3. Faierien Mayfair

Faierien Mayfair

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    Faerien Mayfair

    To know something of Faerien Mayfair, one must first know something of his adoptive guardians, the Waerelths. Mr. Waerelth was, as no surprise to anyone familiar with Sembia, a trade-merchant of moderate success; no well-to-do mercantile export business was the House of Waerelth Mercantile and Foreign Trade. But it was a living and by no means disgraceful. It was, in a word, normal. Mr. Waerelth would set out on a long journey to trade books in Waterdeep or farming equipment into the Dalelands or some such and return to find an excellent meal cooked by Mrs. Waerelth. So it was for many a year. and though they would try with exceeding vigor, they were unable to produce an heir to the House of Waerelth Mercantile and Foreign Trade.

    One fall, Mr. Waerelth was just over the Cormyrean border buying a caravan worth of dried farm goods in Marsember (he always bought such goods in the fall and traded them quite profitably in the North during his spring trading journey) he was faced with a very peculiar contract for terms of trade with the local mill. It seems that in some months past a band of adventurers had passed through Marsember on their way to do good or slay some foul beast or otherwise attempt to create value from their own wits.

    Apparently the bowman of the group, a handsome Wild Elf by the name Scre'lanth Moranlq, created more than his share of value with the miller's daughter. Foolishly, the Elf had failed to wait for his investment to appreciate. In the month of May, shortly proceeding the business transaction between Franklin Mill of Marsember and House of Waerelth Mercantile and Foreign Trade, the bond between a Mr. Moranlq and a Ms. Franklin matured. Unfortunately Ms. Franklin (and most certainly her financial advisor, Mr. Q.R. Franklin the Elder) wished to divest herself of ownership and Mr. Moranlq was nowhere to be found.

    At any rate the contract to buy flour in Marsember in this particular year was far more complicated than it had been in past years. Suffice it to say that the price for flour was quite good and a blank space for a new employee was added to the payroll of House of Waerelth Mercantil and Foreign Trade. Mr. Waerelth did not give the new employee a name just yet as he always preferred to consult with Mrs. Waerelth on matters of aesthetics (her choice of sofa color to match the walls of their salon not withstanding).

    And so it was that when Mr. Waerelth returned from his fall procurement journey that he invited the new employee to a fine meal cooked by the very surprised Mrs. Waerelth (who promptly ground a generous portion of the meal into a consistency suitable for their guest). Mrs. Waerelth decided the employee should probably have a name that reflected, in some small way, the nature of his racial heritage. And so it was that Faerien Mayfair was added to the roster as a full-time employee of House of Waerelth Mercantile and Foreign Trade.

    The years passed and it became time for Mr. Mayfair to perhaps advance in his duties, a small promotion was in order. He had done a fine job of providing compost for the House of Waerelth Mercantile and Foreign Trade flower beds for some 10 years now and was beginning to express an interest in learning something about the procurement journeys.

    So it was that Mr. Mayfair accompanied the head of House of Waerelth Mercantile and Foreign Trade on a journey into the The Western Heartlands selling timber previously procured from a variety of sources. On that journey, given the nature of the roads to be travelled, Mr. Waerelth had contracted with a small band of mercenaries, The Hardy Fellows, to provide the adequate protection and insurance for the venture. Mr. Mayfair expressed a strong interest in the skills and trappings of these vigorous men.

    Mr. Mayfair, always being quite polite and good natured, was welcomed by The Hardy Fellows and taught a few skills. Though Mayfair excelled quite naturally with the bow, most likely a vestige of one of his founders, his main interest, bordering on obsession, was with the longsword. When any of the swordsmen of The Hardy Fellows would so much as unsheath their blades Mr. Mayfair would soon be nearby to watch and appreciate their work, to the delight of all onlookers.

    And so Mr. Mayfair, by the end of this particular trip, had learned quite a bit about maintaining a blade and holding it properly and such. And he'd even learned a few items about judging a fine blade from a lesser blade (this was a condition Mr. Waerelth placed on Mr. Mayfair once Mr. Mayfair's passion for the blade was made obvious).

    In the fifteenth year of Mr. Mayfair's employment to The House of Waerelth Mercantile and Foreign Trade, it became apparent that his ability to judge insurance providers exceeded that of Mr. Waerelth. And for the next five years it was Mr. Mayfair's responsibility to procure proper insurance and protection for the company investments en route to their destinations. This was a task that Mr. Mayfair gladly accepted and dutifully performed without fail. It was known throughout Sembian actuarial circles, that mercenary companies that were engaged by House of Waerelth Mercantile and Foreign Trade more than once were 80% likely to have master swordsmen. Mr. Mayfair hired his own tutors in this way and, to the delight of Mr. Waerelth used company assets to improve both the lot of the company and the lot of Mr. Mayfair.

    In the twentieth year of Mr. Mayfair's employment to The House of Waerelth Mercantile and Foreign Trade Mr. Waerelth and Mr. Mayfair returned to find that a new Chief Compost Generator had been installed in their absence. It turned out that Mrs. Waerelth's sister and brother-in-law had died in a fire and the new employee was none other than the nephew of the founders of The House of Waerelth Mercantile and Foreign Trade.

    At this point, the leadership succession plan for the company became a bit unclear. Mr. Mayfair, as the third longest employee, had until this time been nearly assured of ascension to the top spot upon retirement of Mr. and Mrs. Waerelth. But now there was this other employee on the fast track.

    Mr. Mayfair, however, sensing the situation quite distinctly, and in fact not so much caring to run the business anyway, announced his intention to seek other pursuits. Mr. and Mrs. Waerelth were quite relieved that there was to be no internal struggle in the issue, though they were dismayed to see how much their insurance prices were raised once Mr. Mayfair was no longer in their employ. But the parting was very mutually agreeable. Mr. Mayfair expressed gratitude for years of fair and fulfilling employment in a worthwhile venture. Mr. and Mrs. Waerelth expressed their thanks for years of steadfast and industrious performance.

    And so Mr. Mayfair left The House of Waerelth Mercantile and Foreign Trade to found his own venture… well, now that we see it a bit more from his point of view, he left to pursue his passion: the blade.

    Faerien's first stop was to visit one of his oldest friends, Thag Morbright. Thag was a near ancient half-orc and was the founder of The Hardy Fellows. In fact, Thag was the very guy that first noticed how much Faeirien couldn't give a rat's hind quarters about trading timber in some desolate wasteland. There was this kid listening to his step-father or adoptive father or whatever the hell he was drone on and on and on about "Buying so as to take advantage of seasonal adjustments in value of blah blah blah." The kid was practically asleep!

    Thag took it upon himself to show this pipsqueak how to shoot a bow. I mean, the kid was a half-elf right? He should shoot a bow. And dagnabbit if the kid couldn't kill a rabbit at a hundred yards. But the bow didn't fascinate the kid. What fascinated the kid was the steel. The glint of it, the shiny scrapey sound it made coming out of the scabbard. The rest of the guys in the gang started taking wagers on how quickly the little kid would show up should one of them draw their sword two inches from the scabbard. But he was a good natured kid and not too nosey, or persistent. No the kid would just sit and watch and watch and watch. You'd think he was in a trance or something the way he'd sit and watch them clean the swords or practice. He'd listen to them talk about work too. Thag liked the kid. The rest of the gang put up with the kid because Thag liked the kid.

    When Faerien arrived at Thag's meager apartment it had been some time since they'd met. What with Faerien busily keeping track of the twenty or thirty caravans HWael (that's what Faerien called The House of Waelreth Mercantile and Foreign Trade when outside earshot of the frumpy old man Wael) had on the run at any given moment there was rarely time to develop much of a social life. But he did try to check in on the old mercenary now and then.

    No one really remembers mercenaries, especially when they get too old to work. But Faerien did. Thag had performed a valuable service for Faerien and though the half-orc's arms were no longer what they used to be (hell one of them wasn't even an arm anymore) Thag's mind was still sharp and his advice was usually sound. Faerien had kept Thag on the payroll for many years as a consultant (which is pretty much the only reason Thag could afford even this meager apartment).

    So there they were, the old half-orc and the young half-elf. One at the end of a journey the other a beginning.

    "So you need some advice on what to do next, eh? Old Man Wael finally sent you off to the compost eh?" Thag coughed through his pretty much ruined lungs.

    "Yeah, Thag. It was no loss though, just business. And, frankly, I'd had about enough of worrying after all those caravans anyway. Next year's operations plan was slated to have another twenty caravans and two of those were headed to Thay. I'd have had a hard time locating the right muscle for a job like that. I need a change. I need some other things to occupy my mind for awhile. And, of course..." the half-elf's eyes glazed over as he looked into some corner of his own mind.

    "Schhhhhiinnggggg" Thag made the sound of a swordblade, an old inside joke about the only thing Faierien being able to concentrate on was swordcraft.

    The two old friends laughed quite a bit that day, ate some atrocious food that Thag enjoyed greatly. As the sun sank low over the city Thag turned to Faierien.

    "Mayfair, here's the thing. You're not cut out for mercenary life. Me, I was just some bully who was big enough to force open some doors and scare people into paying attention to what I said. You aren't scary. You aren't big. But you're pretty clever and there are few people as dedicated to the blade as you are. Now I ain't saying you shouldn't take a paid job now and then, we all have to eat. But you should work on your skills some more. You've had some of the best training a boy could have at the hands of recognized professionals. But I think you might be able to do better. Out in the wide world there are genuine masters of swordcraft, geniuses. The sort of fellows who can run a man down in one strike. You need to study with that sort fellow. Head for some wasteland. The Vast... The North... hell, go out to Narfell even. Just get the out of society and work your blade as much as you can. Here in Sembia they'll pay you top dollar to keep managing trade routes and using your connections; that's no good and a waste of your enthusiasm. You came here for some advice and that's the best I got left for you from your old buddy Thag." At that, Thag, having drunk a copious amount of Saerloon wine, passed out. Faierien thought about the words as he put some blankets on his old mentor and quietly closed the door.

    The next day Mayfair dropped off a large sum of money (equal to Mr. Mayfair's severance package minus a one way journey to Norwick, Narfell) at Thag's landlord. A caravan was leaving shortly. Faierien didn't even notice the caravan had left town until he looked up from checking his blade for knicks and cracks.


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