Richard Galefridus

# Richard Galefridus the Third

## Description

Richard is a nobleman born to a wealthy merchant family from the Kingdom of Galefridus. His current official position is that of Tinkerer for the Aurum Order, however unofficially he is the order's buffoon and the butt of many jokes.

## Background

The Aurum Order first encountered Richard when they hijacked a ship in Farraj, that had just returned from the Savage Lands to the east. While Richard was a paying passenger, the crew found him so annoying and loud that they put him into a cage below deck and threw a canvas sheet over the cage. Richard's only roommate was Kragg who was in another cage.

Richard was released from the cage when a group of adventurers hijacked the ship and set sail for a Kingdom in Farraj. To maintain his freedom, Richard offered to make inventions for the group.

Eventually the group officially became an organization called the Aurum Order and established an HQ in Farraj. Richard ended up becoming the chief tinkerer by default.

## RP Scenarios

```
“Come on, Richard,” the Galefride mumbles to himself, a quaver in his voice. “You can do this. Today is the day.”
He inspects himself in front of the mirror in his room, smoothing out the creases in his fancy blue outfit. As he inspects his profile, he sucks in his belly and puffs out his chest, but quickly runs out of breath, and the belly returns with a vengeance, popping open a button on his vest.

“Bloody sausages…” Richard moans.
Making eye contact with himself in the mirror, he commands, “Just believe in yourself. You’re good enough. You are worthy.”
There’s a feeble knock on the door; Richard jumps. “Richard,” calls out the voice of Lead Inventor Lucas Walters. “She’s leaving around noon. You’d best hurry.”
Panic suddenly paints Richard’s face, and he rushes to the door. “No wait, my coin purse.” He wheels around and frantically searches through the mess of items on his bed stand before locating the purse. With quavering hands, he tries to affix it to his belt, but after three failed attempts, he gives up and rushes to the door, purse in hand.

Richard flies down the corridor and scuttles down the staircase, but trips and tumbles down the last few steps, landing chin-first on the taproom floor of the inn. Miraculously, he managed to keep hold of his coin purse, but as he turns onto his back with a groan, a nasty cut on his chin can be seen.

The busy taproom went silent as he fell, and your new mercenary, Delus de Barsia, rises from his table to help Richard up. Turning red in the face, Richard turns down the Matronian’s hand and grabs a nearby chair for support while hoisting himself to his feet. The chair slides across the floor, however, sending Richard falling onto his back as the chair rockets away into an adjacent table, knocking it over and spilling two mugs of ale on Richard’s crotch.
Suna Matar, the assistant innkeeper who was walking by with a platter of breakfast food, tries to suppress a grin, but ends up letting out a burst of laughter. This starts a chain-reaction among the crowd in the taproom, and Delus, who had been looking at Richard in concern, takes note of everyone laughing at the unfortunate man and reluctantly joins in.

“Keh uhseenaw,” the mercenary says in Matronian, and the crowd laughs even harder.

Richard may not have understood that this newcomer said “what a donkey,” but as his face turns beet-red and he casts his gaze down in shame, it’s clear he knows he’s being made fun of. He frantically tries wiping the excess ale off his clothes, only managing to spread the stain even further, and gives up on climbing to his feet, instead choosing to crawl out of the inn on his hands and knees to uproarious laughter.
As the inn door closes behind him, drowning out the laughter, Richard rises to his feet. He lets out a sigh, and composes himself. “You are worthy,” he mutters to himself. Taking in a deep breath and holding his purse firmly in hand, he strides out into the city streets.

He makes his way to the market and locates a florist. “Hello, I’d, uhm, like to purchase some flowers. Yellow ones, preferably. They’re for a girl, you see, and she has blonde hair, so I figured… I figured she’d like yellow flowers.”

The florist points to some yellow flowers. “Begonia?”

“I… I’m sorry, I don’t speak Matronian,” replies Richard. “I'm new here. Are… are you saying, ‘be gone, you?’ I have coin.” He waves the hefty coin purse in front of her.

“No,” the florist replies, annoyed. “These flowers are called begonias.”

“Oh. Well I’ll take a bouquet of them, please, and make it quick. I’m in a bit of a rush. How much?”
Richard begins opening his coin pouch as the florist begins to reply, “Three-” her eyes spotting the gold coins in his pouch, she finishes, “-gold. Three gold.”

“Oh, wow. That’s quite expensive,” says Richard, withdrawing three gold coins.

“Flowers don’t grow in Matrona, so they are rare imports,” says the florist, snatching the coins and handing him the bouquet.

“Right, that makes sense. Thank you and good day.” Richard hurries off, crossing through the crowded market.
“Dummy luh too-uh muh-net-uh,” a harsh voice calls out from behind him.

Richard spins around to face a gruff-looking man. “Huh? What? Sorry, no, I don’t know where that is.”

The man steps menacingly close to Richard, who takes a cowardly step back. The man reveals a glint of steel hidden in his sleeve. “I said, ‘give me your coin.’”

“Oh,” says Richard, fear in his eyes. “I, uh, yes. S-sure. H-here you are.” He offers his coin purse. “I-I’m sorry, it’s all I have. I used to be rich, but this is all the coin I have left,” he rambles.

The man snatches the purse out of Richard’s hand, and the Gale flinches. “Your ring.”
Richard looks down at the fancy ring on his finger bearing his family’s crest. “Oh,” he says with sadness, and holds out his hand to the man. The Matronian pulls the ring off Richard’s finger, and Richard mournfully watches as the heirloom disappears into the man’s pocket.

“Anything else?” asks the man, eyeing Richard up and down.

“No,” replies Richard dejectedly. “I have nothing left.”

The Matronian grimaces. “Uhseenaw,” he says as he walks away.

Richard stares at the ground listlessly. “Uhseenaw,” he affirms.
Shoulders slumped forward, head down, Richard walks his way back to the inn, gripping the flowers tightly in one hand, and holding his other hand protectively in front of them as a gust of wind tries to take even this from him.

As he arrives before the inn door, the door suddenly blasts open, slamming into Richard, who staggers backwards at the impact.

“Oh, sorry mate,” says your stablemaster, Geoffrey Madison, as he exits the inn. He gives Richard a rough pat on the back, and Richard winces at the impact. “Who are the flowers for?”

“Clare,” Richard replies before he catches himself, then blushes, visibly embarrassed at having revealed the name.

Geoffrey looks surprised, then amused, then frowns. “Well, she just left on her trip. I saddled a horse for her.”
“No, no, no,” Richard whines, looking devastated.

Geoffrey hesitates a moment, then grinning, says, “You may still be able to catch up to her. She just left. South gate.”

Richard instantly perks up. “Oh! Thank you!”

Turning to re-enter the inn, Geoffrey says, stifling a smile, “Well, I need to… tell everyone… things. Good luck!”

Determination on his face, Richard turns to face the main street, then looks down at the flowers in his hand - they’ve been crushed from the impact with the door. “Of course,” he says fatalistically, then sets off running down the streets, every so often hopping to see further ahead over crowds of people.
As he nears the gate, a hop reveals a blonde-haired rider ahead.

“Clare!” calls out Richard, as he pushes his way through throngs of people. “Clare!”

Out of breath, sweating, bleeding from his chin, looking like he pissed his pants and holding the sorriest bouquet of crushed flowers, Richard arrives before your cartographer.

Clare looks down at the man from atop her horse, squinting before recognition sets in. “Richard? Are you all right?”

Richard nods, then with a shaking hand, offers up the bouquet. “F-flowers.”

Looking at Richard with concern, she reaches out hesitantly and grabs the bouquet. “Thank… you? What… what are they for? And are you sure you’re all right? You’re bleeding. You should go see Ania. Or… or anyone. Someone needs to help you.”
“I don’t…” Richard sighs. “I’ll take care of it myself.”

“No, I don’t think that’s a good idea, Richard,” says Clare, “it can get infected. You should have someone who knows what they’re doing look at it. We wouldn’t want you getting ill, would we?” she adds with a warm smile. “Who will make our inventions then?”

While the question was asked with sincerity, a lifetime of being the butt of the joke makes Richard assume she’s mocking him, and his shoulders slump forward as he casts his gaze downward. Dejected, he says, “I-I brought you flowers. I thought… m-maybe… you and I could… you know…”

Realization suddenly hits Clare. Her eyes grow wide, and she looks at the pathetic bouquet. “Oh,” she says uncomfortably. “I... see.”
After an awkward silence, Richard, unable to look her in the eye, asks, “s-so… what do you thi-”

“Richard,” Clare interrupts him. She clears her throat forcefully, buying herself time. “I think…” she struggles to find her words. “I think you’re a great fellow.”

Richard looks up, hope painting his face.

“And I’m sure you’ll marry a wonderful woman one day. Just… someone… who… is… not… uhm…” she struggles. “...me.” An apologetic look paints her face.

Richard deflates like a bloated sheep’s stomach. “Right. Sorry. Have a nice trip.” As he turns to leave, she calls out, “We can still be friends!”

Richard sighs.
Back at the inn, Richard sits at the bar, looking depressed, an empty mug before him. Geoffrey takes the stool next to him and pats him roughly on the back. “So? How did it go, big boy?” he asks with a grin.

Richard sighs. “Well, as I’m currently drinking my sorrows away, I’m sure you know the answer to that.”

Geoffrey guffaws and pats him on the back again. Richard frowns. “Aw, cheer up,” says the stablemaster. “Your next round is on me. What are you having? Some of Furin’s finest?”

“Milk,” replies Richard.
It’s Geoffrey’s turn to frown. “All… right. Ishaq, give him another round of… milk.”

“Not too cold, please,” says Richard. “It hurts my teeth.”

Richard notices Geoffrey looking behind him, then glances around the taproom, noticing that just about everyone has eyes on him. The onlookers pretend they weren’t staring at Richard, but Richard just sighs and turns back to his mug.

“You told everyone,” he says flatly.

“Come on, lad,” replies Geoffrey. “It’s funny. You asking out the boss’ girl.”

Richard furrows his brow in confusion. “The… what?”

“Yeah, of course you don’t know,” laughs Geoffrey, turning around. “He didn’t know!” he calls out to the taproom. Half the crowd cheers, the other half groans and begins to withdraw coins from their purses. Geoffrey leaves the bar to start collecting, leaving Richard to stew in his puzzled embarrassment.
“So you did not know that Clare was seeing someone?” a female voice with a heavy Matronian accent asks. Richard turns to face the short woman sitting next to him, noticing her for the first time.

“Huh?” he asks stupidly.

The woman smiles coyly. “I am Isotta. I am the new priestess around here.” She extends a hand for Richard to kiss.

Richard grabs her hand and awkwardly shakes it up and down. “I’m Richard. I’m the old joke around here.” He scoffs. “I’m the joke wherever I go. I was a joke back with my family in Galefridus, before they cast me out. I was a joke in Farraj, when I got my fresh start. Now I’m a joke in Matrona. I’m one giant, multi-national joke.”

Isotta giggles and snorts awkwardly.
Richard looks dejected. “Yeah, go on. Even the newbies laugh at me.”

“No, no,” says Isotta through snorts. “I thought you were making a joke! Multi-national… I wasn’t laughing at you. In fact, no one ever makes me laugh. You’re witty.”

Richard furrows his brow in confusion and looks at Isotta as though she were strange.

“I know what it is like to be the black sheep in the family,” Isotta says. “I’m from a noble House, and they cast me out as well.”

“Oh?” asks Richard. “What did they cast you out for? Worshipping the Raven Queen?”

Isotta snorts and giggles again. Richard looks confused, then forces himself to laugh along as though he intended to make a joke.

“You’re cute,” Isotta says, putting a hand on Richard’s knee. Richard’s eyes go wide as he stares down at the hand, his face turning red.
“I must go to Church now, but I look forward to getting to know you more, Richard.” Isotta rises, curtsies, and leaves, as Richard remains frozen in place as though petrified.
Later that night, Richard is working on an invention with Lucas, when the older mentor suddenly asks, “Oh, I forgot - how did it go?”

Richard smiles. “Today was a good day,” he says contentedly, staring into nothingness, lost in blissful thought. “Today was a good day.”

```