Prologue - The Feast

Gerald has been watching all, with an utter lack of care. What has been occupying his singular attention is the aforementioned herb he had the delight to find. It is currently inside the goblet he is holding, and looks to be returning to a state of relatively good health, having wilted much on it's rough transportation to the estate. Seeing that his newfound 'Glebelle' is slowly rejuvenating, Gerald decides to take a more 'active' role in the conversation.

Perception DC 16 check: 12 + 4 (Whooo!)

From his prime position, mainly standing next to the water jug, Gerald watched the entire conversation with Jenna and Hanna. Whilst watching, he heard snatches of, "..fluid mechanics... and ...non-pressured water systems.." these few phrases were enough to spark Gerald's intellectual interest. Approaching the young lady, whose choice in hair accessories he found fascinating, he extended his non occupied hand in greeting; the other holding the goblet with flora inside.

"I hope you excuse my boldness, I could not help but overhearing a part of your previous conversation with the young lady. I am not well versed in water mechanics, but I was wondering whether you had studied the water systems of the plant?" Gerald pauses to push his pince-nez up his nose. "I have been performing some experiments regarding on the vascular tissues or 'xylem'. I am currently attempting to increase the amount of water and minerals that the xylem pushes through the plant, to help some flora adapt to different climates. Perhaps you have some insight into these matters?" He pauses with a quizzical look on his face.

His servile duties not quite complete, Thormar walks over to to the firepit to assist Joceim in carving the roasted pig. Knives in hand, the process - normally an easy one - is difficult for Thormar today, as the stronger grip he puts on the knives, the more they bite into the bandaged burns on his palms.

Joceim distributes the food to individual plates, and, once all is sliced and finished, Thormar takes his own seat at the table.

'Oh no' Jenna thinks, silently. 'This is it. One of those esoteric eccentrics daddy had spoken of. The kind who wouldn't approach someone at a party.' Her eyes run rapidly over the outlandish additions to standard dinner-clothes the man is wearing. Thinly concealed vials and carry pouches, worn to an event like this no-less, along with the seemingly still-living herb he delicately nurses, identify him as some form of field-researcher.

DC Perception: 2 + 2 = 4

Jenna gazes up past his well-cast glass frames, into his light blue eyes which seemed to light up his smooth, line-free face. 'No, he is too young, and clearly to financially-supported, to be an alchemist or wild-wizard. He must be an apprentice to some such fellow, drawn to me no-doubt by my attempts to scare away the chipmunk girl with my intellect, emboldened by our closeness in age...'

"Well..." Jenna starts. This, she is not prepared for. Here is a perfect storm of youth and eccentricity, no amount of academic posturing is likely to ward him away in principle.
"Xylem..." She repeats. Her eyes are drawn back to the plant sprout he is holding. His interest may be purely academic, so an honest answer may be the quickest road to a speedy goodbye.

DC Knowledge (Nature): 11 + 7 = 18
DC Knowledge (Engineering): 16 + 7 = 24

"Assuming the plants you're interested in have standard vertical columns of transport-tissue, which operate purely on the capillary effect and pressure-differentials caused by evaporation through the stoma... The best you could hope for would be to near-saturate their root water with nutrients soluble in low-temperature water... Making sure you never reached the point of total saturation, since that could potentially cause mineral blockages in the plant's breathing and photosynthetic apparatus, due to said evaporation-based pressure differentials..." She finds herself momentarily immersed in the puzzle. "You would have to use a light touch... Only nutrient saturation levels low enough to avoid blockages in the leaves could permit optimal levels of both uptake and respiration..."

She recalls her earlier resolutions. Politeness is second-order, do not allow people to believe that you want them there talking to you. Glancing again at his face, she reaffirms the necessity of this. It's possible that his interest is not purely academic, and while the man would likely pass for handsome to most eyes, Jenna's eyes are uncommonly spoiled. She hardens her tone, betraying a note of impatience, allowing her eyes to focus on Mycroft's immense, statuesque frame, and short, perfectly-feathered raven hair, before returning her gaze to her book.

"What that level may be, I could not say. It is a matter for empirical testing, and I imagine it would vary substantially from plant-to-plant." Her answer was rudimentary, the expected baseline for anyone who had done sufficient reading. His reaction would either tell her a great deal about his intentions, a great deal about his experience, or perhaps some perverse cross between the two. From the sounds of plates, it would at least not be long before the guests were called to the new venue of the table, what if by some foul luck she found herself immediately beside this apprentice?
More caustic possible nicknames began to swirl through her head, as she composed the rudiments of the complaints she planned to furnish her father with when they were next alone.

Listening attentively, Gerald began to slowly bounce on his toes, a placid smile on his face. He had not anticipated finding another being with botanical knowledge at this feast and the result was more than welcome.

"Indeed! The variation between plants of the same species for nutrient reception is what I have found most disconcerting. There is a complete lack of a pattern between individual plants of the same family, which I find more than surprising considering nature's love of patterns..." Gerald's pince-nez are gradually tipping the right, making it's counterpart slowly reach new heights, never before known to it. "It's also been trying to discover the right level of nutrients to saturate the water with. From my observations the amount the plant deems optimal to absorb changes from day to day, rather like our own cravings for various foods..." He trails off again, receding into thought. His pince-nez have now reached danger levels, whilst the left side is getting quite giddy from how high it is. He shakes himself, nearly dislodging the poor pince-nez from their already treacherous hold on his nose. Re-adjusting them, he smiles towards the young lady.

"Thank you for a stimulating conversation, it has been most enlightening, but I believe the food has been served. Might I escort you to the table Miss.." A look of horror enters his face and he attempts to smack his head. Unfortunately, he instinctively used his hand with the goblet, the effects where of, can now be seen trickling down his face. Unperturbed by this sudden watering, Gerald says, "Do forgive me my awful manners, I am so forgetful... Gerald Enfronté, son of Haiden Enfronté at your service. Might I be so bold as to request the knowledge of yours?" So saying, he sweeps her a low bow before finding a handkerchief from one of his pockets, with which to wipe his face.

Jenna had allowed herself to be momentarily lost in the man's words, finding the aloof tone comforting, as it more closely resembled a book read aloud, rather than a person speaking. Presently, her attention has been refocused by dribbles of water he sent pouring across the edge of his collar. The bumble speaks of either nervousness or absent-mindedness, and either option notably lowered the social expectations placed on Jenna in a conversation. It is almost comforting.

"Gerald..." She repeats, his true name chasing the ill-formed potential nicknames from her mind before any had its chance to take root. "My name is Jennabelle Calfast, though 'Jenna' is preferred. My father is Mycroft Calfast, the tall gentleman in the vest who has had Lord Varthus's ear for some time now..." She becomes momentarily distracted, once again, looking in Mycroft's direction. He stood out, among other men, as a shining freshly-minted sovereign catches the eye amongst a handful of more aged and dulled cubes. Her attention snaps back to Gerald, and his second-to-most recent request.

"I'm sure father will fetch me when his conversation is done. I doubt you want to be seen seated before Lord Varthus himself."

Varthus, in the midst of the conversation with Rithe and Mycroft, notices that Thormar has indicated that the food is prepared.

Mycroft, Varthus says this to you, although it is more of announcement to the room: "That is a most interesting tale Mycroft, I do intend to hear more of your stories while we dine. Please, be seated." and with this, he heads to the head of the table.

He waits for you all to find your places, before you all seat yourselves.

"Thormar, Hanna, please serve the breads and soups as the guests see fit, and whatever they desire to drink, make sure it is supplied."

Hanna, who is at current looking on at the conversation that Gerald and Jenna were having, springs into action, and begins to provide food to those seated at the table.

At this point, Varthus leans over to you Gerald, and says "Master Gerald, I'm so glad that you were able to make the occasion. Have you concocted any further remedies that may keep me and mine in good health?"

Thormar, or DC 12 Perception check

Spoiler:

Thormar's response:

Spoiler:

Mycroft takes his indicated position near the Lords edge of the table, herding the list less Jenna to his side. She looks into his eyes with a concerned expression, glancing quickly to her book, and then towards the young scholar who it had failed to repel. Mycroft's expression softens, apologetic. To an onlooker, it would appear as if the two were carrying on a conversation wordlessly, that only they could hear.

Picking one of the many empty seats with a view of the entrance, Fabian leans his staff against the table top to his left and somewhat awkwardly sits down.

Aeldeth follows the group away from the window towards and finds an empty seat next to Gerald at the table.

Gerald's eyes begin to draw imaginary maps on the ceiling as he mumbles, "Good health....good health...." he trails slowly off, eyes eventually finishing defining the countries on the roof. "That would depend on your definition of 'good health', but going by the common interpretation of the phrase... no."

"When I haven't been working on helping plants grow in climates that are repressive to them, I have been working on creating a poison that the body will convert into a protein and thus be untraceable. But the antidote is proving to be disgustingly tricky." Gerald pauses in an effort to think back to any further creations he had completed or attempted that would be beneficial.

"I am sorry to disappoint. How are you and yours keeping? Do you need anything made?" He smiles, "I do enjoy a good challenge."

You all fill your mouths with the hearty soup, and the hefty bread, and fill your spirits with the company of the guests of Sir Dagonet. Some of your fellows at the feast you have met before, some you are meeting for the first time, however the enjoyment and complex discussion from anything from court cases, to the life cycle of the Angelar beetle, common in Brevoy.

After some time, and a few rounds of ale and wine, Dagonet rises from his seat at the head of the table, and he speaks thusly:

"My guests! It is a pleasure to dine in the company of such honourable and professional souls. You are all here because you have served me in one way or another, and kept my house in good order, whether you have prepared my meals, kept my family in good health, or simply kept me in good company. This feast was not raised of a dull sword, however, there is a very definite and sharp point to my summons. As you all are educated and informed members of Restov, you will all be aware of King Noleski's intent to clear out the banditry in our southern borders of The Stolen Lands. The place has spent far too long in disrepute, and it needs to be claimed in the name of Brevoy. You will also be aware that my squire, is nearly of age for his ascension to knighthood. It is of the quick, and unmatched wisdom that our Lord Varthus has seen an opportunity in our midst. Today we feast, and enjoy our company, however I propose that Guntram, your time for ascension to valor is nigh, and this is the witness of your peers.

If you choose to accept your ascension to valor, you will be tasked with rallying your witnesses to accompany you on a task which will bring you all honour, and titles. You must be swift, decisive, and protective. These men and women who choose to accompany you are in your stead. You are to protect them the way you will protect your lands, and nation.

And the task, you have been given, is to serve the eye to the sword. You are to take this charter given from Lord Varthus' hand himself, and travel with your group to the greenbelt in the Stolen Lands, and explore thoroughly, mapping out the area to the best of your abilities and where bandits may be found, weed them out like the unlawful weeds of society they are. Our intention is to understand the lay of the land in this region, for we cannot let this land fall into our enemies hands.

Turn to your peers, whoever you deem necessary to your success in this mission, and rally your group. What say you, Guntram? Stand!"

And with this he supplies a rolled up piece of parchment and passes it down to Guntram.

OOC: Charter for anyone who wishes to read.

Spoiler:

Thormar watches the proceedings with interest, from his position to the side of the table - hands clasped behind his back, spine curved in servile deference. A wry smirk slices across his face at Guntram's newly-elevated position. That boy is as unblooded and battle-lacking as a mewing infant. Any bandit with two wit-twigs to rub together will be wearing the lad's boots by moon-rise.

He glances over at Hanna. The simple adoration on her face is writ plain as the sun burns in the sky. Puppy-love: wagging tongue and turtle-sized eyes. She may be smart, that girl, but she's still just a girl. His spine clicks as he straightens a little, a thought drifting across his mind like a stormcloud across the crags. I have been here too long. I have planted roots like old Squirrel-Husk, but the ground is shallow and dry-cracked. If I stay here I will not grow.

Thormar draws himself up to his full height, his back complains with pain, but he drowns it out by clenching his fists - the weeping burns sear as if still aflame. He grins, pushing the pain aside, enjoying the feeling of his muscles battle-tense and blood-ready. The rage that boils up with the pain he also shoves aside, leaving his mind an empty steppe rather than a rushing, bloody river. He stands boulder-still, waiting for the right moment to put his name forward to join the expedition.

With great pride, Guntram stood up and spoke: "Aye milord, I accept the call to arms, and with my the glorious company of my witnesses,
we shall bear our swords and armour, laboriously forged, in the name of Lord Varthus, the shepherd of our people, and we shall ride to the Stolen Lands and illuminate the dark corners of the land,
and turn its occupants into fine sons of Restov, or eradicate them as one might eradicate a plague of cockroaches. Of this I swear, as long there is air in my lungs and blood in my veins, that I will carry your banner with honor, and will strive my utmost, to win glory for our Restov, Greatest of Kingdoms."

Guntram looks around him, at all the others, and said "Now, all of you, stand, if you are with me!"

Mycroft shoots from his seat, launching to his full height like a sprung trap.

DC Perform - Oration: 11 + 6 = 17

"Guntram, though we share no common blood, nor have I known the pleasure of your company before this day, our goals are one-in-the-same: To bring law to the lawless, hope to the hopeless, and the security and prosperity of Rostland to any in the Stolen Lands noble enough to hear our call! I, Mycroft Calfast, honoured barrister in service of the Dragonscale Throne, shall stand at your side in this quest! We shall stand as one against whatever evils await us in the greenbelt, and if by the swiftness of my tongue, the strength of my arms, or the spilling of my very blood, I can see our task done, it shall be so."

With a flourish, Mycroft raises his tankard high, shining a bold and determined smile towards Guntram.

Fabian pushes his chair back, and stands, looking to Lord Varthus, "Those of us that stand here today do so because we have been selected to represent Brevoy in the most ambitious undertaking of our lives. If we fail our names will be forgotten, a sneer on the faces of our enemies. Should we succeed, generations of our citizens may flourish on the lands we claim". Raising his goblet to Mycroft and then Guntram in turn, "I will proudly stand by these fine men, and anyone with love for our great nation their heart should stand with us!"

The moment has come. Thormar steps forward, clearing his throat. When he speaks, his voice is deep and resonating, carrying all of the clan leader and none of the servant.

OOC: Diplomacy: 17+9 = 26

"Sir Dagonet, I have served you loyally for many months. My old and crag-wrecked body has recovered in your civilised service. And, though it may not bear a sword or hammer as mightily as it once did, I can still be made use of. I propose to travel as Guntram's manservant, as is befitting his new station. The Stolen Lands will know the crackling flame of our fire-bright torch in their uncivilised darkness.

Guntram shoots a look at each of these men, and says "I will be most honored to fight side-by-side with fine men such as yourselves! Is there anyone else?"

Aeldeth listens entently to the quest information and the words of the group around her, and then thinks to herself this sounds like just the adventure i've been looking for.
When a moment arose she stood slowly and cleared her throat "I believe that this is a noble quest, and you are all fine citizens, I would be honored to accompany all of you on this journey wherever it may take us"

Gerald is ignorant to all those surrounding him, lost in the prospect of a new, uncharted land waiting to be discovered. And all it's unknown flora and fauna waiting to be discovered along with it! His mind carries him over vast, imaginary landscapes, creating outlandish plants and trees in extravagant purples and oranges at light speed. So much to discover, so much to map, to find, to lose oneself in.

Lost in these fantastical discoveries and creations, Gerald is somewhat slow on the uptake of 'joining the group'. Awakening from finding a new species of plants, Gerald rescues his pince-nez, which had finally fallen into the bread and was been cavorting with the butter all this time.

"I would be delighted and honoured to join this expedition to the Greenbelt. The promise of excitement, and discoveries, will be more than enough to keep me occupied! I hope that my expertise will add a higher chance of success for this enterprise." He hurried this speech out, in the same way he hurriedly cleaned his pince-nez. And after returning them to their rightful place, looked at the surrounding members with boyish happiness and expectancy.

OOC: DC 18 sense motive

Spoiler:

Dagonet rises to his feet, and he says: "It appears that you have gathered a worthy band of compatriots alongside you. This afternoon we feast and drink to the eye to the sword. I look forward to hearing the tales of how you strode deep into wild country, rallied the wild men and women who dwell in the river Kingdoms, and brought them to swear the name of Noleski Surtova, our king! This is your moment Guntram, when you return, honour and strength will be at your sides. These brave men and women who have chosen to bear witness to this ascension to valour are the key to your success, learn to know them closely, and hone their talents for the good of all Brevoy. To the Eye of the sword!"

And with this, he drinks. Without question, glasses are raised, and drinks washed down.

"And now the feast may begin." he adds, after gulping down a strong honey wine.

You feast on the boar that has been prepared by Thormar and Dagonet's servants, which lasts quite a few hours. There are many logistical discussions brought up. A Pair of rangers by the name of Alexander and Na'lem were decided upon to provide at least supplementary cartography, and it was decided that after the next market day, which was conveniently in two days time was the proposed time to head down to Rural Rostland, and from there, the Greenbelt.

Eventually, the guests begin to leave, heading their way back to their origins in town, which leaves you but a few days to prepare for what may end up being the next major part of your life.

OOC: Below here, if you could detail anything that your characters do for the two days before they have to leave. Items purchased, things like this. It can be in or out of character.

OOC: It seems Chris has beat me to the punch a little here. Please regard this Jenna post as if it had occurred just BEFORE Dagonet speaks.

Jenna's hands tremble as she holds them pressed in her lap. She knows what is expected of her. Though at first her thoughts were awash with disappointment, that her intimate journey into the wilds with her father will most definitely be an almost crowded affair, now all she can imagine are the eyes of everyone present, and pressure of them all being cast upon her if, when, she declares her support. As more and more brave souls offer their assistance, the pressure only grows, and she can feel Mycroft's insistence and earlier warnings pushing her out of her seat.

She stands, eyes, closed, only opening them when her pre-practised words begin to tumble with nervous haste over her lips.
"I will accompany my father," she begins, remembering that she must now furnish an additional detail, "-and all of you," her eyes rapidly dart around the room, though she dare not truly make eye-contact with any of them, "-on this most noble of charges. Though I am slight of size, and inexperienced with both travel and danger, I hope that my magic may offer you a ward against our enemies, and a light in the dark places."
Hesitating for a moment, before remembering to emulate Mycroft's initial gesture, Jenna raises her mug feebly. The hard part is over now. All that remains is the actual quest.

"I hate horses," Thormar growls at the dun brown mare in her stall, who glares back at him with equal suspicion and dislike.

"An' she 'ates you. Fair's fair," Falstan grins in response, then winces and tenderly rubs his jaw.

"I hit you yesterday. If you're anger-blood enough, I can match it today," Thormar replies, though a little unsure of his own words: his arms throb with pain from the archery practice the previous afternoon, and his body is peppered with bruises from the melee. He brushes past the stable-hand, snatching up a handful of scratchy hay and thrusting it forwards towards the mare: "Here, you four-legged steppe-demon, I bring you a peace-meal." The horse sniffs at the hay, eyes wary, then takes an experimental bite.

"That's it, eat up." Thormar tentatively rests his free hand on the animal's neck. It continues glaring his way, but the meal in his hand is too tempting an offer. He chuckles, reassured: "You're not half so ugly without the man-head on your shoulders. I think we can be path-sharers at least."[/i] He turns to Falstan: "What's her name?"

"Treacle, an' she's a fine 'orse. She'll amble your bony arse far as you want."

With Falstan's practiced assistance, the horse is saddled and loaded.

OOC: Items in saddlebags/on horse: Arrows(40), Bedroll, Blanket, Bucket, Compass, Dagger, Flask of Issian Vodka, Flint & steel, Hammer, Hatchet, Journal(2), Lantern & oil(2), Ledger, Medical kit, Mirror(small steel), Needle & thread(50'), Pen & Ink(3), Pot & pan, Rope(30'), Soap, Spare clothes, Tent(medium), Torch(3), Waterskin(2), Whistle

Thormar hauls himself up into saddle. He looks down, sizing up his new perch. Not only is the height off the ground new, but so is his gear. The boots - an excellent second-hand pair - fit snug about his feet like hand to battle-haft. The breeches and tunic are bark-brown, the shirt a mottled blue-grey, all of rough but sturdy make. The coat is waterproofed thin leather, all high collar and flaking silver buttons. He carries the grey felt cap tucked into his belt. Finally, the poorly woven blue scarf around his neck is a prize example of Hanna's handiwork. I look like a fool. A comfortable, civilised, roof-headed fool.

OOC: New items for Thormar: Travelling clothes (boots, breeches, shirt, tunic, coat, hat, scarf), Longbow, Arrows(20) + Quiver, Short Sword

He nudges Treacle with his knees. "Alright, horse-face. Time to go."

Mycroft carries their small, prepared saddlebags across his shoulder. A horse was not necessary, ultimately, to complete the charter as Mycroft had imagined. He had packed carefully and sparingly, trading utility against weight, until he had settled on a load that he could carry in a single pack, whilst also carrying Jenna in his arms or on his shoulders, while still making more that a snail's pace across country. Travelling small and light in this manner would do wonders for their collective stealth, but now they had an entourage of 5, soon to be 6 companions, who if their very presence wasn't enough to destroy that element of surprise, their own insistence on using horses would. The realities of a group this size transformed Mycroft's expectations. This was now less a matter of subterfuge and guile, they were now relatively well suited for direct combat against groups of assailants at a time. At least they will now collectively move much faster.

He imagines how such a conflict might go. He knows little of his new travelling companions, but there were clues to be found in how they'd presented themselves.
The elf woman, somewhat comely if angular in appearance, was a priestess or cleric of some denomination. That meant if Jenna was ever injured, her wounds could be attended to professionally, so Aeldeth was definitely worth her inclusion.
The squire boy seemed ill-experienced, but was a strapping sort, easily as muscular, if not more so, than Mycroft himself. If his training in mounted combat was up to scratch, he may just prove to be an asset.
Mycroft's thoughts then dashed to the two rangers he was still yet to meet. A man, and another she-elf. It was obvious they were of lower character than the more formal Eye of the Sword members, hirelings at best, bargained criminals at worst. Regardless of their breeding, they could be expected to be thugs, certainly, and thus they were likely to be of some use in combat.
In contrast, he thought of the 3 remaining men of their number. The old man, the scholar, and the cripple. Of the latter two, he was not too worried. Clearly they were wizards, or magicians of some sort, and thus their evident wits would be where there use was derived from. There was a friendly, distinctly non-mysterious air about the young man with the spectacles. Jenna had thought him some variety of apprentice, perhaps a potion-brewer or nature-focussed transmogrifist, time would tell. But there was something truly off about enfeebled man. His unconventional dress, his intimidatingly long hair, his air of strange confidence despite his obvious malady... He did not have the bookish character one would expect of a wizard, which added a sinister dimension to what was obviously a magically-inclined lifestyle... He would have to be watched, at least at first.
The old man was a different matter. Despite his age-decimated, his posture and diction betrayed him as a warrior of the barbarian ilk. Surely he was no magician, nor would he be likely to serve as any credible advisor or tactician. At his age, clearly he is a manservant who was many years ago something greater, and now lacks full insight into how useless he has become. If there is one person in this group truly unlikely to pull his own meagre weight, it was that one. By his bandaging, he looked as if he struggled to best a hot stove-pot, much less a vicious cut-throat 30 years his junior...

Mycroft felt a small hand, shaking his body in a manner far to reminiscent of a grope. Jenna was pulling him back to reality, he had become lost in contemplation.
In this time, Jenna had been surveying the horses that were of a merchantable age at these stables. She had an affinity for inarticulate beasts that she did not share with the more sapient members of society. She stroked her hand warmly over the long face of a dark grey mare. Though slightly aged, Jenna could tell that this oft-rented horse had developed an even, almost brave character, and it would serve them well in the face of trouble. She had a strong back, easily capable of holding the near-two-man weight of the immensely tall Mycroft, and the minuscule Jenna combined.

"I've chosen this one, daddy."

"You're sure?" Mycroft asks. His Jenna's talent with animals did not transfer completely to him. He was generally of the opinion that if it does not speak words, it has no thoughts, and the thoughtless warrant no concern. Jenna nods at him with certainty.
"Good sir!" He calls the stable attendant over. "My daughter has made her choice. This shall be our steed of choice."

"Aw, good pick suh, good pick." The stable hand says, unconvincingly. "She's a little on in years, but she's a tough and tempered old mare this one."

"Does she have a name?" Jenna asks, without looking away from the horse's large black eyes.

The bearded stablemaster steps out from the stall he had been inspecting, responding before his aide could recall.
"Her name is Shadexerox. She is the queen of all horses, and she has been my friend through many dangers." He strides forward, placing an affectionate hand on the horse's shoulder. "Take care of her, she will serve you well. And give little thought to her age, she can still show you meaning of swiftness."

"Outstanding then," Mycroft says, with somewhat feigned enthusiasm, "I have but one question then: Is there anything that can be done about the smell? Or is that just what you sign up for with a horse?"

The morning after the feast Fabian heads into the local markets. He spends a tiring few hours waking the stalls buying any supplies he might find useful. His most notable purchase is a simple light crossbow, a reliable weapon to have when the party inevitably provokes armed conflict.

The following items have been added to Fabian's inventory.

Light crossbow
Case, 20 bolts
Sack
Travelers outfit
Rope, 50'
Soap 1/2 lb