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Vixere
CaptainBrittonA ridge overlooking the Vulture's Roost, Ser Uther and the query of Ser Andrew
Ser Uther leaned against a rocky outcrop, breathing softly as he surveyed the scene below. He could see the telltale signs of inhabitation and humanity. Half rebuilt fortifications, latrine pits, trenches, struggling gardens, horses, hogs, and goats. He even spied a few banners, a Vulture was most prominent, a rearing goat, desert hawks, snakes, and even a brown trout, probably little houses loyal to the Vulture King, or bastards who created their own. After a while, Uther slid down the ridge a little, so he could relax his knees and back for a little. The ground was ever dry and that trademark brownish red, seeming to stick to everything. Uther shook his head, and turned his attention back to his immediate surroundings.
He looked at his boots, the supple leather soft and a mahogany brown color, fit well and were far more comfortable than his old pair. He had taken them from a dead Vulture rebel, among other things looted from the dead over the course of the last few engagements. New pauldrons, a lightly used leather jerkin with only a small cut, a decent belt, a few rings, and the nicest thing, a sword with an emerald pommel, no doubt from some dead minor lord loyal to the Vulture King, or it had been taken from someone else during battle. No matter, due to the sword now being in Uther’s possession now. Plus, a new cloak, which he kept stored away, less he be confused for a Vulture himself. But, the present came calling back, Uther turning his head towards the noise of someone coming to join him from allied lines. It was Ser Andrew, and by the look on the man’s face, he had some questions that needed answering.
Together the two men moved up to the ridge, kneeling as they looked down upon Vulture’s Roost. The rest of their allies were still resting, recuperating from their largest engagement. Uther spoke first, quietly and with concern playing across his voice. “The girl… the blood mage, the one who… did Seven knows what, she doesn’t look too good. She has yet to recover, and I don’t think it’d be wise to press the attack… at least before night falls. We will need all the help we can get, cause just by the movements down there, we are heavily outnumbered.” Uther brushed some dust from his mustache, before laying prone upon the ground, motioning Ser Andrew to follow suit. A smaller silhouette would make them harder to spot for the passing sentries and observers of the enemy castle. Uther looked towards Ser Andrew as he now spoke up, listening to the commander’s thoughts.
Ser Andrew agreed that their “Water” mage was too weak to fight and be an effective counter against the rebel forces. That would mean their main secondary offensive power would be from the Alchemist that was with them, along with the Marcher bowmen. While for a small engagement, they would certainly help, this was different, Uther thought. He nodded his head, seeing the fire in Ser Andrew Selmy’s eyes. He was set on attacking, tonight at the very latest. This was certainly going to complicate things, but, what was Uther to do, he was not in command, and could only offer his honest advice on the matter. The sun hung low in the sky, as Ser Andrew probed Uther’s knowledge of this derelict castle. Uther thought he heard some doubt in Ser Andrew’s voice, but he could not be sure, the sounds of the world around the two men adding to the unsettling nature of things to come.
Ser Andrew queried Uther, taking care to keep his movements to a minimum, as he pointed towards the castle. "What can you tell us about the layout? Any weaknesses we can take advantage of? Any advice you can give us? You seem familiar with this place; your insight could help us win the day. We can't turn this into a siege. We need to take the castle quick and fast, under cover of night. Grapple over the walls and take them in their sleep. Thoughts?"
Uther breathed softly through his teeth, surveying the castle with great care, taking in every sight in the setting sun’s failing light. Darkness would be descending much sooner than Uther would have liked, but the hammer would fall tonight, or not at all. With a quick flick of his wrist and hand, Uther motioned for Ser Andrew to slide down a bit with him, so the two would be out of view of any within the castle walls and towers. Closing his eyes, he dug into his brain, pulling long catalogued memories and stories he had heard as a child from his family members of old. He juggled the different options in his mind, before settling on what he felt was both the safest, and the surest way to take the castle. He spoke in a low hushed tone, with urgency emphasized in it.
“Attacking the walls is foolish and a folly. You’ll get nowhere but dead with that ploy. It may seem like they enemy is diminished, and that their sentries are but few, but that is a common ploy with these… holdovers from another time. The men of the Spine, of the high deserts, they hide their numbers and true might with deception and sleight of hand. The walls are damaged, the towers not perfect, nor the gates as strong as they should be, but what we want is a silent way in, a way to the heart of this castle. The walls are but brightly colored feathers on this bird, the towers its talons. How do you think this place has stayed alive, eeked out an existence if the waters of the River Wyl are guarded and watched?” Uther rolled onto his side, using his right hand and fingers to begin drawing a crude picture in the dirt and sand.
“This valley floods, like the sun rises and sets each day. Now, all that water, given time, cuts paths through the rock on either side of the main river bed. It creates these hidden and forgotten underground rivers, caverns large enough for a small ship to pass.” Uther paused, then in a soft sing-song voice, he recited an old poem of sorts, “Silent water flows underfoot, the sacred river Wyl, mysterious and magical, flows through caverns measureless to man, down a sunless sea that glitters and shimmers with the lights not of this world. Only the faithful may travel these gaping maws, less the foolhardy become lost and swallowed whole by the river Wyl.” Uther finished, and pointed back to his crude drawing. “Our loyalist forces have the water ways guarded, but only what they can see, and only where they can build their castles and forts. The Vultures are no doubt using a system of the caverns to get around patrols and the blockades. If you want to take this castle, we need to use their means of resupply to strike at the beating heart of this beast. It’s not glorious, it’s not going to be some heroic venture, but it will get the job done, and ensure victory. That’s what matters.” Uther then rolled back to his back, and pointed back down the small valley the royal forces occupied.
“The dead Vultures, we take their uniforms, cut back to the river, and ambush the next supply ferry. We take that into the castle, and cut the head of this chicken. Watch it run around and die without its leaders. They rank and file Vultures will either fly the coop, or surrender. The final decision is yours, Ser Andrew… but that is my thoughts on the matter. I await your command.” Uther bowed his head, and turned back to steal a last glances at the setting sun and at the Vulture’s Roost.
Ser Uther leaned against a rocky outcrop, breathing softly as he surveyed the scene below. He could see the telltale signs of inhabitation and humanity. Half rebuilt fortifications, latrine pits, trenches, struggling gardens, horses, hogs, and goats. He even spied a few banners, a Vulture was most prominent, a rearing goat, desert hawks, snakes, and even a brown trout, probably little houses loyal to the Vulture King, or bastards who created their own. After a while, Uther slid down the ridge a little, so he could relax his knees and back for a little. The ground was ever dry and that trademark brownish red, seeming to stick to everything. Uther shook his head, and turned his attention back to his immediate surroundings.
He looked at his boots, the supple leather soft and a mahogany brown color, fit well and were far more comfortable than his old pair. He had taken them from a dead Vulture rebel, among other things looted from the dead over the course of the last few engagements. New pauldrons, a lightly used leather jerkin with only a small cut, a decent belt, a few rings, and the nicest thing, a sword with an emerald pommel, no doubt from some dead minor lord loyal to the Vulture King, or it had been taken from someone else during battle. No matter, due to the sword now being in Uther’s possession now. Plus, a new cloak, which he kept stored away, less he be confused for a Vulture himself. But, the present came calling back, Uther turning his head towards the noise of someone coming to join him from allied lines. It was Ser Andrew, and by the look on the man’s face, he had some questions that needed answering.
Together the two men moved up to the ridge, kneeling as they looked down upon Vulture’s Roost. The rest of their allies were still resting, recuperating from their largest engagement. Uther spoke first, quietly and with concern playing across his voice. “The girl… the blood mage, the one who… did Seven knows what, she doesn’t look too good. She has yet to recover, and I don’t think it’d be wise to press the attack… at least before night falls. We will need all the help we can get, cause just by the movements down there, we are heavily outnumbered.” Uther brushed some dust from his mustache, before laying prone upon the ground, motioning Ser Andrew to follow suit. A smaller silhouette would make them harder to spot for the passing sentries and observers of the enemy castle. Uther looked towards Ser Andrew as he now spoke up, listening to the commander’s thoughts.
Ser Andrew agreed that their “Water” mage was too weak to fight and be an effective counter against the rebel forces. That would mean their main secondary offensive power would be from the Alchemist that was with them, along with the Marcher bowmen. While for a small engagement, they would certainly help, this was different, Uther thought. He nodded his head, seeing the fire in Ser Andrew Selmy’s eyes. He was set on attacking, tonight at the very latest. This was certainly going to complicate things, but, what was Uther to do, he was not in command, and could only offer his honest advice on the matter. The sun hung low in the sky, as Ser Andrew probed Uther’s knowledge of this derelict castle. Uther thought he heard some doubt in Ser Andrew’s voice, but he could not be sure, the sounds of the world around the two men adding to the unsettling nature of things to come.
Ser Andrew queried Uther, taking care to keep his movements to a minimum, as he pointed towards the castle. "What can you tell us about the layout? Any weaknesses we can take advantage of? Any advice you can give us? You seem familiar with this place; your insight could help us win the day. We can't turn this into a siege. We need to take the castle quick and fast, under cover of night. Grapple over the walls and take them in their sleep. Thoughts?"
Uther breathed softly through his teeth, surveying the castle with great care, taking in every sight in the setting sun’s failing light. Darkness would be descending much sooner than Uther would have liked, but the hammer would fall tonight, or not at all. With a quick flick of his wrist and hand, Uther motioned for Ser Andrew to slide down a bit with him, so the two would be out of view of any within the castle walls and towers. Closing his eyes, he dug into his brain, pulling long catalogued memories and stories he had heard as a child from his family members of old. He juggled the different options in his mind, before settling on what he felt was both the safest, and the surest way to take the castle. He spoke in a low hushed tone, with urgency emphasized in it.
“Attacking the walls is foolish and a folly. You’ll get nowhere but dead with that ploy. It may seem like they enemy is diminished, and that their sentries are but few, but that is a common ploy with these… holdovers from another time. The men of the Spine, of the high deserts, they hide their numbers and true might with deception and sleight of hand. The walls are damaged, the towers not perfect, nor the gates as strong as they should be, but what we want is a silent way in, a way to the heart of this castle. The walls are but brightly colored feathers on this bird, the towers its talons. How do you think this place has stayed alive, eeked out an existence if the waters of the River Wyl are guarded and watched?” Uther rolled onto his side, using his right hand and fingers to begin drawing a crude picture in the dirt and sand.
“This valley floods, like the sun rises and sets each day. Now, all that water, given time, cuts paths through the rock on either side of the main river bed. It creates these hidden and forgotten underground rivers, caverns large enough for a small ship to pass.” Uther paused, then in a soft sing-song voice, he recited an old poem of sorts, “Silent water flows underfoot, the sacred river Wyl, mysterious and magical, flows through caverns measureless to man, down a sunless sea that glitters and shimmers with the lights not of this world. Only the faithful may travel these gaping maws, less the foolhardy become lost and swallowed whole by the river Wyl.” Uther finished, and pointed back to his crude drawing. “Our loyalist forces have the water ways guarded, but only what they can see, and only where they can build their castles and forts. The Vultures are no doubt using a system of the caverns to get around patrols and the blockades. If you want to take this castle, we need to use their means of resupply to strike at the beating heart of this beast. It’s not glorious, it’s not going to be some heroic venture, but it will get the job done, and ensure victory. That’s what matters.” Uther then rolled back to his back, and pointed back down the small valley the royal forces occupied.
“The dead Vultures, we take their uniforms, cut back to the river, and ambush the next supply ferry. We take that into the castle, and cut the head of this chicken. Watch it run around and die without its leaders. They rank and file Vultures will either fly the coop, or surrender. The final decision is yours, Ser Andrew… but that is my thoughts on the matter. I await your command.” Uther bowed his head, and turned back to steal a last glances at the setting sun and at the Vulture’s Roost.