(1866-04-01) Fallow Land Forces Gather
Fallow Land Forces Gather
Summary: The forces of Viscount Letholdus Romante and Lord Jarret Sokar gather and find the small Cassomir contingency. Bishop Fausty and Viscount Dus have some interesting first impressions, while Lady Emilia sure knows how to stagger the Bishop with a few choice words. Lady Claire keeps her dog from being kicked too! Good thing!
Date: 1866-04-01
Related: Fallow Lands, happens after An Unexpected Volstak Arrival
NPCs: {$npc}
Players:
Claire  Emilia  Faustius  Henric  Jarret  Letholdus  

In the County of Ironhold
The Meeting Point
1866-04-01

The contingent of folks coming from Roseguard had made camp for the evening, tents were pitched, horses tended to, cook fires made, and patrol posted on the perimeter of the camp. There were just under a hundred men, not an army quite yet, since most would have to be mustered from Metalmire itself. There was one tent which was larger than the others, boasting a twin coloured blue and red streamer at the top, the only way to denote it was the Lords tent, that one who lead the group. The rest seemed mostly the same, though one seemed to bare the colors of House Volstak and another with the banner of the Church of the One Faith. There were sentries posted and patrols a foot, scouts out and about.

Returning from a 'patrol' and slipping back in amongst the tents in a young darkhaired Huntress. Her expression is solemn as she passes the sentries with a nod. Emilia's light tread carrying her onwards into the camp itself. Perhaps to report to her brother on her scouting expedition.

The darkhaired Huntress' said brother and also the residence of the larger tent, snaps the flap of his tent back as he stalks out of it, trailed by one of his recent additions to the camp. The woman is flushed as she goes toward the cook fire and sits down with a sullen expression on her face. Either there was an arguement or something else transpired. No doubt with the reputation Henric had earned, most thoughts would go to the latter, even if the standing guard would say otherwise and note there had been an argument. Henric glances back once to where she's squatted by the fire, relieved to see the woman wasn't going to persist on the issue, working his way toward the horse picket lines. They waited the rendezvous of the Viscount's forces and perhaps the Sokar's forces where they were currently stationed and if such armies didn't show, they would carry on as planned. There would be no waiting in case the enemy got there first and waylaid their allies.

Emerging from the pavilion bearing the markings of the One Faith, Bishop Fogg sweeps his cloak behind him with a deft motion of his hand, and walks toward the middle of the camp - flanked by some of his personal guard. At the sound of an approaching rider, Fogg looks up and spots Emilia. He reaches to his face and twirls his moustache thoughtfully, and sets off at an easy stride to intercept or join the young Cassomir lady.

"Blessing of the One upon you, Lady Emilia," he says as he draws nigh.

It is spring, but the dust upon the southern road has been visible for a little while of men on the march. It is unclear just how far away they are as yet unless Ironhold has sent scouts or Huntresses far enough afield to go and meet them. As it is, the sun is lowering in the west and there is no sign as yet of whom comes northwards.

Darkness is slowly decending upon the world, the sun going down, painting the sky a tapestry of lovely colors any weaver would envy. To the south stars begin to spring forth - not in the darkening sky, but upon the land. The stars of hundreds of cooking fires. They can't be very far away, those fires, glittering in the rising night. A few miles at most, scattered over pastures and some fading off twinkling into the forest.

As Faustius draws near, Emilia's steps are drawn up and a bow of her head is given on to the Bishop. "Your of Excellency, of a blessing of the One and a good of evening to you. I hope you are of settling in of fine?" THe movement near her brother's tent does have Emilia raising a hand to wave him overwards. Once he might get near enough, Emilia inclines her head to him,"Were of going of further of out. There are those of bearing the banners of the Viscount that is being of expected. Are of fires and camp being of made, is seeming of one thousand of soliders in of such." ANd if they spied that they had been scouted out? Well…Henric can guess upon that mark.

And from the southeast, another large group of men are marching to the rendez-vous. These ones are led by a knight, the crest black, with the most important feature on it a red poleaxe. Also, there's the Sokar colors on the men, so this is probably the Sokar force expected.

Henric catches the movement of a wave from where his sister had just been greeted by the Bishop, changing his course from the horse lines toward the pair. Emilia's report does provide him relief and then, astonishment, "A thousand!?" He scoffs at the number, "By the One's flaming balls! He's definitely not holding anything back, is he?" He snorts a bit and looks back at their own campfires that was now just over a hundred strong, with the Volstak and Bishop's retinue. "Let us hope we don't actually need … that many…" He looks toward the Bishop, as if he didn't just curse in the One's name, "Evening Your Excellency." Polite.

Coming up the road in the last light is a mounted party of perhaps twenty. The fading light catches on the white banner bearing the bloody red cross of the Militant Order of the Templars, the banner of House Romante considerably darker, with the banner of Alicante somewhere between the two. The Viscount Templar himself rides upon his pale grey war horse with his wife, the Countess, riding sidesaddle beside him. They come with a handful of Southern knights, several bowman, and squires. Young Culain looks tired upon his bay, riding with Geoffry beside him. Letholdus has his helm off, wearing full plate with his Romante tabbard over it as they slowly draw nearer. Alas, he is yet too far away to catch Sir Henric's words at their pavilions.

The bishop glances between the two Cassomirs and inclines his head in a nod of greeting and understanding. Given the subtle, half-smirk on his lips - and the pious gleam in his eyes - the nod could likely be interpreted…as patronising. Standing to his full height again, he draws his cloak about him somewhat, to keep out the cold as darkness descends. "Have faith, Lord Henric," he exhorts quietly. "If the One be for us, who can stand against us?"

Behind him, a blond, bearded knight in the raiment of the Church approaches and salutes Faustius, Henric and Emilia. "Your Excellency - My Lord and Lady - the Church Knights have finished their preparations for the evening."

"Thank you, Sir Gaird," Faustius replies. He turns back to look at Henric.

"Are we expecting such a great war, Lord Henric?" He says the word 'we' in a manner that suggests 'you' would be a more accurate choice of personal pronoun.

It may have been a long ride but Claire does glance further ahead with only the slightest lift in the saddle to see who might be on watch. Beside her mare, a white Elementi rounds out the party headed towards Ironhold. Not the amber colored one that had been a constant companion around the time of her still fairly recent wedding, however. "Do you think they will have advanced news of the current situation?"

Emilia gives Henric a faint shrug, not her place to comment on the troops. She does the scouting and stealthing through the shadows. "Perhaps of being of the Queen's of orders?" But her dark eyes go towards Faustius, there is a faint twitch of her lips as he asks who could stand against them. Some hint that she just about /answered/ that question. But another small lip twitch has her keeping silent on that matter. A incline of her head goes to the knight that approaches,"Sir of Gaird."

More bugles from the perimeter scouts go off, alarming the camp to approaching groups from -two- directions. There is tension in the air as one never knows what to expect, even if they all should, for this was the ordained point of gathering. And just as quickly, the buglers sound another series of notes that calm the Cassomir camp. More Friendlies.

Henric glances in both directions, noting the calls, lips pursing as he anticipates the arrival of important figures to this campaign. For the Bishops patronising or otherwise, he simply replies, "I'm surprised you forgot the last Great War Bishop. It was called the Succession War. It's a war, that is evidently not over." His eyes narrow on the Bishop, having not gotten off on a good start with the man, unlike his brother may have well done. The calls for approaching riders has Henric nod, "Come, let us greet our friends, before they think we're impolite." He takes the lead, nodding to Emilia, "Perhaps. She did tell us to muster all of what we could. Metalmire's men will be but a mere drop in the bucket, but, it'll be good for them to be acquainted with proper leadership again." Since there were still seats in the Fallow Lands who had no official rulers.

Ah, and there are the pavilions ahead, as his own scouts directed. Letholdus sits tall and imposing upon his horse, though less to to Henric who knows him well. He has aged somewhat, a veteran of the first Succession War and bearing scars from it, as well as a new one cut deeply into his throat at an angle, now four or five months healed. The first hints of silver have started to take root in his dark beard, faint traces as yet.

As he draws up and halts his horse, the Templar raises a gauntletted hand, "Sir Henric Cassomir, greetings from Alicante." As the others are not mounted as his party is, the Viscount dismounts. His spurs softly chime in the dust as he walks forward - young Culain coming forward to take his stallion. One gauntlet is drawn off of his right hand so to offer his bare palm to the Cassomir knight.

Faustius frowns.

"Nothing is ever forgotten, my son," he remarks in a chiding voice, brow furrowed. Then his eyebrows lift, followed closely by his chin. "Nothing."

Sir Gaird smiles and nods to Emilia, "Thank you, my lady." He falls in behind the Bishop.

"All shall be as the One wills it," Faustius intones, and then turns around with a sweep of his cloak, to face the approaching riders. His gaze shifts sideways toward Henric, before giving the newcomers his full attention. Fogg makes the sign of the One Faith. "Light of the One be upon you, Your Excellency."

A nod from Emilia goes to Henric,"She did say of such." The younger Cassomir's own thoughts are kept in her head. Wisely so. "Let us of do so," when it comes to the matter of gretting their guets. Falling into 'place' a step to the side, slightly behind Henric as he walks to greet the arriving folks. Her movements bearing that unearthly, fae-like grace. With the Viscount greeting her brother, Emilia offers a bow of her head simply whist Henric and Faustius both greet along. Before offering simply,"Viscount and Countess of Romante."

Never should anyone point out the the grays in the Viscount's hair. Least of all Claire, who bears no signs of aging as Geoffry helps her dismount with the white Elementi idly waving her tail to and fro while settling onto her haunches. With a look towards the party that comes out to meet them, she nods to Henric with a welcoming smile before spotting Emilia and then Faustius. Only the former is familiar but a smile is given to both. "Hello, Lady Emilia. And.. I do not believe we have met before." That, to the Bishop as her husband completes the pleasantries.

There's actually a trouble making sly little smirk that finds itself in place on Henric's lips as he notes just as he turns to the approaching parties that Faustius frowned. Let the Bishop stew over that prickling remark, as it drove the Bishop's attention on him and away from his sister. Henric even let the Bishop see his smirk! It was a certain amount of goading that allowed Henric to note some of the holy man's boundaries.

As Henric did in fact drop his attention away from the man toward the Viscount, the Viscount would see quite the different sort of man before him as well. Older in the ways that battle makes a young man older. And lack of hair does that too. Either way, Henric does look pleased to see the Viscount, a thinnly veiled smile as he stepped forward to accept the greeting with his own hand extended, not in the heavy armor that Letholdus was, so no need to remove any pieces to greet the man. "Good to see you Viscount Romante," his eyes flash toward Clare, "And your wife, Countess Romante, how are you both?" That's when Henric does note the scar on the man's neck, his own, thankfully hidden by high stiff collars. "You remember my sister? Lady Emilia?" Surely they do? Then his greeting enfolds the Bishop, "And this is his Excellency Bishop Faustius."

Still approaching the camp with his men, Jarret looks around rather carefully as he does. He doesn't speak much to his men, as they are getting closer to the rest now.

Fogg inclines his head toward the Viscount and Countess, spreading his hands at the same time as though to indicate the entire gathering.

"Excellencies, you honour us, in this gathering of the humble Righteous." Lowering his hands, he raises his countenance and smiles politely, if not exactly warmly. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you, and I am sure those here will benefit from your wisdom."

Letholdus's baritone is rough and gravelly from the injury to his throat, "Of course I remember your sister, Lady Emilia. You are becoming quite the lovely young woman, Emilia. You will make gardens jealous of your bloom." His smile crinkles around his eyes a little, weathered by a southern wind and tanned by the sun of Alicante. Those same dark eyes shift to Faustius to study him longer before he politely inclines his head, "Your Excellency." It sounds like a growl but it isn't intended to grate as much as it does. "I shall be interested to know what brings a Bishop from Ritkon into warring Galenthia." Such things always interest him.

Dus's attention returns to Henric, his grip held firm as he sizes his former friend up and Henric's changed condition. When he lets go the hand clasp, he gives his fellow knight a nod, "You … look more mature. It suits you." Aye, he could be pleased. His hand goes to welcome Claire to come up to his side and join them.

The Viscount's knights and bowmen are watching the arrival of another party, eyes on Jarret and his men, seeking to identify them in the last light.

"How could we ever forget your sister, Sir Henric?" Almost admonishing in her tone, the smile that Claire turns towards him may make up for it as Meri rises and moves to follow her mistress as a very well behaved warhound. Protector in this case. "I am well, thank you. And yourself?" She's noticed the changes but wisely says nothing about them as her hand reaches out to take the one offered by the Viscount with a warmer smile. Brief, but pleasant as her head turns towards the Lady Cassomir and the clergyman beside her. "Bishop Faustius. It is a pleasure to meet you."

"I do not think many have met Meri, my Elementi. From my brother," she clarifies.

There is a blink and a mild stare at Letholdus at the…compliment. The man might have just sprouted a second head in that moment from that look that briefly touches Emilia's solemn features. But it is soon enough away,"You are being much of to of kind, Viscount. " Her dark eyes shifting over ot Faustius a moment when the questions come about his presence. And she does offer up an answer,"He is of being the advisor to House of Cassomir." It seems they managed to rate such now. Oh, but Emilia adds more as she looks back towards Letholdus,"The Inquisitor of Fausitus," yes, she did say Inquisitor,"came upon the request of the Archbishop of Sirrah. "

There is a faint tugging to the corner of Emilia's lips in some hint of a smile toards Claire. Though Emilia is quite certain she could be forgotten by most. "It is good to be hearing that you are of well. Lady of Clara mentioned you of being in of Firen, but never managed to be of seeing."

Henric quirks his lips at Letholdus' flowery improv toward his sister, which the Cassomir knows to be harmless, canting his amusement toward Emilia all the same. As the greetings go around, he nods his head at Dus when their hands clasp, "I owe it to the men of the East." He's not afraid to say that, as if he was proud to have served under the Tarris banner, even if he did spend many hours questioning it. He nods to Claire's admonishment, his eyes straying toward the war hound, staying aware of where it is in case he has to kick it away from him. Thankfully it seems well trained. That is all the attention the animal gets. Henric actually double looks at Emilia when she includes 'inquisitor'… Did he know that? He might have, but the reminder certainly wasn't pleasant. It's the Sokar's sneaking in, or attempting not to be quite so loud with their entrance, that Henric waves over a familiar form, announcing to the group, "I believe Lord Jarert is here. We'll be prepared to march on in the morning. And your troops, Viscount? I heard you have … quite the number with you. Impressive."

The mention of Archbishop Sirrah elicits an intake of air from Bishop Faustius Fogg. Blinking once, he forces his lips into a thin smile - firstly acknowledging Lady Emilia in gratitude - and then directing his attention toward Letholdus. Faustius clasps his hands in front of himself and nods piously.

"Where there is war, there is prayer, My Son," he intones as if quoting some text or proverb, changing his terms of address for the Viscount to something more 'spiritual'. "The servant follows his Master's will, and it is His will that I be here." He turns his head to smile again at Emilia - and finally Henric. "Where He has set his benevolent gaze upon the vulnerable Faithful."

With the men in Sokar colors, Jarret makes sure their banner is clearly displayed as they do the final approach, lifting his hand to offer a bit of a wave in Henric's direction, dismounting and approaching the others now.

Where Henric has weathered and become tempered by war as he has himself, Letholdus turns his attention back to Emilia, "Nonesense, my lady. What I see others will also notice." It's true he's not /usually/ a flowery man but something prompted him. The Viscount takes in her explanation for Fautius, whom he's still taking in details of as the other man moves and speaks. A dark brow rises, "From Archbishop Sirrah?" Well, that might alter things a little, maybe. Seems he knows this Archbishop, though Dus says nothing more upon that, here.

A nod to Henric, "I've heard Guavain was sorely hurt. There is much I need to know from you. My maps of Metalmire date back to the last Succession War. We have need of your Huntresses and my scouts to go before us and see what the land holds." Though it may be that Henric has a good idea already. "I have brought less than half and did not call up my levies." No, not yet. The Queen's heir's dark eyes slip back to Fautius, "There is prayer, aye, but also ready steel. The One has given us more than our tongues to use."

"Unfortunate but hopefully we can correct that, even in the light of what seems to be looming on the horizon," Claire says to Emilia as her other hand lowers just enough for Meri's nose to press into it while maintaining her position stoically. No need to kick this young one, for all that she's still turning her head here and there to catch the scents on the air.

Glancing sideways at the Viscount, Claire can only spare something of an amused smile at his impromptu flowery-ness. But it doesn't quite reach her eyes. Yes, she's been following the more businesslike talk between the men quite well.

If Emilia notices that double-take she shows no sign of it. It was a fact she had to live with every day. Or was that a risk not fact? Though Faustius' intake of air does get a bit of a sidelong glance from Emilia. Another fan of the Archbishop, She of Endless Questions, it would seem. Though when Faustius looks her way, Emilia manages one of those odd smiles, that faint tugging to the corners of her lips. A slight notation towards Faustius,"His gaze is not always of helping."

There is a polite incline of her head towards Letholdus,"Of perhaps, Your of Excellency." Noncommittal about being noticed. Most did keep from the 'touched' Cassomir. Emilia dips her head in confirmation,"Of aye, from the Archbishop of Sirrah." Offering nothing further upon such, though likely not having to either. As the talk turns slightly to mention of needing of the huntress for scouting, denoting to Henric perhaps more so then Letholdus,"Can be of heading of out before of the others in the marrow to of scout as of needed. Have enough to split into several groups if is of wished. Let me of know what is of wished and I will see it of done." It seems the young woman has taken up a place amongst the Huuntresses officially now.

Emilia does give attention onto Clair as well,"Can be of hoping to of doing so. Did not get to catch up with of many in Firen, of regretabbly." Something about most of them being in the Palace. And just…not a place Emilia goes!

The Inquisitor turns his head toward Henric, his face expressionless, and he puts his left hand on his hip, pushing his cloak out of the way.

There is a sword hanging from his belt underneath his cloak.

"'The word of the One is quick, and powerful - sharper than any two-edged sword - to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit.'" Fogg takes his hand from his hip and clasps both hands together once more, chin raised and expression… benign, as though from a teacher to a wayward, but valued, student. "Guard their lives, Sir Knight - guard their souls also. Such is the battle - every battle - in the eyes of the One." He almost smirks.

"Guard thy tongue, also."

Turning back to the group at large, Faustius gives a nod. "The Knights of the Holy Church - are at your disposal, Excellencies. As for your humble servant," he adds with a hand upon his chest. "I must pray, and prepare the supplies brought with me. If you have need of my alchemy, I would be honoured to serve."

The man bows.

As Henric spares a quick glance toward the Bishop, when the man gets into his religious doctrines, he spots Faustius' eyes on him at the last phrase uttered. A slight narrowing of eyes holds for a second until the faint reminders of his shame snap his eyes far from where the Bishop is looking, hand reaching up to idly scrub at the high stiff collar that conceals his neck. "Lord Jarret," he offers when the Sokar does approach, "Good to see you upon us." Then reverting to Letholdus, "Indeed. We can speak at length, now that Lord Jarret is here as well," his tone implying as his hand does gesture behind him, "My tent is over there, should you wish it tonight. If not, then perhaps when we are on the move on the morrow." Emilia's offer certainly is heard on the matter of scouting, nodding to her, "You'll be the first I ask for the task, Em." Then there's that damn Inquisitor looking back at him again and he meets the stare for stare, noting the way that the cloak is pushed out of the way and steel is shown. The gesture came with the underlying challenge that none would put a voice to, yet, Henric's own hand smoothly rested on the hilt of his sword, as if to meet gesture for gesture. His jaw flexes, but he bows his head to Faustius, "I may in fact wish to speak with you later, Your Excellency."

Letholdus smiles a bit like a wolf at the Inquisitor, "My tongue is my own, Your Excellency. While I serve the Church as I also serve Galenthia, forgive me if I have met too many who spout Church docterine as self impowered fools. I have a war to wage and that is what concerns me now. The One knows where my heart lays and I need not a gilded tongue to deafen his ears with it." Aye, the Viscount isn't afraid to speak his mind even to an Inquisitor.

The Templar half turns so that he may better listen to Henric, "Aye, sooner the better." A flicker of his dark gaze for Emilia as one of the Huntresses, then Letholdus is looking to the newly arrived knight, "Sir Jarret, a pleasure to have you join us. Have you news to share with us?" The Queen's cousin has intelligence upon his mind for he's come with a job to do.

"It's good to see you, all of you," Jarret replies, as he hears what's being said, looking back to the others and offering them a nod. A gaze to Faustius, studying the man in quiet for a few moments, before he shakes his head at Letholdus. "No particular news, no."

As Faustius moves to take his leave, Emilia does give a respectful incline of her head to him. But she is also soon looking to her brother to denote,"Should see to few of things, and see to of rest if there is to be of scouting on the marrow." It was a thing that pushed the Huntresses, they had to go on foot a far bit to keep out of sight, if such was desired. A small bow of her head being offered to the others before she does take her departure as well.

Before leaving, Faustius looks back at Letholdus, unblinking. Understanding.

"Faith without deeds is dead, Excellency. On this, I am certain our minds are one. Light of the One be with you in the dark. All of you."

He nods his head once more in respect, and motions to the captain of his guard. In response, the Church-retinue parts to allow the Bishop to walk through them, then they form in behind him. Moments later, he vanishes inside his tent.

Perhaps it is a test, to goad the Inquisitor intentionally and see how Faustius reacts. Will he puff up with indinigty and insult and go into a tirade at the Templar's brusqueness, or will he say something flippiant, or… what Faustius /does/ make by way of reply turns Letholdus's dark head. The Viscount eyes him and then decides to give the other the benefit of the doubt with a respectful if brief nod.

Henric lifts an quizzical brow toward Letholdus as the various parties depart for the evening, "I've some mead from Rivergate with me," as way of invite, "If you'd join me for a drink while we speak, Viscount?" And this includes Jarret by way of pointed look, as he starts to move toward his own tent.

There is a moment that Letholdus is looking to see where Claire went to, rejoining their own small party and speaking with Geoffry. He gives Henric a nod and he begins to move to join the Cassomir, "Mead? It has been a good while since I have tasted it. I will." His helm is with his horse and Culain is tending to both. Dus has stripped off his second gauntlet and passes it off to one of his men ere they go to set up a tent here with the others. "I -hope- you have news of the east to share with me, as well as your drink." THe tall Romante ducks his head to follow Henric into the pavilion.

Henric holds the flap open for Letholdus, nodding a couple of men that are near by standing guard, noting also that the woman he had been in an argument with earlier was still at the cook fire and was glaring at him as he passed by. No doubt he's glad for the flap to snap closed behind him as he follows the Viscount inside. An exhale of breath is given as he moves further within the tent. It's what to be expected. A cot to put his bed roll on, a table, with a chair and a stool, and an armor stand currently supporting the Cassomir's plate. He invites Letholdus to take either chair or stool, noting to the maps that are strewn on the table, "Have a look over the maps. Metalmire is currently without management in the way of nobility titled to it. He offered it to me once," he notes with a reflex that tightens his jaw, "Which I turned down for the chance to further my career with the Lancers." A scoffing noise follows as he digs out a bottle of mead from a trunk nearby his cot, the bottle clanking a bit against the wooden cups, carrying the two in his hand as he plunks them down and pours the Rivergate mead for the both of them.

"Metalmire is a moderately-sized town that lies near a series of very rich Iron mines that produce much of the Bar… County's wealth." He begins, "It's generally a very sleepy place and the common folk tend to be sullen if not a bit dour, due to all the back breaking work they do. My family has traditionally had a sibling of the ruling seat of our house, tend to Ironwatch Tower, the fortification that overlooks Metalmire. That's where I'll be stationed for now while I muster the banners." He points to the Tower marked clearly on the map, "It's a hard working mining town. With Goldhollow hit, I suspect the Queen thinks we could be a prime target for an assault. Metalmire does after all, give Ironhold it's name. It provides us the material to make our weapons. A point that the enemy will surely know of." He hands Letholdus the mead, "As for the East, it is… the Succession War anew, my friend."

This Romante is well versed in Henric's past history in so far as the Lancers are concerned, if not what lands had been offered to Henric. Letholdus watches his friend and says nothing but does accept the cup - and does not summon his body servant to come and poison taste it for him. Not this time. His own gaze goes to looking over the maps and for the moment the Templar does not take a seat.

Dus tastes the mead lightly as he listens to Henric giving him needful information. "So it does have fortifications standing that are not ruins. Good." The Viscount thins his mouth as he thinks, "Gold is useful for the paying of men, but aye, our iron mines are important. Not simply for us to keep for our own needs, but to prevent them from falling into their use. Melisande's intelligence has always impressed me. My cousin is not a foolish woman."

"Although in the last year, our house has been in… a state of flux, I'm damn certain my brother wouldn't let -the- Ironwatch Tower fall to disrepair, nor I suspect, would the townsfolk. The Tower ensures that we," here he notes with something of a wry quirk, "return and support them. Metalmire also has an abundance of Healers living within the town, for how often there are mining incidents." A grizzly part of mining was the accidents that always happened. Henric glances at the map, "Metalmire could be their target, to wipe out our provisions, our work force to replacing weapons, let alone the healers stationed there." He moves to a seat and plunks himself down, eyes lifting across at Letholdus when he speaks of Melisande. He says nothing. Instead, he goes on, "The Duke will live. Viscount Daltre and the Dowager Duchess are guiding the forces of the East. Varian Reine and Thomas Chandus are leading the armies." He leans forward, "Where's the Sokar? The Knight Marshal at? Last I heard, you were assigned as Knight Marshal and he was elevated to Lord Marshal."

Paused while we find out answers

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