| An Idle Summer's Day |
| Summary: | Two weeks into the siege, some of the Galenthian garrison's commanders find time for an idle later summer's repose |
| Date: | 30 Aout 1868 IE |
| Related: | Goldhollow, Westwar |
| NPCs: | {$npc} |
| Players: |
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| Goldhollow's Main Square |
| Fortified and cleared, the main square has been turned from a place of commerce to a place of war. Soldiers hustle to and from the barricades and strongholds to the west and any traces of citizens are hard to find. |
| 30 Aout 1868 IE |
It's two weeks into the siege of Goldhollow, and the Galenthian garrison still holds the core of the city - and strongly. Every day and every night brings new casualties; if not that, then a simple lack of rest for the beleagured and besieged. Every night they fight enemies at the barricades, at the strongholds, in the alleyways, the rooftops or even in the sewers. Though the Galenthians know the city better and have mastered ambushes and raids, Rikton's forces under Lord Captain Rollo Tusca are catching on. And they still outnumber the Galenthians significantly.
Occasionally, there are lulls in the battle. Today is one of those lulls. Very little action along the line has been reported, giving a much needed rest to the Galenthians - not so for the Chandus Rangers, who scout far ahead of the battle line, but then again, scouts never have rest. A small meeting is happening in the main square of the city. Listening to a pair of the rangers report on enemy movements in the southwest of the city is Baron Thomas Chandus, Brigadier of the forces present. Like others, he looks tired. While the troops might get to rest, he isn't. Planning, always planning.
With the usual whiff of black powder about him, Sir Wulfred approaches the meet at a decent pace, long cannon hanging upon his left shoulder thanks to simple bit of leather tied off at stock and barrel, and as ever resplendent in the surcoat of the Burnished Spurs, the practically ancient brigadine armour beneath, and the most wretched cloak ever to grace a noble's shoulders, "My lord!" The hearty greeting booms loudly enough as he approaches, offering a modest bow to Thomas and a firm nod to the two rangers giving their report, "Good news?" He asks, knowing that it is likely anything but, but the old Wolf manages to remain undeniably cheery, for a man trapped in a city threatened with being erased from all known maps.
The rangers will be familiar to Wulfred - one of them is Lieutenant Franz Smith, who served alongside Wulfred as the head scout during their campaign to retake the Valley of Scales and then County Windholme, while the other is a more junior Corporal who none the less also served along side. The short, squat frame of Lieutenant Smith dips his head at Wulfred, salutes both nobles and disappears towards the "Ranger House", a fortified building outside the Keep that the troop has occupied for its own purposes. Thomas turns to his vassal and old comrade, smiling tiredly and bowing his head in return. "My Lord Wulfred. The news isn't bad, at least. Encroachment through the barriers to the southeast by enemy light horse. We're still harrying them. Slowing them. But we must keep the east gate open - it's our only mode of escape, if things get dire enough. I'd prefer to kill so many of them that they just give up." He snorts. "Unlikely."
Offering a warm smile to both the Rangers, Wulfred claps Franz on the shoulder with his good right hand, his left arm as ever remaining against his side after that nasty scorpion bolt a good many years previous. As the rangers depart, Wulfred watches them go for a brief moment before turning his attention back to Thomas, "Good men… and I'll send a few long cannoneers to aid in any efforts to harry them, capture the horses if we can of course, would be a terrible waste to have to kill them." And with Thomas' desire to kill as many as possible, Wulfred grins broadly, "Unlikely aye, but providing we hold out for a month or two more, we'll have winter on our side, besieging armies don't tend to do well in winter… which could admittedly force his hand."
Belladona has been busy lately with the steady stream of wounded. Now she has found a moment to rest. But rather than actually rest she is bringing Thomas a loaf of what smells like fresh bread and a large peice of cheese, both wrapped in a clean cloth. In her other hand she carries something she has been saving a bottle of wine produced by her house. She curtseies before Thomas and Wulfred and smiles shyly. "You haven't been working too hard I hope? I brought some food and drink, to help you keep up your strength…"
Thomas finally notes the weakness of Wulfred's left arm. It's been quite some time since he's seen the man. "Does that still afflict you, my lord? After so many years? I remember that day… how you rode back in a hurry to tell us the enemy was prepared… that the Thorn had so many more troops than we'd bargained for. Sir Bethany was in over her head, I'm afraid, but she's come a long way since then. One day, to be our Duchess." The Baron smiles wistfully. "I'm concerned that if we force his hand he'll simply burn the city down. At the end of the day, while he'd like to capture it, he doesn't have to. He can just deny it to us and destroy the jewel of the Fallow Lands. He threatened to burn it when we parlayed."
The Baron is rather surprised at Belladona's presence. Smiling broadly at her, he dips his head in return and gazes rather ravenously on the food. He's barely eaten a thing today, only a bowl of porridge and some kaffe in the morning and a steady stream of pipe smoke since then. "My thanks, Lady Belladona. I've been… remiss in my food. Serjeant Verus is away at the front. Maybe that's why." Verus normally tells him that he needs to eat and threatens to cuff him on the back of the head until he does so.
"M'lady! You are indeed a lifesaver, I'll wager this young fellow has indeed been all too remiss!" Wulfred states all too firmly, eying the wine bottle some and stepping to the side to allow the food to be yielded to Thomas, "Needs to keep his strength up! And to catch some rest." Yet with the mention of his arm, Wulfred grins almost fondly at that old event, "Well I was getting on back then, and yes… but I'd follow her into Rikton itself if that was what was required of me and I do recall a good few hand cannon shots silenced that damn weapon for good… but enough of the past! The present requires you to eat something while we watch, isn't that right ma'am?" Wulfred intones with all manner of seriousness, nodding once to Belladona as if to garner her support in the matter. As for Rollo, well, the mention of the man has the old knight rumble somewhat, "I shouldn't put such an outcome past a member of the Church, I consider myself somewhat dutiful when it comes to the One, but those bastards out there are greedy for power, baubles and pleasure. So let us hope the wealth of Goldhollow keeps them from doing anything foolish."
"The outcome of this war should be, One willing, a disendowment of the Church's temporal power, or at least its power to wage war such as it is. And this is Kentaire's second go at establishing dominance over the West. Perhaps it is time that they are shattered, too." Thomas's smile grows wan, as if he doesn't quite believe that what he says will be possible. He brings the food over to an area that rests in the shade of the Cathedral on the west side of the main square and, taking a seat on one of the steps, breaks the bread. A portion goes to Wulfred, a portion to himself and and a bigger portion than theirs to Belladona. After all, she's been busy tending to the wounded the entire time. "I'll not eat alone, my lord. I am not the only one here, and we all require strength. As for the Lord Captain, I got the feeling that he is a man of honour stuck in an unenviable position. He must do as he's ordered. It's his country after all, but he does not like it."
Bella smiles warmly as she offers the wrapped parcel of cheese and bread to Thomas. "You are most welcome Your Lordship. Now eat, healers orders." She smiles somewhat playfully and nods to Wulfred in agreement. She studies the bottle of wine in her other hand. "I am afraid I could not find a cup though…"
Lull in the ebb and flow of battle means the chance to get a little bit of a rest. And that means Jarret has made his way back here. Having found him something to eat and drink, he moves over towards where the other people are, raising an eyebrow. "See, that's why the front lines are better. You learn to eat when you can there," he comments lightly, before he shrugs a little as he looks between the others.
Wulfred takes his portion and bites into it without much of any formality, the man tearing into the bread as if indeed he had been starved for days! Though he likely stole something to eat not too long ago, "And sleep." Wulfred replies as Jarret arrives, nodding at the fellow warmly before taking a bite of the cheese, crumbs tumbling down his surcoat to be brushed from his portly stomach, "It'll be damned good when we're at Rikton's walls, regular supply trains from lands uninfested with One-Botherers… their walls slowly crumbling and the High Priest watching and ruing the day he overstepped the mark." At Belladona's mention of a lack of a cup, Wulfred leans to the side and pulls a battered wooden cup from a loop upon his belt, offering it across to the noble healer, "Help yourself m'dear!"
"I'd be a poor soldier if I did not have my own canteen cup with me, Lady Belladona. I'm sure Lord Wulfred has one too, and one will be fetched for you." Thomas produces a fired wooden cup from a pouch on the back of his belt. This one he hands to Belladona, thereafter appropriating a second one for himself from a nearby Chandus Borderer spearman. "I don't think this is the High Priests doing, Lord Wulfred. This has the marks of a conspiracy that he's being held hostage to. Does it make sense that the man who brokered peace between the great Kingdoms would turn around and suddenly attack them? No. It's not possible." Thomas rises from his seat on the steps of the Cathedral to greet the Sokar. "Sir Jarret. Well met. And how do the front lines go? I trust you all got my missives the other day?"
Belladona, apologising, slips off to attend to wounded.
"It's still where you left it, don't worry," Jarret replies with a grin offered to Thomas. "And the missives got where they were supposed to go." A brief pause as he nods and smiles to the others, and then moves to take a seat as well. "And yes," he replies to Wulfred. "Sleep too, that's true. We know when we need to do those things at the lines. Maybe onlu a little of the bathing thing, though."
With his cup so filled, Wulfred takes a hearty sip of the wine and clearly does it little justice by knocking it back in one swift sip. So fed and 'watered', Wulfred slowly pushes himself back up and brushes himself down, "Aye. That said, I should check on a few of my men, we're off to check in on the barricades and cause a little trouble as and when we can." Offering both Jarret and Thomas a nod, Wulfred steps back and with his long cannon re-slung comfortably, the bearded knight takes off towards a distant yet small group of lingering long cannoneers and pike.
"God speed to you, Lord Wulfred." Thomas, still standing, clasps his vassal's arm and fixes him with a good, hearty stare before sending him off again. "That's actually good news, sir. They'll eventually give a good push. The sooner the better, in my opinion. We're being worn down."
Take care," Jarret offers to Wulfred, before he nods at Thomas. "Having time makes you think, thinking is what breaks people," he offers. "It's our job to keep people on their toes. But a proper battle would be good now," he offers."
"They outnumber us, Sir Jarret. Badly. They have the important entrance to the city under their control and they've got siege weapons. And your future vassal lost us over a third of her Shadow Snakes. We're not in an easy position." Thomas pours some wine for Jarret and then for himself, before sitting back down.
"Hey," Jarret replies lightly. "Could be far worse, you know…" He shakes his head, nodding a little as he eats some of his food. "But no, we're not in an easy position. But we've been in bad positions before. In Rikton, for example. At least here we know we are fighting other people, and that our surroundings aren't sealed off." He raises his cup, offering a grin. "To getting out of bad spots."
Thomas concedes that point and responds by raising his own cup. "True. Which is why we'll need to keep that eastern gate open. I don't know where Viscount Varian's offensive action is going to be… but wherever it is, he'll need you. You know this, right? You've become rather an expert at commanding pike."
Jarret nods as he hears that. "Keeping the gate open is important. Gives us a way out in case it should be needed," he offers. "Just make sure to get word to me about where that action is going to be, and I'll have the pike ready," the promise is made, before he shrugs at that last part. "Leading by example, my friend," he offers in return.
"Of course. The going is very hard outside the eastern gate. That's why they call it the Miner's Gate. No reason to use it unless you're bringing in ore from the mountains around Goldhollow… It won't be an easy retreat, if we have to do it. I'd prefer to let them bleed here and keep the city." Thomas says, wistfully, sipping his wine. "Ulsen red. I've missed this wine."
"I must admit there's been times I've wished we could let their entire army in, with ours outside, and then burn the entire place," Jarret says, before he adds, "But keeping the city and making them bleed is a good thing too." He takes another sip of the wine, offering a brief grin. "I can understand why." He looks at the wine, and the color, for a few moments, looking a little amused.
Thomas shrugs at Jarret, and though he looks unconcerned, says, "There are 10,000 people in this city, or thereabouts. We cannot leave them to burn if we can prevent it."
Jarret nods, "I know. For such a plan to work, we would have needed to evacuate them earlier." A brief pause, and a grin, "A thought for the next time, if we can, evacuate those we can while expecting a siege." There's a brief shrug, before he adds, "The worst part of being stuck here… the memories."
"We weren't expecting a siege. But… yes. Evacuate to where, though? Do we force them out at point of sword? Perhaps they can still be used as combatants. This depends on whether the Lord Captain will burn the city down if he wins or not. If he'll spare them, we should keep them out of it. If he will slay them, we should conscript." Thomas shrugs. "I know. The last time we were here wasn't exactly good. We defeated the Thorns much more quickly than they've dealt with us, though."
Jarret nods a little. "And of course, it's the memories of what I can't remember that are the worst," he replies, with a brief grimace.
Thomas sighs. "You know, I wish we had the Huntresses and Iron Guard of the Cassomir now. Or… Damarian. Whatever they call themselves. My memories here are of tying my troops into at the time Sir Henric. Now Viscount Henric, shorn of some of his lands, in an independent Kingdom. No longer a Galenthian, except at heart, and we, here, under siege." Thomas looks a bit miserable at the memory. "I'm certain that he'd come here if he could, with his troops."
Jarret nods. "True," he replies, before he adds, "I remember getting knocked out, then waking up a while later. And something about taking down the enemy commander or something." He lets out a breath, before he nods, "I'm very sure he would."
"If we weren't locked into this bloody city, I'd send for him. For old time's sakes. But.. we are. With both Dukes Gauvain and Letholdus engaged by who knows how many. How does Rikton have so many soldiers?" Thomas asks a bit hopelessly, shaking his head.
"No idea how they have that many," Jarret replies, with a bit of a sigh. "We'll just have to face them as they come."
"Aye. I'd considered sending lancers through the east gate to reach the Dukes and see if they were free of their malign influence but I'm not certain that we can afford to lose our messengers. They're what's keeping our front together; they're who tell me where the line is holding and where it needs help, where to send the reserves." Thomas leans back against a column of the Cathedral, but only for a moment. Finishing his wine, he rises, washes the fired wooden cup out with water and returns it to its owner. Then, the Baron levels his gaze at Jarret. "Get some sleep, Sir Jarret. We'll need it."
Jarret shrugs a little. "We'll get through this." It's offered as he drains his wine, nodding a little. "I've gotten some," he replies.