“Your stories are most noble, Sir Knights. It would seem that all three of us have helped to preserve the King’s just and honorable rule. Let’s hope that there won't be any rebels to slay in the coming years”.
Arthur was most sincere. He strongly believed in the Divine Right of Kings to rule, and the obligation of the King's vassals to preserve his rule. Of course, Arthur privately harbored some reservations about the political alliance with the goblins, but the goblin raids on the northern farmlands had, in fact, decreased following the peace.
Upon hearing Strange’s story Arthur couldn’t help but wonder if Strange had made some enemies. What did the other royalty think of Strange? What would happen to this Knight-Sargent if Henry were to pass? Whatever the case, it was clear to Arthur that Strange’s Fate, fortune, and safety were now tied to King Henry IV. It was also clear that Strange must be a man of great martial skill.
And Cole’s story; this Bard’s Knighthood made more sense now. Cole was brave like many other Knights, his methods just weren’t typical. Arthur wondered for a moment if the early suspicions were correct, and Cole was a spy of sorts looking for disloyalty among the Knights. Arthur thought of the letter in his pocket. If Arthur and Cole were to work together, then there skills would complement each other's quite nicely.
Remembering Strange’s favorable disposition to blunt speech, Arthur asked the question on his mind directly. “Sir De Artagn is there more you must know before rendering a decision regarding my proposition?”
Arthur was a little surprised that Strange had not politely declined Arthur’s proposition. Perhaps Arthur could, in fact, parlay some bond with de Artagn? Of course, in answering Strange’s questions Arthur certainly could not explain exactly why his cropland was unprofitable. To speak of the Hermit and Arthur’s foray into enhancing Arthur's land would be most foolish. Perhaps Arthur could be honest without revealing the whole embarrassing truth?
“My holdings are agricultural in nature; just south of the Northern Mountains. The croplands around Manor de Woodward produce soft and hard grains of a wide variety. In truth, the enterprise is not as profitable as I would like. However, no Knight’s land is as profitable as he would like!”
Arthur flashed a smile to accompany his joke. However, only his mouth smiled. A perceptive individual would notice that the lines around his eyes did not smile and betrayed his true feeling: nervousness.
“As for family holdings, I am the third in line to my family's ancestral home at the Barony of Forêt de Woodward. Historically, we are Wardens of the King's forests, Sir, and Forêt de Woodward is an exceptional place to hunt. As for my Knighthood, I believe that I am the last man among our illustrious ranks to be Knighted for the slaying of a goblin”. Arthur seemed more confident now. His chest was raised, and his shoulders were back. “I don’t know how widely spoken of this event is in the South” Arthur reckoned it was not spoken of at all, given Atlund's state of peace with the goblins of the Northern Mountains, and the Goblins of the Southern Pass's return to their Old Ways. “…but four years ago, a goblin Warlord of the Northern Mountains by the name of Fast-big-elk found himself most unhappy with the peace. This Warlord was a formidable warrior of some renown but he had an issue that ate away at him. His issue was this: he could no longer enrich himself by raiding the humans to the south. The peace had robbed him and his warriors of the spoils of battle. So, This Warlord-- Fast-big-elk --resolved to break the peace. He gathered a not insignificant number of discontented warriors under his banner. Many goblin warriors— especially the young, and the veterans —went along, enraptured. I imagine the prospect of seeing the honor of battle revived was compelling... So, with their charismatic Warlord promising them honor and loot, these goblin raiders began to enrich themselves by robbing and pillaging the farming communities of northern Atlund... and as they went along they burned crops and killed peasants too, as if they were not mere bandits, but a nation engaged in total war”.
Arthur looked around the room. The positioning of the goblins throughout the room seemed to indicate that, yes, Arthur was still safe in the event of a surprise attack. Even so, Arthur was suspicious and took care to not speak too loudly.
“I was 18, and had been squiring with the Knight de Bel for four years. Conveniently, de Bel and I happened to be lodging at Lord Richardson’s fortress, wherein de Bel and Richardson were negotiating cropland production types, and amount. Both were trying to find resource allocation that would confer the greatest benefit to them both. Neither of them wanted the sum of their respective productions to flood the local market with any particular crop, as doing so would bring down that crop's value”. Arthur waved his hand dismissively—the details of the diplomatic mission were not important. “Lord Richardson, hearing news of the nearby raids, rallied his forces to intercept the menace, and Sir de Bel and I were honor-bound to ride with them… and thank God that we did; de Bel was a masterful strategist and the enemy may have escaped if he wasn’t present to advise Lord Richardson's approach. After some maneuvering and light skirmishing we finally caught the enemy in a highly disadvantageous position that forced them to fight in earnest”.
Arthur’s nostrils were flared as he spoke.
“The skirmishers exchanged fire, but eventually the gap was closed, and the center infantry of both forces engaged one another. De Bel and I-- among the right cavalry flank --maneuvered ourselves behind the enemy's center flank. Fast-big-elk and his rear-guard, seeing that our cavalry was about to encircle his center, engaged with us to try to save the day... Now… despite my feelings about gob-…” Arthur cleared his throat. Had he just offended Strange, and scrapped the entire deal? He resolved to correct himself, and continue. “Despite my feelings about those raiders, Fast-big-elk's charge was rather valiant. He met our cavalry with gusto. There behind his center flank, in the midst of combat, I engaged with him and slew him with a blow upon the neck”. Arthur did not touch the hilt of his sword, but his eyes glanced downwards to his left hip. “The rear-guard saw their leader was slain. Being as dishonorable and weak as they were, they fled. By doing so, they laid their souls bare; they did not desire honor-in-battle at all. They only wanted to enrich themselves and to prey upon the weak”. Arthur grimaced. He was silent for a few moments. Suddenly, however, his tone and expression of disdain were gone and he shrugged, explaining, rather matter-of-factly: “With the enemy’s rear guard in flight our cavalry was free to encircle the enemy's center infantry and break their Will. Pressed as they were between infantry and cavalry the enemy center did not stand and fight very long at all. No, they showed us their true colors and fled. We cavalrymen rode down even more fleeing goblins than we slew in earnest battle—so very, very many fled... Despite Fast-big-elk’s most valiant charge, Lord Richardson and Sir de Bel played the enemy forces with the same ease with which...” At a loss for words, Arthur looked around. Seeing Cole, Arthur exclaimed “...with which Sir Drewson plays his mandolin!”
Arthur smiled while explaining, “I was riding a Breton that day. He was a strong and noble beast. As for the boy Greene’s mount… in truth, Sir de Artagn, it is a Dales Pony…”
Outside the western entrance to the castle, a Knight approached. The shield on his back bore the heraldic emblem of de Woodward: a white birch tree upon a gold and forest green checkered background. This knight was a rather handsome figure. His eyes were large and blue, and his strong jaw was complimented by a cleft chin. However, his walk was rather clumsy. The guardsmen outside the western entrance exchanged nervous glances as he approached the portcullis. This knight was clearly intoxicated. Could they, guardsmen, refuse a Knight’s entrance when the Knight had a summons from the King? And if they tried to refuse him, what would this Knight do?
Arthur reciprocated Strange's questions. "What of you, Sir de Artagn? I must admit, that even the most enviable deeds of the most honorable knights often do not meet my ears, stationed as I am among rural farmlands... what enterprises are you involved in? Where do you reside? And how did you come to be a Knight-Sargent, Sir?"
Arthur was, in truth, very interested. If de Artagn and de Woodward's arrangement created a friendship-- or a lopsided deal that could be mistaken for patronage --then Arthur would need to know more about Strange de Artagn.
“Your candor is appreciated, Sir de Artagn. Yes, it’s true that Squireship is a costly endeavor, and the Greenes in Farmington have little contact with, and no financial support from the more prosperous members of the Greene family. To match your bluntness with my own bluntness, I will say: you have seen my proposal clearly, Sir”.
Though Arthur was in the present moment, he couldn’t help but have a vague sense of the forces of history, and the bonds of continuity that made this conversation momentous.
Years ago Arthur had been squire to a brilliant swordsman and masterful logistician by the name of Sir Adam de Bel. Before de Bel was stolen by typhoid, that great warrior doubtlessly thought, from time to time, of his own squireship to Arthur’s grandfather, Baron Edgar de Woodward. Baron de Woodward had been taken by a goblin arrow, but before that fateful day he probably remembered, on occasion, his squireship to Earl Mercier, a faithful initiate of the Mystery Cults. Earl Mercier’s thoughts about his own squireship were similar to Edgar’s, and Adam’s; always remembering the bonds that tied the student to the teacher. Further, and further back that invisible cord stretched.
“My proposal is that de Artagn sponsors Greene’s squireship to de Woodward. I’ve taken the liberty of paying for his mount and tabard. Should I take him on as squire I’ve every intention of paying for the de Woodward banner that he would carry as well… However, there are more expenses, of course. Sword, and kit, and the like. And yes, also ongoing financial support from de Artagn so that de Woodward may pay Greene's wages”.
As Arthur spoke he motioned with his free left hand. In the right he still held a full glass of wine.
“Of course, if this is a disagreeable proposition to you no man could say that you are compelled into it on the basis of honor. The Greenes in Farmington are unsupported by their closest family: the Greenes. You are blood to the widow Lady Greene, yes, but distant blood, and of a different dynasty. I only reach out to you, Sir, because de Artagn is, while separate, still the parent dynasty of the cadet family Greene”.
“I ask, Sir De Artagn, because I reside in the same town as the widow Lady Marie Greene. She has a boy who is quickly approaching an age that makes him suitable for Squireship. In truth, I don’t know the degree of autonomy that De Artagn has given the Greene cadet dynasty. I only know that the Greenes of Farmington are largely supported by wages that the boy earns from the Provincial Postmaster. His wage is disproportionate for his post; a generosity the Postmaster extends to the widow. I also know that the boy has potential, but that the size and politicking of Farmington—the town where he and I both live—is such that the boy is unlikely to advance his family’s prestige if he stays upon his current course”.
Arthur grabbed a full wine glass from the silver plate of a passing servant. Arthur did not normally drink, but this seemed an occasion to do so.
“It is my intention to take her boy on as Squire. His mother will certainly not object. However, it’s not my intention to take any action without the blessing--and support--of a proper representative of the Parent dynasty: De Artagn”.
Arthur had yet to sip his wine and continued to refrain from doing so.
“After all, as we can both observe, it would be foolish for a bird to construct a nest upon a small branch without first affirming that the large branch from which the twig bifurcates is… accommodating to the bird’s postulated nest”.
For a few minutes Arthur was not watching for potential threats in the Smoking Room, and was calm. He gave the song his full and undivided attention. Arthur recognized the melody of Cole’s song, but could not exactly remember the words of “The Knight’s Servant”... the mention of a Knight’s worthy and loyal companion reminded Arthur of his ride to the capitol with his retinue of warriors, and the messenger Rider Greene. For a moment Arthur was worried. Did the warriors and Greene procure lodging for the night? And just how much would it cost? After all, Arthur’s wealth was not growing. The total cost of lodging would depend on exactly how long the King would keep his knights in this castle, Arthur supposed.
Arthur nodded as Strange explained that the reason of their meeting would be revealed shortly, and that it would result in a skirmish or melee.
After Strange’s introduction, Arthur introduced himself in turn. “Man-at-Arms Arthur de Woodward”.
Arthur saw Strange’s features and crest more clearly now. He was, indeed, hawkish looking. Putting Strange’s appearance and his family crest together Arthur wondered if this was the second-cousin to the boy Rider Greene that Arthur had been searching for. For some reason the exact name of the Knight in question had escaped him, so Arthur could, very well, be mistaken. Arthur was never particularly interested in memorizing the names and sigils of the realm’s Knights, and nobility. Yet still Arthur was displeased with himself for not committing the details of the Knight he was searching for to memory.
There were a few branches of families that shared some genetic characteristics, and similar sigils. With only the fear of a small mistake in mind, Arthur decided to inquire about de Artagn’s relation to the Greene branch.
“Sir De Artagn, I may, by my own fault, be mistaken, but I believe we were introduced to one another at the Harvest Festival in Kingcas two years ago. If you would excuse my provincial deficiency in knowledge of the noble branches, then I would ask if you aren’t cousin to a Lady by the name of Greene?”
((I'm a bit confused. A Zenny has the buying power of how many of today's USDs?))
“Much obliged” Arthur drawled as he turned his horse around.
The ride to Main Street went by fairly quickly, and without much fanfare. All around Arthur and Bill, the Summer’s Yield was in full swing. Here and there artisans hawked their wares, native residents and visitors engaged in jovial conversation, and bright banners emblazoned the celebration’s colors on the city streets.
Soon, Arthur and Bill found themselves near the County Jail, and the Royal Tribunal. The former was rather drab, but the latter lived up to its reputation as a royal building. Great white columns were erected at the front, and its roof was a gable-style that pointed towards the heavens; the Tribunal’s oak double-doors were complete with all the finery one would expect.
“Look on up, Bill. That there’s what done ya’ in”. Arthur said, motioning to the Royal Tribunal as they passed it. Then, Arthur and Bill took a left, approaching the County Jail where Arthur intended to deposit his captive.
“Cities always smell like shit”, Arthur remarked to himself, and to his travelling companion.
It didn’t matter how many flower stands were peddling their overpriced wares; and it didn’t matter how many bakeries were wafting passerby with scent of freshly baked bread; and it didn’t matter how many lager-soaked taverns lined the streets. All those smells were intermittent. Those scents were there for a moment, and when you left their proximity, cities smelled like shit.
“I s'pose you’re right fond of cities, ayy Bill?” Arthur asked his traveling companion before spitting out a hearty glob of chew. It landed on the ground of the city, just to the right of Arthur’s horse.
Arthur rode through Hallowed Peak at a slow pace. There was no need to rush.
Here and there citizens turned to look at Arthur. He was, after all, a peculiar sight. On his head, he wore a battered Cavalryman’s hat, still faintly blue under the dirt and grime. Below that, a bandana around his neck, and a wide cuffed light-blue shirt over his torso. Covering the shirt, Arthur wore a buckskin vest trimmed with dirt-covered lambswool. On his left hip was a six shooter, on his right a saber.
Yes, some of the citizens looked at Arthur quizzically, but none of them sustained eye contact or stared. The citizens did, however, stare at Arthur’s companion.
Arthur continued to talk to his travelling companion as he rode along, “Yessiree, I s'pose you’re right fond of cities Bill… I s'pose you debauch and philander your way through any city that has the displeasure of receiving your company! …that right, Bill?”
Still, Arthur didn’t receive a response. So he continued, “Well,shoot! You was probably fixin' to have a right good time in Hallowed Peak…course… ya can’t do that now, can ya, ol’ Bill?”
No, Bill couldn’t do that in his current state. Nor could Bill reply to Arthur’s pointed questions. Bill’s hands were bound, and his mouth gagged. Arthur led him through the city by a rope tied around Bill’s rope-cuffed hands. Bill’s head was bowed, and he staggered along with a shuffle.
Arthur and his traveling companion continued to make their way through town relatively quietly. Eventually they found themselves in a busier street, and it was here that Arthur flagged down a passing stranger. “Say, friend?” Arthur intoned politely. “Where can a fella find the County Jail ‘round here?”
Thanks for the kind words— they are very generous. & thank you for your tactful response. I’m very glad. Below, however, & certainly not to the detriment of my esteem for you, is a critique of some of the ideas you’ve recently put forth. It is not a criticism of you, just an examination of some ideas.
I think you failed to see Strange’s point in his latest post. He responded to your accusations regarding his intentions for the thread by elucidating his true intentions. You replied by saying that his intentions are no longer valid because the thread is dead. You do see the incoherence of your thinking here, no? If you would please entertain me then we’ll examine the argument.
Your argument (or, as I’m sure we could agree to call it, “one of your arguments”) seems to be: “Premise 1: OPs intentions were one thing. Premise 2: my (Fujiko’s) RPing was to the contrary —> Conclusion: OP ended the thread because his intentions would prove to be incompatible with my (Fujiko’s) RPing”.
Okay. Logically coherent if the premises are true. However, now that Strange has told you his true intentions premise 1 is proven false & consequentially one can’t logically reach the conclusion.
In response to Strange’s declaration of intent, you replied, essentially saying, “those intentions don’t matter because the thread is dead, a copypasta, returned to the public domain, etc etc.” Doesn’t your response (i.e. the response saying that, his intentions no longer matter) undermine your aforementioned argument as well? If his intentions don’t matter then how can his intentions be used as a valid premise to construct an argument? One cannot have the cake and eat it too. This line of thinking too renders premise 1 false & consequentially one can’t logically reach the conclusion.
Also, doesn’t your claim that his intentions no longer matter lack validity as well? If we are examining the past— which we are— then how does an argument that uses the present as evidence have validity? It doesn’t, at least not in this context.
I am critiquing your argument because you either failed to grasp Strange’s point in his most recent post, or you chose to ignore it.
Here’s an alternative argument regarding the death of the thread. It’s the one that I hold: Strange ended the thread for the exact reasons that he said he did.
This alternative argument is a great one because it comes directly from Strange— the only person who really knows why he closed the thread. Everything else is supposition, no matter what etymological claims one holds (solipsism included) or psychological pathologies one has been assigned.
More importantly than everything above, let’s show our RP partners the respect that they’re due, yes? Strange’s decision was not taken lightly, it was done solemnly, and with respect for us all. I see no reason why the closing of the thread should deprive you of feelings of “trust and goodwill” towards Strange. Expressing such sentiments is the sort of drama that belongs in the mouths of characters, not RPers.
You might feel disappointed that the thread was closed, but surely we can all exercise a little empathy? & surely disappointment needn’t turn into vitriol; it can be transmutted into productive actions too!
Again, respectfully, & cordially, Arthur
P.S. The above is a critique, not of you, partner, but of some of your ideas. Oneself and one’s ideas are separate, and the above is written without any sliver of contention with you personally. I respect you, enjoy RPig with you, & hope to write more stories with you in the future.
A few thoughts on your post. Listed neither in order of importance nor in an order that confers coherence. Just writing a few of my thoughts as they come up during the course of reading your post. By no means an exhaustive list. Here:
Evilpants is learning how to do medieval swordplay in the Netherlands last I heard. He also spent some time at University doing postgrad work. If this is incorrect may he post in TCRP to correct me.
The supposed “secret” of this thread that you’ve intuited was never obvious to me.
I personally never felt your character’s race was a “monkey wrench”.
It’s probably best to take Strange at his word regarding the closing of the thread rather than worrying & overthinking.
Conflict is what fuels RP & stories. None of the conflicts & differences introduced so far were irreconcilable. Paradoxically, the lack of conflict is more of a problem than conflict.
The opinions, characteristics, etc of a character are not necessarily those of the writer.
Describing RPers as “walk-outs” isn’t very helpful in the long run.
You’re not being passive aggressive.
I don’t agree with your takeaway. The Nothing did not win. “It’s not if you win or lose, it’s how you play the game”, and might I add, “champ”.
Thanks again for Roleplaying in this thread, Fujiko, & all others. We can pick it all up with different characters and circumstances and conflicts and ideas in another thread if y’all are amiable to the idea.
((Even though delays are part of the medium, they can also make these sorts of things difficult to run for the GM, especially in the long term. So I will— without any feeling that blame has been forced or coerced or otherwise placed on me by another— shoulder some of the burden of defeat as well.
I’m interested in the free-roam thread ideas. However, I’d also say that the assessment of the climate of TC RP is fairly accurate; there are quite a lot of thinly veiled invitations to cyber, & lots of hands-on GMed threads. Having said that, one can’t really know how well a free roam thread would go over until one tries such a thread out.
This thread was quite fun while it lasted. Thank you, everyone that posted.))
((I apologize for my inactivity—life has thrown a few curveballs my way. In any case, I hope that our collective hiatus hasn’t diminished anyone’s enthusiasm for this thread. I know that I’m looking forward to continuing this thread with y’all if y’all are still on board.))
“Yes Sir De Artagn, I find this deal is most agreeable”.
Unable to keep himself from smiling, Arthur de Woodward beamed as he took the missive from Strange’s hand. After securing it safely on his person, Arthur extended his still unsipped wine glass to cheer with the sponsor of his soon-to-be squire.
As he looked at the Knight de Artagn, Arthur thought back to his teacher, Sir Adam de Bel—the Knight Arthur squired for in his youth, and the very Knight that had led the right cavalry flank on the day that Arthur struck down the Warlord Fast-big-elk. The spirit of reminiscence, the weight of history, and the bonds of continuity pressed Arthur’s conscious mind. And so, in a moment and mood rather uncharacteristic for the typically stoic Man-at-Arms, Arthur's baritone voice was, by all accounts, rather lively. “If you find it agreeable Sir, let us toast not only to your sponsorship of Greene, but also to the bonds of Knight and Squire, generally”. As he spoke, Arthur’s thin lips were smiling quite clearly, and the lines around his sunken blue eyes were curved in happiness. Clearly, the young Knight was pleased by the relationship now secured between de Artagn, de Woodward, and Greene. Though, admittedly, Arthur was pleased too that his diminishing wealth would not take a further blow by outfitting a squire out of pocket.
“Your stories are most noble, Sir Knights. It would seem that all three of us have helped to preserve the King’s just and honorable rule. Let’s hope that there won't be any rebels to slay in the coming years”.
Arthur was most sincere. He strongly believed in the Divine Right of Kings to rule, and the obligation of the King's vassals to preserve his rule. Of course, Arthur privately harbored some reservations about the political alliance with the goblins, but the goblin raids on the northern farmlands had, in fact, decreased following the peace.
Upon hearing Strange’s story Arthur couldn’t help but wonder if Strange had made some enemies. What did the other royalty think of Strange? What would happen to this Knight-Sargent if Henry were to pass? Whatever the case, it was clear to Arthur that Strange’s Fate, fortune, and safety were now tied to King Henry IV. It was also clear that Strange must be a man of great martial skill.
And Cole’s story; this Bard’s Knighthood made more sense now. Cole was brave like many other Knights, his methods just weren’t typical. Arthur wondered for a moment if the early suspicions were correct, and Cole was a spy of sorts looking for disloyalty among the Knights. Arthur thought of the letter in his pocket. If Arthur and Cole were to work together, then there skills would complement each other's quite nicely.
Remembering Strange’s favorable disposition to blunt speech, Arthur asked the question on his mind directly. “Sir De Artagn is there more you must know before rendering a decision regarding my proposition?”
Arthur was a little surprised that Strange had not politely declined Arthur’s proposition. Perhaps Arthur could, in fact, parlay some bond with de Artagn? Of course, in answering Strange’s questions Arthur certainly could not explain exactly why his cropland was unprofitable. To speak of the Hermit and Arthur’s foray into enhancing Arthur's land would be most foolish. Perhaps Arthur could be honest without revealing the whole embarrassing truth?
“My holdings are agricultural in nature; just south of the Northern Mountains. The croplands around Manor de Woodward produce soft and hard grains of a wide variety. In truth, the enterprise is not as profitable as I would like. However, no Knight’s land is as profitable as he would like!”
Arthur flashed a smile to accompany his joke. However, only his mouth smiled. A perceptive individual would notice that the lines around his eyes did not smile and betrayed his true feeling: nervousness.
“As for family holdings, I am the third in line to my family's ancestral home at the Barony of Forêt de Woodward. Historically, we are Wardens of the King's forests, Sir, and Forêt de Woodward is an exceptional place to hunt. As for my Knighthood, I believe that I am the last man among our illustrious ranks to be Knighted for the slaying of a goblin”. Arthur seemed more confident now. His chest was raised, and his shoulders were back. “I don’t know how widely spoken of this event is in the South” Arthur reckoned it was not spoken of at all, given Atlund's state of peace with the goblins of the Northern Mountains, and the Goblins of the Southern Pass's return to their Old Ways. “…but four years ago, a goblin Warlord of the Northern Mountains by the name of Fast-big-elk found himself most unhappy with the peace. This Warlord was a formidable warrior of some renown but he had an issue that ate away at him. His issue was this: he could no longer enrich himself by raiding the humans to the south. The peace had robbed him and his warriors of the spoils of battle. So, This Warlord-- Fast-big-elk --resolved to break the peace. He gathered a not insignificant number of discontented warriors under his banner. Many goblin warriors— especially the young, and the veterans —went along, enraptured. I imagine the prospect of seeing the honor of battle revived was compelling... So, with their charismatic Warlord promising them honor and loot, these goblin raiders began to enrich themselves by robbing and pillaging the farming communities of northern Atlund... and as they went along they burned crops and killed peasants too, as if they were not mere bandits, but a nation engaged in total war”.
Arthur looked around the room. The positioning of the goblins throughout the room seemed to indicate that, yes, Arthur was still safe in the event of a surprise attack. Even so, Arthur was suspicious and took care to not speak too loudly.
“I was 18, and had been squiring with the Knight de Bel for four years. Conveniently, de Bel and I happened to be lodging at Lord Richardson’s fortress, wherein de Bel and Richardson were negotiating cropland production types, and amount. Both were trying to find resource allocation that would confer the greatest benefit to them both. Neither of them wanted the sum of their respective productions to flood the local market with any particular crop, as doing so would bring down that crop's value”. Arthur waved his hand dismissively—the details of the diplomatic mission were not important. “Lord Richardson, hearing news of the nearby raids, rallied his forces to intercept the menace, and Sir de Bel and I were honor-bound to ride with them… and thank God that we did; de Bel was a masterful strategist and the enemy may have escaped if he wasn’t present to advise Lord Richardson's approach. After some maneuvering and light skirmishing we finally caught the enemy in a highly disadvantageous position that forced them to fight in earnest”.
Arthur’s nostrils were flared as he spoke.
“The skirmishers exchanged fire, but eventually the gap was closed, and the center infantry of both forces engaged one another. De Bel and I-- among the right cavalry flank --maneuvered ourselves behind the enemy's center flank. Fast-big-elk and his rear-guard, seeing that our cavalry was about to encircle his center, engaged with us to try to save the day... Now… despite my feelings about gob-…” Arthur cleared his throat. Had he just offended Strange, and scrapped the entire deal? He resolved to correct himself, and continue. “Despite my feelings about those raiders, Fast-big-elk's charge was rather valiant. He met our cavalry with gusto. There behind his center flank, in the midst of combat, I engaged with him and slew him with a blow upon the neck”. Arthur did not touch the hilt of his sword, but his eyes glanced downwards to his left hip. “The rear-guard saw their leader was slain. Being as dishonorable and weak as they were, they fled. By doing so, they laid their souls bare; they did not desire honor-in-battle at all. They only wanted to enrich themselves and to prey upon the weak”. Arthur grimaced. He was silent for a few moments. Suddenly, however, his tone and expression of disdain were gone and he shrugged, explaining, rather matter-of-factly: “With the enemy’s rear guard in flight our cavalry was free to encircle the enemy's center infantry and break their Will. Pressed as they were between infantry and cavalry the enemy center did not stand and fight very long at all. No, they showed us their true colors and fled. We cavalrymen rode down even more fleeing goblins than we slew in earnest battle—so very, very many fled... Despite Fast-big-elk’s most valiant charge, Lord Richardson and Sir de Bel played the enemy forces with the same ease with which...” At a loss for words, Arthur looked around. Seeing Cole, Arthur exclaimed “...with which Sir Drewson plays his mandolin!”
Arthur smiled while explaining, “I was riding a Breton that day. He was a strong and noble beast. As for the boy Greene’s mount… in truth, Sir de Artagn, it is a Dales Pony…”
Outside the western entrance to the castle, a Knight approached. The shield on his back bore the heraldic emblem of de Woodward: a white birch tree upon a gold and forest green checkered background. This knight was a rather handsome figure. His eyes were large and blue, and his strong jaw was complimented by a cleft chin. However, his walk was rather clumsy. The guardsmen outside the western entrance exchanged nervous glances as he approached the portcullis. This knight was clearly intoxicated. Could they, guardsmen, refuse a Knight’s entrance when the Knight had a summons from the King? And if they tried to refuse him, what would this Knight do?
Arthur reciprocated Strange's questions. "What of you, Sir de Artagn? I must admit, that even the most enviable deeds of the most honorable knights often do not meet my ears, stationed as I am among rural farmlands... what enterprises are you involved in? Where do you reside? And how did you come to be a Knight-Sargent, Sir?"
Arthur was, in truth, very interested. If de Artagn and de Woodward's arrangement created a friendship-- or a lopsided deal that could be mistaken for patronage --then Arthur would need to know more about Strange de Artagn.
“Your candor is appreciated, Sir de Artagn. Yes, it’s true that Squireship is a costly endeavor, and the Greenes in Farmington have little contact with, and no financial support from the more prosperous members of the Greene family. To match your bluntness with my own bluntness, I will say: you have seen my proposal clearly, Sir”.
Though Arthur was in the present moment, he couldn’t help but have a vague sense of the forces of history, and the bonds of continuity that made this conversation momentous.
Years ago Arthur had been squire to a brilliant swordsman and masterful logistician by the name of Sir Adam de Bel. Before de Bel was stolen by typhoid, that great warrior doubtlessly thought, from time to time, of his own squireship to Arthur’s grandfather, Baron Edgar de Woodward. Baron de Woodward had been taken by a goblin arrow, but before that fateful day he probably remembered, on occasion, his squireship to Earl Mercier, a faithful initiate of the Mystery Cults. Earl Mercier’s thoughts about his own squireship were similar to Edgar’s, and Adam’s; always remembering the bonds that tied the student to the teacher. Further, and further back that invisible cord stretched.
“My proposal is that de Artagn sponsors Greene’s squireship to de Woodward. I’ve taken the liberty of paying for his mount and tabard. Should I take him on as squire I’ve every intention of paying for the de Woodward banner that he would carry as well… However, there are more expenses, of course. Sword, and kit, and the like. And yes, also ongoing financial support from de Artagn so that de Woodward may pay Greene's wages”.
As Arthur spoke he motioned with his free left hand. In the right he still held a full glass of wine.
“Of course, if this is a disagreeable proposition to you no man could say that you are compelled into it on the basis of honor. The Greenes in Farmington are unsupported by their closest family: the Greenes. You are blood to the widow Lady Greene, yes, but distant blood, and of a different dynasty. I only reach out to you, Sir, because de Artagn is, while separate, still the parent dynasty of the cadet family Greene”.
“I ask, Sir De Artagn, because I reside in the same town as the widow Lady Marie Greene. She has a boy who is quickly approaching an age that makes him suitable for Squireship. In truth, I don’t know the degree of autonomy that De Artagn has given the Greene cadet dynasty. I only know that the Greenes of Farmington are largely supported by wages that the boy earns from the Provincial Postmaster. His wage is disproportionate for his post; a generosity the Postmaster extends to the widow. I also know that the boy has potential, but that the size and politicking of Farmington—the town where he and I both live—is such that the boy is unlikely to advance his family’s prestige if he stays upon his current course”.
Arthur grabbed a full wine glass from the silver plate of a passing servant. Arthur did not normally drink, but this seemed an occasion to do so.
“It is my intention to take her boy on as Squire. His mother will certainly not object. However, it’s not my intention to take any action without the blessing--and support--of a proper representative of the Parent dynasty: De Artagn”.
Arthur had yet to sip his wine and continued to refrain from doing so.
“After all, as we can both observe, it would be foolish for a bird to construct a nest upon a small branch without first affirming that the large branch from which the twig bifurcates is… accommodating to the bird’s postulated nest”.
For a few minutes Arthur was not watching for potential threats in the Smoking Room, and was calm. He gave the song his full and undivided attention. Arthur recognized the melody of Cole’s song, but could not exactly remember the words of “The Knight’s Servant”... the mention of a Knight’s worthy and loyal companion reminded Arthur of his ride to the capitol with his retinue of warriors, and the messenger Rider Greene. For a moment Arthur was worried. Did the warriors and Greene procure lodging for the night? And just how much would it cost? After all, Arthur’s wealth was not growing. The total cost of lodging would depend on exactly how long the King would keep his knights in this castle, Arthur supposed.
Arthur nodded as Strange explained that the reason of their meeting would be revealed shortly, and that it would result in a skirmish or melee.
After Strange’s introduction, Arthur introduced himself in turn. “Man-at-Arms Arthur de Woodward”.
Arthur saw Strange’s features and crest more clearly now. He was, indeed, hawkish looking. Putting Strange’s appearance and his family crest together Arthur wondered if this was the second-cousin to the boy Rider Greene that Arthur had been searching for. For some reason the exact name of the Knight in question had escaped him, so Arthur could, very well, be mistaken. Arthur was never particularly interested in memorizing the names and sigils of the realm’s Knights, and nobility. Yet still Arthur was displeased with himself for not committing the details of the Knight he was searching for to memory.
There were a few branches of families that shared some genetic characteristics, and similar sigils. With only the fear of a small mistake in mind, Arthur decided to inquire about de Artagn’s relation to the Greene branch.
“Sir De Artagn, I may, by my own fault, be mistaken, but I believe we were introduced to one another at the Harvest Festival in Kingcas two years ago. If you would excuse my provincial deficiency in knowledge of the noble branches, then I would ask if you aren’t cousin to a Lady by the name of Greene?”
At Strange’s approach, Arthur stood from his mahogany chair alongside Karn. The hierarchy of Knights was, after all, one of the primary wellsprings of order in Atlund. In this case, Sir Strange De Artagn’s rank as Knight-Sargent demanded respect. Karn spoke for Arthur & Drew—Karn was, after all, a Knight whose house’s prestige exceeded that of de Woodward and Drewson. To Arthur’s mind, Karn Strom spoke well. He simultaneously honored deference for authority, and discretion.
Arthur was so focused on Strange and Karn’s interchange that the approach of an elf managed to slip by unnoticed. However, when she began to speak, Arthur couldn’t help but turn his head to see the Bard’s response. The elf’s question reminded Arthur of his Uncle at Forêt de Woodward asking traveling Bards to perform for his court—those instances were, perhaps, the only times Arthur would see his Uncle ask for something with a sense of humility.
Upon hearing Karn’s observation that small groups of Knights were sitting together around the room, Arthur sat back and observed this fact to be true. Up until now Arthur had thought that these groups of Knights were socializing normally, but perhaps Karn was right that the King had placed them together. Arthur raised his brow and nodded his head as he turned his intention back to Karn. “I believe you may be right, Sir Strom”.
Cole, the Knight and Bard spoke of rumors in a low voice, just above a whisper. “…I have heard that Jotland may be planning some type of assault…”
A surprise attack by Jotland? Such a thing would not be a surprise. To Arthur’s mind Jotland was a rabid dog, that cared little for casus belli. They would always act in their own self-interest with little regard for honor. Atlund’s vigilance was a necessity.
Cole continued. “…magick. It seems a man claiming to wield it has recently come forward up North and is making a name for himself…”
Magick. The sound of that foul word pierced Arthur’s ears like a needle, rattled about his head as a rock, and soured his tongue with a strength above and beyond the oldest and rankest curdled milk.
It had been three years since a bedraggled old man with nothing but a walking staff and lantern had appeared at Manor de Woodward. That man set a series of events in motion that had brought waste and desolation to the farmlands of Arthur de Woodward. Even now, as Arthur sat in the Western Smoking Room the soil around Manor de Woodward was scarred, and his agricultural enterprises were unprofitable. However, in truth, Arthur had only himself to blame; he had tried to change his Fate, thereby sealing it.
Arthur hadn’t the time or inclination to think of such things now. At present, Arthur was at the castle of the King. The bedraggled hermit’s fateful utterances were in the past.
Upon Cole’s explanation that he would not share the third rumor without insistence, Arthur decided to sacrifice some small pride and insist. “If you cannot speak without preserving your honor and safety, Sir, then I implore you not to speak”. Arthur leaned in further, and now spoke in a hushed whisper. “However, if this yet concealed information allows us three Knights to do the King’s Will more ably then I do insist, Sir”.
It was then that Arthur heard the sound of a howl coming from outside the castle. Arthur immediately sat tall and straight with legs uncrossed, prepared to stand. Naturally, Arthur's hand was on the hilt of his sword. From his seat against the wall Arthur looked around the room. Were the doors opening? No. What were the Goblins doing? The Goblins seemed as perplexed as everyone else.
It would seem that all were safe for now. Arthur exhaled, and relaxed his posture.
He muttered, “I've never heard a wolf's howl this close to the capitol. Though admittedly, I’ve not spent a great deal of time here… It almost sounds close enough to be in the city. If our presence in this castle wasn’t demanded—and duly demanded it is—then I might suggest we three locate the Master of the Hunt and, together, track and kill the beast in honor of King Henri’s peace”.
(( Edited for minor content changes, grammar, and spelling ))
The Bard Cole Drewson was being quite discrete about his affairs in the Capitol. Furthermore, Cole was a traveler. Arthur wondered if perhaps Cole was a spy of sorts, adept at using music to ingratiate himself with courts foreign and domestic? Was Cole now sent to spy upon Arthur? Or did the King have other plans too esoteric for Arthur to make sense of now? Perhaps the reason for this gathering would begin to make things clear. These thoughts raced through Arthur’s head as Sir Cole Drewson spoke.
Then, Arthur replied, “Rumors! Yes, naturally, Sir Drewson. The capitol never fails to be filled with rumors… Well, if you are disposed to share any of these rumors you will find that three true friends to the King sit around this table, discrete, and loyal”.
At Karn’s the mention of a construction project, Arthur thought of his present home of Manor de Woodward in Farmington. When Arthur rode south he left his manor under the stewardship of a sycophantic Clerk named Hampton. Arthur’s cousin, a boy of 9 years named Aelfred, was presiding as nominal temporary Head-of-Household... Arthur would need to write to them soon... In truth, if a letter from Hampton or Aelfred reached Arthur explaining that the Manor de Woodward had collapsed due to its state of disrepair, he would not be surprised.
“Actually, Sir Strom, you may be surprised at how relevant the subjects of construction and renovation are to my interests. Though, naturally any project I undertake in the future will be dwarfed by the size, scale, and outcome of one done by the House of Strom”.
At this point Arthur picked the King’s letter from the table and extended it to Karn. Any bond of trust, however minor, that Arthur could cultivate between Strom and de Woodward would serve them both. To share this minor piece of private information might be seen as totally meaningless, but perhaps Karn would recognize and remember Arthur’s transparency.
“Unfortunately, you’ll see that this letter offers little information on why we’re here, Sir Strom.”
Arthur inhaled deeply. He looked around the room as he continued. “…whatever the case, to summon all the Knights of the realm is a rare occurrence, indeed… as we all know, of course”.
Arthur couldn’t help but look surprised when Cole Drewson called Arthur de Woodward by his name. How did this bard know such a thing? Was Arthur of some special interest to Drewson, and if so what was the nature of his interest? Perhaps, Arthur posited, this Bard, being a man of diplomacy and courtly proficiency, had memorized the sigils and colors of all Knightly houses? This seemed unlikely, but Arthur had heard tell of certain Initiates in The Mystery Cults who could perform extraordinary feats of memory.
All of these suppositions and wonderings would be cast aside suddenly when Drewson, with knightly panache, placed a letter bearing the seal of the King on the table.
The other Knights sitting with Arthur paused their conversation to look down at the letter, then up at the Bard Sir Drewson. They then stood from their chairs, perhaps politely, and continued their conversation as they crossed the room.
Baffled, Arthur stared at the letter in silence for a few seconds. Inhaling sharply, he mustered a confident brow and a polite smile and said, “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sir Drewson. I look forward to learning more of your story—no doubt, it is a fascinating one.” Not sure of whether it was polite to read the letter immediately, Arthur resolved to pay a compliment before diving in. “Your mastery of your craft is evident”. Arthur gestured to Cole’s Mandolin, and made friendly eye contact for a moment before drawing the letter from the table. Arthur shifted the attention of his eyesight to the words of the King.
Know that my eyes are upon you, though I will not be able to grant you any personal audience. Elder knights are known to take offense for such things. When I next hold a ball, I promise to invite you, and you will not have to play unless you desire to do so, on my honor. Now, find a young knight by the name of de Woodward. He is a new knight, like you, but you both have lead very different lives. You will compliment each other well.
Arthur was perplexed. Had the King, by some strange twist of fate come to learn of de Woodward’s boyhood fondness towards music? Was the King now fostering a fresh friendship as a small token of recompense for the revocation (or, perhaps, omittance) of Arthur’s former honorific, “Slayer of Warlord Fast-big-elk”?
Or, perhaps King Henry IV doubted Arthur’s loyalty? Arthur de Woodward had, after all, done battle with goblins. Despite his sense of duty, honor, and loyalty, Arthur's distrust towards Goblins had sunken into his bones. It was now marrow-deep. The King may have known these things; King Henry’s stratagems seemed to always be sophisticated. Was this incipient friendship one of the King’s insurance policies?
Or, perhaps, King Henri IV felt that Drewson and de Woodward’s strengths and weaknesses would complement one another, and, together, they would create a formidable team?
Whatever the case, Arthur was surprised, and a little anxious.
Arthur looked up from the letter. His eyes swept the room vigilantly before his gaze landed on the Man-at-Arms Sir Cole Drewson. Arthur was considering what exactly to say about the letter, when, to his relief, another Knight approached their table. The double Crimson Lion on this knight’s chainmail was a sigil that Arthur recognized—this was a Knight of House Strom, but surely not the Lord Strom himself. Nevertheless, this Knight's sigil commanded respect. Arthur silently thanked his Fortune's Fate for ushering not only a Bard, but also a Knight of formidable prestige to the table where he now sat.
Pleased with the presence of Man-at-Arms Sir Strom, and Man-at-Arms Sir Drewson, Arthur answered Strom’s question without missing a beat. “Yes, Sir Strom, your company is most welcome”.
Then, Arthur stood, and extended his arm, beckoning to the vacant seats at their table. “Please! Sir Drewson! Sir Strom! Sit if you wish. You honor me with your company! I’m very interested to hear about the state of things in your respective home-countries”.
Arthur’s sunken blue eyes continued to examine the details of the smoking room with martial diligence, perpetually searching for threats, and for the Knight he needed to speak to. The unease of his constant vigilance was curdling some barely-felt corner of his insides. In a moment of weakness he allowed these feelings to manifest in a small and innocuous physical action; he raised his hand to his shaven & rapidly balding head and rubbed the top in discomfort. Suddenly regaining awareness of the present moment Arthur removed his hand from his head and lowered it to the mahogany table. How wonderfully straight & orderly was the grain of this rich reddish-brown wood.
Raising his eyes from the table Arthur saw a peculiar gentleman with a mandolin crossing the room to the table where Arthur presently sat. The knight de Woodward couldn’t help but allow a very slight smile at the very end of the very corners of his exceedingly thin lips. Musicians were uncommon at his present dwelling at Farmington. However, his childhood home at Forêt de la Woodward was full of music-- or so it seemed to Arthur now. Naturally, martial training and the study of letters were the emphasis of Arthur’s upbringing, but sometimes a bard would visit his Uncle at Forêt de la Woodward, and when they visited it was a joy, rare.
Arthur looked upwards towards the face of this leaning Knightly Bard, and spoke his first words of this latest Smoking Room gathering.
“Good day to you, Sir Knight! I believe I’ve yet to make your acquaintance. I would surely have remembered a Knight as non-traditional—though no doubt, duly Knighted— as yourself. If you would, please forgive my ignorance in not knowing your name, Sir, for I make my home among rural farmlands just south of the Northern Mountains. As such, even the most heroic deeds of the most distinguished Knights rarely reach my ears. If I may be so bold as to ask you of yourself, Sir, I would do so.”
With soldierly retinue, and young messenger in tow, Arthur de Woodward approached the imposing and austere castle of the King. At the northern entrance Arthur called to the guard.
“Hail, guardsman! I come to the castle on the summons of King Henri IV, long may he reign!”
Arthur soon learned that his landless companions would not be permitted entry—even the messenger Rider Greene who shared blood with a wealthy Knight could not enter on this occasion. As such, Arthur ordered his party to take shelter at a local inn, and to stay out of trouble.
An elderly, greying servant with impeccable posture and waxed mustache shepherded Arthur through the long winding hallways of the King’s castle. Within minutes Arthur lost all sense of cardinal direction. However, this sense was regained suddenly when the servant stopped in front of a 10-feet tall, heavy yew door with gold fittings. “The Western Smoking Room, Sir.”
Without hesitation—though not without some small nervousness-- Arthur strode in.
Unexpectedly, upon his entrance a crier began to bark,
“Sir Arthur de Woodward, 3rd in line to the Barony of Forêt de la Woodwards, King’s Protector in the town of Farmington, Land-lord of 500 acres of cropland! Man-at-Arms!”
How odd—last time Arthur’s entrance-call had included “Slayer of Warlord Fast-big-elk”. It would seem that Goblin slaying, even in defense of the realm, was not a feat worthy of honor at this particular time. Further, it would seem that honorifics were now being omitted without explanation to, or consultation with the honor-bearer.
Arthur looked around the room. There were many more goblins here than last time. Were there more goblins than humans? No, the humans were more numerous. Could the goblins’ seating confer considerable advantage in a surprise attack? No, it would seem not. Were they armed? Yes. What were they armed with?
And so was Arthur’s thinking as he crossed the room and found a seat at one of the outer tables. He quickly spotted a vacant seat where he could see all the entrances and sit with his back to the wall. Admittedly, the direction that one of those doors would swing if opened wasn’t ideal... but was there a better place to sit? No, it would seem not. At least not unless he ejected that bearded Knight with the pipe from his Seat, but that was out of the question. As Arthur continued to analyze the details of the room the Knights at his table enamored themselves with a discussion on horse-breeding.
Relatively satisfied with his understanding of the layout of the room, Arthur’s eyes began to look about for the Knightly second-cousin of Rider Greene. Arthur would need to consult with this second-cousin about the Squireship Arthur was considering for the young Greene. Unfortunately, Arthur couldn’t quite recall the appearance of the knight in question. Hadn't he an aquiline nose? Or perhaps Arthur's memory of the man in question had atrophied over time?