Black Thorn Resistance/Free North News Issue 2
Title: The Free North News Issue #2
Author: Various
OOC Disclaimer: The following is about Empire, revolution, settler colonialism, and it’s many consequences. The opinions stated here are to be taken in character and should not be taken as out of character judgements. It is intended as in character rhetoric. Except that we should have a rolton cryptid. Oh and do not insert into any orifices. Or do, I’m just not legally responsible for it.
IC Disclaimer: The Black Thorns are more of a collective, and less of a organization with hierarchy and a roster. Please do not take the perspective of one member to apply to all of us.
Snow gave way to Charlatos drizzles and muddy streets in Wehnimer’s Landing. The sound of boots slopping though mud, giggling, and feet slapping against rooftops filled the square as red-armored hireswords charged forward street level in pursuit of a group of roof-leaping children dropping bundled papers in their wake.
In a string of events that could only be called a comedy of errors, a Sylvan shopkeeper chose this moment to empty their morning chamber pot out the front door. The Armiger caught in the cross fire of the stream of filth cried out, but too late. The Armiger behind crashed into one ahead and so forth until they were all in a heap in the muck.
Now the children were gone leaving the streets with the sounds of groaning men and a profusely apologizing shopkeep turning their head away to hide the grin and black thorn lapel pin.
The Faerinn Well, Notes from the Editor
OOC Disclaimer: The following are the in character views of Faerinn. While things may be embellished or exaggerated to help make a point or to entertain, the facts stated here are as far as Faerinn is aware true.
I take a break from my seditious knitting to open my window in the very thoughtfully named Solhaven Inn. On the Eve of Lady Kasendra's vigil the air is tense instead of somber. The entire continent feels like they are walking on eggshells. This is one of those moments that feel like history is malleable. Will we progress forward or will we regress back to darker times?
Aldora of all places calling for reinstatement of Chaston’s Edict. Aldora of all places calling for the blood of Ordlyns and Hathlyns as revenge for the woman who would be the most disgusted to see this behavior. Many are worrying and working to prevent war across the Dragonspine, but perhaps those eyes need to also turn inwards. Civil unrest is fomenting.
Valley of Gold was a great accomplishment so was finally undoing Chaston’s Edict. Two steps forward. But now these tragedies. One step back. Yet we must keep marching forward towards a better tomorrow.
However, historically speaking, there are no worse times to have your belonging on Imperial lands be in question. It has only been six years since a Prelate of Koar packed half-humans in camps across Talador, and it’s surroundings including outside of the Landing, to purify us of our tainted blood. Meaning to be stuck like pigs.
In my lifetime, in the lifetime of a human even, the blood of the othered have been used to power weapons of civil war. That isn't even symbolism. The Mandis crystals employed by Jantalar from the Empress literally required blood sacrifices to activate. Hochstib literally bathed in the blood of those he did not consider people to try and become immortal. Then I am told to trust the process when a new Baron rolls up with Taladorian settlers and an obelisk in toe. At the very least that's insensitive and shows a great ignorance of history.
And why? By Koar's bed sores, why would the Landing enter into a military compact right now with the Empire in order to exterminate the indigenous residents of a land they have no rightful claim to, or as Sir Bristeen called them 'wildmen'. Butting into Imperial conflicts have never worked out on our end. The kindness has never been returned.
The settlers are well defended. I cannot think of better defenders in fact. There is no great moral failing that we need to correct here. Its fine for the Landing to be neutral in this.
In fact since the Reivers have posed no threat to the Landing at large, its illegal by local and Imperial statutes for the Landing to meddle in these matters. As per Renpaw's final ruling, city officials only have authority outside of the city walls when the safety of inside those walls are in danger. It seem doubtful to me that the citizens want to start a fight with the Reivers.
But how can Wehnimer's Landing fully know it is representing the interests of its citizens without a fully functioning government. There are open positions. There are interim officials that have far overstayed their welcome.
How can a government know what its people want when speaking up get them defenestrated or a Rook's arrow down their throat? That their leader, a demonstrably crazy woman, can operate without consequence in the city thanks to Mayor Thadston. A pardon is a pardon, but is he willing to keep pardoning his ex every time she's revealed to be continuing to operate in the city? She is fighting a war against a shadow that only she has seen. There is no evidence that this so called Wraith is not another construct of her broken mind.
Casiphia’s continued operations look like tacit endorsements from Landing Officials. Look at these international incidents happening on the continent now. She is one waiting to happen. If the mayor and the judge won’t do anything to stop her then maybe we need to elect new ones.
And do not think we forgot we were promised a duly elected judge after Renpaw and 150 million in city legal funds just happened to go missing. That we were promised when the DBC reorganized city government if he never turned up then Dakris’s nepo nephew would have to be confirmed by the voters. Hold them to it.
And if there is no one left to run against him then I will.
Faerinn Greatsinger, Esq, of Talador and Loenthra
Solhaven Inn, Charlatos 22, 5123
Editor's Note: Calls for neutrality in the upcoming Imperial-Reiver conflict seem to have aged very poorly in the time since first drafting this to publication. So please see this as less of an appeal to the Town Council for neutrality, but an appeal to the common citizen.
Current Events
- The hunt for the murderer of Lady Malwind continues in the elven nations!
- Icemule has come under attack by vampires! The town rallies to defend itself!
- Rough time for Rooks, apparently internal schisms are happening under the town. Do you know where you will stand?
- Roltons Roltons Roltons
- Rolton Gates are found Broke, Roltons are Removed, and what is this Manrolt everyone is talking about?
- Old man Malwind is said to be very ill, elven scholars appear to have little hope to offer!
- Dwarves in Zul report the rocks are speaking to them, even when they are sober..
- The Reivers schism and a faction declares it will attack the empire. Elidal gets someone new to blame for all the deaths from his badly planned push into the north. The town council is asked to put all that peace rhetoric to the test.
Where are the sons and daughters of the North? - by Dendum
Looking around at the last candidates for Mayor, and the occupants of the Steward positions one might easily ask the question, where are the sons and daughters of the north? The Free North has produced many great and wonderful people, and Mestanir has created Crosses and Stones. Yet where are the sons and daughters of the north in the Moot Hall?
Even better…where are the judges who have so much influence? Surely there was not a vote as mandated in the last great unrest of politics in the landing. Where is the judge? Have you voted for one? Have you had the chance to vote for a son and daughter of the north to BE one or has one simply been appointed by our current mayor…did he pluck some human from Hendor and put them in the spot without any asking? Is the current judge there by the will of the people, as shown by vote, or by will of Jovery as shown by Thadston?
Where are the sons and daughters of the free north in the stewards? Surely not the De Archon, though she has experience with dealing with other people’s money this cannot be argued, or the mysterious Thrayzar who must have multiple glass amulets as no one ever sees him. Perhaps he has taken up old job of killing people for those other thorns. Generation after generation has been born in the landing and yet we must import our stewards like fish?
For years there were many Mayors of many backgrounds, an Aelotoi and a Faendryl, a Hathlyn and a Human, now we get to chose between one idiot from the south with a lot of questionable allegiances and holdings in the south…and the other one. This is not to say a return to the old ways is necessary but it is possible that the new way has demonstrated a flaw that should be recognized this year. The year of the vote.
It is far past time that the demand is made for a mayor candidate of the north, with focus on the landing, and no ties to distract or corrupt from the south….but we do not even have a judge to demand this thing to. In this year of the vote, if the judges can not find such a candidate in the thousands within and around the walls of the landing then perhaps….it is time to remove the judges.
-Dendum the Wind in the Willow
Peace, for the Landing - by Tikba
Since the writing of this letter, it has been made clear in the Council Chambers that there is no appetite for peace. As such, this letter is moot. I choose to include it only as a reminder that there was an opportunity to protect Wehnimer's Landing. -Tikba
My friends:
All the citizens of Wehnimer's Landing should give thanks to Sir Bristenn Mires and the Order of the Azure Sun for their promise to safeguard and protect the settlers of Darkstone Barony. These valiant knights can be relied upon unquestioningly to ensure the safety of the settlers.
We must also be grateful for the sagacity and charity of Lady Athalia Malwind, who has opened the gates of Vornavis to any settlers of Darkstone who prefer a safe and warm bed to the rude comforts and certain dangers of the frontier. Those settlers who feel that the reivers present too grave a danger will know now that they can safely retreat to a barony that is already established and ready to provide refuge to any in need.
Although Haidan has offered us the chance to keep the Landing and its people safe, any of us might feel an obligation to sacrifice that safety in order to protect the settlers, if they stood alone and without recourse against the reivers. But they are neither alone nor without recourse. They have behind them the full might and wealth of the Turamzyrrian Empire. We need have no fear, nor feel any obligation.
With the security of the settlers guaranteed by the strong right arms of the Empire, we may turn our thoughts instead to the security of our own people, who need protection more than ever after suffering the depredations of Gnul. For many of us, the Landing's defense is our paramount responsibility and concern. Sir Mires and Lady Malwind have offered us a chance to at one stroke secure the safety of Wehnimer's Landing, preventing countless deaths and needless bloodshed and destruction. All we must do is nothing.
Tell Haidan that Wehnimer's Landing will remain neutral, and victory is ours.
Tikba
Ask Lithyia
Dear Lithyia,
I heard you were a knittah. I, too, enjoy a good yarn. I figured since we had knittin in common I could trust ya opinion. I thought to meself, I said, “Self,” (cause that's what I call meself) yas need to get an objectionable opinion, yas need an Outside opinion and since the burial, yas haven't gone back Outside so yas opinion is not the needed kind right now. Where to begin? Sorry but I had to pour meself a dram or two before I got the quill in hand. Mite be four drams if I'm being honest but whose countin? Now if ya still readin me ramblin, gottaluvya child yas a good sort. Course I news you were a good egg when I heard ya were a knittah. So it was a few nites ago now. I was knittin away by the fire. Musta nodded off cause I woke with such a start! Me dag was barkin and yappin like he had something to say. So I made me way to the cabin door where he was sniffin and scratching like he needed to go outside. I opened tha door and instead of waitin for me like usual, that little pup shot rite out into the dark. I waited a spell but he didnt return. I was poorly dressed for the cool weather but I couldn't leave him outside the rest of the nite, now could I? Must have been wandering for a good bit cause I could feel the cold seepin into me bones by the time I sees it. Brother Wuldreth sez I'm mistaken. Brother Wuldreth sez I need to put down me whiskey but I knows what I saw or rather I knows what I didn't see. I didnt see no rolton! It was a rolton-but-it-was-notta-rolton. It was rite over Yonder. Yonder's me dag you see, on account of him who was always yawning. Sleepiest dag I ever did know but he aint yawnin no more... Cause that Notta-rolton was loomin over Yonder and then tha Notta-rolton exploded! I swears to all the gads in the Lands, web slingin scarabs came outta the Notta-rolton and I am shamed to admit it but I ran. I dont think I ever did run so fast in all me years, ya woulda thought some mage cast a speedyup spell on me. In the mornin, I went back out and I found Old Yonder. Brother Wuldreth sez he don't bring back dags, cats neither but I dont care bout felines cause they tear up me knittin somethin fierce. I just want Yonder back. Isn't it like prejudicial to only resurrect people? Yonder was like people to me, miss. Can ya talk to Brother Wuldreth for me, for Yonder's sake? Brother Wuldreth sez I need to give him my whiskey and join the Order of Voln for spiritual protection but I won't give up my whiskey for nothin. Whiskey's all I gots now. Unless mebbe you can convince Brother Wuldreth.
Signed I Dont Give A Dram Cause I'm Not Over Yonder
Dear "I Don't Give a Dram",
First, I'd like to offer my most sincere condolences on the loss of Old Yonder. I too have a beloved pet, he's a packrat and while he is a nasty little wretch who bites, scratches and flings poo, I love him dearly. I would be distraught if something happened to him.
AS for Brother Wuldreth, I make this plea, if you can bring back Old Yonder, I shall fix you some of the finest whiskey you ever did taste. I do ask though that if you restore Old Yonder, you do so in his entirety. We do not need any of that lich business, especially lich dogs. I mean, do you have to take a lich dog for walks? What does a lich dog eat? Do lich dogs need to use spots in the yard for their business and does that business need to be cleaned up? I do not know the answers here and I do not think any of us would like to find out.
Best of luck to you and Old Yonder!
Miss Lithy
Dear Ask Lithyia,
I’ve been stranded in this strange castle for some time now. I am the captive of a beast that calls himself the Manrolt. My condition is perhaps better than you’d imagine, as my needs are attended to by an odd and jovial support staff that though strangely and horrifically accursed still manage to burst into song as they carry on with their daily duties. But that is neither here nor there.
My issue is that I think I’m falling for this Manrolt. He’s stunningly handsome for a half-man, half-rolton abomination, and I sense a deepness to his soul that I’ve never found in Landing men or those prissy southron folk yapping on about chivalry this and that. Yes, Manrolt is sometimes prone to beastly outbursts and has wildly destructive tendencies, but there is something beautiful in those alluring eyes, and he sometimes demonstrates great kindness when not ripping apart all the castle’s furniture with his teeth and kicking over bureaus.
I want to believe this is more than just the “rolton fever” as we locals say, and to be honest, he’s less beastly in demeanour than most Shanty Town men, though quite a bit furrier–well, not furrier than Old Dom, oddly. Perhaps Old Dom is cursed as well, but I think that’s just the curse of two hirsute parents?
Anyways, should I stay here in this castle with the Manrolt? Am I being silly in finding love in a cursed monster of a man? Is there something I can build on here, or is life better with the Toothless Joes and Old Doms of the realm?
-Manrolt Hostage
Dear Manrolt Hostage,
This sounds like a tale as old as time...or just something Old Dom would tell during one of his drunken rants.
Regardless, if this creature is truly half-rolton I wonder if yarn could be procured from his fur. Did you know that rolton wool makes a half-decent winter yarn? It's nowhere near as plush as pashmina yarn but it can get the job done in a pinch.
I digress, personally I would not remain with a half-man, half-rolton, but if this is what your heart wishes, who am I to tell you otherwise? If you choose to stay, I recommend secretly gathering some of his fur while he sleeps and then selling it as yarn on the black market in ShantyTown. It should fetch you a decent enough profit in case you require the means to leave him one day.
Anyway, I wish you the best of luck and if things don't work out, try to abscond with some of the singing support staff.
Regards, Miss Lithy
The Lies of Athalia Malwind - by Dendum
Editor's Note: I would feel remissed if I did not point out that many of these points have been addressed by Lady Athalia Malwind in a Charlatos 5123 court session in Vornavis.[|(link)]
We hear the lies seeping out of Vornavis about the Landing, about those who seek Freedom. We hear the lies of Athalia Aricia Malwind daughter of Vornavis.
It is hard to tell if these are lies born of the same malice that creeps into he veins of Jovery, lies born to promote the expansion of power or if this is the lies of a human born into a palace who has never seen the darkness that is her own empire.
Where was Vornavis when Talador was at the gates of the landing killing our children?** Silent and Distant.**
Where was Vornavis when Hendor was inside the gates of the landing killing our children? **Silent and Distant.**
Where was Vornavis when Talador came again in the guise of Chaston and started rounding up the Hathlyn? **Silent and Distant.**
Where was Vornavis when the Krolvin amassed an armada and was killing the people of the north? **Silent and Distant. **
But now we have the Athalia Aricia Malwind and Vornavis is not silent. It speaks. It says “Why do you not open up your lands to these poor refugees?”
She says this as she sits upon acres upon acres of abandoned farms and lands that are much more likely to produce a bountiful harvest that are not being used.** However this is not about finding the best home for refugees, a task that would be much easier done in any other place in the vast empire of the humans….this is about expanding the borders of the human empire. For clearly the former could be done in any number of ways in many safer areas, with much less danger to the survivors of Talador if the latter was not the real goal.
She says this even as we in the north know that this is not refugees from Talador but from across the empire, including many from inside Vornavis itself!
Kasendra Malwind Malwind would not have sent the refugees from Talador into the dangerous north to die in great numbers when there is relatively safe lands so close to Vornavis they could easily make a home in and be content AND safe. Kaesandra Malwind would weep at the decisions of Jovery and the blind ignorance of Athalia Arcicia Malwind. Would that we still had her wisdom to guide us instead of the pampered ignorance now sitting in the court of Vornavis.
Do not speak to us of Moral High Grounds, the only High Ground the empire has is the one it takes as it climbs atop the mountain of the dead left in its wake. Do not lecture us on opening our door when you bar yours and hide behind massive walls letting your own fields go fallow.
~ Freedom in the North
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The Search for Manrolt Continues - by Meonard Meemoy
I had every intention of delving into the darkest depths of Darkstone Castle this month in search of answers to its sudden regional interest, to learn what evils lurk within, and to speak of its history as a potential connection to Lornon. But the dark and mysterious forces at work (and play) in the shadows of Elanthia have no care of schedules and plans. And so my ears for hearing the abnormal, peculiar, and inexplicable of these lands has instead given me a bout of fever, Manrolt Fever, that is…
Since I last spoke to those men in Helga’s a month ago, so too has the fever continued sweeping through Wehnimer's Landing, with sightings and rumors swirling about:
“Who dropped eighty-some odd bottles of alcohol in front of the Landing bank? Why, it was Manrolt of course it was!”
“Who freed a new breed of roltons from the clutches of Imperial herding? Why, it was Manrolt!”
“Who is my husband cheating on? Surely it’s Manrolt and his deviously alluring magics!”
Everything and anything these days fall under the Manrolt’s purview, and he has become a folk hero around the poorer sections of the Landing, especially in Shanty Town. Which is why today I found myself meeting Sally Slowhand in that very place, organizer of the first annual Landing Manrolt Festival. I introduced myself as we walked together stepping over sewer ditches and avoiding the urchins wildly pawing at my fastened bags for anything they might rip free of my person.
“Aye, they call me Sally Slowhand.” She nods a strong affirmation. “But don’t you be gett’n no weird thinkings about that.
“Is that your nickname?”
“Nay, my grandpa was a bard but he was simple, eh, couldn’t play the mandolin worth a damn. Ya’d sit there for a rowdy pub song, and that arse be there slowly pluck’n along like he fell off a cart and bashed his head as a child and music and instrumentashuns was new to ‘im. ‘Twas true though, he done that of’en, even as’s grown man, eh, always fall’n off carts.”
As her words sunk in, a loud ringing sound signalled the commencement of festivities by Shanty Town’s soup lines. A nearby unseen band struck up a slow but jovial tune to signal the start of…something. I asked Sally a bit more about why this was all happening and organizing this festival. “So do ya see the Manrolt as some kind of God? Why isn’t he just like any of the other creatures out there like a cockatrice or something of that sort.”
Sally looked at me like I had two heads. “Oi, Manrolt ain’t no stare chicken, ya crazy there?”
“Well, i meant, why do you see divinity in Manrolt as opposed to just being your average creature out there in the wilds?”
She continued to peer quizzically at me. “Manrolt be half offa rolt and half offa man, he ain’t no oh-possum. Ya sure ya some kinda school man there? I guess cause ya got the long ears that ya got that extra time in the schools, maybes?”
My questioning yielded little, but luckily my line of queries were broken by a large man dressed in a suit of rolton wool with a hastily constructed shoddy mask of mismatched horns and patchwork fur and glued-on dry river grass shambling up over the rise of a hill ahead of us. Surrounding him, small children danced about, intermingled with musicians playing an assortment of instruments as the jovial tune began increasing its tempo to match the growing festivities. A growing crowd of Shanty Town peoples began cheering the approaching gaggle. Sally helped explain what I was seeing.
“Ya might be think’n to yas ‘wow there, that’s a real deal Manrolt I be see’n there!” She nodded to herself happily. “But wez hardly dun a damn thing. That’s just Old Dom in that suit. Man so hairy, don’t much need a suit. We crafted a mask a’course, Dom ain’t got no horns and all that.”
I grimaced at the thought of a normal man so hairy as to look nearly as a beast. I apologize to you, the reader, as we Sylvans are incapable of such shaggy hair growth, and I find it mildly horrifying. The Manrolt continued his revelrous march surrounded by the prancing children and melodious musicians. They came to the first door of one of the neighbouring shanties and knocked. The Manrolt, Old Dom I’m told, doing his best impression of a thunderous Manrolt bleat. The door flew open and the dilapidated household’s children hurled turnips, carrots, and potatoes at the Manrolt figure’s head, nearly knocking the poor man over. I looked at Sally in confusion.
“I thought they liked Manrolt?”
“Aye, they love’im. But the wee ones get their jollies in smacking Old Dom upside the head there with them veggies, eh?” I watched the “Old Dom” Manrolt recover from his assailing and scoop up the vegetables into a big potato sack before proceeding to the next home, where he is attacked once again by jovial children out for blood.
“So what will he do with all those vegetables?”
Sally nodded. “Yeah, we gonna put it all in a pot, boil up a good soup for them peoples ‘ere. Have good day, break out a bit of whiskey ‘n rum, dance, all that. Ya know, be’in festive, eh? Townp people gotta drink and dance to make new town people, ya know? Manrolt a good reason as any!”
I nod to the wisdom Sally is able to offer despite her lack of formal education, though I begin to wonder about Manrolt’s new role as a fertility god. It’s then that I notice that all the children dancing about Manrolt have giant toy ears on like elven-folk. I inquired to Sally about their large ear prosthetics.
“Ah, ya seen that, eh? Yeah, dem the bad kids. Manrolt, ya see, he catches dem bad kids a lie’n. If he catches ya lie’n he points his big hairy finger at yas and yas gets big ears. So dem kids dancing about are deh ones he caughts. Them stuck with big ears for them troubles.”
I look on in confusion. “So when they lie they receive elf ears from Manrolt?”
Sally once again looked upon me like I had four eyes. “Oi, whatchu go’n on about there? They ain’t elves, they just kids with big ears because they be caught lie’n, cheat’n, and steal’n.”
“Yes, but you cannot help but see that if you’re giving them big ears and calling them evil that…” She shushed me with a single raised finger.
“Listen you, mister big smarts, i dunno what you go’n on about there. I reckon yas needs to go backs to schools. Them just evil big-eared kids cause of Manrolt magics. Ain’t no elves.”
I realized at that moment that perhaps we had come to an impasse. As the Manrolt, Old Dom, and his merry band of elf-eared children and assorted bards poured their hard-earned vegetables into a giant communal Shanty Town cauldron, I noticed ample hunks of meat being thrown in along with them. I venture to try Sally one last time.
“What kind of meat do you serve at a Manrolt Festival?”
Sally, annoyed with my very existence at this juncture, had little left to tell me. “Rolton meat.”
It was at that point I ascertained that I might never find the answer to my next unsaid query. I wished Sally Slowhand a good day and took my leave of the festival shortly thereafter, more perplexed than ever. Still, I couldn’t help dwelling on this simple town festival and its sudden emergence. It speaks to the unknown deep and ever-changing effects on the known. Though their cultural practices are foreign and quite a bit strange to me, I am intrigued by how Manrolt continues to fuel the imagination of this region. I fully intend to explore more strange creatures and legends of the realm in future columns, but I believe Manrolt will likely be something I return to again as its legend evolves. Manrolt Fever, indeed.
Sunset Para Bellum - by Faerinn
An overhead landscape of a black-sailed longship as it passes through the Vornavis sea gates and under a bridge as it cuts through waters painted in violaceous hues. Lavender crescents ripple in the ship’s wake in reflection of the darkening sky above. The ship’s only cargo a carved birch coffin draped in diaphanous green sits center in the portrait flanked by elven rowers and two kindred bagpipists. The last rays of sunlight reflect off the coffin creating a gilded halo around it.
Artist Statement
While Lady Kasendra’s loss is a a misfortune for the world, I had the fortune of being there when her remains arrived from Ta’Ilistim. Due to shipping logistic issues, a longship had to be brought in through the Sea Gate of Vornavis. While not the intention it did create a spectacular visual.
I named this rendering of Lady Kasendra’s homecoming “Sunset Para Bellum.” The first half is an obvious reference to the Sunsetting Protocols of fallen members of the royal family. The second part is from an old Kannalan phrase meaning, “To prepare for peace is to be ready for war.”
This is as a reminder that the true purpose of any army is to maintain peace not to pillage or conquer. That it is the responsibility of those who have lived through war to assure it never happens again. Meaning to ensure peace one must be willing to die for it.
Lady Kasendra knew this. She would not want her works sullied by becoming a reason for war.
- Faerinn Greatsinger
Advice for Turnip Farmers - by Reginald Thrakson IV
Adventurers always ask me for tips to help ‘em get off that turnip farm, but in these times, my tips often fall on deaf ears. Youngins don’t want me to tell ‘em to run after creatures yelling “chase’n” anymore. They know only us old timers care about that. So I was think’n to myself “what do these young turnip farming would-be adventurers need to hear these days?” It dawned on me that a lotta ya youngins are confused about our Southern neighbours creep’n around in and about ya farms these days. Say ya were drinking at the Wayside Inn or Plur’s Pub on a Day of the Huntress night, and on your way home, some Imperial knights come riding up behind ya, or that ya were one of them misguided youths getting into a wee bit of Rookery. What exactly should ya do when some of our southern friends stop ya to check what you’re all about? Well sit down by the metaphorical fire, young one and I’ll tell ya.
(1) For starters, clearly acknowledge the knights overtaking ya by calmly giving a slow and clear thumbs up. Wait, the thumbs up is the bad one, it’s actually a thumbs down. Actually, ya might want to check their heraldry or banners. In Mestanir a thumbs up is a sign of agreement and compliance, but in Selanthia it tells the receiver to shove it. Or was that the other way around? Bourth uses a middle finger….no, that was Kezmon…one of the Hendors uses two fingers with the palm facing outward, but the other Hendor reverses that…can’t remember which is which on that, maybe do both?
(2) If riding a horse, unfasten the saddle’s billets so that both ya and the saddle slide off the side of your horse and crash to the ground. If manning a horse cart, detach the horses and whip them until they run off without ya. If on foot, throw your boots in the nearest river. All of these tactics show the knights your commitment to not making a fast getaway.
(3) Keep your hands on the saddle horn, even if lying sideways on your detached saddle next to your perplexed horse in a pool of muck. Don’t make any sudden moves beyond that first one where ya compliantly fell off your horse to show acquiescence.
(4) In a calm and slow tone, tell them that ya are the fourth nephew once removed of Emperor Aurmont. Sure you’re a dwarf, but remind them it’s a new progressive, edict-free Empire out there and that anything’s possible now! Better yet, say you’re Kasendra Malwind’s husband. She’s dead, so they can’t easily corroborate that information. By the time they figure it out, you’ll be home safe in bed! DO NOT say that ya ARE Kasendra Malwind, as they would need to immediately escort ya to your funeral.
(5) If they ask for your documents or papers, don’t hesitate to calmly and slowly provide them, but tell them that ya would like to see their papers as well. They’ll be happy to unfurl their lengthy credentials and will likely go on at length on their numerous achievements and Imperial positions for so long that they might forget why they stopped ya in the first place. Don’t forget to ask them about chivalry!
(6) Remain still while the knights discuss what to do with ya. If the sanctuary they’ve cast drops, run into that river ya threw your boots into or roll with your saddle down an embankment into it. All rules are off the table if the ground becomes unsanctified, get in that river or corn field! They’re a twitchy bunch when they’re hunt’n for evildoers and they see evil in every corner of our northlands.
(7) Remind them as ya run for the river that in the Landing we have law and trials and that their Imperial laws are no good here. That is of course unless they still think you’re the fourth cousin once removed of Emperor Aurmont. In that case just scream out that they should take it up with Uncle Monty.
With some of these tips, I hope I can help some of ya wet behind the ears farmhands out of a pickle. That is of course, unless ya are a cucumber farmer, then pickles might be what ya look’n for there. Best of luck out there!
Protectorate Anthem - by Faerinn
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