(1868-04-11) Musings by the Fire
Musings by the Fire
Summary: Thomas and Jarret discuss the days to come. Myrana escapes her tormentors.
Date: 11 Avril, 1868 IE
Related: The Wall
NPCs: {$npc}
Players:
Jarret  Myrana  Thomas  

d'Kemp Fief, along the Northern Road
The great Northern Road! Left by the mighty Vir Sidius Empire, it cuts through the land of Aequor, trod by armies and merchant caravans and simple travelers all the same, bordered by trees, sweeping through planes and leaping by bridges over deep valleys and canals and raging rivers. It touches the greatest cities and towns, sprouting villages and way-stations where roadside Inns offer shelter and food and couriers may take their rest or change horses. If one were to travel the whole length of the road, the changes of their surroundings as they moved north are breathtaking; moving from the dappled shade of beech, acacia and umbrella pines that punctuate rolling hills of grass and vineyards, then north to darker vistas of hemlocks, sugar maple and white ash in its damp, lush forests. Smaller roads branch off of it to the west and east at various intervals; most anywhere in Aequor worth traveling to is accessible if one has the time and provisions. That doesn't make it safe, however, for highwaymen and every manner of danger both of nature and man plague the unwatched miles, and its the foolish traveler who goes without armed escort.
11 Avril, 1868 IE

It is the day following the battle which broke the d'Kemp's blockade of their own valley, shattering their fortified wall and opening the way for the Arrani Legion to march deeper into d'Kemp lands. Much work has been done in that day. The Arrani levies, being the least proficient troops in the force, were used to quickly strip and clear the bodies, both friendly and enemy, before pushing them into a mass funerary pyre and burning them. The levies also expertly cleared the rubble from the blasted wall. As this was occuring, much of the main army had pushed past the wall to create a fortified camp much like the one they'd occupied before the battle, only this one a few steps closer to d'Kemp's capital of Elder's Eye. Meanwhile, the Royal Knights of the Burnished Spur, along with d'Armaz Thornesmen, range far and wide in an effort to ascertain the enemy's strength and disposition.

The army is thus mostly quartered north of the wall, while a substantial but much smaller force occupies their original camp to the south, in order to keep lines of supply and, eventually, their rear area open and clear of enemies. To the delight of the Royal Regiment of the Burnished Spur and the Order Relient's cannoneers, hundreds of long cannons of excellent Kentairish design were captured from the defeated enemy, greatly bolstering supplies. Baron Thomas Chandus, Adjutant of the Legion for the campaign and a seasoned commander looks on with pleasure. The camp is fortified, sentries are out and the men are finally getting a good rest.

Making his way around the camp, Jarret is looking rather relaxed for now. He looks to the various people, stopping to speak with someone every now and then. After a while, his steps take him over towards where Thomas is, offering the man a nod.

Thomas stands by one of the headquarters tents in the centre of the camp, abutting the open area which acts as a rally point and drill square and, if the situation were ever to become dire enough, as a last redoubt. Fortunately, right now the square is quiet, other than a few soldiers marching along its margins. Thomas is out of his armour, wearing simply his padded gambeson, trousers and wolfskin cloak, and drinks from a metal cup. A fire roars next to him, tended by an Argent Legionary. The Marcher Baron glances over and smiles. "Sir Jarret. How goes it?"

There's a nod from the Sokar heir, as well as a brief grin, before he shrugs a little at the question. "Not too bad, I would say." A brief pause, before he adds, "I know it isn't right, but I usually feel more comofortable like this, compared to… other times."

Thomas nods knowingly at Jarret, and even lets out a bit of a chuckle. "Legionary, please furnish Sir Jarret with a cup of whatever grog it is you've warmed by the fire." The soldier takes a wooden cup from a basket, of which there are a number (this IS a headquarters after all), fills it, and hands it to Jarret. "It's quite good. Tot of whiskey in it, and who knows what else." He pauses, contemplating what the Sokar said before. "You're a soldier. It's not abnormal, and it's not wrong. This is what we do. I'm sometimes so busy with my own land's affairs and whatever the Duke has me doing that I forget how much peace time is… unsettling. At least in prolonged doses."

"Good man!" Jarret remarks at the mention of the grog, before he offers a smile to the soldier handing it over. "Thank you," he offers to the man, before taking a sip. "You're right, my friend," he offers to Thomas, before he adds, "It is quite good." There's a pause as he looks around, then back at the Baron. "True. Especially since this was what I was meant to do. Not all this learning to rule thing…"

The legionary nods in a rather languid manner towards Jarret. He looks tired; actually, he fought yesterday and fought well, and was given headquarters orderly duty instead of duty on sentry post outside of the walls as a reward. Thomas rubs his unshaven face. He's got the beginnings of a campaign beard, but who knows whether he'll keep it or not. "I won't beat the concept of ruling to death; we've talked of it before and you know my views on it, given that I was once in a similar situation to you, with no thought of inheritance. In any case, we'll be at war for some time, I suspect. This threatens to be bigger than the Thirty Years War. Good men will die."

Jarret reaches out to pat Thomas on the shoulder, nodding a bit. "Good men will die, that is true. But all we can do is to make sure we can keep as many of them alive as possible." There's a brief pause, before he grimaces momentarily. Whatever he was about to say is held back, and instead he offers a momentary grin. "Well, at least this will keep us out of trouble, right?"

Thomas grimaces at the pat; not at the motion or the man doing it, but what it represents, which is peace's failure to abide. He takes a sip from his cup. "That they will, sir. We must smash d'Kemp soonest so that we can ferry ourselves back to Galenthia. We will be needed there. I'm told that Rikton's armies swept into the Fallow Lands, taking Kent, Mathis and Coastmire. This is grave."

Jarret sighs momentarily as he hears Thomas speak. "True. Let us hope we can finish this siege rather quickly," he replies, adding, "Giving the Fallow Lands another chance to kill me. Was too close the last time…"

"Well, I'm rather certain that they will break through beyond that. God willing, they will not reach Firen, but they were prepared for war and we weren't. Missives I've seen suggested they immediately crossed the border as soon as war had been decided on. They were prepared. Duke Letholdus goes to battle them now, but this is a difficult time of year… The first harvest has only just been planted, you know. THey must have planned this for some time." Thomas repeats, shaking his head. "You know, I realise that you aren't as maritime as most Sokars, but your Red Sails will be invaluable."

"Not surprising that those bastards had it planned all the way," Jarret replies, with a brief shrug. Looking out there, he lets out a bit of a breath, before he raises his eyebrows at the last part. "Oh, and me who got my own ship from the d'Armaz and all," he replies lightly, before he adds, "Not as maritime as some of my relatives doesn't mean I'm not navally inclined, my friend."

"That's true. But are you prepared to lead a naval effort, Sir?" Asks Thomas, quirking an eyebrow.

Jarret lets out a bit of a breath as he hears that, considering that question. "I will do what I can," he replies, before he adds, "There might be someone more suited to the naval things in the family, though."

"I have understood that both your brother Davor and sister Rowena are reather nautically inclined?" Asks Thomas.

"They are. Especially Rowena," Jarret replies, offering a brief smile.

"I met her, once, and had dinner with her. I do believe it was in Duval, which I realise is a sore spot for your family. I hope that with another war, we can get past such things for the better of our Kingdom. In any case, perhaps you could influence the Archduchess to put her in charge of some ships and get them up here? I'm rather unsure of whether our little fleet will have enough firepower to get our force back to Galenthia when this d'Kemp affair is over." Thomas muses, reaching down to fill himself up with more mystery drink, and offering some to Jarret.

Jarret nods a little as he hears that, "I hope it was an interesting dinner," he offers, before he shrugs a little as he hears the part of getting past things. "War unifies," he offers, words kept a little quiet, before he adds, "It gives people a common enemy, a common goal. Hopefully some of that will last when peacetime comes as well." Expression a bit thoughtful, as he glances around, before he takes the offered drink, and takes a sip from it. "I'll try," he offers, words kept a bit quietly.

"Awkward." Thomas answers honestly, with a shrug and no hint of shame. "My late wife was still alive and I think she may have thought that the reason I'd invited her to dinner was because I was unmarried and that I wished to court her. When she saw my wedding ring, well." He smirks, recalling a time so long ago. "It will. We may have fought the First Succession War on opposite sides, at least initially, but we ended it as allies and this is the second war since then we start friends. We will persevere."

Nodding a little as he hears the part about the dinner, Jarret is unable to hold back a chuckle. "Ah, back when life was somehow less complicated…" he offers, rather lightly. Lifting his drink to take another sip, he pauses, nodding at the words about persevering. "We will, since we must." Going silent, he waits a few moments before he raises his drink. "To strong friendships," he offers.

Thomas perks up visibly at the Jarret's drinking oath. He clinks his metal field cup to Jarret's wooden one and smiles broadly. "To strong friendships. Between people, but also between nations. God knows, we will need it." He throws back his dram, drinking it in one go and wiping his mouth after. "Well then. To other matters. The pike. Have you trained much with them in the open field, in combination with their long cannons?"

Jarret nods as he drinks, before he shakes his head slightly at the question about the pike. "Not much, no."

Thomas and Jarret stand by one of the headquarters tents in the midst of the camp which has sprung up north of the breached wall. "Well, I'm sure you know that Duke Gauvain is a military genius. After the first defeat of the Thorn, he combed the ancient Imperial manuscripts. Specifically, ones on military drill. What he noted was the prevalance of movement in column and fighting in line, and the seamless nature of how Imperial troops were supposed to, at least according to manuals, shift from one to the other. He began to introduce this to his troops just before the Second Succession War began. This included my troops, but also then Sir Wulfred's Regiment of the Burnished Spurs. The same Royal Regiment of Burnished Spurs. When I commanded them at Circester, I found that the mix of pike and shot very much benefitted from this combination to move quickly, set up in line and fire."

Jarret nods a little as he hears that. "Interesting," he replies, taking another sip now.

Walking up at a slow, ginger sort of pace from the direction of the healer's tents, Myrana D'Armaz pads along like someone who's been sitting in a very stiff-backed chair for hours and hours, white braid swaying down the back of a bristling maroon cloak that's several measures too big for her, anad therefore wrapped in vast drapes around her petite figure.

"Have either of you seen Healer Girei?" she asks as she gets closer. Girei is the massive-armed healer from Gendiel who uses strong spirits as both internal and external medicine.

Thomas answers, "No, Baroness, I haven't." A second later, he's pulled into the headquarters tent by a subaltern and disappears.

Jarret pauses at Myrana's approach, offering her a brief smile. "It is good to see you out and about," he offers, before he shakes his head. "I haven't seen the healer, I'm afraid." A brief pause, as he studies her again, more carefully now. "Are you all right?" Sounding a little concerned.

"I hurt, but I'm alright," Myrana says, sticking a white hand out of the massive pile of wool cloak to very lightly pat at the folds somewhere over her shoulder, where the Gladius had been driven through her in taking the wall. She smiles wrily, tired. "I faked sleep till Girei left to check on another patient. That bear of a woman is no match for me." Finding one of the small triangular canvas-and-pole stools that're common in such military companies, she sits on it with a strained expression, followed by one of relief and supreme self-satisfaction. "Ahhaahaha- no way am I going back in there; I was in a bed next to a snoring old scout. He sounded like a kettle about to explode."

Jarret nods a little bit as he hears that, looking around again. "Isn't that her approaching from over there?" he offers, nodding in the direction behind Myrana. Of course, there's noone there, but the Sokar's face is absolutely straight.

Myrana freezes. "Has she seen me?" she asks in a whisper.

Jarret nods, "I believe so, she's heading in this direction," he replies.

"Perhaps if I am very still, she will think it is somebody else," says the young woman with white hair. Yeah, Myra, that strategy is sure to work. She sits very still and seems to be thinking of excuses for why she is out of bed. "Don't you dare tell her I called her a bear, Jarret Sokar!"

Jarret pauses as he hears that. "Or else?" he asks, rather lightly, before he adds, "Good idea. Aside from the hair color. Maybe if you hide further under the cloak?" It's asked a bit thoughtfully.

At that moment, Baron Repton March exits from the headquarters tent. Though he'd been pulled in by a junior officer ostensibly to do some kind of work, he's now got a pipe in his mouth, smoke trailing up. It smells sweetish.

Myrana tries to hunch down into her cloak but pales considerably when this action reminds her of her through-and-through shoulder wound. What follows is sort of a miniaturized version of a squeak or a screech or something between that; it squeezes out of her like a tiny whistle. "Or…" she wheezes. "Else I'll… Make sure… she's your next healer." She sits up straighter, pressing her hand to her shoulder and taking a shuddery breath, overcoming the moment and smoothing out a little before adding: "She just /pours/ that stuff they drink over wounds, and gets you paralytic drunk before anything else."

In the time that Myrana has huddled herself in her cloak, Jarret Sokar has disappeared inside the headquarters building. He's been replaced by Thomas in his wolfskin cloak, puffing on a pipe and, as the night gets colder, with his late Imperial Vir Sidian soldier's cap on his head, with its fancy geometric designs that would have been in style eight centuries ago. "Oh? Fascinating, Baroness. What are you referring to, exactly?"

"Ramius' chief healer," says Myrana. "I am hiding from her so she doesn't make me get back in the bonesaw's bed."

Thomas quirks a brow upwards, a puzzled look coming across his face. "Does… she know that you are here, my lady?"

"…" Myrana squints at Thomas. "If she knew where I was, it wouldn't be hiding."

Myrana says, "Do Galenthians have very boring Hide-and-Seek?"

Myrana says, "The poor children."

"My lady, are you well? Has your wound festered, perhaps? I fear that your mind may be touched from this wound…" Thomas looks genuine distressed at this. "May I bring you into the headquarters tent and have you sit?"

"Wh-There's nothing wrong with it that clotmoss won't mend!" Myrana hruffles! If she had a moustache as fine as Wulfred's it would be all ruffled! Or any moustache. Maybe she does have one, but she's so far past tow-headed that its gone all invisible. "I said I was hiding from her, and you asked if she knew where I was so I-!" She gets up from the soldier's stool she was perched on with a tremendous effort focused entirely and more or less stealthily on the act of not wincing or hurting her shoulder. "Honestly!" She says, to cover a squeak of effort.

"Wherever she is, she is not here, my lady, but I am half inclined to bring her to you. Or, if you prefer, we can fetch one of the other healers. A Relient, perhaps. Doctor Sir Havelock? It matters not." Thomas reaches out to Myrana but stops short of taking her, gesturing with his other hand towards the tent. "Please, my lady?"

"That's why I c- oh nevermind." Myrana is not about to explain the rules of hiding from people to Thomas. Some knightly persons are just handicapped in that way. "Yes, fine; I'll go back."

"But I just hope the next time you're forced to lie around in a healer's tent, it's near a snoring old campaigner with a whistle."

Thomas does not appear to realise what Myrana is talking about, though he manages to keep a look of stony impassiveness and duty as he escorts the Baroness back where she belongs. "Of course, of course." Rather patronising, actually.

Myrana goes along with mincing, uncomfortable steps. But the surprised look from the healers of the tent she slipped out from is reward enough, along with their exclamations of 'WE THOUGHT YOU WERE ASLEEP', are suitable balms for her stinging pride.

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