In which a bird gets bent

Tarren’s Junction is not a big city by any stretch of the imagination. It clearly has aspirations to be one, built over a precious gem mine some thousand odd years ago, and has grown rapidly over that time. 
Some hundred years ago, the city of Tsar fell, and with it the great temple to Orcus, demon-lord of the undead. With their temple in ruins, the surviving high priest of the demon-god fled the city...and every able-bodied man, woman and sentient-plant took up arms and followed them, led by the Archmage Zelkor. 
What happened next is a mystery. The Righteous March headed south, finally stopping and making their last camp at Tarren's Junction. The next day, the Righteous March headed down the coast road and into the Forest of Hope. None returned, neither the evil priests nor the March.
The region is still recovering from this incredible loss of life. Tsar is once again a large city, ruled over by a scholarly magocracy, and Tarren's Junction has grown from a mining town to a small city in it’s own right, once populated by squires, caravaneers, and other tradesfolk that were left behind when the March disappeared. Tarren Junction is doing a brisk trade of gems and other trade with the surrounding cities (notably Tsar, mages do so love precious gems). Home to nearly 9000 people now, you find your way to the Last Stop Inn, to which the letter you’re holding directs you. The city is surprisingly busy, even at dusk, and the tavern on the ground floor of the inn is doing brisk if restrained trade. The people inside are a variety of races, but they’re all well dressed and there is no shouting or carousing, nor anyone wearing armour, leaving you a little out of place.
At the bar, you follow the instructions, and ask for “Mister Bent”. The bar-lady (a dwarf unironically standing on a crate) gives you a look of practised disdain, and motions to the stairs. “Up two flights, room twelve.” At this she turns away,ignoring any thanks you may have given.
Room twelve is clean but a bit spartan, clearly a room designed for people travelling on business on short-term stays. A very old elf in a well made but heavily worn suit sits in the only chair in the room, behind a desk nearly as worn as his suit. Ge motions generally to the space in front of his desk, where an upturned plank box makes an inadequate seat.
“Mister Pezzack Highroost?” he asks, making unblinking eye-contact. Before you reply, he continues
“I can see that you are. I am Mr Bent, of Bent and Twiss. We specialise in delivering or collecting our legal contracts, wherever our clients may be”
The wear on his suit now begins to make some degree of sense. Magical contracts are firm, and once one is in effect it is nearly impossible not to fulfill its conditions, however they’re generally unmentionably expensive. Mr Bent seems to follow your thoughts with ease
“Indeed, our service is not a cheap one, but utterly implacable (he pronounces it ‘ehmplak-obbel’). For the last eight months, I have been trying to find they who are the legal recipient of the Calaelen estate”
The name is familiar to you, High Lady Or...something. Orrie Calaelen? She was a minor celebrity and adventurer from some hundreds of years ago and features in many bard tales along with Arkhim the dwarf. However, she was an elf, and certainly no relative of yours. Once again, Bent easily reads your face
“Orelinde Calaelen was a noble lady from Sandpoint, who ruled the goblin tribes of Mosswood for many years, converting them to Gorum (a minor god of strength and battle) and stabilising the region, extending her influence east as far as the Forest of Hope, in theory. However, she left on a voyage across the Still Sea, and her daughter Maybeth Calaelen inherited her estate. Maybeth did not care for Mosswood, and sold the estate in sua totalitate to Arik Stonecleaver, making him the de-facto lord of everything from Mosswood. This was about the time of the Righteous March, you’ve heard of that certainly, and Stonecleaver sold the now mostly-worthless deed to Jezabel Marvel the fourth, who lost it a gambling bet to Argent Ironhand, to used it to pay a substantial debt to the notorious pirate and gambler, Jackboot who seems to lack a family name. From there it changed hands too quickly for me to keep up with it, technically becoming the property of a member of the Highroost family. As all the members are in a monastery which does not permit the possessing of a title, and it would normally default to the lord who has dominion over the monastery, but fortunately before I could give it to the reigning king of Tarren Junction, you left the monastery and therefore are the inheritor, Multo meo inconspicabilem jucundum.”
He pauses for breath, and takes some notes from a leather case.
“There’s not a lot left of it, truth be told. What money was not wasted has been spent on the considerable costs of divination. However, here is the deed to the castle sign here if you would. There was some money never accounted for, a considerable amount but it never surfaced. I suspect it’s long since been looted by a brigand, but it may still be there if you’re lucky. This also makes you the lord of Mosswood Hinterlands and the Forrest of Hope. The only major settlement there is Zelkor’s Ferry. A piece of advice; the people out there have not had a lord since the Righteous March, and the settlement itself barely existed before then. I would not try and exert your authority.”
He pauses, then looks at a second piece of paper.
“The deep also contains a writ to own and operate “The Great Downward Engineering Company”, which if I recall was once a mercenary band of adventurers, founded by Stonecleaver in an attempt to make money. A few of his enterprises still survive, Glodsson Heavy Industries as well Ironclad Passenger and Goods Transport, possibly others, however only the Company remains attached to the deed.”
The piece of paper looks official, but the seals and signatures are too old for you to recognise. Along with it is a small, square tabard about a foot wide, with the company’s insignia neatly sewn on to it.
“Finally, one request. The deed is yours, but I need you to sign this form indicating that you will name a successor, and that your successor will be responsible for collecting the deed, not Bent and Twiss. We’re quite done, I am afraid. Thank you kindly”
The trip to Zelkor’s Ferry is a six hour boat ride from Tarren Junction, and you wryly note that the keelboat you’re on, ‘The Yellow Dagger’, is property of Ironclad Passenger and Goods Transport. You find Zelkor’s Ferry to be welcoming ((read the player’s guide. Some names, genders and races have changed, but the general nature is the same)).
In the morning, you pay a silver piece to the Amelia, the innkeeper and head west. Sure enough, you see a tall hill with a small flat area half way up, on which someone has crammed a fort that seems to be in considerable state of disrepair. A black pennant hangs over what was once the gatehouse, decorated with a small skull impaled from below into what may be a thin spike or stalagtite. As you approach the makeshift drawbridge, a gnoll carrying a spear steps out to meet you.
“What want?” it barks angrily, and does not wait for you to reply “No. It goes. It goes now or we stab it. Get bent!”
You broadly consider pointing out the subtle irony with a phrase like “I already did”, but decide against it. You see more figures moving around the courtyard, armoured gnolls and kobolds in dark robes, clearly this is not a one-bird job. You ride back to town, and ask some of the locals. Rasmus Pye mentions that he occasionally does trade with the kobolds, but not so much over the recent months. 
“Their coin is as good as any, and it is my duty good sir, my duty to try and keep the economy of Zelkor’s Ferry as rich as possible. Besides, if I didn’t barter with them they may just raid the town and that would not be good for anyone, no sir it would not.”
You consider asking if the town could defend itself, but ask better of it. The town is overflowing with adventurers, merchants, guards and other people, and Bristleback’s Inn is doing a good trade, the massively oversized nature of the building now making some sense. You put a notice up on the board, commandeer a table and wait. After a few minutes you take out the Company tabard, and hang it on the wall behind you, and try to look somewhat less out of place than you already do.