Reding Family/Charles

Personal Ensign and Portrait
Continent
Family	Family
Class
Age	years
Honour
Prestige
Rank
Region	[[]]
Duchy	[[]]
Realm

Overview

Coming in at 5’9” in height with average build, Charles has the physical attributes expected of a loyal, calm, steadfast warrior. While no towering intellectual, Charles thinks fast on his feet and learns at a surprisingly rapid pace. Most of his noble peers regard him as possessing a generally friendly, respectful disposition. As the first public figure from his family, Charles has gone to great lengths in building relationships with his fellow nobles to build a good reputation for himself and his heirs.

Personal Story

Ascent to Knighthood

Power was shifting, and Margravine Evelyn Challon knew it. Madina Gardens, her fief, was no stranger to constant warfare and monster incursion. The burning fire of war had definitely taken its toll, wiping several of the Gardens former towns from the map. While devastating overall, even the deepest adversity may bring golden opportunity to some. In the wake of the annihilation of the western towns Larafa and Gofau, the formerly small village of Madriona had rapidly expanded filling the void. Previously too small to bother with, Madriona’s new dominant status would need addressing. Someone would have to keep an eye on things.

Enter the Redings, local Madrionan nobles who until recently had only been minor players but whose wealth and holdings had grown noticeably with the village’s expansion. As people of great influence in the town, they would be useful for filling the regional leadership vacuum. After approaching the house’s aging patriarch, he had suggested his nephew, Charles, up for the task. Although young and inexperienced, he did have basic military training and could prove a useful knight. Thus knight him the Margravine would and grant him an estate controlling the western villages. In exchange, his family would provide the initial troops and funds for him to serve as warden of the Gardens’ western march. And so began the public career of Charles Reding, first of his house to join the ranks of BattleMasterra’s high nobility in 26 YD.

Dwilight Monster Invasion Begins

Charles’ first mission was clear - carve out a good reputation for his family. Interested in a military career from a young age, he used his new found position to found the Crimson Guard (known as the Crimson Warriors initially) and funded this new military outfit with family gold and local tax revenue. The timing of his knighthood proved most serendipitous as shortly after joining the ranks of Fissoa’s Privateers, the great monster invasion of Dwilight consumed the provinces causing chaos throughout the realm. Armed for battle and eager to prove himself, Charles led his infantry, sword in hand, against the monstrous beasts. Fighting alongside his fellow nobles, he slayed everything from Panamanian manticores in Lugagun to giant trolls in Maraba and even undead legions on the very doorstep of his own Gardens’ estate. His dedication to duty and fighting prowess caught the eyes of several important people within the realm, and Charles was awarded the lordship of Panabuk by His Grace, Duke Skyndarbau Melphrydd in the summer of 27 YD.

Pronounced Viscount of Panabuk

The first of his family to ever hold a high lordship, the new Viscount Charles was naturally thrilled to have finally made it to the ranks of the landed nobility. Little did he realize the trials of being a landed noble would prove even more challenging than the most ferocious monster melee. Panabuk, having been severely hit by the recent monster incursion, was all but in ruins. The population had been reduced to 1/6th of its original size, virtually all of its major infrastructure was gone save its military recruitment center which collapsed days later, and the roads in and out of the county were nothing short of a disaster. Undeterred, Charles organized the local ducal militia provided by his liege and retooled his combat troops as a local police force to maintain control of the region. The first months of his lordship proved quite rocky as peasant riots regularly prevented him from holding court, and the growth of regional loyalty and population size remained abysmal. However, his extensive measures to restore unity to the land combined with a local natural disaster eventually shifted public opinion his way. During this time Charles also began his conversion to Verdis Elementum, reconstructing the former temple in Panabuk, after conversing with Fissoa’s High Chancellor who was also a high priest.

Rising through the Ranks

Although physically constrained to Panabuk’s fields, Charles was not about to stop his rise in Fissoa’s ranks. After a short campaign, Charles was appointed Vice-Marshal of the Fissoa Privateers and set about using his new found power to manage the kingdom’s domestic forces. Charles also managed to takeover as Warden of the Fissoa Verminators granting him command of the kingdom’s community of skilled adventurers.

Charles’ personal growth in power would also be mirrored by his fief, Panabuk. During this time, Panabuk’s population underwent rapid growth, over doubling in size within two weeks. The Verdis Elementum faith also experienced a strong resurgence among the peasantry thanks to a visit by Fissoa’s High Chancellor. The local temple was then consecrated and expanded to meet the needs of the faithful. The population enthralled, Charles soon departed to join the rest of his fellows in the war against Luria Nova.

The Lurian War

Panabuk under control, Charles quickly travelled north to join the southern league in battle against Luria Nova aggressors. The offensive was a disaster, plagued by miscommunication, delays, and wasted resources. Charles was particularly brutalized when left to fight waves of Lurian militia in the massacre of Ciarin Tut. With his unit destroyed, Charles slowly made the long journey home to Madina. Undeterred by his losses, Charles quickly rebuilt the Crimson Guard from the ground up and helped Marshal Challon plan a second, separate Fissoan offensive against Luria Nova’s southern border. This second wave proved much more successful, breaking Luria’s southern army and stripping them of their Irvington holdings. (needs updating)

Roleplays

Battle for Maraba Aftermath, Dwilight's Monsters Invade

Charles awakes, eyes blinking at the roof of his tent. His first thought, “How did I end up here?” Straining his mind, thinking back he remembers the battle: the blood red sun setting over Maraba’s sky, his men charging toward the rampaging troll battle line, steel clanging upon scaly flesh, clubs swinging sending men airborne, the sounds of a downed troll’s dying screams, himself at the center of the maelstrom. Ah yes, it had been a good fight! He remembered getting in a few good stabs but then a sharp pain at the back of his head, then black. Remembering this he feels the back of his head flinching at the touch of a large painful lump, his movement alerting the healer and guard attending him. While the healer rushes over to assist him sitting up, the guard runs out to fetch his captain returning in moments with his commander in tow. “Good afternoon, Sir Charles, welcome back to the land of the waking,” his captain states.

“Rufus, what happened out there? I remember charging the troll lines giving those beasts a what for then nothing.”

“Villainy sir. While we were engaging the main horde, another smaller band of trolls snuck around and flanked us. In the ensuing chaos, you took a glancing blow to the head at which point I sounded the retreat.”

“Did we win?”

“Aye, those trolls were no match for the might of Fissoa. Those few monsters that survived the battle were destroyed the following morning by your fellow nobles. With regards to our own men, nearly half our unit was killed, but most of the survivors are no longer in the healers’ care and fit for duty.”

“Very well. Rufus, start rallying the men. We’ve got work to do.”

“Sir, are you certain, you did take quite the blow?”

“It’s a bruise, Rufus. No more deadly or disabling than a paper cut. Now get my troops moving! And you there, guard, send in one of my scouts. And where the hell is my scribe? Nap time is over. We’ve still got an invasion to stem!”

Dwilight Monster Migration, The Iceglow Approaches

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH!!!!!!!!!!! Charles is awakened by horrific sounds coming from outside his window. As his eyes squint open his mind is immediately filled with anger. Days of putting up with rioting peasants at court and insurrection in the streets while rushing to prepare his devastated lands for the impending autumn harvest had left him high on stress and in no mood to have his sleep disturbed. This anger vanishes though as the grogginess wears off and he recognizes the ominous nature of the sound. Thinking his manor under monster attack, Charles grabs his sword and rushes to the gates only to find, well, nothing. “Where are the monsters?” he shouts to the guards on the manor walls.

“There are no monsters, my lord,” his captain Rufus calls down from atop the gate.

“Then what in the Gods’ names is that infernal racket?”

“Oh it is monsters, my lord, but they aren’t here. Something has gotten them all stirred up out in the Pananont.”

Sigh…the Pananont…the wild lands forest separating Panabuk’s southern farming estate Southfields from the northern Skyfields estate. Because the woods had been unsuitable for farming Charles had excluded them from Panabuk’s newly drawn up agricultural estates. That, though, hadn’t stopped them from being a constant thorn in his side. While not profitable to the province, those woods did serve nicely as a hiding place for monsters, undead, and brigands crossing over from the lawless dense woods of Panafau and Lawataling to terrorize his lands. “What could possibly be goading them to make that noise?”

Rufus replies, “I don’t know, my lord, but I suspect it has something to do with that,” pointing upward. Charles mouth drops open in utter amazement as he gazes up, beholding the vast transparent curtains of greenish-purple light rippling throughout the night sky. Suddenly, silence, darkness…both the monstrous light and sound cease at once. Next, off in the distance, a rumbling punctured by the cracking sound of trees and underbrush. “The monsters appear to be on the move my lord. Heading west from the looks of the breaking trees. Wherever they’re heading, they seem in quite the hurry. Not even trying to hide their movements.” What this all meant, Charles hasn’t a clue, but he knows it definitely can’t be good.

“Rufus, double the guard for the evening and be sure to alert me if any other strange events should transpire.” Charles returns to his room, but this time not for sleep. Grabbing some parchment and quill he sets to work.

“Divine” Intervention, Panabuk Returns to Stability

For almost a month Charles had endured Panabuk’s hatred. While no serf would dare violate his noble person, it was clear the peasants seethed with rage. Having been abandoned to die at the outbreak of the great monster uprising, the people of Panabuk harbored no love for the continent’s southern realms. While their anger remained mainly directed at D’Hara, Fissoa as a close ally was also despised. At every walk through the local village, the streets would clear with his approach. Angry stares pierced like thrown daggers from the windows. At every court held in his manor's main hall, shouting and fighting would collapse the proceedings. The angry mob undermined his rule at every turn.

But no more! Sitting on his throne as the guards ushered the last of the peasants from his hall, the young Viscount relaxed back into his chair contented with another successful day of governance. While his generous government policies may have helped shift public opinion, Charles still couldn’t really believe the circumstances surrounding the true catalyzing event. Virtually no taxes, strong immigration of loyal subjects from his former knightly estate, and even using almost the entirety of his remaining personal savings to rebuild the local Verdis Elementum temple - nothing seemed like it would move these irrational peasants. Well, almost nothing.

Last week as his troops were shutting down the anarchy at another failed court session (this time being held in the newly rebuilt VE temple shack to protect his private manor) the seemingly impossible occurred. Overwhelmed with frustration at the chaos before him, Charles had looked up at the emblems of the elemental Gods and screamed out to his chosen patron, “Radenem, God of Courage, Lord of Earth, what in the name of all that is holy will it take to quell these obnoxious rubes and hayseeds?” Then… KAAAAAAAAAAABBBBBBBBBBBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The ground shook violently, a loud roar deafened the air, grown men were thrown to the floor, furniture flew across the room, glass blasted from the shattering windows. Charles himself lost his footing. Then dead silence…

The Viscount quickly climbed to his feet, surveying the scene. “Guards! Clear the temple! Everyone outside now!” Following the exiting mass, Charles eyes looked the town over as he crossed the temple threshold. The damage was clearly minimal, as one would expect for such a rural place, although the shock remained pervasive throughout the community. Noticing the rising whispers of the loitering peasants, Charles took charge quickly. “People of Panabuk! Return to your homes! As of now the temple is officially closed until further notice! Guards, disperse the crowd!” The obvious question dominating his slowly calming mind, “What the hell just happened?????,” would have to wait though not for long.

Later that evening while overseeing repairs to his manor grounds, a two man patrol from the local ducal militia would arrive, Charles' desired explanation in hand. Apparently, a large, old manure fertilizer depot slightly to the north, which had become damaged and dilapidated from severe neglect, had somehow caught fire and exploded. Having witnessed the conflagration from afar, the two scouts had gone to examine the site before reporting directly to him. Definitely a lot more mundane cause than some of the supernatural explanations floating around the village, but who was Charles to say what started the initial fire at that exact moment, especially when the rumors surrounding the incident were painting him as having divine favor. Charles naturally thanked his visitors, gave them some gold to hold their tongues, and sent them on their way.

Divine or not, this incident had finally opened the peasantry to accepting his rule. Charles, not being one to look a gift horse in the mouth, quickly exploited his newfound authority to impose the right of high justice on his lands. At last, Panabuk would know order and begin to grow once more.

An Honored Guest, The High Chancellor Comes to Town

A cool, dry ocean gust enveloped the air. The autumn sun gently warmed Panabuk’s southern shores. Charles’ eyes gazed up, fixated on his camp’s Fissoan blue and white banners fluttering in the afternoon breeze. “A good day for sailing,” he ruminated aloud. Rufus, his captain, hesitated a moment before offering a response, initially unsure to whom his lord’s comment was addressed.

“Aye, that it is, my Lord.” It was clear to him his master was getting anxious. Several hours had passed since departing the manor for the village’s closest seaside “port.” Rufus used that term loosely for what was little more than a glorified fishing pier. Panabuk, being a rural province with no sea trade, had use for little else. Still, the young Viscount had wanted to make a good first impression on his arriving guest, High Chancellor Baal Zephon. As such, Rufus had been ordered to prepare a small honor guard so that Viscount Charles could escort back his honored guest in person. While not privy to the contents of their communications, Rufus was well aware the two men had been corresponding for some time and surmised his commander was eager to personally meet the priest responsible for his recent religious conversion.

Although the Viscount may have been excited, this feeling was not shared by the men, most of whom were starting to doze off with the boring wait stretching late into the day. “Much longer and the High Chancellor’s ship won’t need those large dock banners to find us. He can just follow the sounds of the snoring battalion,” Rufus chuckled to himself. His glazed over eyes took in the collage of colors around him. The sapphire blues of the sea seamlessly merged with the emerald ocean of green on which they lay. The gulf’s rhythmic, ultramarine waves seemed to pass right through the shoreline into the meadow. Those pulsing jade ripples of grass traveled upward into the swaying olive drab of the Pananont forest trees on the horizon. How could one NOT enter a coma in these surroundings!

Suddenly, his daze was pierced by the loud thumping of feet creaking on old, wooden boards. “My Lord, a ship approaches!” he could hear the scout stationed on the dock shouting as he scurried towards the shore.

“As if everyone for a thousand leagues doesn’t already know from the racket his run is making. Some scout…” Rufus quietly scoffed while helping the seated men around him get to their feet.

“Rufus, get the men in parade armor lined up. The rest of you, break down the camp and prepare to move out,” Charles ordered.

“At once, my Lord,” Rufus replied leading the ceremonially clad soldiers towards the dock. He had to admit, he too was becoming curious to see the man responsible for such a stir in quiet, old Panabuk.

(Italicized section Written by Baal Zephon Beldragos' player.)

As the ship neared the docks, the Honor Guard could see a lone individual standing stock still on the deck while the sailors scurried around him as if he was a part of the ship. The strong breeze did not seem to ruffle his robes and he leaned upon a walking stick. A couple pieces of luggage was stacked a short distance away and a scribe stood nearby, trying to stay out of the way of the crew.

As the ship docked, the wind seemed to die down coincidentally at the right moment to make the task easier on the men. Several of the older crewmembers glanced occasionally at the elderly man and made simple signs of warding, superstitious nonsense from a superstitious folk.

The elderly man stepped off the boat and walked down the gangplank once it was lowered, onto the pier. His scribe hauled the luggage behind him, struggling with the bulky cases. When Rufus and Lord Charles finally met Baal face to face they saw only an old man with a cracked and weather face that has obviously seen many miles of travel, not one expected from someone hanging out day after day in courthouses, libraries, and city halls. His robes were simple but sturdy traveling garb, nothing fancy and honestly a little soiled from what must be years of road dust. Other than that, his hands and face were clean and respectable. He smelled of a combination of earth and growing plants, or at least that is what Rufus and Charles thought.

Looking around at the small village, Baal nodded in approval and spoke. His voice was quiet bit you could hear him as if he spoke loudly, his was a talent that allowed him to be heard no matter the volume.

“I like what you have done with the place. The last time I was here we only had a fishing pier for the locals to use in loading and offloading their boats. Now the navigational compass has been made that is cheap enough for most captains to use, we can have a proper pier here.”

Baal stepped forward and offered his arm to Lord Charles, presenting it as if to give the proper arm clasp of a warrior.

Charles could see the sight of the distinguished elder statesman approaching him, arm outstretched. “Welcome to Panabuk, High Chancellor,” he said while clasping the offered arm. “Come, let us get you back to the manor. I’m sure you’ve had a long enough journey as it is without us idling here in the middle of the road.”

The small train of soldiers, servants, nobles, and luggage made quite the site moving along the old dirt road. Upon reaching the village outskirts a small crowd even began gathering. Most just gawked, curious what all the commotion was about, but a few older residents did recognize the High Chancellor and shouted words of greeting. While Baal hadn’t said much on the walk, Charles could tell he was pleased to see Panabuk’s people doing well after so much turmoil. Their audience quickly dispersed though after exiting the village’s other end and walking up towards the manor grounds.

In the distance they could see the low stone walls set against the backdrop of the late afternoon sun. All of it surrounded by fields of corn and wheat stretching off into the distance. As they approached the main gate, Baal could tell the large wooden doors were new. “Nice isn’t it,” Charles said. “I had it installed shortly after moving in. Even had my family coat of arms embossed on the door. It seemed a fitting way to be welcomed home. The place was a bit of a mess when I took over, but most of the monster damage has been repaired by now.” As they approached the large wooden doors, a lone sentry rushed out towards them. “You there, have the High Chancellor’s belongings taken over to the guest wing,” Charles ordered. Turning towards his guest, “I don’t know about you, Lord Baal, but I’m famished. If you are agreeable, let’s head over to the dining hall where we can converse over refreshments.”

… Later, in the manor’s dining area while seated among plates of cheeses, breads, and fruits with cups of wine …

“So here’s what I’m thinking: right now you can try preaching while I hold court. Civil work remains impossible because of the reduced population, and police work isn’t of much use with the region already firmly under control (OOC core level). (OOC Realm loyalty and morale are now both in the mid 70s, so hopefully it won’t be long before they get maxed out.) Currently, I’m maintaining the tax rate at 2% to encourage immigration and boost morale/loyalty; however, with the region now recovering, I’m considering raising the rate although I'm unsure how that will impact continued growth.

Based on the letters coming from the Prince-at-Arms, it sounds like they’re going to want all hands on deck for the coming second offensive against Luria. I’ve sent Marshal Evelyn a letter about this, but as Vice-Marshal of the army, it seems likely I’ll soon need to join the fight. However, I won’t be leaving at least until I hear back from the Marshal and Duke Skyndarbau can send the necessary finances. Should I be required to go, I would ask that you hold court in Panabuk in my absence until you need to return to Candiels.”

Battle for Ciarin Tut, Setting the Bar Low

The words still haunted his thoughts, "...the next sunrise will do...most of our allies [will arrive then]...The other Privateers can serve as reinforcements..." That is what Marshal Evelyn had sent in reply to his suggestion to postpone the army's arrival and launch a more unified attack.

It was definitely sunrise, but this one wouldn't do at all. Charles surveyed the field and could already tell exactly what was about to happen. His men were in formation ready for a battle. What they were about to get was a slaughter. His unit was joined by the small retinue of one lone D'Haran knight. Apparently, "allies" meant "ally." Two infantry regiments to march at five battalions of dug in Lurian militia.

Withdrawal was not an option. With the Lurian ranged defenses now deployed, they would be cut to shreds if they tried to leave. No, Charles knew there was only one way out. They would fight. They would die. And maybe, just maybe, they'd create a window in which to escape.

The march was brutal. Men dropped like flies. A long, red stain of blood and death trailed behind the army like a grisly footprint. The D'Haran's unit, which had positioned itself at the front of the column, was completely wiped out before even closing half the distance to the enemy's front line. Charles's men fared little better.

Those who survived the death march were now faced with the impossible task of frontally assaulting the dug in Lurian position. Sir Olwë, who had joined the front ranks of Charles' unit led the charge. What happened next couldn't even be fairly described as shooting fish in a barrel. The front wave, surrounded by archers, was mowed down in minutes. To finish off the wave's survivors, the Lurian infantry moved between Charles' reserves and forward line completely surrounding the first wave. Unable to fight through to rescue Sir Olwë from capture, Charles' took advantage of the Lurian's preoccupation with the forward group and retreated with the last of his men hauling the few survivors they could. This terrible battle was over, but the war had just begun.

Highway to Hell, Traveling the Palm Sea

“Where in the infernal abyss of hell are we?!?!”

Charles and his men, after refitting in Drowenton, had taken the Palm Sea back towards the Lurian warfront. It was supposed to be the quickest route, but this little shortcut through the bowels of hell had quickly devolved into a bone dry, endless sojourn complete with blistering heat and grinding sandpaper winds. As if the brutality of the elements weren’t enough, being lost in the vast emptiness of this wasteland netherworld was shredding the very strings of their sanity.

“My lord, a village, off in the distance!”

“Not another one of your mirages, Viktor. One more day chasing phantoms through this Inferno, and I’ll have sand for blood.” Charles paused to look out at the spot on the horizon. “On second thought, I’d take even imaginary water at this point. Onward!”

As the ragged party passed into the village a small crowd approached them demanding their identity and purpose. Charles didn’t care. To him all was invisible save one lone object, the watery oasis shimmering in the desert sun like a gateway to another world. Standing before the pond, he fell to his knees and buried his head in the ethereal waters. Like a tsunami crashing into the surface of the moon, it was as if water was contacting him for the first time, sending the days of accumulated dust surging away. After what felt like the blink of an eye basking in the life giving water (although in reality was several minutes), Charles felt himself tugged back into the real world as captain Viktor pulled him to his feet. “Feeling better, sir?”

“Infinitely! Now let’s find some food and a shady space to sit.”

The group quickly moved towards the locals and began the process of determining their position and arranging basic lodging. While Charles had hoped to be through the desert already, they would need to remain where they were and rest. As much as his disdain for the Palm Sea, his party would need time to recover. At least he would now have some time, finally shielded from harsh environment in a local yurt, to address the literal mountain of correspondence that had been piling up…

Special Delivery, Presenting Asylon's Tribute

Fissoa's Royal Palace, what a sight to behold! Despite having visited Madina on numerous occasions, Charles had never before set foot in the palace's opulent walls. "The Kingdom must truly be doing well from the looks of this place," Charles thought to himself while waiting for a royal audience. He simply couldn't help but soak in the richness of his environment. The usual chatter of the idle conscious mind filled his head: "I may have to get a tapestry like that for my library." "I wonder how many candles that chandelier goes through in a year?" "I didn't even know they made those in gold."

His mind absorbed in his palatial surrounds, Charles didn't even notice the approach of a palace attendant. "I apologize for the wait Milord, but as you well know His Majesty is a very busy man. If you would like to leave whatever it is you have for him with me, you may."

Charles looked down at the wrapped bundle of cloth resting in his arms. "No, what I have is for King Waldor's hands alone. I'll wait. If His Highness asks what this is about, simply tell him Asylon sends its regards."

(Italicized section Written by Evelyn Challon's player.)

"That is quite alright, Geoff. The King should be able to receive the viscount Reding, I am quite certain." Evelyn spoke up, after entering the room Charles was kept waiting. Her red tresses were braided in a single braid down along her back, while the Queen Consort was wearing a regal dress, though it may as well be one of her regular ones. Evelyn's love for proper gowns and dresses was likely well known and she always relished giving in to her vanity when not marching to battle.

"Perhaps some wine for our guest while we wait." She told the attendant, sounding as a suggestion while being in truth more directions. After this she turned to Charles, a small smile on her lips. "Greetings, viscount Charles. A pleasure, as always. I am certain my husband should be about at one point."

Evelyn gestured behind her, before speaking up. "If desired, the sitting room might be better place to wait." The noblewoman suggested as the servant moved to fetch some of that wine, not questioning her or her words.

The sudden, unexpected, female voice sprung Charles to his feet like a tripped jack-in-the-box. “My Queen, delighted to see you. Given the quick start to our next campaign, I didn’t think I’d get to before your departure.” From the display before him, Charles could tell his Marshal was enjoying her new role as Queen-consort. Her sleek dress and well styled braid were clearly indicative of someone appreciating the finer things in life. “I would absolutely love some wine.” After having sat in the hallway for quite some time, Charles was more than happy to accept the Queen Marshal’s offer of refreshment.

(Italicized section Written by Evelyn Challon's player.)

Evelyn nods slowly to Charles' words, with a small hum of agreement released by her at the mention of the sudden start of the next campaign. More sudden than she would have liked, though she did not quite voice her opinion on the matter yet. A small smile touched her lips soon again, before leading the way to sitting room.

(Italicized section Written by Waldor Graves' player.)

Waldor arrives not long after the wine has been poured in the sitting room, tailed by a flustered retainer carrying his etched crown on a small, satin cushion. He's dressed simply, in an obscenely fashionable sort of way - one concession, perhaps, to his stylish new wife and her own vanity. His tunic and trousers are dyed in plain, solid colours - blue and white - with some gold trim and high, black leather boots. He's clean-shaven, as well, and his shaggy reddish-brown hair has been trimmed and swept back along his skull, though that's as much due to a new tic of the king's as any stylist's legacy.

"What's this about Asylon, now?" He asks, ignoring common courtesies, unable to keep the irritation out of his voice. The irritation and, to a lesser extent, the tension, too. Asylon's a powder keg in the south, and he's forgotten all about their promises of tribute and their congratulations. He waves away the servant who comes bearing a goblet of wine, approaching Charles and Evelyn. His crown-carrying retainer follows, cross-eyed from the effort of caretaking that exalted bit of headgear.

Almost immediately upon the two situating themselves in the sitting room, King Waldor bursts through the door. Charles stands to give a quick bow, trying to extend the necessary level of respect while obviously observing his king not being in any mood to exchange pleasantries. “I apologize for interrupting your busy schedule, Your Highness, but given the sensitive, fluid nature of southern politics these days, I felt it important to personally ensure this delivery.”

Charles walks over to a table in the middle of room and hurriedly unrolls his cloth parcel. “May I present the offerings given me by Sir Girard Hurlant, Treasury Logothete of Asylon, Knight of Grodno. On the left we have the Bloody Blade of Doom.” The eerily sharp blade with its iridescent sheen looks downright wicked. Oddly enough, at first glance it looks rusty, but closer inspection reveals clearly nothing is wrong. And yet, those present cannot shake the feeling, as if the blade is still encrusted with the blood of its previous victims. Charles continues, “I’ve personally never seen anything like it. Rumor is the blade ‘remembers’ its past conquests, absorbing part of the lifeforce of its victims from their very blood. Granted, I’m not one for superstition, but it is a quality weapon for sure.”

“And here we have our second item, the Ornate Ring of Freedom.” Ornate, ha, what an understatement! This ring couldn’t have been gaudier if it came with a life-size diorama of a diamond unicorn riding a golden double rainbow. Encrusted with quite possibly every jewel known to man, this gold ring was no ordinary show piece. To insult the injury, the symbolism engraved upon it had all the subtly of a hammer to the face: along the hoop, images of gem encrusted chains breaking before twin, rising suns of ruby resting on the ring shoulders. A top the bezel was imbedded a mosaic of diamond, ruby, sapphire, emerald, and amethyst forming the shape of an eagle, scroll in one talon, weighing scale in the other. Charles could only assume it as some metaphor for the rule of law. “Definitely a shiny display of the wealth and prestige. While a little ostentatious for my tastes, the ring’s message of prosperity yielded by freedom is unmistakable.”

“As you can see, the items are in relatively good condition with minimal wear from transit.” Handing the items to Waldor, “And with that, our business is concluded. If there is anything else Your Majesty requires of me, I would be happy to assist. Otherwise, I shan’t delay your Royal person any longer. Your Highness is of course welcome to join your wife and myself as we discuss the upcoming campaign, but I sense you probably have other important affairs of state to deal with right now.”

(Italicized section Written by Evelyn Challon's player.)

When the wine is served she graciousy accepts the drink from the winebearer, sampling it with a small sip. As Waldor enters right after they settled, she rises back up again as well, flashing the king a bit of a wider smile. The glass of wine still held in her hand. Her nails are well manicured and painted red, matching the liquid quite well as she holds the drink. She lets Charles speak, remaining silent as the man explains and displays the objects, the noblewoman stepping over to Waldor's side.

At the explanation about the sword, there is a brief frown on Evelyn's features. She always had a healthy respect and wariness for magic and a sword that sapped the lifeforce from opponents seemed... Dark. She knew of the existance of such weapons, though she never saw one up close. She was not quite certain what to think of it. Instead of speaking about it, Evelyn opted to take a sip from her wine instead.

After the explanation of the ring and Charles' questions, a small smile touched Evelyn's lips again. Her free hand reaches up to rest lightly on Waldor's arm, her head canting to the side ever so slightly. Adressing her vice-marshal as she speaks up again. "There are quite a few matters to discuss, I want this next campaign to go smoothly. The less time is lost in the following refit for the siege the better. Barca, D'Hara and now Asylon are all relying heavily on the military might of the Privateers."

Her following smile was a tad of a wry one. She knew fully well that the war would still last a while. Luria Nova was prideful, they would likely keep fighting to the very last man.

Battle for Outer Giask, Deja Vu Defeat

Charles sank to the ground, plopping his arse down in the mud with his head slinking back against a ditch wall. What a long, long day…..

Charles wasn’t sure what had been more taxing: the seemingly endless preparations or the actual battle itself. He had spent the whole morning constantly inspecting the entire Fissoan battleline, pouring over intermittent scout reports monitoring the Lurians’ approach, and ensuring his fellow Privateers were ready. The onset of the winter chill hadn’t done wonders for his mood either, but this battle was the reason Fissoa was here. As Vice-Marshal, he would leave nothing to chance. The Queen Marshal’s army had to prevail. Period.

But it didn't. Sure, the battle had started well enough. From their fortified positions they had been able to absorb the Lurian archer fire with relative easy. When the Lurian infantry line had finally reached their dug in position, dispatching them was a simple task. His direct opponent, the Kapnobatai, hadn’t lasted a single bout. But then came a sight Charles was all too familiar with, the endless death march against the Lurian archer lines. Charles had yet to meet a Lurian infantryman he couldn’t defeat, but those bloody snipers kept snatching away victory. Replaying the battle over and over again in his head, Charles hadn’t even noticed the approach of his captain. “Mi’lord, a message from Prince Soren!”

Upon scanning the contents, “Viktor, rally the men. Our job here is done. We should let the Lurians enjoy their pyrrhic victory. They’ve earned it.”

Safe Harbour, Making the Journey Home

Irvington, finally! It feels like an eternity since Charles had last set foot inside its walls. Where once a proud regiment, 50 men strong, had eagerly marched north to battle, only 16 survivors have managed to successfully limp, crutch, and hobble their way back over the border.

The weary unit hovers across the threshold of the old motte and bailey in absolute silence. After days out in the winter rains running injured from Lurian patrols, the party resembles a pack of anemic ghosts to the unnerved garrison guards. The sentries approach, "Who goes there?!"

Charles steps out from the group, wiping the grime from his face, and stares his questioner dead in the eye.

Mortified, "My apologies, Lord Charles," the lead guard squeaks out in terror from not having recognized the Vice-Marshal. "When we heard you and your entire unit fell in battle, we weren't sure you'd....." The soldier quickly trails off seeing the growing glare in Charles' eyes. Exhausted, starving - Charles was in no mood for small talk from small men. The silence drags on, filling the air around them.

Shattering the soundless impasse, Charles coughs out, "Prince Soren?"

"He is here, Milord."

"Marshal Evelyn?"

"I'm afraid the Queen has yet to return."

Satisfied with his answers, Charles turns to rejoin his men already entering the town. It'll be a long voyage back to capital in this winter weather, but right now there's a warm inn bed with Charles' name on it.

A Warden's Duty, Meeting with the Common Folk

(Italicized section Written by Emily Argent's player.)

Emily was one of a thousand commoners that passed through Madina's city gates on any given day. Guards' eyes rolled off of breeches, simple tunic, and lightly tattered cloak she was much as any other on the road. The cloak hid the truth of it, though. It was a voluminous, practical thing that came with a rain-proof hood and a steel brooch. It was warm and light, perhaps even a fine thing once with the quality material and myriad of little pockets, though actual use has reduced it to anonymity. More importantly, the cloak hid her blades, a full and exxagerated set of them on her person. Her bow was unstrung, and spare bowstrings were tucked away in waterproof pouches in that cloak. She used it as a walking stick, the old wood notched and battered yet never threatening to break from use. She wore her arms and armor well, and hiding it was easy from the bored, inattentive guards.

Emily did not need to hide it, all in all. She did not do such on purpose, but simply preferred to avoid any undue attention. She did not wish to be looked askew at, bothered and interrogated. She did not like answering why her gear was as fine as it was. She certainly did not like the immediate accusations of theft, of why her coin purse was as heavy as it was. More than once zealous guards had just taken it upon themselves to assume her coin was unfairly earned and tried to take it from her. What she liked least was different, though, than the assumptions and questions. The leers she hated most. She was more than pretty, in the right clothes and state of cleanliness even beautiful. She had features that would look at place on a noble, striking and appealing, with an athletic form to match. For all their comfort, the leather breeches and tunics did not hide feminine curves. The cloak helped with that, on occasion.

The adventurer knew the city well by now, finding her way to an inn she was used to. It was dry, clean and quiet enough, and the food and drink was good. Even for the city, it was not expensive. She was recognized, given a room for a few silver, and offered a meal after the road. She had to ask specifically for the bath, apparently a rarer request. Emily saw to all her needs, including a cleaner change of clothes, and waited. She had some important people to meet, and on their terms.

KNOCK KNOCK...

It seems Emily wouldn't be waiting long. She opens the door to her room to find the innkeeper. "There's a man downstairs for you. Says he's from the guild."

Emily heads down to find a young, tall, heavy set man in plain clothes waiting in the entrance hallway. Though he may be wearing a simple shirt, breeches, and boots, his firm stance and sword at his side give him away as some sort of soldier. Clearly this is not the noble she was expecting. "Emily, I presume. Captain Viktor, at your service. Lord Reding has sent me to collect you."

They leave at once with Viktor leading the way through the city's winding, stone streets to the small Fissoa Verminator guildhouse nestled within the Inner City district. Viktor shows her through the front door, past the clerk windows in the main foyer and into the back hallway. Emily can see several doors on either side as they walk; however, one in particular catches her notice on the far end. Behind it emanates loud, boisterous sounds of some form of merriment. There is no time to investigate though as Viktor leads her left into an adjoining corridor with a narrow, wooden spiral staircase at the end. As they climb to the top two guards, slouching against the wall, quickly straighten up and salute the captain. One sentry swings open the creaking, old wooden door letting them pass.

Emily emerges into a large, impressive, wood paneled study. To her right lies a wall covered in bookcases with a roaring fireplace in the center. Thick, heavy, leather tomes line the shelves. Some appear downright ancient, others far more modern. On a few shelves rest large stacks of dusty, parchment scrolls. To her left lie massive picture windows covered by heavy drapes. In the flickering fire light, Emily can clearly see the beautiful purple cloth with gold trim. Several chairs sit placed along the wall below the windows. Directly before her lies an ornately carved, solid mahogany partners desk. Even from across the room she can see the fine leather insert on top, ringed by brass fittings. Behind on the wall lies a large banner with the Verminators' unmistakable black and orange paw print emblem. Flanking the flag are wall mounted, candle chandeliers on each side. Between the desk and back wall sits Warden Charles Reding. Despite the large desk obstructing her view, Emily can still make out his appearance: short brown hair, blue eyes, relatively square jawline, and dressed in a jet black tunic with dark red lining around the collar.

"Milord Reding, here is the commoner you asked for. With your leave sir, I'll rejoin the rest of the regiment downstairs."

"That'll be all, Captain. You are dismissed. And shut the door on your way out." The two of them finally alone, face to face, Charles beckons Emily forward. "Please pull up a chair," pointing to one of the spares against the wall. "So what is it you wanted to meet with me about? Your letters were you rather cryptic about your intent."

Weapon of Choice, Disbursing a Unique Item Bounty

(Italicized section Written by Faust Eldrikson's player.)

Faust felt like a new man. It's amazing what a few hours washing off all of the mud and blood in hot bath can do to remedy a month spent in the wilds during monsoon season, fighting all sorts of monsters. He had spent a few hours buying new cloths and gear, his old cloths had been wrecked in his last journey, and it wouldn't do to present himself before the Warden in stained and raged clothes, if they even let in to see him. He was pleased with his new purchase, it was stylish and clean, but not so expensive looking that guards would start asking which noble he had robbed. he donned his heavy cloak, to ward him from the rain, the cloak was a dark brown , and had some furs around the neck, including a section of red striped fur he had taken a few days ago. His red jerkin could be just be seen below the Verminator emblem that acted as his broach. lastly he took the item from on top of his chest of draws, It was a package that was wrapped in a pelt to protect it. With his precious cargo in hand, he left his room in the Boars Head, walking downstairs into the common room where people where gathering and enjoying their food and drinks. Faust gave a nod to Pedro at the bar, letting him know he was going out, before lifting his hood and stepping into the downpour.

The side streets where the Boar was situated where a muddy mess, the rain and traffic had made them into a pit of ankle deep mud, making it hard work to go anywhere without getting mud everywhere. Luckily the main roads were cobbled, otherwise the patrolling soldiers would have turned them into a muddy mess. and there where allot of soldiers in the city, troops moved past him frequently,all displaying varying badges, a few groups flew the dukes colours, the local militia, that protected the city, but he spotted other colours and emblems, he past a group that where Blackmane men, and a second who belonged to house Malfurion Obviously the privateers where recruiting in the capitol, one group of militia looked like they where going to stop him, but when they saw his broach, left him be. After some time of navigating through the streets, Faust had finally reached the new Verminator Head quarters, he griped his parcel a little more firmly and stepped through the new grand entrance, steeling himself to meet with the Warden.

Lorenzo sits behind his clerk desk, pecking away at the day's paperwork. The monotony of his daily routine has him in a near trance broken only by the sudden opening of the guildhouse doors. Looking up he sees Faust enter. He can tell by his attire that he's one of the guild's adventurers. Sensing the commoner is uncertain where to go, he motions for Faust to walk across the grand ballroom over to the clerk's teller window along the back wall. "Name," he says flatly.

"Faust, Faust, Faust," Lorenzo repeats the name while flipping through some papers on his desk. "Faust, here we are. Warden Reding said you might be by this evening. Please wait over there while I let him know of your arrival."

From Faust's plush lobby chair, the entirety of the ostentatious entry way can be seen: marble floors with the Verminators' emblem engraved in the room center, high rise ceilings with a few chandeliers dangling overhead, imported carpets along the sides where ornate oak lounge chairs and coffee tables rest. The room is clearly built with serving the guild's noble clientele in mind.

After a few minutes a door next to the clerk window swings open. The clerk emerges followed by someone. "Faust I presume," the mystery figure says while motioning him over. "I am Warden Charles Reding. Welcome to the new Royal Verminator guildhall." The nobleman was dressed in his usual clothes of choice. His expensive, jet black silk tunic with maroon collar and cuffs was unmistakably the work clothes of a gentleman. His ocean blue eyes drifting to the package in Faust's hands, "I see you've brought the item in question. Excellent."

The clerk chimes in, "Will you be requiring anything further, Warden?"

Remembering the clerk is still present, "No, Lorenzo. You may return to your duties." Readdressing Faust, "Well, would you like to get straight to the business at hand, or would you like a tour of our new facility first?"

(Italicized section Written by Faust Eldrikson's player.)

Faust sat dumbstruck in the large over padded seat to one side of the ballroom, he had barley payed attention to the clerk, far to busy gawking at the lavish nature of the hall. He chided himself, what was he? Some boy to dazzled to even think straight? He composed himself, removing his heavy cloak and setting it aside, making sure to not drip water all over the upholstery. He didn't want to think about how much one of those cost.

The new Headquarters were very different to the old guildhall in Madina, This was a building meant to entertain the most powerful nobles in the realm, while still being used by the small-folk to gather, where the old guild had been one designed for small-folk, that had been done up, as to not be embarrassing if a noble did come on business. Time would tell if this change of perspective would be a good or bad thing for the guild. Just then the clerk re entered the room with a noble in tow.

After greetings, Warden Reding spoke to this clerk again and then asked "Well, would you like to get straight to the business at hand, or would you like a tour of our new facility first?" The man spoke with confidence and stood proud, this was the first time he had met lord Reding and he had not yet worked out if he could be trusted, His manner and the council he had taken in the reforms suggested him to be a man of worth, but one could never be to careful with ones trust, he had payed heavily for that mistake before.

Faust smiled to himself ad spoke "Lord Warden, as kind your offer is, reports from Panafau are not heartening, and I would be back there as soon as I can, and I am sure you have more pressing matters then to spend your time showing one of us small-folk around. I have brought the relic with me as requested. Sadly it was misused by its previous... owner, but the damage is not so great as to hinder its use. I do not expect the full bounty that was offered, nor do I need such a large sum of money. I once hunted for wealth, but now I hunt for other reasons." Bowing his head slightly Faust undid the straps that held the bundle together, and unrolled the hide covering, and then with his best effort, held out the bundle in a ceremonious fashion, offering the weapon for the lords inspection.

"Not here. While I can appreciate a man who takes his work seriously, let's head up to my office. Follow me. I'll point out a few things along the way so you can explore our new, magnificent guildhall when you have the time."

Charles opens the door to the back and leads the way. "As you can tell we spared no expense on the main hall. As an official arm of the government and Fissoa's first line of defense against the forces of evil, I felt it fitting our point of contact with the public reflect this importance. Once the kingdom is no longer plagued by war, I also hope to use the space for holding social functions. Always good to remind our elite benefactors of the importance of their continued support."

Past the main lobby, the guild becomes decided less fashionable and more functional. As the pair reach a T junction, "The facility has two wings: the hall of records and the adventurer barracks. The wings wrap around that interior courtyard and meet at the servants' and guards' quarters in the back. To the left is the hall of records - three stories containing records dating back to the guild's founding shipped painstakingly all the way from the former headquarters in Munawai. Accounts of monster battles, etchings of Fissoa's various caves and catacombs, maps of the wilderness in Fissoa's rural provinces, the first two floors have anything someone could ever need to plan a success hunt. The 3rd floor is restricted access and contains documents more about the guild's internal functioning such as personnel records."

Charles leads Faust off to the right, and up three flights of stairs. Over in this section I've had included areas to cater to adventurer needs. The 1st floor is primarily meeting and reading rooms for planning operations while the 2nd floor consists of sleeping and bathing areas. While the rest areas aren't free (we aren't running a charitable institution after all and maintaining the guild's vast network of messengers and safe houses isn't free), they do provide a safe, clean, reliable port in the storm where an adventurer can be alone or plan with his fellows."

As they reach the top floor, they walk past two guards in the narrow entrance hallway and into a large office. "And here we have my personal offices and private apartment for when I'm in the city." Directing Faust's attention to the large windows on their right, "Hell of a view of Madina's harbor and the ocean. One of the perks of our new location in the Harbour District. I made sure they put the living quarters on the ocean side." As they reach Charles' desk, he takes the parcel from Faust and unwraps the contents. "Magnificent find you have here." Running his fingers along the warhammer's gilded steel handle, "I must admit I was surprised to hear you wanted only half the original bounty...especially for such a fine weapon." His attention snapping back from the weapon to Faust's purpose in his office, "At any rate here is the gold as promised." Charles opens a combination lock drawer in his desk and removes a large, jingling leather sack. He quickly sets the bag down next to Faust and returns to examining his shiny, new toy. "Now, unless there is anything else, I trust you know the way back."

This Warden Life, Managing a Guild

(Italicized section Written by Aethelmaer Lockhart's player.)

On his way from Panamana, Aethelmaer searched several regions in search of a sage. For his efforts, he had found a wizard. He was a crazy oracle of time, but he could not offer Aethelmaer the services that he wanted. He couldn't even tell him any relevant information of the shield he had found.

After giving up on a few days of searching, he instead decided to see if the archives in the guild headquarters had any information on it. That is what brought him to Madina. He had sent a message on to Warden Reding to make sure he had access, but upon receiving a positive response, his destination was set. Now he stood at the doors to the guild headquarters. The only other time he did so was when he initially joined the Verminators. Aethelmaer had the shield wrapped in a cloth with him, it was time to find out if this thing was really worth something.

Inside, Aethelmaer was surprised at how formal the headquarters looked. He compared it to his attire, and he certainly didn't look like he belonged there. It was sort of embarrassing that he didn't clean himself up a little bit, but he wasn't expecting to meet with anyone. After some time of standing around admiring the lobby, then turned to a nearby receptionist. "May I ask where the archives are? I need to research myths of ancient items." She responded, "It's just down this hall first door on the right. There is also an archive on the second floor, if you don't find what you need."

Aethelmaer nodded in thanks, and headed towards the archives. There were many, many books, scrolls, records and other materials with which to glean information from. Of course, Aethelmaer had no idea of where to begin and stood a bit dumbstruck at the sight once again. "Do you need some help finding anything?" It startled him, not seeing someone come up to him. "It's a lot to take in, but I can help find what you are searching for." Aethelmaer explained, "I have this shield here, and I am trying to find some information on it. It looks rather old, so perhaps it has a history, or an ancient tale of some sort."

"A shield? Perhaps you would let me take a look at it? I am one of the archivists here. I must say if it is something ancient indeed, there are many here that would be quite interested, myself included." Aethelmaer unwrapped the cloth from the item in his hands, revealing the shield in question. The light of the archives reflected off the scaly depiction of the serpent on its front surface. "Ahhh! This must be a depiction of a Gorgon! That would make this... It couldn't be. My lad, where did you find this?" The stunned face of the archivist could hardly peel his eyes away from the shield to look at Aethelmaer. "I was hunting on Mt. Ichor in Panamana. This was carried by an alpha trollkin who was hiding there."

"Give me a few moments, I must find the documents pertaining to this shield. If I am not mistaken, this is the Aegis Shield! What a spectacular find!" The archivist trotted off in a hurry, leaving Aethelmaer behind with the shield in hand. "Aegis Shield, huh? This must really be a unique item. I wonder if the Warden would take a look at it? If I remember, he was looking for another item." While Aethelmaer awaited for the archivist to return, several others began to gather around wanting to look at the shield.

The soft scribbles of a pen could be heard near continuously for hours from Charles' Royal Verminator office. The only silence occurred when he would look up from his desk out across Madina's harbor, pausing to enjoy his view of the Pirate Coast's crystal blue waters. Most of his morning had been preoccupied with processing backlogged guild paperwork while his unit was at the smithy. Not the most mentally stimulating work, but Charles was ready for a little desk time after weeks out in the field.

The unexpected swinging open of his office door quickly broke his work trance. Charles recognized his intruder as one of the guildhall guards. "Warden, forgive the intrusion, but you said to let you know whenever something unusual was going on within the building."

Looking up from his papers, "Yes...What is it?"

"Sir, there's some sort of commotion going on in the Hall of Records. Looks like one of the guild's adventurers brought something in."

"Interesting." Setting his pen down, "Show me."

As the pair entered the archives from the second floor, Charles could see the small group below him, gathered around something with a metallic sheen. Unnoticed, Charles initially observed them from the handrail. One gruff looking individual holding some sort of shield surrounded by a few guildhouse staff. Calling down to them, "Well well. What have we here? That's quite a lot of excitement over a simple piece of metal."

(Italicized section Written by Aethelmaer Lockhart's player.)

The archivists of the guild house, as well as a few others of the knowledgeable faculty, were still in quite the frenzy over the newly identified shield. Scrolls, books and other records littered the table around the shield. The reason for it being the identification of the ancient piece, and to verify if it was authentic. Thus far, nothing was found to prove that it wasn't. All the while, Aethelmaer was standing somewhat aside, letting the archivists do their thing only speaking when one of the staff questioned him about it. The shield turned out to be quite the find it seems.

Then, a voice from above called out and effectively silenced the group. Aethelmaer followed the gaze of all the others and turned to look at the observer from above. It was a very prominent noble, certainly of a high stature considering the way he was dressed. If Aethelmaer were to fathom a guess, he would say it was a high ranking officer of the Verminators, although he hadn't met any of the nobles in person. Suffice to say, that he had no clue as to the identity of the noble before him. Now cursing himself for not cleaning himself up, Aethelmaer wasn't quite sure what to do in the presence of a noble. He took a bow before he began to speak. "I beg your pardon, Sir. I am Aethelmaer. I have brought a shield here to research it's identity. I did not mean to disturb the peace."

The archivist spoke up in turn, "Sir, this here is no simple piece of metal. The man has brought us the Ornate Aegis of Protection. It's the Aegis Shield of legend!"

"Aegis Shield of legend you say. Sounds like something I should see for myself." Charles walks along the banister to a small spiral staircase and down to the first floor group. As he approaches, his eyes move up and down looking over the disheveled adventurer before him. Clearly Aethelmaer had not been expecting noble company, but this didn't bother Charles. As Vice-Marshal, he'd seen plenty of soldiers in the field in far worse state. "So, you are Aethelmaer. Come to try claiming my unique item bounty, I see." Charles can see the expression on Aethelmaer's face change as he realizes who Charles is. "That's right. I'm Warden Reding." Shifting his attention to the shield, "Well, let's have a look at this thing shall we."

Charles traces the image on the shield's front with his hand, outlining the monster's features. The high quality craftsmanship of the item is unmistakable. He lifts the shield with both hands to get a better view of the creature. "Scaly skin, claws, boar tusks, wings...and is that hair made of venomous snakes? What on earth is this thing?" One of the group's experts pipes in, "A gorgon, milord. An ancient beast of legend often displayed in hopes of warding off evil." Tilting the shield down to see the speaker, Charles then notices the group around him has been motionless the entire time. His face shifts to a frown. "Well don't just stand there gawking at me. How prestigious is this thing? What condition is it in? Honestly, what do I pay you people for?"

(Italicized section Written by Aethelmaer Lockhart's player.)

The presence of the Warden in front of him was immense, or at least it seemed to Aethelmaer. It left him speechless for a spell. One of the archivists turned towards the table, quickly shuffling through a few documents searching for answers. In the meantime, Aethelmaer gathered the will to speak a little on what he knew of the shield. "If I may, Warden Reding. The shield took a beating before I could pry it from the beast that wielded it. I would say that it's current condition is roughly 66%."

Aethelmaer felt like there should have been more to it, but the pressure he felt made him uncomfortable. The archivist spoke up anyways, relieving Aethelmaer of being center stage. "Sir, it says here that in its current state, the Aegis Shield grants the wielder +5 prestige." The past noble of Aethelmaer grinned inside, and then frowned shortly after. In the short term, if he was lucky, it could aid him on his way to reinstatement as a noble. Overall though, he wanted so much to keep the shield for himself. It was a predicament, but one that was easily decided upon. He banished the thought of retaining ownership of the piece.

Aethelmaer looked towards Warden Reding, taking in the new information and studying the shield further. Aethelmaer was waiting for some change in expression that would give him a better indication of the thoughts the Warden had. Aethelmaer spoke up again, "If it pleases you Warden, I could seek out a way to restore the item to its peak condition. Although I am unsure of how long it would take for such an endeavor." He wasn't sure if it was the correct timing to say it, but it was said nonetheless.

While his advisers bombard him with information, Charles eyes remained fixed upon the shield. A small grin escapes his lips as he admires the craftsmanship of the unique artifact before him. He takes one last greedy gaze at the menacing image on the front before addressing the others. "I agree the item could use some repair work. I might even throw in a little extra if you managed to have it improved."

His eyes shift back to Aethelmaer. "You are to work with your fellow hunters to ensure the speedy completion of this task. I am switching your designation to a Verminator Sergeant for the duration of the assignment." Charles proceeds to hand back the shield to Aethelmaer although from the strength of his grip it's clear Charles doesn't quite wish to part with it. Having returned the item, Charles quickly shakes his head as if to brush off the item's spell. "At any rate, I must return to my duties. I expect results, Aethelmaer, so get out there and finish the job." Charles turns to leave. "Oh, and for the elements' sake take a bath before you leave."

(Italicized section Written by Alastor Flambard's player.)

This was the second time he'd set his foot in Verminators guild. He distinctly remembered his first visit. A humble knight in Duke's extensive retinue, poor and hot-blooded, he couldn't boast any more renown than Guild's own lowborn rangers. Today not a mere knight has dismounted a beautiful courser near the Guild's stables but Baron of Lawataling, Lord Alastor of house Flambard. A squire was sent inside to warn Lord Charles of his arrival beforehand so when Lord Alastor entered the hall he expected the old friend to already be there. And so he was, surrounded by his clerks and adventurers. "Lord Charles! My dearest friend, I have received your letter and promised myself to pay a visit at my earliest convenience." He approached with a smile, forcing the rabble surrounding Charles to move, "And here I am!" Alastor's hand perched on his friend's shoulder in a friendly manner and he pointed back at his aide-de-camp carrying a basket with several glass bottles. "Do you remember how we intended to meet at Irvington for a glass of fine wine but then got scattered by Lurian advance? Well, soon afterwards I've plunder Cadier so profoundly that I'll be drinking Lurian wine and eating Lurian cheese for years to come." With a coarse laugh he slapped his friend on the shoulder affectionately and let go, turning to the adventurers with a haughty but benevolent twinkle in his eye. "And don't you peasants think I've forgotten about you. There are a few kegs of fine ale in the stables. Drink our King's health and my generosity, you rascals. Haha!"

(Italicized section Written by Aethelmaer Lockhart's player.)

Aethelmaer had his work cut out for him. The shield now in his hands, he watched Warden Reding walk away from him. "Oh, and for the elements sake take a bath before you leave." The words made Aethelmaer wince, knowing full well he should have done so before he came. When the Warden had exited the room, Aethelmaer turned back to the staff gathered around him. "I bid you all thanks for the help with this artifact. I must take my leave and apparently take a bath."

Aethelmaer did just that while he was within the guild house. It was quite refreshing, and his mind kept dancing about the idea of being a ranked Sergeant within the guild. Admittedly, he allowed it to get the better of him, but after some of the incidents he had been through, he allowed himself the taste of sweet nectar. Upon exiting the bath, he managed to find some new clothes to dress into as well to maintain his cleanliness. It might have only been a simple cloth tunic and basic trousers, but it was good enough for now. Strapping on the rest of his effects, Aethelmaer was now ready for departure.

On his way to exit the guild headquarters, another noble of the guild made an appearance. Aethelmaer didn't focus on him, as he wished to start out on his mission sooner than later. Yet, the joyous demeanor of the man and his promise of fine foreign ale was quite tempting. Several of the peasants cheered and scampered out to enjoy a nice treat at the expense of the fine noble. "Cheers to you, Sir!" Aethelmaer followed suit to join in the small party gathering in the stables. "I'll grab one before I leave perhaps."

KNOCK KNOCK! It would seem Charles was not going to be getting any work done this afternoon. One of the Verminator's clerks opens his office door, "Sir, there is a messenger at the front desk for you. He says he's Baron Alastor Flambard's squire and that he was sent ahead to alert you to his lord's impending arrival."

"Excellent." Charles begins to shuffle around the stacks of paper before him, wrapping up his work session. "Lorenzo, see to the squire's needs while he waits would you. Also, have things setup in the courtyard for our guest while I get myself ready."

After clearing his desk, Charles gathers some staff and proceeds to the main ballroom just in time for Alastor's arrival. No sooner has his friend walked through the door than Charles is boisterously greeted by the new Baron. Alastor's warmth can't help but make Charles smile. It is an odd feeling. Between the seriousness of the war and bureaucratic grind of the guild, joy and fun seemed like long lost, forgotten memories. As he sees Alastor's aide-de-camp approach, his nose faintly detects the tasty odor of the Lurian cheeses, stirring his hunger. "I'm glad you could accept my invitation. Please come in. It is much too warm a summer day to spend indoors so I've had some canopy tents pitched for us in the courtyard." Charles turns to his clerk, "Lorenzo, see to it that Lord Alastor's entourage are given refreshment and made comfortable for the duration of their stay." Charles motions Alastor to follow him and leads the way from the entry ballroom through to guildhall's central courtyard. Several tents have been setup on the tightly manicured, emerald green lawn. Shielded from the sun are two plush chairs and a small table all set atop a large, ornate rug. The two nobles take their seats in the shade. "Come now, let's have some of this fine Lurian wine while you regale me with how life is as Lawataling's new lord."

(Italicized section Written by Alastor Flambard's player.)

"That is a cozy little place you've got here." Lord Alastor spent a few moments admiring the courtyard's interior before fixing his attention on the table, where his young square was cutting cheese and arranging fruits and pastry on plates. With a single flick of the wrist he sent the boy away for he obviously did not enjoy being waited on during a cordial conversation with a friend. Promptly Baron grabbed a bottle and poured wine into two unembellished silver cups. "Now... To tell you the truth, Lawataling feels like a punishment, not a prize." He stated bluntly after taking a hearty swig from the bottle as he was putting it back on the table. He then raised his cup and glared at it with distaste. "Bah... I am not impressed. Sometimes I regret being born in Madina for this means I will probably never taste better wines than ones I drink every day in my summer villa. At least their cheese is decent." He placed a chunk of cheese into his mouth thoughtfully and started chewing. "Mm.. Where was I? Ah... my fief... Yes, my friend. You should have seen my face when I first arrived. If there was a more backward and wretched place on the whole isle it could only have been Laraibina. But being the second worst only to that cesspit is not a great accomplishment, is it now? You have no idea how much money (my own hard-earned coin!) I had to spend on its economy. And those ungrateful rascals... Suffice to say the game I was hunting in the Direwood for the first few months ran on two feet and refused to call me its rightful lord. Only recently I was able to enjoy hunting direboar again." He smirked, looking in his cup ponderously. "But I do understand that it is but the first step on this ladder we climb. Joining the ranks of landed nobility is not a small matter. And of course I owe this accomplishment to your wise and timely counsel. I will never forget this." He raised his cup again, beaming at Charles. "To you, my friend. Bottoms up."

Charles takes his seat, listening eagerly to his friend's response. As Alastor pauses to chew his cheese slice Charles retorts, "Aye, their cheese is quite good. I suppose it shouldn't surprise me the only thing Lurians are good for is their smelly hors d'oeuvres haha." After sharing a good laugh, Alastor continues with his discussion of Lawataling. Charles listens raptly as he rapidly feasts upon the cheese and wine before him; with all the goings on that day, Charles hadn't time for lunch beforehand. Charles can't help but grin inside as he listens to the Baron's all too familiar tale.

Upon washing his meal down with a full wine glass thanks to Alastor's toast, Charles replies, "I'm glad I could be of service. Being Lawataling's lord is no small task and will undoubtedly bring you enhanced respect, prestige, and wealth in time." Charles pauses to knock back yet another glass of wine. Wiping the residue from his lips, "And yet, while I wouldn't put it in quite as harsh a terms, Lawataling is indeed not a particularly pleasant place. That dark, fetid forest is not a place I remember fondly." Snagging another piece of cheese, "In fact you may be surprised to learn I actually turned down lordship of the place, back during the earlier takeover attempt before the great monster invasion. Gods, that was ages ago. I had just risen to the ranks of knighthood in Madina Gardens." Taking another sip of wine to wet his throat, "And what a young, naive man I was. At the time I wanted to be lord of Panamana if you can believe it - relaxing in the cool, crisp mountain air; safely tucked away from the cares of the world; living comfortably off the income from the local mines. Suffice it to say, after my horrific, inadvertent visit to the area I had enough sense knocked into me to abandon that plan..."

Charles abruptly halts his monologue upon realizing the bottles of wine at their table are empty. Turning away from Alastor briefly, he yells at the servants off in the distance. "Oi! You there! Fetch more wine! It's like the bloody Palm Sea over here!" Charles relaxes back in his chair, readdressing Alastor, "Sorry about that. Now where was I? Ah, yes, that's when I decided to grab my chance at ruling Panabuk and not look back. Granted, that too felt like a suicide pact for the first few months." As the servants haul over the wine and fill Charles glass, "Place was in utter ruin when I first showed up. Before the Fissoan takeover, the great monster invasion had done a number on the place. All infrastructure had been leveled and only 10% of the population had survived. 10% of the bitterest, meanest plebs you've ever met." Charles pauses to chug down yet another glass. He knows he's been unfairly dominating the conversation so far, but the ample alcohol and lack of a proper meal has made him quite talkative. "I was trapped in my manor for months spending my every waking moment leading police raids after outright riotous court proceedings. The place drained every coin of my knightly savings, but I finally managed to get things under control." Charles chuckles mid sentence, "...although you'd never believe what finally brought the peasants 'round. Haha! You'll have to remind me to tell you the story some time."

Charles suddenly rises to his feet, "But, right now I feel like stretching my legss. Spent all morning at my dessk and now it'sss time to get the blood floooowing. What say you to a friendly training match right here in the pitsch?" Turning towards the guild staff, "Bring us some wooden training schwords and shieldssss." As Charles stumbles out onto the grass, he turns towards his companion, "Well, come on! A 5 gold wager to the 'hiccup' victor!"

(Italicized section Written by Alastor Flambard's player.)

As their conversation and inebriation both progressed Alastor sat back on his cozy chair, relaxed and sporting a suave smile. It was somewhat comforting to hear that his friend, whom he always considered to possess a sharper mind when it came to diplomacy and court intrigue, have had similar problems in the beginning of his own career. Because of how true Charles' stories rung with his own thoughts, Alastor enjoyed his friend's eloquence silently, only now and then grunting encouragingly and taking another sip of wine.

Needless to say, when the last bottle was emptied Baron was feeling all mellow and relaxed. And it took him a few long moments to realize that Charles was challenging him to an unexpected mock duel. "Uh... What now?" He stared at the man blankly for a while, then suddenly roared with laughter and slammed his fist into the table, making the cups and plates fly to the ground. "Such low cunning! Now I understand why you summoned me! You thought to get me dead drunk and then defeat me in single combat, because that's truly the only way you can hope to prevail! Bwahahah! Your devious ruse was unveiled, you scoundrel! But I am not that easily muzzed." Still laughing, Baron sprung to his feet and immediately slipped on a silver plate, causing some more mayhem. As several Charles' servants hurried to help him up, Alastor seized a wooden sword one of them was holding and pushed the men away. "I don't need a bloody shield! En garde, Viscount. Ha! Your rear end is about to be bruised by the first sword of house Flambard!"

Despite the occasional misstep or stumble, the pair finally manage to take the field. Inebriated, wooden swords in hand, seemingly barely standing, the two were quite an amusing sight. With a loud, slurred "En garde!" Charles charges headfirst into the fray. Normally a more cautious fighter, in his uninhibited state Charles recklessly sprints at his opponent holding nothing back. His hazy mind has him swinging his sword wildly like a cocaine fueled, bladed windmill. Alastor, for his part, similarly charges at Charles aggressively. The whacking of wood and grunts of wrestling men can be heard echoing throughout the courtyard as those nearby gather to watch the spectacle. While it may have seemed like total chaos to those observing, most strikes remained fairly deliberate, if not particularly well executed, by both men. These were two trained officers of the Privateers after all. As tipsy as the two might be, their was no suppressing their instincts with a sword. Muscle memory has a mind all its own.

Many a light bruise and quick swat were exchanged between them, but in the end, the Vice-Marshal proved his standing in Fissoa's upper military ranks. "Haha! Well done, my friend!" Letting his sword arm fall to his side, "An excellent, hard fought battle. You have definitely improved your sword arm since you first joined our ranks, but you remain no match for a master Privateer strategist." The two shake hands and begin to walk back towards their seats, tossing the battered training equipment aside. Wiping the sweat from his brow, "Thank you for indulging me. After being cooped up in my office for days, the spirit was starting to get a little restless. Can I tempt you with a meal before you're on your way?" As the two plop back down in their chairs Charles turns to the crowd of servants, "Bring some water, and tell the cooks to ready some dinner. A good fight always deserves a good meal!"

(Italicized section Written by Alastor Flambard's player.)

Baron grudgingly shook Viscount's hand and muttered something about being out of shape and in a wrong mood. Apparently he was a sore loser. Sweating and fuming, he plopped himself down in the cushioned chair, his face red with anger, alcohol and exertion. "Bah! I immediately demand a revanche. In a few weeks perhaps." Dusting his doublet he cast intimidating looks at the servants who witnessed his disgrace. But before the scene became awkward he clenched his fist in his black beard and burst into bellowing laughter, mood swings being a familial Flambard trait. "Hah! Yet you're a decent swordsman, Viscount, I'll give you that. And an even better host. A hearty meal would be a proper reparation for my aching... everything."

A Bounty Paid, Adding to the Collection

(Italicized section Written by Aethelmaer Lockhart's player.)

After having the shield repaired, the contact with the Warden was swift. His reply was that he would be stationed in Maf and Aethelmaer made his trek there with haste. After all, he didn't want to keep the Warden from his prize. With battle looming soon, he at least wished to hand the shield over in time for him to wield it upon the field against the Lurians.

Upon his arrival to Maf, he immediately set out in search of Warden Reding's camp. He asked the guards of several camps to direct him towards that of the Warden's and shortly he came across it. The guards of the Viscount were apprehensive at first, "Halt there, commoner. Have you business with Lord Reding?" He pulled the shield wrapped in cloth from his back. "I have a delivery for him. I am Aethelmaer, Sergeant Verminator reporting completion of his mission." The guards had been informed earlier of his arrival, and upon checking his badge, they turned and lead him towards Warden Reding.

Aethelmaer was slightly better attired for the occasion this time around, and of course he had made sure he washed himself properly before appearing. One of the guards entered the tent, beckoning the Lord to come out and claim his delivery.

With the announcement of Aethelmaer's arrival, Charles quickly bursts forth from his command tent, his arms wide open in a welcoming gesture. Clearly, the Warden is pleased to see the successful adventurer. "Just the man I was looking for! Bearing gifts and dressed much more sharply to boot!" Charles waves him past the guards. "Well, I assume you didn't travel all the way out here empty handed." Upon prompting, Aethelmaer shows Charles the shield partly exposed from its cloth wrap. "Excellent! Follow me."

He leads Aethelmaer back through the flap from which he appeared into a large, well lit, open room. Charles' command tent is cavernous - a palace compared to the average adventurer's makeshift shelter. In the middle of the room before them stands a large, temporary table covered with a huge regional map. As they approach Charles knocks aside several small, wooden military figurines and scout reports to create some space. "Now, if you would please present the item." Charles takes possession of the shield and gives it a thorough examination on the table. "Definitely looks a right side better than when I first saw it in Madina." Picking it back up, "Good work. Now, wait here." Charles takes his new prize over to his armor and weapon rack on the left side of the tent and situates his new addition among his other artifacts. Stepping back to admire his collection, "The Cruel Longsword of Blood, the Adorned Armour of Strength, and now the Ornate Aegis of Protection. Those Lurian fools won't know what hit them..."

Remembering the adventurer still in his tent, Charles walks away through another flap into the back and returns shortly holding a leather messenger bag. He quickly sets it upon the table and opens it revealing the contents, several neatly stacked, tightly secured rows of gold coins. Turning to Aethelmaer, "The bounty in full, as promised. Never let it be said that Charles Reding did not take care of those who serve him well." He closes the case and slides the payment along the table to its recipient. "Again, well done, Sergeant. I am glad to see my faith in you was not misplaced. I think I may let you keep your new rank after all." Charles then motions Aethelmaer towards the exit. "Now, sorry to keep this short, but as you've probably noticed, I've still got a war to plan. I believe Verminator Faust could also use some help dealing with the local monster infestation. If you'd like some food before you leave, have Captain Viktor set you up with a few provisions."