[centre][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/c9d63c40-e295-42e2-9621-36471f5bd622.png[/img][/centre]
[centre][b][h3]Tradeforth - Spring - Year 833[/h3][/b][/centre]

Lem Arronson could not sleep. He could not sleep because of the noise of the man dying in the tent next to him. 

They had been encamped at Tradeforth for nigh a week now. The captain had been fine as they had rode beneath the city's gate and through its narrow streets to the grounds set aside for them outside the castle's barbican. He had been hale and healthy as ever upon his warhorse, expounding with zeal to his leftenants about how this contract would be the one that restored the Band of Fortune to its former glory. The captain and Lem both remembered those better times, long ago as they may have been. Maybe he had just been inspired or infected by that optimism, but Lem had been sure he could have felt something in air that day. As if destiny was waiting behind the corner of every timber framed building, or lurking in the shadows of a cobbled alley. Now it looked like his oldest friend and commander was about to die.

The sickness had started the second day after they had arrived. At first the captain had blamed it on that he was eating richer fair than what he had been used to on the road. It was true Duke Howard kept a good table, but by the next morning it was apparent that it was more than just a mild complaint of the stomach. All that day he had made the trip out to the latrine pit leaning on the arm of his squire, then the vomiting had started and they did their best to catch it in bed pans and chamber pots. They knew it was the flux by then. The captain hadn't left his bed since. 

It was inescapable for Lem, even over the patter of the rain against the canvas. The hacking, gagging, gasping sound of the captain retching up blood and whatever liquids they forced down his throat was only ever a few feet away. They had to do it, Lem knew that, he had seen enough men die of the flux. You had to keep them drinking, as cruel as it might seem, or they would die within the day. Sometimes the captain would rant and rave to people who weren't there. Old comrades they had both known, now long dead. His wife who waited for him back with his family in Neystead. The grown man had cried and begged for his mother all the night before.

Lem could hardly stand it. He sat upon his stool at his low table, burning a candle for no reason other than that he couldn't bare to listen to those sounds alone and in the dark. He drank sour wine from a wooden cup. It eased the pain in his soul... and the pain in his leg as well. It always seemed worse when it was wet. He grimaced and took another sip of the wine. It so tragically unfair, that the man who had dreamed of their future was dying just before their chance to grasp it. The Band of Fools could be the Band of Fortune once more, the captain had believed that more firmly than anyone. But on the eve of the largest war the country had seen in decades, their great opportunity, the man was dying in his own shit. Maybe they were all fools after all.

He worried. He worried about the captain. He worried about the himself, and the men, and the war. Was Northall the right choice? He had offered them more than the going rate, and was a seasoned commander himself. But they had seen the size of his army encamped here. They said more were coming, the lords of the Hook and a fresh levy from Northall. They said the Duke of Forlinger would call his banners and come to their cause any day now, or that the sails of longships from Skerry would be seen on the river at the next tide. One thing was for sure, they were running out of time. Godfrey's army was in the Wolds, it was days, not weeks until they were upon them. 

Lem sighed to himself and drained his cup dry. He should try to get some sleep now he supposed, he and Sir Branimir had to keep things running in the camp and he needed his wits about him. But that damned noise would prob-

Lem sat bolt upright. 

There was no sound except the rain against his tent.

"Shit." 

At that moment the door to his tent parted to reveal the captain's squire, his eyes were wide and his face was paler than a ghost. Lem already knew what had happened before he opened his mouth. 

"Wake up Branimir." Lem commanded him gently as he could. "Its going to be a very long night I'm afraid..."

[hr]
The rain had cleared before dawn, and when the sun rose it was glorious. This did little to raise Lem's spirits however, because he was sure he was facing on the most difficult days of his life. He had decided to don his armour before going out to face the men. He told himself that it was for their sake, to a reassure them that even without the captain there were men of experience and martial prowess amongst them that they could rely upon. Deep down he knew it was for himself. The armour would protect him, in more ways than one. He wore a long surcoat over his mail that was emblazoned in the black and gold colours of the Company. It would help to hide his limp. When he was ready he tied his sword belt around his waist and strode out of his tent and into the camp.

The ground was drying out in the morning sun as the Company stirred itself to action. There was woodsmoke from the cook fires lingering in the air and in the distance the sound of a blacksmith hammering away at his forge. Beyond that there was sounds of the city, although it was no doubt somewhat subdued - many had already left in fear of what might happen if Godfrey decided to try to and take Tradeforth. In the still air the black and gold banners hung limply. 

Already eyes were turning to him, but no one greeted Lem as he made his way to the centre of the camp. It was clear the news had already gotten out. Branimir was waiting for him at the foot of one of the wagons they used to transport their equipment and supplies. The large knight had a noble countenance and a natural charisma. Coming from him the words that Lem was about to speak would not doubt probably seem more poignant or meaningful, but Lem was the senior of the two, and the captain had been his oldest friend. No, it was his duty to do this. 

As he clambered atop the cart, Lem couldn't help but notice the glint of silver around Branimir's neck. The necklace, the one that supposedly kept a man from death - had he parted from it for but one night perhaps Lem wouldn't be doing this. Perhaps. Once he was elevated above the camp he opened his mouth and raised his voice.

"Alright you lot, listen up!" They began to gather round. "I have some grave news for us all. As some of you may have already heard, our captain is dead. He went last night, quietly, in his sleep." That was a lie. "He was a good man, who fought by my side for two score years in more battles than I care to count. He believed in the Band and served it in everything he did. He had faith in us, and we had faith in him. He is with the Blessed One now, may he judge him kindly."

He paused for a moment, he had meant to say more but he couldn't remember it. He should say more, but the words wouldn't come. Words had never been his strong suit. His Northern accent and plain manner butchered fanciful prose. There must be some way he could communicate what this man had meant to him, and to others.

"Ah fuck it... I will miss him... but we have no time to mourn. There is a war going on. We bury the captain tomorrow, and then we elect a new captain. Until then, there is work that needs to be done. Foraging parties, you know your task, there shouldn't be a scrap of food left outside these walls when Godfrey the usurper gets here. Everyone else, there are hoardings that need to be built, ditches to dug, walls to be repaired. Duke Howard is paying us good coin, go earn it."

With that he climbed down off the wagon. The men started to go their business. As he reached the ground his leg almost went out from under him as he put his weight upon it. Lem caught himself against its wooden frame and hoped no one had saw. There was tear in his eye, was it from his leg or from what he had just said? He didn't know.

"One of us should speak to Sister Margaret." Lem turned toward Branimir. "Someone needs to see to the body, make sure he's clean. And there's still the matter of his effects."

It was definitely going to be a long day.