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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: 3176181" data-attributes="member: 46615"><p>Chapter 2 – An unusual business at Ravenswood</p><p></p><p>The sun shone in the early morning sky. A good omen and an excellent day to begin our journey south-east to the Barony of Yorath. Surprisingly the entire company, I was sure Moxadder would not return, gathered at the Green Arms as had been arranged. </p><p></p><p>Leaving town we stopped a herald to ask him what news there was to hear. The lad, a pimpled and lanky boy several years from manhood, stood proudly in his bright red herald’s tabard, puffing his chest out with ill-conceived importance. The information he gave cost me a copper common and it was barely worth even that. I will record it, however, just in case it becomes useful. I may judge, but I am always faithful to the events as they take place. The herald told us the following:</p><p></p><p>Disease was rife in the town of Thornwood. I was stunned. His first utterance was actually useful. We had to travel through Thornwood on our way to Yorathton. </p><p></p><p>Troll attacks had been reported not two days from town. This snippet was of little use. What direction? Naturally he could not elucidate this. </p><p></p><p>The Prince’s advisors, the five mysterious companions I had seen arrive with him, were unnatural. I took that with a grain of salt. They certainly looked odd, but unnatural I thought was a little far fetched.</p><p></p><p>The Dominion had defeated an army north of the city of Avinal. I knew little of geography outside of Guerney but I had guessed correctly, Morgan confirmed it, that Avinal is in the north of the Fastness where most of the warring was taking place. </p><p></p><p>The boy completed his recital by telling us that Prince Jeremy, King Thurllands’ first son, turned away emissaries from the Fastness without gracing them with an audience. Again this was not really news, Jeremy was known to be against any war effort. All the Fastendians ever asked for were troops. They never got any. However, the soup road seemed to provide them with militia aplenty.</p><p></p><p>Disappointed at my wasted coin I rebuked the herald and advised him to actually gather some news before pretending to have any. To say he was not pleased with my honest appraisal would be an understatement. </p><p></p><p>He yelled at me angrily, his complexion taking on a lovely shade of beetroot, “I’ll wager you can’t do any betta! It’s ‘ard work finding out all that noos it is!”</p><p></p><p>So furious was he that he hurled his colourful herald’s surcoat at my feet before storming off. Some peasants really over-react. They just do not appreciate advice of their betters.</p><p></p><p>“Can I ‘ave that? It’s better than what I’ve got.” Moxadder inquired hopefully, eyes wide at the prospect of more good fortune.</p><p></p><p>“It is all yours my friend, I certainly have no need for it.” I replied cheerfully. If Moxadder was to travel with us then he could at least look vaguely presentable as a peasant. He had been struggling to do that. </p><p></p><p>With a few hours of light left on our first day of travel we saw the town of Thornwood in the distance, the very same town that the angry young herald had warned us of. Over the next few miles the boy was proved right. It certainly did look to be struck by the plague. Not a person in sight, none in town and none tending the surrounding fields. Quick discussion led to the decision to skirt the town and ensure that we did not contract anything that would ultimately disappoint our potential employer and ourselves. Not that it was an issue for me as I still had the mark of Hutenkama on my forehead to protect me.</p><p></p><p>When we were about half way around the village, Argonne stopped. He went down on bended knee and brushed his fingers across the ground. </p><p></p><p>“Tracks.” He said matter-of-factly, pointing them out so that we could all see them. </p><p></p><p>Moxadder, who seemed most interested, performed a quick appraisal and told us that they belonged to rat trolls. Pesky little buggers, but dangerous enough for an untrained troop such as ours. He offered to negotiate with them if we had to, but advised against it, preferring to increase our speed a little and move on. We all agreed that this would be the most suitable course of action.</p><p></p><p>Whilst I knew that Moxadder was from a place within a swamp called Irudesh City, I still could not fathom from whom he had actually learnt to speak to trolls. Perhaps I could coax him into teaching me one day.</p><p></p><p>Two more uneventful days passed. The only mildly interesting thing that occurred was a meeting with some of the odd monks of Hutenkama that travelled in the opposite direction to us. They danced about a little, perhaps for our amusement, before realising we were not interested in their protections. My own mark had disappeared after the first day but I felt no need for another. So, a little despondent they continued on their way. </p><p></p><p>The following morning the weather had turned a little. The drizzle that greeted us as we woke soon became steady rain. Everyone was sodden pretty quickly. Sometime near midday Morgan saw what looked to be a ruin of some nature off in the distance. We all hurried to it hoping for some shelter from the infernal and constant rain. Unfortunately there was none to be had but at least it provided some small respite to the boredom of the open road. </p><p></p><p>Upon investigation, the ruin was found to be an old temple to Srcan, ironically the God of Hope amongst other things. I for one hoped that the persistent downpour would cease. Most likely the temple was destroyed by the Connvocation, bloody Gerech followers, over one thousand years ago. Further searching about, the wonders of an inquiring mind, led me to find a cave of sorts. It had been dug out by some beast, a squatter troll Moxadder suggested, that had not been back for a long time. He seemed to know an awful lot about trolls did the bald Fastendian. There was only one thing of interest within the trolls’ dwelling, a strange long stick made of bone. It did not seem to be a natural bone, but one that had been shaped or worked in some way. I picked up the curio, fixed it to my pack and then joined the others to trudge back to the road.</p><p></p><p>The weather only got worse. That evening we made camp under the trees of a small copse, looking to avoid as much of the rain as we could. At least I was not covered in the grime that accumulates when travelling, the rain had washed it from me. My boots however were covered in mud. It sickened me how filthy they had become. I would have to buy another pair to replace them at the first opportunity. </p><p></p><p>By the seventh day of travel, the eighth day of Low Summer, the rain had stopped and the temperature had risen. I cannot recall if it was more or less uncomfortable than the rain and storms we had experienced, but at least it was different.</p><p></p><p>At one point Moxadder, Morgan and Argonne all heard sobbing off to the side of the road and went to investigate. They came back several minutes later with a young lad wearing the white surcoat of a Crusader. They explained that he had been burying several fallen comrades, adults, who had been driven town and beaten so badly that they had died. Not a wonder being Gerechians. I believe I have already mentioned they were not popular. </p><p></p><p>The discussion turned to what to do with the boy. Some said leave him to his own devices, some said take him with us. I was in the former camp. I really did not want some young boy being a burden to us, especially when he was a Crusader. They only bring trouble. In the end we left him to his grizzly task. Good riddance I say.</p><p></p><p>That night during the third watch I was wakened by Mortec’s rasping voice. “Listen!” he said intently. “Screams”. </p><p></p><p>I sat up and listened with all my might. Nothing. “There is nothing there, let me be.” I said grumpily as I slumped back down and rolled over. He had woken me from a rather pleasant dream involving my veiled seducer from Halfast.</p><p></p><p>“Look! Fire on the night sky.” Morgan said in a hushed tone.</p><p></p><p>Damn them all to hell! This was not a reasonable time to have a discussion! But discuss it they did, and at some ungodly hour we packed up camp and moved off. Baastian was assuring Mortec and Morgan that it was only a forest fire and nothing to worry about. They, however, did not seem convinced by that suggestion.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Haraash Saan, post: 3176181, member: 46615"] Chapter 2 – An unusual business at Ravenswood The sun shone in the early morning sky. A good omen and an excellent day to begin our journey south-east to the Barony of Yorath. Surprisingly the entire company, I was sure Moxadder would not return, gathered at the Green Arms as had been arranged. Leaving town we stopped a herald to ask him what news there was to hear. The lad, a pimpled and lanky boy several years from manhood, stood proudly in his bright red herald’s tabard, puffing his chest out with ill-conceived importance. The information he gave cost me a copper common and it was barely worth even that. I will record it, however, just in case it becomes useful. I may judge, but I am always faithful to the events as they take place. The herald told us the following: Disease was rife in the town of Thornwood. I was stunned. His first utterance was actually useful. We had to travel through Thornwood on our way to Yorathton. Troll attacks had been reported not two days from town. This snippet was of little use. What direction? Naturally he could not elucidate this. The Prince’s advisors, the five mysterious companions I had seen arrive with him, were unnatural. I took that with a grain of salt. They certainly looked odd, but unnatural I thought was a little far fetched. The Dominion had defeated an army north of the city of Avinal. I knew little of geography outside of Guerney but I had guessed correctly, Morgan confirmed it, that Avinal is in the north of the Fastness where most of the warring was taking place. The boy completed his recital by telling us that Prince Jeremy, King Thurllands’ first son, turned away emissaries from the Fastness without gracing them with an audience. Again this was not really news, Jeremy was known to be against any war effort. All the Fastendians ever asked for were troops. They never got any. However, the soup road seemed to provide them with militia aplenty. Disappointed at my wasted coin I rebuked the herald and advised him to actually gather some news before pretending to have any. To say he was not pleased with my honest appraisal would be an understatement. He yelled at me angrily, his complexion taking on a lovely shade of beetroot, “I’ll wager you can’t do any betta! It’s ‘ard work finding out all that noos it is!” So furious was he that he hurled his colourful herald’s surcoat at my feet before storming off. Some peasants really over-react. They just do not appreciate advice of their betters. “Can I ‘ave that? It’s better than what I’ve got.” Moxadder inquired hopefully, eyes wide at the prospect of more good fortune. “It is all yours my friend, I certainly have no need for it.” I replied cheerfully. If Moxadder was to travel with us then he could at least look vaguely presentable as a peasant. He had been struggling to do that. With a few hours of light left on our first day of travel we saw the town of Thornwood in the distance, the very same town that the angry young herald had warned us of. Over the next few miles the boy was proved right. It certainly did look to be struck by the plague. Not a person in sight, none in town and none tending the surrounding fields. Quick discussion led to the decision to skirt the town and ensure that we did not contract anything that would ultimately disappoint our potential employer and ourselves. Not that it was an issue for me as I still had the mark of Hutenkama on my forehead to protect me. When we were about half way around the village, Argonne stopped. He went down on bended knee and brushed his fingers across the ground. “Tracks.” He said matter-of-factly, pointing them out so that we could all see them. Moxadder, who seemed most interested, performed a quick appraisal and told us that they belonged to rat trolls. Pesky little buggers, but dangerous enough for an untrained troop such as ours. He offered to negotiate with them if we had to, but advised against it, preferring to increase our speed a little and move on. We all agreed that this would be the most suitable course of action. Whilst I knew that Moxadder was from a place within a swamp called Irudesh City, I still could not fathom from whom he had actually learnt to speak to trolls. Perhaps I could coax him into teaching me one day. Two more uneventful days passed. The only mildly interesting thing that occurred was a meeting with some of the odd monks of Hutenkama that travelled in the opposite direction to us. They danced about a little, perhaps for our amusement, before realising we were not interested in their protections. My own mark had disappeared after the first day but I felt no need for another. So, a little despondent they continued on their way. The following morning the weather had turned a little. The drizzle that greeted us as we woke soon became steady rain. Everyone was sodden pretty quickly. Sometime near midday Morgan saw what looked to be a ruin of some nature off in the distance. We all hurried to it hoping for some shelter from the infernal and constant rain. Unfortunately there was none to be had but at least it provided some small respite to the boredom of the open road. Upon investigation, the ruin was found to be an old temple to Srcan, ironically the God of Hope amongst other things. I for one hoped that the persistent downpour would cease. Most likely the temple was destroyed by the Connvocation, bloody Gerech followers, over one thousand years ago. Further searching about, the wonders of an inquiring mind, led me to find a cave of sorts. It had been dug out by some beast, a squatter troll Moxadder suggested, that had not been back for a long time. He seemed to know an awful lot about trolls did the bald Fastendian. There was only one thing of interest within the trolls’ dwelling, a strange long stick made of bone. It did not seem to be a natural bone, but one that had been shaped or worked in some way. I picked up the curio, fixed it to my pack and then joined the others to trudge back to the road. The weather only got worse. That evening we made camp under the trees of a small copse, looking to avoid as much of the rain as we could. At least I was not covered in the grime that accumulates when travelling, the rain had washed it from me. My boots however were covered in mud. It sickened me how filthy they had become. I would have to buy another pair to replace them at the first opportunity. By the seventh day of travel, the eighth day of Low Summer, the rain had stopped and the temperature had risen. I cannot recall if it was more or less uncomfortable than the rain and storms we had experienced, but at least it was different. At one point Moxadder, Morgan and Argonne all heard sobbing off to the side of the road and went to investigate. They came back several minutes later with a young lad wearing the white surcoat of a Crusader. They explained that he had been burying several fallen comrades, adults, who had been driven town and beaten so badly that they had died. Not a wonder being Gerechians. I believe I have already mentioned they were not popular. The discussion turned to what to do with the boy. Some said leave him to his own devices, some said take him with us. I was in the former camp. I really did not want some young boy being a burden to us, especially when he was a Crusader. They only bring trouble. In the end we left him to his grizzly task. Good riddance I say. That night during the third watch I was wakened by Mortec’s rasping voice. “Listen!” he said intently. “Screams”. I sat up and listened with all my might. Nothing. “There is nothing there, let me be.” I said grumpily as I slumped back down and rolled over. He had woken me from a rather pleasant dream involving my veiled seducer from Halfast. “Look! Fire on the night sky.” Morgan said in a hushed tone. Damn them all to hell! This was not a reasonable time to have a discussion! But discuss it they did, and at some ungodly hour we packed up camp and moved off. Baastian was assuring Mortec and Morgan that it was only a forest fire and nothing to worry about. They, however, did not seem convinced by that suggestion. [/QUOTE]
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