(1868-08-04) Two Into One
Two Into One
Summary: Two Galenthian armies merge into one, with an eye to stabilising their front lines against Rikton's Grande Armee
Date: 04 Aout, 1868 IE
Related: This Little Valley, Westwar
NPCs: {$npc}
Players:
Belladona  Emrys  Gauvain  Inga  Ranulfr  Thomas  

Village of Oracla, South of Goldhollow, The Fallow Lands
A small village that has been heavily fortified and continues to be improved upon. An army of thousands is quartered within it and well provisioned.
04 Aout, 1868 IE

Since the short, sharp action last week where the Galenthian scouts under Viscountess Kaedon and Jarl Ranulfr destroyed a Rikton ambush party, the Holy City's soldiers have given the Galenthians a wider berth than before. While they still are present on the peripheries, the defending Kingdom's scout screen has kept them well away and dissuaded any other attacks. The Galenthians who'd been in Aequor were even able to make an unopposed river crossing yesterday to get themselves and their baggage across to Oracla.

Now evening approaches, and in a wide field south of Oracla, the Galenthians approach where their compatriots are situated under the Lord Marshal, Duke Gauvain Tarris. None are visible, though the village itself can be seen in the distance from its cook fires.

The former expeditionary army's commander, Baron Thomas Chandus, sits astride his chestnut brown palfrey in full armour, surrounded by his platoon group of house troops who, despite being foot soldiers, are mounted on stout, shaggy mountain ponies of their own. The formation in the expeditionary army is largely defensive, given the large presence of Riktonian soldiers and their surprising agility in these Fallow Lands. Thomas looks alert but calm, trusting in the outriders to ensure that there are no surprises.

As the Galenthian Expeditionary Force approaches the Town of Oracla, they can see that it has been strongly transformed. A ring of Earthen ramparts with wooden watch towers has been erected around the town, and behind that, wooden ramparts with a dried mud layer to prevent burning, also laced with watch towers. These higher than the outer defensive ring. The ramparts encompass a pristine and neatly laid out military camp flying the White Griffon of Galenthia standing Rampant over crossed swords of gold. Beneath that banner is the heraldry of Duke Tarris, the Lord Marshal.

Riding out of one of these gates is a man in black and grey plate, long brown hair is pulled back into a tight pony tail. The man is accompanies by a squadron of knights, and marching behind those are three squadrons each of Pike and Long Gunners. The man at the head comes to a stop and waits for the Expeditionary force to approach. His green eyes scan the approaching forces carefully.

Joining up with Thomas, Ranulfr approaches from a tangent alongside the other Galenthians, the scouting party fresh from their foray with the Rikton forces. While the true Galenthians no doubt look suited to being mounted atop their horses, Ranulfr and a few of his Whitehaller folk look decidedly uncomfortable atop their own steeds.

"Not far to go!" The Jarl's voice rings out, keeping pace as his steed kicks up a few chunks of turf, "I hope you Galenthians don't give up too soon, Rikton is going to need a bloody beating, and a good lesson atop that." The lilting voice tinged with mild amusement, though the approach of more Galenthians from the direction of oracla, certainly gives the Jarl reason to fall silent. It is quite a sight after all.

Thomas turns to Ranulfr as he leads the expeditionary force towards Oracla, grinning at the White Haller. Despite their difference in faith and culture, he's grown quite fond of the man since he led a group of his countrymen into the East of Galenthia, settled there and bent the knee to their Queen. "I heard you gave them a good bloody drubbing the other day, Jarl Ranulfr. Well done on that, by the by. It made this far easier than I'd have thought."

The Baron squints, straining to make out precisely whom it is riding upon them, but as the companies roll out and the knights surround the man in the middle, there can only be one. "That's the man. As for Galenthians, we've never given up before. Besides, you're an Easterner now, Jarl. Come, let's meet up with our commander." Nodding at his troops, he spurs his horse to ride forward at a trot and is followed by his own men. Raising a hand, Thomas yells, "Your Grace! A sight for sore eyes, I'd say! Hail and good eve!"

Ranulfr snorts good naturedly at Thomas' words, "You're still a Southerner." And onwards to meet the Commander he rides.

Gauvian Tarris slides from his mount and moves forward to look over the forces form ground level. "Baron Chandus. Well met, and I see you found my scouts. I was beginning to wonder if they got lost." He stnads at ease and then nods to Thomas again. "I see you've weathered the North fairly well. The cold dind't freeze you solid, and from what I hear you kicked the shit out of a Kentaire half Legion. Nicely done." He looks over his shoulder at Oracla. "I've been busy digging trenches, building an army, and walls."

It is with a bright grin that Ranulfr cheerily greets the Duke, slipping down from his own horse with something approaching relief, "We were easily found, by our comrades and a few folks from Rikton… seems their scouts outmatched our own for a time." But the northerner shrugs faintly, rolling his shoulders as he rests his hand upon the bearded axe at his hip, "They paid a heavy price though, your Galenthians fought well, though Lady Sonya took a bolt to the leg as they ambushed us… I doubt she'll be down for long though."

"Perhaps I am. But an Easterner, at that! And you as well." Once the two of them ride closer to Gauvain, Thomas gives him a salute in respect, dipping his head. His amused look remains. "It was rather warm when we stepped off, your Grace. Thank you; our troops performed admirably, and our allies were magnificent. I hope to continue this in our own Kingdom." His eyebrows rise. "How large is the force? And how are our logistics, your Grace?"

Shaking his head Gauvain looks to Thomas. "Bloody hell if I know how big they are. This Cardinal Taleko has some sort of rotation with his troops that make it hard to both pin them down, AND get an accurate foe count. His target is obvious though, Goldhollow. It's the richest province in the Fallow Lands." He looks to Ranulfr. "Countess Khaedon took a bolt to the leg? I wasn't aware snakes HAD legs." He shrugs a shoulder and winks. "I guess we learn something new every day. Jarl, when you guys get settled in, I'd like you and the Baron to work on getting me some actionable intel on the forces moving against Gold Hollow. Something. Anything. Even if it's jsut what color hat Taleko is wearing that day."

"Red," says the statuesque woman standing with the Jarl's horse, combing her magnificent curly gold mohawk back from her eyes with a polished bone comb, occasionally raking her fingers through it as well. Satisfied with her work, she tucks it into the front of her tunic and grins. "There is a very good reason, too."

"I meant our forces, your Grace, but no matter. I am happy to lead whatever task force you set. We've got good scouts, with my rangers, the Kaedon Shadow Snakes and the Jarl's own northerners. I suppose that having to raid into unfamiliar lands has made your forces quite capable in that regard, Jarl." Thomas compliments the White Haller, nodding at him. "The Countess made a serious misstep in Four Corners that nearly cost us dearly on the strategic front. I will talk with you in private about this, your Grace."

Thomas is somewhat surprised by Inga's interjection, but quickly remembers the more free flowing nature of their social structure. "Indeed, Mistress. Indeed. Perhaps we will be able to splotch his Cardinal's hat with his own blood. He's a canny foe, and put up a good fight in the Senate."

"They aren't bad legs, for a southerner." Ranulfr replies with some measure of thought, though he trails off as Inga speaks as to the colour of the Cardinal's hat, turning as he does to regard the statuesque northerner, "Good reason?" He asks, intrigued indeed as to Inga's logic, which Thomas likely ruins. Though he does find himself grinning as he mouths the word 'Mistress' at Inga, eyebrows playfully aloft for a moment or two. At least until mention of the Whitehaller prowess in raiding is mentioned, which warrants a firm nod, "Always wanted to raid this far into Galenthia, but your dreary food made it too much of a chore."

"Just do what weve always done." Comes a familiar voice as another rides catches up towards where the Duke and Lord Chandus ride. "Say that there are a thousand of them and move on." This rider is perhaps the wilder of the civilized Galenthians, but still eyes slide to the White Hallers and Emrys leans over to spit. "Northmen eh?" Emrys Tenebrae has areived in all of his 'splendor' or rather usual wartime attire of leather armor and red.

"We have a Banner of a little over Five thousand men, including Five Regiments of the new Royal Army of Galenthia." Gauvain says calmly. He gestures to the Squadrons of Pike and Long Gunners. "The Court and Her Majesty finally gave me leave jsut before this bloody war started, they're green, but Wulfred and myself have drilled the, to hell and back. They have Veteran Officers and a their own Order of Knights. They'll be fine against these Rikton Bastards, especially with the burnished Spurs as example." The Duke looks to his brother and grins. "We have a Jarldom along the Great Salt beholden to our Queen. And there are quite a bloody lot of them willing to fight, it's sort of nice to have them on OUR side for once instead of defending Duval from them."

Inga slants an opaque look back at Ranulfr at this silly little habit of Galenthians, then favors Thomas with an openly lavicious up-and-down with a grin. "Everyone knows cardinals only fuck pigs in heat. It's why they squeal when you hold them by their ankles."

Thomas can't help but laugh at Ranulfr's appraisal of Galenthian food. "Innards can't take the richness, Jarl?" The sight of Emrys, though, breaks down any poise that the Baron might have had. He trots towards Emrys and reaches out with an enormous grin to grab a man whom he's known his whole life by the arm and pull him towards. "Baron Tenebrae. I never thought I'd see the day you emerged from your new manor. Ha! So bloody good to see you."

He turns back to Gauvain, nodding a bit more soberly. "The Royal Regiments? One be praised! Are their Serjeants and Corporals blooded, too? I should hope so. This Kingdom has nothing if not a generation of salted soldiery who've fought for the last twenty years. Good. The whole Regiment of the Spurs is here, of course." Any mirth fades from his face when he addresses Inga. "Mind your tongue, Mistress. Teleko aside, this is a country that embraces the One Faith. Keep your views on the Church to yourself."

A glance to Inga at that and Emrys doesn't blanche. Rather he just snorts once. "Or boys if you've been to Rikton. Mind you not all priests are paederats- as you can marry…" And there the knightly looking Baron shifts in his stance. "I wont complain for fighters willing to fight and die. Better than Arkanins."

"I like them." Assessed. And with Thomas' greeting his grey facade is lost and a grin emerges as greeting is given, in return.

Yes, Galenthians. Inga's look is simply returned, though the joke does ellicit a raucous snort from the Jarl, "Ankles! I swear!" The grin remains as Ranulfr nods warmly towards Emrys, a bow of sorts, clearly the Jarl hasn't been practising much. While Thomas' chiding concerning the Faith warrants a faint rolling of the eyes, "Everyone knows your Cardinals are corrupt, see… even the good Lord here says so. We're here fighting them after all, aiding in the fight against /them/, not your faith!" The words warm and loud and proud, "I should wager there's more than a few views on the Church in your camp. Probably fewer from us!" A shrug follows and the Jarl stretches idly, grinning at Emrys.

Gauvain grins and shakes his head. Hard to not be in a joyous mood when those who are kin by bond of friendship, fealty, and shared bleeding are reunited. "It's okay Mistress Inga," Gauvain says with a wink, "He's a bit of a prude. Likely he's just over joyed to prudishness to be back among the real women of White Hall and the South, and not those fancy dressed ladies of the North who smell more of poetry and lavendar than a woman who has worked a day in her life." he Duke looks over to the men and and nods to Thomas. "And aye, the Sergeants and Corporals have seen fighting. They helped Wulf and I in the drills, and all of the Knights were HedgeKnigts who served against the Thorn this last time, or were squires who fought beside their knights. We have more than a few Nobles among the Order of the Griffon."

Inga shrugs with an unapologetic grin, closing her eyes as she does so and holding her hands up to the best display of her burly arms, palms tilted up on either side in a 'oh you Galenthians' kind of way. But she doesn't argue, instead winking at Emrys from over her shoulder as she turns to tend to Ranulfr's horse, humming to herself. At Gauvain's comment she laughs. "I much prefer them, myself; soft and sweet. If I wanted muscle and sinew, I'm sure I could find it at home." A deep sigh, and she pats the horse's neck, talking to herself in a wistful tone not quite loud enough to be considered public comment. "But no, just a bunch of skinny-legged, freckly prie—" a pause, and she pats the horse again. "Farmers."

"Of course there are corrupting elements in the Church. It is the largest institution in the Civilised West. We will destroy those elements, the Cardinal among them, and return the Church to its rightful place, which is in caring for spiritual welfare and praying for our souls." Thomas doesn't wince when called a prude; he's certainly been called worse, and it's true in any case.

"Good, your Grace. One woman that I met in Four Corners will interest you - not a fancily dressed lady perfumed with lavender and reading poetry. The Princess Livia of Navali snuck into the Tarris study window at night before we embarked south. The same Navali which is our enemy. She told me that they will keep to their side of the sea and deal with relatives of the Jarl and the Mistress here if we do so." Thomas clears his throat, producing a circular pendant from his belt pouches, and circulating it. It bears the sigil of one of the Ice Clans of White Hall, separate from their Njorfolk brethren but related, particularly that of the Clan of the Frozen Fields. "These fiends are the ones raiding Aequor. Jarl Ranulfr, Mistress Inga, do you know much about the Ice Clans?"

Gauvain eyes Thomas as he is handed the pendant. "The Princess of Navali, snuck into your room." He blinks and looks at the Pendant again. "The most beautiful woman in the West if the poets are to be believed, just snuck into your room at the Manner in Four Corners." He eyes his Baron once more before looking dead pan to Emrys. "Me thinks Baron Chandus went for a dip with this Princess, it's the only thing that can explain why he isn't just melting at Southern women, once you have THAT tail, who needs to chase another?"

"Our ancestors dealt with them, they sought our land didn't they Inga?" Ranulfr asks as he eyes that pendant, before looking to his powerful comrade in arms, "What little I recall at least, they fight amongst themselves. Not bothered us since… a good couple of hundred years or so." Though all this talk of the Navali princess does indeed warrant a crooked smirk, oh so crooked and oh so merry, and directed oh so much towards Thomas. Like anything more needs be said, "You need watch this one 'Mistress' Inga, be wary of the lure of windows leading to his quarters."

"That's right, Ranulfr," says Inga. "Uncivilized bunch of assholes."

Emrys chews on his tongue for a moment while keeping his eyes down. "I would not know." he speaks as far as to what tail that Thomas has or has not had. a roll of shoulders before he is chuckling. "I do believe though someone here fancies him." a jest as he nudges Thomas before clearing his throat. He will fall silent now, as prolonged talking isnt his forte.

"…" Inga looks over from Emrys, to Thomas… and at Gauvain, the only one there not currently accounted for.

Gauvain just gives Inga a VERY playful wink.

Inga's eyebrows shoot up, and then she grins. Well! Maybe these Galenthians aren't that boring after all.

"I had no relations with her, your Grace, if that's what you are insinuating. She is a grown woman, but such a scandal would have besmirched her Kingdom's honour." Thomas must be a hoot at dinner parties. He grumbles and makes a disapproving facial expressions. He also turns a bit red.

"In my experience," not that anyone asked Inga, "When a woman comes into your room at night, she is either robbing you, or wants something." She grins. "Why didn't she just send you a messenger, I wonder? Unless… it was to spy you in your nightshirt."

Ranulfr eyes Thomas, "Relations…" the Jarl snorts, "…these Galenthian words make even /that/ sound boring!" The White Haller throws his arms up into the air as if to send forth a plea to Siv! To Frea! To anyone that could help Thomas! Though to Inga, Ranulfr finally looks, grinning and saying little more.

"We must be patient with the younger cultures," says Inga, in her best Aequoran accent. "They are stunted in some ways, Master Ranulfr."

"Indeed they are Mistress Inga. They shall grow in time." Ranulfr replies, failing utterly at anything approaching an Aequorian accent, "Though not under their nightshirts apparently."

Thomas speaks very slowly to the burly Njorfolk woman. "Because, Mistress Inga, she is a Princess of a nation that is at war with us and has no open diplomatic relations, and the fact that they did not intend to actively pursue conflict with either of us was not something she could entrust to a messenger. Nor the fact that the Ice Clans are raiding the West." He snorts, as if disgusted by the fact that he's had to endure both jokes about his conjugal relations and questions which he finds beneath him to answer.

Inga snorts, and has to lean against the horse's neck to keep from falling over in gales of laughter.

"Likely lower than a night shirt Inga." Gauvain stage whispers to the White Hall woman. Then he smiles to Thomas. "No one is besmirching anyone's honor Baron, despite the gravity of this war, it is nice to be around those who are friends once again." He leans casually against Stryder, his great Black Warhorse, and folds his arms. "We can get together and have a more serious war talk later. I think tonight we can drink, and in general, forget the war for an evening."

"Are you saying your nightshirts end at the navel?" Inga wipes her eyes and grins. "I'd like to see that."

Brows raise back and then he is looking at Thomas, Emrys chuckles. "Youre no fun, Thomas." he adds before looking at his brother "You wear night shirts?" And there he is shaking his head. "We can all die tomorrow, as my brother is saying."

Belladona Ulsen had been traveling with the army that just returned from Aequor. Now as the forces meet and people mill around talking she lingers quietly in the background. The Ulsen Lady is dressed simply in a practical and modest gown and flat soled boots, her dark hair bound by a ribbon that matches her hair. She is currently looking unsure of herself figeting in the background with her heavy satchel slung carefully over her left shoulder. She blushes at Inga and Emrys' comment about nightshirts but for now the lady is silent staring at the ground for a moment now her gaze thoughtful.

Thomas nods at Gauvain and just like that, it's as if a tap has been turned to release the pressure that has built up over the last months. "Aye, your Grace. We can indeed do that, and we should. We are foot sore and our enemies are canny, but we are better off if we are able to sit in front of a fire with friends."

"I'm sure somewhere amongst our party, there are a couple of casks of Dorling mead, enough to warm the bellies and heads of a good many." Ranulfr replies, grinning at the prospect of good White Hall mead and the chance to finally sup, "And while the good Baron has found a good woman, perhaps I'll find a good Galenthian woman…" He states, grinning at the oh so quiet Belladona who lingers in the background, "… to convert me from my shameful heathen ways! And you, Mistress Inga, a good Galenthian man with a decent nightshirt."

"Why the hell would I want him to be decent?" Inga pffs.

"An indecent nightshirt then!" Ranulfr replies.

Belladona blinks at the grinning Ranulfr and her cheeks turn pink. "My family is pagan my Lord Jarl. That hardly makes me the best woman for such a task. Though I myself am unsure of whetaher or not I share that faith. Faith is one of the matters I have long sought answers on." She smiles softly.

"Thank you." Says Inga.

Gauvain climbs back into his saddle and nods. "Come then. I believe Oracla will at least be accomodating until we depart." He smiles. "Besides the mead, there is Ulsen Wine, and I believe I have a few casks of fine Tarris Apple Brandy." He tilts his head, and gestures to the troops. "Sergeant."

A mean comes up and salutes. "Your Grace."

"Pass it to the officers. Tonight we feast, get the cooks in order, get the drinks flowing. Tomorrow we will deal with the task fo war, but tonight we are all just people of the West celebrating life."

The Sergeant grins. "Yessir." And then he heads off.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License