There are 3 cups in a skin, and you have 3 skins, so you might be able to get 18-45d total.
There’s one in particular who appears somewhat honest. You approach him. He introduces himself as Jarl of Ingressen. He’s a big burly guy with curly blond hair and a long braided beard. He’s willing to give you a pretty good deal – 3d/cup of firewater. And while he is hardly a supermarket, he can let the following things go – at a 50% markup. Because “I like your face.”
As far as rules and customs go, the waymaster and the caravan master are in charge. Don’t steal from anyone, don’t start too many fights, and try not to get too drunk.
He takes a guess on your identity. “Hmm, you look like barbarian, but you is not. You haff goot parents, coming from money. You knows your letters? I’m going to yump to conclusion and say you is from Tashal. Your fadder is learned man. Is herald from college maybe? Or owns land? Jarl is right, no? What does Jarl win?”
It looks familiar. You could do what they are doing, and perhaps better.
Night is coming. Tents are erected, and tend to be segregated by race and social class. The two exceptions are caravan guards and camp followers, who tend to roam the commons freely in search of anything of interest.
In the early part of the night, a couple of camp followers approach your tents. NAF is on watch and praying. The mom must be in her lat 30s. The daughter can’t be fourteen. Neither one could be considered beautiful by any stretch.
The mother asks NAF, “'Ello, gov, fancy a toss?” The daughter looks shamed and humiliated, but raises her skirt to show her “wares.”
Nevermind. The skanks have moved on. Good thing, too.
You sleep well through the night, despite the late night drunken rowdiness of of the other campers. You awaken to a cloudy, dreary, but dry day.
Some decisions need to be made. Do you want to spend another day here, gathering information, or move on through the gate? What is the deal you want to strike with Jarl?
My strength of will and love for my goddess were all I needed to keep me from those harlots. Good thing I was so wrapped up in my prayer that I didn’t notice them at all.
Lets go talk to Jarl. Some dired meat would probably be a good thing to have as a back up supply.
We should include in the deal a small bonus for Jarl to guess anything about the others’ origin.
Given that the knights are familiar to Antinor and myself, can we ask them their military rank?
How about saying to them that I took a blow on the head and don’t remember who I am?
If they are friendly, could we practise with them and see if they recognise our style of fighting - maybe even where we trained and by who…
Four of them are simply mounted soldiers (medium horse), and one is their commander. The unit is called a manus, I believe. Four mani comprise a company, and five companies comprise a centad. Each larger unit will have one commander in charge of the other commanders. These guys are members of the Lady of Paladins, a fighting order sponsored by the Spear of Shattered Sorrow, which is a religious order. The head of their order reports to the head of the religious order who reports to a bishop who reports to the Archbishop who reports to the Primate who reports to the Pontiff (Pope). These guys are pretty much at the bottom of the food chain (excepting altar boys), but are still considered a fighting elite.
Interesting gambit. Are you going to try it?
A true test of your mettle would be a joust. Unfortunately, you are not equipped for such a thing, and they’re not about to lend you their stuff. They certainly won’t lend you one of their valued steeds. One knight, Sir Doren, agrees to spar with you for a couple of minutes.
I thank Sir Doren for his courtesy and do my best to inmpress him.
If it goes well, I will try the “I took a blow on the head and don’t remember who I am?” gambit.
Do any of those military ranks ring a bell with us?
If any of you need my help during your searches, let me know, I’ll be nearby. I’d like a little time to think over your offer, and how I could inform my tribe of such a choice.
You exchange a few blows with him with no real resolution. Everything extra awesome that he throws at you, you match, and vice versa. It’s fair to say that you are both impressed.
It’s also fair to say that you’ve drawn a huge amount of attention to yourself.
It’s hard to pin down your exact training, but it’s probable that you’re a knight, and a kickass one at that.
Sir Doren asks to look at your head, but he can’t find a single bump on it. He asks you a few questions about people and places, but they are gibberish to you.
Would the military ranks mean anything to you? Yeah, they’re easy enough concepts. You don’t remember if you’ve ever held rank, though.
Let’s make a business decision here. Someone – anyone – propose a list of groceries. You can sell your firewater to Jarl for 27d. Figure how much cash you’d like to have on hand, subtract, then go shopping. Remember to add 50% to the total, as Jarl is marking up for selling outside of common markets. Round up.
The grocery list can then be debated by all of you until a decision is reached.
Realize, however, that glee at least has gone from anoymous barbarian to elite warrior, at least in the eyes of everyone on the commons. Antinor may prove or disprove himself as well. This may well alter Jarl’s prices (or even his willingness to sell) drastically, for good or ill.
