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Post by watchoutsamusishere on Jan 28, 2017 18:13:41 GMT -5
The creek gurgled wetly, water rolled down the gentle slope, lapping and licking at stones and pebbles in its bed. Johnny dipped his toes back in, enjoying the sensation, and the liquid melody of the moving water. Katarina's soft notes mingled with it, and with the gentle breeze that rustled the sparse leaves: with everything. Today was going to be a good day.
They did not touch, but sat close to one another as she read to him. She smelt of soap and charcoal and wine. And he was acutely aware that his own scent was nothing but the musk and tang of fetid hay and manure. He listened to her words, which to him were a kind of magic, and allowed the moment to wash over him.
“. . . Then the boy shouted to him for the third time, and as that also was to no avail, he ran toward him and pushed the ghost down the stairs. It fell down ten steps and remained lying there in a corner. Then the boy rang the bell, went home, and without saying a word went to bed and fell asleep.”
He tipped back his head to the sky, the heat of the sun hot against his face and its glare forcing him to close his eyes. He could do with a drink. Some food. A bath. A fly buzzed around his head, and languidly he attempted to swat it, finding his arms enervated and weak. The fly, sensing his weakness, alighted upon his nose, buzzing louder, drowing out the sound of the creek, and fair Katarina's sweet voice . . .
Katarina? He slowly opened his eyes, grunting with the effort. The hot iron of the gibbet caused him to moan involuntarily, not that it would do him any good, and he swayed gently in the breeze, the iron creaking and groaning. He could hear water in the distance, and the raucous sounds of town life behind him, on the opposite side of the wall upon which he hung.
What was his name? Johnny. Yes. “Right Time Johnny” that's what they called him, rather ironically now. And he'd been caught trying to steal horses, which is why he found himself starved and thirsty, swinging as an example to anyone else who might attempt crime in this time of trouble.
It was an unusual use for a gibbet. Normally, only the dying or dead found their way on public display, but the local lord, Sir Thomas Archibald, or some such, had decided it would be a fitting punishment for so serious a deviation. He would die here. Perhaps not today, or tomorrow, for they did not cage him past sundown (he could thank religious superstition for that small mercy), and spent his nights in an equally unhospitable, if far damper and cold, cell.
He longed to slip back into his hallucinations, but Katarina eluded him. Miserably, he stared out from the gibbet at the foot traffic entering or leaving the city.
The country was in turmoil. The king had died so suddenly the kingdom was unprepared for it. Normally, succession passed to the eldest. But Prince William had instead exiled himself to an abbey to become a monk, and the next in line, Prince Borris, was attempting to put down an uprising of the mountain tribes to the north, who every so often would rally behind a powerful cheiftain and come down from their territory to raid, sack or occupy the towns and villages at the foot of their mountain strongholds. Their current cheiftain was one All Foes Fallen, who was said to have no equal in prowess or strength.
The former king's youngest son, Prince Sigismund, had taken control of the kingdom in the absence of his brother and his armies, and declared himself king. In response, Borris had withdrawn his forces from the north, leading them south towards the capital, and leaving the north to fend for itself.
In the mean time, the vassals of the former king, and their men-at-arms were jockeying for positions throughout the country. It was messy, and meant armed forces of men were loose upon the entire country, pillaging and sacking at will while the dukes and earls, barons and knights decided to whom they would align themselves.
The law, therefore, was very localised, with each Lord of a holding trying to maintain order while defending himself from his greedy neighbours, with no oversight from anyone. So Right Time Johnny had little hope of freedom, especially considering he had absolutely intended to steal those horses and sell them to the nearest available war band, who were always in need of fresh mounts.
Civil war, could, of course, be very profitable.
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Post by Rex Apium on Feb 8, 2017 21:32:42 GMT -5
This was the third day. The third day, she and an older sister had spent in this town. The third day she had woken up to see them lead the man to the gibbet. The third day she had spent in prayer, asking the Lord for direction.
“It's cruel,” she had said on the second day.
“It's the way of this town, Sister Sophia, you would be wise not to question their methods.”
“My methods are less cruel. My blade does not torture.”
That observation had led to extra time spent kneeling in prayer and a stern lecture from the older Sister she had traveled to this town with. She had wanted to go to the man, to offer him water and words of inspiration. To remind him that if he fully repented, that the Lord would accept him with open arms no matter his sin.
Assisting the locals was not the reason she was in this town. Meddling in the affairs of their local government was certainly not why she was in this town. She was here for distinctly different, even if they were not specific reasons. Still, her heart went out to the man in the gibbet and each moment she spent in prayer did not deter her from the desire to alleviate some of his pain. While she was not sanctioned to commit him to repentance, for his sins were not hers to cleanse, she did not like to see another's suffering.
On the third day, she found herself standing on the street below the gibbet, staring up at the man, the sounds of the town behind her. It was too high for her to simply reach, but should she try and should he extend his arm, then perhaps he could reach the waterskin she held in her hands. Her station afforded her some amount of leeway when it came to the law, but this act she considered was crossing boundaries she wasn't sure she would be amounted the same consideration as her more sanctioned activities.
A hand rose to the pendant she wore under her simple clothing. It was not only a mark of her station, but also a source of comfort for her, especially when she questioned her decisions. Something to steady even the most tumultuous of hearts. She had prayed and it had not changed her mind. This was a sign that this was meant to be. This action of hers was meant to happen.
“Down here. See if you can reach,” she didn't shout, but spoke only loud enough that he could hear her and she moved closer to the gibbet and extended the waterskin up to him. She was sure to be caught, but it was a risk she was willing to accept the consequences of.
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Post by Former Fiend on Feb 10, 2017 4:47:40 GMT -5
This is a distraction. Sir Dunstan thought to himself as he surveyed the scene in front of him. He was on an important mission, one he had taken of his own initiative, and one in which time was of the essence. He couldn't afford distractions.
And yet the buzzing of the flies and the stink of the corpses wouldn't let him simply walk away and continue on his errand.
He'd known what to expect, of course. He'd taken the detour from his destination that had lead him here to this killing field only because upon the road, he had happened upon a sparse handful of frantic, exhausted commoners who had run for half a day, fleeing this very scene. They hadn't turned back to watch their friends being cut down, but they had known better than to expect survivors.
They had been refugees; abandoning their small village to make their way to one of the larger cities under the protection of a great lord. They were set upon by bandits; perhaps other refugees, perhaps deserters from one army or the other or both, or perhaps simply brigands emboldened by the current state of the kingdom. Perhaps they had wanted the villager's food, perhaps they had wanted the women, perhaps they suspected them of loyalty to the wrong side or thought they could press the men into service. Perhaps they just wanted to kill. Sir Dunstan couldn't be sure, and none of the survivors he'd spoken with had taken the time to ask their attackers 'why'; they had only run.
What Dunstan was sure of was that whatever reason the bandits had for their attack, it ultimately amounted to nothing but slaughter. The number of corpses was about equal to how many people the survivors had mentioned weren't among them – which was most of their initial number. In the tracks leading away from the massacre – in the opposite direction from which Dunstan had come – there was no sign of people being bound or dragged. The took whatever they could carry from the bodies and the carts and left the corpses behind them.
As Dunstna walked among the corpses, his eyes examining each of the bodies in turn, he became sure of something else; that the brigands had no archers among them. These people had been felled by pike and sword and axe and by dogs, but not by arrows or crossbow bolts. That might have explained why the brigands attacked in the first place; with no means of hunting game, they had turned to hunting men & taking their supplies.
That was encouraging, at least. This may have been a distraction, but at least it wasn't a fool's errand.
Sir Dunstan returned to his steed and climbed back in the saddle, a clattering of iron overwhelming the buzzing of flies as the chains & shackles – the tools of his trade – that hung from his horses barding began to shake and rattle, along with the chain of the flail at his side. The bandits would hear the approach of Sir Dunstan the Penitent, the Chained Knight, before they saw the standard upon his shield; gules and azure – red and blue – per Pale, with the spiked head of a flail on the red field, the chain connecting it not to a handle but to a shackle that rested over the blue field.
Strength and service.
It didn't take Dunstan long to find the bandit's camp; they had made no effort to cover their tracks, and why would they? No pursuit was to be expected, nor would there have been any if not for the ones they let escape having happened upon a knight on the road. As Dunstan had predicted, they had heard him coming before he was in sight of them – the area was well forested and fairly defensible. Plenty of places for lookouts to hide, and these men had wits enough to set at least one sentry. They'd even worked up some basic ramparts and barricades for defense. Nothing that would stop a well armed, well trained force, but enough to repel a mob or rival bandit gang. Dunstan suspected that these men were indeed deserters from one army or another, and that they'd learned something about sieges before running from their duty.
Not enough, perhaps, Duncan realized, as he approached the camp openly and the men began rousing to regard him. Not enough to know that the whole of a camp shouldn't drink itself into a stupor on the spoils of a raid – the bandits were slow, sluggish, and unbalanced, with perhaps one or two exceptions. Not enough to know how to steal the right equipment; Dunstan counted eight men and they didn't have a full suit of armor between them – they didn't even all have trousers. Compared to Dunstan in his full plate with chain underneath, the lot of them may as well have been naked.
What they lacked in quantity of armor they made up for in quantity of weapons – each man was armed and more weapons lay strewn about the camp besides. Of course, the quality of said weapons wasn't much to speak of. From here, through the eye-slots of his helmet, Dunstan could see chips and dents and rust in the blades. He wasn't sure if they had only managed to make off with the worst stock, or if they lacked the knowledge or the discipline to care for their weapons. Likely a combination of both. Whatever it was, they'd been lounging, their joints growing stiff, their vision blurred, their heads groggy. Even the dogs were lazy to their feet; the hounds had run down and mauled men not long before, but were now well fed and content.
To those villagers, fleeing the war, seeking safety and shelter, these men had been the full might of the king's army brought down upon them. They had been rampaging barbarian hordes from the northern mountains or from the far east. They had been demons spawned forth from the depths of Hell. Such was their fury, such was the hope those villager's had against them.
To Dunstan, they were practice.
The knight dismounted and approached the camp. The men raised their weapons. Dunstan raised only his voice as he called out to them; “Lay down your arms and surrender to me. Submit yourself to shackles and you may yet find atonement for your crimes. Raise your blades against me, and I will lay you low.”
Their answer was a chorus of laughter and jeers. With a heavy sigh, Dunstan raised his shield and drew his flail. The bandits laughter died as they saw his crest, and saw the spiked head of that flail as it began to spin on it's chain. They recognized now who they were fighting, and began to question the wisdom of their answer, though ultimately they all stuck to it.
An hour later, Sir Dunstan road away from a pile of corpses for the second time in one day. He'd taken that hour to clean his armor and weapon, tend to the minor wounds – bruises and scratches, mostly – he'd acquired in the battle, and leash the dogs to bring with him as he returned to his original mission. This detour had taken him far off course, and he had much time to make up.
It was early the next morning when Dunstan finally reached the city he had been heading for. As he approached the outer wall of the city, he stopped to take note of an unusual sight. A man was suspended in a gibbet outside of the city's wall; that in and of itself was not unusual. What was unusual was the woman reaching up, attempting to give the prisoner water. In times of peace, the man would have received only insults and rotten food hurled at him from townsfolk. In times of war, no one would waste even rotted food on a condemned man, let alone clean water. Such generosity was certainly to be noted, as was a man who could provoke it.
Dunstan reigned in the two dogs as they tried to lead him into the city, and instead found himself once again distracted. He approached the gibbet, the man within it, and the woman below him. Between the sounds of his armor, the chains on the barding of his horse, and the breathing and panting and playful barking of the dogs, it was almost a certainty that they both heard him before they saw him, and certainly before he spoke.
“What are the man's crimes?” The knight asked.
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Post by watchoutsamusishere on Feb 10, 2017 18:19:48 GMT -5
Right Time Johnny smiled forlornly and languidly waved the water away. "Please, no," said he, his voice grating and painful. Lately there had been little cause for speech, save for the screaming; it left him raw and aching; dehydration left him enervated; the sun left him all but blind, but save for the ringing, his ears worked well enough.
"I have been tried by a jury of my 'peers', and found guilty of attempting to steal horses from Sir Thomas. And so I am. This is my penance. I am atoning. Interference would be viewed . . . poorly."
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Post by Rex Apium on Feb 10, 2017 20:59:25 GMT -5
Sophia heard the man long before she saw him. Initially she had thought nothing of the rattling sound as his horse was led down the road some distance away from she and the prisoner in the gibbet. The sound itself hadn't registered what it was exactly until the man it belonged to spoke to her. That wasn't to say she wasn't aware of the man, horse and two dogs that had come to a stop slightly behind her, but more so the sound of chains in conjunction with these things hadn't clicked the way it should have.
She turned to face the man when he spoke, her raised arm lowering only slightly as the movement caused it to, and stared at him. Her face showed nothing to indicate that his arrival or appearance intimidated her; quite the contrary, she maintained her look of stern conviction as she took in every part of his appearance. Recognition registered on her face for a brief moment as she noted his standard. She was expecting this, but not quite as soon as it happened.
Her arm did lower once the prisoner in the gibbet spoke and her already stern face tightened at his answer. She held the waterskin in front of her and turned her head slightly so that she could look to both men, “Atonement doesn't need to be a path of cruelty.”
She turned to fully look to the knight in front of her, “I know I have overstepped my bounds, but my conviction is true.”
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Post by Former Fiend on Feb 12, 2017 4:32:34 GMT -5
“No, it doesn't.” Dunstan answered after a moment, his gaze moving between the woman offering the water and the prisoner who refused it. All of this struck him; the lack of fear or deference she showed him in the face of her violation, the kindness that motivated it, and the prisoner's embrace of his atonement. Behind the faceplate of his helmet, Dunstan gave a nod.“Penance need not be cruel, and kindness need not be rebuked. Keep the water ready.”
He'd come to the right place.
Dunstan turned from the gibbet and walked away from the two and into the city. He stabled his horse and kenneled the hounds, and started towards the keep of Sir Thomas Archibald. Dunstan didn't know much of the man – the had never met and. What he did know, was of reputation. A cautious and conservative old Earl who'd thus far stayed out of the fighting over the thrown and instead focused on maintaining his own realm and the law within.
Which might explain why he'd throw a horse thief who was neither dead nor dying into the gibbet. Dire times sometimes required strong statements to maintain the order. Dunstan didn't like it, didn't have to like it, but he could understand it. He could also offer an alternative.
As he walked through the city, he spied a strange sight through the eyeslit of his helm; a northman eying the posting board. It was unusual to see one of the barbarians this far south. And while Dunstan had learned respect for their strength and will the hard way, he hadn't thought that the savages were capable of reading. To his knowledge their people had no letters or writing, only simple runes carved into stones. A learned northman was something to take note of.
It didn't take him long to reach Sir Thomas' keep; the guards stopped him, but mention of his name and the sight of his crest was all it took to gain entry and an audience. As a knight, even one of low standing, he was shown certain courtesies, certainly expedited by his reputation. Once inside, Dunstan surrendered his flail to the guard and removed his helmet, and proceeded to wait to meet the Earl.
The lord of the land wasn't without his duties and responsibilities; the city may be run by a major and a council, but there were still petitioners to the lord, especially concerning the outlying areas, and emissaries from other nobles to contend with. Dunstan had no doubt that Sir Thomas was being beset upon by messengers from both Borris and Sigismund demanding his support. Even Dunstan had received letters from both Princes – and he commanded no men and held no land of value. He was just a knight with a reputation.
Once Sir Thomas made time for the chained knight, Dunstan entered the main hall where Sir Thomas sat upon his throne. Dunstan approached and knelt, bowing his head. “Your Lordship.”
“Rise, Sir Dunstan the Penitent.” Sir Thomas said, himself rising from his throne. “My apologies for keeping you waiting. Your arrival was quite unexpected, and we have many matters to attend today.”
“No appologies necessary, My Lord,” Dunstan said as he stood to his feet, “and I appreciate how valuable your time is, so I shall be brief.”
“Nonsense. For a knight of your reputation, I shall make time. Now tell me, what brings you to Thetford?”
“I come seeking aid. Baron Ewald has taken his forces from Badelebn to join with Prince Sigismund -” “Prince? So you support Borris' claim?”
“I've thrown my support behind neither side, My Lord. Much like yourself, as I understand it.”
“Indeed. But neutrality won't serve us forever... Ah, but I've changed the subject. You're seeking aid for Badelebn?”
“My lands are nearby. Badelebn lacks walls so strong as Thetford's, and now has no men at arms to man them. The men the Baron left behind are baring the commoners from taking refuge in the keep, leaving them vulnerable to attack. So they've beseeched me to mount a defense.”
“I'm afraid you'll leave disappointed, Sir Dunstan. I cannot spare any of my men to protect the lands of a Baron so far away. Borris may percieve it as a declaration for Sigismund, Sigismund may take the opportunity to attack as punishment for not declaring for him sooner. My strength shall remain here, to defend my lands and my people.”
“And I would not ask otherwise, Your Lordship.” Dunstan clarified. “I ask only your leave to recruit from those in your city who're not enlisted to it's defense.”
“Very well. I would expect all within my walls to raise sword to defend this city should it come under attack, but Earls must swallow disappoint the same as Knights. But regardless; have any potential recruits caught your eye?”
“One so far. I would ask that you release the man in the gibbet outside your city walls into my custody for this purpose.”
“The horse thief!?”
“The same.”
“You must be truly desperate to go to war with a man like that at your back. You'd be better off leaving him to the cage.”
“I know better than most what the chance for atonement can bring out in a man, and penance is best done in service to higher purpose.”
“Still. He was sentenced to death.”
“And he'll likely die still. Just this way your men won't have to clean up the body.”
“So be it. Take the man, but once you take him from my city, see to it he never returns.”
“Of course, My Lord.” Dunstan gave a respectful bow.
“Is there anything else?”
“Not at all.”
Some time later, having been given back his flail along with a key, and leaving the keep, Sir Dunstan approached the woman named Sophia – though he did not know that name. And as he approached her, he had Right Time Johnny, tired, exhausted, and weak, supported on one shoulder. He had spotted Sophia on his way back to the city gate, and after retrieving the prisoner, carried him over to his would-be benefactor. “M'lady; do you still have that water?”
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wraithblade6
New Member
One last blade forged in defiance of fate...
Posts: 31
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Post by wraithblade6 on Feb 12, 2017 16:25:22 GMT -5
A single knight stood flanking behind the Earl's throne during the meeting with the chained knight. Security was a must for the powerful and influential, particularly in times of political unrest, and so his presence was easily overlooked as an expected necessity. Motionless, the knight stood, his shining armor and poleaxe merely adornments like the tapestry beside them.
The earl sighed heavily after the visitor had left and turned to the heretofore silent knight as he wiped a hand across his face in exasperation. Calmly, the knight removed his helm. Blonde locks fell loose beside bright blue eyes whose long lashes clung to a look of childish innocence despite the rest of him. Those angelic eyes beheld the earl, softly, their sympathetic gaze ever a respite from the toils of daily life, and even without a word the earl knew what his knight was about to say.
"Father. I greatly respect and love you, but as I am my own man, with my own lands, and my own name to uphold, I have decided that I should help this man."
"But Eric, you are my son."
"Yes. And God made me your son and for a purpose." Eric smiled warmly and placed a reassuring hand on his father's shoulder. He spoke with understanding and certainty. "Naught is to be gained in isolation during these strenuous times, father. But, to help a neighbor, to show bravery and love, is an investment that will return to us manyfold, far into the future. This is the plan God has for us. It is a call I feel the need to answer."
"And if Prince Sigismund's claim is overturned?"
"Your name will be cleared if I am captured by Prince Borris' men upon their return to the capitol or afterward. You hold enough sway that you could declare me a defiant son and negotiate for my safe return upon my surrender, should it come to that. There is nothing for our house to lose."
The earl looked skeptical. "Except you, Eric. Your half-brothers are merely infants, and not ready to inherit our estates. I would be loathe to lose you now."
Eric nodded, yet was not dissuaded. "This is a risk that all great families must take, but I will not throw my life away."
Thomas knew there was nothing he could do. The chruch had broken the boy of any appreciation for wealth or status, so threatening his inheritance would only divide them, nor did the abstinent knight have any heirs of his own to tie him down. At least, the mission didn't seem too obviously perilous, and Eric had been well trained in martial combat. The results could very well pan out as he has said. "Very well then. I shall see to your lands while you are away at Badelebn. Return as soon as the situation has been resolved."
The two embraced, and Eric made ready to leave.
Sometime later, outside in the town square, Eric located Sir Dunstan The Penitent. From horeseback, atop a grey gelding who's coat had gone white, Sir Eric Archibald beheld the knight and his few associates from a short distance, obscured behind layers of ambling foot traffic. Seeing the caged man, the woman, the water, brought a sense of peace to a fan of mercy. Eric hadn't approved of the harsh sentence his father had donned and had argued earlier for sparing the man's life. Theivery was of course damaging to the people's sense of security and to the economy, but it was not deserving of death. Eric's noble passion weighed heavily with his father, and unbeknowest to Dunstan, the man would have been released later that evening.
For the moment he observed. He would make his approach another time.
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Panzer
New Member
Resident Bard
Posts: 29
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Post by Panzer on Feb 13, 2017 0:27:51 GMT -5
He waited silently, letting the target come into sight, this was the moment Marius was waiting for, the moment where he could outshine the others he was with. Slowly he raised his bow and drew back ready to loose at a moments notice, ready to do what must be done. The bandit burst into the clearing without hesitation, not bothering to survey the terrain for danger, the archer chuckled to himself, the others had done their job of making sure the bandits fled in a state of panic to near perfection. The bandit looked up in time to have his throat pierced by Marius's arrow, blood gurgling in the mans throat as he quickly died. The sound of someone barreling through the underbrush alerted him to another bandit coming down the steep hillside and out into the clearing, he was ready. Another arrow loosed for another easy kill, but it was short lived as several more men burst from the bushes fleeing the camp at the top of the hill and spotting their fallen companions were alerted to his presence.
It wasn't like he hadn't planned for this case, his horse quietly waited below the tree he was currently perched in, the question was how many of them could he pick off before he needed to resort to his sword? His bow was already drawn back as the first man pointed a sword in his general direction leaving the man wide open, it would be the last mistake he ever made as a arrow pierced his chest. As the other men began sprinting towards him Marius leaped into action, dropping down onto his horse, cloak falling off his head to reveal his well tanned skin and black hair, and within seconds the horse was galloping towards the bandits. Two more of the bandits fell before the ranger knew he would have to rely on his sword. Marius knew he was in a bit of trouble at that point, his swordsmanship was shaky at best and an ideal fight for him would have been one on one but no such luck as two bruisers rushed at him weapons drawn. He waited until the last minute to act though, unsheathing his sword and yanking back on the reins at the same time, the gambit was a success as one of the bandits caught a face full of hoof and the other a sword to the neck. The ranger wheeled his horse around and ran his sword through the other fighters gut, not to bad for a honest days work.
It took Marius a few hours to reach the holdings of Sir Thomas, but he welcomed the sight of the walls, meant he was that much closer to getting home. He wasn't used to being dispatched from the Churches holdings he normally looked after, this had been a special case though, the bandits had made off with some of the local priest's personal effects. So a small force was pulled together from the Order of the Plowshare and the local defenders, to which Marius was a member of both, to track down the bandits and bring them low. That task being accomplished he and the other warriors that accompanied him could return home, but Marius had other plans. Sure the Order paid well by receiving funding from the Church but it didn't bring the glory. It would be several days of riding to get home assuming that they didn't run into any sort of trouble due to the war, but Marius was hopeful the fighting hadn't reached that far out yet. The other warriors all agreed that a night or two in town to rest and resupply would not be a bad idea, so Marius took it upon himself to see if the local church could provide any aid or even a roof over some of their heads for a few days.
The Church was quiet at the moment, it wasn't a major prayer time and so the head priest was easy to find, Marius introduced himself and gave the man a short briefing of the task they had been given. The priest was all too happy to provide simple lodging for the few men he could fit in the buildings unoccupied quarters. The ranger declined the kind priests invitation to stay and let the others that had little or no money on them take lodgings there first. Any that could not fit Marius would just dig into the supply fund they had been given for the journey and see if he could purchase a room at the local inn or if a farmer would be willing to spare his hayloft for the evening. It didn't take all that long for Marius and the four warriors the Church couldn't fit to find lodgings. He was only able to secure a single room for 3 of the men to cram into, while he and another were able to persuade the inn keeper to let them sleep in the hayloft above the stable. Marius did not mind, he put the others well being above his own and Franklin didn't mind sleeping in the loft, something about how he "slept better without the bed smothering him." By the time all this was accomplished the others had changed out of their armor and into simple clothes, several of the warriors in truth were farmers from his home holding's Watch, trained to the point where they could not fall on their own swords. The others were much like Franklin and himself seasoned fighters, contracted fighters who served in the Church's Order of the Plowshare. Marius decided since time was left in the day he would see what the hold had to offer, giving Franklin a portion of the supply fund to buy the men a hot meal, the ranger went off to see what he could find before turning in for the evening.
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Post by Rex Apium on Feb 13, 2017 23:56:24 GMT -5
Sophia was a combination of confused and shocked when the knight left her with only a comment to keep a hold of the water, as it may be needed later. She'd watched the knight leave before looking down to the waterskin and back to the man in the gibbet. She was disappointed he hadn't accepted it, and somewhat troubled at the same time. This was something she was meant to do, which means it was known he would turn the water down... what possibly could the Lord have planned for her?
She had left the man in the gibbet then, and spent her time in the town. She hadn't properly explored it, and even now she was still troubled as she did so. There were greater things at work, and whatever workings were planned for her were not something she should be concerned about. This, of course, didn't alleviate her troubles, rather she held them in as she moved through the town.
It was about the time that her troubled thoughts were bothering her enough that she'd decided to return to the Church in prayer when Sir Dunstan approached her with the man from the gibbet. She was surprised by this, but didn't let it settle on her face for too long. As the look on her face dissolved, she removed the waterskin from her belt and offered it to Johnny, assisting him in drinking it should he require.
“He needs food,” she said, running through her head the best place they could go to get it. She considered taking him to the Church, but thought better of it. Something far more simple, like an tavern would be a better idea. “Come with me, I know of a place.”
She'd passed a tavern on her wanderings through the town. She hadn't entered the place, as they weren't usually places she preferred to be, but she had noted where it was. She began to lead the two men to the building, pausing to make sure that they were following and that she wasn't walking too fast. It happened often, Johnny wasn't in any condition to be moving quickly, but the movements were habit for her, and one she'd had a hard time breaking.
The tavern was much like any other tavern and Sophia picked a place for them to sit that wasn't too far away, but also wouldn't put them directly in the way of anything. It was intentionally so that Johnny wouldn't need to walk much further. From there, Sophia went about making sure that some simple food that Johnny wouldn't have much problems eating was ordered for him, as well as more water – provided she could get it. She didn't order anything for herself, and in her haste had almost forgotten to ask Sir Dunstan if he would like her to make sure anything was made for him. Once that was taken care of, she returned to the table to inform them of such.
“I would like to stay and see to his well being; if you don't mind the intrusion, Sir,” she said as she stood next to the table, having not taken a seat. She seemed all the more the peasant woman at this point, but that conviction she'd held while standing beneath the gibbet still rested in the look on her face.
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Post by watchoutsamusishere on Feb 14, 2017 11:52:24 GMT -5
His mouth was dry. Not from thirst, but from fear. Sir Dunstan the Penitent. The chained knight. Hero of the people, boogie man to wicked men and naughty children. And he was here, in front of Johnny. He was massive, the wood of the high-backed chair groaning under the weight of his armoured bulk as he sat opposite. He'd stripped from his mail the plated gauntlets and vambraces, and removed his helmet; they were placed neatly to one side. He sat regarding Johnny with a patrician face and a frightening neutrality.
Johnny had been nervously toying with his broth, swirling chunks of hard bread around inside the bowl, attempting to distract himself from his situation.
“Take your time.” Said Sir Dunstan in a cultured, clipped accent. Smooth, but hard, the threat of iron lurking beneath a shallow surface.
Johnny gave a brittl3, and studiously ignored the vision of Katarina resting on her haunches by his elbow, patting his forearm and smiling up into his face. He could not see Sir Dunstan's flail, for his vision was blurry and his eyes ached, but he doubted it was beyond immediate reach.
“Y-yes, my lord.” He stuttered, too miserably tired to rage at his own cowardice, voice thick from disuse and fatigue.
“I'll need you healthy if this act of kindness isn't to be wasted.” Sir Dunstan nodded, “How long until you can wield a weapon?”
This question may seem strange, but every common man, be he freeman or serf, was expected to have a passing knowledge of peasant weaponry. It was even a law in many a fief that every boy between the ages of fourteen and seventeen train with a bow once a week, usually on Sunday after morning service.
Johnny shrugged, his matted brown hair hung from him like a frayed garment; it would reach to the bottom of his scapula when properly bound, but was wild with sweat and dust, resembling more the skin of a shaggy beast draped over his shoulders.
“Not long,” said he.
Sir Dunstan nodded, “You have been released into my custody, until I am satisfied your debt has been paid.”
Johnny closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The exploits of Sir Dunstan were legendary. His stomach tightened with anticipation and dread.
“I will see your atonement profit the people, and not the crows. Should you die, your body will receive the due observances. Should you live, and serve well and honorably, you'll be a free man in the eyes of his magesty and God Almighty.”
Johnny relaxed at this, the tension visibly easing from his shoulders. He could not die with sin claiming him. He could not pass into that other world, most holy of worlds, with his soul blackened by guilt.
“Thank you, my lord.”
Sir Dunstan nodded curtly once more. “The city of Badelebn has been abandoned by it's Baron, off to fight in the civil war. They've come to me, seeking succour. Alas, I've no men at my command. At least I didn't; you're my first recruit, and you will aid me on their behalf. Until that time you will serve as my squire, render service unto me as I see fit.”
This was not a question, and he understood as much. For lack of a better term, Johnny was now his servant.
“Have your fill of food and water then rest. I have purchased a bed for your use and expect you to use it. I will return in a few hours.”
Sir Dunstan stood in one fluid motion and loomed over him, albeit unintentionally, with both hands resting pronated on the table. “Should you choose to run . . .”
“I won't,” interrupted Johnny, baring his teeth like a cornered animal.
With a last nod Sir Dunstan turned from him and began conversing with someone just outside his current field of vision. Johnny began to idly stir his broth again, wondering what form his death was now to take.
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Post by Former Fiend on Feb 15, 2017 5:04:53 GMT -5
Stepping away from the table, Dunstan approached the woman who had helped him bring this 'Right Time' Johnny inside, giving her a grateful nod. "Apologies, m'lady; in the rush to get him something to eat, I didn't ask for your name."
"Sophia Gatti," she answered with a slight bow of her head.
"Miss Gatti; would you be so kind as to tend to Johnny until I return? I have other matters to attend to in the city before I depart. He'll need equipment. And I didn't come here specifically for him; I have to hope that I can find others in this city able and willing to fight for a noble cause."
She nods, "I wouldn't mind at all... and at the risk of stepping out of line, I believe I may be able to assist with at least your primary matter. I possess skills of my own and I believe there may be higher powers at work here." Sophia would reach into the neck of her dress, hooking the chain her pendant hung on and pulling the necklace out and over her head. She held the pendant out, displaying the symbol of her order for Sir Dunstan to see clearly.
Dunstan regarded the symbol with a surprise born of familiarity; that this wasn't the first time he had seen it was plain on his face. There were reasons he wore a helm that fully covered his visage, other than that visage itself. "Your help would be most welcome, Miss Gatti. I would not refuse the aid of one of your order; we'll need both your skill, and your conviction."
Sophia nodded, replacing the pendant around her neck and tucking it back under her dress, "I would need time to... prepare, as it were, but I have more than enough time to see to Johnny's needs." She makes a movement to leave before pausing, "On that note... you may want to ask at the Church. There was an order temporarily stationed out of there, not mine, but another... there may be someone there who would assist."
"Much appreciated, Miss Gatti." Dunstan said with a polite bowing of his head. "I'll make that my first stop after securing some equipment for my new squire." With that, Dunstan excused himself, making his way out of the tavern.
The knight made his rounds, first to the blacksmith and then to the fletcher. Even during times of war, the merchant guilds kept prices reasonable for weapons and armor the likes of which the peasant class would purchase. Nobles needed them armed and ready to fight, after all, and it didn't do the merchants good to conflict directly with the nobility.
Dunstan purchased a few simple things; a spear and a dagger, a studded vest and simple helmet, and a short bow along with a quiver of arrows. None were master crafted, the weapons were the type that most anyone could use with at least some base level of skill; this Right Time Johnny was a slight man, so Dunstan didn't want to overburden him. The armor – for what little armor it actually provided – was sized roughly enough to fit a man of Johnny's stature, but not expertly fitted to him, like most that was produced en masse for common folk rather than knights and higher lords.
His purchases made – even a poor knight such as himself had coin enough to outfit a common footsoldier without much worry – Dunstan made his way towards the church. He wasn't sure whether or not Sophia would have beaten him there – it would depend on how much time she spent tending to Johnny, he supposed. But she had spoken of another order that was taking shelter there, and he intended to follow up on that lead.
It didn't take much investigation to find that it was the Order of the Plowshare that was temporarily residing within the Church's walls. Dunstan considered Sophia's words, that there may be a higher power involved here. He had given thought to seeking the order out directly; a group of knights that was unaffiliated to any of the warring lords may be persuaded to join cause. Badelebn had a church, as well, after all.
Unfortunately none of the order were at the church at that precise moment, at least according to the priests. So Dunstan asked the head priest to inform any of the order who returned that Sir Dunstan the Penitent – a name that caused the priest to gulp once he realized just who he was speaking to – wished to speak with them, and to find him at the tavern.
With that done, Dunstan departed from the church, intent on returning to where he had left his new squire to deliver his new equipment unto him.
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Panzer
New Member
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Post by Panzer on Feb 16, 2017 17:24:38 GMT -5
Marius wandered around town looking through various stalls and merchant carts to pass the time. It wasn't too long before a acolyte from the church found him and said there was someone looking for him and his men at the church. "Curious" mused Marius before he dismissed the acolyte, nobody of importance besides the bishop of the church and the Commander knew he and the company were here. Still the thought of someone seeking him and the Order out intrigued the ranger, what it concerned though was a bigger mystery. They were far from mercenaries , sure they took the odd job when they needed the gold, but never committed fully to any cause but their sworn duty.
The tavern loomed ahead, several of his companions were outside smoking a pipe or mingling with a few of the merchants who set the wagons up just outside the establishment. Marius approached his men and asked him if someone had come looking for them, they made him aware that one man did approach them and ask who was in command. He prompted the men for more information but they had received none beyond the seekers name "Sir Dunstan", who apparently was still inside. Marius thanked the men and strode inside the tavern, carefully studying the layout, he wasn't sure if this was a trap or not but he wanted to be cautious regardless.
It only took him a moment to pinpoint the man who had been seeking them out, and he made his way over to the table the man sat at, straightening his tunic and sweeping his dark hair out of his eyes. "Sir Dunstan I presume? Marius Valdacci, Ranger of the Order of the Plowshare, 3rd Company, I hear you have been seeking my friends and myself out. Pray may I ask why?"
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Post by watchoutsamusishere on Feb 18, 2017 6:37:20 GMT -5
Right Time Johnny lay very still. His breathing was measured and deep. His eyes closed. He could have been asleep. Only, he wasn't. Not even close. His eyes ached abominably; his head felt leaden and ill. There could have been sand beneath his eyelids for the discomfort he felt. Katarina's ghostly fingers pressed into his scalp, and he could almost feel them, hear her breath.
Angry now, he stood aggressively and looked around for something to throw. Or something to punch. But his temper cooled quickly and he sighed, moving from the small cot upon which he had been reposed. He looked back, and Katarina stared at him reproachfully. He grunted a quick apology and fled the room, disturbed.
He had welcomed her in the gibbet, and in the oubliette that'd contained him during the nights. She had consoled him, cradled him, granted him courage. But he had assumed she would leave him: return whence she came. But she remained, and he knew it wasn't right. Was his deprivation-induced delirium permanent? He needed to sleep. Truly sleep. He couldn't remember the last time he had experienced that. Or could he . . . ? He shook his head ruefully.
And this is how he found himself back in the common room of the tavern: haunted, and grateful for the nearness of real people. His old rags were gone; he was sure of that, as he'd watched a tavern worker stick them in a hearth-fire, and poke them with a slender rod of iron until they were properly aflame.
He wore a simple, homespun woollen tunic, and equally homespun leggings. And austere slippers. Clean. Dry. Not covered in the fetor of urine and sweat and cold stones. He'd bathed, shaved and attacked his hair with scissors where he'd been unable to remove the dirt. Now his brown hair was pulled tightly behind his ears, and bound in a basic tail with a lanyard. He felt renewed. Refreshed. A new man, borne down by the old one.
He approached the woman who had offered him succour, the very same one Sir Dunstan had asked to watch over him. She was sitting at a table, and as he knew no one else in this miserable town, he hoped she'd a least to wile away the time sitting in companionable silence. He did not want to go back to his room.
“Lady . . . Gatti?” enquired he, struggling to remember her name, “May I sit?”
She looked up at him from the small book held easily between her fingers, closed it and nodded. “Yes,” said she.
Johnny gave a wan smile and sat. “What were you reading?”
Lady Gatti smiled briefly, mouth closed and said, “Reading the book of our Lord.”
Johnny nodded. Drummed his fingers on the table. Looked around. Drummed his fingers some more. “Good book?” asked he, after some kind of internal struggle.
Her face fell, slowly, into a frown. The rather pleasing smile forming a tight line. “It is . . . Have you not had the pleasure of hearing from it?”
Johnny adjusted his hair, pulled his ear lobe, slumped his shoulders sheepishly. “It's been some time,” he admitted reluctantly, “There was a small chapel where I worked, but the friars never read directly from the book. Trying to make them last longer, I think. A decent lot, but not gifted speakers.”
"Perhaps in our travels together I can read you some of my favorite passages then," the warm smile would return, "That is, if you would like." She placed her hands on top of the book in her lap and studied him for some time, "Are you frightened, Johnny?"
Johnny glanced around the room once more before looking back to Lady Gatti. “Well, yes, m'lady. Some folks get mighty sensitive when you mention God and I don't much care to go back to the gibbet. Some things have just never sat right with me, that's all. And I don't read. Come to think of it, I can't say I've ever seen the holy book with my own eyes. Looks like words on paper.”
Sophia closes her eyes and nods slowly before opening them again, "It is words on paper, in the most simplest of explanations. The meaning behind the words are what's important." She pauses for a moment, "We can change the subject, if you find this one too uncomfortable."
Johnny's smile was brittle, “Probably for the best. Are you here on business?” It wasn't that he didn't believe, it's that he didn't believe much. And he was angry, which made him far more inclined to believe as little as possible. Sermons were like fairy-tales, a way to avoid looking the reality of the world in the face.
"Business of a sort, yes. I travel mostly, with another associate of mine, and we had come into town a few days back. I will be accompanying you and Sir Dunstan on his mission until it is completed, from this point forward," she replied.
Johnny nodded. “My father was a serf. His father was a serf. I, too, was ― or am ― a serf. Still, I can fight. It is expected. I have always served one master or another in different ways. Now will be no different.” His eyes hardened every so slightly, bright pin pricks of fever in an otherwise placid countenance, “Those with authority must be held accountable for their injustices. Must atone for them. They think because they are stronger, or privileged the rules don't apply to them. I think they should apply even more.” He took a breath and relaxed, his next smile rueful. “This is a good path.”
Lady Gatti nodded in a way that implied fraternity, but said nothing. It was a welcoming silence, one Johnny rather enjoyed. There was no disapproval just acceptance. And for a time, neither one spoke. And after that peaceful interlude, he watched Katarina glide beautifully towards him, a pained expression on his face.
At the same time sir Dunstan clanked back into the inn, heading straight for him. He stood up fast, smoothed his tunic and exclaimed, “My Lord.” As he expected a dutiful squire was supposed to.
"John." Dunstan said with a nod, setting down a burlap sack. "Your equipment. Test them once you've the strength."
Johnny nodded, “Thank you my Lo―”
And that's when a man (Marius Valdacci) burst into the tavern and interrupted them in what was the most brazen display of discourtesy Johnny had ever seen. Johnny did not feel take umbrage on behalf of his lord like a real squire would, but he'd seen plenty of nobles, knew how they worked; you didn't nonchalantly interrupt one in the middle of a conversation, and you most certainly didn't do it without addressing him appropriately. People were punished for less. Flogged. Scourged. Executed. Johnny actually stared, mouth agape.
OOC: I didn't write all of this. It was a collaborative work between Rex Apium, myself and even a little something from Former Fiend.
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Post by Former Fiend on Feb 19, 2017 2:55:24 GMT -5
Dunstan nodded to his new squire, Right Time Johnny. The freshly freed man was taking to his chance at atonement very well, showing the proper respects. Dunstan wished he had been so wise many years ago. But he didn't dwell on those memories; the knight saw Sophia – who had stood when he entered the room - approaching from around the table out of the corner of his eye. So far as he could read anything upon the woman's face, she seemed like she had something to say.
Before she could speak – before Johnny could even finish thanking Dunstan for the equipment – they were cut off. Marius of the Order of the Plowshare announced his presence after proudly and confidently striding into the inn to approach Dunstan. The man's tone was just shy of insolence and impertinence, something that Dunstan hadn't been used to hearing in quite some time. Something he'd have expected from a man with the brashness of youth and the shield of title. Marius was possessed of neither; he was a well weathered veteran to look at him, and any noble would introduce themselves as such.
And while, if anything Dunstan found the directness somewhat refreshing, he still raised a hand to signal for patience, and answered thusly; “A moment, Ranger. The lady here has words for me. Once she's finished, I will answer you and gladly.” With that he turned to Sophia and nodded to her. “Miss Gatti; you were about to speak?”
Sophia's eyes shifted from Dunstan to Marius and lingered there for a moment. The look on her face betrayed nothing before her gaze returned to Dunstan, "I will need to return to the Church to proceed with my preparations. It will... take some time."
"Very well. I mean to leave as soon as Johnny is ready to travel; tomorrow, dawn the day after at the latest. I presume that's plenty of time, m'lady?"
"More than enough. Is there a place I should meet you at, or would you rather fetch me from the Church?"
"Check in here tomorrow, if you will. If I'm not here, Johnny will be. If we're not ready to depart by then, I'll seek you out the next day."
"I will return in the morning, then," she bowed slightly to him, hands placed on one another in front of her, the book she'd had in her lap still settled in her hands, "Farewell Sir Dunstan." She turned to Johnny and bowed her head to both him and the newcomer, "Farewell to you as well."
With that done, Sir Dunstan returned his attention to Marius Valdacci. “Apologies for that, Ranger Valdacci. Now then, allow me to answer your question. The city of Badelebn has been abandoned by it's lord. It's people are as hardy as any other, but they lack a proper force to defend them. My lands are near to the city and they've beseeched me to mount a defense. I've traveled this distance to Thetford to find capable fighters to help me do just that.”
“I know your order is bound to the service of the abbot, Ranger, but it is my hope that you'll be able to spare some strength to help me in this endeavor. They're good people, in Badelebn, and defending them is a noble cause.”
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Panzer
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Post by Panzer on Feb 19, 2017 23:27:30 GMT -5
Maruis wasn't entirely surprised by the request for aid, news of the war was on everyone's lips. The Order had tried to remain out of it as a whole, although that hadn't stopped some from abandoning them for some lord's personal force. The fact that a lord had left his own people so under defended made the ranger a bit uneasy. He regarded Sir Dunstan quietly before sitting in one of the unoccupied chairs and waived one of the serving ladies over and ordered a flagon of ale. For several moments he sat in thought until the bar maid brought him the ale and he took a long swig before he finally spoke.
"I see, well this presents a unique opportunity I think, we have just returned from a directive from the Abbot of seeking down one of his personal possessions from a group of bandits." He paused taking another drink of the ale, "The Abbot would be very cross if we didn't return his property to him in a somewhat timely manner. Although the Abbot would also suggest we send a contingent to Badelebn to aid in whatever way we could, very kind and generous man he is. I'm afraid I would not be able to give you the entire company or offer very much support from our main garrison, but I cannot sit by while the innocent need aid. You will have my bow and blade at your disposal Sir Dunstan, I will send a message with the remaining men to inform the Abbot and my superiors of the situation."
Marius took another swig of the brown ale "When and where should I meet you once my preparations have been made?"
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