Partisan

Reign of Weade's [realistic medieval RP]

Gregar went under the knife, for several hours. Much to his surprise the local liegelord hadn't come yet to greet them, or capture or murder him for that matter. They were in the Forklands, but none of the other dukes had declared a support for either side of the newfound conflict between the Whitelands and Ironhills. But it seems that the local lord hadn't taken much of an interest him. None the less, the procedure the local physician underwent on him was.. painful, to say the least. Trying his best to maintain a composure, he gritted his teeth before a nearby assistant to the physician handed him a wood piece to bite into. Never the less, when the physician started pulling out the remaining parts of the bolt, Gregar couldn't help but let out a scream as he experienced heavy pains. The entire procedure lasted well over two hours, and Corbin was sent away to organize their stuff and put their new horses in the stable. He might be noble of blood, but he was still a subject to Gregar, despite their common blood. He was handed a crutch, crudely made of a large branch with a split end, another branch attached between them to lean on. Gregar was told to rest and to retire to his chambers but he had other plans. Hobbling through the maze of hallways, he ended up in the courtyard again where he walked around for a short while, enjoying the sight of working people walking around and doing their bussiness. It seemed people here did not recognise him, as the tales of ser Gregar the Oakenheart often portrayed him in a much different manner. After some time of wandering, observing the working people and the occasional talk with a craftsman, he decided to head into the main halls where he bumped into Corbin. “I'm going to the duke to appeal for safe passage in his lands and some fresh horses. Care to join me?” Corbin didn't seem to mind, so followed Gregar after all. As far as anyone knew, they were just a few of the people who had come to the Forklands in search of employment as a knight. They fit in perfectly, after all, with their armor and swords. As they hobbled around, they stumbled upon the library per accident, taking in some time to look around before Gregar would approach the center desk where the duke, lord Rufus would be seated. As he approached slowly, leaning on his crutch, he'd cough softly. “Lord Rufus.” His voice would be somewhat loud, clear and definetely impose some form of respect, however that all depended on how the duke would respond to him. “I was attacked by lord Perrighfields' men in a setup, while returning to my lands to defend what is rightfully mine. The men were slain, but not before I was shot with a bolt. You have my gratitude for giving me the treatment I needed, and your hospitality is certainly a trait that you should cherish.” Gregar would look at the man more directly now, rather than looking at the man's surroundings, such as what the man was reading. He couldn't make out what book he had, but continued none the less. “However, since I find myself in your keep, I'd have to request you grant me and my companion and cousin Corbin a safe passage through your lands. I'd also want to request to trade my two horses for two of yours, fresh and ready to ride.” There was something else on Gregar's mind too, but he didn't dare ask for an alliance right now after asking the man for an escort and two fresh horses. --- At the tavern near the Wintershouse All the men were drinking heavily, and more heavily as the night progressed. Some had passed out drunk, laying on the table asleep, faces burried in whatever food was in front of them. The others were drinking, dancing, and appeasing several harlots and whores, who all seemed to be enjoying their company. However there were definetely two camps in the tavern, the left side being primarily men of the most powerful count amongst the counts, count Norlan, the other side having mostly soldiers from the two counts, both from the same family, count Ulfrik and Sicbert. These two families had been feuding for years before Rikard intervened, and while the bloodshed stopped, the tensions hadn't. It was for that reason that at one point, a soldier from Ulfrik's armies stood up and started a fight with a soldier from count Norlan, whom he referred to as 'traitor.' The rest being drunk as they were, simply stared, laughed and cheered for their side. However, the innkeeper looked at Briala as if he was asking her to intervene before they ruined the tavern.

Reign of Weade's [realistic medieval RP]

So many requests so I'll say yes to all of them.

Reign of Weade's [realistic medieval RP]

Generous, slave.. those things don't match. Also, IC views on slavery, rape, etc? Should we make that a point? I always like having legal slavery, not sure if we'd need to include graphic things like rape etc. Does anyone have a problem with it if we work with implied stuff?

Reign of Weade's [realistic medieval RP]

If it's a problem for you you can also do it tomorrow, but you'd likely end up with the same problem.

Reign of Weade's [realistic medieval RP]

Yeah I'm cool with that. Feel free to post up something about Valeria arriving, as well as a guard or 2 meeting Gregar + Corbin, with Gregar having a bolt in his leg.

Reign of Weade's [realistic medieval RP]

I was out today for school + seeing a required information day to join the national reserves here. Those who haven't posted yet I will consider ''gone'' except for Muse, as she is on skype. I will ask her there if she's still in.

Reign of Weade's [realistic medieval RP]

<Snipped quote by Partisan> Wipe me off that list :)

@Zran

Done and done.

Reign of Weade's [realistic medieval RP]

I need a post from Muse is all I need for Joakim to advance. Some people still haven't posted.

Reign of Weade's [realistic medieval RP]

Ofcourse you have the Wintershouse (the actual stone keep) and then you have the village attached to it. One could say that that might have a somewhat different name but I doubt that.

Reign of Weade's [realistic medieval RP]

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 what 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. 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. “Gregar? The commander is looking for you.” Gregar looked at him with a confused look, but Corbin simply raised his shoulders. “Don't ask me why.” 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. “Any news of your father, Corbin?” Corbin shook his head. “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.” Gregar nodded, understanding what Corbin meant when he talked about the contents. “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.” 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. “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.” 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. “Ah, if it ain't the Weade sisters. I think I asked for Gregar, and not Corbin, but since yer' both here..” he said as he eyed Corbin with a glare that could spell death, “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.” 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, “Lord Perrighfield would rather fight young and inexperienced Joakim, than a veteran like yourself, Gregar.” 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. “Corbin, get my horse. We need to leave.” 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. “Damn Harrighfield..” 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..