[center]---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------[/center] [center][h3]Four Days Later: Border of Counties Pralean and Qirdle[/h3][/center] [center]===================================================================[/center] Despite marching Serene One knows how many men hard across the hills of Drouschester and the valley of Rylea, Duke William sat with his fingers steepled, his calm steely eyes showing no sign of strain or stress as they dug into General Henry, who sat across him. “You sit confident for a traitor,” General Henry finally said, cutting the silence. The two sat alone except for two men dressed in the blue of Drouschester and two men dressed in the yellow of Kamwell, each behind their respective leader. The tent they sat in was striped blue and white, and fanciful torches lit the canvas room. A rug was laid out beneath their feet, but it lumped over clutches of thick grass underneath. The table between the two was plain and acted only as a three foot barrier between the two men. The General himself was old and grey, sporting a mustache so thick and grey that when paired with his old and weathered face, he almost looked like a walrus. He still wore the badge of King Edward on his breastplate, showing his undying loyalty to the late king, and ultimately his daughter Abigail. There was silence again between the two, or would be, if not for the thundering cacophony of horses, metal and men outside the tent. William’s camp was buzzing with action, and ever since stepping near it, Henry had not found a moment without being reminded of the impressive amount of horses William had procured for his army. In fact on his way in most of what Henry saw were countless knights tending to their horses, most wearing banners he hadn’t ever even seen before. “Traitor is a strong word for a man just claiming what is already his,” William retorted. “Not by law, William,” Henry leaned forward, “how much longer do you plan on going forward with your foolish crusade?” “I imagine it will end soon enough, particularly here,” William leaned forward to match Henry, “with your surrender.” “As marshal of the Queen’s army, you know very well I am reluctant to even think of such a word, let alone ponder it when I outnumber the enemy. If I may remind you, it is I who caught you on this field, not the other way around.” William sat upright, “you know I have more horses, more knights, more nobles. You can outnumber me with peasants and conscripts all you want, Good General, but you cannot stand against the charge of true Lynnfairish cavalry.” “I don’t think you put enough stock in the hard working men of Kamwell,” Henry’s chair creaked as he leaned back, “your cavalry will be met with Kamwells own, as well as a palisade of hard trained soldiers and their pikes. You cannot win this battle, nor can you win this war.” William stood up slowly, “General Henry, I am going to be frank with you: surrender now, or face bloodshed.” General Henry stood up, his own stature a few inches taller and much broader than the Duke, “Never.” “Then I will see you come dawn,” William turned to the side, as if dismissing the general. Henry scoffed and grabbed the hilt of his sword, making sure the blade rattled against the scabbard as he stormed from the tent, his escort following. As the General exited the tent, the evening sun greeted him with rays of deep orange, pink growing on the horizon of the grasslands. The Dukes position was on a hill, which was cause to worry, but thankfully it was a lone hill, with vast plains stretching around it. The General figured he could just move his forces back more, to let the land level out. It won’t stop a cavalry charge, but it’ll take away the hillside advantage. A man with a gold gilded breastplate quickly walked to the Generals side as he exited the palisade of the camp, an entourage of Kamwell soldiers following behind. “ Duke Richard of Jannerton,” Henry nodded at the man as he was ripped from his thoughts. “Well?” Richard asked, and the General sighed. “Blockheaded as ever, I fear he is going to throw all he has into this battle,” Henry conceded. “I noticed the horses,” Richard agreed, “I’ve never seen so many, I didn’t even know there were this many knights in Drouschester let alone horses.” “I regret the same ignorances,” Henry sighed, “ we are going to have to move our pikemen to the fore and set up farther away from the hill, let the incline taper out. Set what cavalry and archers we have on the flanks to route him should he try to go around or pinch his charge if he goes for a head on clash.” “Do you think he would?” “Sadly, he seems bent on making this the final battle, as unrealistic as that is.” Richard scoffed, “I don’t think he understands who he is truly up against, we have all the Queens best here, save her personal strategist.” “True,” Henry shifted uneasily, “though I think he is rather fond of that. Has Edith sent word?” Richard nodded, “she successfully encamped around Troulston to the south, blocking Count Edgard from progressing any further on his chevauchee and preventing him from meeting up with William from our flanks. That also gives us a clear exit in case we need to retreat, but do you think we would really need to?” “Not really, no,” Henry gave some confidence, “William is outnumbered and out matched here, his only real option is to leave or to use brute power, which admittedly he has plenty of.” Richard scratched his bare chin, “if it is any consolation,” the young duke smiled, “we had the poleturners fit our troops with longer shafts, as requested, his horses would have to brave an impenetrable forest of spears.” Henry seemed lightened by the news, “well let’s see the men ready for morning, I doubt we have much time.” “They will be ready, don’t you worry about that.” [center][u][b]----DAY FIVE----[/b][/u][/center] The sun cracked over the vast expanse of the grasslands. It’s golden light glittered across the open east, vision disappearing on the flat horizon, while in the west, the light fell on distant hills. Down far from the the slopes of the hilly encampment the Henry’s forces mustered into a wide and dense block of pikemen, flanked by horses set back a few yards and with archers set more to the back of the pike formation. For all the bragging of William, Henry couldn’t help but notice the many banners of the nobles sworn to the queen flying. There was no doubt in Henry’s mind, the two vying for the throne were equally supported, and neither had majority anymore. The general sat upon his horse at the right flank, at the very fore of the formation, with Richard beside him on his left. Throughout the front lines of the pikemen he could spot his peers, the many men who aided the Queen in her very first military endeavors and the many people who made her campaign viable against the brute tactics of William. This is what it all had boiled down to. He gripped his reins tightly, and despite his vast experience, anxiety ticked his stomach, he didn’t like that such a heavy price was to be weighed on one encounter that may not last more than an hour or two. His gut tightened as his troops silenced, and looking over at the slop he saw the banners of William and Drouschester slowly rise into view. The helmets of William’s knights reflected the early sun to their east, both armies had intentionally positioned themselves to be clear from its glare. In a few moments the army of the Duke stood over the hill. The General raised his hand to give the order. The pikeman grunted in unison and their spears lowered at the perfect angles to impale any charging horse coming down the slope. The pikeman were perfectly placed with a good amount of flat land between them and the foot of the hill, yet not too much, giving the charging horses very little time to recover speed after hitting the flats. Slowly the rest of the Dukes army spilled into view, confidence rose in the General’s stomach, physically seeing it small than his own granting some relief. Then all at once the horses that consisted the front lines of the Dukes army charged. Archers behind the pikemen readied their arrows, waiting for them to enter range. The enemies hooves shook the grounds as they thundered down the hill, but something was wrong, they had a quarter as many horses as expected, and not nearly as many knights as estimated. The generals archers began firing but most of their arrows fell short due to the steep hill and scattered grouping of the enemy. All at once the enemy cavalry split down the middle, each half heading towards each flank of the generals army. A knot twisted in the generals stomach and he kicked his horse, signalling the flanks to meet the enemy with a charge of their own once they entered the flats. The dukes knights kept rounding the hill instead of hitting the flats, the charge now turned almost into a retreat as the general cavalry stampeded towards the hill to engage, then all at once the screams began. Green suited men appeared on the hill of the Duke, and with them a black cloud of arrows. Like a violent thunderstorm, arrows rained upon the generals forces from seemingly nowhere, and hooves pounded out of sight, leaving the pike formation open, and the generals cavalry in danger. An arrow whistled by the general and he heard Richard grunt and then a thud, the smell of iron and blood floated through the air, then suddenly the Dukes cavalry returned. The arrows focused on the now panicking pikemen as the Dukes knights came slamming into the confused general’s cavalry. Men went flying off their horses, lances snapped and armor groaned as it was peeled off screaming soldiers. It was a bloodbath. Battlecries could be heard from atop the hill and the ground shook as unmounted soldiers and warriors from the Drouschester hills stampeded downwards to the pincushioned pikemen and stalled cavalry below. A flurry of arrows found the generals horses as he was dodging an enemy mace. His horse whinnied as it toppled over, the general only just managing to swing on of his legs off the horse before it was crushed under the weight. He rolled to his feet and ripped a bloodied sword from the damp ground. All around him bodies were being tossed from saddles, mists of crimson were spraying from the fights and the terrible screams of the rest of the army could be heard outside the forest of horses and death he now found himself in. Nobles lay on the ground, littered with arrows, the fletchings that of the hillmen of Drouschester, but the bodies that of Kamwell. A horse flew by the general and with a quick duck, the lance missed him. He struck out with his sword as the horse turned, hamstringing the beast and sending the rider to the ground. The rider quickly rolled to his feet and threw away his dented helmet. Henry narrowed his eyes at the face of William. “You!” Henry fumed and rushed forward with a heavy arching blow. Williams longsword screamed out of its scabbard as he sidestepped and returned with a blow of his own. “You are the fool who believed pack horses to be stallions, and archers to be knights,” William replied almost emotionlessly as their blades sparked and clanged. The two danced around each other, the battle ringing their personal arena, the cheers of an audienced replaced with the screams of the dying. Henry roared at the duke as he butted his shoulder into the man, their armor slamming against each other with a loud bang. The Duke went flying backwards but caught his footing. “Surrender Henry,” William goaded, his breath hoarse, “grant me your glove so I may present my victory to the princess herself.” Henry roared again and struck out with his sword, William quickly glanced it downward with his longsword. Henry spun and brought his sword horizontally to the Duke, who ducked. He rose with his pommel, the metal bucking the under of the generals chin, slamming his face upwards with a painful crack. The Dukes sword flashed as it arched backwards and back down, a loud shriek sounding as the blade bit through Henry’s metal bracer and back out again. Blood spurted from Henry’s forearm as his gauntlet and blade clanged to the ground, his severed hand still gripping the sword. The Duke kicked the general backwards. The man fell to the ground clutching his spewing arm. William quickly scooped up the severed hand, and simply smiled at Henry. “This’ll do.” After the defeat of Henry, one by one, nobles who hadn’t been demolished by arrows were forced to surrender or killed in the heat of battle. The general’s cavalry and archers were destroyed and slowly the center mass of panicked pikemen, those still alive, broke into a retreat. Some of the hillmen chased after the pikemen, but reluctantly gave up on most of them. William himself stood in front of a sizable pile of gauntlets, prisoners of war standing behind it. Blood spattered all over his armor, but none his own. His eyes were like that of a wolf as he stared at the broken and beaten nobles before him. He wanted to taunt them, to yell at them, but his breath was shaking with adrenaline, and his fingers twitching from the battle. Quietly Sir Thompson appeared behind the Duke. “Your letter has been safely delivered.” William’s face grew into a devilish smile, and he closed his eyes in relief. “Send these men for ransoms,” he said without turning to face Thompson, “gather the wounded and let the men rest for the day, then we head for Pralean’s keep; Raymond, and Edgard should be there soon.” “yes, my liege,” Thompson nodded, “so says.” William opened his eyes and stared at those before him, the sun now hanging brightly in the deep blue sky, “praise.” [center][h3]Town of Troulston, Lynnfaire: The Fifth Day[/h3][/center] [@Monkeypants] Collaboration ---- Some time before this, "Lucette! Where are you!" A gruff voice commanded. No.. wait. "Lucette!! I.." That gruff voice faded. Attention seemed to be on a bright light now, it swayed ever so gently. "Ma'am." a voice sounded "I come from the land of dragons and eagles!" Lucette said, her eyes now wide open. Her head though, seemed to be resting on a counter of some sort. The world was spinning in her eyes as the sound of laughter filled her head. "Ma'am.".. -Again with this guy.- "What!" she shouted, startling the patrons next to her. "You're making a scene. I think it would be best for you to stop with the drinks. You're a good paying customer Lucy, but you're gonna get me in trouble." the man said. As she brought her gaze to the man, she saw his.. ill defined features. A slumping posture, double chin.. one eye was clearly lower than the other and there was even an ear missing. "This guy." she muttered before pulling herself upright in her chair. "That last brew.. what was it." The man smiled, "Something you're never getting again." "Prude." she said, forming a smile. The man turned away. "So.. Lucy, Where you from?" "North." was her hasty reply. "So... North eh? East downs? Center tree?" He continued, clearly making up locations. "Sure, all of those. But no. I am from up north." She said. closing her eyes hard as if to shake the ale. The man turned back to her with a cup of clear liquid. "Here." "Poison?" she said, while already sipping. "Heh, guess you'll find out soon enough." He replied before leaving her sight. Some of the best water she had tasted. Time seemed to pick back up as Lucette sat alone, finally picking up on conversations as her mind gradually regained control. She shifted to her right before bracing her elbows against the bar. Her motions were steady as she stretched her back to push herself upright. As Lucette swung her head slowly around to get a view on her surroundings, she noticed two men staring at her. "Who are those fucks." She wouldn't get an immediate answer as they quickly got up and left upon seeing her staring back. It was quite possible that she was staring at them the whole time, "oh well." she said softly. Beside her, a large male leaned in. She could smell his obscene odor from a mile away, and here it drew ever closer. It was slightly ripened onions.. It had, a bite to it. That smell was angry and it had her nearly in tears. Her mind immediately went clear as she shot out of her chair before any of his putrid sweat made its way onto her. As her feet hit the ground, some men starting wooing her. She was perplexed as to why but then the realization came that the only thing leaving her figure to the imagination was a few pieces of cloth that draped over her most sensitive areas. Her arms and legs quickly snapped into the defensive as she backed towards the wall closest to the door. She didn't panic, but the thought of what men could do in a situation like this did in fact frighten her. "Here." was the words from an angelic voice, the man who had her clothing stood sneering before her. He was completely bare, as was three other passed out men at their table. "Let no one here say that Lucy cannot drink anyone under the table." He tossed Lucette her clothing and pointed to a room across from her. -What in her name happened last night- Lucette thought as she put her clothing back on. Gently pulling laces and adjusting her bust as she placed her hard leather chest piece on. Her long legs slipped smoothly into the leather breeches and before long, she found herself fully clothed, a drastic departure from the slim figure was this new, seemingly bulkier form. She stood for a few moments, staring at the wall. Then it came to her. --About an hour earlier, "After Trekking through that nasty bog, I found myself in this land. Took a while to settle in as money wasn't really a thing where I'm from." Lucette said to four well dressed men. "So I'm asking that if you have any currency to spare." The lead man cut her off, the same that held her clothes later on. "So you want to earn some coin eh?" He said with a sadistic grin. He held out his hand, gesturing to the table. "We were going to reminisce over old times but who could turn down the company of an.." He eyed her up and down. "quite, remarkable woman." She blushed and sat down, "So what can I do to earn some coin around here." she said with an innocent tone. The man smiled, "See if you can out drink us." "That's it?" She said. "Seems kind of... bland." "Fine, lets up the stakes. Clothing will be removed for the person who drinks the slowest each round." He said, cracking his knuckles. Lucette sighed then nodded, "I've never really drank much before." She said, being as innocent as could be. Seven drinks later.. "You are so full of it Lucy! Full of it!" One man said, removing his last article of clothing. "That's it? That's all you have to offer a lady?!" She said, pointing at what she seen as an inferior member. The man furrowed his brow and quickly sat down. A few more... "You completely lied about never drinking.." The lead man said, losing his last piece of clothing. She turned to him, "See? See there? That's more like it." Lucette said, no longer feigning innocence. Her speech had become quite slurred by now, as her reserves of clothes were draining rapidly. --- She shook her head as the memory faded. Her hand firmly grasped the rooms door handle. The sound of stretching leather seemed to echo in the room as her senses finally came to. With a heavy sigh, and a gentle push, she made her way back into the taverns main room. People were carrying on, joking about the day, discussing crops, politics.. but one thing kept coming up, The Queen. Lucette laid down an overly generous sum to the barkeep, who knowing her lack of experience with money, still took the coin without question. She walked past the four men, waving her fingers while flaunting a no longer nearly naked figure. With their dreams dashed, three of the men continued to rest their foreheads on the table, while the lead man let a grin before looking away. As Lucette made her way around tables and men, a commotion caught her attention. Many townsfolk were staring out of the door and windows to a sea of soldiers outside. Lucette moved closer, pushing past the many bodies to get a better view through the opened wide front door.. “I forgot about these guys.” She said plainly before taking her first steps into the open air. “How,” someone grumbled, “been ‘ere all yesterday.” Lucette stopped, turning towards the voice, “Liquor does amazing thing to one's mind.” she said with a smile. “As if the refugees weren’t enough,” someone else mumbled. “Better having them here then elsewhere,” someone argued, “I hear the latest chevauchee campaign would have been hitting us before the months end.” “Balls.” “Chevauchee campaign eh. What would they stand to gain here?” Lucette said with a piqued brow. “They don’t gain anything, we lose everything,” someone pointed out, “they hit the fields and the hamlets, we all starve, makes sense, eh?” “Princess Abigail pushed them out once,” someone else commented. “Yeah well, let’s see if she can keep ‘em out.” “And push the front far from us,” the very first voice added, inciting a lot of agreeing grunts and small cheers. Lucette nodded in agreement as well before turning from the crowd and escaping the tavern all together and merging into the crowd of soldiers. She saw many sights as she walked through the swath of men at arms. Some stood with a stalwart demeanor, most likely the professional ones, or maybe long term veterans.. Then she saw the ones who had probably never held a weapon in their life. “Sad” she thought, as those were usually the ones with the highest turnover rate. Ahead though, she saw a man pointing at a few others, with those others promptly going in the direction the man was pointing. “Hey.” Lucette said as she approached the soldier.”If you do not mind me asking? What is going on here. Why all the soldiers massed in -this- town of all places.” The knight turned to Lucette, “Don’t know if you noticed,” he said, enunciating his own accent, “but there is a war going on.” The knight suddenly jerked away and started barking orders at some men in yellow tabards pulling a wagon. His eyes glanced back at Lucette, who was still standing there, “what do you want?” Lucette rolled her eyes at the knight’s first comment, but quickly gathered composure, and a more stern posture. “I am curious as to how one joins your cause.” The knight looked her up and down, “where you from?” “The town of Gremham, up north.” Lucette simply replied. “Name?” The Knight turned his attention fully towards her, a look of amusement on his face. “Lucette Fournier.” She replied. Not showing any emotion in kind. “Lucette Fournier of Gremham,” The Knight rolled the name in his mouth, “of the north,” he quickly added sarcastically, “welcome to the army, go get those posts,” he pointed over to a pile of wood, “get them to the eastside, now.” Lucette smirked, reminiscing over how she used to give orders to soldiers akin to these. “Yes sir.” She replied, before heading off to do this, as she would say, plebian work It didn’t take her long to collect the wood and head off to the eastside. The eastside faced the great expanse of the grasslands. The horizon stretched far and disappeared beyond view, unobstructed by tree or hill. The glowing morning sun laid it’s golden hand across the emerald sea of grass, granting the appearance of paradise to the scene. Mills dotted the distance, and a few hamlets could be seen among farmland, but the town itself sat squat on a hill. It’s low yet thick stone walls ringed near the crest, granting it a formidable height, and down below at the foot of the hill yellow tabard soldiers and men of different banners could be seen pounding in a new palisade and digging a ditch. A babbling brook cut across to the southeast, and other soldiers were seen collecting the water, but they even at this distance they seemed more tense than the ones by the safety of the palisade. “Those logs ours?” a man working in his mail asked Lucette suddenly, a dirt smudge lined half of his forehead. Lucette paused, examining the fortifications. She wasn’t as impressed as others would be, certain walls didn’t feel as safe as they could be but it wasn’t her command. She sighed and turned to the man. “Yes, fresh from the pile over there.” she said with a hint of sarcasm, but as she set the logs down to her side, well within reach of the man. She knelt down to examine the logs. “Yes, these will do.” “Of course they will,” The man smirked as he picked them up and started to head down the hill. In the distance a sudden stampede of knights charged from behind one of the mills, seemingly targeted at nothing in particular, in the distance. A few of the men looked up, but quickly went back to work. A gauntlet suddenly tapped Lucette’s shoulder from behind. “Yes?” She said, while still staring into the distance at the stampeding soldiers. A mallet thudded by her feet and the voice of the knight from earlier sounded behind her, “nap time already?” “No. I’m just admiring this sight.” Lucette replied as she snapped into attention. “Permission to ask a question?” she asked respectfully. “Granted,” the knight replied. “I posed this question earlier, What is the true strategic importance of this town” She motioned towards many of the structures. “Many wouldn’t withstand a single strike from a boulder from a catapult. If the enemy were to employ fire, this whole town could be turned to ash in less than an hour.” She shook her head. “You’re quite committed to this location.” The knight smiled, “be honest with me Lucette of the North, you are not Lynnfairish, are you?” Lucette wrestled with the question, knowing her true birthright wasn’t as revered in these lands as they could be. After a few seconds of keeping the Knight in suspense, she let out a long sigh, enough to reaffirm his suspicion alone. “I am not.” she said, shifting her eyes from his, almost as if she was already surrendering to his inevitable judgement. “I am from Utrye.” “I could tell, well, at least that you were not from here,” The knight looked out over the expanse before the two, “you do not see what the Lynnfairish would. These walls are stout rather than tall, because the hill below provides height, while the thickness provides protection against sieges. The back is ribbed with buttresses, and engineered to take stronger impacts than you could imagine, but a siege isn’t what the Lynnfairish worry about. Sieges are too costly, especially on bigger towns or cities, famed for their Lynnfairish architecture. Troulston sits between farmland and the city of Qirdle, meaning you have to take this town to advance smaller chevauchees to the hamlets around Qirdle. To do that you have to starve out Troulston, a siege would take too long and waste so many resources that are going to be needed on Qirdle, if they even go that route. They are going to try to starve Troulston, and we need a camp, it is pivotal. The Duke Traitor understands the balance between detruction and annexation, between setting fire to resources and repurposing them, we have to think ahead.” He pointed out the distant knights, “Count Edgard is here, he is scouting our perimeter, and we are chasing him away. He was suited for chevauchees, not a siege, so that he can move quicker than our forces and cause more damage to the fields and food. So far he has evaded us, but our fortifications here keep the prime hamlets safe.” Lucette stood surprised for a few moments, reflecting on how different the two cultures perceive warfare. In her own nation, Burning a town like this to the ground would do far more to their enemy’s resolve than merely starving them out. However, She could see the knights point of view. This change in tactics however, would be difficult to adapt to. “What is your plan to catch their army? If he is evading for forces so far, what are you willing to lose to lure him into a trap?” She thought, clearly thinking as an Utryean commander. She paused, before letting him speak, “Our military differs so greatly. My apologies to you. I will tell you that even with my prior experience, I am still very capable of following orders, even if their… Intended outcome.” She let out a laugh, “Confuses me.” “That’s not for me to say,” the knight answered, “but he is young, and as bullheaded as his father. He can’t attack us, but we also can’t have him linger until his father arrives.” He turned to Lucette, “then you’d see a proper Lynnfairish bloodbath, if we don’t cede the town entirely in favor of the Keeps of Qirdle. Again, not for me to say. For now we hold them off.” Lucette could see the truth of his words, “I understand. Well, knowing the true purpose of the fortifications, I can see them being quite sufficient for those hopeful circumstances. In any case, I am here to help. And.. seeing as you know me by a first name basis, I’d like to know yours in kind. And is it custom to speak to you in that same regard?” The knight looked down at the mallet, “I’m sir Acel, call me what you will but grab that and follow me, I have a new task in mind.” “Alright.” Lucette said as she grasped the mallet and pulled it up to her side. “After you.” The two began their walk back into town, horses and troops alike rushing past the two of them. The town itself was well made, with sturdy wooden framed buildings on a well packed dirt road. It was by no means a large town, but it was the central hub of the local farmlands and hamlets. It sported a spacious marketplace, that was eerily empty, and to the north stood a large cobblestone manor, that had doubled as a makeshift keep in the past. It by no means would stand against a full on assault, but that was hardly its purpose anymore. Villagers seemed scarce themselves, and the usual crowd around the manor was long gone. Most families who could afford it had escaped to Qirdle long before the army moved in, leaving only the most grass root locals and hamlet dwellers in the town. Knights dressed in heavy plate and lightly colored tabards nodded at the pair as they approached, the Knight with Lucette simply nodding back as he pulled the manor door open. “After you,” he motioned to Lucette. Lucette could only cringe at the nearly deafening silent surroundings, a prelude to what could be a vicious battleground. Ahead of her though was the opened doors of this manor. It was ornate, but not overdone to her eyes. As the breeze from the outside air surrendered to the static air of the manor, she nodded and spoke, “Thank you.” to the soldiers and continued inwards. “This place seems to offer a good vantage of the area.” She noted. The knight nodded and lead Lucette inside. The floor was a fine hardwood, and the walls held the cozy red banners of the Jannerton Duchy as well as the soft green of Qirdle county. Important looking people, well dressed and well armoured, stood scattered about observing many maps and talking amongst themselves. In the back of the well lit foyar a raven-haired woman stood talking to a man wearing a brilliantly colored tabard, contrasting the woman’s plain black clothes. The knight approached the two, “Madam Ottinger,” the knight nodded at the woman, his head only tilting a tiny bow. Edith Ottinger turned to the knight, “Sir Acel, what is it?” Her voice was neither harsh nor commanding, but it did hold authority, deceptive and calm. “This woman wants to join the army,” Sir Acel sounded as passive and ill entertained as he did when Lucette first talked to him. “So?” Edith looked over at Lucette. “She is Utyrean,” Acel added. “Again, what is the purpose of this?” Acel looked over at Lucette, what friendliness that had maybe been there during his passionate speech about walls and tactics all but gone in his eyes, “She is a military commander.” Edith looked Lucette up and down, noticing the mallet, “what say you?” “I am humbled to meet you.” Lucette said, unaware of whom the two ahead were. “I have requested to join your army, as your cause affects me just as much as any other in this nation.” She looked to Edith, hoping that what she said was convincing enough to not be thrown out of their sight. “What’s this about being a commander?” The noble standing next to Edith questioned, “and Utyrean, are you Serene?” The last few statements seemed to have caught Edith’s attention. “Yes, I have extensive experience in the field of command.” Lucette replied. Her exterior showed no change but inside she was fearful of that last question. She took a deep breath, “I claim no faith anymore. I hope to someday be clear as to what to what is truly real though.” “Why are you here,” Edith questioned. “In Lynnfaire?” Lucette asked. A man in a yellow tabard walked up to Acel and Edith nodded at Lucette, “Lynnfaire, Troulston, what brings you here?” Acel cut in, “Madam Ottinger, the trap may have worked, Edgard is showing himself.” Edith’s eyes widened and she pushed past Lucette, the noble quickly following. Acer grabbed Lucette’s arm, “come on,” he nodded at the mallet, “and hold on to that.” The walk was brisk, and pretty much a run, with more and more soldiers and knights adding to the group around as they got closer to the stables. Most were already mounted and heading out by time Acel and Lucette found themselves by a white stallion and a gruff stable hand. “Hand, grab a horse for this woman!” Acer ordered as he quickly mounted the white stallion. “Who is she?” The hand looked confused. “She is my squire!” Acel demanded. “She’s your age!” “She’s a slow learner, now grab a horse!” Acel yelled. The man scurried off to bring back a thin brown horse, already prepared to be ridden. Acel sighed and looked over his shoulder, “we better hurry.” [center][b][u]----Outskirts of Troulston----[/u][/b][/center] “[i] Sir! What about your father’s orders![/i]” Was the last thing Edgard heard before a turrent of wind disrupted his hearing, his charger pounding forward underneath him. The ground around him vibrated was angrily kicked up by the lightly packed destriers and his small yet dangerous band of knights that swarmed behind him. Before him yellow tabard soldiers scurried away from his charge. The had been working on a canal that branched off from the river that snaked by Troulston, but they were left moderately defenseless against a quick and rapid attack, and Edgard was going to see it completed, against his father’s true orders. For all the brilliance of the Raven Lord, she was rather stupid to put all her knights on the east side to ward off his scouts, or rather, believe him to be to the east with his scouts. Edgard grinned under his thick helmet’s visor and hefted his lanced under his arm, lowering it as the charge closed in. Yellow dressed bodies dove away from him and his knights, but even still he felt the telltale tug of his lance biting into flesh, confirmed by a choking scream. Shouts erupted as the rest of his band of knights rammed into the workers, slicing ribbons of blood into the air and toppling wooden works. The group didn’t slow down and after the impact, kept galloping past the workers to turn and return on another pass. The air whistled as the group turned in uniform at full gallop. As they turned to face the workers once more, the Count’s eyes widened at what he saw. Galloping headfirst at him and his knights was a stampede of Edith’s own knights, with none other than Edith at the fore. Before he could wonder where they even came from, the enemy slammed into hs ranks. Knights were vaulted off their horses on both sides, lances punching through breastplates and helmets alike. Edgard went to reign his horse to avoid a wildly swinging blade when all of a sudden, the thick flat of a mallet cracked against the side of his helmet, and all went white. [center]---- ----[/center] Snow howled through the crisp mountain air. Edgard’s entire body was numb as his vision blurred back into existence. A dusting of snow swirled and covered his chest as he found himself leaning against a bare beech tree, his clothes soaked through and his breath ragged. A distant gong sounded at strange intervals, and a melodic horn blew at a low baritone. His eyes slowly fixed on a group of black robed figures before him, each adorned with a thick crimson sash around the waist. They stood in a block formation, facing away from Edgard and at some monastery. Slowly the performed fighting stances in unison, seemingly unaware of the crumpled count by the tree. Edgard went to speak but his voice was gone. He tried to move but his muscles refused. He let his head tilt to gravity, his cheek resting against the tree as he closed his eyes with a sigh. Slowly warmth began to spread to his fingers and toes, and the tingle of life entered his legs. He shifted uneasy and opened his eyes. Before him a great bull man stood, with what could have been a smirk on its face. A mighty flaming axe was in its hand, and its bovine eyes scanned Edgard with obvious judgement. “Not yet, Hinan.” a grumble rolled from the beast as it rose a mighty hoof from the snow. With a sudden kick the beast brought it down into his face, and Edgard’s eyes shot open. His head was in splitting pain, but his body was warm. He was tucked into a bed, his right arm set in a splint, and bloodied rags by his head. His chest expanded and fell with anxiety as he soaked in his sudden surroundings. “Good, you’re awake,” a voice called from his left, and he painfully turned to look. His eyes caught the stern, yet attractive face of a woman looking back at him. Edgard let his head fall back into the thin pillow underneath him and closed his eyes. “Praise.” [center][b][u]----Frothsworth, The Fifth Day----[/u][/b][/center] “And on the final day, the sun shall freeze over,” The words of Deacon Gerald bounced off the wooden walls of his church, silent onlookers staring with a mix of awe, boredom, and familiarity to his sermon. “And on that day all too shall freeze. The moon will rise that night and burst into blue flame, heating the world up once more. The orderly and the righteous shall thaw, a great mist forming from their bodies, and all will live in paradise once more with the Serene One, with chaos safely frozen and imprisoned forever.” The Deacon calmy scanned the tiny parish, “so says.” “Praise,” everyone chanted at once. Suddenly the door to the church swung open and two dirty looking men came pounding in, each holding the shoulder of a third, unconscious man that they dragged. Blood trickled from the man’s forehead and the Deacon rushed forward. “Deacon Gerald, you must help Adelee,” one of the gruff men pleaded. “Of course, of course,” Gerald said without taking his eyes off the injured man. The Parish stared at the spectacle, most already to their feet and unsure about what to do. “Alfred go clear the altar!” Gerlad ordered as he began to beckon the two men holding the injured man forward. A green tunic wearing man with a messy beard jumped up from the pews and rushed towards the altar, summoning a cringe from the crowd as he pulled on the white cloth that covered the tall rectangular altar, causing all the metal wares and silver candles to scatter to the floor. Gerald didn’t seem to notice or be bothered as he instructed the other men to lay the injured man down. “You did right to bring him here, Kieran,” Gerald nodded to one of the men, “you too Charles.” The two men simply nodded, their breath caught in anticipation. Gerald gently hovered his hands above the injured man’s face, and slowly closed his eyes. In a whisper Gerlad began to pray, his lips moving and his words almost silent to all but those next to him. Gradually a tiny rolling cloud of mist began to turn and exhale from his mouth as he prayed. The cloud lingered and grew a few feet above the injured man when all of a sudden the cloud of mist pulsed a bright blue and a crack of energy rippled from the cloud like a jagged string sized lightning bolt and struck the man directly on his head wound. There was another pulse and another bolt and finally a third before the cloud dissipated. Gerald let out a breath, and opened his eyes. Adelee looked up at him, his head clear of any injury. “Deacon?” It took a while, but the group managed to explain what happened to the Adelee, all the while trying to keep the excited and cheering crowd calm enough to do so, but eventually since it was only thirdsday, everyone scattered to get back to work, after all it was almost harvesting season. The Deacon strolled out the church, with only his good friend Alfred and Adelee beside him as he walked. “Damn if that’s the last time I thatch,” Adelee swore. Gerald looked up at the azure sky, noticing only the clouds in the far distance. “Good day for working outside though,” Alfred seemed to have been looking at the sky too. “Yeah, up until you slip and fall and knock your head!” Adelee rubbed his forehead, “my head is swimming.” “Well you were unconscious,” Gerald added. “Yeah, I know,” Adelee let his hands fall to his sides, “thanks.” “It’s why I’m here,” Gerald folded his hands into his habit and looked out over the vast fields of the tiny hamlet he called home. “I thoughts you were here to bore us twice a week?” Alfred nudged the deacon. “And every chance I get in between,” Gerald shot his friend a glance. Adelee looked up, “you know what, I’m thinking of drinking this off. You want in?” Alfred shrugged, “there is a lot of crop to tend, and Marie is always on my ass when I tend to my thirst before my work.” Adelee shrugged, “go run home to master then, what about you Gerald?” Gerald smirked, “I suppose I could,” he followed Adelee’s distant stare. “Clouds moving in.” “And fast.” “Oh, luck! Maybe I can get an excuse for the Misses,” Alfred rubbed his hands together. “You’re daft,” Adelee started walking down the hill, “a little rain never hurt nobody, and it never stopped a good day's work.” “Wait!” Gerald’s exclamation forced everyone to halt. Gerald quickly pointed in the distance, past the straw thatch roofs of the tiny hamlet and towards a copse that marred the fields, “what’s that?” Adelee squinted, he saw figures moving in the distance, fast, with light hovering above them. “Torches?” Alfred answered. “Chevauchee.” Adelee began running towards the houses, “chevauchee!” Slowly his words grew into screams, “CHEVAUCHEE!” The figures were approaching fast, the distant sound of hooves thundering. “Alfred run to the fields, get everyone to the church!” Gerald ordered as he ran after Adelee to help with the hamlet. The sky was turning grey by time he got to the bottom of the hill and he could hear whinnying in the distance as well as the shouts of men, those in the distant fields were on their own. Adelee was pounding on doors and Gerald ran past him, kicking up the dusty road behind him as he added to Adelee’s shouts, “CHEVAUCHEE, TO THE CHURCH! CHEVAUCHEE, TO THE CHURCH!” Gerald's stomach sank as riders blackened under the shade of the brewing storm above rode into view. Villagers where scattering before the dark group. Gerald froze in place, flinching whenever he heard the tell tale sound of metal biting flesh. In fear he fell to his knees, rain drops from the sky starting to hide his own tears as he witnessed the stampede cutting through those he had known his entire life. With each scream the chevauchee grew closer. Fire arced in the air, and roofs exploded into flames, the little that the rain did only added to the hissing roar of the growing destruction. Blood mixed with water as the sky opened up above, and pools of red formed on the gravel. Horses whinnied, soldiers bellowed with war cries, and innocent pleas were cut short. Gerald couldn’t look away, his lips moving in silent prayer. Adelee was screaming at him, but the words were gurgles to his ears, all he could hear was the cacophony of the massacre before him. Suddenly a rider broke from the others, a blood drenched noble wearing a silver tabard of Rylea over a richly adorned suit of plate. The horse was massive, and it’s rider shaking with blood lust as it charged towards the stunned deacon and his friend. The hooves cracked upon the soaked dirt, and the wretched smell of death followed the rider, growing so pungent that it forced Gerald to cover his nose. Adelee was trying to drag him away, but Gerald wouldn’t move. Then suddenly, as the rider reached Gerald, sword raised high, the sky pulsed. A crack of lightning shot through the sky and into the riders sword. The figure flashed with electricity for a blinding second. The horse screamed and fell over. The body clanked as it landed next to the stunned Gerald and Adelee, the smell of cooked flesh rising from the suit of armor. Other soldiers stared on in disbelief, the chevauchee at an effective halt. “THE Duke is dead!” someone roared. With shaking fingers Adelee removed the helmet of the rider, a small hiss of smoke escaped the suit of armor as he revealed the burnt face of Duke Raymond of Rylea. “The Duke is dead,” Adelee mouthed silently in disbelief. Suddenly the sky pulsed again and all the soldiers fell to the blood soaked ground, rain bouncing off their armor. The bolt hit nothing in particular, but no one dared move. Everyone stayed like this for the next twenty minutes, the sheer shock giving them the patience to wait out the storm. Only when the rain paused did the soldiers collect the body of Raymond, each cautious of the Deacon before the corpse. The villagers taunted the soldiers, and even starting small fights, but before long the soldiers retreated with the body, and all eyes fell on Gerald. “T-the Serene One,” Gerald gulped, his eyes frozen wide in shock, staring at where the body once was, “Serene One’s blessings upon this hamlet.” [center][b][u]----Olmsbridge, The Sixth Day----[/u][/b][/center] The room was silent. Velvet chairs decorated the large cobblestone room, and braziers assisted by manhole windows let in golden light. Abigail stood in shock, a mess of letters placed on the polished table before her. “[i]William’s son captured.[/i]” Read one, “[i]Raymond of Rylea dead,[i]” read another. As horrible as the details of the latter sounded, it was considered good news, as it eliminated one of the largest opponents she had, and put the reins of his duchy into the hands of his sympathetic daughter, but any good news was greatly outweighed by the bad. Abigail looked down at the largest letter, her gut twisted, knowing what it says. Not only were her troops routed at the Pralean border, but a large portion of her support was found dead, not to mention her own marshal and the Duke of Jannerton. Those that survived likely surrendered to William, and if not for having her forces split between her marshal and protecting the south with Edith, that could have been the entire war. [i]It still could be[/i], her anxiety warned her, churning her stomach once more. She gripped her hair in frustration and fell into a waiting chair, letting her elbows prop her over the letters. The door creaked open, “a letter from the Archbishop,” a servant’s voice called in. “What,” Abigail replied, her voice strained. The servant struggled for a moment and unfolded the letter, “William has called for a diet.” “When.” “It is in a few days.” Abigail looked up from her table, arching her brow and trying her best to hide her anger, “how?” The servant shrugged, retreating slightly backwards, “the Archbishop received word two days ago.” Abigail sucked in a large breath and held it, tilting her head as she attempted to hold in her frustration. Slowly she exhaled, “that snake knew exactly what he was doing, fine! Send word, I will attend. Let’s settle this madness.” “Very good your highness,” The servant bowed out of the room. As soon as the servant left, the Queen let her forehead fall to the table with a thud. “Shit.” [center][b]--------- --------[/b][/center]