus, it was apparent that the wretch wasn’t even from Rifford. The dandy thought the fellow looked more like a $#!^-kicking farmer than anything else, but whatever the Feldsman was doing in Rifford had not been stated- at least not in the three days since the Hempel had drifted in.
He smells like the Hoof’s barn, thought Stanilus. But one couldn’t fault the fellow, who was apparently taking lodging in the Hoof’s stable for the lack of coin. But he is a tidy fellow, mused the refined singer, as the Feldsman’s clothes seem to be in good repair. Glancing up, Hempel nodded his head in mutual recognition…demonstrating that he was sharing Stanilus’ misery.
Grunting in acknowledgement, Stanilus would have deigned speak to the man if not for the social gap that existed between them.
Hempel’s spoiler-
When he performed his first job, Hempel was only attempting to help his mother and spinster sister escape their insurmountable debts and avoid indenture. And, that’s what the man continued to tell his self two years later. But, by the time the tailor would admit that he enjoyed the freedom and excitement his second profession afforded him, Mittelfeld’s baliff had discerned Hempel’s modus operandi.
Making it over the town’s defensive wall had required all of his skill, and Hempel was lucky to escape with only a sprained ankle, a few cuts and bruises, and a gash along his hairline that was sure to scar. The tailor’s family members were likely to be bonded within a week- but there was nothing that the sneakthief could do about it. If he were caught anywhere within Norlund, Hempel would face a fate much worse than branding and indenture.
Thus, a week after Baliff Sorvell came crashing through his door, Hempel found his self thirty leagues to the north, in the village of Rifford. Not a bad place, Hempel thought to his self, if one liked sheep $#!^ and servitude. The former tailor wasn’t sure how long he could continue to avoid a run in with the village’s guild, and he had begun thinking that it may be wise to move on the next morning; the Hoof’s barn was certainly not the best place to hide out. That stable boy, Loryn, was too talkative, by far.
Now this Stanilus fellow- he was certainly a character, Hempel thougt. A fop? Surely. But it was obvious that the man could handle himself in a tough situation. Hempel would have approached the dandy earlier if not for the differences in their stations.
Perhaps I should just escape everything and make my way north, the tailor pondered as he nodded forlornly to the fighter sitting to his right.
In unspoken agreement, the unlikely pair were turning to go back to their shared contemplation of the inn’s crowd…only to find a nondescript Fordian sit himself down on the opposite side of the table:
“Ye both be kno’wen men,” the fellow said quietly in a thick, Fordian accent. Before either foreigner could protest, the man continued while he fidgeted with his collar.
“Ye be the ‘Tailor’,” the man said cryptically, nodding to Hempel [who had suddenly become stiff…Stanilus missing some sign that had been probably been displayed]. “An’ ye be Stan’loos Purri,” accused the man, staring Stanilus in the eyes- with a look of confidence that suggested the Fordian had friends in the room.
Indeed, at that instant a couple of bruisers sat themselves down…one to either side of the foreigners. Sliding their bums along the now-crowded bench, the men crushed Hempel and Stanilus together.
“Tha’ be a name wor’ som’thin’ i’ Os’gall, i’ be,” the man whispered menacingly.
[EDIT: I originally forgot that we have a youngster playing in this game, but modified my expletives after the fact. Players: please be conscious of that when posting.]
Looking uncomfortable, Hempel takes a long swig of the beer to give himself a chance to recover his composure.
“Oh, I’m called ‘Tailor,’ by some, sure enough. But, mind, I don’t make any legally binding claims to the title. I have needles and thread, if you’re looking for some patchwork?”
Noticing that this line doesn’t seem to be gaining any traction with the men, Hempel begins talking faster, hoping to buy time to figure out anything he can about the men, and any possibilities of escape. “I’ve noticed the folk around here wear their cloaks all wrong, trailing a corner in the rear. It makes for dashing lines, of course, but you wear down the hem. I could fix that up for you. Reinforce, like.”
After Stanilus gives the bruiser to his right, that scrunched him in & sat next to him a, 'what the heck', look, he turns back to the nondescript Fordian & says,
"Actually, i am Stanilus Perri", then turns to the Tailor fellow to his left, & says, "That would be better than these Gentlemen, looking to fix up us, reinforced with some bruises".
Looking back to the Fordian across the table & smiling, Stanilus says, "So, anyways, what Sir, is it you want from this Tailor & Stanloose Purry?"
Player: Erico Caravellino - Thief : Elphand Adventures (ACKS Wilderlands - On Hold) Stanilus Peri -Fighter (Bard) : Wardens in the North (D&D 1st Ed - On Hold)
Seeing that the pretty one hadn’t been sufficiently cowed, the interloper snatched away Stanilus’ cup and gulped its contents down. Having restored his sense of superiority, the Fordian belched loudly and slapped the empty stoneware to the table. Mumbling something about “Highwoldian Piss,” the man then bent across the table, so that his dirty, pox-scarred face was only a foot from those of his marks. Finally, he finally got to the point.
“Ye see tha’ ‘dorned* bastar’ o’er ther?” the man asked quietly, his query accompanied by that particular stench of stale beer, turnip stew and rotting teeth that seemed common amongst Rifford’s peasantry.
Glancing sidelong, across the taproom, Hempel and Stanilus both surmised that the rank fellow was referring to Ser Durgall Sanblic. That worthy was impossible to miss as, being a lord, he was the only man in the room entitled to carry more than a knife upon his person…other than his trio of bodyguards, of course. Engrossed in the harassing one of the Hoof’s wenches, neither the lord, nor his retainers were aware of the attention being afforded them.
After glancing at each other in resignation, one of the foreigners reluctantly voiced an “Aye.” Neither Stanilus nor Hempel liked where this “conversation” was going.
The gist of the matter was that whomever controlled things in Rifford needed a pidgeon (or two) to sneak into Sanblic’s estate and make off with three distinctive, wax-sealed documents to be found inside a coffer located within the lord’s solar. The job had to be done quietly, without Sanblic realizing what had occurred and, if the break in were detected, the burglars had best make it appear they were after something of more intrinsic value.
The man held a crude map of Sanblic’s estate up for the unlikely pair, with instructions to return the papers to the Rat* by sunup, two days hence. Failure to deliver the papers in time- well, best not contemplate that...
"An' list'n 'ear, me popp'njays," their handler informed the two. "Sanblic ha' a tunn'l dug 'twixt th' two house. Bes' ye fin' it."
Hempel’s posture shifts, becoming more upright and confident.
“Two Houses? Which two houses?”
He taps his chin thoughtfully. “Discretion begs preparation. Preparation begs silver. There is equipment to be purchased. If we could make up dummies for the documents, it would delay discovery. And, of course, it would be in your interest if we left town immediately upon delivery. That will need to be arranged in advance.”
He glances significantly at the thug pressing in upon his side. “I assume you men are prepared to throw more than your weight behind this venture?” Hempel rubs his fingers together, indicating coinage. He then looks doubtfully at his interviewer and clarifies, “We’ll need money.”
Player: Erico Caravellino - Thief : Elphand Adventures (ACKS Wilderlands - On Hold) Stanilus Peri -Fighter (Bard) : Wardens in the North (D&D 1st Ed - On Hold)
“Argh, ye make me ‘ead ache,” the man replied, knuckling his temple in a feigned expression of pain. Looking meaningfully at each of his associates, the fellow nodded...and thus precipitated a quick rabbit-punch into each of Hempel’s and Stanilus’ midsections. Wincing in pain, and nearly doubling over, the foreigners were wise enough to simply steel themselves and not allow the rest of the taproom guess what was occurring nearby.
“Bellash’ ball, man! I’ th’ boss wan’ th’ writ es’change, e’ woulda say so!” the fellow said a bit too loudly, causing a few of the Hoof’s patrons to glance over. Inserting his index finger into his right nostril, the lout extracted a stupendous bogey and smeared it on the map he had brought out a moment before.
“Tha’ be th’ ‘ouse wi’ the tunn’l,” the man indicated, his muculent finger jabbing the spot. “An’ th’ sole coin ye ge’ ‘ill be plays’d o’er yer eyes, ye ass! Jus’ ge’ yer bum t’ th’ Rat wi’ th’ writs! Ye haf’ bu’ a pair o’ nigh’.”
With that, the surly fellow signaled his goons to leave off, and the three exited the Centaur’s Hoof soon after. The inn’s stable boy, Loryn by name, made himself busy nearby.
"Well, that's that, then. The local boss expects to press gang us into dangerous and unsavory work with nothing more than innuendo. Once we've done the job, he'll have something solid to hold over us. Imagine his demands, then! We'll be his catamites before the moon sets."
Hempel sighs. "I suppose there's nothing for it but to borrow a few horses and leave town."
Hempel feels his purse and winces again. In a much lower voice, he continues, "Although, I hate to leave so poorly provisioned. It wouldn't hurt to pick up some items of value before departing. And those slabs of suet did do us the favor of scouting out a likely spot."
Hempel picks up the map, attempts to wipe it off on the table top, looks at with distaste, folds it up and slips it inside his cloak.
Hempel gives Stanlius a long, appraising look. "What do you say? A little quick larceny, and leave before the locals are any wiser?"
Stanilus rubs his right side & then gives himself a winching stretch.
Then listens to the Tailor.
A little quick Larceny?! Have you even ever tried pilfering anything before?!"
"I already have problems, what with Lord Borlin's murder. I had been tasked by Lord Borlin just prior &
have been on the run & laying low since."
"I don't recall Lord Borlin, ever mention Ser Durgall Sanblic to me, so i do not know what to make of the fellow or if we should
bring our predicament up to Sanblic, himself."
"Thus, i am not so sure if obtaining these papers from him is a good idea, yet i do not wish to be staring at money for all
eternity & never being able to spend it!"
"Let us think this through first, Mr. Tailor, first we ought to gather more information on our, uhmm, Employer, & on Lord Sanblic, & explore our options from there."
"Our employer may have left a spy or two here to watch us, so, now, may not be a good time to ask around"
Stanilus sees the young boy cleaning up nearby & waves him over, to see if he can fetch someone to bring another drink.
Player: Erico Caravellino - Thief : Elphand Adventures (ACKS Wilderlands - On Hold) Stanilus Peri -Fighter (Bard) : Wardens in the North (D&D 1st Ed - On Hold)
Hempel's eyes widen at the mention of Lord Borlin.
"'Larceny?' You surely misheard me, ser. I must be picking up some of this abominable Northern accent. I said... erm, 'la... information gathering?' Certainly I wouldn't know a thing about something as disreputable as larceny.
"My curiosity is piqued, and my sense of civic duty impels me. Yes, let us see what there is to be seen, and whether it warrants reporting to... the proper authorities."
Hempel, with a wistful fingering of his change purse, declines to order another drink, but pauses to give the boy a searching look. "Loryn, is it? You wouldn't happen to know anything about the gentlemen who just left our company? They left in such a hurry that they forgot to leave their names."
"Mess'r Hemp, ya' see tha' sign Ba'rut* gif' ye? 'e think ye one a 'em, ha!" the stable hand blurted out, when called over. "He be a ba' one, that Ba'rut. Ye bes' no' fall a'foul o' 'im," the boy cautioned, seeming to warm to the subject. " 'im, an' th' othren in th' Rat, be righ' trech'rous men, they be. Killt man' a men, fro' wha' I 'ear."
Looking over his shoulder to assure hisself that they weren't being snooped on, Loryn then bent closer- in a conspiratorial fashion...
"I 'ear wha' Ba'rut tell ye," Loryn admitted sheepishly. "An' I tell ye Sers t' 'ware Lor' Sanbli. Tha' man be righ' foul, wors'n Ba'rut and th' Boss o' Sou'fer t'gether! Lor' Sanbli' be th' ruin o' many o' Rivs'folk, an' woul' stab hi' mutter through th' heart fer a drab*."
"Canna ge' ye Sers anythin'?" Loryn asked while sporting a mile-wide grin. " i' be on Ba'rut, tha' dog," the stable boy assured the foreigners. Opening his hand, palm up, Loryn gave the two men a quick glimpse of the silver mark lying cupped within. " 'e ne'er wa' goo' a' hidin' coin inna linin' o' 'is boot, hey!"
Player: Erico Caravellino - Thief : Elphand Adventures (ACKS Wilderlands - On Hold) Stanilus Peri -Fighter (Bard) : Wardens in the North (D&D 1st Ed - On Hold)
Hempel declines Stanilus' offer of a drink, but accepts Loryn's offer to buy one with Bargut's lifted coin. "You're a clever lad, Loryn."
When Loryn heads off, Hempel turns to Stanilus. "Sign? As I said, they came after us with nothing more than innuendo. Bargut seems to feel that he recognized me as a fellow in the fraternity of scofflaws." Hempel shrugs. "When, clearly, I'm a simple tradesman who is temporarily down on his luck."
Hempel looks over towards Ser Sanblic. "I'm not surprised to hear that the local nobility is just a different shade of thug. That's why I didn't call out as soon as those lackwits joined us. I wouldn't expect consideration or justice from the likes of him."
"We're field mice who've wandered into a bullpen. They'll trod upon us without even noticing. Let us, as you suggest, learn as much as we can, and as quickly as we can. I might head in the direction of the house," Hempel taps his cloak where he stashed the map, "and reconnoiter. Seeing as you have friends in high places, perhaps you could investigate the personalities on display?"
Using Bagrut's coin, Loryn brought the foreigners a couple bowls of Fordian Slip- a dark, yeasty brew that was the favored drink of the region, but which was sure to loosen the mens' bowels a bit. Hastening back to his duties, the slight boy could be observed bustling about the taproom- clearing tables and sopping up spills. Ocassionally, the youth would wink over at the men, displaying his familiarity and easygoing nature.
Hempel downed his drink quickly and informed Stanilus (and anyone eavesdropping) that he had to use the jakes and would then be retiring to his stall in the Hoof's barn. Getting up, the tailor made a show of acting a bit drunk and headed out the door.
Stanilus bided his time and debated his course of action. Overhearing a few snatches of local gossip* while he bought a few more drinks of (much more palatable) Highwoldian Stout, the fighter eventually decided not to approach Lord Stanblic, as that worthy was well into his drink and was acting more surly by the minute. However, the fighter considered, there were others in the room that could possibly be of interest. The numerous shopkeepers and farmers taking their leisure in the Hoof that evening all gave the lord's party a wide berth, as if they were affraid to gain their notice. A few scattered patrons seemed more out of place, and seemed to take less notice of Sanblic and his men.
Hempel's spoiler-
Finding his way to Stanblic's estate was not hard, as he had heard the night before that the lord's compound was but half a league northeast, along the track to Highwold. Seeing the estate's ten-foot walls reminded Hempel of his recent escape from Mittelfeld and he began to think about his family again, but the tailor caught himself after a minute and focussed once more upon the task at hand.
Skirting the entire compound, Hempel noticed that it was about an acre in size and that it had but a single entrance. Of solid fieldstone construction, the estate's wall had been chipped smooth (on the outside, at least), and was topped by a nasty assortment of razor-sharp flint and obsidian shards, rusted iron nails and pieces of broken glass that had all been mortared into place. Luckily, Hempel had had experience with such things and had protected himself with his woolen cloak: which had been been wrapped around his hands a half-dozen times. Having propped a five-foot tree branch against the southern wall, near where Bagrut had "marked" the location of interest on the map, Hempel had carefully pulled himself up to the top of the wall and gotten a good look into the compound itself:
Unfortunately, he couldn't see much...just utter blackness broken by a few shuttered windows that spilled out only a bit of light. The tailor could certainly smell the barn, situated a dozen yards to the left; but the garden house/retreat immediately before him was utterly dark. Hempel thought he perceived that small house as being rather unkept and vacant, but having a couple shuttered windows that could possibly be opened. Certainly, the garden house was not tended nearly as much as the groundskeepers' and guard houses fifty yards away...where a couple of voices could be heard talking, and a dog bark ocassionally broke the night's silence. The large manor house, some thirty yards past the garden house, was lit from the inside, and was certain to have a few servants within.
Counting in his head, Hempel spent a few hours casing the place and eventually discerned that one of the guards led his dog on a patrol of the inside of the wall approximately every hour. If he were to tackle the place, Hempel decided, he would need a plan.
[OOC: Pyro, give me three hits on a d20 for gossip/rumors overhead randomly, while Stanilus is drinking alone.]
Player: Erico Caravellino - Thief : Elphand Adventures (ACKS Wilderlands - On Hold) Stanilus Peri -Fighter (Bard) : Wardens in the North (D&D 1st Ed - On Hold)
After hearing what gossip he could pick up, Stanilus, decides to mingle for a bit, before calling it a night, even though he's afraid some of Ba'rutt's men may still be around.
Stanilus goes over to what appears to be the nearest Farmer.
Player: Erico Caravellino - Thief : Elphand Adventures (ACKS Wilderlands - On Hold) Stanilus Peri -Fighter (Bard) : Wardens in the North (D&D 1st Ed - On Hold)
Approaching a couple of patrons that appear to be farmers, Stanilus draws their attention from their drink and conversation.
" 'ell now, Er'mil* mus' be lettin' an'one wi' a coupl' drab t' rub t'geth'r in th' 'oof these day," one of the men says out loud, to no one in particular and with typical Fordian acerbity. Looking at Stanilus with distaste, the fellow spits a glob of phlegm past the Varner. Narrowly missing the fabric of Stanilus' breeks, the unsightly mass splatters near and about a spitoon fastened to a table's leg.
*Eremil the Ostler, proprieter of the Centaur's Hoof (whom Stanilus and Hempel are familiar with already, having stayed at the Hoof for many nights).
OOC: I'm not sure if Stanilus has finished his social investigations. Apologies if I'm posting out of order.
Returning to the Centaur’s Hoof for breakfast, Hempel waits for an opportune moment to join Stanilus and says, “The map we were provided is true enough, from what I could see. There are servants and guards—enough to cause trouble, but not so many as to invite despair. I think I could find my way in and out, but it would do well to have a strong arm at my back, in case of trouble. Would you be willing to serve in that capacity?” Hempel looks Stanilus directly in the eye.
“I suggest we approach from the same direction I scouted from earlier,” Hempel says, pointing to the spot on the map near the retreat. “There are trees to provide some cover, and it is a short dash to the small house, which seems little used and may actually contain the tunnel Bargut claimed. Even if it doesn’t, it should provide some cover for a longer sprint to the Manor.”
“I’d like to approach Loryn about doing some light service for us. We could lay a ladder or somesuch against the wall to make our way in, and he could remove it and hide behind a tree. When we signal him, he could throw a rope over for our exit.”
“There is a guard with a dog on an hourly patrol. If we can get in and out in less than an hour, we may be able to avoid that dog catching our scent.”
“My fondest hope is that you have learned of some time when Stanblic and his bully boys will be away from home. Do they drink here every night?”
