(1866-03-09) Tamlin Ford: Chandus Rides In
Tamlin Ford: Chandus Rides In
Summary: Lord Thomas Chandus joins the scattered and regrouping Tarris forces.
Date: 1866-03-09
Related: Yes.
NPCs: {$npc}
Players:
Henric  Synthia  Thomas  Viola  Wulfred  

Along the River - Near Tamlin Ford
See Desc.
1866-03-09

The makeshift camp of the routed Eastern forces has a little more order to it than the day before, tents have been erected by the Reliant contingent and the worst injured are ensconced within. Smaller shelters in the treeline afford some measure of comfort to those that are unwounded or at the very least, the walking wounded. With the river behind them, pickets and defences arrayed all about, the routed forces are at the very least not so routed any longer, but more steady and settled. Fires are lit, tea is made and what little of the hard stuff there is is mostly used to keep wounds clean or drown various sorrows.
Despite the measure of despondency, grief, blame and guilt that fills the time of those moving about the camp, doing their damndest to keep busy and keep from thinking of the rout, the arrival of the Reliants the day previous at least offers some measure of hope and relief for the huge number of dead who were piled so unceremoniously a day ago, but are no doubt ready to receive their due blessing and rites.

The handful that were in the Reliant contingent had worked tirelessly ince their arrival to the camp, seeing to all the injured in time. A few likely saved from joining that pile of bodies with their arrival. With a priestess amongst them, blessing and rites had begun to be given to those who had past on to receive their judgement from the Divine Father. It was not a process that was hurried, to see to the dead. Not that it could rightly be with the few able to aid with it, and the need yet to make rounds to check up on the more greviously injured. Viola had not wish to give more rites then was already required. With her robes swishing just a touch in her movements, she was making her way through the tents checking upon patients, changing bandages. Pausing along at the next 'bed' cause while they had tents, cots and proper beds were not a thing they carted about. "Looks like ye have a bit more color to ya today," making note lightly to Wulfred as she settles to take a look beneathe his bandages.

Synthia sits propped near one of the fires sipping idly on a cup of tea. She stares into the flames wordlessly wearing a tunic and trousers with visable bandages wrapped about both her hands. More bandages can be glimpsed through the neckline of the tunic, almost her entire chest is covered with them underneath the fabric. Its a surprise that she is sitting up rather than lying down to rest but the Reine squire is a stubborn one. Rather than lay in a bed she gave her cot to a man worse off than herself and settled here instead. Her expression is a blank mask of calm composure as she studies the flickering flames. Ocassionally someone will pass her by but no one seems to desire to sit beside her, at least for now. Looking up from the fire sharp green eyes calmly take in her surroundings and the state of the camp that mask never wavering.

Henric Cassomir was one of those who earned a night's stay underneath a canvas tent, with the One's blessing, he managed to keep infection free for once! It was a miracle all in itself to get away so easily and the miracle was walking around with the name Viola, he's sure of that. Given tea to lessen the pain, especially from his head, he was able to sit up for longer periods of time without feeling the need to sick up - which included walking about. That's what he's doing now, testing his strength to shuffle over toward one of the fires, to Synthia, a squire who was on "loan" to him and nearly died for it. There's a noise of effort made as he chooses to sit down around the fire, hitching up his trousers to sit on a stump, a piece of wood no longer than his forearm clutched in one hand. He doesn't say anything yet, as he pulls out a small blade, putting it to the scavenged piece of wood. He begins to whittle it in the idleness to keep his hands busy, one of those who is trying not to think about all the bodies having had rites put over them and families which would never see their sons and daughters back…Whittling. His brows narrowed as he focused on the chunk of tree, lobbed off during the construciton of pickets no doubt. At some point, when the silence is about to split open the day, he flashes a look over toward Synthia, "How do you fare, Synthia?"

Wulfred for his part is certainly doing better than he was when he was dragged into the camp like a corpse atop a hastily made stretcher by two of his knights. The wound stemmed and though his bloodied armour and surcoat is mostly piled by the side of his bedroll, he is at least propped up and cradling a battered cup of something that could well be tea. Propped up. Pouchy, pale and corpse-like. But propped up! He at least manages that. And beside him both knights of the Burnished Spur to whom he hoarsely speaks, despite the effort evidently involved, "Ride to our headquarters." The Wolf pauses, a breath taken and nostrils flare as he just closes his eyes before continuing to speak, "Take your spare horses. Ride fast. Tell them to hold fast. Continue as we have. I'll ride as soon as such a ride won't kill me." And with two swift salutes, both knights are off like a shot. Clearly intent on beating news of Wulfred's demise and making sure that what is probably one of the best defended villages in Galenthia remains so. And it is with a smile, slight as it is, that Wulfred tilts his head slightly and looks up at Viola to offer hoarsely, "Thanks to you my dear… though I would do it all again to see His Grace escape the field, whatever the result for this carcass of mine… what of… everyone… else?"

Viola gives Wulfred an easy smile,"I know ye would do it all again. Afterall, ye keep doing it and ending up in my care." Conditions weren't the best when it came to supplies and accomedations, but the priestess and her small party were used to make the most of a situation. What supplies they had brought with, were shared and seen to being streched as far as they might. "Managed to get Sir Henric put back together again, do think that lad just likes my fine stitching work. Can't say I paid much attention ta names, been busy focusing on steming the flow of blood. But there are a fair few that have gone on ta meet with the Divine Father." This noted soft and with an edge of solemnnes.

Green eyes follow Henric as he settles a short distance away and Synthia studies him a long moment before her eyes drift away once again. A hint of curiousity appears as she watches the whittling saying nothing and instead just raising a brow. She look back into the fire and her expression remains mostly unreadable but also a touch thoughtful. Her hands shift on the cup she holds in both of them and she lifts it to her lips for a sip. When Henric speaks her gaze goes back to him and a brow arches once again. She looks somewhat surprised by the question and her head tilts to the side. Her hair has been pulled up into a loose bun so its out of her way for now. "I have certianly been better. That was my first real fight you know…the first time I had to worry about dying if I lost." She looks at Henric intently for a moment as if trying to determine something.

There is a slight rustle in the treeline in the distance, the beat of only a few set of hooves on the hard packed winter earth. Off in the distance, something stirs on its way towards the encampment. By the frequency of the hoof beats, though, it is clear that whoever is there is not moving in any haste and there aren't very many of them. They still remain obscured by the branches to the north.

Henric retains a stocial expression, eyes drawn down against the scrap wood, having decided upon it for the shape, drawing the blade down the hunk of wood, chipping away at it with some preconceived idea in his head what it could turn into. Until he spoke to her, he didn't look up, which means he avoided most of the brow raise that he was given, but he does catch the surprise on her features for his ask. "Your… first real fight?" He sounds a bit bewildered by that, shaking his head, "Not sure what Varian was thinking sending you with me to bloody your blade. You should've done that alongside him," he runs the blade down in one sharp push along the length of the piece of wood. "Will you return to the battle field, is the next question, knowing the taste of death as you do now? Not only of your own but those who your blade struck?"

The approaching riders do cause a trumpet from the scouts (Reliants likely used for this as well) set out from the camp, giving the alert to those in the camp. It's not too long before a second bugler sounds the 'friendly' code and a rider comes barreling in, shouting, "Reine and Chandus riders ho!!"

From the camp, the sound of alarm is raised, those who are able move swiftly under the guidance of their officers as they await word from the pickets that are placed further out, "Seems your work might not yet be finished Mother Viola." The words offered hoarsely while grimacing as he hears the disturbance outside. And with that disturbance Wulfred slowly reaches across himself with his good arm to grasp the long cannon that was bundled at his side, the weighty weapon tugged about for the lip of the barrel to lay across his stomach. Slowly, oh so slowly, the powder, ball and wadding is rammed into the well maintained barrel, each thunk of the ramrod followed by a grunt from the exertion, "I'll be damned if I die without a weapon in my hand." Though only once he's completed that arduous task that was all too easy all those weeks ago, does the second bugle sound and Wulfred slumps back against all that keeps him propped, "That's a relief, because I don't think I can reach the damned slow match without passing out."

Synthia offers a nod to Henric her face and expression revealing nothing else. She shrugs her shoulders lightly trying not to wince at the motion. The sound of hoofbeats in the distance reach her ears and she looks off in that direction with a frown. But when its annouced who the riders are she seems to relax a bit and tries to rise to her feet. The question Henric asks her has her looking back to him her expression blank save for a slight frown. "I will." Its all she says but there is conviction and stubborness in her tone. She looks away her gaze going towards the riders watching as they enter the camp. Her sharp gaze studies each of them trying to see if her Cousin is present among them.

Aware at the somewhat touch and go nature of the Tarris Duchy's forces after such a miserable engagement at Tamlin Ford, the riders approached slow, their spears or lances held low. The only one high in the air to see is the bearer of the Reine guidon, colours held high for all and sundry to see that they were indeed friends. While none of them are Viscount Varian, one of them is his second - Lord Thomas Chandus, shield slung so it covers his left side while his hands are on the reigns. Surprisingly enough, they all look hale and hearty. There's dried blood on their armour and uniforms, but it doesn't look like it belongs to any of them.

The sound of alarm does have Viola sighing just a touch. "My work is never done, Sir Wulfred." The priestess giving Wulfred a smile before she adds," Especially around you lot. " She gave some aid in help in seeing the weapon along. The woman had been around stubborn knights for to long to detail. She knew the need most had to still have a weapon at hand, even when so injured,"I know." Ther were a few others that were aidded in seeing sword or long/hand cannons to them, Wulfred not the only one with the idea. But that second bugle call does come,"Means ya get a bit more rest. Might not mean my work is yet over though." Even if no more injuried were turning up, there were still bodies in need of burial. "Which ye should see about trying a bit more rest before to long, after ya finish up that tea, if yer able."

Henric does lift his head up from where the sound was coming from, but as he figured, he had a knife in his hand and no sword near enough to reach. If it was the enemy, he was as good as the kindling was in his hand. He didn't even bother rising. He simply went back to whittling, as the more healthy lads went about ensuring it wasn't some ambush ready to descend upon them all.

It is with some effort and indeed the aid of a Reliant that Wulfred rises from the 'dead', clearly greatful for the aid Viola offered in helping him load his long cannon and yet breathless once he is standing and clutching that long cannon as if his very life depended upon it. A good few moments are spent inhaling and exhaling, swaying and supported and clearly doing all he can to exasperate Viola as he finally opens his eyes and regards her for a few moments, his watery eyes barely focusing for a few short breaths, "We should… greet them." He finally manages, stumbling forward a step as if he had aged considerably the last couple of days, supported as he is by another soldier who steps on and immediately becomes sympathetic to the old Wolf. Yup. He's going to… sit back down. Soon back slumped on his bedroll, panting and clutching that long cannon while staring up at Viola, "I know… I know… I should know better."

While men move to welcome Thomas and his men and another moves to greet the Lord properly, "Sir Henric and Lady Reine are in the healers tent m'lord! We're glad to see you, that we are."

Dispite Varian not being present Synthia seems somewhat relieved all the same. The Reine lady struggles to her feet and stands there stiffly but with as much dignity as an injured noblewoman can manage. The cup of tea was sat aside as she got up and she stands there with her hands at her sides watching the newly arrived men, observing them to see how they fare. Thomas is spotted and the Lord Chandus earns a small but very sincere smile from the Lady. She takes a slow step forward moving stiffly but with determination. "Lord Chandus." She greets the man calmly her gaze noting the blood on his armor before she meets his eyes. "It is good to see you. I hope you and your men fared better than we did?" She keeps her tone polite and calm watching the Lord a bit curiously but with that same composed expression.

Stubborn knights! Viola did give aid and become that crutch for Wulfred. How she didn't become squished was truly a miracle of the One! Some turn of relief when he does end up sitting back down. "Someone should, and I think there are others better fit to see to the first greeting, Sir Wulfred. " Helping getting him resettled in that bedrool. "And yes, you should know better, but ye know I have to let you knights be stubborn and try things ye shouldn't from time to time. " Leting the long cannon remain for a few moments before seeing it settled close at hand for him. "Ye take some time to catch yer breathe and I'll be sure word is passed where ye are. They can come 'round to greet. " Quirking a smile to Wulfred,"I'll even see about some fresh tea so you can entertain all proper." A mild tease. Before the priestess does move along, having a runner sent with the word about Wulfred as promised. And continuing on to the matter of tea and rounds, death rites…The Priestesses job was never done.

Murmurings and greetings to 'Lord Chandus' has Henric lift his fool head from what he was doing, as whittling apparently seemed more important than greeting riders, perhaps, a luxury of being one of those left in 'charge' as he knew someone would come rushing over eventually to let him know who and when and why … Still, the voiced potential that it could be his friend has him put aside the hobby for the sake of camaraderie and some good fucking news, to be honest. Chandus and his men could always be relied on for that. They were professionals. He grunts as he pushes himself up, a stiff rise, indicating his own wounds fresh and not completely ready to strain against much more activity than that. Shuffling his feet a few paces, he does in fact wait for Thomas to approach. The funny thing… Henric has a new hair due - as Viola seems to be capable at hacking hair as she is heads and stitching necks back on. Henric actually has a crew cut, since the chopping of his hair wasn't pretty and further chopping made a fine mess, so, a close cut was all there was left. He crosses his arms loosely, a relieved smirk on his face. Morale lifting just at the sight of Reine and Chandus men.

Thomas stops the horse, or rather, he attempts to stop the horse. The good Tarris steed is evidently not his and, for a noble and knight, Thomas is a mediocre rider, at least with these full sized beasts. After fussing and yanking away from his pull at the reins, the chestnut mount finally cooperates. Chandus looks crossly at it for a moment, before deciding he has more important things to do. "Aye, thank you. Take my horse, please. Lads, water them and stay ready to move. Corporal Lewis, on me." The everpresent shadow of Thomas, his flat faced, short bugler Corporal Lewis dismounts with him and the two make it to the wounded. He stops and stands silently for a moment, taking in the state of the camp and more importantly, the state of its inhabitants. The important ones, especially. Finally, after he's seen his fill, his voice picks up. "Lady Synthia, your cousin will be glad to see you. That depends on how you fared. We heard ill rumours." Attracted by the sight of movement in his peripherals, he spots Henric walking over. His smile is brief, but it does flash. "Good good, Henry. You look like the Dark One chewed you up and spit you back out. And ate your bloody hair. You're alright, then?"

Wulfred watches Viola move away and takes a ragged gasp of a breath as he finally steadies himself and just slumps, even if his slightly scarred left hand reaches out to just pat the long cannon left within reach. Having almost squished Viola and given a reliant a crick in the neck, the Wolf is content to rest. He tried to stand. He stood. He felt dizzy. He gave up. And back down he remains. The horrible wound in his neck bandaged heavily and thankfully stitched, though the bandages are clean and Wulfred pale as he is casts his pouchy and rheumy gaze towards the new arrival. An arrival that warrants a faint smile indeed. The best he can manage after his exertion.

There was a reason for the lack of hair! A few stitches to his sculp and a bandage overtop. The swelling had reduced from whatever paste Viola had smeared on him and the cold cloths dipped in the river water. Still, it was an ill look for the young knight, perhaps, to some. To him it was rather liberating, no hair to comb out every morning. He rubs his hand over his head as he gives a cocksure grin, "Ahh, you like it? Courtesy of Mother Viola and her Reliant friends." Abrupt humour, so easily brought to the surface by the appearance of one damn good friend. It was a moment of levity that he needed, at least, as he approached and offered his arm to Thomas, ready to greet him respectfully and with a clap to the shoulder if allowed. "I survived again, by the skin of my teeth," he looks back toward the tent that Wulfred's in, "Our friend Wulfred, was nearly dead my friend, but he lives now, thankfully. We should go see him. I'm sure he'll be happy to see you as well." There's a pause as he grips Thomas' arm, saying in a quiet tone, "Have you see the Duke?"

"And I will be glad to see him." Synthia admits quietly looking over to Henric a hint of dry amusement in her eyes as she takes in his hair in wake of the comment. With a faint smirk she moves away to allow the men to speak with each other. She takes ahold of the reines of the Tarris bred horse Thomas rode in on and leads it over to get water. It doesn't seem to like her much though and tries to pull itself free. Finally she is forced to relent and hand the beast back off to another man. She turns and moves back to take a seat at the fire now her expression showing a breif hint of saddness for some reason now. She stares into the flames quietly for a moment appearing like she isn't paying attention but secretly listening as people around her speak.

"I think your days as the darling of the ladies of the night are over for a time, my friend." Thomas sates his amusement for the moment, breathing deeply outward. He's satisfied his sense of anxiousness at the status of those who he held in high regard, at least some of them. "Lady Synthia; when you're fully recovered from your wounds, you can attend your duties. For now, you ought to rest. We have a long campaign ahead of us, judging by the last month." Now he turns to speak to both present. "Anyone else around that I might know?"

Henric gives a look over Thomas' shoulder toward where Synthia goes back to sitting after a failed attempt with that Tarris horse, "Synthia…" not used to having a squire to pick on but she was on 'loan' to him as it were, but he nods an invitation for her to follow him. He's not impatient about it either, knowing she was still recovering from her own wounds, but, hell, she was still a squire and left under his charge as it were. Injury or not, there was still somethings she had to do and if she wanted to listen in, she could come with them. A look to Thomas for the cheekiness about being a lady killer days coming to an end, "It'll grow back." Nonpulsed he looks toward the tent, "Wulfred's inside Thomas." Repeated again, as that was overlooked the first time. He doesn't wait this time, making for the tent and ducking his head to move inside. He smiles a bit at Wulfred, "Wulf, you ugly bastard, good to see you awake. Viola should've come and told me that. She knows I was looking over ya."

"And so my… peace and quiet comes to an end… by the One, what happened to your head." The words hoarsely spoken by Wulfred as he stares at the shaven mess that really won't be starting any great trends in Firen or even the more inbred parts of the countryside, "She's kept me plied with tea…" The words trailing off each time for a few deep and pained breaths, the bandage as ever padding near enough his entire neck, while he rests against bundled cloaks that prop him up enough to sup more tea as another cup is brought and handed off to the all too wounded hedge knight, "So… that's our Chandus?" He asks while casting a guilty glance towards his long cannon, "I couldn't reach the slow matches, planned on blowing away the first bastard to enter the tent had not that second bugle sounded."

Synthia glances to Thomas. "I hate feeling so useless. I am almost better though." She admits lying just a bit, because really even though she wants to do something she still hurts pretty badly. She watches Henric's nod of invitation and then she rises slowly and rather stiffly wincing just the faintest bit. She walks as briskly as she can manges after the two of them as they head into the tent. She enters the tent and eyes Wulfred a small smile on her face as she looks between him and Henric. "Am I the only one here who got to keep my hair?" Her tone take on a slightly playful hint as she makes the jest. She stands off to the side out of the way.

Evidently, Thomas has used up his store of smiles, though his chest and posture rise when Henric lets him know that the old Wolf is still around. He looks surprised for a moment, and then shrugs. The surprise returns in spades on his entrance in the tent. "Son of a vitch!" He exclaims, eyes about as wide as their sockets permit. "What in the Holy One's name happened to your beard?"

Henric shrugs, "No one said the Reliants had any skills at clipping hair. Viola took half my hair off and they finished the job," he says with a smirk, a story he had somewhat just told Thomas he moves to settle into a chair near to Wulfred's cot, as it was his turn to sit down with an exhaled breath shuddering between his teeth. "Aye, her tea is damn good stuff, damn good… I got some sleep for the first time in months thanks to her. Well, at least, since the last time she healed me up." There's a twinkle of mirth in his eye as he look toward the flap, suspecting Thomas and Synthia to follow in. "Thomas, aye, good fucking thing it's him," he shifts in his chair, grinning to the threat that Wulfred had for the cannon. "You would've blown off my head then. You'd not be the first one to try," his hand goes to run over his head and bandages there. Synthia's humor gets him to smirk until some seriousness falls onto his face, "Thomas has some news for us, I'd wager. We best listen to it while we have the time, of course, after he gets over the shock of the butchering."

Wulfred inclines his head as best as he can to Synthia, his condition clearly paining him given it prevents him from doing all that is expected of a commonborn man when in the presence of a noble lady. The beard though, though it remains, it was certainly uneven given the amount of trimming that was done about the neck, though for the most part it is kept all the more uneven by the bandages, "M'lady… ah… pardon me not getting up." And a few breaths are taken as he sips his tea to whet his throat, "And aye." He grins as best as he can manage as he listens to Henric and there is indeed a sparkle in those rheumy and pain filled eyes at the sight of Thomas, "Damn the beard, it is good…" Again with the pause as he stems that mild sharpness that pierces him with every word, "… to see you, you… fared better." He swallows and reaches once more for the locket resting beside his bedroll, "Than us?"

"You are injured Sir and I'm sure I can forgive you not wanting to get up at the moment." Synthia replies to Wulfred calmly and then she looks to Thomas thoughtfully studying him carefully with those sharp green eyes. "Do you have news for us then Lord Chandus?" She asks him politely her tone staying calm. She doesn't smile or joke again, right now she is all composure and business.

"I had not known you even here, Sir Wulfred. Ever the gentleman, I see." Thomas, despite all his affection to the man, sticks the older and now barely bearded regimental commander's title in front of his name, likely as a sign of respect. He dips his head in a nod to the man, too; that is, once he's gotten his wits back about him. "Aye, I suppose I do have news, and I did fare better. The day of the battle, the Viscount and I happened to be arranging the disposition of our forward most platoons, near the town itself. We were set upon by around fifty Thorns with a knight in command. The usual - disciplined ranks, long cannons, maille, spear and shield. Our first inclination was to withdraw. They had us outnumbered near two to one."

Chandus walks over to pour himself a cup of tea, looking at the other two and offering to do so for them as well, if not by word, then by motion. "We marched back a few hundred yards to a hill and were able to get some Tarris men on our side. They still outnumbered us, but with our perch on top of the hill, we decided to stand. We charged as they tried to climb at us and routed them. But, what is the fate of one hundred men on such a scattered field?"

Henric settles into a pensive silence as he gives the others the room to talk amongst themselves and when it turns to business, he'll nod to Thomas for the pouring of tea, while he sits back to listen. The Cassomir clenches his teeth as he hears to the strategy that had been taken upon the field of battle in some areas, remarking, "It was three to one and the Duke had us set to a charge." He didn't need to say anymore. There were bodies in the camp being laid to rest still and the scattered remains of their own 'group' was similiarly here and there, "We've no word of the Duke, only that he was able to flee the field."

Wulfred clutches the locket to his chest for a few heart beats before releasing it and letting it rest upon the swell of his stomach, for tea is much needed more than his sentimental trinket at present. The tea slowly sipped, beads of the fine drink settling in that fine beard, that if regarded with a squint doesn't look all that butchered. The odds are nodded at faintly, Wulfred's thoughts briefly with those men who fell alongside him, "You chose where to fight… we didn't." The words hoarsely given and his throat is soothed once more by a sip of tea, "I would wager in hindsight… that location… was meant for us."

"God rest those who fell, then." Whatever Thomas's personal thoughts on the matter, he does not air them in this forum. "If he has flown, then the Duchy is intact. But there is more." The Eastern Lord pours cups for both Henric and Synthia, though she did not ask him to. "Other than our skirmish, others from the Windholme force engaged the enemy. We did well, by and large. We took losses but the majority of our troops are still healthy and ready to battle. We also collected some of the scattered Tarris men, though I suspect there are many more out there. Pure chaos, after what happened to you lot." He nods at Wulfred. "I'll pray to Saint Sarah to watch over your health and to intercede for those who fell to the Thorn. Truly, they serve only the Evil One. We were lucky, that was all." Funny - everyone in this room other than Henric fought for the Thorn in the last war. "The Viscount is with the force now. As soon as I report back, they will move closer to establish a perimetre, control of the river and control of the road as best we can. We will hold the line and send urgently for orders. You all ought to be moved back with the reserve, once that happens."

"I should… get back to my regiment and Order… once I can ride, I've sent my two men… to warn them. But the village is well defended. Patrolled. Secure." However it is after a few moments that Wulfred speaks that he falls silent, the portly and pale hedge knight's eyes drifting shut and the cup of tea tilting within his grasp before simply toppling and spilling its luke warm contents beside the bedroll. As if fearing the worst, one of the healers moves discreetly to the knight's side and checks all that needs to be checked, "He's fine…" The words offered softly as if not wishing to stir Wulfred any more, "He lost alot of blood, quite how he made it here." The healer shrugs and sets about mopping up the tea and making the old knight comfortable once more.

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