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Forge At The
Crossroads
Antonio's
Vision
Thuram and the rest of the trade regulars had left the caravan to trek across the land to some shady tavern full of criminals and other such unsuitable clients and I'd settled down in the wagon with the intention of seeing to the last of the Port my father had presented me upon my leaving Roma many months ago. Goodness knows how it had survived so well with the events of the journey, but then again even rampaging Urdaal must have some respect for a fine vintage.
It was a day like any other in our travels. Sataria, Wolfhaven and Watchful Sky were busy discussing spiritual and magical matters in some depth whilst Tristiano was demonstrating the finer points of swordplay to Ralphoneous. The first cup was almost to my lips when the disturbance started. Shouting and bickering in some incomprehensible babble reached my ears.
Tristiano popped his head through the canvas and informed me that the Khazim were in disagreement over something. I thought nothing much of this at first until my bodyguard detailed the situation further. The Khazim of our original ill-fated caravan were distinctly unimpressed with the Khazim who had travelled with Thu'ram and things were looking as if they might spiral out of control rather rapidly.
Downing my cup I stepped outside to see the first flash of steel and hear the first scream as the arguments reached a new level. I can't say I took this calmly, yelling angrily at the feuding foreigners I watched in satisfaction as they took a step back from one another and the wounded man was dragged away. But Sataria showed his great wisdom and informed me this peace would not last, the discontentment ran deep and more blood would be shed if something were not done.
Grabbing my hat and a sack of provisions I ordered my companions to look after the invaluable magical contents of the wagon and set out to find the irresponsible caravan master who had allowed such a situation to develop. Little did I know of the events that would transpire upon my arrival at the tavern. Yet there are far more skilled story tellers than I who will inform you of those particular proceedings.
However what I will tell is the vision I received on that fateful Saturday night. Being somewhat skilled in the area of magical divination I placed my hand upon the boxes that many held in deep mistrust. Concentrating I focused the powers of the elements and channelled their raw energy through my very being, In a moment I found myself no longer in the tavern as the elements revealed the secrets of the mysterious container to me. The land spread out before me and below me. I flew forwards covering many leagues in the blink of an eye, below me I saw the fair city of Roma for an instant then onwards towards the jungles and darkness of the Tezcatax. My flight slowed and I saw men and women bound and laid out like fish on a market, blood ran like water across the ground and my eye was drawn to the peak of a native ziggurat. Upon its summit stood a priestess of the Jaguar Sun Empire, her arms red with the blood of many victims, a dagger held in her hand. She drove the blade down towards a helpless sacrifice who looked on in terror.
Before the point had met it's destination I felt myself struck by an unseen ariel assailant and began to plummet to the ground. The next thing I knew I was being attended to by a member of the Rasputin Company who explained I had been unconcious. Wasting no time I informed Snake of the dark magics within the boxes and ran to the camp to describe to Mereddin and the Celestial knights what I had seen.
Goodbye
To Malthus
Malthus (aka Murchadh) had the misfortune to be born as the bastard progeny of a Gael raider and a Vetivan mother. During one of the raids his fathers’ clan undertook in Vetiver, his mother was captured and kept as chattel by his father. His early upbringing was therefore as Gael. At the age of four or five, when the Vetiverians struck back against the now isolated clan, his mother and he, amongst others were taken back into the folds of his own people.
His mother returned with him to her family, a relatively poor family of vintners. Although his family loved him dearly, it was obvious that they were uncomfortable with his origins, endeavouring to rid him of his Gael learnt religion. The tension betwixt the two cultures caused him ultimately to be indentured by his family to a local noble family as a soldier, thus at the age of 13, he was sent to fight with his Lord’s troop – Lord Diurnus Quinquennor – throughout the city states.
He quickly distinguished himself as a hard fighting, hard drinking man; but one of both strong arm and quick brain. His capacity to use his own initiative, needing for naught but the the barest of orders saw him undertaking reconnaissance missions into enemy held territory, frequently playing the role of a peasant labourer.
(Note – he would have made something like the equivalent of a Sergeant’s rank)
His Lord returned home permanently after some eight years of warfare. Malthus originally planned to retire, and he trained under the aegis of his Lord as a brewer for the next three years. Already well known amongst his compatriots for the potent brews that the men drank between battles, he was able to hone his skills, bolster his reputation and not surprisingly given he had been popular, increase his circle of friends
On his Lord’s death and his son’s inception as Lord, Malthus’ role and position became more serious. The young Lord was ambitious and motivated, leading his men into Jahan to fight the Urdaal. In doing so, he has forged political links and the promise of future gain with some of the younger Lords of Tirnalis. To this end, he insisted – without coercion – on Malthus re-joining the troop. An exceedingly tempting offer on the table, of land, homestead and fortune from his Lord unto dotage, being the clincher, a life free from boredom would have been offer enough.
The younger Lord, Turstan Quinquennor, is astute and well versed in the political arts. His choice in Malthus, amongst others is down to his uncanny knack for picking the right man the job. Not merely a Lord, but properly a leader of men, Turstan is well aware of the rewards his services to Tirnalis might garner for him.
Malthus is returning from Jahan with an encrypted message – disguised as a prayer secreted about his person. His ‘role’ as brewer journeyman, has led him into the service of one of the great Inns where the Nobility of Jahan gather after Senate.
He has been passed a message to carry to Lord Quinquennor, by a member of the Jahanian Senate, but now feels that some-one may have discovered him.
(Note – I can either make this up or make it fit with your ideas)
For that reason, he is travelling back to Vetiver and on to Tirnalis, where his Lord awaits him. He does not yet know this and will only receive the message on arriving at Chateau Quinquennor. Ostensibly, he is travelling back to his homeland to look after his ailing mother; she’s already dead, but will be played by one of the Lord’s servant’s should need arise.
Malthus himself is a not a straightforward man. He is ambivalent about his dual heritage, happily killing Gaels when ordered, yet defensive of his adherence to their religion. His tattoos are the same as those sported by his father, done from memory, but he can be sneeringly dismissive of their lack of civilization. He judges himself and others by the standards of the Gael – personal honour above all else. Yet his own goals include that land promised him by his Lord, and his dream of one day owning his own vineyards – those of his mother’s family passed rightfully to his mother’s brother’s son.
He will fly into a rage should anyone call him a bastard, but is normally placid, level headed and friendly. Currently he is learning to read and count, that he might serve his Lord better in his duties. His first priority though, is to make it to Lord Quinquennor, in Vetiver and pass on this blasted message that might get him killed.
End
Of The Road
Caravan Jodassian had reached the end of its journey. Profits had been poor and some disastrous encounters with the Vetivian authorities had meant that Thuram now had a price on his head (6sov alive, 3sov dead: a massive sum) along with a number of the other members of the caravan.
Thuram Jodassian informed that he had some things to attend to for some time and so after we rested here a few days, he would be dealing with those, but would be using some of his wealth investing in a caravan venture being proposed by the Khazim family, the Kopanari, (distant cousins of the Jodassians). They wished to gain investors and were then able to work for those new investors, running all the mundanities of caravan life. Thuram suggested that some of caravan Jodassian, if they now had the taste for such life, may wish to work passage on this caravan or perhaps be amongst its investors, though that was up to them, but he was unlikely to form another for several moons.
Late on first night, after the crates were safely delivered into Evaan’s hands, Thuram left, without any of his usual grandeur, indeed most didn’t know of his leaving until morning. Rumour has it that he left with more than his far share of the caravan’s monies and has gone to Tirnalis to convince the Tirnalian underworld boss, The Fisherman, to intervene on his behalf with Vetiver and get the bounty lifted. Thuram was no fool and must have calculated that he was safer making the journey to Tirnalis on his own, leaving the rest of the caravan members to act as a delaying tactic to the pursing bounty hunters.
The new caravan (its name has yet to be decided by its investors) is now planning to head south over the dangerous and treacherous Great Fen Road. Amongst its cargo, some pewter and swords with buyers eagerly waiting in the south, and lots of the famous high quality Tirnalian Daleland wool with some traders who have created a new inland trading route.
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