Year 1, JulyThe heat of the summer is oppressive this year, and you feel rather hands-off. You simply instruct young Master Wood to start up an organized group of woodcutters and carpenters. You instruct him to spend this month honing techniques and stockpiling supplies. He agrees happily, and sets to work.
Meanwhile, you decide it would be a wise idea to visit Count Foles downstream, in order to pay your respects and get a feel for the man. You set off with your old brown mare, sword strapped rakishly to your hip. You feel as though you cut an imposing figure, compared to the rabble that makes up your people.
The journey itself takes several days before you reach a small town, although it is much larger than your own. You ride in and find out that this is in fact one of the Count's minor villages, and are instructed to continue riding for another day or so. They explain that he has a small palisade outside the county seat, which goes by the name of Curbiston.
After staying with a generous innkeeper for free, you ride the next day, and find yourself awed by the size of Curbiston. You have never seen a village this size. Children run through the streets, a busy market is bustling. You ride through the center of the village, and make your way towards a small hill overlooking a turn in the now much wider River Parlon. Perched on that hill is a stout wooden palisade.
You make your way to the gates, and after a brief explanation of who you are, you are brought inside and led to a small stone building. Inside, you are brought into a cozy chamber, with a high window that lets in the breeze from the river. You sit for a few minutes, which stretches out into many minutes. An hour passes, and you stand to leave, when an oaf of a man barges in from another door.
You smell the drink on him immediately. He is fat and disheveled, with a wild look in his eyes. You begin to question whether this is in fact the Count, but a closer examination reveals that his stained clothes are of a fine material, and his hands are covered in silver rings with bold gems inset.
He staggers towards a stout oak chair and flops down. Eyeing you up and down, he practically vomits the words out. "Who in the bloodly hell are you, and why should I care?"
This, my fine players, is a role playing segment. Feel free to jump in.Age: 19
Illiterate
Untrained Swordswman
Untrained Rider
Militia-grade Short Sword
Old Brown Mare
Worn-down Farmhouse
5 Citizens
Basic Inn
Bare bones Market
Rickety dock
River Parlon (fertile banks on both sides, light forest to the north)
Poor farms south of the river
Crude Roads
Small Warehouse
Small Communal Farm
Sparsely populated
Market Town of Carshire - One day's ride on main road
Folesden - Land of Count Foles - Downstream
* Curbiston - County Seat of Folesden
Land of Sir Denton - Upstream
Hemswood Abbey - Far Upstream - Known for dark beer
King Edward Geronos IV, Lord of the Falls, Keeper of the Flame, Seer of the Dawn - Vaguely remembered
Count Aaron Foles - Your Liege Lord - An angry drunkard - Suspicious
Sir Blake Denton - Unknown
Ian Wood - Foreman, former carpenter's apprentice
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