Royal Crown Commission: Logistics

[Jim Roberts]

[Jan 30 PM – Castle Sibley]

> “If Balzac goes out to help with the Waterworks,” Erik said with a
> slight tone of regret, "I probably should stay around here.”

At a different corner of the banquet table, there was a subdued but
earnest conversation between the two wizards. One was clearly counting
on fingers, while another was scribbling on a bit of paper.

“Is there a problem, Captain?” Sister Erin asked with a firm politeness
that former schoolgirls like Tramma would have immediately recognized.

Finfin, never having been a schoolgirl, entirely missed the implied
warning and merely answered blandly, “Not a problem as such, Sister
Erin. Merely a minor complication with the expanded passenger list that
we can easily manage if we return to the Plains tomorrow afternoon,
rather than in the morning.”

To Balzac, Finfin advised, “The exact time of the strike against the
kobold dead raisers is still somewhat indeterminate, but expected to be
soon. Our experts remaining in the field may well have a better picture
on our arrival, so returning with us does make logistical sense.”

Mithi tapped a line on her bit of paper, and the elf nodded. “Khuzdar,
when we leave, would you be willing to physically carry the Battlerager,
much as I will be carrying young Mithralia? That helps the travel
numbers all work out.” At the head of the table, Abbot Kenobi nodded in
sympathy. His Word of Recall had much the same restrictions as the
wizards’ Arcane transportation.

"Huh, what do you mean by 'carry,” the DwarfLord asked quizzically? “You
mean hold her in my arms? She might find that a bit distracting."

“Th’ wizards are only needin’ around six seconds t’ teleport us,” Sister
Erin tartly informed the DwarfLord. “Here an’ I’m thinkin’ yer willpower
can resist even so dire a temptation THAT long.” The priestess favored
him with a primly repressive look. “Keepin’ in mind yer travellin’ with
clergy an’ all.”

“Just keep your ruler handy,” Tramma suggested to the red-headed
priestess. “That makes even a sinner like me behave, after all.”

Balzac didn’t say anything, he just waggled his eyebrows and favored the
two ladies with a roguish grin.

"If yer fuse is THAT short,” Tramma suggested in a voice oozing
sympathy. “I know a doctor who can probably prescribe somethin' ta help."

“That joke was a bit premature,” Sister Erin sighed in resignation.

“I suppose you’re right,” the chanteuse nodded. “Still, any farm girl
knows ‘t’ain’t no use fighting genetics.”

“Here, now, yer a city girl,” Sister Erin scolded. “Else ya’d be knowin’
‘tis not the size of th’ goat that matters.”

“Oh, I picked that up a long time ago,” Tramma agreed earnestly. “Even a
small goat can do pretty well if he knows how to use his horn.” She
paused a moment, then quickly clarified, “inna fight, I mean.”

“An’ I’m just sure that’s what ya meant,” Sister Erin sighed, shaking
her head mournfully. “I never learn, leavin’ myself open to yer sly
innuendo, ye li’l heathen.”

“We’ve been over this, Sister,” Tramma chuckled. “You know very well
Bitani like myself are staunch members of The Church. And I’m on *quite*
good terms with not only our local Moon Priestess, but also her husband,
as well as the Church Knight who is our official Grove Guardian. I’m
even on *particularly* good terms with the leader of the Bitani Faith
for all of Yeltanar.”

It was likely just a coincidence, but across from the table, one of the
wizards was for reasons unknown sputtering into his drink, while next to
him his fellow Arcanist was watching him in amusement.

Tramma, however, was not finished. “If you would *like*,” the bard
continued sweetly to Sister Erin, “I am sure one of these fine Church
leaders would be *happy* to write you a note of endorsement. Or any
other form of endorsement you might prefer.”

“Knowin’ two o’ th’ three, I’ve nary a doubt o’ that,” Sister Erin
chuckled, shaking head knowingly at the reactions of the two wizards. “I
only know of your Sybil of the Moon by reputation an’ rumor, which
leaves me both happy ye found yer spiritual home an’ hopin’ t’ meet that
fine leader of the faithful some day. But that’s for another day, we
haven’t answered the DwarfLord’s question.”

“Good point. Anyways, DwarfLord, to get back to the teleports,” Tramma
reminded everyone where the conversation had started. “If you’re still
too sore from getting banged up by those giants, we’ll work it out. I
can take your place, not the first time I’ve carried my friends to fit
more of us into one of Fin’s teleports. Piggyback works just as well as
romantic style ‘carrying the bride across the threshold’ without all the
connotations and back pain.”

At least some of those present eyed the silver-haired entertainer a
little dubiously. At first glance the gorgeous comedienne torch singer
might not strike a casual observer as capable of picking up her friends
and carrying them as she claimed. Anyone who had seen her sometimes
strenuous dance routines or been caught up in an exuberant hug knew
better. She might be highly ornamental and more than a bit impractical,
but years of dance training, wilderness outings, and all the other
frenetic activity she pursued nearly every day and far into the night
had made her far stronger than was at first apparent.

There were also, just perhaps, two or three present who had firsthand
knowledge of the strength hidden in the bard’s appealing figure. But
none figured that this was appropriate “dinner time conversation” at a
meeting with the local Lords and the representatives of the Kamyran
Crown, so an awkward silence filled the dining hall.

But only for a moment. Vowsister Avril was by no means the only person
present who could grasp the mood of a crowd and time when best to speak,
and when to stay silent. Lord Erik recognized that it might be time to
move on to a different topic. “Once you have the Plains situation
settled,” Fort Resolute’s leader began his address not just to the
Abbot, but to the room in general, “I want to go up and talk to and work
with the forest tribes.”

All eyes turned to the handsome Norse knight as Erik continued his
theme. “Both to improve the diplomatic situation and help out the Flying
Tigers. My understanding is that long ago they agreed to some rather
strict rules with the Forest People that need some rethinking. I will
most definitely need some company…” he concluded, leaving an open ended
question.

“Lord Erik?” Tramma answered quickly. “May I suggest you start with
speaking to Great Medicine Woman Rayga of the Holymolder tribe? She has
a lot of insight she’ll probably be willing to share, you being an
acknowledged Great Chief among the Forest People yourself. But… you’d
better do it soon. I don’t think Grandma Rayga, as the locals call her,
expects to be with us much longer.”

Sister Erin nodded grimly at the Abbot’s Chief Diplomat’s words.
Tramma’s estimation exactly matched Erin’s own. Grandma Rayga had told
her Boss that she had led a good life, and was fully expecting it to
come to its natural conclusion rather soon.

“In fact,” Tramma continued quickly, “there’s been a LOT we’ve learned
about the Flying Tigers and how they relate to the Forest People. It
*is* kinda sensitive, though.”

Turning to the Abbot, the bard asked quietly, “Your Grace? This is your
call. I kinda think both your fellow Lords and your guests have… what’s
that phrase… Need To Know. But it’s *your* call.”

Ben considered the matter for a moment, and then nodded, giving his
permission for Tramma to proceed. The bard then gave the entire room a
fair summary of all that they had learned from their visit not long
after Yule with the Great Medicine Woman. Those that had also been
present might have wondered at just how Tramma had managed to retain all
of these details. She too had been present… but only in physical form,
her mind – to put it politely – somewhat clouded. But clearly the bard
had been given a complete set of details, either officially by a certain
member of Ben’s staff, or *unofficially* by some Flying Tigers who very
much wanted Tramma to be fully in the picture.

Off at the wizarding corner of the banquet table, the two mages were at
it again. Both were whispering together as Mithi updated her notes. When
Tramma had completed her narration, Sister Erin looked pointedly at both
spellcasters. “Do either of you have anything you might wish to add?”
the Belmakian priestess asked with an icy politeness that would have had
many a schoolgirl wincing.

Once again, however, Finfin missed the subtext. “I do, Sister,” he
replied simply. To the Lord of Fort Resolute, the elven officer asked,
“Sir Erik? Since time is apparently of the essence, I could take you to
the Holymolders, Grandmother Rayga’s village, quite near both the River
Ferry and Huntress Gil’s Grove. We could leave as soon as tomorrow
afternoon.”

Consulting Mithi’s notes, he added, “It would have to be, I regret, a
one way trip, as the rest of my transportation spells are already
claimed to get us back to the Plains. But I could easily take both
yourself and your steed.”

It was a notion with intriguing possibilities. Not least of which was
the Paladin Lord was fairly confident that Huntress Gil was normally in
residence at her Grove, and would hopefully be amenable to helping him
return to Fort Resolute far faster than travelling overland.

“Oh, *do* go!” Tramma encouraged the Norse knight. “If His Grace allows,
I’ll even come along and help you with the diplomatic side of things.”
To the wizarding corner, she asked, “You could pick me up from Gil’s
Grove, couldn’t you, Fin?”

This question led to another quick consultation among the mages, and
Mithi quickly adding another note as Finfin replied simply, “I can. On
the morning of February 3, in fact, which would leave you a full day and
two fractions on the ground.”

All eyes turned to the Lord of Fort Resolute. And after a moment’s
consideration, Sir Erik nodded his assent.

“Oh, good!” Tramma enthused. “I’ll get things ready tomorrow to call
ahead to make sure we’ll be welcome. Both with Grandma Rayga’s people,
and with Gil’s.”

Looking a bit embarrassed, Finfin added, “You might wish to downplay my
part in all of this when you speak to the Huntress or her people,” he
suggested. “She may well be more willing to make an unscheduled teleport
for Sir Erik than for me.”

“I doubt it will be a problem,” Tramma smiled. “The Grove Guardian knows
how much I respect her, I am sure we can work something out.”

“While we are discussing travel,” the Norse knight added, “let's also
plan an expedition down to the fork of the Gelmir and Kirith rivers to
investigate what is there. My first thought was some scouts to give us
an idea of what is there. Then proceed with a diplomatic mission.”

“Down at the confluence of the two rivers?” Vowsister Avril asked
curiously. “I know at least a bit about that.”

Now the elegant Vowsister had everyone’s undivided attention. “It sounds
rather like they are the ‘Daughters of the River’, a hobbit amazon
culture with an extensive river-based fishing and boating culture.
Friendly in a kinda standoffish way,” the Green clad Keeryte recalled,
“and trade a little with their neighbors all around, but mostly stay on
that little protected triangle and live the way they want to.”

“Amazons!” Tramma enthused. “I’d like to meet ‘em.”

“Well,” the Vowsister mused, “I know of at least one Vowsister who has
been there, and undoubtedly records buried at Symbala that could tell
you more. I would wager the Forest People might be able to tell you even
more if you ask the right people.”

With a nod Erik says “Tramma, Avril, any information we can dig up would
be good to know before we take a trip down south. You have my thanks for
this and our earlier chat. Which I will need some help attending to,
sooner rather than later.”