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Sir Gerard d'Montfort - In his own words (a tale of Anka Seth)- Updated Nov 11th
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<blockquote data-quote="Haraash Saan" data-source="post: 3140999" data-attributes="member: 46615"><p>“Guards! Guards! I need guards for my wagons.” bellowed a fat bearded man.</p><p></p><p>Promising, I thought, although perhaps a bit below my station. </p><p></p><p>“I travel with my goods to Nevitt and will pay well for able bodies to protect my stock”. He said, flashing his yellow teeth as noticed me edge closer to hear better over the cacophony of the square. </p><p></p><p>“Yes you my lad.” He did not endear himself to me with his condescending tone. “You look like a likely sort! I see a sword by your side, and I’ll wager you can swing it well enough!” </p><p></p><p>Little did the rotund merchant with the grubby smock know that the sword was a gift from my brother, ”To better protect us on the road”, and whilst he did try to teach me of an evening, I found it difficult and cumbersome. I am not a man gifted with colossal strength and even the rapier he gave me was awkward for my physique. We both agreed that I would be better served finding another to teach me its use. </p><p></p><p>As the trader looked expectantly at me I realised my poor nose had finally recovered enough to pick up a new odour, dung, and it seemed to emanate from the keen round recruiter. That could explain the stains on his clothing.</p><p></p><p>“What is it that you transport my good man?” I asked sceptically.</p><p></p><p>“Um, er, well,” and softly he added “dung.” He then said more loudly “And it is the best this side Port Praar me laddie!”</p><p></p><p>That excited exclamation made my mind up. There was no way I could possibly act as a guard on a wagon train full of dung. Sometimes I wonder at my own curiosity. I am sure one day it will actually get me into some serious trouble.</p><p></p><p>I moved along, trying to breathe whilst being continually assaulted by the foul reek of the city, although it was easily less offensive than my recently met mercantile friend. </p><p></p><p>Quite suddenly an enormous weight pressed upon my shoulder and I spun quickly, hand clutching for my rapiers’ hilt. </p><p></p><p>“Ha, ha!” boomed a deep voice “That is exactly the spirit we seek!” I squinted as I looked into the sun, at the face above me. Intense dark eyes peered down at me from beneath considerable eyebrows. A nose broken too many times sat precariously (it looked like it could have fallen off at any moment) above a beard that could only be related to the enormous eyebrows. The beard rumbled, “I, Cerunos, the Crusader and am looking for recruits to fight the good fight in the name of Gerech!” </p><p></p><p>By Laster’s ample backside! Another bloody nutter! Perhaps I attracted the insane? A theory that I will continue to reinforce.</p><p></p><p>“Thank you sir for your kind offer but I think not. Good-day.” I replied. One thing I had been taught is that politeness will always help. There is always a place for one with manners. </p><p></p><p>I dipped my shoulder to remove the brutish hand that rested there. With a quick brush of my collar (who knows when the giant last washed his hands), I turned away looking for someplace, any place, away from Cerunos. The problem with Gerechian’s is that not only are they bloody self righteous, they also fail to accept that their God and his followers almost destroyed the world and effectively unleashed the Dominion upon it. I know little of religion, although I hope to learn more, but I do know that Gerechians are a bunch of lunatics on some sort of ludicrous mission to rid the world of something. With any luck they will fail and it will result in us being well rid of them.</p><p></p><p>I wandered some more, pausing to buy some excellent sweetmeats from a vendor and better take in my surrounds. There were many more of the spruikers trying to hire people for various tasks, but the one that eventually caught my eye was a well dressed man calling for people to be recruited for a private patron.</p><p></p><p>“Training, equipment and the glory of the joining a premier gladiatorial company!” he proclaimed. That was much more my style. There is a lot of honour and fame, not to mention finances, to be gained from being involved in a gladiatorial company. </p><p></p><p>I pushed my way through the crowd to get closer and better hear what he had to say. Quite a throng had gathered around him and they all were listening intently. There were all sorts, warriors, peasants, even a Gnome! I had not seen many Gnomes in the past. Most lived in Riverglenn, and I had not journeyed that far north east. </p><p></p><p>The little bearded fellows that I had seen were affluent traders and merchants that had travelled to sell their wares in Thessingcourt. Whilst I had only seen a handful previously, this one was unlike the others. He was a smidge over three feet tall and clad head to toe in thick padded leather armour and a crossbow jutted out over his shoulder. He looked a warrior, a comical one, but a warrior nevertheless. As I was to learn later, looks could be deceiving.</p><p></p><p>The recruiter, one Baastian Leville, spoke of training, conditions and more importantly of a patron for the company being assembled. Patrons were several things. They were rich and usually noble, and because of that, they often sponsored entrants in the Games. Leville’s spiel sounded more and more promising. </p><p></p><p>Baastian finished his address and extended a lunch invitation for those truly interested in his enterprise and were keen to further discuss terms. I looked about me. Baastian’s crowd had thinned somewhat and those remaining were an odd assortment. The Gnome had stayed, as had three others, all travellers from the look of their garb. I introduced myself, with a flourish of my broad brimmed hat and a slight bow, “I, Gerard de Mowbray, will luncheon with you and will hear what you have to say.”</p><p></p><p>Baastian rose his fingers to stroke his chin thoughtfully, “Mowbray? As in, Sir Reginald de Mowbray?” he inquired, not hiding his interest.</p><p></p><p>He obviously knew a little of the nobility, “Yes indeed, I am his son.”</p><p></p><p>More commotion at the gate interrupted our conversation. Glancing that way I once again saw the sea of bodies part, but this time it was not royalty they made way for, but rather the opposite. A group of eight robed figures shuffled ungainly into the city. No guard stopped them or questioned them. Everyone one shunned them. The noise of the square had subsided. I raised a quizzical eyebrow to the group around me. I heard the word, “Lepers.” muttered in a hushed tone. I knew not who voiced it. The faint tinkling of bells reached my ears. Each of the robed figures wore bells around their necks, just as a cow would. I soon learned that was the one sure sign of a leper. The poor wretches were forced to wear their noisy jewellery so that the good healthy folk knew to get out of the way quick smart. Pretty clever really, but I could not quite work out why the buggers did not remove their jingling trinkets and try to pass for normal folk or as priests of some nature, after all their robes hid their scabs, sores and deformities.</p><p></p><p>“Let us hurry along. I know of a wonderful inn that will suit our purposes nicely” said Baastian hurriedly, fearing that the distraction would destroy any momentum he had built for his cause. He glanced up at the sky as the first spots of rain began to fall.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Haraash Saan, post: 3140999, member: 46615"] “Guards! Guards! I need guards for my wagons.” bellowed a fat bearded man. Promising, I thought, although perhaps a bit below my station. “I travel with my goods to Nevitt and will pay well for able bodies to protect my stock”. He said, flashing his yellow teeth as noticed me edge closer to hear better over the cacophony of the square. “Yes you my lad.” He did not endear himself to me with his condescending tone. “You look like a likely sort! I see a sword by your side, and I’ll wager you can swing it well enough!” Little did the rotund merchant with the grubby smock know that the sword was a gift from my brother, ”To better protect us on the road”, and whilst he did try to teach me of an evening, I found it difficult and cumbersome. I am not a man gifted with colossal strength and even the rapier he gave me was awkward for my physique. We both agreed that I would be better served finding another to teach me its use. As the trader looked expectantly at me I realised my poor nose had finally recovered enough to pick up a new odour, dung, and it seemed to emanate from the keen round recruiter. That could explain the stains on his clothing. “What is it that you transport my good man?” I asked sceptically. “Um, er, well,” and softly he added “dung.” He then said more loudly “And it is the best this side Port Praar me laddie!” That excited exclamation made my mind up. There was no way I could possibly act as a guard on a wagon train full of dung. Sometimes I wonder at my own curiosity. I am sure one day it will actually get me into some serious trouble. I moved along, trying to breathe whilst being continually assaulted by the foul reek of the city, although it was easily less offensive than my recently met mercantile friend. Quite suddenly an enormous weight pressed upon my shoulder and I spun quickly, hand clutching for my rapiers’ hilt. “Ha, ha!” boomed a deep voice “That is exactly the spirit we seek!” I squinted as I looked into the sun, at the face above me. Intense dark eyes peered down at me from beneath considerable eyebrows. A nose broken too many times sat precariously (it looked like it could have fallen off at any moment) above a beard that could only be related to the enormous eyebrows. The beard rumbled, “I, Cerunos, the Crusader and am looking for recruits to fight the good fight in the name of Gerech!” By Laster’s ample backside! Another bloody nutter! Perhaps I attracted the insane? A theory that I will continue to reinforce. “Thank you sir for your kind offer but I think not. Good-day.” I replied. One thing I had been taught is that politeness will always help. There is always a place for one with manners. I dipped my shoulder to remove the brutish hand that rested there. With a quick brush of my collar (who knows when the giant last washed his hands), I turned away looking for someplace, any place, away from Cerunos. The problem with Gerechian’s is that not only are they bloody self righteous, they also fail to accept that their God and his followers almost destroyed the world and effectively unleashed the Dominion upon it. I know little of religion, although I hope to learn more, but I do know that Gerechians are a bunch of lunatics on some sort of ludicrous mission to rid the world of something. With any luck they will fail and it will result in us being well rid of them. I wandered some more, pausing to buy some excellent sweetmeats from a vendor and better take in my surrounds. There were many more of the spruikers trying to hire people for various tasks, but the one that eventually caught my eye was a well dressed man calling for people to be recruited for a private patron. “Training, equipment and the glory of the joining a premier gladiatorial company!” he proclaimed. That was much more my style. There is a lot of honour and fame, not to mention finances, to be gained from being involved in a gladiatorial company. I pushed my way through the crowd to get closer and better hear what he had to say. Quite a throng had gathered around him and they all were listening intently. There were all sorts, warriors, peasants, even a Gnome! I had not seen many Gnomes in the past. Most lived in Riverglenn, and I had not journeyed that far north east. The little bearded fellows that I had seen were affluent traders and merchants that had travelled to sell their wares in Thessingcourt. Whilst I had only seen a handful previously, this one was unlike the others. He was a smidge over three feet tall and clad head to toe in thick padded leather armour and a crossbow jutted out over his shoulder. He looked a warrior, a comical one, but a warrior nevertheless. As I was to learn later, looks could be deceiving. The recruiter, one Baastian Leville, spoke of training, conditions and more importantly of a patron for the company being assembled. Patrons were several things. They were rich and usually noble, and because of that, they often sponsored entrants in the Games. Leville’s spiel sounded more and more promising. Baastian finished his address and extended a lunch invitation for those truly interested in his enterprise and were keen to further discuss terms. I looked about me. Baastian’s crowd had thinned somewhat and those remaining were an odd assortment. The Gnome had stayed, as had three others, all travellers from the look of their garb. I introduced myself, with a flourish of my broad brimmed hat and a slight bow, “I, Gerard de Mowbray, will luncheon with you and will hear what you have to say.” Baastian rose his fingers to stroke his chin thoughtfully, “Mowbray? As in, Sir Reginald de Mowbray?” he inquired, not hiding his interest. He obviously knew a little of the nobility, “Yes indeed, I am his son.” More commotion at the gate interrupted our conversation. Glancing that way I once again saw the sea of bodies part, but this time it was not royalty they made way for, but rather the opposite. A group of eight robed figures shuffled ungainly into the city. No guard stopped them or questioned them. Everyone one shunned them. The noise of the square had subsided. I raised a quizzical eyebrow to the group around me. I heard the word, “Lepers.” muttered in a hushed tone. I knew not who voiced it. The faint tinkling of bells reached my ears. Each of the robed figures wore bells around their necks, just as a cow would. I soon learned that was the one sure sign of a leper. The poor wretches were forced to wear their noisy jewellery so that the good healthy folk knew to get out of the way quick smart. Pretty clever really, but I could not quite work out why the buggers did not remove their jingling trinkets and try to pass for normal folk or as priests of some nature, after all their robes hid their scabs, sores and deformities. “Let us hurry along. I know of a wonderful inn that will suit our purposes nicely” said Baastian hurriedly, fearing that the distraction would destroy any momentum he had built for his cause. He glanced up at the sky as the first spots of rain began to fall. [/QUOTE]
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