The Ekumene, The World, The clay and loam of earth. The wretched Trial to the followers of...
Ekumene (An Original Fantasy Quest)
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Prologue; part 1
4WheelSword
The original N-body Problem
- Pronouns
- It/She/They
The Ekumene, The World, The clay and loam of earth. The wretched Trial to the followers of Khaeneth, The Blessings of the Most Holy to Her Own. The known to the map-makers, the borderless to those who range beyond. The birthplace of war and peace and love and hate and so many other feelings and emotions. It is sea and land, mountains and islands. Fields of golden wheat and rugged ochre moors.
The world is filled with many things, but the most wondrous, or so many claim, are built at the hands of man. Not just the great temples, churches and palaces, though they are many and they are gloried. Nor the domains, kingdoms and empires, though both large and small have risen and fallen in their multitudes.
The most wondrous, it is said, are the stories, the myths and fables, which spell out the past and spin even the most drudging reality into glorious legend. The tales of the hero's, spell-weavers and thieves which infect the dreams of children and drive the hopes of those full grown.
---
The mountains that bordered the western reaches of the Kingdom of Antia were barren, blasted places, stony flanks marked only by the hardiest of scrubs. The tops of them were white year round, even in the summer as the Kingdom's coasts grew hot. They were cold, and desolate, but important for they also played host to the Westing Forts, the line of defences which were part border post and part lookout. Beyond those grey mountains lay untamed and hardy plains from which raiders came on horse and foot in great numbers. The Westing Forts were always manned in small numbers, that the beacons could be lit and King be warned in case they came again.
But, the men and women who kept their tireless watch in the forts required relief. More than a month in the mountains was enough to drive any one of the hundred men and women of the Westing Forts to apathy. And thus Josephene, Housecarl of Antia, lead a hundred footmen and their attendant baggage train into the mountains.
The company, all hundred and more, had camped in the lowest reaches of the mountains overnight where the slopes flush with forest had turned to bare mountain side. She'd looked out across the fires dotted amongst the masses, the soldiers and the train, and admired the way the burning logs mirrored the twinkling dots that hung in the heavens above. The camp had been lively, loud, mood not coloured by the harshities of campaign. They were well fed and settled and still Josepehene pitied the poor footmen who slept wrapped only in cloaks and furs on the hard ground. Her own bed had hardly been luxury, but it was softer than the bare slopes.
At least the ground had been dry, and the skies clear.
On stiff bones and stiffer joints they marched deeper into the mountains, a trailing snake of soldiers and wagons. Two of her fellow housecarls, her boon companions, were scattered amongst the company to keep order while she marched with the head. These two were dear friends, men she'd trained with, fought with, even bled with. She trusted them with her life, and to have them by her side in the grim and dreary mountains made the journey a little more bearable. The last rode ahead, the company's few horses taken as scout and with him a group of sharp-eyed men and women who would ensure that no ambush awaited them.
But those three men were not the only thing about the journey lifting her spirits. What waited at the end, or rather who, was the other, and for that she was perhaps the only one of her company who had truly looked forward to their marches start from Raeen, Antia's Capital.
Who are these two companions (pick two):
[ ] Fredo, Paladin-priest and wielder of the divine hammer
[ ] Theodore, Spell-singer and wielder of magics
[ ] Rollon, an expert with the bow and javelin
[ ] Gerold, spearman extraordinaire
[ ] Jeustin, the King's Sword, one of the courts champions.
Who is Josephene?
[ ] A duke's daughter, once a noble hostage and now a sworn soldier
[ ] The King's daughter. A bastard, but neither hidden nor rejected.
[ ] A sell-sword from another land who settled in Antia and won the King's trust.
[ ] Write-in (pending GM approval)
Who awaits her?
[ ] Alderly, sweetheart and sometime lover
[ ] Mathurin, a dear friend and steadfast companion
[ ] Gillaume, beloved brother
The world is filled with many things, but the most wondrous, or so many claim, are built at the hands of man. Not just the great temples, churches and palaces, though they are many and they are gloried. Nor the domains, kingdoms and empires, though both large and small have risen and fallen in their multitudes.
The most wondrous, it is said, are the stories, the myths and fables, which spell out the past and spin even the most drudging reality into glorious legend. The tales of the hero's, spell-weavers and thieves which infect the dreams of children and drive the hopes of those full grown.
---
The mountains that bordered the western reaches of the Kingdom of Antia were barren, blasted places, stony flanks marked only by the hardiest of scrubs. The tops of them were white year round, even in the summer as the Kingdom's coasts grew hot. They were cold, and desolate, but important for they also played host to the Westing Forts, the line of defences which were part border post and part lookout. Beyond those grey mountains lay untamed and hardy plains from which raiders came on horse and foot in great numbers. The Westing Forts were always manned in small numbers, that the beacons could be lit and King be warned in case they came again.
But, the men and women who kept their tireless watch in the forts required relief. More than a month in the mountains was enough to drive any one of the hundred men and women of the Westing Forts to apathy. And thus Josephene, Housecarl of Antia, lead a hundred footmen and their attendant baggage train into the mountains.
The company, all hundred and more, had camped in the lowest reaches of the mountains overnight where the slopes flush with forest had turned to bare mountain side. She'd looked out across the fires dotted amongst the masses, the soldiers and the train, and admired the way the burning logs mirrored the twinkling dots that hung in the heavens above. The camp had been lively, loud, mood not coloured by the harshities of campaign. They were well fed and settled and still Josepehene pitied the poor footmen who slept wrapped only in cloaks and furs on the hard ground. Her own bed had hardly been luxury, but it was softer than the bare slopes.
At least the ground had been dry, and the skies clear.
On stiff bones and stiffer joints they marched deeper into the mountains, a trailing snake of soldiers and wagons. Two of her fellow housecarls, her boon companions, were scattered amongst the company to keep order while she marched with the head. These two were dear friends, men she'd trained with, fought with, even bled with. She trusted them with her life, and to have them by her side in the grim and dreary mountains made the journey a little more bearable. The last rode ahead, the company's few horses taken as scout and with him a group of sharp-eyed men and women who would ensure that no ambush awaited them.
But those three men were not the only thing about the journey lifting her spirits. What waited at the end, or rather who, was the other, and for that she was perhaps the only one of her company who had truly looked forward to their marches start from Raeen, Antia's Capital.
Who are these two companions (pick two):
[ ] Fredo, Paladin-priest and wielder of the divine hammer
[ ] Theodore, Spell-singer and wielder of magics
[ ] Rollon, an expert with the bow and javelin
[ ] Gerold, spearman extraordinaire
[ ] Jeustin, the King's Sword, one of the courts champions.
Who is Josephene?
[ ] A duke's daughter, once a noble hostage and now a sworn soldier
[ ] The King's daughter. A bastard, but neither hidden nor rejected.
[ ] A sell-sword from another land who settled in Antia and won the King's trust.
[ ] Write-in (pending GM approval)
Who awaits her?
[ ] Alderly, sweetheart and sometime lover
[ ] Mathurin, a dear friend and steadfast companion
[ ] Gillaume, beloved brother
Hi all,
This intends to be an original fantasy quest (well, it's in the title at least) with generally low fantasy, high heroics themes. It's not intended grim-dark by any means, but it will aim to give more nods to historic accuracy (in terms of setting, technology) than, say, D&D.
Speaking of which, it's looking to be circa 11th century europe in terms of development.
Is anything else needed? Hmm. Well, magic exists, and comes in various forms. But there will be more development of that later!
So get voting... please?
This intends to be an original fantasy quest (well, it's in the title at least) with generally low fantasy, high heroics themes. It's not intended grim-dark by any means, but it will aim to give more nods to historic accuracy (in terms of setting, technology) than, say, D&D.
Speaking of which, it's looking to be circa 11th century europe in terms of development.
Is anything else needed? Hmm. Well, magic exists, and comes in various forms. But there will be more development of that later!
So get voting... please?
Last edited:
Prologue; part 2
4WheelSword
The original N-body Problem
- Pronouns
- It/She/They
Gillaume, sweetest Gillaume. The fresh faced youth grown strong and now finally given the opportunity to lead. She wondered how he'd fared, out here in the Western mountains. Whether the cold had chilled his wonder, or if he'd found just as many things to smile out in the barren wastes as he had back in their father's court.
They had grown together, Jospehene and Gillaume, with barely six months between them. Their father had borne the scandal of raising his bastard alongside his trueborn son, though they had all benefitted from her womanhood in that regard. They were left to their own devices by the king's other children and as childhood turned to adulthood their bonds only strengthened.
Campaigning together had been a joy, his company turning unpleasant trails to happy times. Even battle had been a pleasure with him at her side.
"Josephene!"
Her thoughts interrupted, she turned to find the source of the cry. Theodore, wrapped tightly in painted cloak against the cold, was hurrying along the flank of the marching column towards her.
His cloak marked him clearly as a spell-singer, one of the few who could bend the winds of magic to their will with their sweet voices. It was decorated with the sigil of his house, the sleeping, seeing raven. Even without the cloak though, he was still marked in body by the stresses of his work and in his voice, which he usually kept so low it was almost a whisper to protect its power.
"Theodore. I thought you were taking your time. You know setting the pace has never suited you." She said, a note of good-natured mockery entering her voice.
"I will suffer the harder march if it means I no longer have Fredo muttering in my ear every other moment."
Fredo was another of their number, though not one of the King's Housecarls. He was instead a Paladin-Priest, devoted servant of Wulpuz and Wurtiz the married twins, and the embodiment of Glory and Fate. He was a fine warrior and he glowed with the blessings of his Gods whenever he swung his hammer marked with their twin faces. However, as with many of his ilk, he was also highly-strung and had a penchant for praying whenever there was no other conversation, both under his breath and aloud. It was frustrating at times, doubly so for a man who had to keep his mind in harmony so that he could use his power.
"He only means well, Theo. Surely you've learned to ignore him by now?"
"If he meant well, he would learn to control his muttering. I'm amazed the Twins have not seen right to striking him down for it."
It had been a source of constant, albeit generally good-natured, tension between the two men.
"Be careful not to blaspheme where he can hear you, or you'll taste that hammer that he keeps threatening us with."
"The Gods know I am their faithful servant," he said, touching his forehead and raising his hand heavenwards, "but I am not his, and I will not suffer him without reason."
"Then stay here with me, Theo, and be done with him." There was no reason he couldn't march with her. The men were in good spirits and would keep the pace without much chivvying, and with Fredo breathing down their necks, there would be no need for concern without Theodore out there as well.
The baggage train would do as it had always done and look after its own needs.
They were marching uphill, on a broad stony path wide enough for three men abreast. Looking back Josephene could see the trail of their small force stretching back almost half a mile with trailing wagons and straggling people extending it significantly. Looking forward, she could see the crest that blocked their view of the winding path and the forts beyond.
And then she saw the horses, five in number, coming over the crest. Her fingers flexed, an unconscious response to a potential threat, before she recognised a shield and the colours painted on it. It was the fourth of their number returned from scouting their route, trotting down the path with his sharp-eyed soldiers in tow.
Josephene raised a hand both in greeting and a signal to the column. They slowed to a stop even as Thomas reined in his horse.
"Thomas!" She called as he dropped to the ground, a grim expression plastered across stony features, "What news from ahead."
"Only the worst. The beacons are lit."
Her heart missed a beat. If the guards they were to relieve had put torch to the beacons that rested atop each fort, then the enemy was already upon Antia's borders. The forts themselves may even have fallen in the time it took for Thomas to return with the news. Gillaume- she put that thought away before it could even begin. It was too much to think of.
What is Josepehene's history with Thomas?
[ ] He is almost an uncle, a kindly friend.
[ ] He was a teacher and taskmaster and little more.
[ ] He is an advisor to the king who has little love for a bastard.
What must be done?
[ ] The forts are already lost. We make a stand here, where we can.
[ ] We hurry to the forts as quickly as possible. We can still save them.
[ ] We can do little good here. Return to the capital and bolster the King's army.
[ ] Write in
They had grown together, Jospehene and Gillaume, with barely six months between them. Their father had borne the scandal of raising his bastard alongside his trueborn son, though they had all benefitted from her womanhood in that regard. They were left to their own devices by the king's other children and as childhood turned to adulthood their bonds only strengthened.
Campaigning together had been a joy, his company turning unpleasant trails to happy times. Even battle had been a pleasure with him at her side.
"Josephene!"
Her thoughts interrupted, she turned to find the source of the cry. Theodore, wrapped tightly in painted cloak against the cold, was hurrying along the flank of the marching column towards her.
His cloak marked him clearly as a spell-singer, one of the few who could bend the winds of magic to their will with their sweet voices. It was decorated with the sigil of his house, the sleeping, seeing raven. Even without the cloak though, he was still marked in body by the stresses of his work and in his voice, which he usually kept so low it was almost a whisper to protect its power.
"Theodore. I thought you were taking your time. You know setting the pace has never suited you." She said, a note of good-natured mockery entering her voice.
"I will suffer the harder march if it means I no longer have Fredo muttering in my ear every other moment."
Fredo was another of their number, though not one of the King's Housecarls. He was instead a Paladin-Priest, devoted servant of Wulpuz and Wurtiz the married twins, and the embodiment of Glory and Fate. He was a fine warrior and he glowed with the blessings of his Gods whenever he swung his hammer marked with their twin faces. However, as with many of his ilk, he was also highly-strung and had a penchant for praying whenever there was no other conversation, both under his breath and aloud. It was frustrating at times, doubly so for a man who had to keep his mind in harmony so that he could use his power.
"He only means well, Theo. Surely you've learned to ignore him by now?"
"If he meant well, he would learn to control his muttering. I'm amazed the Twins have not seen right to striking him down for it."
It had been a source of constant, albeit generally good-natured, tension between the two men.
"Be careful not to blaspheme where he can hear you, or you'll taste that hammer that he keeps threatening us with."
"The Gods know I am their faithful servant," he said, touching his forehead and raising his hand heavenwards, "but I am not his, and I will not suffer him without reason."
"Then stay here with me, Theo, and be done with him." There was no reason he couldn't march with her. The men were in good spirits and would keep the pace without much chivvying, and with Fredo breathing down their necks, there would be no need for concern without Theodore out there as well.
The baggage train would do as it had always done and look after its own needs.
They were marching uphill, on a broad stony path wide enough for three men abreast. Looking back Josephene could see the trail of their small force stretching back almost half a mile with trailing wagons and straggling people extending it significantly. Looking forward, she could see the crest that blocked their view of the winding path and the forts beyond.
And then she saw the horses, five in number, coming over the crest. Her fingers flexed, an unconscious response to a potential threat, before she recognised a shield and the colours painted on it. It was the fourth of their number returned from scouting their route, trotting down the path with his sharp-eyed soldiers in tow.
Josephene raised a hand both in greeting and a signal to the column. They slowed to a stop even as Thomas reined in his horse.
"Thomas!" She called as he dropped to the ground, a grim expression plastered across stony features, "What news from ahead."
"Only the worst. The beacons are lit."
Her heart missed a beat. If the guards they were to relieve had put torch to the beacons that rested atop each fort, then the enemy was already upon Antia's borders. The forts themselves may even have fallen in the time it took for Thomas to return with the news. Gillaume- she put that thought away before it could even begin. It was too much to think of.
What is Josepehene's history with Thomas?
[ ] He is almost an uncle, a kindly friend.
[ ] He was a teacher and taskmaster and little more.
[ ] He is an advisor to the king who has little love for a bastard.
What must be done?
[ ] The forts are already lost. We make a stand here, where we can.
[ ] We hurry to the forts as quickly as possible. We can still save them.
[ ] We can do little good here. Return to the capital and bolster the King's army.
[ ] Write in
The tie was broken by another voter who's currently having computer problems.
Last edited:
Prologue; part 3
4WheelSword
The original N-body Problem
- Pronouns
- It/She/They
"Did you reach them? The Forts, I mean. If they have only just put torch to oil…" She said, staring at the crest that blocked their view of the forts beyond, as if it would suddenly become invisible and allow her to see what lay beyond.
If the forts were still held, and she had no doubts that Gillaume could hold them for much longer than anyone would suspect, then with another hundred men at arms alongside the strength of Fredo and Theodore and even Thomas, despite his age, they would surely be able to push back whatever raiding force had caused the lighting.
"I returned as soon as I saw the beacons had been lit." Thomas said, a pensive frown showing clearly through the thickness of his beard. "The King will already be calling his banners for aid. If we turn back now, we will reach Raeen in time to reinforce his army."
"If we turn back now, we abandon those men, we-" she caught herself before she mentioned her Brother openly. "-we abandon our duty. We were charged with holding those forts and, even if we have yet to reach them, that is still our goal." She pushed down whatever emotion she was feeling and looked him square in the eye, a challenging look. He was one of the few men to have never backed down from her.
"I'm afraid I must side with the Thomas." Theodore half-whispered, breaking his carefully maintained silence. "To push on now, in the face of an unknown but assuredly present enemy? That would be folly."
"And Fredo would be glad to leap at the chance of battle. If this were to be put to a vote, it would be split. Fortunately, it is not. We press on."
"Josephene…" Thomas' frown turned to a look of ill-at-ease compassion, "You and Gillaume are as close to my family as you can be without being blood. I care for him as much as I do you but you must see that if the beacons have been lit then the forts are already lost. Do not let your feelings cloud your judgement."
Thomas spoke the truth, she thought, on the matter of family if nothing else. The old man had been a friend to their shared father for many years, and thus a part of the children's lives almost from the moment they left their mother's wombs. He had taught Jospehene her first lessons with a sword after she had begged him for the opportunity.
But this was not just about her brother. Or so she told herself.
"He knows we're on our way. Those signals are meant as much for us as they are the King. We march for the forts."
The two men, one old and grizzled, the other young and lithe, looked at her doubtfully. But she felt it in her bones, she knew that Gillaume still stood. She would show them as well.
"We march!" She shouted, fist in the air, eyes locked on theirs. A cheer went up from the men who followed her. They may not know the reason behind her shout, or the details of the hushed conversations their leaders had held, but clear direction was purpose and purpose was all that was necessary to those she led.
Thomas and Theodore nodded, visibly unhappy but accepting. The column began to move again, the quiet filled with the sound of thumping boods and rattling weapons.
---
The Westing Forts were a line of individual fortifications that marked the Western border of Atria and the main defensive structures against the predations of the plain's raiders that came from beyond. While many of the forts were small, lying abandoned except by scouting parties who patrolled up and down the mountain range, there was one that dominated all the others. Originally simply the Westing Fort, as Atria grew it became Armand's Fort for the King that rebuilt it.
Stone on one side, a simple wooden palisade on the other and marked by four tall towers it was an imposing presence that sat in the gulf between two harsh mountains, and snow fell on it almost constantly.
Josepehene and her column passed over the last rise and finally Armand's Fort was before them. Two of the towers had their beacons burning bright, fires blazing into the sky just as Thomas had reported. But they were wholly unneeded. The sound of battle, the clash of steel and the cries of the wounded, drifted down the valley. It was clear enough that she could make out individual voices as they shouted their fury and their pain.
She increased her pace, the others around her matching it. She had to fight the urge to break into a run, aware of the example she was setting. Instead she used the slower pace to arm herself. The sword she'd been carrying for so long which felt so comfortable in her hand. The shield her father had given her, painted in his colours that marked her as sworn to his throne.
The gates that cut through the palisade were open, left to allow the forts defenders the opportunity to retreat if everything turned against them. She was suddenly afforded a view of the battle beyond, the men and women holding the wall and the raiders attempting to spill over and into the fort proper.
To the fight!
[ ] Charge! - The men will follow where you fight. (Strength+swordmanship)
[ ] Men to the wall! - Commanding the troops is more important than bloodying your blade. (Education+strategy)
[ ] With me! - Without your voice at their head, the men will quail (Willpower+Leadership)
If the forts were still held, and she had no doubts that Gillaume could hold them for much longer than anyone would suspect, then with another hundred men at arms alongside the strength of Fredo and Theodore and even Thomas, despite his age, they would surely be able to push back whatever raiding force had caused the lighting.
"I returned as soon as I saw the beacons had been lit." Thomas said, a pensive frown showing clearly through the thickness of his beard. "The King will already be calling his banners for aid. If we turn back now, we will reach Raeen in time to reinforce his army."
"If we turn back now, we abandon those men, we-" she caught herself before she mentioned her Brother openly. "-we abandon our duty. We were charged with holding those forts and, even if we have yet to reach them, that is still our goal." She pushed down whatever emotion she was feeling and looked him square in the eye, a challenging look. He was one of the few men to have never backed down from her.
"I'm afraid I must side with the Thomas." Theodore half-whispered, breaking his carefully maintained silence. "To push on now, in the face of an unknown but assuredly present enemy? That would be folly."
"And Fredo would be glad to leap at the chance of battle. If this were to be put to a vote, it would be split. Fortunately, it is not. We press on."
"Josephene…" Thomas' frown turned to a look of ill-at-ease compassion, "You and Gillaume are as close to my family as you can be without being blood. I care for him as much as I do you but you must see that if the beacons have been lit then the forts are already lost. Do not let your feelings cloud your judgement."
Thomas spoke the truth, she thought, on the matter of family if nothing else. The old man had been a friend to their shared father for many years, and thus a part of the children's lives almost from the moment they left their mother's wombs. He had taught Jospehene her first lessons with a sword after she had begged him for the opportunity.
But this was not just about her brother. Or so she told herself.
"He knows we're on our way. Those signals are meant as much for us as they are the King. We march for the forts."
The two men, one old and grizzled, the other young and lithe, looked at her doubtfully. But she felt it in her bones, she knew that Gillaume still stood. She would show them as well.
"We march!" She shouted, fist in the air, eyes locked on theirs. A cheer went up from the men who followed her. They may not know the reason behind her shout, or the details of the hushed conversations their leaders had held, but clear direction was purpose and purpose was all that was necessary to those she led.
Thomas and Theodore nodded, visibly unhappy but accepting. The column began to move again, the quiet filled with the sound of thumping boods and rattling weapons.
---
The Westing Forts were a line of individual fortifications that marked the Western border of Atria and the main defensive structures against the predations of the plain's raiders that came from beyond. While many of the forts were small, lying abandoned except by scouting parties who patrolled up and down the mountain range, there was one that dominated all the others. Originally simply the Westing Fort, as Atria grew it became Armand's Fort for the King that rebuilt it.
Stone on one side, a simple wooden palisade on the other and marked by four tall towers it was an imposing presence that sat in the gulf between two harsh mountains, and snow fell on it almost constantly.
Josepehene and her column passed over the last rise and finally Armand's Fort was before them. Two of the towers had their beacons burning bright, fires blazing into the sky just as Thomas had reported. But they were wholly unneeded. The sound of battle, the clash of steel and the cries of the wounded, drifted down the valley. It was clear enough that she could make out individual voices as they shouted their fury and their pain.
She increased her pace, the others around her matching it. She had to fight the urge to break into a run, aware of the example she was setting. Instead she used the slower pace to arm herself. The sword she'd been carrying for so long which felt so comfortable in her hand. The shield her father had given her, painted in his colours that marked her as sworn to his throne.
The gates that cut through the palisade were open, left to allow the forts defenders the opportunity to retreat if everything turned against them. She was suddenly afforded a view of the battle beyond, the men and women holding the wall and the raiders attempting to spill over and into the fort proper.
To the fight!
[ ] Charge! - The men will follow where you fight. (Strength+swordmanship)
[ ] Men to the wall! - Commanding the troops is more important than bloodying your blade. (Education+strategy)
[ ] With me! - Without your voice at their head, the men will quail (Willpower+Leadership)
Last edited:
Prologue; part 4
4WheelSword
The original N-body Problem
- Pronouns
- It/She/They
http://orokos.com/roll/543425 - Willpower+Leadership - success
"To the Fight! With me!" She shouted, increasing her pace, breaking first into a jog and then into a run. They could cross the forts thin courtyard in a matter of moments and be up on the wall in no time at all. With the soldiers she had brought there was no way the wall could possibly fall.
She knew the men would need her to lead them up and into the melee or else they may balk in the face of such brutality, and thus she would lead them. That did, however, mean that she would have to place her trust in her companions that they would do what was necessary to win them the day. She would have to trust that Theodore would find safety from which to sing his deadly songs, that Fredo would join her on the wall and that Thomas would respond where he was needed.
She had fought with them all for long enough to know that she could trust them with her life, and so trust them she would. She had no other words for them. No other words were needed.
For the men, however, encouragement could never go amiss.
"To the wall! We will repel the enemy!" She called, shouting so loud her lungs almost burned just so she could be heard over the ever increasing sounds of battle. She was running, the shapes of her men just that, shapes, half seen flashes of steel and the panting grunts of the charge wrapping her in a wall of energy, rushing towards the enemy. Her foot hit the bottom step of the stairs that led to the top of the wall and she fairly flew upwards.
Then, suddenly, she was in the thick of the fighting. Almost before she'd drawn breath, almost before she'd reached the top of the stair, her shield came up to block an axe swung savagely. It struck the leather wrapped edge with a dull thunk, burying itself an inch into the thick wood. Josephene didn't stop to imagine what it would have done to her skull, even with the helmet that fit her head so snugly. Her sword lanced out without a second thought, skewering the poor soul who had decided to try to end her days.
"Spread out. Find a space and stand strong. This fortress cannot fall!"
The men and women she led spilled out across the wall, filling gaps where it was necessary and joining the fight against the invaders. A ragged cheer went up from those they had come to relieve as those exhausted soldiers who remained realised their salvation had arrived.
The raiders were vicious fighters, armed almost entirely with blades and hook and pole-arms repurposed from tools. Some carried small round shields but mostly they relied on speed and skill to dart past the better equipped but less experienced men and women Jospehene had brought to the wall.
She met another of them, a snarling woman with thin scars that marred both of her cheeks. She swung a spiked club at her, smashing long spikes through the wood of Josephene's shield that barely missed the meat of her arm. Another swing and a third from the woman battered Josephene backwards towards the open drop that yawned precipitously at the rear of the wall. The fourth she blocked confidently, planting her shoulder in her shield as the strike rebounded and driving the other woman back with a shove. A swing of her sword was parried, but a second thrust the blade into the muscle of the woman's shoulder. Another swing and the scarred woman's head came clean off of her neck.
Josephene stepped back from the clamour of battle and breathed deeply. The air was cold, harsh, and tainted with the smell of steel and sweat and blood. The momentary pause allowed her the time to breath, the time to assess.
When they had joined the fight she had feared that the wall was about to fall, that the defenders were almost spent. Now she could see the beginnings of a victory forming in the struggle. She could see Fredo further up the wall, hammer glowing brightly as he swung it again and again. Each swing would be a deadly blow, each matched with a shouted prayer to his gods. She could see Thomas down in the courtyard, directing those who remained in reserve, sending them where they were needed. He had a master's eye for seeing where reinforcement was needed, even if it meant his sword wouldn't taste blood this day. Finally, she could feel the closeness, the faint static and the first swirlings of cloud overhead, plunging the valley beyond the wall into the half-darkness of an overcast day. Theodore would be singing high in a tower, his words seducing nature and turning her against their enemy. On his best days he could spit lightning into their midst, or plunge rain so hard their feet would sink into the ground.
The men themselves were fighting hard, forming walls of stout shields to cease the raiders advance and allowing those with long spears to plunge them over and into the mass of bodies. Where the spears failed, axes and wicked knives came out to do the work that so many balked at. None of hers turned away when blood needed to be spilled. She was proud of them.
And there, in the thickest of it, was Gillaume. His mail shone so brightly it glittered, and his sword was flashing back and forth faster than she could believe. He roared, his voice filled with confidence and strength, and the men around him picked up his cheer. It echoed up and down the line, a blasting expression of determination. He was awe inspiring.
Throwing herself back into the fight, Josephene cut down another raider and blocked a blow with her shield that would surely have cut down the spearman next to her. The stone wall walk was bloody, slick but for the grit that had been laid down thick in anticipation of the battle. She pushed forwards, flanked on either side by her own soldiers, and found herself facing out over the valley. Her sword lanced through a man's throat as he made to climb onto the platform and he fell back, down the sheer drop that his ladder had carried him up.
"The ladders! Push them down and we will have won the day!" She called, taking the heavy ladder in on hand and heaving with all her might. With the help of another she pushed it backwards and watched it topple backwards onto the valley floor.
More ladders feel, more raiders were cut down or pushed back, just as the rain began to fall. It stopped just short of the wall, a plunging downpour hanging like a curtain twenty feet in front of their eyes. If she hadn't had theodore, she'd have wondered which god was smiling on them that day. A downpour like that would end the battle, forcing the raiders to retreat and regroup.
They would be back, she knew that well enough. Their leaders needed to die before they would break, and none she had faced had been skilled enough to be named that. But, she thought as she took deep breaths and finally became aware of how her clothes were soaked with sweat, with the numbers now present her at Armand's Fort, they would be repelled as well.
The last ladders fell and a final cheer enveloped the worn soldiers who had just faced Katma, she who took the dead, and survived her gaze. Bodies lay in piles where they had fallen, prostrate across the crenellations of slumped against the inside of the wall. Josephene wiped her sword clean on one's tunic and steadied her breathing, looking for her fellow Housecarls to reassemble. They would have to plan for the raiders return before the rain stopped falling. Then;
"Hello, little sister." A tired but familiar voice said from behind her.
How does she respond?
[ ] Excitement! Her brother is alive!
[ ] Business-like! The battle is just won and the enemy remains.
[ ] Sarcastic! He's six months younger, however much he's grown.
[ ] Write in.
What preparations should be made?
[ ] Send scouts out as soon as the rain stops. The enemy must be measured.
[ ] Put look-outs on the wall and in the towers. We must retain our strength.
[ ] The fort will not hold. We should retreat and reinforce the King.
[ ] Write in.
"To the Fight! With me!" She shouted, increasing her pace, breaking first into a jog and then into a run. They could cross the forts thin courtyard in a matter of moments and be up on the wall in no time at all. With the soldiers she had brought there was no way the wall could possibly fall.
She knew the men would need her to lead them up and into the melee or else they may balk in the face of such brutality, and thus she would lead them. That did, however, mean that she would have to place her trust in her companions that they would do what was necessary to win them the day. She would have to trust that Theodore would find safety from which to sing his deadly songs, that Fredo would join her on the wall and that Thomas would respond where he was needed.
She had fought with them all for long enough to know that she could trust them with her life, and so trust them she would. She had no other words for them. No other words were needed.
For the men, however, encouragement could never go amiss.
"To the wall! We will repel the enemy!" She called, shouting so loud her lungs almost burned just so she could be heard over the ever increasing sounds of battle. She was running, the shapes of her men just that, shapes, half seen flashes of steel and the panting grunts of the charge wrapping her in a wall of energy, rushing towards the enemy. Her foot hit the bottom step of the stairs that led to the top of the wall and she fairly flew upwards.
Then, suddenly, she was in the thick of the fighting. Almost before she'd drawn breath, almost before she'd reached the top of the stair, her shield came up to block an axe swung savagely. It struck the leather wrapped edge with a dull thunk, burying itself an inch into the thick wood. Josephene didn't stop to imagine what it would have done to her skull, even with the helmet that fit her head so snugly. Her sword lanced out without a second thought, skewering the poor soul who had decided to try to end her days.
"Spread out. Find a space and stand strong. This fortress cannot fall!"
The men and women she led spilled out across the wall, filling gaps where it was necessary and joining the fight against the invaders. A ragged cheer went up from those they had come to relieve as those exhausted soldiers who remained realised their salvation had arrived.
The raiders were vicious fighters, armed almost entirely with blades and hook and pole-arms repurposed from tools. Some carried small round shields but mostly they relied on speed and skill to dart past the better equipped but less experienced men and women Jospehene had brought to the wall.
She met another of them, a snarling woman with thin scars that marred both of her cheeks. She swung a spiked club at her, smashing long spikes through the wood of Josephene's shield that barely missed the meat of her arm. Another swing and a third from the woman battered Josephene backwards towards the open drop that yawned precipitously at the rear of the wall. The fourth she blocked confidently, planting her shoulder in her shield as the strike rebounded and driving the other woman back with a shove. A swing of her sword was parried, but a second thrust the blade into the muscle of the woman's shoulder. Another swing and the scarred woman's head came clean off of her neck.
Josephene stepped back from the clamour of battle and breathed deeply. The air was cold, harsh, and tainted with the smell of steel and sweat and blood. The momentary pause allowed her the time to breath, the time to assess.
When they had joined the fight she had feared that the wall was about to fall, that the defenders were almost spent. Now she could see the beginnings of a victory forming in the struggle. She could see Fredo further up the wall, hammer glowing brightly as he swung it again and again. Each swing would be a deadly blow, each matched with a shouted prayer to his gods. She could see Thomas down in the courtyard, directing those who remained in reserve, sending them where they were needed. He had a master's eye for seeing where reinforcement was needed, even if it meant his sword wouldn't taste blood this day. Finally, she could feel the closeness, the faint static and the first swirlings of cloud overhead, plunging the valley beyond the wall into the half-darkness of an overcast day. Theodore would be singing high in a tower, his words seducing nature and turning her against their enemy. On his best days he could spit lightning into their midst, or plunge rain so hard their feet would sink into the ground.
The men themselves were fighting hard, forming walls of stout shields to cease the raiders advance and allowing those with long spears to plunge them over and into the mass of bodies. Where the spears failed, axes and wicked knives came out to do the work that so many balked at. None of hers turned away when blood needed to be spilled. She was proud of them.
And there, in the thickest of it, was Gillaume. His mail shone so brightly it glittered, and his sword was flashing back and forth faster than she could believe. He roared, his voice filled with confidence and strength, and the men around him picked up his cheer. It echoed up and down the line, a blasting expression of determination. He was awe inspiring.
Throwing herself back into the fight, Josephene cut down another raider and blocked a blow with her shield that would surely have cut down the spearman next to her. The stone wall walk was bloody, slick but for the grit that had been laid down thick in anticipation of the battle. She pushed forwards, flanked on either side by her own soldiers, and found herself facing out over the valley. Her sword lanced through a man's throat as he made to climb onto the platform and he fell back, down the sheer drop that his ladder had carried him up.
"The ladders! Push them down and we will have won the day!" She called, taking the heavy ladder in on hand and heaving with all her might. With the help of another she pushed it backwards and watched it topple backwards onto the valley floor.
More ladders feel, more raiders were cut down or pushed back, just as the rain began to fall. It stopped just short of the wall, a plunging downpour hanging like a curtain twenty feet in front of their eyes. If she hadn't had theodore, she'd have wondered which god was smiling on them that day. A downpour like that would end the battle, forcing the raiders to retreat and regroup.
They would be back, she knew that well enough. Their leaders needed to die before they would break, and none she had faced had been skilled enough to be named that. But, she thought as she took deep breaths and finally became aware of how her clothes were soaked with sweat, with the numbers now present her at Armand's Fort, they would be repelled as well.
The last ladders fell and a final cheer enveloped the worn soldiers who had just faced Katma, she who took the dead, and survived her gaze. Bodies lay in piles where they had fallen, prostrate across the crenellations of slumped against the inside of the wall. Josephene wiped her sword clean on one's tunic and steadied her breathing, looking for her fellow Housecarls to reassemble. They would have to plan for the raiders return before the rain stopped falling. Then;
"Hello, little sister." A tired but familiar voice said from behind her.
How does she respond?
[ ] Excitement! Her brother is alive!
[ ] Business-like! The battle is just won and the enemy remains.
[ ] Sarcastic! He's six months younger, however much he's grown.
[ ] Write in.
What preparations should be made?
[ ] Send scouts out as soon as the rain stops. The enemy must be measured.
[ ] Put look-outs on the wall and in the towers. We must retain our strength.
[ ] The fort will not hold. We should retreat and reinforce the King.
[ ] Write in.
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Prologue; part 5
4WheelSword
The original N-body Problem
- Pronouns
- It/She/They
She turned, facing the man who had half a foot or more of height on her. He was broad chested, resplendent in a surplice that was decorated with the lamb and wolf that was his own personal crest. Blond curls spilled out from under his helmet which also hid a strong nose and proud brow. His eyes, emerald green, were just as striking from under the iron rim.
"Ah, Brother, you may have grown in height, but you'll always be the smallest of us." Josephene said with a wry smile. Both of their other siblings were older by several years. "And after all, had I been an hour later, you'd have been cut shorter too!"
"I'm quite sure we'd have held, however grateful I may be for your timely arrival." he replied, touching the brim of his helmet. It was the closest to a thank you she was ever likely to get from the man who'd grown out of the boy she grew up with. "But even if they had taken my head, little sister, I'd still be a hand's span taller than you."
He threw an arm around her shoulder and laughed as the others gathered around, the deep bellyful of laughter that he'd had ever since his thirteenth year. She looked up at him - and yes, she was not so conceited that she wouldn't admit his height - and couldn't help but grin. He may have grown larger, but he was still the same joy-filled boy of her childhood and it was entirely infectious.
"It's good to see you, little brother." She said, thumping him in the ribs. As much as he couldn't bring himself to thank her, it was the closest she could get to admitting she had been worried.
"Aye, and you." he beamed down at her.
"If you don't mind, you could perhaps save the reunion for later? We have only just secured this fort, I would think matters of strategy would be taking up more of your time." Fredo grumbled, decorated warhammer hanging loosely in gauntlets that were still marred by the blood of those whose lives he had taken.
The man was unbearably serious, sombre even in the glow of excitement that always came after a battle. It was the trait of his she favoured least, appreciating his strong arm and willingness to fight much moreso.
"Of course-" Josephene started, then stopped, look at Gillaume, "Excuse me, am I being presumptuous?"
"No, go right ahead. I believe you have that right, as the rescuing party." He replied, voice dripping with amused sarcasm. Fredo sighed audibly.
"Thomas, the baggage train?" she asked, turning back to the group at large. Her mind was already working on the problem of how to prosecute a defense - and how to take the fight to the enemy.
"Already being brought into the fort. We'll have the palisade sealed shortly."
"Good. You and Theodore set the troops to making camp. Ensure the Prince's men are included, they'll need the reassurance of a warm meal and company tonight." A loss of morale could be just as deadly as their reduced companies. "Gillaume, how many are you? How many are left?"
"I had eighty when the sun rose, not all of them trained and true." He rubbed the bridge of his nose, frowning his discontent "I had to draw some strong-armed sorts from the train. Sword-sharpeners, smiths, pack men, those who could swing a club. Just enough to hold the wall in strength."
"And now?"
"Less. I wouldn't like to make assumptions. I already know the surgeon's will be busy."
"And ours as well. Still, we will need an accurate count if we're to have a better idea of what we can do tomorrow. Gillaume, to yours, Fredo, ours. The wounded and the dead too. None of them will be forgotten for what they've done today."
"The twins certainly will not forget." Fredo clutched his hand at his chest in the sign of those he served.
"Aye, and Katma too." Thomas muttered.
"You know your work." Josephene said decisively. "If we get to it, we'll be prepared by the time the raiders return."
---
Sitting at a table in one of the low-roofed outbuildings a few hours after the battle had ended, Josephene poured a map of the mountains that Armand's Fort was positioned in, centered on the deep valley that they defended. She was trying to identify goat paths, points of attack and the camp-ground that the raider force they had driven off could have been occupying. The candle light by which she worked flickered in a draft, almost more frustrating than the lack of progress she had made since sitting down. Even if she could say for sure where they would be camped, it told her little more than the fact that they were experienced campaigners.
The door at the end of the long room banged open, slamming into the stonework with a crash that had her halfway out of her seat and her hand reaching for the pommel of her sword. If somehow the alarm had not been raised, if this was her first warning of an attack then-
The figure that had pushed the door open so roughly turned and she realised she had been a fool for her moment of panic. Not only did she trust the look-outs they had posted on the walls, but Theodore was just as unmistakeable from the back as he was from the front. She chided herself silently for missing the obvious.
He was smiling broadly, teeth showing bright and shining white, with a bowl of… something clutched in each hand.
"Have you eaten, Lady Josephene?" He asked, voice carrying despite how quiet he kept himself.
She thought of the small pouch of tack and dried meat that had once hung off her belt but which she had devoured in mere moments once she'd had a private moment after the battle. She thought of how little it had filled her and her stomach growled.
"You know you shouldn't call me that, Theo, I'm really nothing more than a sworn sword."
He made a noise halfway between a raspberry and a squawk.
"You're the king's daughter, M'lady." He said, placing a bowl in front of her and giving a mock bow. "How else would I speak to you and not draw the ire of his Majesty?"
They held each others gaze in silence for barely a heartbeat before they both broke down into laughter that neither fought to control. The sound of their sniggering filled the small room. When, eventually, it died away Josepehene dug into the bowl of what could only have been an attempt at stew.
"I brought bread as well." He said quietly, placing a small hard loaf on the table between them. She barely nodded her thanks as she continued devouring the food.
Her spoon clunked into the bottom of the wooden bowl and she sat back, stretching comfortably. Theodore joined her in the motion, patting his stomach.
"So," stomach filled, Josephene looked to the maps again, to her work again. "How are they?"
"The soldiers? Well. Eating comfortably. Guillaume's armsmen have taken to the idea of hot food faster than anything else, but there's been no trouble. A few are drunk."
"That's no surprise. I'm not concerned."
"Nor am I." Gillaume's voice boomed from the doorway, Fredo alongside him, "They'll sober up come morningtime."
"And if the raiders return before morning?" Theodore raised a finger to the sky, a visual counterpoint.
"Then we half-drown them in water and make them fight drunk."
"Of course." Theo's smile was thin, "The fearless drunken Wall-keepers of Armand's Fort."
"That's the idea." Gillaume drew up a chair, sinking into it with a comfortable little noise. Fredo leaned against a wall, keeping himself distant from the almost jovial atmosphere they had created. "Have you found anything?" He motioned at the maps.
"A few potential sites for them to camp in. No real vulnerabilities, no tracks, no paths. Nothing that's on the maps at least." She vaguely pointed at the annotations she had made over the course of an hours scouring.
"Then we send scouts." Fredo's voice was firm.
"Do we have the numbers? Fredo, Gillaume, how many…" She wasn't scared of death, nor of leading men and women to theirs. It was her life. But here, in private, she would allow herself to stumble over the idea.
"We lost eight, and another eleven are with the surgeons. Eighty-one to stand at the wall." Fredo said without hesitation.
"I have forty-five in shape to wield their weapons. Today's fighting was costly." Gillaume's face turned grim for the barest moments. "So one-hundred-twenty-six in total. Enough to hold and little else."
"But enough for a small scouting party." Fredo's voice was cutting, confident in his insight.
"What possible use would we have for scouting?" Theodore questioned, frowning at the paladin.
"To find their numbers. Identify the leaders. Once they return we can isolate, surround, eliminate."
"You want to reduce our numbers to learn something we'll know in a matter of hours either way?"
"Theo, Fredo has the right of it. We have no information right now but what they've given us." Josephene put a hand on Theodores arm, stalling his frustration. She knew that unless they were to hunt down information for themselves, "Today was just a test, a probe of our strength, and whoever was leading that party knows that the fort has been reinforced. They will strike again, likely tomorrow, and they will come in force this time. A smart commander would not risk that we could be reinforced again."
"Then we stay together-" Theodore started;
"Scouts can be back long before a potential attack and they would bring us vital information that will allow us to prepare for our that." Fredo cut across him.
"And who would lead it?"
"I will!" Fredo was as blunt as his hammer, "Josephene, give me ten men and the same in hours. I will have you more information than you thought you might need."
"Gillaume? Ten men is almost a tenth of our forces, you cannot think-" Theodore made one last attempt.
"I stand with my sister, Theo, and always will. It's her decision." Her brother looked to her. She pointed at a specific ledge she'd picked out as the most likely candidate.
"Choose your ten and take them here. No horses, no more than trail provisions." She said, looking at Fredo, "Otherwise here, or here." He nodded, studying the map, taking note of what she'd written.
"I'll be back before dawn. The god's keep you." He strode from the room, flexing his hands in anticipation of his night's new duties.
Josephene looked from Theo to her brother and back again. Both were tense, as tense as she was, suddenly plunged into an argument none of them had expected the centre of which had already left them.
"Theo, it's for the best."
"I don't agree. I'll stand by you, Josephene, but I don't agree."
"Thank you."
"I don't want your thanks." He stood, picking up his bowl. "I want this not to be the mistake I'm worried it will be."
He left without another word, leaving Josephene and Gillaume alone, just the flickering candlelight and silent maps to keep them company.
"Have you eaten?" She asked quietly, an ill-feeling in her stomach despite its fullness. Gillaume nodded.
"Earlier, when I was touring the men." He reached out to touch her shoulder, pausing to look at her for a moment before speaking again. "We make decisions because we are leaders, Josephene. We might not like it, but even the mighty amongst us will look to us for guidance."
"You were taught to lead, Gillaume, I was trained to fight." She knew what he was saying, but it was a role she had grown into, rather than being born to it. Her lineage had not guaranteed her the respect he garnered.
"And yet we are both royal children. It's a mantle we both wear, even if we do so differently."
"For our Father's sins, I suppose." She forced a smile.
"Oh, I think he has far too many for us to bear." He returned the smile, reaching out to tuck an errant lock behind her ear. "You should rest."
"So should you."
"Oh, I think I'll take a watch before I find my tent. You're the one who has to lead us tomorrow, remember."
"A woman leading one of his precious sons? What would father say?" She laughed at the expression of frustration that fell across his face. "I'll rest, I will. Leave me with my maps a while first."
"Very well, little sister." He said, more warmly this time. "I'll see you on the wall?"
"See you on the wall, brother." She clasped his arm as he clasped hers.
He closed the door behind him. The room was silent again. Stretching out the aches, she hunched over her work again and tried to put her thoughts of Theo and Fredo out of her mind.
---
Dawn found Josephene standing atop the wall walk, cloak wrapped tight around her to ward off the cold. She was alone, except for the handful of guards posted at intervals to keep watch, though none of them had the courage to approach the daughter of a King, even if she was a bastard.
There was mist sitting low in the valley, deep and thick enough to hide everything but the largest of the boulders that were strewn across the bare ground. Still, the sun shone brightly and it would burn off long before it became a problem, or so she hoped.
She heard footsteps coming along the wall and turned, raising a hand in greeting to the grizzled old man walking up to her.
"Josephene." He said, nodding a return of her acknowledgement.
"Thomas. Did you sleep?"
"Enough for what's called for." He leaned on the crenellations, looking out over the valley. The bodies had been removed and the stone drenched with water. Some were still stained an unsubtle brown and the fresh chips and cracks in the stone were still pale. It was obvious, even from the rough stone under hand, that a fierce battle had been fought. "Did you?"
"I was restless. Spent the night worried. It seems I was right to be." She had tossed and turned for hours before she had finally fallen asleep, only to be woken a short while later as she had requested.
"He still hasn't made an appearance?"
"No." She said, a single word encapsulating a world of emotion. Fredo had left as the sun had started to sink behind a mountain with ten hand-picked men. They were cloaked and hooded, equipped only with short weapons and their shields and the barest of provisions, and had disappeared into the gloom without a backward glance.
He had promised a return before dawn, long before, and yet the sky was blue and the sun was beyond rising and there was no sign of the warrior-priest or his group.
"It's too early to fear the worst." The old man said reassuringly.
"I know. He'll have distracted himself in prayer and gotten lost." She chuckled and fought down the faint twinge of nerves. She decided to move the conversation on, if only to save herself any more discomfort, "How are we stocked?"
"Well there's nothing to worry about there, at least. More weapons, food and arrows than we could need in six months, let alone the next few days."
"Double provisions tonight then. I think-" She paused, looking out into the valley, "Do you hear that?"
There was a sound, a distant sound, that carried down the channel that the two mountains made. It was rythmic, pounding, but it wasn't until it grew in volume that Josephene understood it as a drum. It boomed hugely, filling the space the fort occupied. It echoed off the mountain walls that flanked them.
It was cacophonous, growing in scale and scope and hammering so loud it felt like the walls would shake apart. And under the drumming was the sound of marching feet, and the clash of steel on wood. It was thunderous.
"Sound the Alarm!" She shouted suddenly, her thoughts snapping from open-mouthed amazement to action. "Alarm! Troops to the Wall!"
Thomas ran from the crenellations to take the alert to the heart of the fort, even as it heaved itself into action. Josephene watched as the first of the enemy emerged from the mist, rank upon rank of vicious looking warriors, armed with a motley assortment of blades, spikes, mauls and maces. The drums were still hidden but continued sounding, even as the front rank came to a stop with a resounding stamp. The mist was lifting. She'd soon see the scale of the host that faced them.
Soldiers began to file onto the wall, forming a line around her which she stood almost at the centre of. One brought her equipment and she kept a watchful eye on the motionless raiders as she shucked on her mail and strapped her sword to her waist. They seemed more disciplined that the roving bands that had come from the West before, forming ranks more easily, holding from their charge up to the forts sheer face.
They would still fail in their attempts, as their cousins had before them.
She rubbed the bridge of her nose, a habitual gesture she shared with her brother, before she pulled her helmet on. It sat comfortably, but would rub during a fight and she'd often ended up with a sore spot. Her gauntlets went on last, comfortable, well-worn leather topped with mail that protected the back of her hands. With shield in hand it was a heavy load, but well worth it for the times it had turned a blade or caught an arrow that would otherwise have ended her life.
Gillaume joined her on the wall, pulling on his own gauntlets. He looked over the side at the raiders facing them, the gaudily painted shields and the now finally visible line of drums. His face was a picture of grim determination.
"How many?" He asked, quiet enough the troops around them were unlikely to hear.
"More than we."
"It's going to be bloody."
"Aye," Was the only answer she had. A quick scan showed her ladders, rams and other siege equipment that would bring those ruthless butchers over the walls and into the fort. She raised an arm, "Archers Forward!"
The thirty men and women who'd carried bows with the rest of their equipment stepped forwards. They stood ready, arrows knocked on strings, looking out over the valley.
"Ready!"
They raised, drawing the arrows back and putting enough tension into the bows arms to send their deadly payload out and into the warband they faced.
She was fully prepared to drop her arm, to give the command, the send those thirty darts on their way, when Gillaume grabbed her arm.
"Wait… Look!"
There was a commotion in the radier's ranks, mixed sound and movement. They were jeering, she realised, even as they moved out of the way of whatever was passing between them. It was a horrible, mocking sound, guttural and vile. When the front rank parted, the realisation of what was happening stunned her, such that she felt as if someone had nailed her feet to the wall where she stood.
Flanked by two huge, bearded men in armour that looked to be made of overlapping plates, was a small, naked form. Shoved to it's knees, it looked up at the walls in front of it and raised its hands as if praying for benediction.
It only took her a moment to realise that the wretched, battered body was Fredo.
"You will send a champion!" One of the two men shouted, loud and clear enough for the defenders to hear, "Or your man will die!"
How does she respond?
[ ] Josephene will act as champion.
[ ] Send another to be Atria's champion (choose one of Gillaume, Thomas or another)
[ ] Fredo is lost. The fort must hold. Loose the arrows.
[ ] Write in's may be considered.
How should the fort prepare?
[ ] Prepare to attack - To sally forth may surprise them.
[ ] Prepare to hold - The wall must stay strong. No reserves.
[ ] Prepare for a breach - Thin out the wall, the gate will hold.
[ ] Prepare to retreat - Ready the train and open the palisade. We must only delay them.
"Ah, Brother, you may have grown in height, but you'll always be the smallest of us." Josephene said with a wry smile. Both of their other siblings were older by several years. "And after all, had I been an hour later, you'd have been cut shorter too!"
"I'm quite sure we'd have held, however grateful I may be for your timely arrival." he replied, touching the brim of his helmet. It was the closest to a thank you she was ever likely to get from the man who'd grown out of the boy she grew up with. "But even if they had taken my head, little sister, I'd still be a hand's span taller than you."
He threw an arm around her shoulder and laughed as the others gathered around, the deep bellyful of laughter that he'd had ever since his thirteenth year. She looked up at him - and yes, she was not so conceited that she wouldn't admit his height - and couldn't help but grin. He may have grown larger, but he was still the same joy-filled boy of her childhood and it was entirely infectious.
"It's good to see you, little brother." She said, thumping him in the ribs. As much as he couldn't bring himself to thank her, it was the closest she could get to admitting she had been worried.
"Aye, and you." he beamed down at her.
"If you don't mind, you could perhaps save the reunion for later? We have only just secured this fort, I would think matters of strategy would be taking up more of your time." Fredo grumbled, decorated warhammer hanging loosely in gauntlets that were still marred by the blood of those whose lives he had taken.
The man was unbearably serious, sombre even in the glow of excitement that always came after a battle. It was the trait of his she favoured least, appreciating his strong arm and willingness to fight much moreso.
"Of course-" Josephene started, then stopped, look at Gillaume, "Excuse me, am I being presumptuous?"
"No, go right ahead. I believe you have that right, as the rescuing party." He replied, voice dripping with amused sarcasm. Fredo sighed audibly.
"Thomas, the baggage train?" she asked, turning back to the group at large. Her mind was already working on the problem of how to prosecute a defense - and how to take the fight to the enemy.
"Already being brought into the fort. We'll have the palisade sealed shortly."
"Good. You and Theodore set the troops to making camp. Ensure the Prince's men are included, they'll need the reassurance of a warm meal and company tonight." A loss of morale could be just as deadly as their reduced companies. "Gillaume, how many are you? How many are left?"
"I had eighty when the sun rose, not all of them trained and true." He rubbed the bridge of his nose, frowning his discontent "I had to draw some strong-armed sorts from the train. Sword-sharpeners, smiths, pack men, those who could swing a club. Just enough to hold the wall in strength."
"And now?"
"Less. I wouldn't like to make assumptions. I already know the surgeon's will be busy."
"And ours as well. Still, we will need an accurate count if we're to have a better idea of what we can do tomorrow. Gillaume, to yours, Fredo, ours. The wounded and the dead too. None of them will be forgotten for what they've done today."
"The twins certainly will not forget." Fredo clutched his hand at his chest in the sign of those he served.
"Aye, and Katma too." Thomas muttered.
"You know your work." Josephene said decisively. "If we get to it, we'll be prepared by the time the raiders return."
---
Sitting at a table in one of the low-roofed outbuildings a few hours after the battle had ended, Josephene poured a map of the mountains that Armand's Fort was positioned in, centered on the deep valley that they defended. She was trying to identify goat paths, points of attack and the camp-ground that the raider force they had driven off could have been occupying. The candle light by which she worked flickered in a draft, almost more frustrating than the lack of progress she had made since sitting down. Even if she could say for sure where they would be camped, it told her little more than the fact that they were experienced campaigners.
The door at the end of the long room banged open, slamming into the stonework with a crash that had her halfway out of her seat and her hand reaching for the pommel of her sword. If somehow the alarm had not been raised, if this was her first warning of an attack then-
The figure that had pushed the door open so roughly turned and she realised she had been a fool for her moment of panic. Not only did she trust the look-outs they had posted on the walls, but Theodore was just as unmistakeable from the back as he was from the front. She chided herself silently for missing the obvious.
He was smiling broadly, teeth showing bright and shining white, with a bowl of… something clutched in each hand.
"Have you eaten, Lady Josephene?" He asked, voice carrying despite how quiet he kept himself.
She thought of the small pouch of tack and dried meat that had once hung off her belt but which she had devoured in mere moments once she'd had a private moment after the battle. She thought of how little it had filled her and her stomach growled.
"You know you shouldn't call me that, Theo, I'm really nothing more than a sworn sword."
He made a noise halfway between a raspberry and a squawk.
"You're the king's daughter, M'lady." He said, placing a bowl in front of her and giving a mock bow. "How else would I speak to you and not draw the ire of his Majesty?"
They held each others gaze in silence for barely a heartbeat before they both broke down into laughter that neither fought to control. The sound of their sniggering filled the small room. When, eventually, it died away Josepehene dug into the bowl of what could only have been an attempt at stew.
"I brought bread as well." He said quietly, placing a small hard loaf on the table between them. She barely nodded her thanks as she continued devouring the food.
Her spoon clunked into the bottom of the wooden bowl and she sat back, stretching comfortably. Theodore joined her in the motion, patting his stomach.
"So," stomach filled, Josephene looked to the maps again, to her work again. "How are they?"
"The soldiers? Well. Eating comfortably. Guillaume's armsmen have taken to the idea of hot food faster than anything else, but there's been no trouble. A few are drunk."
"That's no surprise. I'm not concerned."
"Nor am I." Gillaume's voice boomed from the doorway, Fredo alongside him, "They'll sober up come morningtime."
"And if the raiders return before morning?" Theodore raised a finger to the sky, a visual counterpoint.
"Then we half-drown them in water and make them fight drunk."
"Of course." Theo's smile was thin, "The fearless drunken Wall-keepers of Armand's Fort."
"That's the idea." Gillaume drew up a chair, sinking into it with a comfortable little noise. Fredo leaned against a wall, keeping himself distant from the almost jovial atmosphere they had created. "Have you found anything?" He motioned at the maps.
"A few potential sites for them to camp in. No real vulnerabilities, no tracks, no paths. Nothing that's on the maps at least." She vaguely pointed at the annotations she had made over the course of an hours scouring.
"Then we send scouts." Fredo's voice was firm.
"Do we have the numbers? Fredo, Gillaume, how many…" She wasn't scared of death, nor of leading men and women to theirs. It was her life. But here, in private, she would allow herself to stumble over the idea.
"We lost eight, and another eleven are with the surgeons. Eighty-one to stand at the wall." Fredo said without hesitation.
"I have forty-five in shape to wield their weapons. Today's fighting was costly." Gillaume's face turned grim for the barest moments. "So one-hundred-twenty-six in total. Enough to hold and little else."
"But enough for a small scouting party." Fredo's voice was cutting, confident in his insight.
"What possible use would we have for scouting?" Theodore questioned, frowning at the paladin.
"To find their numbers. Identify the leaders. Once they return we can isolate, surround, eliminate."
"You want to reduce our numbers to learn something we'll know in a matter of hours either way?"
"Theo, Fredo has the right of it. We have no information right now but what they've given us." Josephene put a hand on Theodores arm, stalling his frustration. She knew that unless they were to hunt down information for themselves, "Today was just a test, a probe of our strength, and whoever was leading that party knows that the fort has been reinforced. They will strike again, likely tomorrow, and they will come in force this time. A smart commander would not risk that we could be reinforced again."
"Then we stay together-" Theodore started;
"Scouts can be back long before a potential attack and they would bring us vital information that will allow us to prepare for our that." Fredo cut across him.
"And who would lead it?"
"I will!" Fredo was as blunt as his hammer, "Josephene, give me ten men and the same in hours. I will have you more information than you thought you might need."
"Gillaume? Ten men is almost a tenth of our forces, you cannot think-" Theodore made one last attempt.
"I stand with my sister, Theo, and always will. It's her decision." Her brother looked to her. She pointed at a specific ledge she'd picked out as the most likely candidate.
"Choose your ten and take them here. No horses, no more than trail provisions." She said, looking at Fredo, "Otherwise here, or here." He nodded, studying the map, taking note of what she'd written.
"I'll be back before dawn. The god's keep you." He strode from the room, flexing his hands in anticipation of his night's new duties.
Josephene looked from Theo to her brother and back again. Both were tense, as tense as she was, suddenly plunged into an argument none of them had expected the centre of which had already left them.
"Theo, it's for the best."
"I don't agree. I'll stand by you, Josephene, but I don't agree."
"Thank you."
"I don't want your thanks." He stood, picking up his bowl. "I want this not to be the mistake I'm worried it will be."
He left without another word, leaving Josephene and Gillaume alone, just the flickering candlelight and silent maps to keep them company.
"Have you eaten?" She asked quietly, an ill-feeling in her stomach despite its fullness. Gillaume nodded.
"Earlier, when I was touring the men." He reached out to touch her shoulder, pausing to look at her for a moment before speaking again. "We make decisions because we are leaders, Josephene. We might not like it, but even the mighty amongst us will look to us for guidance."
"You were taught to lead, Gillaume, I was trained to fight." She knew what he was saying, but it was a role she had grown into, rather than being born to it. Her lineage had not guaranteed her the respect he garnered.
"And yet we are both royal children. It's a mantle we both wear, even if we do so differently."
"For our Father's sins, I suppose." She forced a smile.
"Oh, I think he has far too many for us to bear." He returned the smile, reaching out to tuck an errant lock behind her ear. "You should rest."
"So should you."
"Oh, I think I'll take a watch before I find my tent. You're the one who has to lead us tomorrow, remember."
"A woman leading one of his precious sons? What would father say?" She laughed at the expression of frustration that fell across his face. "I'll rest, I will. Leave me with my maps a while first."
"Very well, little sister." He said, more warmly this time. "I'll see you on the wall?"
"See you on the wall, brother." She clasped his arm as he clasped hers.
He closed the door behind him. The room was silent again. Stretching out the aches, she hunched over her work again and tried to put her thoughts of Theo and Fredo out of her mind.
---
Dawn found Josephene standing atop the wall walk, cloak wrapped tight around her to ward off the cold. She was alone, except for the handful of guards posted at intervals to keep watch, though none of them had the courage to approach the daughter of a King, even if she was a bastard.
There was mist sitting low in the valley, deep and thick enough to hide everything but the largest of the boulders that were strewn across the bare ground. Still, the sun shone brightly and it would burn off long before it became a problem, or so she hoped.
She heard footsteps coming along the wall and turned, raising a hand in greeting to the grizzled old man walking up to her.
"Josephene." He said, nodding a return of her acknowledgement.
"Thomas. Did you sleep?"
"Enough for what's called for." He leaned on the crenellations, looking out over the valley. The bodies had been removed and the stone drenched with water. Some were still stained an unsubtle brown and the fresh chips and cracks in the stone were still pale. It was obvious, even from the rough stone under hand, that a fierce battle had been fought. "Did you?"
"I was restless. Spent the night worried. It seems I was right to be." She had tossed and turned for hours before she had finally fallen asleep, only to be woken a short while later as she had requested.
"He still hasn't made an appearance?"
"No." She said, a single word encapsulating a world of emotion. Fredo had left as the sun had started to sink behind a mountain with ten hand-picked men. They were cloaked and hooded, equipped only with short weapons and their shields and the barest of provisions, and had disappeared into the gloom without a backward glance.
He had promised a return before dawn, long before, and yet the sky was blue and the sun was beyond rising and there was no sign of the warrior-priest or his group.
"It's too early to fear the worst." The old man said reassuringly.
"I know. He'll have distracted himself in prayer and gotten lost." She chuckled and fought down the faint twinge of nerves. She decided to move the conversation on, if only to save herself any more discomfort, "How are we stocked?"
"Well there's nothing to worry about there, at least. More weapons, food and arrows than we could need in six months, let alone the next few days."
"Double provisions tonight then. I think-" She paused, looking out into the valley, "Do you hear that?"
There was a sound, a distant sound, that carried down the channel that the two mountains made. It was rythmic, pounding, but it wasn't until it grew in volume that Josephene understood it as a drum. It boomed hugely, filling the space the fort occupied. It echoed off the mountain walls that flanked them.
It was cacophonous, growing in scale and scope and hammering so loud it felt like the walls would shake apart. And under the drumming was the sound of marching feet, and the clash of steel on wood. It was thunderous.
"Sound the Alarm!" She shouted suddenly, her thoughts snapping from open-mouthed amazement to action. "Alarm! Troops to the Wall!"
Thomas ran from the crenellations to take the alert to the heart of the fort, even as it heaved itself into action. Josephene watched as the first of the enemy emerged from the mist, rank upon rank of vicious looking warriors, armed with a motley assortment of blades, spikes, mauls and maces. The drums were still hidden but continued sounding, even as the front rank came to a stop with a resounding stamp. The mist was lifting. She'd soon see the scale of the host that faced them.
Soldiers began to file onto the wall, forming a line around her which she stood almost at the centre of. One brought her equipment and she kept a watchful eye on the motionless raiders as she shucked on her mail and strapped her sword to her waist. They seemed more disciplined that the roving bands that had come from the West before, forming ranks more easily, holding from their charge up to the forts sheer face.
They would still fail in their attempts, as their cousins had before them.
She rubbed the bridge of her nose, a habitual gesture she shared with her brother, before she pulled her helmet on. It sat comfortably, but would rub during a fight and she'd often ended up with a sore spot. Her gauntlets went on last, comfortable, well-worn leather topped with mail that protected the back of her hands. With shield in hand it was a heavy load, but well worth it for the times it had turned a blade or caught an arrow that would otherwise have ended her life.
Gillaume joined her on the wall, pulling on his own gauntlets. He looked over the side at the raiders facing them, the gaudily painted shields and the now finally visible line of drums. His face was a picture of grim determination.
"How many?" He asked, quiet enough the troops around them were unlikely to hear.
"More than we."
"It's going to be bloody."
"Aye," Was the only answer she had. A quick scan showed her ladders, rams and other siege equipment that would bring those ruthless butchers over the walls and into the fort. She raised an arm, "Archers Forward!"
The thirty men and women who'd carried bows with the rest of their equipment stepped forwards. They stood ready, arrows knocked on strings, looking out over the valley.
"Ready!"
They raised, drawing the arrows back and putting enough tension into the bows arms to send their deadly payload out and into the warband they faced.
She was fully prepared to drop her arm, to give the command, the send those thirty darts on their way, when Gillaume grabbed her arm.
"Wait… Look!"
There was a commotion in the radier's ranks, mixed sound and movement. They were jeering, she realised, even as they moved out of the way of whatever was passing between them. It was a horrible, mocking sound, guttural and vile. When the front rank parted, the realisation of what was happening stunned her, such that she felt as if someone had nailed her feet to the wall where she stood.
Flanked by two huge, bearded men in armour that looked to be made of overlapping plates, was a small, naked form. Shoved to it's knees, it looked up at the walls in front of it and raised its hands as if praying for benediction.
It only took her a moment to realise that the wretched, battered body was Fredo.
"You will send a champion!" One of the two men shouted, loud and clear enough for the defenders to hear, "Or your man will die!"
How does she respond?
[ ] Josephene will act as champion.
[ ] Send another to be Atria's champion (choose one of Gillaume, Thomas or another)
[ ] Fredo is lost. The fort must hold. Loose the arrows.
[ ] Write in's may be considered.
How should the fort prepare?
[ ] Prepare to attack - To sally forth may surprise them.
[ ] Prepare to hold - The wall must stay strong. No reserves.
[ ] Prepare for a breach - Thin out the wall, the gate will hold.
[ ] Prepare to retreat - Ready the train and open the palisade. We must only delay them.
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Prologue; part 6
4WheelSword
The original N-body Problem
- Pronouns
- It/She/They
Josepehene was reeling, stunned by the sudden flurry of blows to her normally calm composure. The sight of Fredo's ill-treated form, the appearance of such a strong and collected raider band - and their apparent leaders innocuous and seemingly honourable demand as well. All three together had left her shaken.
"Loose the archers," Thomas broke the silence so quietly she wondered if he had even spoken for a moment. She hesitated, looking at him. He would not meet her eyes, staring at their comrades distant shape instead. "Loose the archers, Josephene." He said again, firmly.
She thought about it for a split second, tempted to give the order, to end the argument that was already raging inside her. She owed it to the fort, to the men and women she lead, to Atria herself to allow the archers to fire and fight the battle as they had expected. To allow the enemy to control the progress of the day, to give them the initiative, it could very well be the defenders ruin.
And then the image of Fredo, pierced and punctured by the arrows of his own people, of the Atrian's he professed to pray for and protect, entered her mind and she knew she could never make that choice.
"No." She was as firm as he had been. His face gave no hint of surprise, only determination. "I'll not be the instrument of his execution."
"If you wait too long, it will be as if you gave the order yourself."
"I don't plan to wait."
"You can't mean-"
"Josephene!" Gillaume appeared at the top of the walls stairs, already armed and armoured with his helmet pushed up to rest on his forehead. He rushed over, slowing to a stop as he caught sight of the horde waiting beyond the wall. His face was a perfect mirror of how she felt.
"Is that..?" He asked.
"Fredo," She answered.
"Gods…" He didn't look at her, but at the raiders as his expression changed, jaw set.
"You cannot mean to accept their challenge?" Thomas finished the question that Gillaume had interrupted
"I mean to save my friend's life, Thomas." Josephene was certain she would be able to parley for Fredo's return, even if it put her in danger. At least she would be choosing her fate, unlike the poor man she had sent to his.
"They offer no conditions, no guarantees. There is no trusting them." The old man jabbed a finger at her chest, emphasising each point. "Josephene they have no honour, and if you treat them as if they do you will not return to these walls this day."
Sudden silence reigned as each of the three held their breath. Josephene took a step back. Gillaume looked between them, concerned. Thomas held her gaze.
"He's right, Josephene. You're not going out there-" Gillaume started, breaking through the tension with warm tones.
"Thank you, Gillaume-"
"-I am." He finished.
"If I won't let her, I'm certainly not letting a prince go and back those barbarians alone." Thomas was furious, eyes blazing, beard twitching with every word.
"Neither of you has a say in this!" She put a hand between, forcing them to pay attention to her. "I allowed him to go out on this scouting expedition, it is my fault they have a prisoner with which to parlay at all."
"You are too valuable-"
"I am not a prince, Thomas, just a swordsman with a fortunate birth." She realised how strident her tone was but made no attempt to control it. They had to understand that she would not allow this to become a debate. She had already made her decision, an unavoidable one in her opinion.
"I will convince them to set terms." She said, shifting to a more conciliatory note. "If their leader falls, they will break even if they can bring themselves to attempt an assault."
"And if our leader falls?" Gillaume was studying the ground at his feet intently. His arms were crossed across his broad chest.
"Then the men will look to you, little brother." She reached out to touch the curve of his cheek, to feel his skin under her hands another time.
"Little sister…" He placed his hand over hers, the cold leather of his gauntlets a stark reminder of what they were preparing for, as if she could have forgotten at any point.
"You'll need to prepare for my return." She half-choked out, quashing a sudden upwelling of feelings, recovering her hand and pulling her own gauntlets from where they were tucked into her belt. "I fully expect them to prepare to attack as soon as the gates close behind me, if not sooner."
"What's your plan?" Thomas said, voice business-like once more.
"Between the rams and the ladders, they will breach the walls one way or another. Have the archers man the wall. The rest of the men, keep them in reserve. Respond where necessary, but we must hold the enemy from the rest of the fort at all costs."
"What about the train? The civilians?"
"Barricade them where you can. Arm those who'll take weapons. If it comes to it, they'll fight as hard as any of us." If it came to that, if enough men and women of Atria had fallen that the raiders could break down doors and reach storerooms, then the fort was already as good as lost.
"What do we tell Theodore?" Gillaume asked. The spell-singer would have been preparing himself since the alarm was first sounded, focusing through the clamouring noise so that he could weave his magic.
"Tell him to play merry-hell with them, however he can. I expect the worst winds I've ever seen." Josephene smiled at her brother. He managed a slight one in return. She took a deep breath, and another, glancing out over the crenellations at the gathered host. She'd soon be seeing them a whole lot closer. "I have to go. I doubt they'll wait too long.
---
She'd ordered the fort's great gates closed behind her as soon as she was through them, but she was already halfway across the open ground before they finally slammed. Probably one last act of rebellion on her brother's orders, she thought before focusing herself entirely on the task at hand.
She walked across bare earth, the valley widening out from the fort's wall in a manner that was intended to funnel attackers into a deadly crush of bodies and arrows from the walls. The space was still littered with the dead from the day before, abandoned weapons and ladders half buried in the drying dirt which had been turned into a cloying morass by Theodore's rainstorm. She was glad of it. There was no dust to kick-up which might confuse a duel.
She was dressed for fighting, shield heavy on her arm, but she prayed to all the gods she would need little of it or her sword. Some small part of her still held out for a diplomatic solution. It was unlikely, but even the slightest chance was still worth hoping for.
"Stop there!" A voice shouted, breaking her from her reverie. It echoed back and forth across the valley floor, captured by the sheer mountain sides. She couldn't see the speaker in the front rank of the raiders. It was neither of the two who flanked Fredo. Poor Fredo. He looked worse from where she was standing now, face battered, chest marred by bruises and dried blood. "Name yourself!"
"I am Josephene!" She shouted, putting as much force of will into her voice as she could. To sound like a warrior was to be a warrior, she had always been taught. A crack now would betray her nerves and doom her. They might not even accept her as champion. "Housecarl of Atria! Sword sword to King Stephen and Commander of this fort!"
"A worthy champion then?" The speaker stepped through the front rank, revealing himself to be a man who walked towards her until he was but ten paces away. He was tall, but lithe instead of muscular. His thick, dark hair was cut short, except for the long braid that ran down the back of his head which was brushed forwards over his shoulder. He carried a round shield of the same kind as the rest of his men, and she could see a number of short weapons hanging from his belt. "Carrying titles that would make some men quake in fear." he laughed, a sickly-sweet sound that send a shiver down her spine, "Are you that then, girl? A great champion, willing to lay down your life for a man who pleaded, begged, for mercy?"
"You have your fight. Release him, and face me." Josephene spat through clenched teeth. She found it difficult not to launch herself at the man without another word.
"Did my man say he would be released?"
"It would be honourable." She was suddenly worried. This questioning, this conversation, was nothing like she had expected from their leader. "It would be right."
"It would be right…" He repeated, pausing to stroke a well trimmed beard with his free hand. "He was spying. Wouldn't it have been just as 'right' to kill him when he was dragged before me mewling?"
"You brought him here. You must have wanted more than just another captive."
"I wanted to face you." He said, pointing at her. He grinned when he saw her expression shift "Oh, not you in particular. I do not know you, girl, but someone thinks of you as the best that your defenders have to face me. How could I guarantee that we would meet if I left this to the battle? You might fall long before we had the opportunity to dance."
"Release him."
"Fight me first."
Josephene will;
[ ] Launch herself into a brutal attack (Strength+swordsmanship)
[ ] Fight, but carefully. A tired enemy is a weak enemy (Dexterity+Athletics)
[ ] Fight, but only until Theodore's magic's come into play (Endurance+Strategy)
[ ] Make a last attempt to convince the man (Willpower+Diplomacy)
[ ] Write in, with GM fiat.
"Loose the archers," Thomas broke the silence so quietly she wondered if he had even spoken for a moment. She hesitated, looking at him. He would not meet her eyes, staring at their comrades distant shape instead. "Loose the archers, Josephene." He said again, firmly.
She thought about it for a split second, tempted to give the order, to end the argument that was already raging inside her. She owed it to the fort, to the men and women she lead, to Atria herself to allow the archers to fire and fight the battle as they had expected. To allow the enemy to control the progress of the day, to give them the initiative, it could very well be the defenders ruin.
And then the image of Fredo, pierced and punctured by the arrows of his own people, of the Atrian's he professed to pray for and protect, entered her mind and she knew she could never make that choice.
"No." She was as firm as he had been. His face gave no hint of surprise, only determination. "I'll not be the instrument of his execution."
"If you wait too long, it will be as if you gave the order yourself."
"I don't plan to wait."
"You can't mean-"
"Josephene!" Gillaume appeared at the top of the walls stairs, already armed and armoured with his helmet pushed up to rest on his forehead. He rushed over, slowing to a stop as he caught sight of the horde waiting beyond the wall. His face was a perfect mirror of how she felt.
"Is that..?" He asked.
"Fredo," She answered.
"Gods…" He didn't look at her, but at the raiders as his expression changed, jaw set.
"You cannot mean to accept their challenge?" Thomas finished the question that Gillaume had interrupted
"I mean to save my friend's life, Thomas." Josephene was certain she would be able to parley for Fredo's return, even if it put her in danger. At least she would be choosing her fate, unlike the poor man she had sent to his.
"They offer no conditions, no guarantees. There is no trusting them." The old man jabbed a finger at her chest, emphasising each point. "Josephene they have no honour, and if you treat them as if they do you will not return to these walls this day."
Sudden silence reigned as each of the three held their breath. Josephene took a step back. Gillaume looked between them, concerned. Thomas held her gaze.
"He's right, Josephene. You're not going out there-" Gillaume started, breaking through the tension with warm tones.
"Thank you, Gillaume-"
"-I am." He finished.
"If I won't let her, I'm certainly not letting a prince go and back those barbarians alone." Thomas was furious, eyes blazing, beard twitching with every word.
"Neither of you has a say in this!" She put a hand between, forcing them to pay attention to her. "I allowed him to go out on this scouting expedition, it is my fault they have a prisoner with which to parlay at all."
"You are too valuable-"
"I am not a prince, Thomas, just a swordsman with a fortunate birth." She realised how strident her tone was but made no attempt to control it. They had to understand that she would not allow this to become a debate. She had already made her decision, an unavoidable one in her opinion.
"I will convince them to set terms." She said, shifting to a more conciliatory note. "If their leader falls, they will break even if they can bring themselves to attempt an assault."
"And if our leader falls?" Gillaume was studying the ground at his feet intently. His arms were crossed across his broad chest.
"Then the men will look to you, little brother." She reached out to touch the curve of his cheek, to feel his skin under her hands another time.
"Little sister…" He placed his hand over hers, the cold leather of his gauntlets a stark reminder of what they were preparing for, as if she could have forgotten at any point.
"You'll need to prepare for my return." She half-choked out, quashing a sudden upwelling of feelings, recovering her hand and pulling her own gauntlets from where they were tucked into her belt. "I fully expect them to prepare to attack as soon as the gates close behind me, if not sooner."
"What's your plan?" Thomas said, voice business-like once more.
"Between the rams and the ladders, they will breach the walls one way or another. Have the archers man the wall. The rest of the men, keep them in reserve. Respond where necessary, but we must hold the enemy from the rest of the fort at all costs."
"What about the train? The civilians?"
"Barricade them where you can. Arm those who'll take weapons. If it comes to it, they'll fight as hard as any of us." If it came to that, if enough men and women of Atria had fallen that the raiders could break down doors and reach storerooms, then the fort was already as good as lost.
"What do we tell Theodore?" Gillaume asked. The spell-singer would have been preparing himself since the alarm was first sounded, focusing through the clamouring noise so that he could weave his magic.
"Tell him to play merry-hell with them, however he can. I expect the worst winds I've ever seen." Josephene smiled at her brother. He managed a slight one in return. She took a deep breath, and another, glancing out over the crenellations at the gathered host. She'd soon be seeing them a whole lot closer. "I have to go. I doubt they'll wait too long.
---
She'd ordered the fort's great gates closed behind her as soon as she was through them, but she was already halfway across the open ground before they finally slammed. Probably one last act of rebellion on her brother's orders, she thought before focusing herself entirely on the task at hand.
She walked across bare earth, the valley widening out from the fort's wall in a manner that was intended to funnel attackers into a deadly crush of bodies and arrows from the walls. The space was still littered with the dead from the day before, abandoned weapons and ladders half buried in the drying dirt which had been turned into a cloying morass by Theodore's rainstorm. She was glad of it. There was no dust to kick-up which might confuse a duel.
She was dressed for fighting, shield heavy on her arm, but she prayed to all the gods she would need little of it or her sword. Some small part of her still held out for a diplomatic solution. It was unlikely, but even the slightest chance was still worth hoping for.
"Stop there!" A voice shouted, breaking her from her reverie. It echoed back and forth across the valley floor, captured by the sheer mountain sides. She couldn't see the speaker in the front rank of the raiders. It was neither of the two who flanked Fredo. Poor Fredo. He looked worse from where she was standing now, face battered, chest marred by bruises and dried blood. "Name yourself!"
"I am Josephene!" She shouted, putting as much force of will into her voice as she could. To sound like a warrior was to be a warrior, she had always been taught. A crack now would betray her nerves and doom her. They might not even accept her as champion. "Housecarl of Atria! Sword sword to King Stephen and Commander of this fort!"
"A worthy champion then?" The speaker stepped through the front rank, revealing himself to be a man who walked towards her until he was but ten paces away. He was tall, but lithe instead of muscular. His thick, dark hair was cut short, except for the long braid that ran down the back of his head which was brushed forwards over his shoulder. He carried a round shield of the same kind as the rest of his men, and she could see a number of short weapons hanging from his belt. "Carrying titles that would make some men quake in fear." he laughed, a sickly-sweet sound that send a shiver down her spine, "Are you that then, girl? A great champion, willing to lay down your life for a man who pleaded, begged, for mercy?"
"You have your fight. Release him, and face me." Josephene spat through clenched teeth. She found it difficult not to launch herself at the man without another word.
"Did my man say he would be released?"
"It would be honourable." She was suddenly worried. This questioning, this conversation, was nothing like she had expected from their leader. "It would be right."
"It would be right…" He repeated, pausing to stroke a well trimmed beard with his free hand. "He was spying. Wouldn't it have been just as 'right' to kill him when he was dragged before me mewling?"
"You brought him here. You must have wanted more than just another captive."
"I wanted to face you." He said, pointing at her. He grinned when he saw her expression shift "Oh, not you in particular. I do not know you, girl, but someone thinks of you as the best that your defenders have to face me. How could I guarantee that we would meet if I left this to the battle? You might fall long before we had the opportunity to dance."
"Release him."
"Fight me first."
Josephene will;
[ ] Launch herself into a brutal attack (Strength+swordsmanship)
[ ] Fight, but carefully. A tired enemy is a weak enemy (Dexterity+Athletics)
[ ] Fight, but only until Theodore's magic's come into play (Endurance+Strategy)
[ ] Make a last attempt to convince the man (Willpower+Diplomacy)
[ ] Write in, with GM fiat.
Prologue; part 7
4WheelSword
The original N-body Problem
- Pronouns
- It/She/They
Lips a thin line, frustrated and disappointed at the man's sheer arrogance, Josepehene drew her sword and adopted a cautious fighting stance. Shield held up and close to her body, sword low with the point levelled at the still smiling man, she prepared for his charge.
Instead he stood motionless, eyes fixed on hers, free hand held loosely by his side. His shield was barely in a position that could be called defensive. His whole posture was lacking anything that could be thought of as ready to fight. He was allowing her the initiative, she realised, letting her make the first move. Giving her the chance to make the first mistake. How arrogant could he be, she thought, that he expected a housecarl of Atria to be so foolish.
She would still have to take the first step, however, lest they stand in the cool air in front of their two forces until the sun dipped behind a mountain. And so she stepped, right foot forward, closing the gap.
The first clash came so quickly, happened so purely on an instinctual level, that Josephene barely noticed it. She swung wide and high, a telegraphed strike, testing him. The blow was blocked comfortably with his shield, suddenly between his neck and the edge. A long knife, twelve inches of wickedly sharp iron, was in his hand in the time it took for her to blink and he thrust it between them. She caught it with her own shield.
They both stepped back, eyes locked. He was fast, possibly as fast as she was, and confident as well. She wondered if, perhaps, she had been too quick to label him as arrogant. Even just that first momentary clash was enough to think him skilled.
They met again, a sharp thrust turned by his knife and reversed, his blade caught on the edge of her shield. They pressed for a moment, blades trapped, kite crushed against round. She put her shoulder into the wood and heaved, shoving him off-balance such that he had to step back. He was immediately back on her, trying to find an opening through her strong defence. His knife flicked and flashed, touching the edges of her shield, ringing off her longer, heavier sword.
Breaking again, they circled slowly. She was warm, she realised, already sweating under her armour. The thick padding of her gambeson may have been comforting up on the wall but down here it was suddenly a burden.
He was fast and dangerous, a snake with sharp teeth. But, like a snake, he was almost certain to tire quickly. His strikes would slow and she would be able to run him through. To fight defensively, to wear him down, it could be dangerous as even the slightest scratch from his fangs would likely cost her the battle - and her life.
She let him make the next move but this time she stepped back as he lunged, letting him swing at clear air. A flash of something fiery appeared in his eyes. Perhaps he was finally feeling something other than smug amusement, she thought with a vague sense of dark satisfaction. She once again leapt as he darted in to strike, but this time sideways, leaving him to stumble forwards through the empty air she left behind.
"I wanted a fight, woman." he snapped, teeth bared, "I didn't expect to be facing a coward."
"I thought they'd sent a warrior, friend, not an old man. I'd assumed you would be able to keep up." She laughed back, an anxious chuckle designed to infuriate acting as punctuation. Her athleticism had always been one of her greatest boons when fighting larger, stronger, even more experienced men, and if he couldn't keep up she wasn't going to give him the chance.
"I am Ansovald, and you would do well to bear my name in mind as I kill you." his snarl was venomous as he leapt forwards, shield clattering into her and shunting her onto the back foot before she could respond. His knife snaked one way before darting back the other, a dastardly feint that she was only just able to respond to. She blinked, sweat dripping from under her hood. It was if he'd suddenly found a new reserve of energy, energy she couldn't hope to match.
He hammered at her, flicking through her defences. Twice he almost gutted her, blade skittering off the mail that had saved her life so many times. Her own sword was almost useless, with little time to use it to ward off his blows and none at all to go on the attack.
"Better." he roared, stepping back finally.
Josepehene panted, sweat running down her spine and pooling in the small of her back where her clothes were already soaked through. He barely seemed to be sweating, only a faint flush in his cheeks and a sheen on the muscles that flexed under his skin.
"Release Fredo." She said again, between breaths. He was silent. "Release him!" she said again, almost shouting. She had her sword outstretched, pointed at his head.
"How can you ask that, now?" He circled her, slowly. "How can you think you're going to do anything but die?"
"You haven't won yet."
"No," He said. Something in his voice was almost resigned, "But it's time for that to change."
He backed off another step, tossing his knife away. It clattered off a stone, spinning off into the dirt. In its place he drew a short axe with a long beard, a hook that hung beneath the head.
His charge was not unexpected, shield up and fast. Even so, Josephene only just had time to bring her own between them. She held firm, felt him bounce slightly as he impacted so hard it drove the wind from her chest. Before she could move again, the axe head was between them, beard hooking the edge of her shield and dragging it wide. Her sword came up between them, ready for whatever else he had, but instead he spoke only a single word.
"Evuth"
He drove forwards again, only this time it was with a fire in his eyes. The blow connected, pressing the sharp edge of her sword into her chest, painful even through her mail. It felt like nothing else, as if a pack of horses had ridden into her all at once. She realised, somewhere in the back of her head, that he hadn't just driven her back but had sent her sailing through the air.
Her back slammed into something solid, the wall maybe. She felt something in her break and splinter, even as all her thoughts were claimed by darkness.
What do you seek?
[ ] A chance at glory
[ ] Revenge above all
[ ] To protect mine
[ ] Death's release
[ ] To understand
[ ] Write in
Last edited:
Chapter 1, Awakenings: part 1
4WheelSword
The original N-body Problem
- Pronouns
- It/She/They
"Wake up, young one."
A voice, clear like the water in a mountain stream, trickled into her ear, stirring her. She was slumped forward, a hard, grainy surface pressing against her cheek. Wood, she realised, she was leaning on wood.
"Stir and face us, warrior, have no fear."
Fear? She wasn't feeling any fear, just soreness deep, deep in her bones. She tensed her muscles, moved her fingers, checked everywhere she could without moving more than the slightest twitch but nothing hurt beyond a dull ache. It was strange, she had expected to hurt so much more. Though she hadn't even expected to wake up again, in the last moments before everything had faded.
Josphene opened her eyes, blinking even in the soft glow of what could only be firelight. She pushed palms to surface and inched her way upright with a self-indulgent groan. The chair she was sitting in - and it was a chair, she confirmed with a glance down - was high backed with broad arms, draped in fur. It was remarkably comfortable.
What she saw was almost more surprising than the fact that she felt so well. She was seated at a long table which was covered in luxurious quantities of food and huge jugs of wine and mead which she could smell even from a distance. More interesting than that, though, were the people she was seated with. On the right, two near identical figures whose nature as man or woman she wouldn't have liked to have guessed, but who were leaning against each other heavily, hands clasped with fingers intertwined. On the left, A pair who were clearly man and woman, but who sat as apart from each other as the others were close together. The woman, armoured as if for battle and with a huge blade leaning against her chair, had long black falling from under her helm which framed a pale face. The man was lightly clothed and cloaked, a counterpoint to her bulk, a lute resting opposite her sword.
And lastly, unassumingly, but quite definitely the centrepiece nonetheless, sat a beautiful woman with light brown hair spilling across the golden skin of her shoulders. The woman almost glowed and, had Josephene had been in the position to say anything, she would have been struck dumb. She was dressed in purple silk and there was something about the feeling she radiated that told Josephene the woman was pregnant.
"Welcome, weary one. Eat, please." The woman in purple gestured to the wealth of food and drink in front of her. Josephene just sat in silence. The truth of the situation was slowly dawning on her.
"She's silent, useless. I said as much" the man to her left muttered.
"Quiet, Thunar, she is recovering still."
His name was enough for her to know she had realised the truth. Josephene bowed her head, making her best attempt at showing deference as she could while seated.
"My Lady… My Lords…" She stammered. She was sitting across a simple table from the five who ruled, the gods of Atria and realms beyond. Wulpuz and Wurtiz, the married twins. Katma, with her two handed sword which took souls from their bodies. Thunar, the bard who sang the tales of heroes. And Frijja, mother of all, Queen on highest, the ever-carrying.
She was sitting at a table with the gods.
"Please, young one, we have not asked you here for your obeisance" Frijja's voice was low, soothing. "We watched your battle."
"You're a brave warrior, girl, and true to your oaths." Katma, her voice filled with the depth of ages, added.
"I lost-" She started, doubting herself in the face of divinity.
"You marched in the face of an army to save a life. Even I will admit your courage." Thunar's voice was flat, lacking the melodies that tales described him with.
"You stood for a man sworn to us." The twins, Wulpuz and Wurtiz, spoke together, a blending of tones.
"But I didn't save him." A bolt of guilt and regret lanced through her at the thought of Fredo, left broken. She wondered what had happened to him as she lay broken against the Fort's walls. She didn't like to imagine.
"And still you stood." The twins nodded simultaneously, decisively.
"You couldn't have known it, but the man you faced carries a great evil with him." Frijja's voice turned cold, unsettling. "We can only reach so far when faced with something of this nature. We need a champion of our own."
"We offer you a boon, child, a blessing of our own." The twins said together.
"I could promise you glory in everything you do," Wulpuz spoke alone for the first time and Josephene felt an intense sadness, a feeling of incompleteness.
"Or I could fate you to vengeance against all who might deserve it." Wurtiz's words doubled the feeling.
"What can a mother do, but promise the chance to protect, and be protected in turn," Frijja said, smiling maternally.
"I can teach you all the tales, girl, and write yours as well," Thunar said perfunctorily. He was clearly unenthused about the idea of gifting her his blessing.
"If none of that suits, child." Katma had a wicked smile, teeth showing. "And if our offer strikes your heart with fear. Then I could present you with the release of death unending. The feasts would welcome you, child, if you so wished."
Josephene recoiled from the death gods offer. Death held no fear for her, but it was still far too soon, especially since she was being given the opportunity to make amends for her failings. She would choose another time and time again before she gave herself willingly to her death.
The tales and the knowledge they held were tempting, but hardly compared to what the others offered. Besides, she barely trusted Thunar not to level exceptions to his offer that would make it less helpful than it sounded.
The twins offered glory and revenge separately and nothing together. If she could have taken both, if only for the opportunity for vengeance over the man who had struck her down, the man who had ruined Fredo, then she would have done so without a second thought. She didn't even care particularly for glory, but after hearing them speak alone she couldn't bare the thought of separating them, even if it was only in their kindness.
She looked to Frijja, the smiling women whose hand idly caressed swollen belly. Josephene had failed to in her attempts to protect Fredo. She had left Theodore and Thomas behind. For all she knew, she had lost Guillaume as well, a brother and a prince both. The fort. The men and women she led. In a single duel she had broken so many promises, as much as the gods seemed to find what she had done worthy.
"If I could protect my own… If I could do that, then I could keep fighting." She said, more than a little nervous, looking at the table in front of the Queen on high instead of at her.
"Look to me, young one, and hear me well." Josephene looked up, meeting the gaze of the now golden glowing eyes set in a beautiful face. "For as long as you have my favour, your shield will never break and your blood will spill painlessly. When you stand for your people, your family, your beloved, with nothing at your back I will be with you."
Now go, child, and wake from dreamless sleep. I will be with you.
Josephene came too gasping for breath, sucking in huge lungfuls of air to fill a chest that felt like it hadn't performed that life-sustaining function for days. She followed it with a scream, the pain of her ravaged body overcoming her need to gulp down the ether. She felt she could scream forever, a sound that could pierce the sky escaping her lips until she emptied her lungs again.
She breathed more shallowly from then on.
Slumped at the foot of the castle walls, she groped at herself slowly with her free hand. Nothing felt broken until she reached her chest, where a gentle prod led to a pain that made her vision go white and left her panting again. Her ribs were broken, that was for sure, but it seemed she had survived with little else in the way of wounds. Even her shield was still on her arm, looking as if it was fresh from being repaired, though her sword and helmet appeared to have gone missing.
She stood gingerly, using the wall and her shield to support her, clutching at it as her head span. A wave of nausea washed up from her stomach and she retched, emptying what little remained onto the dry ground. It burned her throat and her eyes watered. She doubted she'd ever felt as wretched.
The valley in front of the fort was littered with bodies, more than there had been when she'd fallen. It was dawn, the sun rising over the mountains just as it had been when she'd fallen. She'd lost at least a day to her sleep, but she felt so weak that it could easily have been more.
Stumbling along the wall, Josephene found the gates she had walked through to her fate hanging wide open. One was smashed, oak beams shattered and lying in the mud. The rams she'd seen had been put to good use then. The inside of the fort was as perfect a demonstration of the brutality of the battle she had missed. There were bodies, both Atrian and raider, scattered everywhere. They'd been left, not piled or burned as the Atrian forces would have done, which meant only one thing. Although that should have been obvious from the open gates and lack of challenge, she realised. She was not at her best.
She hesitated from hunting through the bodies of the fallen for the bodies of her brother or her friends. Either she would learn eventually of their fate or they had survived and made good on a retreat. Finding their remains would only impede her ability to do what she needed to do.
Instead, she went looking for supplies. She had left the fort for a fight, not for a journey, but she would now have to prepare for the latter. A short axe and a long knife found their way into her belt, useful tools as much as they were weapons. A bow joined the shield on her back, to be used for hunting when her chest had healed to the point where she could draw it. In a storeroom, the door of which was initially blocked by the bodies of the dead, she filled a pack with food that would last.
The Palisade at the rear of the fort was half collapsed, torn down seemingly for firewood, or so it seemed from the remains of large fires that marred the ground near it. Leaning against the doorless gate, Josepehene looked down the slopes that led into Atria proper. It looked peaceful from here, green and good stretching out from where the mountain ended and the forests began. If there was anything further from the truth then that was it, since the raiders must have marched into the kingdom proper. She would have to be careful in her journey.
But where to go?
[ ] Directly to the Capital, she must return to court.
[ ] The nearest village, a long journey is beyond her.
[ ] West, into the plains beyond the mountains.
[ ] Write in.
A voice, clear like the water in a mountain stream, trickled into her ear, stirring her. She was slumped forward, a hard, grainy surface pressing against her cheek. Wood, she realised, she was leaning on wood.
"Stir and face us, warrior, have no fear."
Fear? She wasn't feeling any fear, just soreness deep, deep in her bones. She tensed her muscles, moved her fingers, checked everywhere she could without moving more than the slightest twitch but nothing hurt beyond a dull ache. It was strange, she had expected to hurt so much more. Though she hadn't even expected to wake up again, in the last moments before everything had faded.
Josphene opened her eyes, blinking even in the soft glow of what could only be firelight. She pushed palms to surface and inched her way upright with a self-indulgent groan. The chair she was sitting in - and it was a chair, she confirmed with a glance down - was high backed with broad arms, draped in fur. It was remarkably comfortable.
What she saw was almost more surprising than the fact that she felt so well. She was seated at a long table which was covered in luxurious quantities of food and huge jugs of wine and mead which she could smell even from a distance. More interesting than that, though, were the people she was seated with. On the right, two near identical figures whose nature as man or woman she wouldn't have liked to have guessed, but who were leaning against each other heavily, hands clasped with fingers intertwined. On the left, A pair who were clearly man and woman, but who sat as apart from each other as the others were close together. The woman, armoured as if for battle and with a huge blade leaning against her chair, had long black falling from under her helm which framed a pale face. The man was lightly clothed and cloaked, a counterpoint to her bulk, a lute resting opposite her sword.
And lastly, unassumingly, but quite definitely the centrepiece nonetheless, sat a beautiful woman with light brown hair spilling across the golden skin of her shoulders. The woman almost glowed and, had Josephene had been in the position to say anything, she would have been struck dumb. She was dressed in purple silk and there was something about the feeling she radiated that told Josephene the woman was pregnant.
"Welcome, weary one. Eat, please." The woman in purple gestured to the wealth of food and drink in front of her. Josephene just sat in silence. The truth of the situation was slowly dawning on her.
"She's silent, useless. I said as much" the man to her left muttered.
"Quiet, Thunar, she is recovering still."
His name was enough for her to know she had realised the truth. Josephene bowed her head, making her best attempt at showing deference as she could while seated.
"My Lady… My Lords…" She stammered. She was sitting across a simple table from the five who ruled, the gods of Atria and realms beyond. Wulpuz and Wurtiz, the married twins. Katma, with her two handed sword which took souls from their bodies. Thunar, the bard who sang the tales of heroes. And Frijja, mother of all, Queen on highest, the ever-carrying.
She was sitting at a table with the gods.
"Please, young one, we have not asked you here for your obeisance" Frijja's voice was low, soothing. "We watched your battle."
"You're a brave warrior, girl, and true to your oaths." Katma, her voice filled with the depth of ages, added.
"I lost-" She started, doubting herself in the face of divinity.
"You marched in the face of an army to save a life. Even I will admit your courage." Thunar's voice was flat, lacking the melodies that tales described him with.
"You stood for a man sworn to us." The twins, Wulpuz and Wurtiz, spoke together, a blending of tones.
"But I didn't save him." A bolt of guilt and regret lanced through her at the thought of Fredo, left broken. She wondered what had happened to him as she lay broken against the Fort's walls. She didn't like to imagine.
"And still you stood." The twins nodded simultaneously, decisively.
"You couldn't have known it, but the man you faced carries a great evil with him." Frijja's voice turned cold, unsettling. "We can only reach so far when faced with something of this nature. We need a champion of our own."
"We offer you a boon, child, a blessing of our own." The twins said together.
"I could promise you glory in everything you do," Wulpuz spoke alone for the first time and Josephene felt an intense sadness, a feeling of incompleteness.
"Or I could fate you to vengeance against all who might deserve it." Wurtiz's words doubled the feeling.
"What can a mother do, but promise the chance to protect, and be protected in turn," Frijja said, smiling maternally.
"I can teach you all the tales, girl, and write yours as well," Thunar said perfunctorily. He was clearly unenthused about the idea of gifting her his blessing.
"If none of that suits, child." Katma had a wicked smile, teeth showing. "And if our offer strikes your heart with fear. Then I could present you with the release of death unending. The feasts would welcome you, child, if you so wished."
Josephene recoiled from the death gods offer. Death held no fear for her, but it was still far too soon, especially since she was being given the opportunity to make amends for her failings. She would choose another time and time again before she gave herself willingly to her death.
The tales and the knowledge they held were tempting, but hardly compared to what the others offered. Besides, she barely trusted Thunar not to level exceptions to his offer that would make it less helpful than it sounded.
The twins offered glory and revenge separately and nothing together. If she could have taken both, if only for the opportunity for vengeance over the man who had struck her down, the man who had ruined Fredo, then she would have done so without a second thought. She didn't even care particularly for glory, but after hearing them speak alone she couldn't bare the thought of separating them, even if it was only in their kindness.
She looked to Frijja, the smiling women whose hand idly caressed swollen belly. Josephene had failed to in her attempts to protect Fredo. She had left Theodore and Thomas behind. For all she knew, she had lost Guillaume as well, a brother and a prince both. The fort. The men and women she led. In a single duel she had broken so many promises, as much as the gods seemed to find what she had done worthy.
"If I could protect my own… If I could do that, then I could keep fighting." She said, more than a little nervous, looking at the table in front of the Queen on high instead of at her.
"Look to me, young one, and hear me well." Josephene looked up, meeting the gaze of the now golden glowing eyes set in a beautiful face. "For as long as you have my favour, your shield will never break and your blood will spill painlessly. When you stand for your people, your family, your beloved, with nothing at your back I will be with you."
Now go, child, and wake from dreamless sleep. I will be with you.
Josephene came too gasping for breath, sucking in huge lungfuls of air to fill a chest that felt like it hadn't performed that life-sustaining function for days. She followed it with a scream, the pain of her ravaged body overcoming her need to gulp down the ether. She felt she could scream forever, a sound that could pierce the sky escaping her lips until she emptied her lungs again.
She breathed more shallowly from then on.
Slumped at the foot of the castle walls, she groped at herself slowly with her free hand. Nothing felt broken until she reached her chest, where a gentle prod led to a pain that made her vision go white and left her panting again. Her ribs were broken, that was for sure, but it seemed she had survived with little else in the way of wounds. Even her shield was still on her arm, looking as if it was fresh from being repaired, though her sword and helmet appeared to have gone missing.
She stood gingerly, using the wall and her shield to support her, clutching at it as her head span. A wave of nausea washed up from her stomach and she retched, emptying what little remained onto the dry ground. It burned her throat and her eyes watered. She doubted she'd ever felt as wretched.
The valley in front of the fort was littered with bodies, more than there had been when she'd fallen. It was dawn, the sun rising over the mountains just as it had been when she'd fallen. She'd lost at least a day to her sleep, but she felt so weak that it could easily have been more.
Stumbling along the wall, Josephene found the gates she had walked through to her fate hanging wide open. One was smashed, oak beams shattered and lying in the mud. The rams she'd seen had been put to good use then. The inside of the fort was as perfect a demonstration of the brutality of the battle she had missed. There were bodies, both Atrian and raider, scattered everywhere. They'd been left, not piled or burned as the Atrian forces would have done, which meant only one thing. Although that should have been obvious from the open gates and lack of challenge, she realised. She was not at her best.
She hesitated from hunting through the bodies of the fallen for the bodies of her brother or her friends. Either she would learn eventually of their fate or they had survived and made good on a retreat. Finding their remains would only impede her ability to do what she needed to do.
Instead, she went looking for supplies. She had left the fort for a fight, not for a journey, but she would now have to prepare for the latter. A short axe and a long knife found their way into her belt, useful tools as much as they were weapons. A bow joined the shield on her back, to be used for hunting when her chest had healed to the point where she could draw it. In a storeroom, the door of which was initially blocked by the bodies of the dead, she filled a pack with food that would last.
The Palisade at the rear of the fort was half collapsed, torn down seemingly for firewood, or so it seemed from the remains of large fires that marred the ground near it. Leaning against the doorless gate, Josepehene looked down the slopes that led into Atria proper. It looked peaceful from here, green and good stretching out from where the mountain ended and the forests began. If there was anything further from the truth then that was it, since the raiders must have marched into the kingdom proper. She would have to be careful in her journey.
But where to go?
[ ] Directly to the Capital, she must return to court.
[ ] The nearest village, a long journey is beyond her.
[ ] West, into the plains beyond the mountains.
[ ] Write in.
Last edited:
Chapter 1, Awakenings: Part 2
4WheelSword
The original N-body Problem
- Pronouns
- It/She/They
Outside the keep's Eastern ruined gates the path down the mountain dropped quickly away. It was broad and wide, and on the way up - accompanied by more than a hundred souls now lost to her - it had not seemed the most difficult trek. The way down was almost entirely different. Where it had seemed well maintained and well marched, now it was if Josephene couldn't go three paces without tripping over a rock or stumbling, her toe stuck in some unseen crevice which threatened to tip her over.
Every jolt, every time she caught herself, a bolt of blinding pain went soaring across her chest and up into her right shoulder. Something was certainly broken inside of her, and it was only getting worse as she made her way downhill. She could only hope that whatever it was didn't worsen to the point of self-destruction before she could reach the nearest village.
If she remembered rightly, that would be Monfleur. It had been one of their last camp sites before they had made it to the fort however many nights before, and the locals had brought fresh bread and wine out to Josephene and her companions. The memory was sudden and sharp, a rush of clear images of the men she'd shared so much of her life with. It was followed by a wave of sadness as she realised that one or more of them might now be lying dead in the fort, or in some stretch of grassland on the journey back to the Capital. Fredo almost certainly was.
It was the reason she hadn't looked for Gillaume. If she had searched for him, if she had found some broken and battered remnant of her brother, then she would be forced to face the truth that he was dead. For as long as she had no confirmation that he had come face to face with Katma - in a more permanent way than she had - then she could convince herself that he had survived and would be waiting for her when she got back to Raeen.
She brushed away the thoughts and focused on walking as gently as possible, grimacing with almost every step. The village was at least four hours walk away, though it could be six or even more with the pace she was managing. While she hoped to find shelter, food and possibly even a mount, it would be approaching sun-down by the time she reached the village's outskirts.
She couldn't build a shelter in the state she was in, and without that, her condition would only worsen. If she didn't reach Monfleur, she worried about what would happen.
It was not only approaching sun-down but had long since passed into nightfall by the time she finally caught sight of the village. By that point, every step was agony and she wanted to rest so badly it was testing her sanity just to keep moving. But the sight of the settlement in the distance was just enough to keep her on her feet.
The village lay at the base of a hill, on the banks of the river Ebel. Where it passed the village, so close to the mountains, it was barely more than a flooded stream. Further downstream, as it wound its way through the Capital and the countryside beyond, it became the broad, dark flow that she had known all her life. If she remembered rightly, it was little more than a farming community with a temple to Frijja and a marketplace barely big enough for four oxen. It's only true notability was its proximity to the Westing Forts.
From the top of the next hill over, it looked for all the world like any village in Atria as night fell. Lanterns lit, it was a glowing beacon against the horizon, though it could scarcely match the intensity of the signal beacons at Armand's Fort. But, as she staggered down one slope and up the next, she realised that not all of the light was from lanterns.
Whatever had struck the town had done so with a viciousness she had not seen in all the border wars she had fought. Not only were battles against Atria's neighbour-kingdoms common, but it was not rare that Josephene had been called upon to quash the revolt of some Baron or Duke with ideas far beyond his station and hungry eyes upon the throne of her Father. But in those wars, the countryside was protected. The people were the army, and villages were their livelihoods. A siege might ruin a city, but there was little point in sacking a village of farmers where all the wealth was tied up in a temple nobody dared profane.
Here it was a different story. The village had been savaged by whatever group had come through the area, presumably the raiders that had bested her and her soldiers at the fort. Everywhere she looked there were buildings in ruins. Some had been put to the torch, others had their roofs caved in by some unknown method. Only a bare few had been left standing, seemingly untouched, clustered around the spires of the temple as if its divinity had been the cause of their salvation.
There were a scarce few pyres as well. Bodies, charred black, had obviously been piled for burning and then set ablaze. She wondered since she had seen no attempt to do anything of the sort at the site of the battle, f it had been done after the raiders had come. If, then, it had been the survivors of the sack who had piled the bodies of their dead and lit them to bring their souls to Katma's notice. It couldn't possibly have been a pleasant task.
Embers still glowed amongst the ruined buildings where they had been burned, and those that were still standing were lit up far beyond the norm. Lanterns hung on every available hook. Windows were boarded, doors surely barricaded from the inside. As she staggered into the marketplace, she went entirely unchallenged from any corner. The entire place was deathly silent. It was unnerving to the point of nervousness, a shiver creeping across her night-cooled skin.
"Hello?" She called as she reached the stone that marked the centre of the village, leaning against it heavily. There was a pool of water in a basin carved from the stone. It was all too tempting to a woman who'd barely let a drop pass her lips since she left the fort behind and she quickly cupped some of the deliciously cool liquid in her hand and raised it to her lips. It trickled down her chin, splattering on the ground at her feet.
"Hello?!" She called again, louder this time. A commotion from behind a boarded window drew her attention to a building that may have once served as a traveler's rest stop but was apparently now a refuge. "If there's someone there, I need some help."
"We'll not fall for your trap, you bastards!" A voice shouted back.
How do you respond?
[ ] Open the door, in the name of the King!
[ ] Please, I'm hurt and I need help.
[ ] Fine. (Search the ruins for supplies and move on).
[ ] Go to the temple instead and beseech Frijja for salvation.
[ ] Write in.
Every jolt, every time she caught herself, a bolt of blinding pain went soaring across her chest and up into her right shoulder. Something was certainly broken inside of her, and it was only getting worse as she made her way downhill. She could only hope that whatever it was didn't worsen to the point of self-destruction before she could reach the nearest village.
If she remembered rightly, that would be Monfleur. It had been one of their last camp sites before they had made it to the fort however many nights before, and the locals had brought fresh bread and wine out to Josephene and her companions. The memory was sudden and sharp, a rush of clear images of the men she'd shared so much of her life with. It was followed by a wave of sadness as she realised that one or more of them might now be lying dead in the fort, or in some stretch of grassland on the journey back to the Capital. Fredo almost certainly was.
It was the reason she hadn't looked for Gillaume. If she had searched for him, if she had found some broken and battered remnant of her brother, then she would be forced to face the truth that he was dead. For as long as she had no confirmation that he had come face to face with Katma - in a more permanent way than she had - then she could convince herself that he had survived and would be waiting for her when she got back to Raeen.
She brushed away the thoughts and focused on walking as gently as possible, grimacing with almost every step. The village was at least four hours walk away, though it could be six or even more with the pace she was managing. While she hoped to find shelter, food and possibly even a mount, it would be approaching sun-down by the time she reached the village's outskirts.
She couldn't build a shelter in the state she was in, and without that, her condition would only worsen. If she didn't reach Monfleur, she worried about what would happen.
It was not only approaching sun-down but had long since passed into nightfall by the time she finally caught sight of the village. By that point, every step was agony and she wanted to rest so badly it was testing her sanity just to keep moving. But the sight of the settlement in the distance was just enough to keep her on her feet.
The village lay at the base of a hill, on the banks of the river Ebel. Where it passed the village, so close to the mountains, it was barely more than a flooded stream. Further downstream, as it wound its way through the Capital and the countryside beyond, it became the broad, dark flow that she had known all her life. If she remembered rightly, it was little more than a farming community with a temple to Frijja and a marketplace barely big enough for four oxen. It's only true notability was its proximity to the Westing Forts.
From the top of the next hill over, it looked for all the world like any village in Atria as night fell. Lanterns lit, it was a glowing beacon against the horizon, though it could scarcely match the intensity of the signal beacons at Armand's Fort. But, as she staggered down one slope and up the next, she realised that not all of the light was from lanterns.
Whatever had struck the town had done so with a viciousness she had not seen in all the border wars she had fought. Not only were battles against Atria's neighbour-kingdoms common, but it was not rare that Josephene had been called upon to quash the revolt of some Baron or Duke with ideas far beyond his station and hungry eyes upon the throne of her Father. But in those wars, the countryside was protected. The people were the army, and villages were their livelihoods. A siege might ruin a city, but there was little point in sacking a village of farmers where all the wealth was tied up in a temple nobody dared profane.
Here it was a different story. The village had been savaged by whatever group had come through the area, presumably the raiders that had bested her and her soldiers at the fort. Everywhere she looked there were buildings in ruins. Some had been put to the torch, others had their roofs caved in by some unknown method. Only a bare few had been left standing, seemingly untouched, clustered around the spires of the temple as if its divinity had been the cause of their salvation.
There were a scarce few pyres as well. Bodies, charred black, had obviously been piled for burning and then set ablaze. She wondered since she had seen no attempt to do anything of the sort at the site of the battle, f it had been done after the raiders had come. If, then, it had been the survivors of the sack who had piled the bodies of their dead and lit them to bring their souls to Katma's notice. It couldn't possibly have been a pleasant task.
Embers still glowed amongst the ruined buildings where they had been burned, and those that were still standing were lit up far beyond the norm. Lanterns hung on every available hook. Windows were boarded, doors surely barricaded from the inside. As she staggered into the marketplace, she went entirely unchallenged from any corner. The entire place was deathly silent. It was unnerving to the point of nervousness, a shiver creeping across her night-cooled skin.
"Hello?" She called as she reached the stone that marked the centre of the village, leaning against it heavily. There was a pool of water in a basin carved from the stone. It was all too tempting to a woman who'd barely let a drop pass her lips since she left the fort behind and she quickly cupped some of the deliciously cool liquid in her hand and raised it to her lips. It trickled down her chin, splattering on the ground at her feet.
"Hello?!" She called again, louder this time. A commotion from behind a boarded window drew her attention to a building that may have once served as a traveler's rest stop but was apparently now a refuge. "If there's someone there, I need some help."
"We'll not fall for your trap, you bastards!" A voice shouted back.
How do you respond?
[ ] Open the door, in the name of the King!
[ ] Please, I'm hurt and I need help.
[ ] Fine. (Search the ruins for supplies and move on).
[ ] Go to the temple instead and beseech Frijja for salvation.
[ ] Write in.
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Chapter 1, Awakenings: Part 3
4WheelSword
The original N-body Problem
- Pronouns
- It/She/They
"This is no trap!" She called back, voice catching as a lancing pain made her vision go white. She had to get them to see the truth of it, but it seemed her pleas were having no impact. It made sense, really, that they would be distrustful of the wounded voice in the dark. She would have been in their position. The hurt wanderer, carrying poison, or weapons, or simply to hold the door open for her sharp blade carrying compatriots hiding out in the dark. It was the stuff of bad adventure stories told around campfires and tavern tables.
But she had another choice than simply playing on their pity. The signet ring on her finger, a mark of her patronage and parentage both, would prove her as a servant of the royal house of Antia.
"In the name of King Stephen, you will open this door!" She said loud enough for her voice to carry, filling her voice with every shred of command and determination she could summon up. In her own head she sounded weak, a cold and hungry child keening for salvation. She hoped they wouldn't hear what she did.
There was a long, near silent, wait after she spoke. She felt encouraged that she wasn't immediately dismissed, but what could the wait mean. Were they arguing? Discussing whether to let her in or cut her down or simply leave her to die on their doorstep…
She wouldn't give them the chance. She wasn't going to die here when safety was just ten yards and a barricaded door away. She walked forwards, shield hanging from her arm and-
As she reached the door, prepared to furiously hammer on it in frustration, it opened. Dim light spilled from inside, as did warmth and the smell of something which could only have been cooking meat.
"The king?" A small voice asked.
"The king." She confirmed gratefully, but when she made to enter the door was held firm, open just enough to speak around it.
"Who are you to offer the name of King Stephen?" The voice was still suspicious, filled with doubt.
"I am his Housecarl. My sword is sworn to him." She held out her right fist slowly, gold signet glinting in the light coming from the doorway. More waiting, shivering with the sun now completely gone from the sky.
"Come on." The voice said, the door swinging open fully this time. Josephene staggered through the doorway and into the comparative warmth of the building.
It was long, low, and while lit it was not bright. She counted at least ten faces in a single quick look around, most bundled in furs or blankets. A large fire dominated, over which hung pots in which something unidentifiable was bubbling. And still, there was the overwhelming smell of cooking meat, a smell which made her stomach rumble almost audibly.
More pressing were the three nearest people who closed in on her as the door swung shut. One dropped a bar across the door before backing up, a long blade held out so the tip wavered far too close to Josephene's skin for her to be comfortable. The holder was young, a woman by assumption, with a floor length cloak covering all but her arm and her face. The second was a man, robed in ochre and azure. She'd have bet her meager fortune on his being a priest, though what he was doing away from his temple she wouldn't like to guess. She had seen what must have been his usual domain from the square, dark and silent. A temple so quiet was a horrible thing.
The third of them was another man, older, bearded and tired. He had no distinguishing marks that allowed her to assess him. That worried her more than either of the other two possibly could manage. He was unassuming. The unassuming were almost always the most dangerous.
Still, even so, she was as safe as she was going to be for the next few hours. Her shield hit the floor moments before her pack did and she stretched as the great weight was suddenly lifted. A wince at the pain that chose that moment to strike was unavoidable.
"You're hurt?" The young priest's face went from caution to concern in the time it took for her to straighten up again.
"My chest," she nodded, hand reaching for her side.
"Come here," he said, "I have salves."
"Father, don't be too trusting-" The girl started,
"She's a king's man, girl, any could see that." The older bearded man cut her off, shooting her a foul look.
The priest led her to sit beside the fire and she spent a moment enjoying the heat that came crackling off the desultory flame. It was lacking, the pile of wood beside it even more so, but it was marvelous for a woman who had spent hours exposed to the elements. He pulled several of the pots down from above the fire, removing small lids and sniffing at their contents. Finally, he settled on two of them and motioned for her to remove her clothes.
She was glad that she'd crawled out of the mail back at the fort if only so that she wouldn't have to go through that humiliating shuffle in front of people. Instead, she was able to simply peel her tunic off of sweat-stained skin and pull it up under her arms.
The salve he rubbed into the side of her chest was bitterly cold despite having been hanging over the fire. The smell of mint hit her nose so strongly if felt like somebody had pushed crushed leaves directly up her nose. But, nonetheless, it was soothing. The coolness sank into her skin and numbed the soreness below.
It was a short lived relief though, as the priest pulled a roll of cloth from somewhere within his robes. They were flowing, but she hadn't realised they were so voluminous as to be a hiding place for a healers materials. These he wound slowly around her chest, pulled tight to keep her broken ribs in place. It hurt. In fact, it hurt a hell of a lot, but it meant that she would be able to carry on her journey without putting herself in any danger simply by walking. She'd seen a man die as he suffocated on his own blood when a lung was punctured and she'd sworn then that she'd never go out that way.
"D'you have food?" She asked as he finished his work. Feeling the twinge as she shifted, she might have wished for the healing hands of a mage from the Capital but it was the best she was going to find out here in rural Atria.
"We have some stew, I think. Martin?" The priest turned to the older man. A bowl was thrust in front of her which held a small amount of what might have been considered stew or may have been boiled water with unidentifiable lumps of something in it. She dug in despite her concerns, hunger outweighing uncertainty.
"I thought I smelled meat, father," Josephene said, chewing hungrily on what she'd been given.
"Oh-"
"It's flesh." The youngest woman said, dropping onto the floor beside the fire. "They burned our village. Burned us." She dropped the cloak that covered her arm, revealing the yellowing bandages that were tied around it. "I'm not the only one, or the worst."
She felt suddenly nauseous, putting her bowl down and pushing it away. She'd been considering some of the dried meat that was buried in her pack, but suddenly it seemed a poor choice of snack.
A change of suspect might be a better choice, she thought.
"Do you know who they were?"
"Barely an idea. We've seen raiders before, now and then, or so my Pa said. I barely remember the last time, but Martin does." The girl motioned to the older man.
"They're not like the ones before. Used to be we'd put up a fight, they'd attack the smaller hamlets and farmhouses. We had to be tough to survive here, closest to the forts. But they came harder this time. When the men who stood too fell, they started putting torches to everything. Killed most. We're pretty much all that's left of Monfleur." The old man got down on his haunches and poked at the fire with a stick, making it flare for a moment. His face was grim. All of their faces were grim.
"Where were you?" The girl asked, voice tinged with venom, "Where was the King, or his armies? I thought you were supposed to defend us from raiders? If you're his sword, why didn't you stop them?"
"Ester-"
"What." She snapped at the old man, bitterness now clear as day.
There was a beat, a moment of quiet. Josephene looked from the girl to the man, to the priest, and back to the girl. She went over the last two days and everything that had happened, everything she had a feeling she'd lost.
"I was at the forts." Josephene said simply, "At the wall."
The silence went on, broken only by the crackling of the fire and the sounds of human life packed into a small room. She shifted, uncomfortable even with the salve and the bandages. This was not what she had hoped to find in reaching civilization. The mistrust. The wounded and the dead. The pain and suffering.
"Why haven't you left?" it was a question that had been pressing on her mind almost since she'd found people still here. It may have only been a day since the raiders came, but even so. Most refugees would make their way to the capital. As the girl - Ester - had said, this had happened many times before.
"It's too dangerous." Martin tugged at his beard, "it's barely been a day. Who's to say they're not waiting out there to turn us into sport."
"I made it here well enough."
"You're a wounded woman. How much sport could you be."
"And you're an old man, how much could you be." Ester gestured wildly with her blade, frowning at Martin. "What about you, Housecarl of Atria? What will you do?"
"I need to make the capital. If my Father is still in Raeen he'll need me by his side."
"In the morning perhaps. You need to rest moreso than any of us." The priest said quietly.
The girl looked from the priest to Martin and back to Josephene.
"Let me come with you. If I can see the king, I can petition him for aid. Martin, Monfleur needs that much." She paused, a wicked grin crossing her face, "And anyway, you're hurt, you'll need another blade if anything happens."
Do you let her?
[ ] You're needed here. I leave in the morning. (Kind, no).
[ ] I'd rather take the priest. I leave tomorrow. (Dismissive, no).
[ ] If you insist. We'll leave at first light. (Uncertain, yes).
[ ] I could always do with another pair of hands. (Kind, yes).
[ ] Write in.
But she had another choice than simply playing on their pity. The signet ring on her finger, a mark of her patronage and parentage both, would prove her as a servant of the royal house of Antia.
"In the name of King Stephen, you will open this door!" She said loud enough for her voice to carry, filling her voice with every shred of command and determination she could summon up. In her own head she sounded weak, a cold and hungry child keening for salvation. She hoped they wouldn't hear what she did.
There was a long, near silent, wait after she spoke. She felt encouraged that she wasn't immediately dismissed, but what could the wait mean. Were they arguing? Discussing whether to let her in or cut her down or simply leave her to die on their doorstep…
She wouldn't give them the chance. She wasn't going to die here when safety was just ten yards and a barricaded door away. She walked forwards, shield hanging from her arm and-
As she reached the door, prepared to furiously hammer on it in frustration, it opened. Dim light spilled from inside, as did warmth and the smell of something which could only have been cooking meat.
"The king?" A small voice asked.
"The king." She confirmed gratefully, but when she made to enter the door was held firm, open just enough to speak around it.
"Who are you to offer the name of King Stephen?" The voice was still suspicious, filled with doubt.
"I am his Housecarl. My sword is sworn to him." She held out her right fist slowly, gold signet glinting in the light coming from the doorway. More waiting, shivering with the sun now completely gone from the sky.
"Come on." The voice said, the door swinging open fully this time. Josephene staggered through the doorway and into the comparative warmth of the building.
It was long, low, and while lit it was not bright. She counted at least ten faces in a single quick look around, most bundled in furs or blankets. A large fire dominated, over which hung pots in which something unidentifiable was bubbling. And still, there was the overwhelming smell of cooking meat, a smell which made her stomach rumble almost audibly.
More pressing were the three nearest people who closed in on her as the door swung shut. One dropped a bar across the door before backing up, a long blade held out so the tip wavered far too close to Josephene's skin for her to be comfortable. The holder was young, a woman by assumption, with a floor length cloak covering all but her arm and her face. The second was a man, robed in ochre and azure. She'd have bet her meager fortune on his being a priest, though what he was doing away from his temple she wouldn't like to guess. She had seen what must have been his usual domain from the square, dark and silent. A temple so quiet was a horrible thing.
The third of them was another man, older, bearded and tired. He had no distinguishing marks that allowed her to assess him. That worried her more than either of the other two possibly could manage. He was unassuming. The unassuming were almost always the most dangerous.
Still, even so, she was as safe as she was going to be for the next few hours. Her shield hit the floor moments before her pack did and she stretched as the great weight was suddenly lifted. A wince at the pain that chose that moment to strike was unavoidable.
"You're hurt?" The young priest's face went from caution to concern in the time it took for her to straighten up again.
"My chest," she nodded, hand reaching for her side.
"Come here," he said, "I have salves."
"Father, don't be too trusting-" The girl started,
"She's a king's man, girl, any could see that." The older bearded man cut her off, shooting her a foul look.
The priest led her to sit beside the fire and she spent a moment enjoying the heat that came crackling off the desultory flame. It was lacking, the pile of wood beside it even more so, but it was marvelous for a woman who had spent hours exposed to the elements. He pulled several of the pots down from above the fire, removing small lids and sniffing at their contents. Finally, he settled on two of them and motioned for her to remove her clothes.
She was glad that she'd crawled out of the mail back at the fort if only so that she wouldn't have to go through that humiliating shuffle in front of people. Instead, she was able to simply peel her tunic off of sweat-stained skin and pull it up under her arms.
The salve he rubbed into the side of her chest was bitterly cold despite having been hanging over the fire. The smell of mint hit her nose so strongly if felt like somebody had pushed crushed leaves directly up her nose. But, nonetheless, it was soothing. The coolness sank into her skin and numbed the soreness below.
It was a short lived relief though, as the priest pulled a roll of cloth from somewhere within his robes. They were flowing, but she hadn't realised they were so voluminous as to be a hiding place for a healers materials. These he wound slowly around her chest, pulled tight to keep her broken ribs in place. It hurt. In fact, it hurt a hell of a lot, but it meant that she would be able to carry on her journey without putting herself in any danger simply by walking. She'd seen a man die as he suffocated on his own blood when a lung was punctured and she'd sworn then that she'd never go out that way.
"D'you have food?" She asked as he finished his work. Feeling the twinge as she shifted, she might have wished for the healing hands of a mage from the Capital but it was the best she was going to find out here in rural Atria.
"We have some stew, I think. Martin?" The priest turned to the older man. A bowl was thrust in front of her which held a small amount of what might have been considered stew or may have been boiled water with unidentifiable lumps of something in it. She dug in despite her concerns, hunger outweighing uncertainty.
"I thought I smelled meat, father," Josephene said, chewing hungrily on what she'd been given.
"Oh-"
"It's flesh." The youngest woman said, dropping onto the floor beside the fire. "They burned our village. Burned us." She dropped the cloak that covered her arm, revealing the yellowing bandages that were tied around it. "I'm not the only one, or the worst."
She felt suddenly nauseous, putting her bowl down and pushing it away. She'd been considering some of the dried meat that was buried in her pack, but suddenly it seemed a poor choice of snack.
A change of suspect might be a better choice, she thought.
"Do you know who they were?"
"Barely an idea. We've seen raiders before, now and then, or so my Pa said. I barely remember the last time, but Martin does." The girl motioned to the older man.
"They're not like the ones before. Used to be we'd put up a fight, they'd attack the smaller hamlets and farmhouses. We had to be tough to survive here, closest to the forts. But they came harder this time. When the men who stood too fell, they started putting torches to everything. Killed most. We're pretty much all that's left of Monfleur." The old man got down on his haunches and poked at the fire with a stick, making it flare for a moment. His face was grim. All of their faces were grim.
"Where were you?" The girl asked, voice tinged with venom, "Where was the King, or his armies? I thought you were supposed to defend us from raiders? If you're his sword, why didn't you stop them?"
"Ester-"
"What." She snapped at the old man, bitterness now clear as day.
There was a beat, a moment of quiet. Josephene looked from the girl to the man, to the priest, and back to the girl. She went over the last two days and everything that had happened, everything she had a feeling she'd lost.
"I was at the forts." Josephene said simply, "At the wall."
The silence went on, broken only by the crackling of the fire and the sounds of human life packed into a small room. She shifted, uncomfortable even with the salve and the bandages. This was not what she had hoped to find in reaching civilization. The mistrust. The wounded and the dead. The pain and suffering.
"Why haven't you left?" it was a question that had been pressing on her mind almost since she'd found people still here. It may have only been a day since the raiders came, but even so. Most refugees would make their way to the capital. As the girl - Ester - had said, this had happened many times before.
"It's too dangerous." Martin tugged at his beard, "it's barely been a day. Who's to say they're not waiting out there to turn us into sport."
"I made it here well enough."
"You're a wounded woman. How much sport could you be."
"And you're an old man, how much could you be." Ester gestured wildly with her blade, frowning at Martin. "What about you, Housecarl of Atria? What will you do?"
"I need to make the capital. If my Father is still in Raeen he'll need me by his side."
"In the morning perhaps. You need to rest moreso than any of us." The priest said quietly.
The girl looked from the priest to Martin and back to Josephene.
"Let me come with you. If I can see the king, I can petition him for aid. Martin, Monfleur needs that much." She paused, a wicked grin crossing her face, "And anyway, you're hurt, you'll need another blade if anything happens."
Do you let her?
[ ] You're needed here. I leave in the morning. (Kind, no).
[ ] I'd rather take the priest. I leave tomorrow. (Dismissive, no).
[ ] If you insist. We'll leave at first light. (Uncertain, yes).
[ ] I could always do with another pair of hands. (Kind, yes).
[ ] Write in.