(1868-09-25) Breath of Air
Breath of Air
Summary: Relief is felt throughout the Goldhollow garrison as supplies begin to snake their way from south, along with reinforcements. They get their orders for the next move.
Date: 25 Septembre, 1868 IE
Related: All Goldhollow logs, Westwar
NPCs: {$npc}
Players:
Dertan  Lysette  Sonya  Thomas  Wulfred  

Verus  

By the West Gate of Goldhollow
While the city is progressively ruined to the east, this area remains well kept.
25 Septembre, 1868 IE

The repair of Goldhollow is going slowly, but it is going. Trade is still largely strangled by the fact that there is conflict in both the northern and southern areas of this theatre - but at least the centre is clear, now. Some goods to trickle in, especially up the river from County Gwynain, the domain of Viscount Alfred, Galenthia's Keeper of Seals - its chancellor, essentially. Along with the first trio of barges comes a company of soldiers from the House Romante's own guard - men at arms of various types, spearmen and crossbowmen.

Thomas stands by the still intact west gate of Goldhollow with a platoon of his own Sun Shield Guard and a platoon of Goldhollow's spearmen in their best attire - polished battle gear, essentially. He's at the head of this honour guard, accompanied by his trusted Serjeant at Arms, Lawrence Verus, who hafts the standard of House Chandus, a junior ensign of the Goldhollow force hafting Galenthia's standard and a bugler. As the Romante troops enter the ruined city, Thomas calls his troops smartly to attention and has them present arms. His own broadsword, a beautiful Lightsilver speciment of unparalleled Kentairish design, is lifted in front of his face. The bugle plays a quick tune.

Wulfred has scrubbed up well himself, attired in his polished if somewhat battered breastplate, over a jerkin and baggy breeches that were once the height of fashion a good many years previous. The beard and the moustache are pristine however, waxed and glorious in their upkeep, and behind him a few long cannoneers from his own regiment stand to attention, their weapons shouldered neatly and behind them a few pike who stand just as professionally as the rest. Adorned with a green sash and bearing the banner of the Royal Burnished Spurs, Lord Wulfred also stands ready to greet those arriving troops with a rousing, "Huzzah!" A word mirrored by those few behind him.

Dertan has had his gear scrubbed and repaired until it matches the parade gear worn by the rest of the local forces. He's standing with the overly stiff posture of a man on parade watching the troops filter in from a suitable position nearby. A handful of men, equally split between his own officers and the more impressive (and disciplined) of the units he's been leading lately stand nearby in their finest, shiniest battle gear. He watches the troops arrive with a quiet and intense focus.

And what should occur during such an organized and grand procession? A noblewoman charging in on a spooked looking snow white palfrey of course. Lysette March makes a grand entrance as she comes barreling in through the city and into the crowds of assembling soliders at top speed. The pute white mare rears up and whinnies in protest as the Lady in her gown of rich purple silks trimmed in silver thread yanks on the reigns. A hooded cloak of matching purple silk lined with the fur of a white fox flutters lightly. The hood which has been made from the perfectly preserved foxes head falls back to reveal golden locks that have been pinned up into a highly fashionable style. Lysette sighs and glares at her horse as a trio of other horses ride up behind her, two guards in heavy mail and a woman dressed as a servant in the colors of House March.

The handmaiden dismounts and walks over to the white horse her lady rides, attempting to get the animal under control. Lysette keeps glaring at the beast. "Silly winter. That rabbit was solid black! He would have made the PERFECT addition to my art collection. And you had to go get spooked and flee to where the nearest stable is located…typical." She huffs and then looks around blinking as she sees the gathering around her. "Hello. I don't suppose we made it in time for lunch?" She flashes a bright smile. "Wait…where are we exactly. YOU! Where are we?" She look to one of her guards. The man sighs. "Goldhollow Lady Lysette." Lysette blinks. "Isn't that where Lord Jarret is stationed?! I have the worst luck…" She huffs in mild annoyance.

The officer commanding the company of Romante troops returns the salute as his troops shift their eyes in a syncrhonised manner towards the garrison, all the while continuing to march. Eventually, he calls them to a halt and marches on over to Thomas, coming to his own stop and rendering the Baron a salute, which is graciously returned. "Sir Anselm Langer reporting one hundred fifteen Romante troops here to relieve the Goldhollow garrison, your Lordship." The man has a cheeky smile. Thomas returns the smile. "Carry on. Cousin." He winks, rendering a second salute. "Your quarters are ready in the keep. Do mind the rubble and such."

As the Langer knight and his company are about to head to their accomodations, they are interrupted by the charging palfrey. Men scatter to and fro, trying to dodge the spooked horse as best they can and losing all sense of formation. After all, it's not like this is battle, and they'd probably better not spear the poor beast. Thomas, pursing his lips in a frown, sheaths his sword and walks on over to the noble lady atop the spooked mount. Sour as he might be, she's still a noble. "My lady. Baron Thomas Chandus, commander of the garrison. What, if I may be so bold, are you doing in Goldhollow?" He remains as polite as he can, which is to say that his voice doesn't conceal an annoyed tone very well.

Wulfred watches the arriving Romante, though indeed the orderly arrival is somewhat ruined by the charging horse and the ensuing disruption. A few of the long cannoneers almost make ready to aim, an enemy attack in the midst of an orderly hand over? But the old Wolf simply raises his scarred left hand to keep his men in order while Thomas deals with both matters. Things never quite go to plan, but at least Thomas is here to deal with the mishaps and the mischief.

Dertan takes his hand off the hilt of his sword as the horse is reined in by the harried maid. He studies the scene, scowling without really realising it, but other than that initial movement of hand to sword and a murmured reply to a question from one of the nearby men he doesn't move.

Lysette fixes a pair of bright grey eyes onto the approching Baron. She smiles an oh so charming smile completely ignoring his tone it would seem, or perhaps just not acknowledging it at all to begin with. "Your Lordship. Lady Lysette of House March, youngest daughter to Count March." She shifts in her saddle and the horse shifts it hooves as well, truth be told the beast looks quite ready to have the noblewoman off its back. The poor thing looks terrfied. Lysette doesn't seem to notice though. "It was an accident Your Lordship. I was tracking the most facinating query but the trail went cold and so I wound up hunting animals instead. I haven't really been paying attention to were we where actually going. I am terriblly sorry Winter interupted your little ceremony there. She doesn't like it when I ask for my bow while mounted." The Lady laughs airily and makes a dismissive gesture, she seems to firmly believe she bares no fault here.

Thomas seems less interested in the interruption of the ceremony and more of the fact that the Lady March has stumbled into an active warzone. He turns towards the older looking of Lysette's escorts, knitting his eyebrows downwards and frowning at him. "You would let your Lady ride into the Fallow Lands when we are at war with Rikton and Kentaire? What manner of training did you receive to do something so foolish? You have failed in your duties. Shame be on your brows." Finished castigating the man at arms, the Baron mentions to Lysette, "I'm afraid that you will have to stay in the city, my lady. The agents of the enemy prowl in the wilderness still, and a lady of noble bearing and Galenthian birth would fetch a rich ransom. Or worse. There are thousands of our foe in the Fallow Lands." Pivoting on his heel, he doesn't really wait for an answer. "Commanders, on me. While you're all here, I will quickly issue you orders."

Wulfred steps forward, turns to his small unit and smiles a broad and fatherly smile at each and all, "Dismissed my dear fellows, go and continue preparations." A nod soon follows and Wulfred steps away, waving across at Dertan and offering a hearty greeting indeed, "Lord Dertan! Fine showing there!" And with that rumbled greeting given, he moves to fall in on the Baron, remaining silent as the man instructs the new arrival on the realities of her location.

Dertan leaves one of his own officers to deal with dismissing the collection of archers in favor of striding across to the indicated gathering spot. "Well met Sir Wulfred" he smiles briefly at the grizzled cannoneer before turning his attention towards the arrival of the other officers. He's silent after that, except for returning any other greetings.

"A noble knight calling a noble lord sir, and a noble lord calling a noble knight lord. My my, I suppose while both are correct, perhaps some schooling in the order of titular precedence might be on the docket." Thomas observes with a droll smile and tone, clicking his tongue in his mouth in a faux-scold. Behind him, the Guards officer and Goldhollow ensign both dismiss their troops, who begin to march back to the keep under the expert direction and surprisingly loud voice of Serjeant Verus. The two officers then join the group around the Baron. "Is this it?"

Dertan just looks a little embarassed at Thomas' comments. He knew this of course but, well. Apparantly he decides that the best thing to do in response is just to give a short stiff nod and a sincere "I will keep it in mind, your excellency"

Wulfred waves a hand at Thomas' comment and laughs a short, sharp, and merry guffaw, "Well I for one prefer Sir Wulfred, I'll never get used to the other!" And that said, he awaits the orders.

Thomas reaches out to thump Dertan on the back, and hard. He laughs in a way that really only happens when he's with those he judges as his peers, his officers and his soldiers. "Relax, my lord! It was a jest; surely, you may call yourselves what you will. I only despair for the good name of /Lord/ Wulfred," he winks at the aformentioned Wolf, "who born from an cow ox or a wild boar sow was first given his spurs before I was a glimmer in my late father's eye and then raised to be my vassal, and a land owner himself. Lord is his summit and a deserved one it is. But he evidently prefers his knightly title.

"Alas! One willing, Sir Godfrey his son and heir will let the title stick better." Again, Thomas laughs. The group is joined by two more officers, one being Sir Jauffre, the order's commanding officer and Wulfred's former number two, and the other a short, squat Chandus man wearing boiled leather and carrying a warhammer at his hip - this is Lieutenant Smith, a rough man who commands the Chandus rangers. "Alright. Gentlemen. I've taken the consideration of our council and decided that I will be sending the greater party of scouts to the north. A smaller party will be moving to the south."

"It was my belief that it was the title he favored." Dertan admits with a slightly reluctant smile. "He will have to stop introducing himself as Sir Wulfred if you ever want people to favor the title of Lord." He nods at Thomas' decision without any sign of displeasure or rancor at the choice. "Will Lord Wulfred be commanding the expedition?"

"Bloody marvellous!" Wulfred replies without a hint of understanding as to his volume, something his dear wife has far greater control of, given her pointy elbows and his sensitive ribs. But here, there is no Lady Constance to monitor the Wolf's volume, and so the old knight, still smirking at Thomas' comments guffaws once more and nods, "They need some cheering up in the north from what I hear, poor buggers and it was an ox incidently. A damn fine ox incidently! And I'm sure my son will adore the title of Lord when he finally inherits it, which might not be too far off with all this fighting." A wink is offered to Dertan, "He'll be much easier to address."

It is now that Sonya arrives, gliding into the area with light steps. She wears a set of black leather armor that bears her house crest over her heart, her daggers are at her hips and a black cloak with silver lining flows behind her as she strolls in. She comes to a stop near Dertan and fixes cool blue eyes upon Thomas. "Do forgive me for being late Baron, I was seeng to the comfort of some of my injured men."

"He will indeed, Sir Dertan. /Lord/ Wulfred" Thomas this time grins at his vassal, "has been an experienced scout for… well, as I said, older than the glimmer in my father's eye. He's the most-" He pivots quickly to greet Sonya, dipping his head to her respectfully. To all observers, since the confrontation on the day of the last battle, he's not mentioned any further allegations or sorcery and has been curteous to the Viscountess. "Your excellency. A worthy endeavour. I was telling the officers of the next bound. We've had our breath of fresh air and mustn't tarry. War on, after all. Lord Wulfred will be leading a small group to the north, and as identified by the commanders, it will be where a cadre of our officers will be going. I'll release a troop of my hobelar lancers to ride with you, of course. Expect that you will have to break into smaller groups when you get nearer to the theatre. Your task will be to reconnoitre the disposition and intent of the Kentairish legion up there and to observe where our ally, Duke Letholdus is as well. I will stress that it would be best to abstain from engagement, please."

Thomas glances to the stocky ranger officer. "Lieutenant Smith." He barely acknowledges, grunting a strained, "Sir". Thomas tasks him rather more quickly. "Take a troop of Rangers down south and do the same around the Oracla and Duke Gauvain. Any questions, anyone?"

"I've heard most of those stories." Dertan looks to Wulfred as he speaks, seemingly recovered enough from his bout of embarassment to speak with enthusiasm. "I'm rather looking forward to the opportunity to accompany the Knights of the Burnished Spear on such an endeavor." And then he turns his attention back to the Baron to confirm. "I don't have any other questions."

Wulfred simply nods, since this is indeed his bread and butter, "We'll be the eyes and ears of Galenthia, and though I have lead an ambush or two in my time, damned successful ones, but yes, the time for such things is past. We need to be swift in our findings and aid our dear Duke to the north and it'll be good to have you along Sir Dertan!"

"Well. Good." Thomas seems a bit surprised by their responses, as he must have expected some kinds of questions. He stares at them a little intently. "I trust you, of course, but I would like to know that you understand my intent for this. In many ways, unless the opportunity presents itself clandestinely, you should avoid even informing the good Duke Letholdus of your presence. While I'd like him to know that our battle is done, it is of greatest importance that the enemy not know he has an unoccupied enemy force to his south."

"I just assumed that Lord Wulfred would fill us in on the finer details, Your Lordship" Dertan admits to Thomas. "How much effort should be put into repairing any discovery?"

Wulfred grins broadly, "We'll carry no pennants and we'll carry no coats of arms, we'll ride hard and we'll look like brigands!" The old Wolf intones all too merrily, "I doubt we have any great intellignce as to what we'll face, but providing we are swift and careful, we should be able to find our enemy and those forces we seek to aid." It is with a certain rumble that Wulfred ponders some thought or other, "Any Kentairish scouts will need to be dealt with, we'll prepare ambushes if need be, but I would prefer it if we moved swiftly and without any great need to engage any enemy, though it may well come to that, and once we find either of our intended targets, we'll scout about them and mark the lay of the land."

"Perhaps moving slowly and quietly will be the order of the day, then, but this I leave up to you. Leave whenever you are ready, my lords, and may the One follow you. Dismissed." Thomas nods at them, snapping to attention in respect as they disperse.

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