Cha robh am facal agam gu leòr

Dunland, Lion Age 577

A Knight of The Seward Sword furiously shouts orders to his men from the center of the village. “Find him! I’ll have his head! Search every hovel if you must!” Blood trickles down from a head wound where the Knight had only half an hour before been knocked unconscious. Ignatius, a Friar in his mid-twenties, approaches a young Dunnick urchin no more than twelve. “Someone must have done something dangerous to get that Renett Knight so worked up, hmm?” he asks, letting the boy see a faint smirk of amusement on his face. “He’s going to be in an awful lot of trouble though. But maybe I can help him. Can you tell me where to find him?” He continues in the Dunnick tongue, adding a wink. “It will be our secret.”

The boy was hesitant, but found the Friar’s sincerity enough to trust, and directed him to a storm cellar beneath a stable. The Friar spent the next quarter hour getting the hastily retold story from the Dunnick man, who explained he’d knocked out the Knight when he tried to drag away his sister with intents too vulgar to recant. “Atonement for something like that I wouldn’t normally make so severe, but in doing so I believe we can save your life at the same time. Join me on the path of the Sanctae Viae, and we can walk out of town together. He wouldn’t dare accost you while under those vows, and thusly my protection.”

The pair strode openly across the streets of the town, the Dunn clad in Ignatius’s own worn white robe & ashen seal of Melandiel marking his brow. Making for the road east towards Ryker’s Gate, the pair were halted by a pair of soldiers and eventually confronted by the Seward Knight. Impassioned words of admonishment and very-due threats of repercussions from the Church were of little use against the rage and self-importance of the Knight, and Ignatius found himself clamped in irons and watching the Dunn man he’d promised safety to swaying from a rope. When released a few hours later with an escort to ensure he left the village promptly, Ignatius was granted only the few seconds needed to collect the muddied robe that had been stripped from the Dunn and cast aside before he was hung from the gallows.

“And in the depths of my soul, I felt the crush of Despair. For my Faith in God, Lurian, and Benalus was unshakable, yet I knew that it was not enough. The forces of the wicked were too numerous to bear,”
-Excerpt, The Word Of St. Istra, Gospel Of The Hospitalier

Risk vs Reward

A small Dogheart camp sees a figure approaching through the early afternoon flurries, it’s silhouette betraying a walking stick, cloak, and wide brimmed hat with a point. As he crosses the tent line into the center of camp, he rests his crook against the only semi-permanent structure; a small cabin, before moving to join the four men sitting at a fire. “These are White Eyes lands, yes?” Ignatius asks in Njor.

One of the men smirks, rising from his seat and pacing a hand on the handle of his axe. “Sorry old man, Clan Dogheart hunts here. But we’d be happy to send you south, without your hea-” another elbows him in the gut, cutting him off. “Korro, idiot, look; one eye, white beard? It’s one of His Wise Ones, if not Aufvaldr himself.” The quartet argued briefly and quietly for a moment, until Ignatius interrupted; “I promise you I’m neither. A poor traveler from the south, terribly lost it seems, and just looking to share a fire for a hour to warm before I move on.” One of the Rimelanders snorts, punching another in the shoulder. “See? Exactly what He’d say! You’re not fooling us, old ma- er, Elder. Take a seat.” He gestured to a spare log, upon which Ignatius gratefully sat while two of the others scoffed and shook their heads.

“So Elder, tell us a story of your life?” One asked curiously. Ignatius waved him off dismissively. “No no, that’s not what I’m traveling the north for. I’m here to learn, not teach.” he chuckled. “ You tell me your story, hmm? That way I can remember it and tell others of Dogheart’s who shared their fire with me.” The hunter gestured with open palms towards Ignatius, glaring at the others with an expression that shouted ‘see?!’.

As the hour passed and the hunters shared a number of stories, one offered Ignatius the dregs of their lunch stew pot, which he gratefully accepted. Warmth in his feet and fingers returned, he grunted as all old men do when they rise of their seats and offered them thanks for the hospitality. “But before I do move on, would you accept a blessing on your home?” The quartet again rushed through a hushed argument that ultimately ended with one nodding wordlessly to Ignatius.

He moved to the doorway of the small cabin, slipping a small vial of holy water from a pocket on the inside of his undershirt; about the only place he could keep it from freezing while traveling these lands. He spoke in Aldersabin, asking Melandiel to ward the home of those who had shown him hospitality with the Hospitality of the Lord in return. As he cast the water from the vial, the droplets turning to ice almost as soon as they landed on the threshold.

At hearing the language of the ‘Lion God’, even without knowing it’s meaning, the same doubtful hunter rushed to his feet and readied his axe. “See? He’s a Southerner! We should cut him down right now.” He shouted, another rising and shouting back. “So sure are you, Korro? Or are you desperate to tell the tale of how you cut down an old half-blind unarmed Southerner in combat? We gain nothing here from his bloodshed, and still there is risk this is Aufvaldr trickery. I won’t have you bringing that ire upon us.” He turned toward Ignatius and nodded. “Thank you for stopping at our fire and hearing our stories, Elder. And for that blessing. Leave in peace.” “Thank you for the meal, and the stories, Sons of Dogheart.” Ignatius replied, before taking up his crook and continuing his pilgrimage.

In the early morning when the hunters arose, they found the tents outside slashed by claws in the night. “Look, Draugr prints!” one exclaimed. “But why would they not have broken down the door to slaughter us in our sleep?” Korro questioned. “Perhaps… something prevented them.”

The Greed of Mankind

“By why is it you hate all merchants, Friar?” asked the young woman who offered to help carry the food Ignatius had been gathering that morning.

“Hate is a strong word, child. And all is unfair to say. And perhaps I do find myself more critical of them than some deserve, but it is only in the spirit of keeping them honest, and it is not a mistrust I have developed without cause.” Ignatius offered as a point of clarification.

He could see the curiosity on her face maintained, and with a deep breath he began his tale. “It was the final harvest before winter, in Lion 586 I think it was? Close enough to it for this retelling, anyway. Forgive my memory.” He chuckled. “I volunteered to help transport the crops from one of the five farms that fed the community I had been tending to for the past few seasons at that point in time, but when we arrived to load the farmer said he’d sold the crops off. He explained that a merchant caravan from the Hestrali Trade Guild had passed through, and one of them spoke to the farmer and explained that since the community only needed the crops from three of the five farms to be able to sustain it through the winter, that the merchant would buy his crop for twenty percent more than the market would normally offer since he was passing through and could sell it elsewhere where it was more needed.”

“Now I won’t condemn merchant for making profit when someone has more than they need, and someone else could use more. Within reason, that is. But when we moved on to the next farm to collect their crop, she had the same story to tell. And when the day came to an end, to our great horror, it seems this merchant assured all five farms that three of the others were taking care of the community’s needs. He’d bought the whole seasons crops from all five, and moved on.” The Friars tone carried an uncharacteristic anger that he took a few moments to let go of before continuing.

“A few weeks later when stores were nearly gone that caravan returned loaded with the food that he bought, now seeking no less than triple market value. No one could convince them to barter down the price, and it emptied the coffers of the village to buy back only three quarters of what it would take to feed the community that winter. The rest was beyond what the village could afford, and we watched it roll away on the Trade Guild wagons.”

It was near a minute of slow breaths before he continued. “That winter I helped dig sixty three graves for those who died of starvation. Twelve… were children’s.” His voice carried a cold more bitter than the Njordic wind.

“But surely there are no such men here? The Hestrali from that ship seem so friendly!” She remarked, trying to brighten the mood.

The Friar lowered his head and sighed as they arrived in town to hand off the food. “This past forum Tomasso was trying to buy up every scrap of food he could get his hands on.” He nodded. “Such men are everywhere.”

Seeking Strong Backs for Labor, and Masterful Performers for Commissioning

Sir Connor Rosewood seeks laborers for the deconstruction of a structure in the coming weeks.
Two strong backs or equivalent is needed in this one upcoming period.
Coin amount negotiable.

Additionally, Master Performers sought for the commissioning of works.
Song, poem, or painting, or any other mediums are all worthy.

Please reach out as soon as possible for these opportunities via my usual messenger; Faye Se’Book

A Plea for Release

Dated a full month after the conclusion of November’s Forum, after his Raven reporting success in his orders to recover Zurihim Artifacts, Sir Connor sends another Raven to his Liege; Count Archibald.

“Your Grace,

I trust that in the time that has passed, the successful delivery of the Zurihim artifacts has reached Lord Romulous Archibald in the University, and study is underway. It was a great honour to serve House Archibald in this manner, and further discoveries of great historical value will most certainly continue to be shared with the University.

It is with humility at this time, however, that I request that you consider releasing me from my Oath of Fealty without sanction. My service to House Archibald has been a great privilege, and your willingness to elevate me to Nobility was beyond anything I dreamed of. Yet, I now feel a pull in my very soul that my path leads me to service to Benalus as a member of the Church of Mankind.

The glory that I have achieved through recent Triumph, and fulfillment of my Oath of Merit, I hereby offer unto the House and Order as Influence to be done with as you see fit.

Be my request accepted or declined, I await your response in Stragosa with the expediency you deem appropriate.

-Sir Connor Rosewood,
Knight Errant of the White Ravens”

Raven to Port Melandir, Knights of the White Raven

Quartermaster’s Office,

Stragosa has long struggled to acquire that which we need to grow and flourish, though recently we have had our hard work rewarded with the completion of a University. In the hopes that we can spread knowledge and learning throughout the valley, there is a great desire to see it furnished with a Library Room. To this effect, I have taken it upon myself to aid seeking out a source for the necessary Library Collection.

I would request at this time to know if such a collection can be commissioned from the University. Please respond with the feasibility of this request, a quoted price for the commission (including what portion would need to be paid in deposit), and how long approximately the scribing may take (upon receipt of the deposit).

-Sir Connor Rosewood,
Knight of the White Ravens

Here ye, daughters and sons of Dunland

A notice is posted in the usual public forums, and is presented in both the Gothic and Dunnick languages. A few cryers walk the public forums delivering the message in the Dunnick language, to those of Dunnick heritage who are unable to read.

Laborer’s Wanted For Construction

Laborers sought for construction of a structure.

A half dozen strong backs needed, or equivalent of those who can managed more than the average share.

Generous coin offered.

Seek out Sir Connor Rosewood for details.

In Service to Count Archibald

In a place where those who wished could easily see, is a declaration posted.

“Upon my word, I, Sir Connor Rosewood of the Order of the White Ravens, shall uncover what ever history of the Zurihim resides beneath the Market District by the end of summer.”

Master Performers Saught for Comissions

Sir Rosewood seeks masterful performers and artists from which to commission Masterwork art pieces and performances.

Should you be up to the task, seek him privately at your earliest convenience.