[IC] The tales of Calradia

[Hazy]

The sun was rising over the Swadian plains. It was a mild morning, the grass was wet with dew and some peasants were on their way to the city to sell their produce. They nodded at Hitesh as he rode by. He had heard about nobles looking for mercenaries and allies somewhere on the border between Swadia and the Rhodoks. He was eager to join up with one of them but this time he’d judge his commander more carefully. He didn’t want one who’d drag his sorry hide into battle with no chance of winning. It’s better to flee than to fight in vain.

When he arrived at the meeting there were a couple dozen tents surrounded by wooden palisades. To the south were the Rhodokian mountains and to the north were the Swadian plains. Guards were standing at the entrance. “Halt! Declare your business.” They stopped Hitesh when he approached them. “I am just a wanderer looking for work.” Hitesh replied. The guards stepped aside and signaled for him to enter. Now to find and sign up with one of the nobles...

[Afro Samurai]

Brenna had heard the whispers in the air of some nobles summoning folks high and low to the border of Swadia and Rhodok to swear legiances and swords to their respective kingdoms. She scoffed at the idea, she would make her own way--although it couldn't hurt to go to the ordeal, she always heard how these balls where these nobles congregate is a good a time as any to make a few connectoins; maybe she could woo some old hag into courting her. But first she had to doll herself up a bit. Surely they wouldn't let a peasant into a house of lords. Sunrise above, Brenna put down her scythe and went inside to wash up as best she could; there were few adequate means of hygiene on this ragged farm--she was one of the few young hands her employed to tend to the fields in his sickly days, but he was the only one with any experience in irridation and piping; "a girl shouldn't dirty her hands like that, darlin'", pfft.

So she found the best wear she could, an olive green dress and a cheap golden neckless. She pulled her hair back and twisted it into a bun, sure to let no strang loose--she heard the upper class thought it wasn't "fitting of an upright woman" to have loose ends. To them, it meant a woman was sloppy. Idiotic lords and their arbitrary customs. But alas, she had no time to waste. She went to her father's quarters and kissed him on the cheek--he was sleeping.

"I'll be back, papa. I promise." Soft fingertips rubbed his wrinkled forehead and she turned to leave the room. Just before she did, she remembered something; the dagger her father used to carry with him in his younger years when he would visit the taverns. He always kept it in the drawer next to his bed when he slept. She quietly peeled open the drawer andd acquired the dagger which she holstered in one of her bra straps.

Then she set out to the horse stable to acquire one of the smaller, speedier steeds. She saddled up and rode off. It took her no time--an hour at most--to reach the border where this soiree was taking place. She dismounted the horse a few paces away, they'd think her a raider or a pirate. She moved up to the gates and put on her best prim accent,

"Pardon me, sirs--" an inviting, soft smile. "--I am an attendant of one of the ladies."

"Who?" One of the brutish guards repulsed. She had half a mind to slit his throat right then.

"Lady Eskyr" a made up name to be sure, but one that sounded close enough to a relative of the high-crown that she had overheard during one of her occasional trips to the local taverns. Hopefully this made up noblewoman had lots of servants.

To her suprise, the guards stepped aside. The path to glory had begun.

[Marcus XVI]

The trip from the steppes to the Swadian plains had been a pleasantly uneventful one. Temujin and his small band had arrived to the gathering among the first arrivals. The small gathering of Khergits had built their yurt in a corner of the - at that time - small camp and kept mostly to themselves for now. They were after all technically in enemy territory - though there currently was a peace treaty between the Khanate and Swadia the Blue Wolf would take no chances.

There were whispers around the camp - some about him, sadly most of those far from the truth. The Khergit had heard someone refer to him as Temujin Khan - he did not care for such speech, but even he had to laugh at it. He was far from a Khan, but... It had a nice ring to it. The Noyan had politely corrected the other man by reminding that there was only room for one Khan and adding as a jest that he himself wasn't made of quite stern enough stuff to be a Khan.

Once again Temujin and his men found themselves spending their time sitting around their campfire, drinking tea with goat's milk and offering a cup and a seat to any passer by who was brave enough to join them. Most of the talking was done by the other Khergits, with Temujin offering a few words every now and again - mostly words of dry humor, or an anecdote fitting the matter that was discussed upon. He glanced at the black banner of his that flowed lazily in the breeze, then turned his attention back to more examining the newest arrivals than actually paying heed to the conversation going around him.

[Dusty]

There would be opportunities aplenty, and drink for the thirsty and a place to pitch a tent for the weary, or so the promise went. Adrick slicked his hair back from his eyes staring at the distant collection of tents. Three days of riding and little sleep left the man weary eyed and thirsty, denoted by the empty wine skin that hung limp at his side and the bags under his eyes. The horse beneath him panted with each step, plodding down the rocky mountain path at an ever slowing pace. Adrick felt no need to rush the final legs of his journey, not with his destination in sight. Such enthusiasm could be left to those who envisioned a greater tomorrow, who served on bended knee to their liege lord squirming to receive his praise and admiration. In some ways this made Adrick less of a liability, as long as the intended task wasn’t required to be punctual. This latest employer was aware of Adrick’s temperament however, having utilized his services in the past, and in anticipation gave the mercenary ample time to complete his mission.

“Easy, watch ye step old lad, not too far now.” Adrick soothed patting his horse’s neck. The steed whinnied, a few rocks shifting out from under his unsteady iron shoes. While surefooted on the flat ground the beast like most warhorses wasn’t built for riding up and down the Rhodokian mountains, at least not with ease.

By late morning Adrick arrived at his northern destination, riding boldly across the open ground towards the palisade’s entrance. One of the guards stepped forward flanked by another guard, taking the horse’s bridal in his armored fist, clicking his tongue in a manner of one used to such practices. Adrick stared down as if surprised by this action.
“I asked you to halt and declare,” the guard accused with a frustrated growl. “State your name and business here.”

“My name is who gives a damn, and my business is mind yer own.” Adrick laughed, taking his foot from the stirrup and kicking the guard’s hand from the bridal. “But if ye desperately want to know I have a dispatch from Sir Guliven for Sir Culiven his brother, who ought to be here now. If ye have any brains yer going to move and let me deliver it bastard.”

“Why you vile brigand, I’ll have your hand for that!” The guard reached for his sword but his companion stopped him, staring Adrick in the eye.

“You will have the seal then?” He asked, holding out his hand.

“Aye,” Adrick reached into his pocket, placing the slightly crumpled scroll into the man’s hand. For a moment the guard stared at the wax seal, before giving it back.

“Very well, in you go straight to Sir Culiven’s tent.” The guards stepped aside, allowing Adrick to ride past, sneering in victory. The guard he had kicked and insulted was red faced and furious, but he made no move to harry the mercenary further. The lord’s mail was not to be stopped, no matter how rude the messenger was.

[manapool1]

Ragula looked out into the courtyard with cold eyes, the wind catching her crudely made-up hair, a wavy strand dangling to her left eye. She had left her battalion to camp out with the rest, spending large sums on alcohol and fine meals for them so that the military groups may loosen up. This whole thing was risky, but she felt it was the only way to unite the people of Caldradia. Taking a deep breath she walked down from her room, stepping towards the entrance to look at the ongoers. The first, a wanderer she assumed to be a hired sword. She'd keep an eye on him. The next was a girl she felt was almost too posh, and any noblewoman that smelled of manure was an oddity, but she felt she would be no harm with the surplus of guards around. The final was a young man, who she knew well. When at war, he was there well-needed cavalry, again and again, saving her hind time and time over. She chuckled at his games, rude as they were, it was nice to calm her nerves in these trying time. Her hand went out to the first person she acknowledged as worthy of being here. He had been pivotal in keeping rhodoks safe from invasion and deserved a say in pressing matters as these. Moving to him, her hand reached out to shake. The pale and older widow attempted a smile. It'd be nice to test her social skills against him, they'd been unused for years now.

"Adrick Gordonson! It's a surprise to see you" Her low and deep voice boomed, it was smooth and cold, almost like a mother catching you coming home late at night.
"I am sure you're behaving yourself? What brings you here?" She continued, teasing him. A small grin slowly raising across her face, one that had been absent so long that it looked almost wrong.

[Dusty]

Crossing the palisade’s threshold Adrick soon found himself emerging into the bustle of an army camp. Strong men, weak men, men with weapons and men with armies mingled among the tents wishing to find direction and the ultimatum, war. Adrick himself had no idea where to start looking for Culvien, and could only hope to stumble upon the knight walking up and down the rows of tents. A frustrating task no doubt, but one he was willing to accomplish for the promised hundred denars.

He was about to press on when a deep feminine voice hailed him, causing Adick to turn in the saddle. At first his eyes glazed over in confusion not recognizing the tall, pale women but in a flash he remembered, willingly dismounting from his horse and saluting Ragula with a raised hand.

“M’lady, haha if it in’nt Madame blood chiller. How long has it been since we’ve seen eye to eye, I cannot recall?” He took Ragula’s hand in his own, shaking it warmly. He spoke to her in his usual grating way, but his voice was tinged in respect for the widow before him.

“Behaving myself,” he snorted waving off the phrase as if it was a passing breeze. “Never, no I have been up to as much foul decadence that I can accomplish without being thrown into a castle cell. Today being the exception of course, delivering a knight’s bloody mail. But as I always say, nothing is beneath me when it comes to easy denars. Perhaps ye've heard of a sir Culvien and could direct me towards his tent, then we could sit down for a drink and catch up on olden times with my reward money. Ye would pay of course.”

[manapool1]

@Dusty

Perhaps I could spend some money for banter, but then again, that's essentially what I am here to do" She remarked before putting up her hand up, pointing her finger to the large camp building for the soldiers and Temujin. "I assume he's somewhere within the encampment, most likely drilling his troops on their manners. I wish you luck in finding him. I have matters to attend to elsewhere" She replied with a small smile, giving him a curtsey bow, light and simple. and walking off deeper into the castle. She was off to lay her demands on the help within so that they made everything up proper. Everything needed to be perfect, or else this could easily make things worse than they already had been. As much as she enjoyed the company of a familiar face, Adrick was a worrisome face. He was not one to be wise with his words or to hold his tongue and as he is from Rhodoks he may prove counter-productive in her efforts. She would have to talk to him later. Negotiations could easily be turned into hostilities and it was her job to stop that. She was nervous and terrified, but not a soul could tell.

[Marcus XVI]

"So there we were, just galloping around the enemy force, shooting arrows to their midst. There must have been over 4000 of us and-" The khergit's explanation of some great battle was interrupted by Temujin lifting his hand slightly and correcting that there couldn't have been more than 1000 of them, if even that much. The Blue Wolf earned a bit of a nasty glare from one of his companions, but just ignored it and poured himself some more tea. The Noyan stared to the distance, providing no more corrections to the story for now.

He would have lied if he didn't feel old at times. Being a warrior for 25 years can do that to you. He got on his feet and took a few steps away from the campfire, then a few more. Soon he was standing some distance from the other khergits and just pacing around, deep in thought.

[Dusty]

“Fare thee well lady blood chiller.” Adrick gave Ragula an over exaggerated elegant leg and bow, even adding in a small twist of the arm. Switching the light smile on his face back to an impassive frown as she walked away, Adrick grabbed the reigns of his horse, marching into the forest of tents and men. His unplanned path led him back and forth in no true order, crisscrossing the crowded area multiple time. Occasionally he called out Culvien’s name and asked passerby’s if they knew the knight. The general consensus was “no,” with the occasional, “aye, I dunno where he’s staying though.” Thrown in edgewise.

Adrick slowly grew more frustrated as time passed, his jaw clenched in suppressed anger. The man he was supposed to find acted like a crouching rabbit, hidden from even the most trained eye. Adrick’s anger nearly hit boiling point, and in a last ditch effort before giving up he grabbed the shoulder of a passing page, spinning the boy to face him.

“Lad, have ye seen or heard of a knight who calls himself Sir Culvien?” Adrick demanded, squeezing tighter when the page tried to squirm away. “I have no patience for games, I have been looking for the past hour, maybe more. Speak lad.”

“Aye, aye sir I know him.” The page gasped, trying to loosen Adrick’s fingers from his shoulder. “I am his servant, maybe if you would not break my arm I could show you to him.”

Adrick breathed a sigh of relief releasing the boy who rubbed his sore shoulder ruefully. The mercenary tasseled the young boy’s hair, chuckling in sudden good humor. “Lead on,” he urged waving a hand for the page to show the way.

The two set out, this time on a far more direct path leading all the way to the back of the palisade and a more secluded area. Guards patrolled regularly and a few approached their small company, but upon seeing the page they backed off, returning to their duties. Adrick was of the mind that Sir Culvien had no desire to be found by the casual observer, and Adrick’s earlier questioning at random might have been detrimental to the knight’s wishes of keeping a low profile. The mercenary gave a mental shrug, it wasn’t his problem.