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[Gotdamnmiracle]

Enter the room what do we see?

"So... May I know the name of those who would attack my people?"

[Inithis]

Enter the room what do we see?

"So... May I know the name of those who would attack my people?"

Hmm. I like the sound of this.

[Maldevious]

You enter the room dramatically, asking the name of the captured brigand with a flair.

He is bound hand and foot, and has a large bump on his forehead. He stammers at you.

"Curtis Stevenson." He mumbles. Tor glares at him, then thumps him in the stomach with swift punch. "You address Sir Stone as, M'lord, son, or there's more where that came from."

You ask him about the attack, and he mentions that the brigands are low on food. Tor interrupts, explaining that he has already gotten the man to tell him that there are 18 bandits total.

[Gotdamnmiracle]

Pause as if in thought for a moment. "Who is leading your band, Curtis? I wish to hold a meeting between us. If I were to send a messenger, would he come back to me alive? Keep in mind, your future depends on the answer."

[Maldevious]

Curtis frowns. "M'lord Stone, our leader is a hard man by the name of Ox. And these are hard times. I can't promise your messenger would live, although..." He thinks for a moment. "If I were to accompany him and vouch for him... I believe you could get your message to him safely."

He looks up to you, a flicker of hope in his dull eyes.

[kaian-a-coel]

"And what guarantees I have that you wont, say, take him hostage and stay with your friends? Don't make those puppy eyes, I'm not stupid enough to do that.
I really wish for the threat on the merchants to stop, and there is a way to content all parties. You stop all illegal activities and become part of our growing community. As you are certainly aware, everyone here fare better than your group. You could become a farmer, trapper or even a guard -though I will take precautions before blindly put a weapon in your hands-, I dont really care."


//anyone with a plan to contact them?

[GreatWyrmGold]

Congratulate those involved in driving off/capturing the bandits. Maybe give them a gift. For now...kain's idea works.

(We could send our own guards along, or one/two with the bandit, or something.)

[Gotdamnmiracle]

Congratulate those involved in driving off/capturing the bandits. Maybe give them a gift. For now...kain's idea works.

(We could send our own guards along, or one/two with the bandit, or something.)

This could work.

Also let's give him a job in the mine, don't offer them guard duty. Solves two problems.

[Gotdamnmiracle]

"If I were to let you go, with a message, accompanied by guards, would that be satisfactory? Tell me, can... Ox, can he read the written word?" Turning to speak to a guard. Come, get me some clean cloth and alcohol, let's patch these wounds and ready him for his journey home." Turning once again to Curtis. "If I gave you a message could you remember it word for word and repeat it?"

[Maldevious]

You brush off Curtis' offer, but decide it would be wise to send him along with some militia for guards. Curtis stares at you as you ask him if Ox can read the written word. "I don't rightly know, m'Lord. It never came up in our line of work."

As you have the guards clean him up, you tell him about your offer: join the community or be driven off or killed. His ears perk up when you mention working in the mines. "That's decent work, it is. A few of the lads have mined in their pasts, so I've heard..."

When you ask him if he could remember a message, Curtis rubs his head. "To be honest, m'Lord, my head is a bit fuzzy right now. Took a right solid thump from one of your boys, I did."

[Gotdamnmiracle]

"No matter, I will have a guard of mine deliver the message." Step out and retrieve a small leaflet of paper, a quill, and a candle.Return to the room and write out a short contract of white peace, offering citizenship, equality, and employment for Ox's band if they will drop their arms and offer their loyalty to yourself, Sir Stone. Fold the small contract and pour a seal of wax from the small candle. Explain the letter and it's contents to the guard and tell him to, if they do not understand the letter to explain it to them. Citizenship and employment for laid down arms and loyalty. Wrap on the table with your fingers for a moment in thought.

"Squire, Would you do me a kindness? I require a small cart to be readied for travel with two bushels of food to be offered with this contract."

"Tor, may I speak to you for a moment in private? Slip out for a bit, speaking under your breath. "I need you to describe a location to me so you can set up a choice ambush, incase this meeting between him and I goes South. Please inform the messenger guardsman of this location and a time when the sun is in your favor. That is when the meeting will be held. Thank you, friend."

Stepping back in.

"Ready yourself, boys. We move on the morrow. Curtis, I can assure you, you will be returned unmolested." Offer a hand for a shake.

[Gotdamnmiracle]

This next turn we will ready for the meeting, training with the squire on diplomacy techniques as well as merchant tactics with Irlof, to not get screwed over in the deal. Inform the people of your plan to invite the hungry brigands into our village, employing them, and disarming them, as to not alarm the people when it does happen. Use this time to check on the people, making sure they have enough to get by and stay warm. After the meeting, hopefully it goes well, we will prepare for the festival next week. Tell the miner (I forgot his name) to prepare the mine, we will be getting some bodies sent in his direction soon enough. Also tell him, you bet, when this festival rolls around you could drink him under the table. For fun.

Ask wood if he could begin work on a lumbar mill and how quickly that could be finished. That would be a monumental step toward a palisade and much larger buildings.

[Maldevious]

You go about your business, writing up the short contract. Your writing is cramped and unnatural, and you wisely instruct a guardsman in the contents of the message. Your squire wanders off to ready a cart of food for the brigands.

You speak with Tor, who nods as you explain your plan to have a safe fallback. He describes a copse of trees rolling over two hills, with a game path running between them. You agree that it will make a fine fallback spot, and decide that early afternoon would give you an advantageous position of the sun.

Stepping back in, you tell Curtis that he will be returned along with the guardsman tomorrow. He shakes your proffered hand, seeming to mull over what has gone on. A bit of hope lingers in his eyes.

With your plans in hand, you retire for the night.

--------

The sun is a bit past noon overhead. You have already sent two spearmen along with Curtis and your contract for Ox and his men.  You, Tor, Alan, ten archers and the other three spearmen wait, unmounted, half your forces on each hill. You figure that your man had probably arrived by now. Time seems to crawl.

After what seems to be forever, you hear the crashing of a chase through the bush. You glance forward, and see one of your spearmen, stumbling and wounded, running in your direction. There is no sign of the other. Behind him hulks the largest man you've ever seen, carrying a spiked club. He leads a misfit band of brigands, at least a dozen of which stream out behind him. You see Curtis among them, glaring angrily at your spearman.

You have a choice... you think that your man will be run down before the mob reaches your ambush spot. You can charge out and try and save your man, or you can wait, hoping he reaches the ambush spot. What will you do?

[Gotdamnmiracle]

Wait. I would like more opinions. Daaamnit. Signal for the archers to begin shooting, there should be some distance between the spearman and the brigands, we can use this to safely slow them down with some covering fire. Would we be accurate at this distance?

[Talvara]

unless someone comes up with a brilliant plan we should rush out and try and save our spearman from certain death, our gentleness has already doomed his brother in arms it seems.