Horror permeated Julen’s gut as they stumbled onto the grisly scene. Had the mercenaries done this? Had they noticed the arrival of the Lightswords and decided to send a gruesome message? For a minute, Julen couldn’t make himself look. Even as his comrades ventured out amidst the corpses, Julen kept his eyes on the sky, too afraid that a closer examination would reveal the faces of dead friends and neighbors.
But he couldn’t put if off forever. Steeling himself, Julen glanced downward. And, slowly, allowed relief to replace his dread. All the faces which could still be recognized were those of strangers. The mercenaries had been the victims of this massacre, not the villagers. And that led to a new question. What had done this? Karsimir was right -- no group of Shim’s residents, no matter how large or organized, could have put up such an effective resistance.
“Perhaps the city guard arrived?” Sigvard speculated. He sounded mildly annoyed that someone had taken the liberty of slaughtering foes which rightfully belonged to him.
Imperceptibly, Julen shook his head. Not one of the fallen bodies wore a guard uniform. Besides, surely the guard would have stuck around to maintain order, rather than vanishing into thin air after their offensive. So, who? How?
An exceedingly unpleasant idea popped into Julen’s head. It wasn’t even a guess -- in that moment, he knew. But he didn’t want to know. So, hoping in vain to find some opposing evidence, he knelt beside some of the corpses, examining them more closely. As he’d feared, there seemed to be a disturbing lack of blood. A single name swelled up in Julen’s thoughts. And Karsimir’s question drew it into the open before Julen could stop himself from speaking.
“Bela.”
Instantly, Julen regretted his slip. He prayed that the word had somehow dropped from his lips unheard. But Thetta glanced over at him, one of her blonde eyebrows arched in puzzlement. “Bela? Who, or what, is Bela?”
Resigned, Julen pushed himself back to his feet, and turned to face Karsimir. “Forgive me, my friend. Perhaps I should have mentioned this earlier. But I was afraid that your zeal might cause you to do something...reckless.” Regret shone clearly in Julen’s eyes. Although whether he regretted the secret he’d kept, or regretted the fact that he was now forced to divulge it, would have been hard to tell. “His full name is Belatucadrus. And although those who live in the shadow of Kaledin Manor rarely discuss him, he is our benefactor, our protector, and our absolute master.”
“You think he did this?” Thetta looked skeptical. “How could one man possibly kill so many?”
“Bela isn’t a man.” Julen swallowed, struggling to quiet his unease. A strange tickling sensation kept crawling up the back of his neck, as if long black fingernails were caressing the flesh there, and despite the bright daylight, Julen half-expected to find Bela suddenly standing behind him. It was all but forbidden to speak about such things to outsiders, and Julen doubted Shim’s lord would approve of this breech in secrecy. But Karsimir needed to know. “Bela is a vampire. A vampire so old that they say it was he who convinced the first settlers to make their homes in Marn and Shim. Most of the time, he stays in Kaledin Manor. Sleeping. Or pursuing activities we do not inquire about. However, when roused, his anger is terrible...as you see.”
Julen gestured at the dead mercenaries. “These men disturbed his village. So he...took care of them.”
Reclaiming
Re: Reclaiming
Shim -- where the men are men, and the livestock are scared.
-
Sir Karsimir
- Citizen
- Posts: 714
- Joined: Wed Jan 10, 2007 8:12 pm
- Name: Karsimir Von Greyssen
- Race: Reichvolk human
Re: Reclaiming
There was not even the barest glimmer of a shift in expression from Karsimir's face. All he did was nod. Hatton on the other hand, was horrified.
"That monster..." Hatton breathed, stopping when Karsimir held up a hand to stall him.
Gradually Karsimir returned his hand to his pollax, deep in thought. "Given the circumstances, I have no grounds for objection. My main concern is him coming out for the others and finding us." He gestured with a gauntleted hand at the heaps of bodies. "On that subject, creatures like this tend to take special interest in Angelsworn. Apparently we are better to feed upon." He brought this up for a reason, this vampire posed a very real threat, as the heaps of slaughtered victims would agree.
At the very least, Karsimir was all the more glad not to be anywhere near Kaledin Manor. He knew vague rumours of Belatucadrus being a vampire, but nothing more. While not knowing whether to take them seriously, the rumours were absent of any mention of Belatucadrus ever coming out. Now, if the vampire simply remained dormant indefinitely, Karsimir was happy to leave him undisturbed.
But now he was disturbed, which raised the possibility that action may need to be taken.
Clearly Hatton was considering the same thing. "My lord, this vampire is clearly dangerous." A claim impossible to refute when confronted by the evidence of so many dead bodies. "For such a monster to claim rulership of these people is dreadful. We can't allow so foul a beast to lord over the people. Will he be done with slaughter after the mercenaries are all dead or will he find new victims? Who does he feed off?" A question directed partly at his lord and partly at Julen, who would be more able to answer.
No mention was made of the secret being kept. None at all.
"Right." began Karsimir. "At present, this vampire's interests and mine intersect." After all, he came here to kill the very same people. "I am sure I wont approve of his methods, but effort spent fighting Bela is effort not spent protecting the villagers."
"Yes my lord." answered Hatton, "But in saving these people I dont want us to only save them for dinner. What are these methods you don't approve of?"
"This would be one of them." commented Karsimir as he rounded the corner, to witness a figure squirming above the ground on a spike of bone, his legs sheared off at the thighs. Eyes were clamped shut as though blinding himself to a world so cruel. What was left of his trews were soiled. He stank. Without delay, Karsimir dashed over, returning his pollax to the cross-sheath on his back. "We'll get you out. Heaven's mercy upon you."
Then he placed his armoured hand on the broken man's chest, above his heart, and poured what mercy he may through it to ease suffering. Strong arms then reached around his body and lifted him from the earth, laying him backwards to rest on the ground with some degree of comfort. The rapidly mending bone was badly inflamed, and was formed of the man's spine.
"Thank you." forced the victim through wracked sobs, face grimy and covered in tears, both old tears released from the pain and from the sheer relief of being free of agony once more.
Padded fingers pressed into the wounded man's palm, as though inviting him to clasp hands. An invitation accepted. "Gladly." Sir Karsimir whispered. For now, he said nothing more, knowing the dreadful truths to come next, and wanting to allow the man some time without them. "What is your name?"
"Demetrio."
"From Keltaria?"
Demetrio nodded.
"I'm Karsimir, a Reichlander."
Finally adjusting to the pain being eased, Demetrio spoke. "You need to get out of here. The thing, it's a vampire, it did all this on purpose. Left me like this, brought his victims out and killed them right in front of me. You need to go before he comes for you too."
A moment of silence. "I know about the vampire. It's day, so we can see to you first."
Demetrio shook his head. "I wont live much longer. I'm never going to fight again."
Both men squeezed hands. Karsimir finally spoke. "I can offer you last rites."
Lying on the ground with his body warped and ravaged, Demetrio had always been superstitious but never practiced any faith devoutly. Better to rely on his own strong arms and the support of his comrades than to rely on gods he had seen no sign of. Proof of evil was all he had found, and lying here was what he had to show for it. Still, he never refused the aid of a priest when offered, because in his risky and uncertain lifestyle he would welcome even potentially useless spiritual assistance. Bowing his head to receive a blessing cost him nothing, or maybe the barest price of bishani, but if it worked it may have saved his life.
With the grave so eagerly awaiting him, spiritual assistance was exactly what he needed. "Please."
"That monster..." Hatton breathed, stopping when Karsimir held up a hand to stall him.
Gradually Karsimir returned his hand to his pollax, deep in thought. "Given the circumstances, I have no grounds for objection. My main concern is him coming out for the others and finding us." He gestured with a gauntleted hand at the heaps of bodies. "On that subject, creatures like this tend to take special interest in Angelsworn. Apparently we are better to feed upon." He brought this up for a reason, this vampire posed a very real threat, as the heaps of slaughtered victims would agree.
At the very least, Karsimir was all the more glad not to be anywhere near Kaledin Manor. He knew vague rumours of Belatucadrus being a vampire, but nothing more. While not knowing whether to take them seriously, the rumours were absent of any mention of Belatucadrus ever coming out. Now, if the vampire simply remained dormant indefinitely, Karsimir was happy to leave him undisturbed.
But now he was disturbed, which raised the possibility that action may need to be taken.
Clearly Hatton was considering the same thing. "My lord, this vampire is clearly dangerous." A claim impossible to refute when confronted by the evidence of so many dead bodies. "For such a monster to claim rulership of these people is dreadful. We can't allow so foul a beast to lord over the people. Will he be done with slaughter after the mercenaries are all dead or will he find new victims? Who does he feed off?" A question directed partly at his lord and partly at Julen, who would be more able to answer.
No mention was made of the secret being kept. None at all.
"Right." began Karsimir. "At present, this vampire's interests and mine intersect." After all, he came here to kill the very same people. "I am sure I wont approve of his methods, but effort spent fighting Bela is effort not spent protecting the villagers."
"Yes my lord." answered Hatton, "But in saving these people I dont want us to only save them for dinner. What are these methods you don't approve of?"
"This would be one of them." commented Karsimir as he rounded the corner, to witness a figure squirming above the ground on a spike of bone, his legs sheared off at the thighs. Eyes were clamped shut as though blinding himself to a world so cruel. What was left of his trews were soiled. He stank. Without delay, Karsimir dashed over, returning his pollax to the cross-sheath on his back. "We'll get you out. Heaven's mercy upon you."
Then he placed his armoured hand on the broken man's chest, above his heart, and poured what mercy he may through it to ease suffering. Strong arms then reached around his body and lifted him from the earth, laying him backwards to rest on the ground with some degree of comfort. The rapidly mending bone was badly inflamed, and was formed of the man's spine.
"Thank you." forced the victim through wracked sobs, face grimy and covered in tears, both old tears released from the pain and from the sheer relief of being free of agony once more.
Padded fingers pressed into the wounded man's palm, as though inviting him to clasp hands. An invitation accepted. "Gladly." Sir Karsimir whispered. For now, he said nothing more, knowing the dreadful truths to come next, and wanting to allow the man some time without them. "What is your name?"
"Demetrio."
"From Keltaria?"
Demetrio nodded.
"I'm Karsimir, a Reichlander."
Finally adjusting to the pain being eased, Demetrio spoke. "You need to get out of here. The thing, it's a vampire, it did all this on purpose. Left me like this, brought his victims out and killed them right in front of me. You need to go before he comes for you too."
A moment of silence. "I know about the vampire. It's day, so we can see to you first."
Demetrio shook his head. "I wont live much longer. I'm never going to fight again."
Both men squeezed hands. Karsimir finally spoke. "I can offer you last rites."
Lying on the ground with his body warped and ravaged, Demetrio had always been superstitious but never practiced any faith devoutly. Better to rely on his own strong arms and the support of his comrades than to rely on gods he had seen no sign of. Proof of evil was all he had found, and lying here was what he had to show for it. Still, he never refused the aid of a priest when offered, because in his risky and uncertain lifestyle he would welcome even potentially useless spiritual assistance. Bowing his head to receive a blessing cost him nothing, or maybe the barest price of bishani, but if it worked it may have saved his life.
With the grave so eagerly awaiting him, spiritual assistance was exactly what he needed. "Please."
My faith protects me, my kevlar helps.
Re: Reclaiming
“Bela doesn’t feed off of us.” Julen actually looked rather offended by the suggestion. “We’re his subjects, not his herd of cattle. On rare occasions, he takes someone from the village to serve him in Kaledin Manor, but that’s all.”
Then, in a milder tone of voice, Julen addressed Karsimir. “I understand your concern about appealing to his appetite. But Bela so rarely leaves his home -- I didn’t think you’d be in any danger from him. And I still don’t. After a feeding like this, he’s probably gone back to sleep. Maybe for another ten or twenty years.”
“I’ve lived in Shim all my life, and I’ve only seen him once." That ‘once’, however, was a memory etched more deeply into Julen’s mind than any nightmare. He’d been just a boy, back then. He and his father were returning from an evening church service, walking along a stretch of deserted road, when something...changed. The shadows seemed to take on a life of their own. And then, an aristocratic man came striding toward them. The man’s movements were graceful, and his step was light, as if actually remaining on the ground was only a whim that currently amused him. And something vaguely predatory glimmered in his moonlit eyes. Immediately, Julen’s father had yanked his son over to the side of the road. Julen didn’t remember if the man spoke to his father, or even nodded at them as he passed. He just remembered that he’d never felt his father hold his hand so tightly.
“I appreciate your concern for the villagers, but this is how we’ve always lived. The people of Shim view Bela with as much reverence as they do fear. If you move against him, they will not support you. Especially not now.” Again, Julen gestured at the bodies all around them. “However gruesome his methods, the fact remains that he protected them against an outside threat. That’s bound to make him popular.”
With that, Julen shut his mouth. He really didn’t want to fight Bela. Although he’d tempered his statement to Karsimir, Julen considered any attack on the vampire to be more than reckless...it was outright suicidal. But he’d said his piece. And if Karsimir decided to pursue action against Bela, then Julen would stand beside his friend. And probably die beside him.
At that moment, they rounded a corner, and Julen saw another sight destined to haunt his nightmares. One of the mercenaries had been horribly mutilated and then stuck in the ground like a scarecrow. If scarecrows were mounted on their own spines. Worse still, despite his agonizing predicament, the man still appeared to be alive. Julen’s stomach twisted, squeezing the taste of bile up into his mouth. He’d seen men slaughtered in battle before. However, this sort of torture went far beyond his darkest imaginings. Desperately, Julen tried to swallow his queasiness, but that was when the stench reached him. Again, Julen’s stomach lurched, and a series of dry heaves pounded against his tightly-closed lips.
As Karsimir poured his healing into the unfortunate mercenary, Thetta walked over, standing above the pair with a look of disapproval on her stern face. “If you have a soft spot for birdies, I can learn to accept that. But why are you wasting your energy on someone we would have struck down ourselves?” Thetta shook her head. “Last rites? You might as well piss on him -- it will do him as much good in the afterlife. Put the poor bastard out of his misery so we can get on with our business.”
“And while you’re at it, maybe you should put the farmer out of his misery, as well.”
Julen, having lost his battle against the nausea, was down on his hands and knees, vomiting noisily.
Then, in a milder tone of voice, Julen addressed Karsimir. “I understand your concern about appealing to his appetite. But Bela so rarely leaves his home -- I didn’t think you’d be in any danger from him. And I still don’t. After a feeding like this, he’s probably gone back to sleep. Maybe for another ten or twenty years.”
“I’ve lived in Shim all my life, and I’ve only seen him once." That ‘once’, however, was a memory etched more deeply into Julen’s mind than any nightmare. He’d been just a boy, back then. He and his father were returning from an evening church service, walking along a stretch of deserted road, when something...changed. The shadows seemed to take on a life of their own. And then, an aristocratic man came striding toward them. The man’s movements were graceful, and his step was light, as if actually remaining on the ground was only a whim that currently amused him. And something vaguely predatory glimmered in his moonlit eyes. Immediately, Julen’s father had yanked his son over to the side of the road. Julen didn’t remember if the man spoke to his father, or even nodded at them as he passed. He just remembered that he’d never felt his father hold his hand so tightly.
“I appreciate your concern for the villagers, but this is how we’ve always lived. The people of Shim view Bela with as much reverence as they do fear. If you move against him, they will not support you. Especially not now.” Again, Julen gestured at the bodies all around them. “However gruesome his methods, the fact remains that he protected them against an outside threat. That’s bound to make him popular.”
With that, Julen shut his mouth. He really didn’t want to fight Bela. Although he’d tempered his statement to Karsimir, Julen considered any attack on the vampire to be more than reckless...it was outright suicidal. But he’d said his piece. And if Karsimir decided to pursue action against Bela, then Julen would stand beside his friend. And probably die beside him.
At that moment, they rounded a corner, and Julen saw another sight destined to haunt his nightmares. One of the mercenaries had been horribly mutilated and then stuck in the ground like a scarecrow. If scarecrows were mounted on their own spines. Worse still, despite his agonizing predicament, the man still appeared to be alive. Julen’s stomach twisted, squeezing the taste of bile up into his mouth. He’d seen men slaughtered in battle before. However, this sort of torture went far beyond his darkest imaginings. Desperately, Julen tried to swallow his queasiness, but that was when the stench reached him. Again, Julen’s stomach lurched, and a series of dry heaves pounded against his tightly-closed lips.
As Karsimir poured his healing into the unfortunate mercenary, Thetta walked over, standing above the pair with a look of disapproval on her stern face. “If you have a soft spot for birdies, I can learn to accept that. But why are you wasting your energy on someone we would have struck down ourselves?” Thetta shook her head. “Last rites? You might as well piss on him -- it will do him as much good in the afterlife. Put the poor bastard out of his misery so we can get on with our business.”
“And while you’re at it, maybe you should put the farmer out of his misery, as well.”
Julen, having lost his battle against the nausea, was down on his hands and knees, vomiting noisily.
Shim -- where the men are men, and the livestock are scared.
-
Sir Karsimir
- Citizen
- Posts: 714
- Joined: Wed Jan 10, 2007 8:12 pm
- Name: Karsimir Von Greyssen
- Race: Reichvolk human
Re: Reclaiming
(OOC: Credit to Terjon of the Blue Rose for his part in Demetrio's confession).
"Because Demetrio is not our enemy at present." Karsimir answered to Thetta without looking up. "And because I have trusted friends who little more than a week ago were freelance warriors staying in this village, you and Sigvard for example." Had Bela's rampage been little more than one week earlier, that could have been her stuck in a ground as some kind of macabre ornament. "Give me a few minutes."
Demetrio took a few deep breaths. "Will it hurt?"
At least one thing within Karsimir's power to grant. "No, there will be a few moments of discomfort, your vision will darken, you will feel drowsy, and it will be like falling asleep." This much Karsimir already knew because he had already chosen the method to put the man out of his misery; a fast blood choke.
This came as a surprise to one expecting to be finished by a pollax to the skull. "Thank you."
"First, take this chance to make a confession, and repent the wrongs you have done." Karsimir advised.
After a brief moment, Demetrio asked, "Why?"
And Karsimir answered. "Because you may never find another chance."
Demetrio saw the wisdom of this. "Yes..."
"Then I will hear your confession now."
Steeling himself with a deep breath, Demetrio began. "I suppose I should start with the obvious, I kill for money, it's my job and my life. Hell, it's even become my joy." Breathing deeply again, he continued. "I started in this life as a soldier, and I was good at that job. Kill them before they kill you, that's a soldiers job. Believe in a cause or nation or king and kill for it."
Karsimir nodded, believing in all three.
"But of course a soldier who doesn't believe in anything isn't really a soldier anymore are they? I left the military and sold my sword to the highest bidder. I didn't care who I was sent to fight anymore, and I didn't care why. I wanted the pay and I wanted the fight." Demetrio gazed downward, speaking more in a troubled whisper.
"After a few years the fight was all I had. My life and my sword and death mingled together on many battlefields, and eventually the battlefield spread. I stopped caring if there was a war ahead and if there was pay. I degraded the way all those around me had. I became a sword for hire and then a sword. There isn't any use for a sword but to kill you know. It's not like an axe that can cut a tree and build a house, or a dagger that can skin a deer. Swords kill men, it's their purpose, and so it became mine. The man in me died as I killed and watched others kill."
There was a brief, ironic chuckle. "Heh. I used to hate my fellows. The other mercenaries would start fights and thought themselves beyond law and order. But as I lived among them I saw it. Death followed them everywhere. If they did not die then they killed. Why bother with law and order when you have life and death. And I became like them. I took what I wanted and if a fight came with it all the better. I stopped being afraid of death, as I travelled so far by his side, and I started to look upon him as a friend."
"And there is my sin. I stopped caring for purpose or cause and came to love death and fighting. I stole and I killed because there was noone to stop me and the fight had become was who I was. There was no reason. There was no great need. It was so simple. I was a killer and that was all. I know my crimes and now you know them, forgive me or not. I realize as I look back that it matters little."
The mercenary laid back, closing his eyes peacefully.
"I died a long time ago, didn't I?"
Karsimir only squeezed his hand in reply.Then Demetrio noticed that Karsimir was not carrying a sword, only a polearm slung over his back and a dagger on his hip. "My sword is from your homeland." stated Demetrio with a weak laugh, gesturing towards a curved sword still in it's scabbard on the ground beside him. The weapon belt was broken as though torn from his waist by brute force. "I won't be using it."
Looking at the sword, the sword was indeed a style used in Karsimir's homeland. A large, mostly straight, single-edged sword which had the edge curve near the tip to narrow into a point. It appeared a fine weapon, and would serve as a reasonable substitute for gift he gave to Rollick. "Thank you." And now for the matter at hand. "Demetrio of Keltaria, are you sorry for all of your sins?"
"Deeply." replied Demetrio... or at least for all he could think of. Upon which Karsimir traced a crucifix across his face, touching his forehead, chin, and cheeks.
"Are you ready? With sins laid bare, to you request for the company of angels?"
"I do."
"Farewell Demetrio." Strong arms curled around his neck, forming a vice, which closed upon the carotid arteries. Demetrio squirmed for a moment, then went slack and still. The hold was retained for a short time longer, nearly half a minute before releasing. Demetrio was asleep. A sharp twist on the neck ensured he never woke up.
Donning the new sword, Karsimir marched over to Thetta. "I am finished. Now, suppose you were here for the vampire's rampage, do you believe he would have spared you? The reason I am so willing to extend mercy and comfort is because not long ago most of us were free swords, none too different as this man, and this is not yet a battlefield." Then glancing around at the carnage so recently wrought, he amended that statement. "This is not yet our battlefield. Once everyone is ready we can move out."
------------
While Julen was currently disabled, an arm was curled around his body and supporting him from under his breath, a measure to ensure he did not fall face first into a pool of his own vomit. Some splashed on Hatton's boots, which made him grimace, but no more than wading through ankle-deep entrails on the battlefield.
"Finish and then keep your eyes up." the squire encouraged. "We'll sit you down away from this and give you chance to get your breath back."
"Because Demetrio is not our enemy at present." Karsimir answered to Thetta without looking up. "And because I have trusted friends who little more than a week ago were freelance warriors staying in this village, you and Sigvard for example." Had Bela's rampage been little more than one week earlier, that could have been her stuck in a ground as some kind of macabre ornament. "Give me a few minutes."
Demetrio took a few deep breaths. "Will it hurt?"
At least one thing within Karsimir's power to grant. "No, there will be a few moments of discomfort, your vision will darken, you will feel drowsy, and it will be like falling asleep." This much Karsimir already knew because he had already chosen the method to put the man out of his misery; a fast blood choke.
This came as a surprise to one expecting to be finished by a pollax to the skull. "Thank you."
"First, take this chance to make a confession, and repent the wrongs you have done." Karsimir advised.
After a brief moment, Demetrio asked, "Why?"
And Karsimir answered. "Because you may never find another chance."
Demetrio saw the wisdom of this. "Yes..."
"Then I will hear your confession now."
Steeling himself with a deep breath, Demetrio began. "I suppose I should start with the obvious, I kill for money, it's my job and my life. Hell, it's even become my joy." Breathing deeply again, he continued. "I started in this life as a soldier, and I was good at that job. Kill them before they kill you, that's a soldiers job. Believe in a cause or nation or king and kill for it."
Karsimir nodded, believing in all three.
"But of course a soldier who doesn't believe in anything isn't really a soldier anymore are they? I left the military and sold my sword to the highest bidder. I didn't care who I was sent to fight anymore, and I didn't care why. I wanted the pay and I wanted the fight." Demetrio gazed downward, speaking more in a troubled whisper.
"After a few years the fight was all I had. My life and my sword and death mingled together on many battlefields, and eventually the battlefield spread. I stopped caring if there was a war ahead and if there was pay. I degraded the way all those around me had. I became a sword for hire and then a sword. There isn't any use for a sword but to kill you know. It's not like an axe that can cut a tree and build a house, or a dagger that can skin a deer. Swords kill men, it's their purpose, and so it became mine. The man in me died as I killed and watched others kill."
There was a brief, ironic chuckle. "Heh. I used to hate my fellows. The other mercenaries would start fights and thought themselves beyond law and order. But as I lived among them I saw it. Death followed them everywhere. If they did not die then they killed. Why bother with law and order when you have life and death. And I became like them. I took what I wanted and if a fight came with it all the better. I stopped being afraid of death, as I travelled so far by his side, and I started to look upon him as a friend."
"And there is my sin. I stopped caring for purpose or cause and came to love death and fighting. I stole and I killed because there was noone to stop me and the fight had become was who I was. There was no reason. There was no great need. It was so simple. I was a killer and that was all. I know my crimes and now you know them, forgive me or not. I realize as I look back that it matters little."
The mercenary laid back, closing his eyes peacefully.
"I died a long time ago, didn't I?"
Karsimir only squeezed his hand in reply.Then Demetrio noticed that Karsimir was not carrying a sword, only a polearm slung over his back and a dagger on his hip. "My sword is from your homeland." stated Demetrio with a weak laugh, gesturing towards a curved sword still in it's scabbard on the ground beside him. The weapon belt was broken as though torn from his waist by brute force. "I won't be using it."
Looking at the sword, the sword was indeed a style used in Karsimir's homeland. A large, mostly straight, single-edged sword which had the edge curve near the tip to narrow into a point. It appeared a fine weapon, and would serve as a reasonable substitute for gift he gave to Rollick. "Thank you." And now for the matter at hand. "Demetrio of Keltaria, are you sorry for all of your sins?"
"Deeply." replied Demetrio... or at least for all he could think of. Upon which Karsimir traced a crucifix across his face, touching his forehead, chin, and cheeks.
"Are you ready? With sins laid bare, to you request for the company of angels?"
"I do."
"Farewell Demetrio." Strong arms curled around his neck, forming a vice, which closed upon the carotid arteries. Demetrio squirmed for a moment, then went slack and still. The hold was retained for a short time longer, nearly half a minute before releasing. Demetrio was asleep. A sharp twist on the neck ensured he never woke up.
Donning the new sword, Karsimir marched over to Thetta. "I am finished. Now, suppose you were here for the vampire's rampage, do you believe he would have spared you? The reason I am so willing to extend mercy and comfort is because not long ago most of us were free swords, none too different as this man, and this is not yet a battlefield." Then glancing around at the carnage so recently wrought, he amended that statement. "This is not yet our battlefield. Once everyone is ready we can move out."
------------
While Julen was currently disabled, an arm was curled around his body and supporting him from under his breath, a measure to ensure he did not fall face first into a pool of his own vomit. Some splashed on Hatton's boots, which made him grimace, but no more than wading through ankle-deep entrails on the battlefield.
"Finish and then keep your eyes up." the squire encouraged. "We'll sit you down away from this and give you chance to get your breath back."
My faith protects me, my kevlar helps.
Re: Reclaiming
“Fine,” Thetta muttered, backing off. “But if you ever find me in a similar situation, I hope you can finish me off without all this useless chattering.”
While Karsimir spoke with Demetrio, Sigvard moved closer, as if drawn toward them by some invisible force. An unusually thoughtful expression lay heavy on the Northlander’s face. He’d gone on coastal raids as a way to provide for his family and village -- but also for the same reasons as the man who now lay dying at his feet. For the thrill of the fight, the triumph of the kill. And now, seeing where that path led, he found that he did not care for it. This was not the glorious death in battle that his people promised to their warriors. This was empty, hollow, and pointless. A succession of battles fought for no true cause, culminating in a death died for nothing at all.
When the time came for Demetrio to go to his gods, Sigvard bowed his head, while his fingers automatically brushed against the holy symbol he wore around his own neck. All the usual words that he’d learned to say at such moments seemed pathetically inappropriate, so he didn’t speak them. But he did feel for the man.
“That was a good thing you did,” he murmured to Karsimir, as the Angelsworn rose to his feet.
Thetta, however, appeared unmoved. When Karsimir approached her, she greeted him with a cold stare. And all his words only earned him a slight shake of her head. “I do not play the game of ‘what if?’ Its outcome is determined by illusions and phantoms. If I hadn’t answered your call, then the vampire might have slaughtered me. Or I might have died on your blade during a later battle. So?” As always, Thetta sounded remarkably undisturbed while discussing her own death.
“It changes nothing. I answered your call. He didn’t. Does that make me a better person than him? Maybe.” Thetta shrugged, and her braid rustled slightly as it dragged against the chain maille links in her armor. “Maybe not. But I am your ally, he is your foe, and making your decisions based on what might have happened is like trying to pull yourself out of a hole with a moonbeam.”
“To be honest, I do not see what has been accomplished here. You gave some comfort to a man who enjoyed it for scarcely more than a minute before dying. In return, your healing energies have been reduced and we are that much closer to dusk.” Revealing a hint of uncharacteristic nervousness, Thetta glanced over her shoulder in the direction of Kaledin Manor.
“The whole world is our battlefield. That is why we walk through it with swords and armor, always ready to fight.”
*****
At first, Julen was too overwhelmed by his body’s involuntary purging to notice anything else. Then, as he spat the last dribbles of vomit from his mouth, he became aware of Hatton’s support. Ashamed at having displayed such weakness in front of his fellow warriors, Julen attempted to bluster his way through the situation. “Sorry. I must have a bit of stomach flu.”
Unfortunately, Julen’s bluff was ruined when his eyes strayed back to the mercenary. By now, Karsimir had freed the man from his tortuous position, but even the fresh memory of it elicited a dry heave. Surrendering to Hatton’s help, Julen allowed the squire to help him to his feet. “Sorry,” he repeated, as honesty prevailed. “I’ve never seen anything like--gods--that was horrible.”
While Karsimir spoke with Demetrio, Sigvard moved closer, as if drawn toward them by some invisible force. An unusually thoughtful expression lay heavy on the Northlander’s face. He’d gone on coastal raids as a way to provide for his family and village -- but also for the same reasons as the man who now lay dying at his feet. For the thrill of the fight, the triumph of the kill. And now, seeing where that path led, he found that he did not care for it. This was not the glorious death in battle that his people promised to their warriors. This was empty, hollow, and pointless. A succession of battles fought for no true cause, culminating in a death died for nothing at all.
When the time came for Demetrio to go to his gods, Sigvard bowed his head, while his fingers automatically brushed against the holy symbol he wore around his own neck. All the usual words that he’d learned to say at such moments seemed pathetically inappropriate, so he didn’t speak them. But he did feel for the man.
“That was a good thing you did,” he murmured to Karsimir, as the Angelsworn rose to his feet.
Thetta, however, appeared unmoved. When Karsimir approached her, she greeted him with a cold stare. And all his words only earned him a slight shake of her head. “I do not play the game of ‘what if?’ Its outcome is determined by illusions and phantoms. If I hadn’t answered your call, then the vampire might have slaughtered me. Or I might have died on your blade during a later battle. So?” As always, Thetta sounded remarkably undisturbed while discussing her own death.
“It changes nothing. I answered your call. He didn’t. Does that make me a better person than him? Maybe.” Thetta shrugged, and her braid rustled slightly as it dragged against the chain maille links in her armor. “Maybe not. But I am your ally, he is your foe, and making your decisions based on what might have happened is like trying to pull yourself out of a hole with a moonbeam.”
“To be honest, I do not see what has been accomplished here. You gave some comfort to a man who enjoyed it for scarcely more than a minute before dying. In return, your healing energies have been reduced and we are that much closer to dusk.” Revealing a hint of uncharacteristic nervousness, Thetta glanced over her shoulder in the direction of Kaledin Manor.
“The whole world is our battlefield. That is why we walk through it with swords and armor, always ready to fight.”
*****
At first, Julen was too overwhelmed by his body’s involuntary purging to notice anything else. Then, as he spat the last dribbles of vomit from his mouth, he became aware of Hatton’s support. Ashamed at having displayed such weakness in front of his fellow warriors, Julen attempted to bluster his way through the situation. “Sorry. I must have a bit of stomach flu.”
Unfortunately, Julen’s bluff was ruined when his eyes strayed back to the mercenary. By now, Karsimir had freed the man from his tortuous position, but even the fresh memory of it elicited a dry heave. Surrendering to Hatton’s help, Julen allowed the squire to help him to his feet. “Sorry,” he repeated, as honesty prevailed. “I’ve never seen anything like--gods--that was horrible.”
Shim -- where the men are men, and the livestock are scared.
-
Sir Karsimir
- Citizen
- Posts: 714
- Joined: Wed Jan 10, 2007 8:12 pm
- Name: Karsimir Von Greyssen
- Race: Reichvolk human
Re: Reclaiming
"Thank you, Sigvard." acknowledged Karsimir with a nod, more a bow from the neck. He knew as much already, but hearing it from a comrade was always heartening.
When Thetta locked onto Karsimir with her trademark cold stare, Karsimir chose not to respond. He took a deep breath and released it slowly through his nose, let the sadness flicker on his face, then met her gaze calmly. Rather than feeling angry, offended, or threatened by that stare so often being presented to him, he just felt mildly saddened that she saw fit to greet him that way.
Hearing her out, the only look on his face became one of attentiveness, and he made sure to not change expression. All he did was follow her gaze towards Kaledin Manor as she glanced over her shoulder, as though to record that she did. "Best we not stand here arguing then." A fast glance was cast towards Julen to see if he was ready, from what he saw Hatton had the matter well in hand and was best left with it for now. Given the current circumstances, ignoring Julen's discomfort seemed a kinder option than drawing attention to it.
Giving his friend more time to recover, his thoughts were on what Thetta had said. There was no need for her to agree with him, to require she do would be vanity. But he did not need to accept her claims either. For one thing, Demetrio was not his foe. For another, while there was wisdom in considering questions of 'what if' to be a generally fruitless endevour, Karsimir would not accept that enemies he fought and killed on the battlefield were decided purely by circumstance. And if the whole world was a battlefield, that would mean no one was safe. This was not what he fought for.
"Thetta, you should know, I don't plan on fighting all of the mercenaries. Many may want no part in this conflict, and I want to give them the option of not fighting us. Some here will have stayed out of loyalty to their captains. If we have a truce with some of them, we could cut our enemy in half." Turning away, he slowly began drawing his new sword. "I will be getting used to the balance as we move." he explained, pointing the weapon towards only empty air.
*****
No stranger to military campaign, Hatton had been in the company of warriors before, and knew they tried to cover up any appearance of weakness. What he had never been able to understand, was how or why a stomach flu was supposed to be a preferable explanation to the quite appropriate revulsion to what was put before them.
"Look at me Julen, look at me." Hatton instructed firmly. This was done to give Julen something other than the mutilations to focus on. Once he had Julen's attention, Hatton carried on cheerfully. "Good thing it's not a stomach flu, otherwise you might be in no state for battle when we need you."
He was glad the lie did not last long, Julen's heart was not in it, which was a good sign in Hatton's eyes. Poor liars were generally the people with the least practice. "Of course it's horrible. It's supposed to be. All your reaction shows is that you have no taste for cruelty. When you're ready to move, just say so, don't try to give a justification, you don't need one."
When Thetta locked onto Karsimir with her trademark cold stare, Karsimir chose not to respond. He took a deep breath and released it slowly through his nose, let the sadness flicker on his face, then met her gaze calmly. Rather than feeling angry, offended, or threatened by that stare so often being presented to him, he just felt mildly saddened that she saw fit to greet him that way.
Hearing her out, the only look on his face became one of attentiveness, and he made sure to not change expression. All he did was follow her gaze towards Kaledin Manor as she glanced over her shoulder, as though to record that she did. "Best we not stand here arguing then." A fast glance was cast towards Julen to see if he was ready, from what he saw Hatton had the matter well in hand and was best left with it for now. Given the current circumstances, ignoring Julen's discomfort seemed a kinder option than drawing attention to it.
Giving his friend more time to recover, his thoughts were on what Thetta had said. There was no need for her to agree with him, to require she do would be vanity. But he did not need to accept her claims either. For one thing, Demetrio was not his foe. For another, while there was wisdom in considering questions of 'what if' to be a generally fruitless endevour, Karsimir would not accept that enemies he fought and killed on the battlefield were decided purely by circumstance. And if the whole world was a battlefield, that would mean no one was safe. This was not what he fought for.
"Thetta, you should know, I don't plan on fighting all of the mercenaries. Many may want no part in this conflict, and I want to give them the option of not fighting us. Some here will have stayed out of loyalty to their captains. If we have a truce with some of them, we could cut our enemy in half." Turning away, he slowly began drawing his new sword. "I will be getting used to the balance as we move." he explained, pointing the weapon towards only empty air.
*****
No stranger to military campaign, Hatton had been in the company of warriors before, and knew they tried to cover up any appearance of weakness. What he had never been able to understand, was how or why a stomach flu was supposed to be a preferable explanation to the quite appropriate revulsion to what was put before them.
"Look at me Julen, look at me." Hatton instructed firmly. This was done to give Julen something other than the mutilations to focus on. Once he had Julen's attention, Hatton carried on cheerfully. "Good thing it's not a stomach flu, otherwise you might be in no state for battle when we need you."
He was glad the lie did not last long, Julen's heart was not in it, which was a good sign in Hatton's eyes. Poor liars were generally the people with the least practice. "Of course it's horrible. It's supposed to be. All your reaction shows is that you have no taste for cruelty. When you're ready to move, just say so, don't try to give a justification, you don't need one."
My faith protects me, my kevlar helps.
Re: Reclaiming
Karsimir’s announcement regarding the mercenaries earned him a slight rise and drop of Thetta’s shoulders. “So be it. Loyalty to one’s captain can certainly place a person in some strange situations. As I am discovering.” Perhaps it was only a trick of the light, but the slight curve of a smile seemed to accompany her last statement.
Meanwhile, Julen focused on Hatton. At first, he didn’t dare raise his eyes beyond the squire’s chest, for fear of the scorn he might see if he looked any higher. But Hatton’s kind tone coaxed his gaze upward. To Julen’s relief, he found only patience and sympathy displayed on Hatton’s face.
“Thanks,” Julen murmured.
As visions of the carnage receded, so did Julen’s nausea. Freed from the unpleasant churning of his stomach, Julen glanced down at himself, and was dismayed to see that bile had splattered on his tabard. Doubtlessly, the garment would soon be stained by worse. But that didn’t keep him from brushing embarrassedly at the discolored spots.
“I can move now.” A nod to Hatton reinforced that Julen was feeling strong enough to stand on his own. Still feeling slightly foolish, Julen rejoined the group, braced for any comments they might make. But Thetta had apparently already said her piece. And Sigvard merely handed Julen his drinking flask, making no comment as Julen washed his mouth with several swallows of the strong ale contained inside it.
After returning the flask to Sigvard, Julen started walking toward the house of the nearest village elder. “We’ll visit Moyna first. Although she only moved to Shim four years ago, she’s already a respected member of the community. Also, she works at the inn, which should give her ample opportunity to spread the word to other villagers.”
“She lives with her granddaughter, Kanareia.” Talking helped. Dwelling on the ordinary citizens of Shim, and their mundane lives, prevented the grotesque images of slaughter from returning. So Julen continued his chattering. Hopefully, Karsimir might find some of the information useful -- or, at least, interesting. “Kanareia is a sweet girl, but mute.”
The house, when they reached it, was small but neatly kept. Julen lead the way down the path to its entrance, and took the initiative of knocking. However, after that, he stood to one side, so that anyone opening the door would see both him and Karsimir, with the others slightly behind. He might be the local liaison. But Karsimir was still the leader.
Meanwhile, Julen focused on Hatton. At first, he didn’t dare raise his eyes beyond the squire’s chest, for fear of the scorn he might see if he looked any higher. But Hatton’s kind tone coaxed his gaze upward. To Julen’s relief, he found only patience and sympathy displayed on Hatton’s face.
“Thanks,” Julen murmured.
As visions of the carnage receded, so did Julen’s nausea. Freed from the unpleasant churning of his stomach, Julen glanced down at himself, and was dismayed to see that bile had splattered on his tabard. Doubtlessly, the garment would soon be stained by worse. But that didn’t keep him from brushing embarrassedly at the discolored spots.
“I can move now.” A nod to Hatton reinforced that Julen was feeling strong enough to stand on his own. Still feeling slightly foolish, Julen rejoined the group, braced for any comments they might make. But Thetta had apparently already said her piece. And Sigvard merely handed Julen his drinking flask, making no comment as Julen washed his mouth with several swallows of the strong ale contained inside it.
After returning the flask to Sigvard, Julen started walking toward the house of the nearest village elder. “We’ll visit Moyna first. Although she only moved to Shim four years ago, she’s already a respected member of the community. Also, she works at the inn, which should give her ample opportunity to spread the word to other villagers.”
“She lives with her granddaughter, Kanareia.” Talking helped. Dwelling on the ordinary citizens of Shim, and their mundane lives, prevented the grotesque images of slaughter from returning. So Julen continued his chattering. Hopefully, Karsimir might find some of the information useful -- or, at least, interesting. “Kanareia is a sweet girl, but mute.”
The house, when they reached it, was small but neatly kept. Julen lead the way down the path to its entrance, and took the initiative of knocking. However, after that, he stood to one side, so that anyone opening the door would see both him and Karsimir, with the others slightly behind. He might be the local liaison. But Karsimir was still the leader.
Shim -- where the men are men, and the livestock are scared.
Re: Reclaiming
The sharp rapping at the door brought Kanareia quickly to her feet. The rocking chair which she had been sitting in only moments ago swayed back and forth in memory of her presence, creaking slightly until she shifted her foot to halt its motion. She first looked to the frame across the room where light streamed in from the outside. With a certain hesitance, she slowly bent her knees to place a handkerchief and sewing thread she had been using into the chair, and with a jerky suddenness scurried forward like a mouse escaping from the punishment of a widow’s broom. Reaching the window, she grasped the window sill and peered with curious eyes through the clear, transparent curtains which were the only covering of the small opening at the front of the house. The sight of men at her front door sent her eyes into a wide questioning, her heart offering an unwelcome knock against her chest.
She turned and hurried out of the room and into the hall where she grabbed the metal bar that served as the handle. But she hesitated, lifting her eyes to the door as if peering directly through them to the men on the other side. Her other began to busy with wiping away at both real and imaginary dust on her azure dress, laced in the front with a white, apron-like design. Then with a sudden realization, she looked down at her bare feet with the wish that she had been wearing shoes, and momentarily contemplating a dash to retrieve them.
“Reia, is someone at the door?” Her grandmother’s voice penetrated through her like a catalyst for action, and she quickly flung the door open, holding her head up to look at those who stood on the other side. She struggled to make eye contact with any of them, but instead only managed to look about their chests. That is, until a familiar figure caught her eye.
She had to look at the man standing to the side for a moment to ensure that he was, in fact, Julen. He was not someone she could easily forget. Both relieved and confused, and with her lack of ability to voice any manner of salutation (which some might surely have found rude), she only looked to him with a faint smile and a gesturing nod of her head. Awkward though it was.
“Who is it, Reia?” Salvation. She wasn’t sure when she had last been so grateful to hear her grandmother’s voice. Her slender legs quickly glided out of the way to allow a woman of equal height and greyish-brown hair to stalk to the forefront. At first Moyna’s expression as she looked over those who stood in front of her home was stern, but any such indication of disapproval faded quickly as she offered a gracious smile to all, looking particularly at Julen.
“May I help you?”
Kanareia glanced at Moyna from the side, silently praising her grandmother's ability to maintain such effortless grace in any situation. Yet her curiousity was rising, and now she took this time to visually examine the visitors in detail, a new courage obtained from now having her grandmother at her side.
She turned and hurried out of the room and into the hall where she grabbed the metal bar that served as the handle. But she hesitated, lifting her eyes to the door as if peering directly through them to the men on the other side. Her other began to busy with wiping away at both real and imaginary dust on her azure dress, laced in the front with a white, apron-like design. Then with a sudden realization, she looked down at her bare feet with the wish that she had been wearing shoes, and momentarily contemplating a dash to retrieve them.
“Reia, is someone at the door?” Her grandmother’s voice penetrated through her like a catalyst for action, and she quickly flung the door open, holding her head up to look at those who stood on the other side. She struggled to make eye contact with any of them, but instead only managed to look about their chests. That is, until a familiar figure caught her eye.
She had to look at the man standing to the side for a moment to ensure that he was, in fact, Julen. He was not someone she could easily forget. Both relieved and confused, and with her lack of ability to voice any manner of salutation (which some might surely have found rude), she only looked to him with a faint smile and a gesturing nod of her head. Awkward though it was.
“Who is it, Reia?” Salvation. She wasn’t sure when she had last been so grateful to hear her grandmother’s voice. Her slender legs quickly glided out of the way to allow a woman of equal height and greyish-brown hair to stalk to the forefront. At first Moyna’s expression as she looked over those who stood in front of her home was stern, but any such indication of disapproval faded quickly as she offered a gracious smile to all, looking particularly at Julen.
“May I help you?”
Kanareia glanced at Moyna from the side, silently praising her grandmother's ability to maintain such effortless grace in any situation. Yet her curiousity was rising, and now she took this time to visually examine the visitors in detail, a new courage obtained from now having her grandmother at her side.
-
Sir Karsimir
- Citizen
- Posts: 714
- Joined: Wed Jan 10, 2007 8:12 pm
- Name: Karsimir Von Greyssen
- Race: Reichvolk human
Re: Reclaiming
Being as multi-lingual as he was, Karsimir had always made a habit to speak to others in their own language. Recognising from the silent greeting that the young woman at the door was the Kanareia that Julen described - quite accurately on both counts as being sweet and mute - he decided to respond in a similar manner. He removed his helmet and placed it under his arm, and bowed from the waist in courtly fashion, with the step back on one leg as he did so.
The bow was kept shallow for a reason. The polearm worn sheathed on his back had the head protruding above his shoulder, a vicious mixture of axehead, hammerhead, and thick spearpoint. He was taking care to keep that array of deadly steel away from those he was greeting. One could easily notice a large sword worn on his stout weapon belt, and a long dagger worn at the small of his back, with the hilt facing to his right side.
He was also heavily armoured, with large blackened shoulder guards and forearm guards, similar defences covering the shin and knee, his fabric surcoat covered most of the armour on his torso but the convex shape hinted at what was beneath, he even had burnished steel rising from the neck of his torso to cup his jaw and cover his throat. His gloves and boots were of black leather, with maille covering the backs of his hands and tops of his feet, and more mesh of linked steel rings covering the gaps between the solid armour plates.
These visitors were armed to the teeth and armoured to the eyeballs.
Then Moyna came forward. The stern look sent out at first did not bother Karsimir, since she had no reason to think him anything other than more of the mercenaries troubling the town. By the switch to a gracious smile, he saw that bringing Julen along made indeed a good starting impression.
First step was to answer her question. "Yes. Greetings Frau Moyna, Fraulein Kanareia." Acknowledging each in turn with a nod, he saw no reason to exclude Kanareia for either her youth or her muteness. "I am Karsimir Von Greyssen, at your service." He repeated the courtly bow on giving his name. "We have come to help you and your village. I wish to discuss how best we may do that. May we please speak of this inside?"
The obvious answer would be by getting rid of those damn mercenaries, but of course that would involve more detail. In particular, getting rid of those damn mercenaries without placing the village at risk.
Gesturing back to his fellows in turn, he made introductions. "These are my men-at-arms. You know Julen. These are Sigvard and Thetta, and Hatton." Courtesies made, he then handed the conversation over to Julen.
The bow was kept shallow for a reason. The polearm worn sheathed on his back had the head protruding above his shoulder, a vicious mixture of axehead, hammerhead, and thick spearpoint. He was taking care to keep that array of deadly steel away from those he was greeting. One could easily notice a large sword worn on his stout weapon belt, and a long dagger worn at the small of his back, with the hilt facing to his right side.
He was also heavily armoured, with large blackened shoulder guards and forearm guards, similar defences covering the shin and knee, his fabric surcoat covered most of the armour on his torso but the convex shape hinted at what was beneath, he even had burnished steel rising from the neck of his torso to cup his jaw and cover his throat. His gloves and boots were of black leather, with maille covering the backs of his hands and tops of his feet, and more mesh of linked steel rings covering the gaps between the solid armour plates.
These visitors were armed to the teeth and armoured to the eyeballs.
Then Moyna came forward. The stern look sent out at first did not bother Karsimir, since she had no reason to think him anything other than more of the mercenaries troubling the town. By the switch to a gracious smile, he saw that bringing Julen along made indeed a good starting impression.
First step was to answer her question. "Yes. Greetings Frau Moyna, Fraulein Kanareia." Acknowledging each in turn with a nod, he saw no reason to exclude Kanareia for either her youth or her muteness. "I am Karsimir Von Greyssen, at your service." He repeated the courtly bow on giving his name. "We have come to help you and your village. I wish to discuss how best we may do that. May we please speak of this inside?"
The obvious answer would be by getting rid of those damn mercenaries, but of course that would involve more detail. In particular, getting rid of those damn mercenaries without placing the village at risk.
Gesturing back to his fellows in turn, he made introductions. "These are my men-at-arms. You know Julen. These are Sigvard and Thetta, and Hatton." Courtesies made, he then handed the conversation over to Julen.
My faith protects me, my kevlar helps.
Re: Reclaiming
Julen returned Reia’s smile while attempting to look as reassuring as possible. He fully understood how unsettling it might be to open the door to your house and find a group of armed warriors standing there, especially given the current mercenary problem. And Reia’s muteness would make her a particularly vulnerable target. Julen hoped that she hadn’t already suffered any ill treatment at the hands of some lawless thug.
When Moyna arrived, Julen transferred his smile to her. Removing his helmet, he dipped his head in the direction of the two women, and spoke. “Greetings, Reia. Moyna. I hope you haven’t been too affected by the recent troubles. If you have, take heart in knowing that those troubles about to end.”
Then, having completed his own greeting, Julen let Karsimir do that courtly thing he was so good at. The knight’s refined manners were bound to make a good impression. At least, they always made a good impression on Julen. The grace of Karsimir’s bow -- performed while in full armor, no less -- was something which Julen admired, but always found himself utterly unable to replicate. His own efforts possessed all the elegance of a scarecrow dressed in scrap metal.
“Karsimir isn’t from around here,” Julen explained, after his friend had finished speaking. Of course, Karsimir’s foreignness was about as obvious as a black feather on a white chicken. And neither of the ladies was either blind or stupid. But Karsimir’s outsider status would be the first hurdle in gaining their trust, so Julen decided to address that matter right away. “I met him while I was in Marn. He employed me, and later helped me rescue Rosemary from some of those cursed mercenaries.” Julen paused, letting his eyes meet Moyna’s. She was the one he really needed to convince. “He’s a good man. You can put your faith in him.”
Hopefully, that would be enough to get them invited inside. Julen agreed that it would be wise to postpone any discussion of strategy until they had a more private setting.
When Moyna arrived, Julen transferred his smile to her. Removing his helmet, he dipped his head in the direction of the two women, and spoke. “Greetings, Reia. Moyna. I hope you haven’t been too affected by the recent troubles. If you have, take heart in knowing that those troubles about to end.”
Then, having completed his own greeting, Julen let Karsimir do that courtly thing he was so good at. The knight’s refined manners were bound to make a good impression. At least, they always made a good impression on Julen. The grace of Karsimir’s bow -- performed while in full armor, no less -- was something which Julen admired, but always found himself utterly unable to replicate. His own efforts possessed all the elegance of a scarecrow dressed in scrap metal.
“Karsimir isn’t from around here,” Julen explained, after his friend had finished speaking. Of course, Karsimir’s foreignness was about as obvious as a black feather on a white chicken. And neither of the ladies was either blind or stupid. But Karsimir’s outsider status would be the first hurdle in gaining their trust, so Julen decided to address that matter right away. “I met him while I was in Marn. He employed me, and later helped me rescue Rosemary from some of those cursed mercenaries.” Julen paused, letting his eyes meet Moyna’s. She was the one he really needed to convince. “He’s a good man. You can put your faith in him.”
Hopefully, that would be enough to get them invited inside. Julen agreed that it would be wise to postpone any discussion of strategy until they had a more private setting.
Shim -- where the men are men, and the livestock are scared.
-
Sir Karsimir
- Citizen
- Posts: 714
- Joined: Wed Jan 10, 2007 8:12 pm
- Name: Karsimir Von Greyssen
- Race: Reichvolk human
Re: Reclaiming
Either convinced of their good intent, or aware that a locked door would do nothing to step them if they did mean ill-intent, Moyna let them through the door, stepping back and nodding. After a few moments to confirm agreement, Karsimir stepped forward and entered, promptly stepping aside from the doorway so that the others could follow behind him.
From tactical habit more than anything else, the knight stepped to the side which the door was swung open to, avoiding the center of the room because that was usually the best spot for trap or ambush. He expected neither, but the habit remained.
"Would you like a seat?" asked Moyna, apparently sticking to courtesies at first. Perhaps she was not sure what to make of them. Or perhaps she was nervous. Or perhaps it was useless guessing.
Karsimir gave a slight chuckle. "No thank you, it is difficult to sit down while wearing a sword." Or a polearm for that matter, being dressed for battle did not lend itself well to relaxation. He waited for all to enter and the door to be closed behind them. "We need your help convincing the locals. I want your people to stay safe out of harm's way, but do not expect them to follow the word of an outlander."
Then stepping aside, he motioned for Julen with a gauntleted hand. "Julen, over to you." The citizen and respected member of the village. Best for he to be the one discussing the plan. Or making it for that matter.
From tactical habit more than anything else, the knight stepped to the side which the door was swung open to, avoiding the center of the room because that was usually the best spot for trap or ambush. He expected neither, but the habit remained.
"Would you like a seat?" asked Moyna, apparently sticking to courtesies at first. Perhaps she was not sure what to make of them. Or perhaps she was nervous. Or perhaps it was useless guessing.
Karsimir gave a slight chuckle. "No thank you, it is difficult to sit down while wearing a sword." Or a polearm for that matter, being dressed for battle did not lend itself well to relaxation. He waited for all to enter and the door to be closed behind them. "We need your help convincing the locals. I want your people to stay safe out of harm's way, but do not expect them to follow the word of an outlander."
Then stepping aside, he motioned for Julen with a gauntleted hand. "Julen, over to you." The citizen and respected member of the village. Best for he to be the one discussing the plan. Or making it for that matter.
My faith protects me, my kevlar helps.
Re: Reclaiming
As he entered Moyna’s house, Julen remembered when he’d first visited it, soon after Moyna and her granddaughter moved in. New arrivals to Shim were always regarded with some suspicion. While it was not uncommon for young people to leave the village and seek their fortunes in the city, natives of Marn rarely relocated to the village. And on the few occasions when they did, speculations about their motives seeped into every idle conversation. Had they made enemies of the wrong people? Were they trying to start a new life after some personal tragedy? Or were they simply idiots who thought that rural life would be a refreshing change from the noise and crowding of the city? And, of course, the most important question of all -- just how much of an inconvenience were they going to be for everyone involved?
Still, despite their rather grudging welcome, the people of Shim did not ignore formalities. Every citizen of any consequence made a pilgrimage to their new neighbor’s home, bearing a housewarming gift. And Julen, still reeling after his father’s death, still trying to assume his role as the man in a one-man household, had shown up with a carton of fresh strawberries and a rather jumbled speech. To her credit, Moyna had listened to the young man with exemplary patience. Then, extending the same courtesy she showed to all her peers, she’d invited him inside to share a humble dinner.
It felt strange to be back again, under such different circumstances. The house looked much the same as Julen remembered it. Only...smaller, somehow.
Julen declined Moyna’s offer to sit for much the same reason as Karsimir. Then, when given the go-ahead by his commander, he launched into a brief outline of their plans. At least, as much of their plans as it was safe to divulge. “Our intent is to break the stranglehold these mercenaries have put on Shim. And unless they all defect to our side or flee, that means there will be fighting. My main concern is making sure that my neighbors don’t get caught up in any violence.”
“Fortunately, most of the mercenaries who were in the village itself have already been...taken care of. Not by our hand.” Julen didn’t want Moyna to think that the Lightswords were responsible for the carnage outside. The memory of it still made him blanch. Silently, Julen’s stomach bubbled, as if reminding him of its unnaturally empty state, and he hurried on before the nausea had a chance to return. “I hope this will allow us to keep most of the fighting confined to the outskirts of town. However, it would still be better if people stayed inside as much as possible for the next few days.”
“I’ve already spoken with Alger, and I’ll talk to the rest of the village elders. I want you to get the word out to everyone. People will probably demand more specific details about our plans, but I’m afraid that I can’t supply those, for your safety as well as our own. What the villagers don’t know, the mercenaries can’t attempt to extract with threats or torture.”
“Our band is known as Lightswords. We wear these colors.” Julen gestured at his tabard. “If anybody needs to contact us, instruct them to speak to Alger. No one, under any circumstance, should approach our fortification without a guide. As much a possible, people should remain inside. That’s the main point I want you to stress.” Julen glanced at Karsimir, to see if he had anything he wanted to add. Then, he turned his gaze back to Moyna. “Any questions?”
Still, despite their rather grudging welcome, the people of Shim did not ignore formalities. Every citizen of any consequence made a pilgrimage to their new neighbor’s home, bearing a housewarming gift. And Julen, still reeling after his father’s death, still trying to assume his role as the man in a one-man household, had shown up with a carton of fresh strawberries and a rather jumbled speech. To her credit, Moyna had listened to the young man with exemplary patience. Then, extending the same courtesy she showed to all her peers, she’d invited him inside to share a humble dinner.
It felt strange to be back again, under such different circumstances. The house looked much the same as Julen remembered it. Only...smaller, somehow.
Julen declined Moyna’s offer to sit for much the same reason as Karsimir. Then, when given the go-ahead by his commander, he launched into a brief outline of their plans. At least, as much of their plans as it was safe to divulge. “Our intent is to break the stranglehold these mercenaries have put on Shim. And unless they all defect to our side or flee, that means there will be fighting. My main concern is making sure that my neighbors don’t get caught up in any violence.”
“Fortunately, most of the mercenaries who were in the village itself have already been...taken care of. Not by our hand.” Julen didn’t want Moyna to think that the Lightswords were responsible for the carnage outside. The memory of it still made him blanch. Silently, Julen’s stomach bubbled, as if reminding him of its unnaturally empty state, and he hurried on before the nausea had a chance to return. “I hope this will allow us to keep most of the fighting confined to the outskirts of town. However, it would still be better if people stayed inside as much as possible for the next few days.”
“I’ve already spoken with Alger, and I’ll talk to the rest of the village elders. I want you to get the word out to everyone. People will probably demand more specific details about our plans, but I’m afraid that I can’t supply those, for your safety as well as our own. What the villagers don’t know, the mercenaries can’t attempt to extract with threats or torture.”
“Our band is known as Lightswords. We wear these colors.” Julen gestured at his tabard. “If anybody needs to contact us, instruct them to speak to Alger. No one, under any circumstance, should approach our fortification without a guide. As much a possible, people should remain inside. That’s the main point I want you to stress.” Julen glanced at Karsimir, to see if he had anything he wanted to add. Then, he turned his gaze back to Moyna. “Any questions?”
Shim -- where the men are men, and the livestock are scared.