A t E: Session 06 - Epilogue

General Summary

A Commodore’s Log     It was with a bit of nervousness that I awaited the arrival of this Renaissance fellow. That he’s managed to land a full sized town on the banks of the lake can’t be denied. Any right thinking man would be impressed. The place was full of townspeople as well. What could I make of this man? He had told the heralds of Iascter of his plan to annex no small amount of land. Some of this being held to some degree by my own nation of Loyland. As my concerns are all about the lake and its control, I felt no huge worry. The land he wanted was empty of great worth. Should I try to convince him that some form of payment might be important to secure a peaceable transition of claim? I decided not to ask. Ulmavyn could as easily be considered a claimant as well. What if he should seek to buy the land from them instead? I wanted no bidding war, where the offers had to keep going down! More important was his interest in Lake Randle. If he sought any measure of control of the lake’s best spots, the talk we were to have could be troubling.         I had only just come from a meeting with Ferrix Mulio. He was a Se’Ractor, an able sailor and most recently my opponent in a fight which would wind up with him dead and my head banged about a bit. It was a violent set-to. I had not expected our meeting to go easy but by the same reason I hadn’t thought things would become so vicious. He had hit to kill. My forehead took a direct blow from the mace he wielded. It was one of those Baymish-styled ones, all flanged and serious metal. Somehow my senses remained intact after this strike and this as much as anything gave me the upper hand in the battle. I do think Ferrix was unnerved that I had shrugged off his killing blow. Mind you, I could well feel the effects of it but my well-rounded stamina had oft served me similarly. My grand sire, in the Loyland manner names were given not by your parents but by theirs, had named me Bulldog. I’d always hated my given name. Not because it was a bad name but rather that it was always shortened to, Dog, which was usually meant as an insult. Not many will let themselves be called a dog without taking offence. I was no different, even if it was my name. I suppose I might have taken offence more than others, if I’m being honest...         With my sight slightly unfocused from the mace’s impact, I was still able to defeat Ferrix. His body knew defeat before his mind did. He gasped for forgiveness from his children as he breathed out his last. In a way, this struck me harder than the mace had. I had assumed he was not a sire. I gave him my word that I would get his things to these children. A good thing done is a good thing promised and a good thing earned. My men came into my cabin and fretted over my head wound. Plekanse, the new mender on board, was sure it was a broken skull. Hurt like the screaming rapids when he pressed on it. The pain was sharp and bright. Plekanse said I should be ashore and abed for some weeks. My mission order was to head straight to this heralded man, Renaissance. Bed rest would need to wait. I stayed alert for the fourteen hours it took to reach the inlet of the new city. As short an interval as this was, Plekanse was surprised that the damage was notably reduced. I gave him all the credit for this just to make him my ally. My rate of healing had always been of the highest order. My grand sire had been the same ‘though it had skipped over my sire. He hadn’t had the same fortune to be be ‘dealt a lucky shard’. My family name is Sly. That’s right, my name is Sly Dog. I prefer my title of Commodore. My mother often said that I sought a career in the Loyland marine because I wanted a rank title to take the place of my name. She might have been right. Sly is not a much better name than Dog. Who wants to be distrusted as soon as their name is said? I’ve rarely met anyone who just passed over my family name without a look crossing over their features. A look that clearly stated their intention to be careful around me. I despise that look. A man should be allowed to lose another’s trust over time! Much of my youth had been spent trying to find my way through the narrow passage that my name put in my way. I’m a sailor and I have tried to navigate this as best as I can.       This Renaissance might be some sort of a masterful crafter of cities? I know of no such caste power but maybe he possesses a new one? Some sort of an... Urbamancer? Citimancer? Someone else — someone at one of the academies — might know the word for it. Whatever his ability with moving cities about, it looked much as if he needed to leave this city of his in place for some time. If true, I could rely on his need to be sensible. Power might be his but his townspeople couldn’t all be like him. He would need them to be well and if so, he would need them left alone or better still, welcomed into the land he had descended to. I could offer that. I could take his words back to my rulers too. I had been long in their service and had gained a measure of ‘friendship’ with them. A strong idea but not without a small measure of truth. Many years of providing the wealth of Randle to them, had earned me that. I had been sent to learn what I might of this Renaissance. I can usually get a decent feel for a person. This, like my stamina, was a gift I possessed. Intuition. A funny word for it. Be that as it might, I would use it to try and know this man.       My adjutant brought Renaissance below-decks where I was waiting. This Renaissance was a lithe but powerfully built fellow. Athleticism is valued highly on Tighan. He was likely to do well here. His height was unusual.. Most men would be counted shorter than him -- many doorways too! His build was impressive. His clothes were not made to cover his arms. Sometimes it is a good idea to let people see your strengths, so that these strengths don’t need to be felt. He was dark and tanned and certainly looked as a human of the wilderness. I had known a fair number of these. They can be quick to lose their composure but are usually up front about their wants. I could only hope this man would be the same…       The ‘Magnificate’s’ ballroom was not a place for a meeting. Too romantic. The kitchen would do better. As a bonus the kitchen had a fair supply of wine on hand. A particular favourite of mine was the ‘Pennants of Denar’, a vintage of a great vineyard on coastal Lecianthe. Lecianthe being much reduced from what it was, these are rare bottles indeed! The last two cases found were washed ashore in Maulght and so came to my attention. It was this that I offered Renaissance and it was this that we toasted with, to successes and peace between the old nation and the new. Such is this wine’s potency that within the first two glasses I was feeling rather lost at sea. I was only getting ‘round to suggesting that my winter home might be a good place to meet again when I was overcome. Not by drink nor sleep but by light. A glare brighter than any blade reflecting the sunlight at your eyes. It forced my eyes to shut. When they opened again I realised that I must have passed out for a moment or so. Where I had been standing before Renaissance, now I was seated a bit further away. I sat propped on the stove top. In my former spot a newcomer stood just a little too casually, surveying the scene. I wasn’t too sure what to make of the man. I knew enough to watch him through mostly closed eyes. He wore a strange armour – scaled and silvered-white as though he had some close affinity with the sea. His cape was all-black, trimmed with a silver strip of some kind of fine fur. He bore no weaponry, which struck me as odd for an armoured person. I thought he might just be an assassin. He looked smug and a little untrustworthy. A man capable of almost anything. He spoke of strange things. Otherworldly things. From time to time his manner of speech changed noticeably, becoming quiet and somehow unnaturally stilted. The nearest thing to it would be the smiths’ canting when they chantry a weapon with caste magicks. These words would stop and his manner would ease and he would return to a more casual speaking voice. Renaissance during all this meeting seemed at ease with the newcomer. I was heartened by this despite my innate misgiving about the fellow. My brief talk with Ren had made me know that he was a man of some standards. I could only hope that he knew what he was doing in dealing with the scale armoured man. Unfortunately, at no time did Ren say the fellow’s name.       That might have been all. Just a strange encounter while I feigned unconsciousness. It wasn’t all. The stranger said something about me. That I was related to a man named, Gerard… I have never heard of a Gerard Sly in my family’s stories. How could this fellow know of my relatives? If he had been a visitor to my kin, surely one of them would have told me of this fellow’s appearance? He was evidently a notable person, even if I found him slippery in some fashion. Ren too, seemed less unsure of what he said than I did! He only seemed intrigued by the man’s words of my and this ‘Gerard’s’ kinship. This too was a little troubling. It’s clear that this Renaissance is not a typical man. Understand that the wine had certainly affected me more than usual so what I saw and heard was through addled senses. Still, I know what I know. I will have to ask Renaissance about this when I’m able.

Character(s) interacted with

Renaissance   Bulldog Sly   Corwin