Beale Knight
First Post
01 – 3 Histories and Hairshirts
The four heroes, goat and wagon in tow, headed east along the river. Their basic route had been decided two days earlier and was simple enough. Follow the river road to the ferry at Kern, take the road north to Tawgor’s Ferry, and then across the lake to Maissen the city. While most people didn’t travel very much even within Maissen’s borders, none in Ren’s family except Ren himself had ever been more that a few miles outside Vaunth-on-the-Lake, the roads were well maintained and generally safe. The excitement of the real “wild lands” was still days away. For the next several hours the new companions simply walked and chatted, trading stories but not, for the most part, histories.
Killian was full of rousing stories about his youth, many of them focusing on ale houses, fires, and his friends of the day. But beyond that he came to Vaunth-on-the-Lake from Seaborn, Maissen’s northernmost city, he would say nothing specific about times and places.
Almost everything that Madge had to say related to interesting animal behavior she had witnessed. She had plenty of good fish tales, an unexpectedly fascinating account of a battle between a group of wasps and a honey bee hive (though outnumbering the wasps at least ten to one, the bees lost. Decapitated bee heads were everywhere), and advise on boot cobbling, but Madge pointedly avoid speaking of that day everyone knew a little bit about.
The day when she was twelve, one week after her mother’s sudden and mysterious death. That night when screams awoke most of the town and the guard came to find her father dead, a dagger still in his chest. They found Madge close by, unconscious, her face burned by acid. Of that, she had never spoken before and she didn’t today. Her new companions did not ask.
Ren had nothing in his history to hide, and happily told tale after tale of growing up in a family of eight siblings. The only other one to be almost as open was Bessie. Pure Maissen blood, she was born to a well off fishing family in town. However, her intimidating size, eye to eye with Ren, made her the target of so many taunts as a youth that she spent more and more of her time out alone in the “wild”. That’s where she caught the eye of the regional druid, who took her on as a protégée. Bessie wouldn’t say much about her training or trials, “druidic secrets” she said, but happily told about the first thing that happened when they were complete. Before she even reached the town walls, Bessie, a brand new druid, came across a team of loggers beginning to clear cut a grove.
The confrontation could have gone very badly, but when the team leader sarcastically asked the druid to find them some better trees to cut, Bessie took him up on the challenge. She led the group to half a dozen huge trees that were on their last decade of life, relocated the handful of animals nesting in them, and gave the loggers more than their quota of lumber.
In that way she fell into employment with the loggers. For most of the past year she’d been working with them, selecting the trees that would give the loggers the greatest return while disturbing the forest as little as possible. Balancing the resource needs of an expanding Vaunth-on-the-Lake and the demands of a thriving forest hadn’t been easy, but had worked. Those with stakes in the timber industry, including Popa Thorson, had profited, the forest remained well maintained and viable, and the only people that were unhappy were the loggers themselves. They were the ones that had to work a lot harder than if they’d been allowed to simply clear cut wide sections of the forest. A few of them had even gotten violent about it, usually after a night of drinking and complaining. But Bessie was far from helpless.
“That is an incredible crossbow,” Ren said as he looked the weapon over. It was the size and shape of an ordinary light crossbow, but its difference was the material. No metal had been used on it. The weapon was entirely crafted from wood, bone, horn, and some sinewy material treated in a way Bessie said she couldn’t divulge.
“There’s only four of them throughout Maissen,” Bessie said. “I was given this one by the head of the Circle the day I gave my vows.” She looked up and into space. After a quiet moment she smiled and shook her head. “He said I was likely to need it before long. It seems he was right.”
From a few feet over there was a sudden WHOOSH and wave of heat.
“Now THAT ‘tis a proper fire!” Killian said. He stood akimbo before a suddenly raging bonfire almost as tall as Ren, smiling with a greater joy than any of the others had seen before.
"Proper to bring every rogue, bandit, and vagabond straight to us!” Madge said. “What’s the matter with you?”
Ren stood and looked over the bonfire. “That’s a lot of fire going on, Killian. I’m thinking they can maybe see it back home.”
“It’s too much,” Bessie said, “it’s a waste and it’s going to have to go.”
That was easier said than done. The group had no simple buckets to carry water from the river, and their campsite didn’t have enough loose dirt to make a difference. Breaking up the burning wood was as likely to spread the fire uncontrollably as put it out. In the end, they had to let it burn, but Killian was no longer going to be in charge of the campfire.
It was well into the night when Killian’s bonfire burned down to a more conventional campfire. The group was just broaching the subject of watches when they heard sounds from down the road. Their talk came to an abrupt halt as they focused their attention to this unexpected turn of events.
What they heard was chanting. As the others prepared for the worst, Ren crept a little ways from the campsite and peered down the road. Some one hundred fifty yards upriver was close to a score of people, chanting, marching, and carrying torches. They were headed toward Vaunth-on-the-Lake, which meant they were going to pass right by the group’s campsite.
“That’s a sight I don’t know what to make of,” Ren muttered to himself. He made his way to the others and told them what was coming down the road.
“They probably won’t pay us any mind,” Madge said, “unless to beg for food.”
Killian stroked his bare chin. “Would be better t’ be prepared for trouble though.”
Ren nodded. “I’ll head to the shadows over there,” he said, pointing to a nearby tangle of trees and undergrowth. Then, glancing at another one across the campsite, he added, “Could stand someone else over there for a crossfire if it comes to it.”
“I’ll go,” Bessie said. “We’ll leave the wizard and warrior to treat with the chanters.”
“Sorcerer,” Killian corrected.
Smiling at the man’s indignant correction of Bessie’s joke, Ren took his position. He readied his bow and double checked it, then set arrows where they’d be easy to grab, and squatted low, watching.
As the chanting grew louder and the procession came into view, Ren found himself biting at his lip. What if things went badly? There were at least twenty chanters and he was one of four. If it came to a fight it would be long odds, even though it didn’t look like they’d be facing any kind of warriors.
Ren suddenly realized he had never killed a man. Never even tried to. Except for a few fist fights in his youth he’d never even tried to hurt anyone. Hunting animals was different and never bothered him; the meat was needed and he strived to kill with a single shot. And while he had known there would be battles during this adventure, the few times Ren had thought about what awaited him in the wild he mentally pictured fights against great beasts and monsters. Not men.
Now, not even a full day out of Vaunth-on-the-Lake, his first battle might well be against other human beings. Suddenly Ren felt the full gravity of what he was doing, and it was unsettling.
He took a deep breath and thought about Lela. That was his truth. He was here for her and for their future together. He would do what had to be done to see this through. For her. For the both of them. If it came to a fight he would fight. He would defend himself and his companions.
Another deep breath and it was decided. If the threat warranted it, he would kill. Not because he could. Because that would be what it took.
Ren re-focused on the scene before him. The procession hadn’t stopped, but two of the men, wearing what looked like hair shirts, were speaking with Madge and Killian. It seemed peaceful enough, even if there were no smiles. After a few minutes, Madge went to the wagon and dug out a water skin and loaf of bread. She handed these over to the two strangers, who then bowed politely and returned to the procession.
As the group moved on and out of sight, Ren relaxed a bit. He was beyond grateful there’d been no fight, but wondered if they’d been shaken down for supplies. It wasn’t anything they couldn’t afford, but the idea rubbed him wrong.
Ren broke cover and rejoined Madge and Killian, Bessie right behind him. He raised his eyebrows and glanced toward the road, and Madge answered the unspoken question.
“A religious procession,” she said. “Lamenting for those beyond the borders until they return.”
“And the water and bread?” asked Ren.
“’twas politely requested,” Killian said.
Madge nodded. “We can get more easily enough.”
Now Ren fully relaxed. A donation he had no issue with. And there’d been no fight. He smiled. “True we can. And giving up to the faithful might even help us some way.”
Hopefully. Hopefully the rest of the night would be as peaceful. He’d decided that he’d kill if he needed to, but that didn’t mean he was looking forward to it.
“Now then,” Ren said. “About the watches tonight.”
The four heroes, goat and wagon in tow, headed east along the river. Their basic route had been decided two days earlier and was simple enough. Follow the river road to the ferry at Kern, take the road north to Tawgor’s Ferry, and then across the lake to Maissen the city. While most people didn’t travel very much even within Maissen’s borders, none in Ren’s family except Ren himself had ever been more that a few miles outside Vaunth-on-the-Lake, the roads were well maintained and generally safe. The excitement of the real “wild lands” was still days away. For the next several hours the new companions simply walked and chatted, trading stories but not, for the most part, histories.
Killian was full of rousing stories about his youth, many of them focusing on ale houses, fires, and his friends of the day. But beyond that he came to Vaunth-on-the-Lake from Seaborn, Maissen’s northernmost city, he would say nothing specific about times and places.
Almost everything that Madge had to say related to interesting animal behavior she had witnessed. She had plenty of good fish tales, an unexpectedly fascinating account of a battle between a group of wasps and a honey bee hive (though outnumbering the wasps at least ten to one, the bees lost. Decapitated bee heads were everywhere), and advise on boot cobbling, but Madge pointedly avoid speaking of that day everyone knew a little bit about.
The day when she was twelve, one week after her mother’s sudden and mysterious death. That night when screams awoke most of the town and the guard came to find her father dead, a dagger still in his chest. They found Madge close by, unconscious, her face burned by acid. Of that, she had never spoken before and she didn’t today. Her new companions did not ask.
Ren had nothing in his history to hide, and happily told tale after tale of growing up in a family of eight siblings. The only other one to be almost as open was Bessie. Pure Maissen blood, she was born to a well off fishing family in town. However, her intimidating size, eye to eye with Ren, made her the target of so many taunts as a youth that she spent more and more of her time out alone in the “wild”. That’s where she caught the eye of the regional druid, who took her on as a protégée. Bessie wouldn’t say much about her training or trials, “druidic secrets” she said, but happily told about the first thing that happened when they were complete. Before she even reached the town walls, Bessie, a brand new druid, came across a team of loggers beginning to clear cut a grove.
The confrontation could have gone very badly, but when the team leader sarcastically asked the druid to find them some better trees to cut, Bessie took him up on the challenge. She led the group to half a dozen huge trees that were on their last decade of life, relocated the handful of animals nesting in them, and gave the loggers more than their quota of lumber.
In that way she fell into employment with the loggers. For most of the past year she’d been working with them, selecting the trees that would give the loggers the greatest return while disturbing the forest as little as possible. Balancing the resource needs of an expanding Vaunth-on-the-Lake and the demands of a thriving forest hadn’t been easy, but had worked. Those with stakes in the timber industry, including Popa Thorson, had profited, the forest remained well maintained and viable, and the only people that were unhappy were the loggers themselves. They were the ones that had to work a lot harder than if they’d been allowed to simply clear cut wide sections of the forest. A few of them had even gotten violent about it, usually after a night of drinking and complaining. But Bessie was far from helpless.
“That is an incredible crossbow,” Ren said as he looked the weapon over. It was the size and shape of an ordinary light crossbow, but its difference was the material. No metal had been used on it. The weapon was entirely crafted from wood, bone, horn, and some sinewy material treated in a way Bessie said she couldn’t divulge.
“There’s only four of them throughout Maissen,” Bessie said. “I was given this one by the head of the Circle the day I gave my vows.” She looked up and into space. After a quiet moment she smiled and shook her head. “He said I was likely to need it before long. It seems he was right.”
From a few feet over there was a sudden WHOOSH and wave of heat.
“Now THAT ‘tis a proper fire!” Killian said. He stood akimbo before a suddenly raging bonfire almost as tall as Ren, smiling with a greater joy than any of the others had seen before.
"Proper to bring every rogue, bandit, and vagabond straight to us!” Madge said. “What’s the matter with you?”
Ren stood and looked over the bonfire. “That’s a lot of fire going on, Killian. I’m thinking they can maybe see it back home.”
“It’s too much,” Bessie said, “it’s a waste and it’s going to have to go.”
That was easier said than done. The group had no simple buckets to carry water from the river, and their campsite didn’t have enough loose dirt to make a difference. Breaking up the burning wood was as likely to spread the fire uncontrollably as put it out. In the end, they had to let it burn, but Killian was no longer going to be in charge of the campfire.
It was well into the night when Killian’s bonfire burned down to a more conventional campfire. The group was just broaching the subject of watches when they heard sounds from down the road. Their talk came to an abrupt halt as they focused their attention to this unexpected turn of events.
What they heard was chanting. As the others prepared for the worst, Ren crept a little ways from the campsite and peered down the road. Some one hundred fifty yards upriver was close to a score of people, chanting, marching, and carrying torches. They were headed toward Vaunth-on-the-Lake, which meant they were going to pass right by the group’s campsite.
“That’s a sight I don’t know what to make of,” Ren muttered to himself. He made his way to the others and told them what was coming down the road.
“They probably won’t pay us any mind,” Madge said, “unless to beg for food.”
Killian stroked his bare chin. “Would be better t’ be prepared for trouble though.”
Ren nodded. “I’ll head to the shadows over there,” he said, pointing to a nearby tangle of trees and undergrowth. Then, glancing at another one across the campsite, he added, “Could stand someone else over there for a crossfire if it comes to it.”
“I’ll go,” Bessie said. “We’ll leave the wizard and warrior to treat with the chanters.”
“Sorcerer,” Killian corrected.
Smiling at the man’s indignant correction of Bessie’s joke, Ren took his position. He readied his bow and double checked it, then set arrows where they’d be easy to grab, and squatted low, watching.
As the chanting grew louder and the procession came into view, Ren found himself biting at his lip. What if things went badly? There were at least twenty chanters and he was one of four. If it came to a fight it would be long odds, even though it didn’t look like they’d be facing any kind of warriors.
Ren suddenly realized he had never killed a man. Never even tried to. Except for a few fist fights in his youth he’d never even tried to hurt anyone. Hunting animals was different and never bothered him; the meat was needed and he strived to kill with a single shot. And while he had known there would be battles during this adventure, the few times Ren had thought about what awaited him in the wild he mentally pictured fights against great beasts and monsters. Not men.
Now, not even a full day out of Vaunth-on-the-Lake, his first battle might well be against other human beings. Suddenly Ren felt the full gravity of what he was doing, and it was unsettling.
He took a deep breath and thought about Lela. That was his truth. He was here for her and for their future together. He would do what had to be done to see this through. For her. For the both of them. If it came to a fight he would fight. He would defend himself and his companions.
Another deep breath and it was decided. If the threat warranted it, he would kill. Not because he could. Because that would be what it took.
Ren re-focused on the scene before him. The procession hadn’t stopped, but two of the men, wearing what looked like hair shirts, were speaking with Madge and Killian. It seemed peaceful enough, even if there were no smiles. After a few minutes, Madge went to the wagon and dug out a water skin and loaf of bread. She handed these over to the two strangers, who then bowed politely and returned to the procession.
As the group moved on and out of sight, Ren relaxed a bit. He was beyond grateful there’d been no fight, but wondered if they’d been shaken down for supplies. It wasn’t anything they couldn’t afford, but the idea rubbed him wrong.
Ren broke cover and rejoined Madge and Killian, Bessie right behind him. He raised his eyebrows and glanced toward the road, and Madge answered the unspoken question.
“A religious procession,” she said. “Lamenting for those beyond the borders until they return.”
“And the water and bread?” asked Ren.
“’twas politely requested,” Killian said.
Madge nodded. “We can get more easily enough.”
Now Ren fully relaxed. A donation he had no issue with. And there’d been no fight. He smiled. “True we can. And giving up to the faithful might even help us some way.”
Hopefully. Hopefully the rest of the night would be as peaceful. He’d decided that he’d kill if he needed to, but that didn’t mean he was looking forward to it.
“Now then,” Ren said. “About the watches tonight.”
Last edited:
