[i]To Gregar Weade, son of Rikard Weade, 2nd born son, rightful heir to the keep of Wintershouse and the duchy of the Whitelands,

I wish to inform you that lord Perris of Harrighfield has sent a message to the vassals of the king, amongst which Joakim Weade, your younger brother, as well as your heir. The message says that he wishes to take your rightful place in the Whitelands, stating that you are incapable of leading your duchy. 

Your brother has taken his place as lord regent until you return to the Wintershouse, and has collected oaths of fealty from your vassals. After doing so he departed for the north, to travel to the Northermoat with your master at arms, master Volkov, and also your uncle, lord Favrin. They intend to rescue a nobleman taken hostage by a band of raiders, however there weren't many details surrounding [b]what[/b] kind of raiders. An interesting note is that a priest from the church of God and his Seven Sons has shown up, asking to represent the church during this endeavour. It's unclear who he is, or why he has chosen this specific, meaningless march to the north to represent the church. Knowing the church's priests are famous for.. being less than pious, I would not put it beyond the man to be there to represent his own interests. However, nothing is certain as of yet. 

Aside from that, lord marquis Urik has taken control of the keep for now, until Joakims' return. The man is doing a good job at maintaining day-to-day bussiness for the castle, and has even calmed down some of the people who questioned Joakims' rulership. It seems that they trust Joakims' advisors. The man is a good steward and deserves praise, my lord.

All is quiet, and winter lurks. Lord Perris marches and we need you now, more than ever. I ask you as a friend, not as a subject, do return home soon.

Signed, Andrus Otterby, loyal servant to the crown and the Whitelands. Root to top.[/i]

Underneath the man's name was a seal of the Otterby family, a river running past an old tree. The Otterby family had been a long time serving family of the Weade's who remained unlanded. Instead they resided in the Wintershouse. Members of their family spread across all ranks of the keep, ranging from servants, maids and guards to spymasters, marshals and bodyguards. Gregar had planned to order the construction of a new march on the border with the Forklands in order to give them some significant stature as a payment for their livelong servitude, but that'd have to wait now.

Gregar tossed the letter onto the desk in his tent, put his hands behind his head and thought for a good five minutes. Lord Perris was known for his ambitious traits, but to directly assert a claim onto a throne of another duke? Quite unheard of, truthfully. Just when Gregar was going to write a letter back, his cousin Corbin entered the tent. [i]“Gregar? The commander is looking for you.”[/i] Gregar looked at him with a confused look, but Corbin simply raised his shoulders. [i]“Don't ask me why.”[/i] Gregar got up from the wobbly chair which leaned on the uneven dirt and grass and followed Corbin out of the tent, after which they walked to the commanders' tent together. 

[b]“Any news of your father, Corbin?”[/b] Corbin shook his head. [i]“I wrote my last letter barely a couple of days ago. He hasn't had time to respond.. and I think that the contents of the letter might've shaken him too much to respond straight away.”[/i] Gregar nodded, understanding what Corbin meant when he talked about the contents. [b]“Yes, I have yet to write to my own family. The last days have been so hectic, and.. I could only sent them a letter notifying them of what happened. We will mourn when we get back.”[/b] Corbin responded with a nod as well, but shut his mouth for the rest of the walk. The closer they got to the commanders tent the more tense it got. It was almost as if there was a certain smell in the air that created the tension. As they arrived, they heard talking inside the tent. [i]“Yeah, I sent the cousin to fetch him. Fuckin' Weade's. How big is their damn family anyway? I heard their father had 3 sons and that was about it. Nothin' like the Harrighfields. That Perris fucker has like 8 sons, and 12 daughters. Heard he married 'em all away to counts and earls in the Falklands, get some alliances going. His heir is a mean fucker' too. Those Weade's are gonna be in trouble if they actually go to war 'gainst Harrighfield. Anyway, what's taking that Gregar so fuckin' long.”[/i]

Gregar moved the tent flaps aside and stepped inside, coughing to make his presence known. Shortly after Corbin followed inside, both with a straight face pretending they didn't hear what the commander had just said. Turning around, the commander came face to face with Gregar, a strong and charismatic man. The commander didn't seem to care, as he was his superior for the time being. That, and it seemed he held some grudge against the Weade's. [i]“Ah, if it ain't the Weade sisters. I think I asked for Gregar, and not Corbin, but since yer' both here..”[/i] he said as he eyed Corbin with a glare that could spell death, [i]“I guess I'll just let you both go on this small task I need to get done. Gregar, Corbin, go with my men to the village that lies over the hill and torch it.”[/i]

Gregar didn't get why they would torch the village, since the king had already made a peace treaty with Harrighfield, and got what he wanted, namely access to the iron mine. There was no reason for the king to keep fighting. Still, orders were orders. Gregar and Corbin went outside, and found the 5 horsemen to their left. There were two horses readied for them, one brown and one brown with white spots. Either seemed like a fine horse, so Gregar just mounted the brown one since it was closest to him. 

Together with the horsemen they rode for the village, taking a small detour through a forest to 'mask their movements from prying eyes' according to one of the riders. Once they got to a small secluded spot in the forest however, the riders unmounted their horses and told Gregar and Corbin to follow suit, as they would approach on foot. As they got on their feet and tied the horses to a tree, they heard the sound of a crossbow being loaded and turned around. There they stood, 5 riders with weapons drawn against Corbin and Gregar. The rider in front grinned, and said to them with a gritty voice, [i]“Lord Perrighfield would rather fight young and inexperienced Joakim, than a veteran like yourself, Gregar.”[/i] He wore a hauberk of chainmail and a kettle top hat, revealing his ugly face that resembled that of a pig in some ways. His companions were just about as ugly as he was, and Gregar could only guess these were in truth Harrighfields men, rather than those of the king. 

Corbin must've gotten to the same conclusion as he drew his sword from the hilt, and drew the shield from his back by pulling the leather string that held it there. Gregar followed suit, drawing his sword and grabbing his shield from his horses saddle, after which he took a step back to align himself with Corbin. The two of them locked eyes with their 5 enemies, who seemed to have a big advantage. 
Three of the riders slowly walked closer, while the crossbowman and supposed leader of the group stayed back, waiting for the job to be finished. 

The first of the three lunged forwards with his sword, swinging it wildly from his shoulder down onto Gregar, who very simply and swiftly blocked the strike with his shield and counter attacked with his sword, stabbing at the man but missing as the man quickly sidestepped. Corbin was tied up with another rider meanwhile, trading blows back and forth with the man, swinging at his legs and arms. Gregar was forced to take on two riders at once, and decided that he should be very defensive for that exact reason. He would only attack after blocking, taking a swing or stab at the man, mostly aiming for the center of his body or his arms, so that he could disarm him quickly. After exchanging blows with his main attacker, he finally got in a strike as the man stepped forward to attack Gregar but got his strike parried. His friend, seeing a moment to support the other rider, struck at Gregar too, but found his strike blocked by the shield. Meanwhile, Gregar used the momentum he got from the parry to slash the man's wrist open, cutting the main artery and forcing the man to drop his weapon. 

The man got a desperate look in his eyes as he watched his arm, grabbing it and attempting to stop the bleeding. But he knew he was dead and the life slowly faded from his face. Swiftly moving from the first man, Gregar slashed at the other riders arm but missed, and was forced to take a step back and block a strike. Meanwhile Corbin was still fighting the other rider, who had proven to be a proficient fighter. Corbin was no pushover however, and fought with equal skill. 

Gregars shield splintered a bit as the man hit it with his mace, but this gave him an opportunity as he suddenly went offensive, pushed the shield into the man and pushing him over. Not taking any risk, Gregar immediately stabbed the man's stomach. Looking at Corbin he noticed that Corbin was slowly being driven away from Gregar, no doubt to minimize the chances of him helping Gregar or vice versa. However now that Gregar was free for a moment, he sprinted towards Corbins' attacker. Corbin himself suddenly yelled out at Gregar, pointing his sword at the crossbowman while blocking a strike with his shield. However, it was much too late. The crossbowman fired, and struck true. Gregar fell to the ground, his right leg punctured in the shins by a bolt. Corbin killed his attacker and rushed over to help Gregar.

Meanwhile the two remaining riders quickly ran for their horses, mounting up and riding away towards the camp again. No doubt they were unwilling to take on Gregar and his companion, as their leader seemed more like a talker than a fighter. [i]“Corbin, get my horse. We need to leave.”[/i] Being helped up by Corbin sped up the process as he supported him while they walked to their horses and mounted up. They drove away through the forest, riding at the fastest speed they could for the nearby bridge to the Forklands, where they would be somewhat safe. Perhaps the lord of the Forklands would offer them hospitality and a physician, as there was no way Gregar could ride all the way back to the Whitelands with a wound such as his. [i]“Damn Harrighfield..”[/i] Gregar whispered through his teeth, trying to ignore the pain in his leg. They would arrive at the Fordkeep within a day, and no doubt would the lord wish to see them. How the man would respond, however, was another thing..