wraithblade6
New Member
One last blade forged in defiance of fate...
Posts: 31
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Post by wraithblade6 on Feb 21, 2017 23:46:49 GMT -5
The horse thief that Dunstan had asked for was in rough shape, and it was clear that some time would be needed before he could travel, much less fight a brigand. Eric suggested with his reigns, and his steed casually swung its head in that direction, sluggishly following with its feet. He turned away but lingered in the street, appearing to be waiting for something or someone while he scouted the group's movements. The gracious lady, with the symbolic pendant hanging from her neck, was taking them to a place of rest, a tavern. Eric pretended not to overhear, and yet made sure to know the location. He watched them as they supported the weakened and tormented man across the roadways and realized, he had not rushed out to help them. That fact displeased Eric, for it wasn't his character. Soon, he hoped to make up for it.
As Eric rode slowly down the road, considering the state of things in the world, he looked up to find the eyes of a northerner upon him. The tall man appeared to be fixing a rooftop. Two armored horses were waiting down below. The knight rode on, returning to the stable.
The shiny plate and white cloak were hard to miss when later Eric entered the same tavern he had seen Dunstan, the lady, and the horse thief enter. The chained knight was out, likely making appeals for more men. Eric spotted the lady and the thief, but as of yet did not approach them. He needed to speak to their leader, the commander of the mission, and it wouldn't be proper to do otherwise. Smiling warmly to the staff, he ordered some food and took a seat where he could get comfortable for a while. He said he'd be traveling soon, but didn't elaborate on the details.
It was only an hour or so before the recruiter for Badelebn returned. Eric felt his spirits rise as the moment of opportunity approached. Dunstun went directly to Johnny and Sister Gatti in the common room and spoke with them. It was only a few moments before a third person approached them and identified himself. Caught with his muscles tensed and about to stand, Eric sat back down. He would wait, and watch, and learn.
So, the young Marius wanted to join the cause as well? Glorious. The ranger's mannors, or lack thereof, went unnoticed by the Earl's son in light of his noble intentions. Once again, Eric heard the story why Badelebn needed protecting in Dunstan's reply.
Eric waited until Marius had been dismissed with the instructions to meet him on the marrow before approaching himself, not necessarily waiting until Marius had left. With bright eyes and a smile that made anyone forget the fact they faced a trained swordsman, he raised an ungloved hand. "Greetings, Sir Dunstan the Penitent." Eric also greeted Johnny and Marius with a courteous nod. "And to your cohort. Please forgive my intrusion, but I too would be honored to join you in the defense of Badelebn." His smile faded as his expression gave way to seriousness, yet his friendly demeanor never faltered. He spoke quietly, identifying himself with humility. "I am Sir Eric Archibald, son of Thomas, Earl of Thetford. I overheard your plea to my father, and I know you bear a worthy cause. I would be most honored to accompany you, to pledge my sword and shield to the defense of those who cannot defend themselves, for that is my calling. Alas, I cannot bring an army, for it would be seen as a political strike by my father, but I myself am a free man, and a knight. What say you brother knight? Would you allow me this blessing? Would you give me this chance to serve a righteous cause?"
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Post by Former Fiend on Feb 22, 2017 2:31:17 GMT -5
The day was a day of interruptions, though given that the previous day had been spent among corpses, Dunstan couldn't complain much, especially given the noble intentions of those doing the interrupting. He was a man in need of aid and was not in a position to turn it away due to the manors or timing of those who sought to pledge themselves to his cause.
Dunstan took a moment to look over Sir Eric. He recognize the suit as the knight who had flanked Sir Thomas' throne when they met; he had assumed that the silent knight had been an honor guard for the Earl, and was surprised to find that it was the lord's own son. Eric's shining plate and clean white cloak contrasted considerably with Dunstan's own worn, dented, unpolished steel. He didn't imagine the man saw much in the way of combat – Earls didn't like to risk their sons.
Though giving the man the benefit of the doubt, he was the son of a wealthy and powerful Earl; he had the funds to repair his armor regularly and keep it in pristine condition. Dunstan was a poor knight with poor lands, who made his living in battle, fighting in the dirt and the mud. The man's clean, youthful visage didn't do him any favors. From what Dunstan understood, Sir Thomas' oldest – and only adult – son was around his own age, and yet Sir Eric looked no less than ten years his junior, lacking the harsh lines and weathered features that he and Marius – men who had lived hard lives, lives of action – had. Regardless of his wealth and however easy that wealth had made his life, though, Eric had a 'sir' in front of his name, and being a knight came with a few certainties. One of them was that he knew how to use the sword at his side.
“Well met, Sir Eric;” Dunstan replied to the man after but a moment's consideration. “I welcome you to our cause, and gladly, so long as you follow my command in battle. If that is not a problem for you, then I'll accept your sword and your shield and gladly.” Dunstan paused for a moment, considering something else. “Though, if I may – a sword and shield are well and good, reliable weapons. But I noticed in your father's throne room you carried a pole axe as well. Bring that along, as well, if you would. We'll have need of it.”
“Now then, friends,” Dunstan said, addressing both Marius and Sir Eric; “It has been a long day and I am in need of a warm meal; if you would, I bid you join me, but know also that I intend to leave tomorrow if my squire is able, and no later than dawn the next day if he is not – as you might have heard me tell the lady Gatti, Ranger Marius. So, whatever preparations you have to make before we depart, that is how long you have to make them.”
Dunstan would proceed to enjoy a hearty dinner, whether he had any company aside from Johnny or not. He hadn't had any food throughout the day since he had breakfast in the pre-dawn hours, so occupied had he been with freeing Johnny, getting him fed and equipped, and seeking out others to aid him in his mission. Duty to others above himself, the service part of his creedo.
By the time he had finished dinner, evening was upon them with the sun growing low in the sky. Dunstan decided to make another pass through the city, asking after those who might be of use to him in his cause. Most people knew how to fight well enough, though well enough wasn't enough for what Dunstan had need of, and most people were bound to the service of their lord, expected to take up arms in defense of his lands. That was part of the price they paid for living and working those lands.
Disappointed, Dunstan returned to the inn and settled in for the night. It had been more than a week since he had enjoyed sleep in an actual bed. His body was tired and sore from days upon the road and too long in heavy armor, along with simple nagging pain from a lifetime of injuries and battles. A night's rest on a bed – even a somewhat uncomfortable one – was heaven.
Dunstan was up before dawn as he usually was, and enjoyed the calm morning air and another hearty meal. He didn't go out of his way to wake Johnny up – rest was what the man needed .But when the former thief finally did pull himself from sleep, he'd find Dunstan waiting for him down stairs. “John.” Dunstan said to his new squire. “I hope sleeping on a proper bed was as rejuvenating for you as it was for me. How's your strength returning? It's my home that you'll be ready to ride today that we may set off. Badelebn is a week's ride from here and I don't want to tarry longer than we absolutely must.”
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Post by Rex Apium on Feb 22, 2017 4:39:47 GMT -5
Sophia had left the men in the tavern to their business. She had her own to attend to. Tomorrow, or perhaps the day after, she would embark on a mission not directly sent to her from the higher ups of La Chiesa del Sacro Sangue. No, this was something of a higher calling, something the Lord himself had sent her on, working his hands in mysterious ways.
It only made sense that her conviction didn't falter when it came to the man in the gibbet. She had insisted, perhaps even obsessed over providing him succor. No amount of praying for guidance had swayed her resolve or her decision to go to Johnny. It was all in His design, of course. Had she not gone to the gibbet, she would have not met Sir Dunstan the Penitent and she would not have learned of his quest. It was obvious to her that this quest was precisely what the Lord had intended for her when she and her older Sister had arrived in this town.
Whatever the case was, there were preparations to be made. She was Spada Sacra, the Lord's hand on this plane, and that didn't come without its own burdens. She would return to the Church that night to begin preparations. The older Sister would need to be informed, so that she could relay the information back to La Chiesa del Sacro Sangue, inform those of higher position than either she or Sophia of La Spada Sacra's divine calling. Then the prayer, the ritual of acceptance, preparing the holy oils and sacred ointments. A living weapon for God, sanctified in His name to do His unsavory work. Without the proper sanctification, what Sophia did would be nothing short of sin. The rituals were there to protect her soul, to save her from condemnation so that she could go out into the world to do God's work with His blessing.
With that business done, Sophia returned to her chamber. It was simple, as was most things in her life. She prayed before sleep and prayed when she awoke with the next day's sun. She would have to be fully dressed this day, forsaking her peasant garb for her more official one. Sophia didn't wear armor of metal, instead she dressed in worn, but well maintained leather, molded to fit her form comfortably over a cloth gambeson. Over that was an equally worn tabard, white with red trim and becoming threadbare in places. The symbol of her order was emblazoned in red at the center, and she wore her pendant out in the open, instead of hiding beneath her clothes as she had prior to this. She had a hood as well, but opted to leave it down, her long brown hair pulled back into tight plait.
Sophia left the church when she was fully equipped, short sword visible at her side and went to fetch her horse from the church's stables. She led her palfrey through the streets rather than riding it. In fact, she wouldn't even have grabbed it if she wasn't certain they would be departing from the inn. If there was one thing she let pride herself on, it was her preparedness. She was pleasantly surprised, as she led the horse, that most people paid her no mind. If she were farther south, closer to her home province of Ausonia, the people would be giving her a wide berth. It was refreshing to be mostly ignored.
Her horse was left in the city stables before she made her way back to the inn. It was the most logical place to leave the animal for the time being, as it was likely this is where Sir Dunstan had left his. She didn't make her entrance into the inn known, once she'd arrived, rather she would enter the common room and find a seat for herself once waiting for Dunstan, Johnny or any of the others.
She would find herself sitting there for some time, answering questions as they arose and participating in conversation as it deemed necessary. As always, Sophia Gatti was more of a listener than a speaker, and when she did speak she chose her words carefully and with practiced grace.
When the party had gathered and it had been established that Johnny was in condition to ride, she would stand with the others to fetch her horse. Her assumptions as to where they had left theirs were correct, which in turn made the entire process that much smoother.
With Sir Dunstan the Penitent at the helm, the group would leave Thetford before midday, on their way to Badelebn.
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Panzer
New Member
Resident Bard
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Post by Panzer on Feb 23, 2017 22:08:07 GMT -5
After finishing his meeting with Sir Dunstan and his ale Marius went about setting his affairs in order. First thing he would need to do is write a letter to the Abbot and the Commander explaining what he was about to do. The veteran returned to the church and asked the priest if he could borrow a scribe for a few moments, the priest nodded and waved a young acolyte over and asked the lad to fetch his writing desk and supplies. He had the boy draft the letters dictating what to say, Marius would have written them himself save for one problem, he could not read or write. Sure he could read a map and study enemy battle formations but beyond that his abilities were limited, not for lack of trying though, the knight who raised him tried to give him a slight education, but young Marius was full of piss and vinegar back then. Upon completing the letters the ranger thanked the boy and gave him a few silver pieces and made a small donation to the Church as well.
The next step would be to gather his supplies and give the letters to Franklin, the old knight wasn't exactly happy about what Marius was doing, but he understood why. Franklin had seen true war and spoke of it often, the effect it had on everyone, he hated it to the point where he avoided violence as best as he could. The knight wished Marius the best of luck as he gathered his gear up for the next morning, taking note of how empty his quiver was getting. If he was going to get arrows he better get them now before he had to resort to pulling partially damaged shafts out of corpses. The fletcher was open and had a few arrows he needed, but he needed some specialized for several other purposes. He let the man before him finish, the man had the look of a Northerner about him, odd that one would be this far south. He placed his order for several arrows made to pierce chainmail and several more for the same purpose but with plate. The man said he and his assistant would do his best and Marius thanked the man and said he would swing by in the morning shortly after they opened.
Dawn came the next day and Marius rose from the hayloft, ate a meager breakfast and prepped his horse. About half an hour after waking the ranger visited the fletcher and retrieved the arrows the man was able to complete. The man offered apologies that he could not complete the entire order in time but Marius simply told the man what he had done was more then enough and paid the man for the few arrows he hadn't finished yet. The man simply looked at him with surprise before Marius told him what he hadn't finished was to be give to Sir Franklin at the Church. With his business done Marius rode back to the inn and waited for the others to be ready to embark, as they embarked the same man he had seen at fletcher yesterday approached them. Was it just coincidence or was this man following him? No it couldn't be, why would somebody be following him? As they rode out the seasoned veteran took up the tail position, bow laying across the pommel of his saddle, if they were being followed he would know about it.
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Post by Former Fiend on Feb 24, 2017 2:52:55 GMT -5
Dunstan waited at the inn that morning for the others to gather and answer his invitation. Johnny was well enough to ride, which meant that they would ride. It had been nine days since Dunstan had left Badelebn to search for help, with the detour he had taken to hunt bandits along the way. It would be a week before they reached the town again, assuming they didn't find further distraction upon the road. Dunstan gave his assembled group a short speech of gratitude, thanking them for accepting his invitation to join him for this worthy cause, or for volunteering of their own volition in the case of Sophia and Eric.
Once he was done addressing the group, he turned walk towards the city gate. Eric and Marius had their own horses at the ready but Dunstan and Sophia's steeds were there, along with the gelding Dunstan had acquired for Johnny. As he did he saw the northman that he had witnessed reading the noticeboard the day before riding towards the gate. Shrugging it off as the man and the boy that rode along side him quickly outpaced the knight as he strode on foot, Dunstan headed towards the stables.
Dunstan would catch sight of the man again, several minutes later after he had reached the stables and saddled his own horse, and lead the group out towards Badelebn; he spied the northman and his companion riding in the opposite direction. While searching for fighters to join his cause, Dunstan had heard some talk about the northerner; apparently he was a mercenary. That had been enough for Dunstan to dismiss the idea of recruiting him; mercenaries were unreliable, likely to run at the first sign that they weren't going to live to spent the coin they earned. Dunstan needed men – and a woman – who fought for higher ideals. Especially given that neither Dunstan himself nor the people of Badelebn had any money to offer. He supposed the northman was likely heading to the next town over – Raville, perhaps – to look for work. A far ride from Badelebn, but then, so was Thetford.
The group rode for the whole day, from early in the morning until the last rays of the sun's light disappeared over the horizon. If Dunstan had had his way they would have continued riding by star light until they absolutely needed to stop to spare the horses, but the weather didn't care for Dunstan's plans and nightfall came with a heavy overcast of clouds that blocked out light from the sun and the moon and made stopping to set up a camp required.
Once camp had been set up, Dunstan had Johnny help him remove the heavier pieces of his armor. Johnny didn't have any practice with such work so it didn't go much faster than if Dunstan had done it all himself. But he was confident that Johnny would get the hang of it as his strength returned and familiarity lessened the fear and nervousness that the man felt being around Sir Dunstan the Penitent. His armor set aside, with only his gambeson and trousers on, Dunstan took a seat by the fire, warming himself against the growing chill in the air.
“Thank you all, again.” Dunstan said to the group without looking up from the flames. “Not many would leave their home or stray farther from it to follow a stranger across a war torn country side to help other strangers. If we live through this, I'll be in your debt.”
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Post by watchoutsamusishere on Feb 24, 2017 17:31:13 GMT -5
Johnny also stared into the flames as Sir Dunstan spoke, but his thoughts were far away in time and distance: to another place, in another moment. He did not reply. There was nothing to say. He was a serf; it was his lot to serve one man, or another. Always, allegiance and fealty overrode life. Always the will of a lord was paramount. He could but bend or be broken. He did not guide his own life and his plans, desires and hopes were small, for they were only accomplished with the direct permission of his superiors. Now, he served a new master, but the fabric of existence had not changed. He exchanged one oath for another, one place for another. One moment . . . for another.
He was road-weary, and ached. He had ridden horses, as a conveyance and a tool. And he wasn't bad, just unpractised. It was more usual for his kind for his kind to walk behind a horse than to ride upon its back. He didn't have the stiff-backed grace of a knight, but the ill-bred swagger of a farm-hand. He had never in his life ridden for so long a time. The novelty had worn off with his first layer of skin.
In time, exhaustion claimed him and he slipped beneath the waves of an ocean of sleep.
A stone chamber lay before him. Rays of sunlight failed to fully pierce the gloom of fire-smoke and darkness, casting short lines of illuminated, swirling motes. Despite the great hearth, the stones bled the heat from his knees and chilled his bones. He knelt before a great altar and saw before it a man's body lying in state, flowing red with blood. He looked to the walls of the chamber and they were stained red with blood. He looked to the floor and found still more. The stink of it filled his mouth and nose; it rose up from the ground like a tide, washing over his legs. He felt a weight upon his hands and looked down to see them cupped and filled with the same sticky, putrid vitae. Long, delicate fingers brushed the nape of his neck, pale and lifeless. A whispered word. Ghostly breath.
And then fire began to consume him.
He awoke with violence and threw himself forward, gasping for air. His lungs felt aflame, and sweat beaded his feverish skin. His lips pulled back in a snarl as he stood, radiating wrath. But soon his choler cooled, and he muttered to himself a string of impolite phrases. He ran his fingers through his hair and looked about him. He could not see much, but somnolent forms lay about the fire. Assuming them asleep, he lit a torch, gathered his spear and bow and crept a small distance away.
He held the bow in his hands, staring at it a moment before nocking an arrow and drawing it to his cheek. He held it fully drawn for a long while, testing the strain in his fingers and arms. Satisfied, he slowly released the tension and put the bow carefully aside. He was a fair hunter. Average, adequate, mediocre. He would not be winning archery competitions, but nor would he want for food. It was enough, and he didn't need to practise with the new bow to hone in his accuracy, for at the range he would use it, a well-made bow would have little variation.
Next, he hefted the spear, testing its weight and balance. It was a simple weapon, but like the bow it was well-made. It had no ornament, no carved symbols, just a head, a shaft and butt. Everything he needed in a spear, and nothing he did not. It was thin, light, and measured roughly six and a half feet from butt to tip. The head was shaped like a leaf, allowing for thrusting and cutting, while the butt was covered by a steel cap.
Slowly, but with increasing speed he moved through a simple, five-technique drill. There was no artistry in his motions, just short, compact strikes. He was never taught to be one with the weapon, but given instead rudimentry instruction on its function and form.
His pattern was thus: first a downward strike, holding the spear as close to the butt as he could for added force. Secondly, he struck a horizontal slash for the neck. Thirdly, he struck from shoulder to opposite hip, then from hip to opposite shoulder. Finally, he stabbed forward for the belly. With each strike he stepped forwards, and once the five were completed he stepped backwards, blocking in like manner. This basic drill he continued for an unknown length of time, until his arms were numb, his mouth dry and his body perspiring freely.
And then, too tired for anger, and too exhausted for dreams, he sneaked back into camp and slept. Satisfied he could be of some small use in the coming battles.
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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 25, 2017 12:35:47 GMT -5
Forward in Faith
Eric arrived at the tavern at dawn ready to embark. He carried the mentioned halberd mounted alongside his steed on the right. He had hoped he hadn't arrived to early, yet to his pleasure, he found Sir Dunstan already about in wait. Soon, Sophia appeared, Marius, and John, and they were addressed by Sir Dunstan as a whole. The tone of sincerity in Dunstan's voice rang beautifully like a bell to the white knight. The penitent knight was truly grateful, so very grateful. It showed through his words despite the flat, statesmanly delivery. Eric had an ear for detecting it, and he smiled in the presence of such honest righteousness, saluting Sir Dunstan with a fist over his chest. Horses were acquired, and the naive band of heroes set off through the main gate. Sir Eric found himself largely muted by a suddenly vigorous assault of thought as he made observations over the course of their leaving the city. He was leaving his father and infant brothers behind, a fact he would not ignore, but would face and accept. It was a decision that would have its consequences. Symbolic of that fact, he briefly turned his head behind him to look upon a tower of his father's castle where he knew slept. He was surprised to find a figure in the window watching the city below. It was too far for his eyes to focus, but he knew who it was standing there counting every horse that left through the gate. Eric turned back to the front. He lingered a moment to take a position behind the others, letting his thoughts return to them instead. The failed thief, John, rode behind his savior, his new place for the duration. Eric knew his father had been cruel to him, and he felt a share of guilt for his association with Lord Thomas Archibald. It wouldn't have been Eric's decision to put a thief to death, not without some minimum of atrocity or at least fair and clear warning. The iron-fisted rule of terror was not the knight's way. But Eric Archibald did not pass law in Thetford. He could only oppose such rulings by legal means. Nonetheless, the weight sat on his shoulders, and he longed to offer some form of apology to John. There was no equivalent recompense of course, but God willing, Eric would see the scales balanced. For now, he would carry the burden and be vigilant for an opportunity. The Lady Sophia, yes it is your turn. She represented an esoteric sect of the church, as far as Eric knew, and it was she above all present that had demonstrated the fiercest compassion and bravery yet so far. Eric would that all warriors could have hearts like hers, and he wondered if her particular church was the source of such true power. As with Sir Dunsten, he loved her and believed in her, although he would never tell her with meaningless words. The fact that she was a woman though, was troublesome, and that could not be denied. Seeing her amid the group would turn evil eyes, drawing them to consider what advantages they may have in attacking the small band of fighters. He recalled the pair of northmen he had seen back in the city and considered their kind. Wild and free, was what many considered them, yet Eric was old enough to know otherwise. Even foreigners were enslaved to hunger and had to continuously seek work, or crime. It would be too difficult to raise a family that way. Eric had noticed as the hours wore on that Sir Dunstan had veered from the established roads, leading them onto rockier terrain. Perhaps this would be a more direct, albeit rougher, journey, but it would avoid traffic on the roads and the potential to run into bandits.. or armies. Eric doubted any would track them. He was certain that Dunstan shared his concerns over Sophia. Quietly, the white knight whispered a promise that only he and God could hear, that he would spare extra vigilance for the woman's safety on this quest. Later, with the sky overcast, they setup camp. Eric unloaded his horse and gave it rest, advising the others to do the same. He spoke with honest concern. "Their feet will be sore after a day like this. Sir Dunstan, tomorrow we should seek fairer ground. A lameness now could result in a dead animal, and that would do us no good." With that spoken, Eric prepared to rest himself and chose a place around the campfire. No one was saying anything, which was not a problem, but Eric hoped for some real bonding before they reached Badelebn. He wanted to better know who he would be counting on when they did find battle and to have their trust. Finally, their leader broke the silence to repeat his gratitude. Eric turned his blonde head at him and smiled his usual smile. "You are so thankful, Sir Dunsten. There is no questioning that. Anyone can see that you care about the people of Badelebn very much." Eric poked the fire absentmindedly with a stick. "Please forgive me, but I am curious as to why your heart is so strong." He ceased his poking and rested his hand with the stick on his knee, looking at Sir Dunsten calmly, but seriously. The others were just getting settled to sleep as they talked. Eric kept his voice down for their benefit. "Something moves you more than mere contract. Am I right? Would you share it with me?"
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Post by Rex Apium on Feb 26, 2017 1:24:49 GMT -5
Sophia's horse was different than those the knights rode, namely in the sense that hers was specifically bred for traveling long distances. She had no need for an animal that could charge into battle, as the primary function of her horse was to take her Sister and her the distances they needed to travel for the two of them to do their God given duty. All this meant was that while her horse would not tire as quickly as the others during travel, she couldn't expect it to be as useful should they decide to charge into battle on horseback.
As they rode, Sophia lifted the heavy hood onto her head. It was customary for her head to be kept covered, especially during travel, and even more so when she wore the ceremonial armor she wore now. Back in her home province, La Spada Sacra were something of an enigma and something that people feared in the back of their minds. The Church did nothing to try and alleviate these fears, instructing the members of the not-so-secret organization to keep as much of their heads covered at all times and say little to those around them.
Even so, as the sun lowered behind the horizon and the group broke camp, Sophia lowered her hood to assist in the preparations. She moved fluidly, with the practiced grace of someone who has set up camp much like this hundreds of times before. She also chose to remove her leather chest piece and tabard, leaving not only the pendant she wore as a sign of her position in the Church visible, but also her tightly plaited waist length hair, that had in so far been tucked neatly beneath her clothes.
Sophia settled near the fire, as the rest of the party had, having brought a spool of yarn and pair of knitting needles as she'd done so, quietly starting a new project as one of her favorite hymns danced through her head. She wasn't very talkative, she knew this, but she was always the type to respond to someone when spoken to, so when Dunstan had spoken up to address the group she looked to the man.
“There is no need to thank me, sir, just as there is no need to consider yourself in my debt. This is my calling, and there is no greater good than to work in service of the Lord,” she smiled softly at him, lowering the needles for the first time, “The hour is getting late, and we will need people to keep watch. I volunteer to stay up in the darkest hours, this is a comfortable time for me.”
Her comment carried the weight of prior knowledge for those that understood and Sophia stood, “I go to catch a moment of rest... if someone would be kind enough to ensure I'm awake when it is time, I would greatly appreciate it.” She bowed to those around the fire, her project in her hands and bid them a good rest before retiring for the few hours before it would be her turn to watch the camp.
She spent those few hours sleeping peacefully, and when she was roused she woke quickly with ease. She took the several moments to place her chest armor back on and tighten the straps, moving back into the camp proper. Sophia brought her yarn and knitting needles with her as she did so. The movements of her hands helped to keep her mind focused on everything around her. She'd taken up knitting during her first years in the Chuch, and had continued with the hobby through the years of training to become a full fledged Spada Sacra.
When Johnny awoke from his sleep with violence, her entire form tensed, ready to spring forward at the potential threat. This was eased as she realized that it was one of those she watched over and she returned to her relaxed position. She watched as Johnny crept away, choosing to remain where she sat. She knew not his reason for leaving camp in the dark hours, but it was not her business to pry.
Johnny would return and Sophia's turn on watch would come to an end. Sophia would, in turn, wake the last person set to watch. Marius had offered to take the watch that bled into the early hours of the morning. Waking him would give Sophia several more hours of sleep to coincide with the few she had gotten before her watch started.
With the third watch situated, Sophia returned to where she intended to sleep and removed her chest piece, laying down to rest through the final hours of night.
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Panzer
New Member
Resident Bard
Posts: 29
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Post by Panzer on Feb 26, 2017 2:39:03 GMT -5
Dunstan looked from the fire to his fellow knight, regarding him for a moment as he considered the other man's question. After a long moment he answered; “Even for one who spends so much time seeking it out, it's rare that life presents us with the opportunity to do something truly good. To benefit our fellow man. When the Good Lord presents us with such an opportunity, I believe that it would be life's greatest waste to squander it.”
Eric nodded. "A fair and true answer. I believe you are a good man, Sir Dunstan. I have no reason to inquire further."
Marius was just starting to settle in when he caught a snippet of Eric and Dunstan's conversation, the ranger had wanted to ask a similar question himself. He moved over to join the younger men and spoke up, "Doing something for the good of everyone is all well in good, and you will have no objections from me about seeing this done. However as a veteran of multiple campaigns sometimes that isn't always the case, is there something else that drives you?"
Dunstan returned his focus to the fire before answering. “You've all heard stories of me, I think. I tend not to boast about them, myself, but reputations have a way of spreading like wildfire. The tales of Sir Dunstan the Penitent; the Chained Knight. The flail of judgment against wicked men. But there's one thing the stories never really touch on; have any of you wondered why they call me 'the Penitent'?”
Eric sensed they were about to get an answer to their queries, and he prepared himself for either a trusting confession or a wrathful dismissal. "No. I for one have not heard your story. Please go on, if it doesn't trouble you."
“A story for another day.” Dunstan said, looking over at their sleeping companions – Johnny, exhausted from the journey and Sophia, taking her rest before her watch. “Suffice to say that I wasn't born into nobility, and I had a life before I was a knight. One I'm not proud of, and am still making up for.”
Marius perked up, he had been curious about Dunstan's past, as far south as he resided tales of the Chained Knight still reached them there. "It is not in my nature to pry into a mans past, though I thank you for sharing that with us Sir Dunstan. It is as noble a cause as any. Now Sir Eric" he paused "I do believe you inquired about a smoother path for the horses. From what I've seen of the terrain and of our steeds the journey will be more then manageable. We also should stick to the areas we are most likely not to encounter anyone engaged in this war, a group of armed persons who support neither side openly could present a danger I'd rather not deal with."
The expression on Eric's face as he watched his newfound friend was one of understanding, yet it was marred by current concern. It's true his would be a story for another day, and that day would come soon, but right now was a time for rest, not stirring emotions. He reached out a hand to pat Dunstan in an unexpected gesture. It was far from an embrace, yet faintly descendent of that lineage. He turned his head to Marius as he spoke next and nodded, turning back to Dunstan within a moment. "My dear friend. Although I have yet to hear your tale, I want you to keep this in mind. Honor is something that is only determined by what you do right now. ...and with that, I will sleep. Goodnight my friends."
The ranger nodded as the other man left and looked back to Sir Dunstan. "Well I suppose with all that out of the way that just leaves one matter of business at hand. I have a sneaking suspicion that we are being followed, I have seen a couple of riders trailing us for most of the day, whether they are bandits or just travelers that remains to be seen. I will continue to monitor our rear and if a threat does present itself I will make it known. With that I bid you a good evening Sir Dunstan, Sister Gatti has agreed to wake me for my watch and I must retire."
“It's been taken into consideration, Ranger.” Dunstan said with an appreciative nod. “I took us over the rocky terrain and off the road in hopes of throwing off pursuit. We'll find out tomorrow if it worked. But thank you for your concern, and your vigilance. Sleep well.”
Marius woke at the appointed time decided by him and Sophia, giving the ranger enough time to throw off his blanket, string his bow and take a position where he could see most of the camp. Dawn would not be too far off and with it the company would rise and resume travel. He took a few moments to survey the landscape before him from his position, he couldn't see any sign of open pursuit at this moment, but he still was on guard none the less. Dawn came and shortly after Marius began to rouse his companions, as the rose he helped each with their gear and getting the makeshift camp torn down. Once that was done the veteran took the time to cover up signs that a camp had even been there and took his position in the rear.
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Post by watchoutsamusishere on Mar 1, 2017 5:01:32 GMT -5
Johnny rose with the sun, and found Sir Dunstan grooming his horse; the knight had moved the stallion away from the other horses by a dozen or so yards, and occupied an open space. The horse was not hitched to anything, nor was he bridled, nor haltered; the saddle, bridle and all accoutrements were gathered in a neat pile. Johnny could hear Sir Dunstan murmuring in low tones as he brushed the stallion's thick, muscular neck. The stallion appeared, as best Johnny could tell, to be in a state of repose, dozing peacefully with his eyes closed.
The stallion was a glossy black, at least seventeen hands tall, graceful of aspect but with thick, powerful limbs and a well-developed chest. It's mane was long, well-kept; the tail was full and thick, cut just above the hocks. The hooves were trimmed carefully and shod neatly, the angle between toe and coronet aligning perfectly at rest. Thick, black feathering almost covered the entire hoof. Johnny had never seen it's equal in conformation or care. A true destrier.
As Johnny stepped closer, the horse's ear swivelled towards him, and it opened a baleful eye to glare at the intruder. Sir Dunstan noticed, and glanced in his direction.
“Ah,” said he before whispering something to his horse, who visibly relaxed. “My Lord!” exclaimed Johnny, “I am sorry for being remiss in my duty!” It was normally expected for a squire on the road to tend to his Knight's equipment: armour and weapons, saddlery and tack and even his mount.
Sir Dunstan looked confused for few seconds and then the hard line of his mouth broke into a smile. “This? No. Not duty. We are old friends, Heard and I.” He patted the stallion's neck.
This was the first time Johnny had truly seen the knight outside his armour, and while he certainly looked less intimidating, the posture was no less erect and his bearing no less easy or sure. He did not appear as a city noble, a fop or dandy in fashionable clothes and bright colours, but an austere man in simple garb, squarely built and possessing the rough hands of a farmer. He still dwarfed Johnny, but without his armour he appeared less bear-like, and more nimble. Here was not a man prone to excess and indulgence.
His comeplexion was ruddy, and weatherworn, his eyes having developed permanent lines from years of staring into the distance and squinting against the sun. He possessed a scar beneath his right eye, and one running on his cheek, running the length of his jawline on the left side of his face. His nose was a mess of broken cartilage and repeated setting. Despite this, there was something attractive in the man, a vitality that leaked through his restrained features.
“I have never seen its like!” exclaimed Johnny, earnestly, looking at the stallion called Heard. “Nor I” agreed the knight in a low soft voice. “You know horses?”
Johnny was sure the question was innocent for there was no change in inflection or pitch but it stung him all the same. He looked at the ground at nodded. “Yes, my Lord. I worked as an apprentice to the horsemaster of the lord upon whose fief my family lived. That's where I got my nickname, 'Right Time' Johnny.”
“Ah. I had attributed that to other exploits.”
Johnny shook his head with a sheepish smile. “Nay, my lord. I mostly just groomed, and cleaned, and sometimes when the occasion called for it I'd mount a stubborn horse and hope not to fall off.”
Sir Dunstan nodded and glanced down at his legs, “How are they?”
Johnny shrugged and grinned, running a hand through his hair, which he had yet to tie up. “Miserable. But they'll heal. Where did you buy him?”
Sir Dunstan smiled, “Buy him? I found him.”
“Found him?” Johnny was incredulous.
“Yes. At the end of one of my campaigns in the north. Just a foal he was.” This subject seemed to bring something out in the knight, for he leaned casually against his mount, looking less a noble, and more a serf. It put Johnny at ease.
“Who trained him?” asked Johnny suddenly.
“I guess I did. Although I'm never sure if I trained him, or if he trained me.”
“You broke him in, too?” Johnny would not have relished that particular job, but to train a war horse was a severe enterprise. The methods were effective, but unkind.
“No. I cannot say as though I did. No one has. It hasn't been done. He just lets me up there from time to time.” Sir Dunstan looked back at the horse again, slapping him affectionately. “He's not so fond of other riders.”
Johnny's eyes became uncharacteristically round, and his mouth fell agape. Not broken? Such a thing was nigh impossible. He almost blundered and spoke the thought, but checked himself. He could not stain the knight's honour. But truly, for such a spirited and powerful creature to willingly allow itself to be led spoke to Johnny's heart about the character of this man.
At that moment the horse turned its head to him, testily waiting for him to leave so it could continue it's rub down.
“I wouldn't even try to ride him,” said Johnny honestly, “I'm convinced he already doesn't like me.
Sir Dunstan laughed, the first laugh Johnny heard from him. It was short, but genuine.
After a brief silence, Johnny changed the subject, “Is there anything you would like me to do?”
Sir Dunstan shook his head, “No. Soon enough we'll be back in the saddle. Rest while you can for today shall be no shorter than yesterday.
Johnny nodded with a slight bow, “Yes, my lord.” And turned to leave.
“Wait,” called Sir Dunstan, still leaning casually. “'Right Time' Johnny?”
Johnny gave a start, having forgotten, “Oh, yes, my lord! So here I was, racing a horse I'd just successfully 'backed', against Aimar, my nemesis. I would have won, too, had the mare not decided to carry me off, and if I had not been too weak to stop her. Eventually she threw me. Luckily there was a bush, or so I thought, but I cleared that and landed in a creek. I broke my arms. But I landed by a girl, who had been washing clothes and was just leaving. She pulled me out of the creek so I didn't drown and then helped me walk home. Originally it was going to be 'wrong place, right time' Johnny, but that was too long.”
“You must have been grateful for the assistance,” remarked Sir Dunstan dryly.
“Yes, my lord! I got a proper whipping for it, but the notice of a beautiful lady, and later a wife.”
He smiled at the memory for a time and then his expression turned brittle, like thin glass, and he stood unmoving and unblinking least something break it.
Sir Dunstan said nothing, but nodded, and Right Time Johnny turned and walked away.
* * *
The day was largely uneventful. Shortly after their conversation, Johnny had aided Sir Dunstan in donning his armour, a task at which was still unfamiliar and clumsy, but maybe less unfamiliar and clumsy as it hitherto had been, which felt like progress and a secret victory for him. The others gathered their provisions and shortly the group was on the road.
And they felt more like a group to Johnny. His spirits were high for the first time in a long time. He had thought himself to be brought on this errand as a form of execution, but Sir Dunstan did not seem as bleak and dark as the stories told. If he was, he hid it well, but Johnny chose to believe there was more to the man than reputation . . . and thought, possibly, the knight might be affording him the same courtesy.
Sir Dunstan brought them back upon easier terrain, and spent most of the morning trotting up and down the line, engaging in conversation with one person then another. Johnny' horse was happy to plod along and follow the others, so Johnny had little to do but keep his eye out for game, but mostly he 'rested his eyes' and enjoyed the heat of the sun and the cooling breeze that accompanied it. There was laughter, conversation, little indication of the hard times ahead.
The most excitement occurred just before noon, when crossing a shallow, swift and terraced river. Eric's mount kicked a stone, tripped, and not only was the man almost unseated in the horse's mad scramble to maintain its footing, but his sword fell free from where he'd strapped it to his pack, (close enough to be within easy reach, but not belted so as not to impede his riding) and was quickly swept into the water.
This caused Eric to plunge in after it, heedless of the fact he was in full armour. The consequences of this were that several people had to help fish him out. Not Johnny, though, he managed to shoot some fish in the river with his bow, and Sir Dunstan called a halt while they built a fire to cook them, and took shade under some trees, letting the horses roam free in the water.
After this brief interlude, and welcome retreat from the rising heat, they were back upon the road, heading for their destination.
And after some hours, the shadows grew long, and the air began to cool. A foul odour was carried on the breeze. The horses noticed it first, some becoming nervous, others more alert. Sir Dunstan became, once more, the knight of reputation, watching his surroundings carefully. Johnny knew the smell; he'd slaughtered animals many times. He expected the stench was not unknown to any of them. But the stink of effluvium became stronger and stronger, until it was acrid in the nose. This was unsettling. It indicated killing on a large scale.
They came over a small rise, Sir Dunstan in the lead. As soon as he crested, he held his fist upward, horse statue still. Before them was a shambles, the grass flattened and red with blood. Carcasses lay strewn: cows, sheep, goats. A short distance off, a large band of armed men continued their bloody work, systematically slaughtering a great number of beasts gathered and still living. Their panicked bleating hung in the air.
Sir Dunstan indicated they were to proceed cautiously. And admitted he was not familiar with whose fief this was, or who these animals rightfully belonged to. As they had stumbled directly upon the scene he was bound to investigate, his honour not allowing him to turn a blind eye to such a scene. If, indeed, these men had no rights upon these animals.
Johnny fingered his bow nervously. The others, likely, prepared themselves as well.
By the time they neared close enough to distinguish the individuals, those individuals had armed themselves and they stared at Sir Dunstan with a mixture of despair and outrage. Sir Dunstan, himself, kept his face carefully neutral, not willing to risk a rash action that might take more unnecessary lives.
These people were dishevelled, haggard. Their armour was motley, different pieces taken from different suits. Their tabards were worn, hauberks rusted and missing links. Any plate was pitted with impact and warped. There was plenty of leather, brigandines and simpler garments. Their weapons and shields were an assortment of styles and types. There were archers, too, equipped with simple bows much like Johnny's own, but they could still do deserve damage to their horses, and the less armoured of them. Above all, these people were desperate. It wafted from them like the funk of dead cattle.
“Peace,” called Dunstan loudly, holding his hand from his flail, fingers extended upwards in a gesture of non-aggression.
His, opponents did not return the gesture in kind; they gripped their weapons harder, eyes narrow, mouths bared in fear and anger . . .
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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 Mar 5, 2017 2:13:20 GMT -5
Sir Archibald awoke the next morning with the others. He had gotten some decent sleep, for being back out on the road. He went about the necessary routine for the morning, eating, drinking, urinating, dressing, packing, checking the horses... As he did, he watched the activities of the others in their preparations.
John the thief was still present, and Eric was pleased to see that he hadn't tried anything foolish the night before. He was probably still too weak and sore to have escaped successfully, had he tried, yet Eric got the impression that the man actually wanted to stay. Quietly from the background, Eric witnessed the exchange between John and Dunstan that morning. Yes, there was an undeniable link forming between those two. It was noble, and good, the kind of light that would change a man. Eric could see John easily falling into it. This was a chance for him to begin a new life. This was what justice should be.
Eric smiled at them as he finally mounted up. He had been the last to finish making ready, but hadn't been wasting any time. He saluted Marius as he realized the ranger had been waiting to take up the rear position again, acknowledging his noble offer. Eric approved of the man's choice to be responsible for the position. Marius had done it yesterday as well. It was an act of courtesy not to contest the man's choice and a sign of Eric's trust. Such noble fellows he had joined on this quest. This would inspire him in the battles to come more than anything else. Eric urged his steed forward and followed in line behind Sophia in what ended up as a loose formation for the ride.
The pace set by Dunstan was relaxed, which made sense as this was more of a distance challenge. There was some light banter, half of it being lost on the wind and difficult to hear from the back of the troup, and eventually, they came to a river.
The sword had come loose over the course of the ride, and all it took was a jolt in the right direction to throw it into the clear, slightly tea-colored running water. Eric threw his leg over without a moment's hesitation and jumped down after it with an audible splash. The water wasn't all that deep, but it was cool. Eric was strong, but the momentum of the water pressed against his body with a timeless relentlessness. Only a few meters downstream, he tried to stand, but the unstable and slippery rocks below betrayed him as well as his horse. The knight toppled backward with a worrisome look toward his allies just before being taken by the water.
Upon seeing Eric beginning to stand and fall, the ranger dismounted, taking a extra moment to remove his chain shirt. No sense both of them floundering about. He had seen enough men drown because their armor weighed them down, he wasn't about to let this lordling to do the same. Marius wasn't the strongest of them true but all he needed was a solid hand to provide Eric that extra balance until his feet found purchase. Wading into the water, he picked his path carefully and found a spot near Eric to help the young man balance. Once the knight had situated himself, Marius spoke, “Next time forget about the sword.”
Crystal blue eyes found Marius as the blonde knight was pulled up by his strong grip. Eric gasped and huffed in great relief to once again easily find air. He held onto Marius' hand, as if afraid to let go so quickly. His polished armor gleamed as drips of water ran off it, each one catching a sparkle of sunlight which winked out as the droplet vanished into the rushing water below. The sword was tight in his other hand, and it too cast a terrible glare.
"I thank you, dear friend." Eric was all the more respectful now that he possibly owed his life to the man. He accepted the help humbly and made no excuses for his actions. In fact, he said nothing to justify it at all, only bowing his head and clasping his two hands around Marius' in gratitude.
Seeing as the two were fine, the others were free to continue walking. The noble and the ranger would catch up soon enough.
Eric carefully led his horse across the rest of the way, the ranger following behind, and it quickly became clear that the animal was injured. The light in Eric's eyes dimmed with concern. "Ah, what here has befallen us?" He put his hands on the creature reassuringly and tried to examine the leg. Its ears swiveled back. Eric couldn't tell what was wrong, but continuing to ride it after a day like yesterday would only make matters worse. He was going to have to walk.
The knight began stripping his armor, his brow still furrowed as he considered the options for dealing with this situation. Some of the weight of Eric's gear was split between the two horses under Marius' suggestion, with the intent that the sound steed could catch up with Dunstan if needed. Eric hung what clothing he needed to dry on his tack. This unfortunate stroke of luck had humbled him, but he resolved not to let it interfere with his duties, nor with his composure.
Marius suggested the knight stay in back with him to talk. The ranger let out a sigh and looked down at the lordling. “Tell me Sir Eric, is this your first campaign? I mean no offense, but you seem to be unaccustomed to being outside the city. This need not concern Dunstan and the others, look at it as more of a concerned veteran looking out for a new recruit.”
Eric closed his eyes, and there were tiny wrinkles visible in the corners. This was certainly not his first time traveling. He was in his mid-thirties and had dedicated his life to the martial arts, rather than to the pursuit of riches or ladies. He had fought as a soldier in defense of his people, protected their lands from invaders even as a young lad, and had spent years training with masters in single combat. "No... It is not." There was no malice, no sign of insult, just a plain answer to a sincere question. The white knight then tilted his head and unexpectedly smiled at his friend in light of the present situation. "Yet, I must confess. I would never have survived this long without friends such as you. I am grateful for your aid today, Marius. It means more to me than I think you know."
The ranger nodded as he received the young knights answer “I see, we all have our flaws all we can do is improve upon then. As for diving in after your sword, don't do it again, for everyone's sake. A sword is but a tool and can be replaced, your life cannot.”
A soaked, grey-white shirt completely failed to hide the musculature and complexion of Eric's sculpted torso as he escaped his chest plate. Eric thought nothing of it, intending for the shirt to hang from his shoulders to dry. After a few moments of preparation, footware changed, he tugged the reigns and coaxed his horse, walking briskly to catch up to the others. Marius rode beside him. The nearly-white grey gelding moved with a subtle favor to its left fore but was able. "I pray that he will heal quickly." Eric spoke aloud with his eyes on the sore foot as they walked. His golden wet locks were beginning to loosen. "Marius, we must not let the others advance too far ahead of us in these wildlands. Sir Dunstan is fierce, but the others are not."
Marius and Eric talked for a while as the small band continued their journey. Eventually, the conversation paused as Marius considered his next choice of words, “I would not put them down so soon, I have fought alongside women who could kill us both at the same time and desperation can bring out the best of us.”
Eric smiled knowingly. "I would not contest that. Although, I am none too comfortable with letting it get to that point. I must point out that one's value is not to be measured only in their ability to fight. In fact, I wouldn't even take it into consideration compared to..." Eric drifted off as his attention became focused on the smell of fresh blood. It was strong, which meant there was a lot of it. This wasn't a good sign.
Marius saw Dunstan become cautious. He looked down at the lordling. “Get your armor on, something is going on in the fore.”
Quickly, Eric began to arm and armor himself. The sounds of yelling and fighting weren't far off. "Go to the others." He told Marius. "They will need you. I will be right behind you."
Fortunately, Eric didn't bring a full suit of armor on this mission. He knew there would be a lot of travel and unexpected circumstances. It wasn't going to be a battlefield with camps and support staff on either side. He strapped on his chest and shoulders, then got moving. The vambraces he had already been wearing, and his sword was already at his side. His gauntlets, helm, and upper leg plates remained on his horse. He took down his shield and carried it on his left as he walked with his horse to catch up with the others.
Dunstan was holding his arms up in front of a mob of angry villagers. A few of them had bows. Their equipment looked tired and in need of care, and they themselves were very unhappy. Somewhere, a pig squealed.
Eric made note of Sophia's location and subtly drew his horse protectively in that direction. He said nothing, only frowning at the scene before him. Inwardly, he shared the villagers' sadness, although he did not yet understand why this slaughter was happening. It was August, and food would soon be precious. Such a waste was a tragedy.
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Post by Former Fiend on Mar 12, 2017 1:26:36 GMT -5
Sir Dunstan shook his head as he watched Marius pull Eric from the river, nudging Heard and turning back to the road, riding up along side Sophia. “More excitement than I was hoping for on this journey, Miss Gatti. God willing this won't slow us down too much.” Dunstan turned his eyes forward, to the east, to Badelebn. “Regardless, how're you fairing so far?”
"No worse for wear, Sir Dunstan," she replied, the hood on her head covering most of her face, but she turned it slightly to regard the man, "You may refer to me as Sophia, if you wish. If we're to be comrades, then the pleasantries aren't as necessary."
"As you wish, Sophia." Dunstan said, a weary smile forming at the corner of his mouth. "Truth be told I'd find it refreshing. As I was telling Eric and Marius last night, I wasn't born into nobility. I often find the trappigns of it to be as exhausting as a forced march."
"Would you prefer I just call you Dunstan, then?"
"So long as the others aren't within earshot, especially Johnny. I wouldn't want them to think anything scandalous, and as tiring as those trappings are, they can be useful at times."
Sophia chuckled, "That's perfectly fine with me, then. I can't imagine the rumors that would swirl should you seem to be getting too close to one such as I."
Dunstan let out an amused sound, himself. "Indeed. I think that if anyone would know the power of rumors - how they take on a life of their own - as well as I do, it would be one of your order. Speaking of, I didn't think to ask at the time because I didn't want to balk at a volunteer, but this mission of mine, it isn't pulling you away from your own work, is it?"
She returns her gaze to the road in front of them, "I did not have any tasks prior to this one, and even so I believe this would have taken precedence. My sister and I were traveling, she was spreading the word and helping those in need, while I was awaiting my next duty." She pauses for a moment, contemplating her next words. "Although I will admit that I didn't expect my next task to come in such a way."
"You truly see the will of the Lord in this errand, don't you, Sophia?" Dunstan asked.
"I spent three days praying for His guidance, only for my resolve to not faulter. He placed me on this path, I am sure of it," she turned her head to look to him again, "I am the Lord's will made flesh, I've found it best not to question His methods."
He nodded. "It fills me with hope to hear that. I've always thought it best that a man like me should not presume to know God's will. But neither will I question his agent. If this is the path He has set you upon, then I lay whatever doubts I had when I took answered this call to rest."
She smiled slightly, the act lost but the tone transferring to her words, "I am glad. I come off as too hard sometimes, if my sister is to be believed, so it fills me with joy to know that my conviction has brought you faith."
The pair continued idle conversation for a while longer, the talk distracting Dunstan from his annoyance with Eric's mishap and the time it may have cost them. The knight occasionally glanced back over his shoulder to check to see that the ranger and his fellow knight weren't falling too far behind. Eric's horse seemed to be limping and the blonde knight had taken to leading it on foot. Dunstan hoped that would be a temporary affair and the animal would be ready to ride at speed tomorrow, because Dunstan did intend on making up for lost time.
Such thoughts fell by the wayside when the wind blowing out of the east brought the smell of blood to his nostrils. Heard had been uneasy for some moments before and only now was Dunstan understanding why. He face hardened, the relaxed smile that his talk with Sophia had brought him fading as he feared that his chosen short cut may have lead them directly into a battlefield. That there were no pillars of smoke coming from over the horizon was the one calming thought in his mind.
When Dunstan, Johnny, and Sophia crested the ridge, with Marius and Eric not too far behind, the Chained Knight looked out upon the killing field that lay before them. Dozens of animals cut down and left to lay, awaiting butchery, and thirty men by his count performing the killing. A ramshackle band of desperate men in worn armor, each one armed, and at least five archers.
Dunstan held up his hand, leaving his flail at his belt. The men below had noticed them and there was a clear tension mounting in the air. He knew he needed to consider this and carefully. They had ridden far enough that they were off of Sir Thomas' lands; these men could be following the lawful orders of their lord. Or they could be bandits, deserters, or invaders from one prince's army or the other, taking what they would. Dunstan wasn't sure he could abide that.
And with Eric's horse injured, he wasn't sure they'd be able to outrun the mob if this couldn't be resolved peacefully. And with retreat not being an option, that would mean they'd need to fight.
“Listen.” Dunstan said, his voice stern. “I'm going to ride down there and talk to them. If we're lucky, God willing, this is nothing that cannot be resolved with words alone.” Dunstan placed his helmet on, his face disappearing behind the steel face plate. “But if these men are of ill intent and we are forced to fight, here is the plan; I will ride back up to this spot to regroup with you and we'll form a line to charge. Lady Sophia, if you think you can keep yourself atop my horse, I can get you to the other side of their line. Marius, you and Johnny will split off from the charge once they're focused on us and ride off to either side, taking to the flanks – focus your arrows upon their archers. Eric, if your mount is able, then you and I will harrow them on horseback; if not, charge on foot with your poleaxe. Regardless, it will be on you and I to draw their focus while John and Marius attack their flanks and Sophia attacks from the rear. If there are any questions, I'd have them now.”
Eric stared at Dunstan as he quietly relayed his plan. His blonde brow creased in a look that could mean disapproval, but it was undoubtedly serious. "I pray it will not come to that." He answered with audible sadness at the potential loss, yet there was no hint of defiance in his voice. "Even with the lameness, I'll be far more formidable mounted. Anything that would make them think twice about attacking us is an advantage I will take." The noble knight absentmindedly glanced at his steed. "I will be ready as you ride out. May reason prevail."
Johnny, for his part, simply nodded.
The ranger wasn't surprised by the tactics Dunstan had chose, with their limited numbers minimizing casulties was the best option. He had hoped this would be resolved peaceably without resorting to violence so soon but the situation wasn't looking too good. Marius looked to Johnny, he had yet to see the man in combat but he had no time to be choosey about his backup. "I understand, stay on my tail lad, if they send a small party to engage us better odds if we stick together. Ready when everyone else is. If any pursue you I have you covered." A nod from Sophia was the last bit of confirmation that Dunstan needed before giving Heard a light nudge that sent the horse heading down the hill towards the band of butchers. He took note of their equipment as he closed distance on them; their equipment was ramshackle and many of them looked more outfitted for hunting rather than fighting. Game must have been scarce that they had turned to preying on livestock. The knight's hands were raised away from the reigns of his horse – and more importantly, away from any weapons at his belt. “Peace,” Dunstan called loudly, “I am Sir Dunstan the Penitent, I wish to -”
Dunstan was cut off by the band's answer to that – a thrown spear aimed for his head. Had his shield not been strapped to his left arm, he wouldn't have been able to deflect it off to the side. Dunstan instantly turned his horse around and spurred it to a canter up the hill as the bandits rallied for battle behind him, axes, clubs, pikes, and swords clashing and arrows notching. Before he reached the top of the hill he saw Marius draw his own bow and loose an arrow, but that covering fire wasn't enough to suppress their numbers. Dunstan felt the impact of an arrow against his plate and heard another impact against Heard's barding. Fortunately his assessment of these men was right; they were firing hunting arrows at him. Arrows that were designed to pierce the hide of beasts, but failed to penetrate his armor entirely.
Regrouping with the others, Dunstan brought his horse around again to form a line with Eric, Johnny, and Marius. Quickand nimble, Sophia climbed on Heard's back behind Dunstan – she wasn't even sitting upon the horse, but crouching, taking hold of the straps on the back of Dunstan's armor for support and balance. Fortunately there was plenty of room upon the massive destrier. With everyone in position, Dunstan drew his flail and gave the order; “Charge!”
The four horses started down the hill, quickly building speed. The formation below them tried to spread out, but timing and position were on the side of Dunstan and his band; the sun was low in the sky, but it was to their backs, which meant it was shining right into the eyes of their enemies. The bandit's had trouble focusing against the orange glow, and couldn't pick off their targets or prepare an ideal defense, nor could they react when Marius and Johnny split off from the line to circle the flanks.
Dunstan's arm reached out, wrist rotating to set the head of his mace spinning, building momentum. When he was on foot, the flail struck with the force of a battering ram. It could cave in breast plates, shatter shields, and even take off heads. On the back of a horse, with all of it's speed behind the force of the blow, one would shutter to think what it capable of.
The line that their enemies formed was torn and shattered when Dunstan hit it. He road atop more than a thousand pounds of flesh and steel traveling at forty miles an hour, it didn't much care what was standing in it's way. Three men went flying just from the force of Heard charging through the line, with a fourth man's corpse being flung into a fifth after Dunstan struck him with his mace. He couldn't see it with his helmet blocking his peripheral vision, but he heard a crash that told him that Eric found similar results.
Once they'd cleared the line completely, Sophia dismounted, leaping from the back of Heard and rolling to the ground. She kept low in the matted grass as Dunstan and Eric circled around for another charge and the line reformed, the bandits turning around to brace for another impact. As he charged again, Dunstan saw the archers falling one by one as Marius and Johnny worked to pick them off, with the bowmen unable to decide where to concentrate their fire – either on the archers that were preying on them or on the knights that were threatening to shatter the lines – they had already been effectively neutralized.
Dunstan hit the line again, and again four men were laid low beneath his charge. As he brought his steed around once more he saw the line reform again, turning to face the pair of mounted knights, raising their weapons defensively. If they had had more time to coordinate, Dunstan would have liked have worked it out so that he and Eric would charge from opposite sides of the line to keep them disoriented, but that hadn't been possible given the field.
What was possible was what he saw; men at the back of the tightening formation dropping down behind their fellows, unnoticed, as Sophia plied her bloody skills. Dunstan knew where to avoid from the sign of her work.
With the third charge, the five of them had slain two thirds of the bandits' number. This was the critical moment; desperate men tended to battle to the bitter end. Now was the point where they would find out of their desperation was strong enough to keep their line from breaking, even in the face of a complete route.
Eric called out something to the bandits, though Dunstan couldn't quite make out what. Whatever he said, it had an effect as the group finally broke ranks to flee.
And Dunstan charged again.
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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 Mar 12, 2017 14:00:22 GMT -5
Eric waited atop the lame grey in line with Sophia and Marius as their leader strode out to make contact with the angry, pig-slaughtering mob. The sun was indeed behind them. It was mid afternoon, a time when the children of Thetford would return home from their morning schooling chanting rhymes down the streets in their light voices. Eric looked up at the sky as he remembered those sounds, and the clouds were beautiful as any day he had ever looked upon them, eternal and innocent of the foul display they hovered over. In a moment of whimsical longing, wind blowing his hair, he wondered if there truly was a heaven.
Dropping back to reality, he saw Dunstan raise his hands to the crowd some distance ahead. Without time for a proper conversation, the call for peace received a thrown spear in answer, and the mob charged with their weapons in hand. Disbelief and denial leapt into Eric's mind in that brief instant, and he couldn't tear his eyes away. But he knew the truth, this was happening. Eric's heart sank with disappointment. People were going to die.
Sir Dunstan promptly returned to them at a gallop. Eric couldn't see the expression on his face, but his own was none too pleased. Glaive in hand, Sir Archibald nodded and the four charged the onrushing mob together as planned.
Eric didn't see where Marius and Sophia ended up going. In fact, he didn't see nor really hear Sir Dunstan making his passes either. All Eric was able to see were the anguished final expressions of foolish people who were realizing their mistakes entirely too late. The poleaxe in his tight grip only ever left the most grievous, mortal wounds with every empowered swing from horseback. Bones crushed easily, jugulars split open, and vivid red poured down their chests. A head spilled into the mix as one poor soul was wholly decapitated outright.
For Eric, there was no hate, only regret that none of this could be avoided. Every strike was an obligation, an unavoidable loss that had to be made for the lowly goal of saving their own hides. But their lives were worth it, no doubt, for Dunstan had collected only just and noble souls, Eric had seen enough evidence of that. The offer of peace had clearly been denied, and the enemy stood at far greater number. Therefore, there was no lack of honor in this engagement. Still, without knowing these people's reasons for their actions, killing them could be either justice or tragedy.
Eric felt the gimp in his steed's gait, yet it did not balk. There was no time to worry on it now. He rounded after a pass that had cut down two more and trampled one. He faced the fractured and trepid fighters, the length of the poleaxe extending down from his right hand like a skeletal wing. They were breaking up. Hesitation marked them, and a young man's doubting face caught Eric's elder blue eyes. It was time to end this failure.
"Flee! Run! Now! There is no reason to waste any more of your lives!" Eric boomed toward the bulk of fighters, looking as fierce as possible while his mount huffed out of flared nostrils.
Dozens of bodies lay broken, bleeding, and dead in the fields. After a brief consideration, several of the fighters made good on this opportunity and bolted toward the tree line. A few called angrily at their cowardly allies, yet they could not stop the cascade affect that followed. Eric swallowed back his sudden relief as he watched them. Merciful Lord, it was over.
Hoofbeats thundered past him as the dark form of Heard charged again at the backs of the fleeing men. Eric gasped in shock. Dunstan was still fighting.
Desperately, Eric belted at him, "Sir Dunstan! They are fleeing! Victory is ours!" At first Eric thought the knight was simply in battle mode and did not realize the fight was over, but then, as Dunstan continued after another man, it became clear what he was doing.
"No..." Eric spoke to himself. He kicked his mount, who surged forward with a jolt of pain and fear. "Sir Dunstan! Restrain yourself!" As Dunstan finished a pass, Eric caught up with him, jostling Heard with his own, injured horse, and getting in the way to physically prevent another charge. Eric held out his hands to the sides in a symbolic wall before the Chained Knight "Cease your attack! The enemy's backs are turned, and there is no justice in merciless slaughter."
Seeing the knight ignore his shouting and already attempting to move around him, Eric grabbed his reigns and moved in front again, and tried to grab Heard's bridle himself. "Have you lost your mind?!"
Frothing and confused, Heard jerked his head free but was stalled enough for Eric to get a few words in. The enemy was still in flight. "Are you a knight Dunstan? This is immoral! There is no further reason to waste their lives. Heed me brother! Have mercy so that those who survive may one day learn!" It was the first time he had called Dunstan brother.
At this point, it was clear Eric was against continuing and was going to defend the survivors to the best of his ability. He hoped he had delayed Dunstan enough that the rest would be able to get away. Spread out as they were, there was no way one knight on horseback could get them all in time.
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Post by Former Fiend on Mar 12, 2017 23:06:46 GMT -5
Dunstan's helmet didn't allow him to see Eric come up beside him. He only looked to his right when he felt the impact of the other knight jostling his horse into Heard, for all the good it did. Heard was larger, stronger, wilder, more fully armored, and Eric's steed was injured and not at it's full capacity; it would offer all the resistance to Heard's charge that the line of these men had before they had broken and scattered.
Eric seemed to realize that as he bleated at Dunstan, please of morality and accusations of insanity, and reached over to try and seize Heard's reigns, left idle as Dunstan guided the destrier with his legs alone to leave his left arm free to raise shield and his right arm free to bring his flail down on his enemies. Ironic that one accusing Dunstan of losing his mind would do something so insane as to try to reign in this horse. And unfortunate for him that he had ridden up on Dunstan's right side.
The Chained Knight pulled up on the handle of his flail and gripped the chain to it to keep the spiked head from striking Eric in his exposed face – the son of Thomas wasn't so wise as to wear a helmet into the skirmish, and he paid for that lack of foresight as Dunstan backhanded him in the jaw with the handle of that flail to force his release of Heard's reigns. That wasn't enough, however, to calm the unbroken horse, a beast that reacted poorly to anyone but Dunstan touching him without Dunstan's leave.
Heard thrashed and reared back with such force that Eric's mount, perhaps aided by the momentum of Dunstan's strike, was knocked to the ground and Eric with it. Dunstan didn't see if Eric managed to get off the horse before it landed on his leg or not. He was too focused on calming Heard, bringing the beast to heel, and the stallion's kicking and stamping took Eric out of Dunstna's limited range of vision. Once he had finally calmed the steed after several moments, Dunstan's eyes turned to the horizon, to where the bandits had fled; they were still in sight, but had made enough ground and scattered so that pursuing them was a fool's errand at this point. Scowling behind his face-plate, Dunstan dismounted.
Walking around Heard, Dunstan found Sir Eric crawling away from his grey, spitting blood upon the grass. Dunstan placed a boot against the man's side and shoved him over onto his back, releasing the chain on his flail and letting the spiked head fall and hang free as Dunstan stared down at the other man before speaking. “I told you, Sir Eric, that there was to be one command. Mine. When you volunteered to join me in my cause, I told you that. And yet you defy it, in the name of mercy.”
“What mercy do you think those men will have on the first family they find once they're finished running? They were desperate men when there were thirty of them. Now there are less than ten and their best chance for dinner has been taken from them, what do you imagine they'll do? You haven't saved lives, Sir Eric, nor have you served justice. You've let loose a pack of hungry, rabid dogs upon this land. May the consequences of that be on your head.”
Dunstan secured his flail at his belt and took a step back, reaching down to pull Eric up to his feet. “Now then, you have a choice. You can reaffirm that from this moment, until Badelebn is safe, you will follow my command in battle, or you can turn around and head back to Thetford. Because I will not go into battle with you if I have to question your ability to follow my lead.”
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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 Mar 12, 2017 23:29:36 GMT -5
The grey steed's leg gave out as Dunstan's mount became frantic, taking Eric with it to the ground. Eric was tossed, but uninjured, save a sharp pain in his cheek. He did not rush to his feet, and for that he was unceremoniously flipped onto his back. He stared up at Dunstan, a sight that would have shaken any grown man to the core, yet Eric was unphased. He had left himself openly vulnerable to the dreaded knight, yet he knew even those with a questionable interpretation of chivalry would not strike him from that position. Eric listened cordially, intent on understanding the paradox of Dunstan's morality.
As he always did, Eric closed his eyes and bowed his head in what appeared to be acceptance of admonishment. He never glared, nor sneered, nor whimpered, but was silent until Dunstan offered his hand.
Eric took it, coming to stand beside his masked ally and met his gaze face to face. There was a drop of blood at the corner of his lip. He was calm as he answered through measured breaths. "Have you so little faith in others, Sir Dunstan? Chivalry exists for a reason, and not because war is fair, but because, it isn't. You are wrong to judge those men. You seek penance for yourself, yet you would deny it to others." It seemed now the city-bred noble had an equal lesson to share. "They are human. Neither you nor I can say what exactly they will do next, but I can tell you, they have families. They are brothers, sons, and fathers, to someone. No one leads a life without others to care about in it, and even criminals have regrets."
Did this strike a nerve with the Chained Knight? Eric had said how he hadn't agreed with his father's ways. This, was the white knight's morality in action.
"I protect these people, because I would protect you, Sir Dunstan, or John, or anyone who was ever born human and deserves a second chance. Yes, I am capable of following orders in battle, even without fully understanding your reasons. All I ask is that you bear a conscience. Running down men who merely sought sustenance for survival for the paltry excuse that they attacked you in their desperation is unnecessary and cruel. They have been beaten and many of them have died, yet you want more blood..." Eric shook his head disapprovingly. "Mercilessness is cowardly and unbecoming of a knight."
"I cannot obey you like some tamed beast or mercenary Sir Dunstan. I pledged to you my loyalty, my heart, and my sword. I promised not to abandon you, and I still intend to keep these promises. You have shown me much reason to keep faith in you. I hope that will not change."
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