Shattered Honour Chapter Six

[Parrhesia]

The Morning...

Merry was the first awake, at some ungodly hour of the morning. Four, maybe. These past few days had been turning her head, and she could barely sleep. Granted, the snoring of the lanky Bernician hadn't helped, which could only be described as 'thunderous'. But Merry was a knight, and she could shut out things like that, and get sleep when she was able.

...

Damn if it wasn't loud, though.

She lit a nearby candle, and contemplated her position as she slowly dressed into linens and fresh riding trousers and cavalry boots, soft and calf high. Absently, she scratched at her halberd-wound, and noticed that the exertion of the past while was beginning to harden her body. She'd been chubby as a girl, and even the gruelling training as a squire had never exactly done away with her naturally stocky build, but there was an underlying hardness to her figure now, one illustrating the difference between living in a palace and on the track. The wound itself had healed nicely, and was rapidly turning into her third or fourth scar. She didn't plan on making it a habit.

Merry shrugged on a shirt and foraged around in her saddlebags, which had been taken up to her rooms. One in particular contained novels that her tutor, Rhiakhor the Stoic, had recommended for the expansion of her mind as she left her estates. It had been about a month and she hadn't touched any of them... but she was beginning to see that she wasn't quite ready to face everything the world would come to throw at her. Maybe it was time to change, to improve, to sharpen her wit.

She sighed, opened The Dialogues of Kendreigh, and tried to make sense of them as best she could.

-------------------------------------------------

"Gods have mercy, Banquo, it's been hours since sunrise! Oh, father would've had my hide for this..."

Most mercenaries were light sleepers, able to leap up on their feet with a dirk in their fist at a moment's notice. Banquo was not one of them. His heavy-lidded eyes blinked open, lazily. "What is it, Cath?" he said, blandly.

Cath slipped into a looser, indigo dress and plain leather sandals. Banquo didn't really remember all that much of last night, besides killing someone. Which, granted, was usually memorable. "I'm meant to be serving everyone breakfast, and YOU'RE meant to be meeting with that Dracian slut!" she hissed.

"Irene's a nice lass," said Banquo, indifferently.

"Oh! Sure! So you are having it away with her, then?!"

"Who can predict the future?" Banquo shrugged. "Not me, lass, that's for certain. But in the here and now, I like you. I like you a lot. I thought you liked me, too. You sure seem to open up when I walk in the door."

Cath chuckled, despite herself. "You're a filthy man, Banquo the Lynx."

"See? Now you're back to giving me my proper title. Does that mean we can go back to fucking?"

"You'll never change, you rogue."

Banquo slid out of bed, and yawned. "So that's a no, then."

Cath just looked sad. "I wish I could run away with you," she said, wistfully. "Wouldn't it be romantic?"

"I guess," said Banquo, pulling on his trousers. "Until some fluke shot catches you in the backside and I have to pull a metre-long arrow out of your arse. Mercenary work doesn't have a future, Cathandra."

"Make sure you do."

Banquo slipped into a shirt, and started peering around the room. "Th' hell are my boots... what d'you mean, make sure I do?"

"I don't want you to die, Banquo." Cath rubbed his cheek, then kissed him. "Please. I want you to come back, and I want you to marry me, as soon as you have a dowry."

"Yeah, well, I-" For the first time in about a month, Banquo looked awkward.

"And don't start talking to me about the other fires in your oven, or whatever. I know you're faithful to me, Lynx. And I know it's what all this work's been for. You've got enough to stay here and live comfortably forever... for one person. Not for two. Or maybe even three."

Banquo looked into his woman's eyes, and saw the reflection of an expectant father. Inwardly, he let loose a stream of curses that would make a privateer blush.

-------------------------------------------------

Jacqui the Bard lit a cigarette in the lonely dusk, and sighed. This job was a piece of shit, trying to watch some cocksuckers hired by motherfuckers, and her job? Was it to murder the fuck out of everyone? No! Her skills were not in stealth... and especially not in waiting around.

The door opened behind her. Without looking, Jacqui said simply "You've brought something for me?"

The footsteps stumbled, awkwardly. "Ah... yes, madam," stammered the courier, but Jacqui shook her head.

"Don't be pathetic," she sighed. "Come on, then. Have some wine."

The man dithered, until Jacqui whirled around to face him, grinning madly. "You wouldn't refuse my hospitality, would you? We don't take well to that in Tascara."

The messenger sighed, and closed the door. "Wine it is, then," he said, glumly. Evidently he was hoping to get back on duty. Jacqui studied his face. The man was around twenty-three, with earnest blue eyes and a pale face framed by short black hair. He had a thin build, upon which was hung ill-fitting leathers rather like a mannequin.

"What's your name, boy?"

"I'm not a boy," said the man, stubbornly. "I've come of age, years back."

"Name, boy."

The courier starts to protest, then leans back in his chair and sighs. "Jake, ser."

"Ah, Jake! Goodman Jake, eh?" Jacqui poured out two cups of wine, and placed one in front of his seat and one in front of her own. Instead of sitting, she stayed up, however, and turned to look outside the window. "And where are you from... Jake?"

"Tascaran mother, Dracian father. Raised in Othidia. Ser."

"Right, right." Jacqui chewed a nail absently, then turned her head back towards him. "Son of a whore, no doubt?"

Jake flinched, and Jacqui smiled in a way that only ruffled his feathers more. "Yes, then. So... my package, or whatever?"

The courier stood up, as if remembering the package for the first time, and rummaged around in his pack. Jacqui sat down as the messenger made a show of rifling through his satchel, and within eight seconds Jake was more nervous than ever. "I, uh, I appear to have... misplaced it. Ser."

Jacqui grins. "What a pity. Oh, well, stay and have a drink with me."

Jake gave a nervous laugh. Jacqui readjusted her estimate of his age; more like twenty. His face was still more like that of a child, and marred by freckles. "I was just going to suggest the same thing."

Jake took a mouthful of wine, Jacqui drained the glass, slowly and deliberately. She placed it on the table, and then tapped it absently. "So... why were you sent to kill me?"

Jake looked surprised at first, then let his face fall into a grin. "It's too late."

"For you, maybe." Jacqui poured out some more wine for herself. "I switched the cups while your back was turned. Sloppy of you not to notice, so I figure you aren't skilled enough to be missed."

Jake's face became alarmed and he drew a dirk, but clutched at his chest. His face became almost white, and he was already sweating like a pig. "What... how did..."

"I've never known a courier to be as, frankly, fucking incompetent as you turned out to be. Losing a package?" Jacqui clicked her tongue, scoldingly. "You'd be whipped, boy. Sending you after me... I'm insulted. Are you the best they could come up with, really? Now... tell me."

"I'll ... say nothing..." The would-be killer swayed a little, and shaking hands dropped the dirk without seeming to notice.

Jacqui drew a sword casually. "I doubt that, friend. I very much doubt that. Do you really want this cheap, tacky poison to take effect? Or would you rather a clean death?"

Jake's mouth opened, but no words came out. "Right. Let's make this simple," said Jacqui, cheerfully. "Was it Lord Kuray who ordered this?"

Jake nodded, and Jacqui hacked off his head. It was, to her mind, a fair enough deal... mercy for knowledge. Now all she had to do was get out of town alive...

[peener weener]

Ratter scratches his taint and roars.

[Strunk]

Jacob stays in his room, lying in place for a while.

He hasn't said or done much of anything since they got back.

[Integrity]

Felix fidgets in his sleep.

Edited December 24, 2012 by Integrity

[peener weener]

Bilbo wakes up with a hangover.

[Parrhesia]

It's a nine-day ride to Garwyn Stronghold.

The Stronghold, named for the legendary Earl Garwyn Charagon, is the toughest fortress in the North. The 1st Legion, just two thousand men, held out here against a besieging force of at least three times as many, long enough to be reinforced and relieved after the victory at Carrow. Garwyn is a sign of hope in such times, and unlike most signs of hope it's a massive keep surrounded by two layers of thick walls fortified by eight guardtowers and a moat. Inside is a mass of barracks and guardhouses, and a few slums set up for the farmers to bunk in until their holdings are secure.

The Keep: Where Randel, Earl Charagon and the generals of the four legions are staying.

The Hoof and Antler: A soldier's tavern. You've been assigned quarters elsewhere, but it's still good for a drink.

The Quartermastery: You can buy and trade equipment here.

[peener weener]

Ratter does his usual thing.

Bilbo non-chalantly strolls into The Keep.

[Shin]

Figuring that it was best that he didn't get cut to pieces in their next mission, Tordel decides to check out the Quartermastery, hoping they'd have some armour in his price range.

[Nightmare]

Chrysanthum also heads to the Quartermastery.

[Integrity]

Felix owns literally the only thing he'll ever need (thanks Kastor) so he decides to head up to the Keep before hitting up the drinkery.

[roymbrog]

Airik and Susan decided to search the nearby shops for new bandages and herbs. Their supply was running low again.

[Parrhesia]

THE QUARTERMASTERY

The quartermasters are willing to barter, and will trade three relevant items of equal or slightly lower worth for one item in return.

MAXIMA IRONBASHER

Maxima is massive in height, width, depth and personality. You only barely conceal a deep-seated fear of what can only be a natural predator to the common soldier, as she asks you what you want in a tone you can only describe as 'gravelly'.

BASTARD SWORD 1H Slashing, 5 Might, 5 Hit, 28 crowns

SABRE 1H Slashing, 4 Might, 7 Hit, 28 crowns

CLAYMORE 2H Slashing, 7 Might, 5 Hit, 33 crowns

GREATSWORD 2H Slashing, 6 Might, 7 Hit, 33 crowns

FRANCISCA 1H Hacking, 7 Might, 3 Hit, 26 crowns

BROADAXE 1H Hacking, 6 Might, 5 Hit, 26 crowns

HALBERD 2H Hacking, 9 Might, 3 Hit, 31 crowns

GREATAXE 2H Hacking, 8 Might, 5 Hit, 31 crowns

MORNINGSTAR 1H Crushing, 6 Might, 2 Hit, 22 crowns

WARHAMMER 1H Crushing, 5 Might, 4 Hit, 22 crowns

FLAIL 2H Crushing, 8 Might, 2 Hit, 27 crowns

MAUL 2H Crushing, 7 Might, 4 Hit, 27 crowns

TALK Cheap

DACEY THE ARMOURER

Dacey is furiously patching up chainmail, a tedious job on shoddy armour. At the prospect of crafting something finer for you, his eyes light up with glee.

STUDDED LEATHER ARMOUR Light, 2 AC, 30 crowns

SCALE ARMOUR Medium, 4 AC, 40 crowns

CUIRASS Medium, 5 AC, 60 crowns

SPLINTMAIL Heavy, 6 AC, 60 crowns

BANDED MAIL Heavy, 6 AC, no initiative penalty, 75 crowns

HEATER SHIELD 5 Evade, 35 crowns

IRON SHELL 5 Evade, 8 vs. ranged, 65 crowns

TALK Cheap

REFITTING 10 crowns

LONATHAN THE BOWYER

A long-faced, weary-looking man who looks as though he hasn't slept in a week. "No appreciation for a good fletcher in these parts," he mutters. "They've even got the women and children t' making arrows; hah! But you understand good fletching, don't you?" He grins. "That's why yer here."

GREATBOW Longbow, 8 Might, 0 Hit, 24 crowns

RECURVE Longbow, 7 Might, 2 Hit, 24 crowns

HORN SHORTBOW Longbow, 5 Might, 4 Hit, can double, 32 crowns

CRANEQUIN Crossbow, 4 Might, 4 Hit, 30 crowns

WINDLASS Crossbow, 3 Might, 6 Hit, 30 crowns

HATCHETS Throwing, 3 Might, 2 hit, 20 crowns

JAVELINS Throwing, 2 Might, 4 hit, 20 crowns

TALK Cheap

Edited December 26, 2012 by Furetchen

[Parrhesia]

Airik and Susan decided to search the nearby shops for new bandages and herbs. Their supply was running low again.

One of the shops is ... really more of a stall, containing a heated argument in Baharese between two apothecaries. The shelves behind them are lined with salves and bandages. One of them, a tall, strongly-built man with a heavy steel mace at his belt, turns to face you. "Farida, we have customers. Welcome, sojourner! What brings you to this stronghold?"

[roymbrog]

“Hello!,” Airik greeted, approaching the stall. “We just were with a group reporting in and decided we needed to stock up on supplies. How much for a couple rolls of bandages and some catgut?”

“And some poultice, willow bark, and goldenseal,” Susan added. She was the one in charge of their medicine, apparently.

[Parrhesia]

The burly healer bobs his head and indicates the relevant items to his tall wife, who sighs in exasperation and starts rifling through the shelves.

"Are you with the army, then?" asks the man. "I mean no offence, but you do not exactly look like army medics."

Edited December 26, 2012 by Furetchen

[roymbrog]

“No, not really,” Airik replied, scratching the back of his neck in a thoughtful manner. How to explain exactly what they were doing? Thankfully, Susan had a good enough explanation.

“We’re serving a group of mercenaries hired by Lord Randel. They’re paying us well, and it’s steady work,” she replied.

[Parrhesia]

The man scratches his beard, smiling. "Ah! Fascinating. For our part, we are humble travellers hired to escort the noble merchant prince, Mahiir."

His surly companion returns from the shelves with a basket, laden with supplies. "My idiot husband Idir means that we've been paid a pittance to come to your freezing barbarian lands, along with five hundred spearmen, two hundred crossbows and your man Kurtis. Mahiir wanted to bring war elephants. Elephants! Have you ever tried to- well, I suppose you've likely never seen an elephant before. Not something you'd wish to share a boat with."

[Ether]

Walking up to Maxima, Leonhard unstrapped his Cleaver from it's position upon his back.

"Aye, I was wondering if you would be able to sharpen the edge of my weapon... seems to have grown a tad dull through blood and bone. What do you think?" The man asked the weaponsmith.

[Parrhesia]

Maxima takes up the blade in one hand, inspecting it casually. "Aye, I think I could give it an extra crushing edge against heavy armour... unless you wanted something to slice up light armour. It'll be 30 crowns, either way."

[Nightmare]

Chrysanthum turns his back to Maxima and points with his thumb to the three swords strapped majestically to his back.

"What about these? Think you can give me something worth my time?"

[Ether]

"Hmm... I can usually handle lighter armour without much problem, so something to handle the thicker stuff might prove useful... the crushing edge it is." Leonhard replied, digging out 30 crowns and handing them to Maxima.

[roymbrog]

The man’s wife came back with a basket of goods and some information on the group they were traveling with. Airik had no idea what an elephant was. Based on the comments about them, he guessed they were smelly or something. “What’s an elephant?” he asked, curious. The only animals he’d seen used for war were wolves, really.

While her brother went off topic asking frivolous questions about things that didn’t concern them, Susan instead tried to focus on why they were actually here. “Thank you,” she told Farida when she brought the basket over. “How much do we owe?”

[Blasied]

My ringmail is a bit old Matthias thought to himself.

"Hey, I need this armour replaced," He said to Dacey. "Some form of cuirass would be good."

[Parrhesia]

Chrysanthum turns his back to Maxima and points with his thumb to the three swords strapped majestically to his back.

"What about these? Think you can give me something worth my time?"

Maxima's eyes light up when she glances at the Silver Edge. "Aye, for those three swords..."

She fetches a sword from the rack behind her, and brings it back to you. "This is the Crucible," she intones, dramatically, "the sword of Natalia the White, a paladin and minor hero of legend. They say it thirsts after fame and blood... personally, I just feel it's a damn fine blade."

You scornfully throw your greatsword to the side, not even looking where it lands, as Maxima throws you the sword and you catch it casually. You inspect it. It's bright, fine steel, with a sapphire in the pommel. The crossguard has four points almost like a star, each with another, smaller sapphire set on its end.

CRUCIBLE 2H Slashing, 8 might, 3 hit, 1 parry, no penalty against heavy armour. Only available by barter.

"Hmm... I can usually handle lighter armour without much problem, so something to handle the thicker stuff might prove useful... the crushing edge it is." Leonhard replied, digging out 30 crowns and handing them to Maxima.

When Maxima has finished playing the part of 'heavyset blacksmith in rock icon's music video', she turns back to Leonhard, takes the Cleaver, nods solemnly and starts bashing the shit out of it with a hammer.

The man’s wife came back with a basket of goods and some information on the group they were traveling with. Airik had no idea what an elephant was. Based on the comments about them, he guessed they were smelly or something. “What’s an elephant?” he asked, curious. The only animals he’d seen used for war were wolves, really.

"Giant, ungainly creatures," says Idir. "About the size of a hovel. Brave, intelligent and majestic creatures, of great use as beasts of burden and arguably greater in war... of course, we Baharese are a peaceful folk." He grins, less than convincingly. Everyone knows of the exploits of the Alliance Legions sent north annually. A legion from every Selarian nation, sent north to aid the Baharese in their various wars up north, forgetting their various struggles as Othidian fights alongside Tascaran in a war they know very little about to keep a forty-three year old pact alive. Legions are sent there for a four-year spell; every year, one of the legions gets sent back home and rotated out, and their excited soldiers infest the taverns of the city, telling tales of deserts, gold, men with skin as black as ebony. It's romantic, in a certain, bloodthirsty kind of way.

Maybe Mahiir is here to oversee the rotation of a Tascaran legion. Randel would be less than thrilled at the prospect of just giving away a fresh legion, so perhaps his seven hundred men are there as... insurance.

While her brother went off topic asking frivolous questions about things that didn’t concern them, Susan instead tried to focus on why they were actually here. “Thank you,” she told Farida when she brought the basket over. “How much do we owe?”

Farida shrugs. "Seven crowns. Expensive, I know, but it's hard to get herbs out here. The Othidians still haven't left this place behind, and I wouldn't like to risk a patrol."

My ringmail is a bit old Matthias thought to himself.

"Hey, I need this armour replaced," He said to Dacey. "Some form of cuirass would be good."

"Sixty crowns," says Dacey, hardly looking up from his work. You note, in frustration, that you have only forty.

[Nightmare]

"Thirsts for fame and blood...then this is the perfect sword for one such as I!"

Chrysanthum thrusts his other swords into the ground and takes the Crucible.

"All yours."

He leaves to take his reward or something.