Birthright: Chapter Seven

[Brock Marsh Runoff]

LOGGING CAMP

He places his hand on Renn’s shoulder and says,
“You have my respect, my thanks, and my loyal service, Lord Captain.”

Renn gives a smile filled with pearly-white teeth at Ranald’s thanks. “The laws of Ghonallison are a fragile thing, Sir Ranald. And the Duke is young, but hopefully he’ll learn that even his whims are subject to the law. For his sake, I hope His Grace learns quickly.”

“Now, as for the plans,” he says to Ranald, Cormac, and Gunnar, fishing a map from his pocket and spreading it on the table. “The Goblins are moving north, in the path of this Abbey, my scouts report. Is this the same Abbey that saw such heavy fighting before? If so, hopefully your veterans will know the terrain quite well. And we’ll need as many of skirmishers mounted as possible, even if they have to fight as dragoons.” He taps the table forcefully with one finger. “That way, we can cut them off no matter where they run. So what do you say Sir Ranald? Let’s get these scoundrels assembled and ready to move swiftly.

---

LATER THAT EVENING

(Note, the following comes from PM conversations--detailed out here with Ewan's permission)

As he makes preparations for his assault, Renn notices the camp abuzz with activity. But not all of it seems to be the mere bustle of men preparing for battle. As he contemplates his maps and checks the notchings on his arrows, a messenger arrives bearing a sealed letter and a hefty package. He reads the letter, and a slow smile graces his features. “Excellent, excellent. You have my thanks, good man,” he tells the messenger as he presses a silver into his palm and sends him on his way.

But that is hardly Renn’s last visitor for the night. Not long after he receives the first messenger, he spies three figures riding into the camp. One is Sir Galfrid, one of his Lord Father’s trusted knights. The other is a servant, also wearing the badge of Ghonallison. The last figure, to his surprise, then delight, then confusion, is his sister Beatrix.

“Bumblebee!” he calls out to her as he extends a hand to help her from her mount. “I’m glad to see you, but what are you doing here?”

His sister, on the surface none the worse for wear after her experiences with Lynwerd’s men, replies, “I can’t visit my long-absent brother here in our own lands? You’ve been away so long, and we haven't had nearly enough time to catch up. Besides, it is unbelievably dull, listening to father’s talk of politics and strategy.”

“Oh come off it, sister.” Renn had never believed her when she claimed to be bored by affairs of state. If anything, she was perhaps a little too curious about politics for her own good, or so it seems to Renn. “Besides, why would father let you out of his site? Surely he knows I’m stating an attack here. There must be safer places for you than this.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure, Lord Captain,” Sir Galfrid replies. And before Renn can ask what he means, Sir Ranald’s men return with Lynwerd in chains, his face still bearing the marks of his fight with Gunnar, Ranald, Safana, and the others

Renn turns and spits at Lynwerd’s feet. “Only my respect for Sir Ranald and his claim to your worthless hide keeps me from putting a yard of steel in your guts, ‘Baron.’” He looks at the men escorting the war criminal. “Take him to Sir Ranald.”

He looks back at his guests. Sir Galfrid’s face is a hard mask, the servant’s a soft one, and Beatrix wears a tight, almost cruel smile.

“His Grace wishes to deal with Lynwerd himself, even though by all rights he is a prisoner of Sir Ranald, and a pig unworthy of chivalrous treatment besides. Ranald wishes to keep his…asset close at hand.”

Beatrix’s smile fades, and she extends a letter sealed with their house’s sigil. “Father sent this, Renn. You should read it.”

Renn takes the letter from her. “What is it, Bee?”

“You know father doesn’t tell me things like that.”

Once again, Renn doesn’t quite believe her, but either way he takes the letter and breaks the seal. As he reads it, his eyes widen in yet more disbelief. Several times, he mouths the word ‘what?’ and shakes his head. His features soften a little at something near the end, but then he wads up the letter and throws it into a campfire.

“Come sister, we must speak with Sir Ranald at once.”

[Adam]

Having spent the earlier parts of the day with the Captain, laying out the plans and supplying his knowledge of the terrain surrounding the abbey, Cormac is pacing the camp, clearly restless. The land he and his men had shed blood for was in danger, and lots of good people were going to die if things didn't start moving soon, while these Southerners spent time bickering over who got to put a sword into some political prisoner.

Finally, with a spit of irritation, he finds a stump near to where men are working, hopping up onto it and beginning a sermon to Aeric. Cormac espouses to anyone who will listen the merits of his god, the power he brings to bear, and the roll he played in aiding the battle of the Cracked Bell.

These men some fire in their bellies, Cormac thinks while rhetoricizing, Maybe a story of war will give it to 'em.

[ewancummins]

LOGGING CAMP

He places his hand on Renn’s shoulder and says,
“You have my respect, my thanks, and my loyal service, Lord Captain.”

Renn gives a smile filled with pearly-white teeth at Ranald’s thanks. “The laws of Ghonallison are a fragile thing, Sir Ranald. And the Duke is young, but hopefully he’ll learn that even his whims are subject to the law. For his sake, I hope His Grace learns quickly.”

“Now, as for the plans,” he says to Ranald, Cormac, and Gunnar, fishing a map from his pocket and spreading it on the table. “The Goblins are moving north, in the path of this Abbey, my scouts report. Is this the same Abbey that saw such heavy fighting before? If so, hopefully your veterans will know the terrain quite well. And we’ll need as many of skirmishers mounted as possible, even if they have to fight as dragoons.” He taps the table forcefully with one finger. “That way, we can cut them off no matter where they run. So what do you say Sir Ranald? Let’s get these scoundrels assembled and ready to move swiftly.

---

LATER THAT EVENING

(Note, the following comes from PM conversations--detailed out here with Ewan's permission)

As he makes preparations for his assault, Renn notices the camp abuzz with activity. But not all of it seems to be the mere bustle of men preparing for battle. As he contemplates his maps and checks the notchings on his arrows, a messenger arrives bearing a sealed letter and a hefty package. He reads the letter, and a slow smile graces his features. “Excellent, excellent. You have my thanks, good man,” he tells the messenger as he presses a silver into his palm and sends him on his way.

But that is hardly Renn’s last visitor for the night. Not long after he receives the first messenger, he spies three figures riding into the camp. One is Sir Galfrid, one of his Lord Father’s trusted knights. The other is a servant, also wearing the badge of Ghonallison. The last figure, to his surprise, then delight, then confusion, is his sister Beatrix.

“Bumblebee!” he calls out to her as he extends a hand to help her from her mount. “I’m glad to see you, but what are you doing here?”

His sister, on the surface none the worse for wear after her experiences with Lynwerd’s men, replies, “I can’t visit my long-absent brother here in our own lands? You’ve been away so long, and we haven't had nearly enough time to catch up. Besides, it is unbelievably dull, listening to father’s talk of politics and strategy.”

“Oh come off it, sister.” Renn had never believed her when she claimed to be bored by affairs of state. If anything, she was perhaps a little too curious about politics for her own good, or so it seems to Renn. “Besides, why would father let you out of his site? Surely he knows I’m stating an attack here. There must be safer places for you than this.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure, Lord Captain,” Sir Galfrid replies. And before Renn can ask what he means, Sir Ranald’s men return with Lynwerd in chains, his face still bearing the marks of his fight with Gunnar, Ranald, Safana, and the others

Renn turns and spits at Lynwerd’s feet. “Only my respect for Sir Ranald and his claim to your worthless hide keeps me from putting a yard of steel in your guts, ‘Baron.’” He looks at the men escorting the war criminal. “Take him to Sir Ranald.”

He looks back at his guests. Sir Galfrid’s face is a hard mask, the servant’s a soft one, and Beatrix wears a tight, almost cruel smile.

“His Grace wishes to deal with Lynwerd himself, even though by all rights he is a prisoner of Sir Ranald, and a pig unworthy of chivalrous treatment besides. Ranald wishes to keep his…asset close at hand.”

Beatrix’s smile fades, and she extends a letter sealed with their house’s sigil. “Father sent this, Renn. You should read it.”

Renn takes the letter from her. “What is it, Bee?”

“You know father doesn’t tell me things like that.”

Once again, Renn doesn’t quite believe her, but either way he takes the letter and breaks the seal. As he reads it, his eyes widen in yet more disbelief. Several times, he mouths the word ‘what?’ and shakes his head. His features soften a little at something near the end, but then he wads up the letter and throws it into a campfire.

“Come sister, we must speak with Sir Ranald at once.”

IN A TENT

RENN, GUNNAR

Sir Ranald enters the tent as the shades of evening fall over the camp.

The knight tilts his balding, mutton-chopped head towards Renn and Beatrix, sharp eyes glittering in the candlelight. He loosens the toggles on his bearskin coat so that it hangs open.

''My Lord, I have asked Gunnar along to provide security for us. He has sworn to my service, and I to your house; we are all friends here.''


Ranald looks out the tent flap for a moment and then tuirns back to Renn.

‘’You ought to know-- my men spotted a large party go horsemen on the roads, headed more or less this way. It might be Duke Devlin’s army, or your lord father with his house-guards, or maybe both. I have no clear idea of what the situation in Fox Run is now.

How may I serve?”

[ewancummins]

EVENING, ELSEWHERE IN CAMP
CORMAC

Having spent the earlier parts of the day with the Captain, laying out the plans and supplying his knowledge of the terrain surrounding the abbey, Cormac is pacing the camp, clearly restless. The land he and his men had shed blood for was in danger, and lots of good people were going to die if things didn't start moving soon, while these Southerners spent time bickering over who got to put a sword into some political prisoner.

Finally, with a spit of irritation, he finds a stump near to where men are working, hopping up onto it and beginning a sermon to Aeric. Cormac espouses to anyone who will listen the merits of his god, the power he brings to bear, and the roll he played in aiding the battle of the Cracked Bell.

These men some fire in their bellies, Cormac thinks while rhetoricizing, Maybe a story of war will give it to 'em.

After a hard day of training and working, the men and boys are very much in the mood for a story or two.

They listen to Cormac's preaching with polite interest but no great receptiveness. When he gets to the parts with goblins and fighting, they become more involved, clapping, hooting, asking him to repeat parts of the tale, and so on.

Somebody breaks out a cask of winter applejack, the 'last batch of Farmer Giles' brewing', and cups pass round the little campfire the men have built.

[ewancummins]

DEVLIN ON THE ROAD TO THE LOGGING CAMP, WITH THE ARMY



Count Robin's coolness has melted a bit, but Devlin notices that now and then the man seems to be looking at him sideways.


Hotspur rides close to the Duke and comments in a quiet voice,
''Count Robin is a good man who has fought for years to protect Tuornen from goblins and brigands. You'd do well to keep him close. This mistrust and bad feeling among Tuors only helps our real enemies. As I have told you before-- I'm not a courtier. I don't know how best you can fix this problem, but I do think you'd better do something, Your Grace.''

[ewancummins]

FILBERT, EVENING AT A CROSSROADS SOUTH OF FOX RUN


The Halfling reaches a crossroads by sundown. If he turns west, he will travel into the ancient, misty mountains and vast forests that of western Tuornen and eastern Boeruine.
Seaharrow, the olden seat of the lords-paramount of Boeruine, rises above the stormy seas even further west. That’s where Filbert would likely find Archduke Aeric .
In the port there, Filbert might be able to take a ship to Avanil.

If the newly ennobled Halfling goes south, he will be headed down the length of the duchy, passing through familiar hills, plains, and farmlands. At Haes he could perhaps get on a boat to take him down the river towards Avanil, perhaps entering by way of the Imperial City. If he fears Carilon’s river pirates, he might stick to the slower but perhaps safer roads, to enter the rich principality of Avanil from the north.

The southern route, despite being longer, may prove shorter in time. No mountains or deep forests to cross, and he could go even faster if he’s willing to travel by river.

No matter which path he chooses, he can greatly speed his journeys by passing through the Shadow World.
But of course, travelling many miles in that dark dimension can be dangerous to the flesh and the soul alike…

http://users.chariot.net.au/~hoss/maps/anuire.jpg

[ewancummins]

ABBOT FOERDE LEADING HIS PEOPLE WITH FHYLIE THE SWORD, ON THE LOGGING ROADS IN THE EVENING, HEADED SOUTH TOWARDS FOX RUN AFTER LEAVING THE MOUNTAINS



Fhylie rides in the van with Abbot Foerde, keeping a sharp eye out for any goblins or Alamien raiders.

"The foe may be headed this way, falling back towards the Five Peaks after their withdrawal from Fox Run. If we counter enemies, I want to avoid them, ride around, and seek out Duke Devlin and Count Robin. Braedonnal should be with them. We are much stronger together than divided.
But if we cannot avoid contact, and we are forced to fight, I want to push the civilians back from the fray and delay the enemy as long as possible.”


She looks at Foerde.

"I prayed for the blessing of thunder and lightning today. Did you?"

[RocEter]

ABBOT FOERDE LEADING HIS PEOPLE WITH FHYLIE THE SWORD, ON THE LOGGING ROADS IN THE EVENING, HEADED SOUTH TOWARDS FOX RUN AFTER LEAVING THE MOUNTAINS



Fhylie rides in the van with Abbot Foerde, keeping a sharp eye out for any goblins or Alamien raiders.

"The foe may be headed this way, falling back towards the Five Peaks after their withdrawal from Fox Run. If we counter enemies, I want to avoid them, ride around, and seek out Duke Devlin and Count Robin. Braedonnal should be with them. We are much stronger together than divided.
But if we cannot avoid contact, and we are forced to fight, I want to push the civilians back from the fray and delay the enemy as long as possible.”


She looks at Foerde.

"I prayed for the blessing of thunder and lightning today. Did you?"

Riding in the Van with Fhylie, Foerde looks almost lazy. He eyes stay focused on the path ahead unless spoken to or when he looks back to check on his people. The spears who rode with Fhylie the Sword might see this as man who has let his guard down now that help has arrived. However Fhylie knows different, she knows how keen his sense's are and that even the sneakiest of foes have a difficult sneaking up on him.

He nods, "A wise battle strategy Grand master." He says while looking forward.

He turns his head to face Fhylie.

"Of course." He says and then smiles.

[ewancummins]

ABBOT FOERDE LEADING HIS PEOPLE WITH FHYLIE THE SWORD, ON THE LOGGING ROADS IN THE EVENING, HEADED SOUTH TOWARDS FOX RUN AFTER LEAVING THE MOUNTAINS



Fhylie rides in the van with Abbot Foerde, keeping a sharp eye out for any goblins or Alamien raiders.

"The foe may be headed this way, falling back towards the Five Peaks after their withdrawal from Fox Run. If we counter enemies, I want to avoid them, ride around, and seek out Duke Devlin and Count Robin. Braedonnal should be with them. We are much stronger together than divided.
But if we cannot avoid contact, and we are forced to fight, I want to push the civilians back from the fray and delay the enemy as long as possible.”


She looks at Foerde.

"I prayed for the blessing of thunder and lightning today. Did you?"

Riding in the Van with Fhylie, Foerde looks almost lazy. He eyes stay focused on the path ahead unless spoken to or when he looks back to check on his people. The spears who rode with Fhylie the Sword might see this as man who has let his guard down now that help has arrived. However Fhylie knows different, she knows how keen his sense's are and that even the sneakiest of foes have a difficult sneaking up on him.

He nods, "A wise battle strategy Grand master." He says while looking forward.

He turns his head to face Fhylie.

"Of course." He says and then smiles.

''Good, good.''


She looks east and west, peering at the crumbled stone fences, low rows of coppiced trees, and the pine-covered hills that stretch out to either side of the road of rotting logs and beaten earth.

‘’In this sort of terrain, a large force may hide itself from view by laying along the reverse slopes of the hills. Even a short ridge could conceal a line of archers or a file of infantry with pole arms.

[Varrus the Ethical]

The river pirates cut Duke Carlion's barge form its moorings as Roald fights the watchmen on the deck, cutting one of them down. The barge is freed and begins to drift, but not before a squad of watchmen rush onto the deck from the warf, killing several pirates and driving them to the port side.

The Alamie guards push the wounded and outnumbered pirates until Roald is almost surrounded. They charge to finish off the pirates, but are met by Torthur as he bursts over the side with his faithful drinking companion, the Black Bear Clyde. Sputtering incoherent curses, the Dwarf charges into the Alamie, fists swinging with recklessness abandon with Clyde close behind.

The charge is stopped in its tracks as men are sent flying by dwarven fists or mauled by the sharp claws of an angry and very wet bear.

The tide turns. Roald strikes the head off one watchman and opens the belly of another. Torthur pummels one poor man with a salvo of blows, bruising skin and breaking bones with wet crunches until the man falls limp to the deck.

The remaining Alamie try to reform on the starboard side, but are scattered by Clyde as the bear barrels into them, sending one man over the railing and into the dark waters of the Tuor.

"Let us surrender and we will stop fighting, otherwise we'll set the barge on fire and take you with us!" Calls out one of the guards.

Roald points his bloodied sword at them. "Throw your weapons into the water, then. Or I'll roast you and feed you to the dwarf."

Torthur walks up next to Roald and growls at the Alamie.

Sword, daggers, and other weapons splash into the water off the starboard side of the barge.

Roald lowers his sword and nods. "Good, you can take one of the barge's boats back to Alamie. I have no need for prisoners. Take and your dead with you as well. They fought bravely. They deserve to be laid to rest in their home soil."

The boat is lowered and the surviving guards, their wounded, and their dead are embarked.

As the boat launches, Roald, arms spread wide on the Starboard Bow, shouts "Please tell Duke Carlion that Roald the Siegebreaker thanks him for his fine pleasure barge."

[ewancummins]

THE RIVER-

As the boat launches, Roald, arms spread on the Starboard Bow, shouts "Please tell Duke Carlion that Roald the Siegebreaker thanks him for his fine pleasure barge."

The wounded, bloody leader of the watchmen raises his torch in a sort of salute as his men paddle the boat away towards Lofton.

"We will tell him."

[Brock Marsh Runoff]

LOGGING CAMP, TENT

"It's good to have friends like you in times like these, Sir Ranald, and you as well, Gunnar. But I bring strange news."

Rennault has always prided himself in his temperance when it comes to strong drink, but now he finds the nearest tankard and drains it to the lees. "It would seem His Grace has decided to make this matter with Baron Lynwerd a matter of pride. I've been informed that first he denounced me as a traitor, then threatened to have armed men come take Lynwerd by force. Then, he reneged on that, yet threatened to abandon Ghonallison altogether!" He shakes his head, more in disbelief than rage. "Has Flaertes gone mad? Does he think to play with us as Gilgead played with toys?"

He narrows his eyes at something unseen. "Perhaps these were just words spoke in anger. It wouldn't be the first time Devlin had acted rash. Even this report speaks of him reversing his decisions. But who's to say he won't reverse that as well? If there are riders coming, they may well be Devlin's. If so, I'll see if His Grace can't be...reasoned with. If he is here himself, if he sees the brave folk who acted on their own initiative to defend the realm, then perhaps he will see the wisdom of rewarding hard work from good soldiers. And if he can't be reasoned with..."

The firelight catches the glint of a bronze arrowshead as he unconsciously worried at its ancient, blunted edge. "If he can't, I want a horse ready to escort Lady Beatrix to safety."

[ewancummins]

LOGGING CAMP, TENT

LOGGING CAMP, TENT

"It's good to have friends like you in times like these, Sir Ranald, and you as well, Gunnar. But I bring strange news."

Rennault has always prided himself in his temperance when it comes to strong drink, but now he finds the nearest tankard and drains it to the lees. "It would seem His Grace has decided to make this matter with Baron Lynwerd a matter of pride. I've been informed that first he denounced me as a traitor, then threatened to have armed men come take Lynwerd by force. Then, he reneged on that, yet threatened to abandon Ghonallison altogether!" He shakes his head, more in disbelief than rage. "Has Flaertes gone mad? Does he think to play with us as Gilgead played with toys?"

He narrows his eyes at something unseen. "Perhaps these were just words spoken in anger. It wouldn't be the first time Devlin had acted rash. Even this report speaks of him reversing his decisions. But who's to say he won't reverse that as well? If there are riders coming, they may well be Devlin's. If so, I'll see if His Grace can't be...reasoned with. If he is here himself, if he sees the brave folk who acted on their own initiative to defend the realm, then perhaps he will see the wisdom of rewarding hard work from good soldiers. And if he can't be reasoned with..."

The firelight catches the glint of a bronze arrowshead as he unconsciously worried at its ancient, blunted edge. "If he can't, I want a horse ready to escort Lady Beatrix to safety."

Sir Ranald nods in grim accord with Renn.
"Of course. I have a swift gray mare with a gentle disposition, a steed which might suit my gracious lady.

As for dealing with His Grace--- well, I don’t know much about the Duke. I take it that you do. Maybe he can be made to see reason. We claim nothing that is not ours by right. Would you like me there? Gunnar? Or perhaps should we hang back to keep Lynwerd secure?”

He glances at Gunnar and asks as an aside,

“Thoughts, Gunnar?”



While Renn and Ranald speak, Sir Galfrid sends the old servant to see about that horse for Beatrix. The household knight never moves more than a few feet from the girl, and his sword hand never strays far from his weapon’s well-worn hilt. He keeps an eye on the tent flap.

[steveflam]

THE RIVER-

As the boat launches, Roald, arms spread on the Starboard Bow, shouts "Please tell Duke Carlion that Roald the Siegebreaker thanks him for his fine pleasure barge."

The wounded, bloody leader of the watchmen raises his torch in a sort of salute as his men paddle the boat away towards Lofton.

"We will tell him."

Torthur looks at Roald. "Now what we gonner do? Ya does know that Carilion gonner sends assassins after ye, right? I dun rightly care.
Jest more fun ter be had, anyways. So, whut's tha reward for this here shindig? I could be usin some gold fer me ale business an tha Inn."

The dwarf belches and puts a wineskin to his lips. Clyde grunts and the dwarf grins. "Less go find us a barrel o ale, pal."

Torthur and Clyde move off and search for ale.

[ewancummins]

THE RIVER-

As the boat launches, Roald, arms spread on the Starboard Bow, shouts "Please tell Duke Carlion that Roald the Siegebreaker thanks him for his fine pleasure barge."

The wounded, bloody leader of the watchmen raises his torch in a sort of salute as his men paddle the boat away towards Lofton.

"We will tell him."

Torthur looks at Roald. "Now what we gonner do? Ya does know that Carilion gonner sends assassins after ye, right? I dun rightly care.
Jest more fun ter be had, anyways. So, whut's tha reward for this here shindig? I could be usin some gold fer me ale business an tha Inn."

The dwarf belches and puts a wineskin to his lips. Clyde grunts and the dwarf grins. "Less go find us a barrel o ale, pal."

Torthur and Clyde move off and search for ale.

Torthur discovers several heavy casks of wine and ale.

A thief nearby, waving a lantern around the hold looking for loot or stowaways, comments-
''Those look heavy. Might be why they are still aboard. Looks like a lot of other stuff was cleared out--"

He sweeps the lantern beam across empty shelves, open cupboards, and bare floor.

Someone else says-

"Yeah, but look at these pretty paintings, and this gilding on the boat’s furniture! I bet some of that is valuable, right?"

The rest of the men are busy working the oars to get to Haes, and can’t help look around the vessel.