From Holymolders to Fort Resolute

[Jim Roberts]

[Feb 7 -- Holymolders/Ft. Resolute]

> “Ya don’t mind missing out on lunch?” Mithi asked her mentor. “Oi fink
> we’ll make it up ta ya.”
>
> “We will bring him a wrapped fishcake when his spell is complete,”
> Morden interjected. “After all, it sounds like he will be in need of
> his strength tonight; we cannot have him faint with hunger.”
>
> And so the plans for a pleasant lunch, and a brief concert were put in
> motion. Though per the ladies’ plan, it was a social affair that
> Finfin missed, as he sat alone, sitting motionless as he chanted a
> spell over the next hour, surrounded by clouds of burning incense. But
> the elf did not mind missing the celebration. The ladies had said that
> they would make it up to him, and they were well known to him for
> being good for anything they promised.

So it was after lunchtime that the black and white ringed Tunnel opened
up outside Fort Resolute, and the travellers stepped through. On
arrival, it was clear that their best option was to split their forces.
The main contingent would proceed on to “The Manor”, the stone
blockhouse that was the core residence and administrative center of the
construction site that would one day become Castle Resolute. Val,
meanwhile, would be the Abbot’s envoy to her mother, Jarmila, there to
see if any of the Bardic Circle might be interested in weighing in on
the proposal.

Lomi, unlike Val and nearly everyone else, had no political errands for
this stopover at Fort Resolute. Instead, hers were entirely personal.
Her family was in the temporary cluster of wigwams housing many of the
Wagon Train settlers who preferred the frontier of Fort Resolute to the
more settled interior of Fort Lucas. And her family was prone to worry
after the middle of the Tinorfildur daughters, particularly while she
was away facing dangers beyond description in the service of the
region’s leadership. They would most certainly be glad to see her again
so soon after their last meeting in the runup to the Bitani Ceremony up
at Symbala.

And, of course, Lomi and Val both had personal errands to see to in Fort
Resolute that most certainly did NOT involve family members. Each had a
boyfriend in town, and while Val’s relation with her lad was the more
serious of the two, both ladies were looking forward to an evening spent
with the man of their choice.

Val, in fact, gave Finfin a peck on the cheek. “Thank you for bringing
me back so I could spend a night with Amlach,” she purred. “Someday when
the time is right, I’ll be sure to thank you more directly, but until
that time, I think I can count on my good friends to make sure you’re
thanked on my behalf.”

Lomi, too, had a quiet word for not just the elf, but for both of the
wizards. “What Val said goes for me, too,” the tall scout said quietly.
“Thank you for giving me a chance for not just seeing my family, but a
night with Yav.”

“You are very welcome,” the elf replied sincerely.

Lomi then winked at the two of them. “And my invitation is still open…
and I’m really looking forward to Tramma’s promise to make it up to me
for you two being called away tonight.”

“A promise is a promise, Legs,” Tramma affirmed. “I’ll make sure you
don’t regret it.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Songbird,” Lomi chuckled. Rather more shyly, she
added, “May I?”

The question was to both wizards, and the look of approval in Mithi’s
eyes dispelled any ambiguity in Finfin’s mind. “You most certainly may,”
the elf agreed.

His reward was an entirely chaste kiss on his other cheek, Lomi having
to bend down to reach the much shorter elf. “A promise of what’s to
come,” she breathed. “And in the meantime, don’t let that bow of yours
get buried in your holdall bag. You and me are gonna be doing some much
needed remedial archery training with that stout bow of yours. It’s time
you became reacquainted with your elven heritage as an archer.”

“I am looking forward to it,” Finfin promised.

And with that, the three distinct groups went their own ways, two ladies
down into the collection of wigwams holding the recent settlers, and the
remainder up the bluff to The Manor.

Tramma peeled off at the large and immaculately kept stables. “There’s a
friend here I need to say hi to,” the bard said cheerfully. “I’ll catch
up with you soon.”

Outside of the stone blockhouse’s door, they were greeted by Dame
Nerwen, one of Lord Erik’s able assistants that was a major hand in the
day to day running of the community. “Welcome, Abbot Kenobi,” the
knightrix stated formally, giving a courteous curtsey. “I am so sorry
that on such short notice, we were not able to arrange for a more formal
welcome. But I daresay you are here on business, and not leisure.” A
single elegant raised eyebrow turned the statement into a question.

“Thank you, Dame Nerwen,” the Abbot replied politely. “We are.”

“Then you had best come in,” Nerwen replied, bowing slightly towards the
open door. “Lord Erik and Sir Tregarth are awaiting you in the
conference room. I shall show you the way.”

And in short order, even without Tramma’s help, the Kenobi Expedition
had explained the situation to Fort Resolute’s leadership, as well as
Lord Erik’s task, in his role as Great Chief, to officially convey the
task to the Forest People leadership on behalf of his liege, Great
Medicine Man Kenobi.

“Now that sounds like quite a request,” a voice stated simply, and
several eyebrows shot up as a lady that nobody had quite noticed leaned
back on one of the room’s many chairs.

The largest member of the Fort Resolute leadership team smiled gently,
and nodded towards the latest speaker. “For those who do not know her,
may I introduce Sully. Perhaps it may be best to refer to her as ‘Yuki’
to anyone outside our leadership.”

“Either works, but sometimes it is handy for people to lose track of
me,” Sully grinned crookedly. The lady leaned her chair back on its hind
legs, resting her feet on the table. To Erik, she asked, “So, Boss Man,
what do you think?”

“It's a pretty good idea,” Sir Erik mused, steepling his fingers
together. “Selling it to the tribes might be more challenging. Let's
poke some holes in the concept and have some answers for them.”

Abbot Kenobi clearly agreed with this approach. “Very wise indeed, Sir
Erik.”

“Right now, we have a small tribe of evil kobolds in the area,” the Lord
of Fort Resolute observed. “Swapping them out with a better group, at
the very least, is an excellent short-term change. When Mother passes
on, we will find out just how effective her cultural efforts have been.”

“Now that’s cheerful,” Josie snorted. “You haven’t even met the Upwinder
kobolds’ Matriarch, and you’re already planning for her death.” Her
friend Tramma had just entered the conference room, her stables errand
complete, in time to overhear this latest lese majeste. Sitting next to
her pal, she shot the Pussycat a glare and elbowed the sassy redheaded
bandleader warningly.

Other leaders might have bristled at the interruption. But Sir Erik the
Red understood that patience was required, especially with weretigers.
“Of course I am,” he replied evenly. “Should I not be? This is not a
simple case of a potentially unwelcome relative coming by for a quick
visit. This may affect lives and livelihoods for years to come. Now, to
be sure, we can and should aid ‘Mother’ in these efforts. What I wish to
emphasise is that it will be a multigenerational effort.”

“Oh,” Josie replied simply. “Sorry about that, Chief. Flying Tigers tend
to be all ‘eat, drink, and be merry, cuz tomorrow we may die’ and all.”

His point made, Erik continued to think out loud. “Will they be a threat
to the local forest tribes?” He paused a moment, and shook his handsome
head. “I don't think so. At least for a while, they will be busy setting
up new homes. A related question is, will the local tribes be a danger
to them? Setting up an active trade relationship should create mutual
trust and be an economic benefit to everyone.”

“If it is any help,” Tramma put in. “Our team has done a fair bit of
checking with various divinations. The Upwinder kobolds really DO seem
to be fairly benevolent, and they have mad skills, too. They have a lot
to offer. Both the sort of things experienced adventurers can do, and a
quite impressive number of skilled crafters and the like. We are not
entirely sure just how powerful some of them are, but I for one am not
going to be surprised if their very best come close to matching people
like you and the Abbot. The representative they’ve sent up to look over
the area I think is probably at least as skilled a bard as I am. I think
you will like Beekin.”

Dame Nerwen nodded thoughtfully. “It would, I believe, be key for one of
us to meet this envoy, as soon as possible. You say that another of your
team is Teleporting him to the Briarpatch later today?” At Tramma’s nod,
the knightrix turned her attention to the only other elf present in the
room. “Captain?” she asked mildly. “Do you have sufficient Teleport
capacity to take one of us with your team heading to the Briarpatch
today? Or better yet, Lord Erik and Miracle?” She smiled at her liege
and added, “Sir Tregarth and I can mind the fort while you are away.”

Quickly, Finfin did the math in his head, and nodded. “I can,” he agreed.

The Seneschal, meanwhile, was chewing on a thought of his own. “Boss?”
he asked Lord Erik quietly. “I think you’ve hit it on the head. The
local tribes, the Honeyskins in particular, shouldn’t be a danger to
these Upwinders; in fact, from all I hear, they should be allies. But we
all know that not everything that should be, necessarily IS. So this is
going to take some very delicate negotiation on the ground out here
before these kobold refugees dare arrive in quantity. I’m glad the
Abbot’s team have arranged for this Beekin to have an escort. Until we
get this smoothed over, any new kobolds showing up out there are likely
to be shot on sight.”

If memory serves,” Lord Erik mused, ”the other side of the swamp abuts
the Oathseekers tribe on the eastern side, and the edge of the Bruins
Commonwealth to the north.”

Tregarth was already riffling through a rack of maps neatly rolled up
and organized into a set of shelves with slots to hold each in place. He
pulled the map he was looking for out and spread it atop the conference
table. “The Oathseeker’s hunting grounds are here,” he pointed. “This
red ‘5’ marks the Briar Patch, and the Honeyskin’s territory surrounds
that waystation. Their main village is not far away, and you can see
they are right on the edge of the foothills.”

“I thought Lomi’s maps were nice,” Josie marvelled.

“Uh, kittycakes,” Tramma told her fondly. “I made sure Tregarth got all
the scouting information Lomi brought back with her.”

“I have more to share with her next time she is here,” the huge
seneschal nodded amiably. “We are getting updates sent down roughly
every two weeks from the garrison and patrols.”

“Yer in luck, Big Guy,” Josie smirked. “Lomi arrived with us. Just now,
she’s either being fussed over by her family, or is being banged silly
by her cute lug of a boyfriend. Or maybe even both at once…” the
redheaded singer began to speculate, before noticing the perceptible
drop in the temperature in the room.

“TMI, Kittycakes,” Tramma sighed.

“Perhaps,” Dame Nerwen elegantly suggested, “we should return our
attention back to the maps?”

Josie at least had the grace to blush at her (latest) faux pax, and
diligently locked her eyes on the big map. With an assortment of grins,
frowns, and resigned shrugs, everyone else joined her in the examination
of the territory surrounding the Briar Patch and the Honeyskin’s nearby
Chief’s camp. There were several neatly marked spots marked with tiny
green skulls which Tregarth told them marked encounters with Green Death
kobolds, all north and usually east from the site of the waystation and
main village of the local tribe.