Dark Ages RP- Chapter One- Galuterra

[Zerlina]

The hall was dark and hollow.  Large, marble arches rose high and sturdy, disappearing into the darkness of another age. Newt craned his neck as he tried to take it all in. If I dropped a stone here he thought It would probably echo for the next ten years. He stared at the unmoving arches- cold and silent. He felt as if he were inside a whale.

The ancient doors behind him moaned open. Outside (or rather inside, for the hall seemed larger than all the earth), the doors revealed a gray sky and a torrent of snow. Newt squinted, unable to make out the ominous forms that appeared there, so blacked out by the brightness behind them that all their features melted to shadows. With the shimmering sound of mail, and the pounding of heavy boots, the adventurers made their way inside, trailing wet footprints behind them.

“Greetings.” boomed an unseen voice.

Newt’s soul nearly leapt from its body.

Sweet Estella he thought These halls can talk.

“Please, come this way.”

Newt turned around and saw a man in black, almost completely hidden in the darkness of the hall. How long had he been there?

“I am Dougal of Abindale. I will be taking you to The King’s representative.” He led the visitors into a wooden door and up some winding steps “I trust your journey was fair?”

One of the men grunted.

“The king has made arrangements for a feast. After you see his representative I will take you to the great hall.”

The visitors poured out of the narrow staircase, passing through a low entranceway that all but two of them needed to bend to fit through. Waiting on the other side was a small room with three narrow windows. The seat of the King’s representative was the centerpiece of the room. Protected beneath an oak canopy, it was sturdy and practical with only a semblance of effort given to its aesthetic. It was very Galuterran.

The king’s representative was a small man with a red beard. His hair was flecked with bits of white, and his hands were raw from years in the Galuterran cold.  He sniffed as the visitors entered, bringing a slight draft with them.

“My friends,” said Dougal, motioning toward the visitors “You may present yourselves.”

[Prpl_Mage]

The knight had followed suit as everyone entered the room, in fact he had done nothing but follow for the last day or so.
Franklin was the knight's name and he did not actually belong in this crowd. It had only been four days since he ended the life of his armour's old master, four days of adapting to the Galuterran culture and this bitter cold.
It was merely luck that he found the location in the first place, but since then all he had to do was follow what everyone else were doing - and that suited him just fine. Just another pawn in the game.
But he had made it this far, the quest of which the previous owner spoke of, to strike a blow against Fortisland and indirectly -  Alvergne with it; his hated enemy.

He did not wish to stand out in the crowd and waited till another member of the group introduced himself. He prayed that he would be convincing enough when his turn came.
"Franklin Thornside, proud knight of Galuterra. My quest is to defeat our enemies and protect my countrymen." He said while something turned in his belly.
"I used my real name..."

Luckily enough no one seemed to pay any attention to the name, but some of them grinned at his knightly ramblings about a glorious quest.
But he was done and returned to the wall he was leaning against. That was the hard part, now for the part where he hears the plan and then executes it. Taking orders demanded little of a man's intellect after all.

[Phayre]

Calanthe followed the others inside, keeping to the back, but not too far, lest he stick out any more than he already believed he did. Everyone else, to his naive eyes, seemed the image of valor and fortitude. Even the scrawny boy ahead of him looked to have more to offer.

He listened as the first knight introduced himself. It wasn't one of his father's friends, or, for that matter, anyone he'd even heard of. Not surprising, given the backwater territory his father had been allotted. They rarely heard of anything.

It won't do to just sit here and wait for everyone else to introduce themselves. Everyone will know how unprepared and stupid you are if you deliberately go last, and do you really want that?

He swallowed hard, then opened his mouth to speak, feeling his slim frame quake with every word. "I, ah, I'm C-Calanthe Ward, son of, uhm, Phaedrus Ward, k-knight of Galuterra. " He was painfully aware of his stammering and stumbling, as well as the slightly-too-high pitch of his voice, but couldn't seem to make it stop. He thought about adding something about being proud to serve his country and king, or hoping his skills would prove useful, but all he could do was try to keep from hiding his face in his hands in shame.

And now you've proven yourself to be the ill-mannered idiot of the group. Fantastic job, Calanthe, really, fantastic. You should have stayed quiet. No, you should have stayed home.

[Dragonium]

An uneasy silence fell over the room. It seemed the bravado that had created this assembly had momentarily faltered. The representative looked around the congregation expectantly, and his eyes came to rest on the man at the back of the room. He would have been swamped by the crowd were he not so intimidatingly large. He made to step forward, and the gathering parted to let him through.

"Stahn Harthar", he said calmly, "eldest son of the Harthar clan of Anthoden". Feeling that a touch of politeness could only be well received, he nodded and added, "a pleasure to be of service".

The king's representative raised his eyebrows. "You are most courteous. I had it on good authority that all northmen were blood-crazed barbarians".

Stahn nodded again. "Many are, sir. But not all".

The representative smiled. "Well, at least the bitter weather we are experiencing lately will not be no obstacle to you".

"Aye, sir". Stahn resumed his position at the back of the room. The congregation didn't seem a bad selection; a few young ones, but no shortage of seasoned warriors, either. Feeling somewhat confident that everything thus far had been satisfactory, Stahn set about waiting for the others to finish their introductions.

[Zerlina]

Newt’s mind fluttered this way and that, taking in the faces of those who he would spend the next months of his life with (assuming there were at least months left). As the knights and adventurers introduced themselves in turn, stating their lineage and their homeland, Newt sniffled. To the small boy these were facts were arbitrary; except for the major houses he was fairly ignorant of aristocratic matters. To be honest, he was slightly bored.

The first man spoke his turn, seeming to waver slightly at the end- had he lost his nerve? And then there was a squeak and a fizzle; an introduction so mousy that it could scarcely be called an introduction at all. Newt turned red, embarassed for the other boy. He thought he heard one of the others suppress a laugh. And then there was a calm voice that to Newt was nearly unintelligible. He thought for sure the man had been speaking another language, but then-

“You are most courteous. I had it on good authority that all northerners were blood crazed barbarians.”

Oh thought Newt, slightly embarassed He wasn’t speaking another language at all...he’s just from The North

The Northerner and The Representative exchanged a few words and then it was Newt’s turn.

“Greetings my lord.” he said, his accent marking him as one of the merchant classes “I am Newell son of Albion. I’m from Abindale.”

Chest puffed out and a smug grin on his face, he felt all to proud to speak- that is, until he noticed a lingering silence, and the heat of questioning eyes on his lanky frame “I’m the armourer...” he added “I fix...the armour...” His voice trailed off, confidence dissipating into the hollow room.

The King’s Representative acknowledged the adventurers in turn.

“I thank you for paying me your respects. There is a lot to say about a man-” his eyes fell on Calanthe and Newt “and a lot to say about a boy who remembers courtesy, even in such times as these.”

He looked at the nobles who made a small audience to the presentation “My lords and ladies, these are our new ambassadors.”

There was a subdued applause and Newt felt the heat rising in his cheeks. He wasn’t used to being the centre of attention. Well at least not from anyone but the youths in his village.

“Go to the feast,” he addressed the nobility “Go and make merry, our ambassadors will join you soon, and they will sit with me at a place of honour.”

The small crowd shuffled out, and when at last the door was closed behind them, the King’s Representative cleared his throat.

“I thank you,” he began “for the task you are undertaking. I know it is a great sacrifice you make, but I assure you that whatever burden you take upon yourself will be returned to you in full when you come home.”

The Representative motioned to Dougal, who approached a set of four oak boxes lined up along the wall.

“These swords, are the finest our craftsmen can make- light, sturdy, and sharp.” he said as Dougal opened one of the chests “And this,” he began as Dougal opened another “is fine armour made by Albion himself. It can be worn beneath your clothes if you wish.”

Newt suppressed a smile. He had worked on some of that armour.

“This,” the Representative said as Dougal opened the third and smallest box “is the seal of the king. Present it to any of our friends and they will know you are trusted by His Highness. Be careful not to use it unless you absolutely have to, lest your identity be known by those who would seek to destroy you.”

As Dougal approached the fourth chest, he hesitated.

“Go ahead,” said The Representative.

The chest was opened with trembling hands.

Solemnity and awe fell over the group.

“I present to you the shield of Estella,” said The Representative “As solid and as mighty as the day the Good God granted it to our Holy Mother. Your journey is the last hope of our people, and of our faith. It is only right that this most sacred relic be granted to you to keep you safe on your travels.”

The shield appeared to be wood and iron, ancient but unspoiled. It was clear that the face of a woman was once painted on it, but this was faded and almost unclear. Still, it was a beautiful face; the most beautiful face.

“Of course, you may not carry weapons to the great hall,” The Representative grunted, surprisingly casually “but tomorrow after you have eaten and rested, you will receive your gifts.

Now, I want you to listen closely, and do not forget these instructions.

Two maps will be provided to you. If all goes as planned you will journey east from here at the City of Agrigola to Wytheall. Your route will take you through Wytheall Forest and up through the border mountains. If you need rest, you may visit the sisters at Wyte Abbey- in fact, I would highly recommend it whether you feel you need to or not. It will be the last friendly leg of your quest.

There will be a series of goat-herder’s paths running through the mountains, though not all of them will meet. Whatever you do, do not stray from these paths, especially at night. Travel south through Mersc Swamp and keep east to stay out of sight of the border armies. When you get to Mersc ask for Alphie. You will receive further directions from there. You must understand, I cannot tell you more- no one can, because no one can know where you will be at all times.

The wedding is in three months. Do not fail us.”

The last words left a heavy note in the air, and all but The Representative seemed sombre.

“Well-” said The Representative “Let us to the Great Hall. You will sit with me, friends. And for the duration of the feast you may be familiar with me. Call me Lathman.”

Dougal opened the door for the adventurers; they were free to go. The sounds and smells of the nearby feast sizzled in the air.

-----------

The stone hall was decorated with boughs of ivy, mistletoe and pine- practically the only thing that could be grown most of the year in Galuterra. On an elevated pedestal usually reserved for the highest nobles, a table waited for the adventurers. An empty space for entertainment and dancing was left in the middle of the room, while along the walls bountiful tables were occupied by the feasting nobility.

Lady Agrigola was already at the table of honour. Pale eyes glittering beneath cascading red locks, she raised her chalice to an inaudible toast. As she sipped the wine, her alabaster cheeks flushed with only the slightest tinge of rose. She was lovely.

To her right was a seat for Dougal, and to her left was Latham’s great chair. Also seated at the table was Lord and Lady Arden, two friends of Agrigola, and fellow patrons of the quest. It was their gold that had paid for many of the gifts.

Lord Arden was a handsome man with a ginger beard and kind eyes; his wife, on the other hand, looked sallow. High cheek bones portruded from her rough, oily skin; she slouched in her chair, head craned forward slightly.

[Prpl_Mage]

Franklin sat on his chair at the table and had actually taken off his helm, he'd rather not done that. He realized though that since everyone else had removed their helmets - he would stand out more with it on than without it.
He let the neck-long hair free for the first time in a week or so but realized that his facial hair must've looked rather unruly after all these months without a proper blade.

But he also realized that he wasn't here to look good, nor smell good. Galuterra itself smelled of nothing during this season but it was impossible to hide that most people in the room smelled of wet sheep. A smell he was most uncomfortable around.

He used this feast to take in as much knowledge he could about country-relations, common likes and dislikes as well as information about where people hailed. When someone finally raised a conversation with him he was well-prepared and acted like a real knight of the realm.

"Sir Franklin Thornside, Sire." Franklin answered a rather drunk noble with a look of wealth who had stumbled over to their table and also raised a rather shameful look on Dougal's face.

"Well, Sir Franklin I am most glad that a real knight took on to carry this burden of our beloved country." The somewhat drunk man said and gave a nod against the two boys at the table.

"Indeed Sire, it would pain me greatly to see such a dreadful army sunder the very beauty of Galuterra, I wish nothing more than to end this conflict before our countrymen, high and low need to sacrifice their lives." Franklin said as he raised his right fist towards his heart - like he had seen two of the guards do.

"Fine words Thronside..." The drunk man began as he wobbled a little. "I just hope that you have the same quality in the field other than words." He grinned widely, Franklin did nothing but nod courteously.

-"Indeed my good sire, indeed." The man raised his cup as a thanks and went on with his feasting.

With the drunk man gone, Franklin returned his attention to the food but left most of the ale standing. He knew that once he took a sip he would be back where he was before this quest. Drunk and miserable, picking a fight with anyone and spitting curses at his hated enemy.

[Zerlina]

"You must excuse him, Thornside" Dougal said "He is from the bogs- a noble in only name and money...hardly one in behaviour. But then who can blame him? You know how those people are."

Servants arrived, moving the first dishes to the side and laying down heftier plates. Kippers, herring, and lamb were piled high in the centre, while along the sides of the table were two towers of scotch pies. Raspberries, cranberries, blueberries and blackberries -as much as would take a week to pick- were laid carelessly in silver bowls, ready to be taken by the handful. A basket of knotted bread was passed around the table, followed by a tiny dish of Galuterran butter.

Newt's eyes grew large as he stared at all the food. He suddenly wished that he had three stomachs. Ranking the lowest, he waited first for the others to take their food before filling his own plate.

"I can't believe this," he said to Calanthe who had been seated next to him "Even on feast days we never eat like this where I'm from. Not even the lord at his manor..." he took a bite of lamb, not stopping to chew before continuing "...then again maybe he does and just doesn't want to share, eh?"

He laughed a little and nearly choked. Quickly, he took hold of his chalice and sipped some wine "I'm Newt by the way, in case you forgot. You're Caranthe, right? I hope you don't mind me talking to you this way, it's just that you're my age and all. And, well, if you want I can address you proper too."

Newt continued to chatter away, perfectly comfortable to talk to the other boy, but not soon willing to speak to his elders until he was spoken to.

"That's an interesting name you have," Lady Agrigola said to Franklin "Thornside- Thornside...where do your people hail from?"

"It must be a small house" Lord Arden added "I've never heard of it."

"Arden, the things you don't know could fill this entire hall," Latham said as he drank, grinning at his old friend to show he meant no harm "But really, Thornside- I must inquire as well. Do tell me about your people."

Servants returned adding more to the table- aged cheddar, snails, jugs of honeyed ale, and puddings were laid out with the utmost care. Newt's eyes looked up to heaven.

"Oh Lord I thank you." he said, bringing up his cup and toasting his maker "I thank you from the bottom of my soul. Here's to you!"

And with that he took a piece of cheese. Devouring a large bite, he turned to Calanthe "Oh good goats, you have to try this." he said, holding the piece of cheese with the bite mark still in it "It tastes like sunshine."

[Dragonium]

Stahn chuckled. He had taken the seat next to Thornside and across from Newt, not wanting to distance himself from the group, or the food. He had come to learn on his travels that a hearty meal brought both pleasure and strength. He helped himself to another serving of lamb as Newt looked across the table at him.

"You've got a warrior's appetite", he said with a smile. Newt kept silent, either flattered by the compliment or intimidated by its giver. Stahn couldn't blame him; he was painfully aware that he looked out-of-place among noble company. He looked across at Thornside, and finding the knight already in conversation with Latham, turned back to his food. He had nearly finished his third plate of food when Dougal gestured to him.

"I trust the food is to your liking, Mr Harthar", Dougal said jovially, "I have not seen your plate empty since we began. I am told you northmen hold marvellous feasts. Tell me, do ours compare?"

Stahn nodded. "Certainly, sir", he said, and the thought brought back memories of the ale-soaked revelry of post-battle celebrations.

Dougal beamed, and muttered something to a nearby servant, who disappeared, and reappeared momentarily holding a large jug. At Dougal's nod, the servant upended the jug and dispensed a flagon of a golden liquid, which caught the light and held it.

"Abindale mead", said Dougal proudly, "Six months matured in oak. Please, taste it".

Stahn got the impression that Dougal was looking to make an impression on the northman, but did not begrudge him the kindness. He picked up the flagon and took a draught of its contents. It was sickly sweet - somewhat sweeter than he was used to - but far from unpleasant. Stahn nodded his approval, and Dougal beamed all the more.

"I will supply another flask for your journey", he said proudly. "Consider it an ambassadorial gift".

Stahn smiled, and helped himself to more lamb.

[Prpl_Mage]

Franklin kept up his face and he knew that he could do it well. There was no need to panic while in a room with more than enough people to flay him alive using their fists.

"Well." Franklin began at Latham's question.
"As you might have already heard by the way I speak - my mother was not of the west nor the north." He said and gestured with his hands to keep his listeners following.

"She hailed from a country to the west once, it was many years ago and she arrived by ship in the east. It was at a time when war began to brew back home and she sought happiness elsewhere, a place where there was beauty and blessings of the holy one, somewhere like Galuterra." He said and smiled widely gaining their agreeing nods.

"She was still very young when she found my father and he soon left her to fight for his country. He came back to see me be brought into this world, but the next time he left - he was not so lucky. He succumbed at the hands of Fortisland while fighting for his home." He clenched his fist to strengthen the drama.

"And when my father died, his father decided to chase out my mother and me. He said that she; who had come from the ocean brought his son's death. And without my father's family she was forced to take back the name she once called herself - Thornside" He said and shook his head.


"What happened next Thornside?" Lady Agrigola asked intrigued.

Franklin cleared his throat and nodded deeply.

"Very well."

"My mother soon found a lord in need of a maid, one who was kind enough to have mercy on a woman and her child. He had lost his own wife and was left with no heirs. He took me under his wings and learned me the ways of a man. A man who loves nothing but his own country and Lady Estella." He said and bowed his head to show his humbleness at the mentioning of the holy woman.

"But I'm afraid that trouble struck again. My mother began to have visions, madness perhaps. And my lord had to look after her... And one night I awoke at the sound of flames surrounding me. An omen I thought, and went out to find my lord. He was trying to calm my mother down but she would not listen. I saw her run back into the burning building and never come back out. I was but a young boy but my lord explained to me about my mother's fate." He lowered his head and held his right fist to his chest again.

"Oh dear, what a tragic tale. "

"A tragic tale indeed and yet it is the foundation that my life has been built upon." Franklin explained and bowed.

"It is only reasonable that I seek to do my father proud and fight for the country my mother loved so dearly. A country so close to my heart." He concluded and nodded while raising his cup into the air.

"For Galuterra." He said and emptied it.


He let his head fall a little then pulled it up again.
"I think I should excuse myself for a moment." He began and knocked some of the joints of his armour.
"We'll be away for a long time and I rather not have to halt my quest because of rust." He said while smiling and nodding at everyone at the table before leaving his chair.


"Sirre Tronslide!" The drunk noble called as he moved closer.

"My dear sire, allow me to escort you to some fresh air." Franklin said and offered his shoulder for the man's arm.

"I'm the one escorting you, knight." Said the drunk and almost fell as Franklin caught him.

"Very well, I'm allowing you to escort me out to some fresh air." Franklin mumbled as he half carried - half dragged the drunk man out of the great hall.

[NotSoSavvy]

James MacChathail snorted quietly, the first sound he had made since arriving. A country child, a foreign bastard, a man even more obscure then he was and a fellow northern barbarian. Truly this was a band of legend.

For all he knew, this was an elaborate joke on behalf of the King. Some attempt to rid himself of a troublesome northern earl. He supposed that he should have put more effort into continuing his line to ensure that at the very least he could continue to be a thorn in the king's side after he had been killed off. But then, if he had he likely wouldn't have encountered a opportunity like the one he found himself in now. Despite the mutual animosity between his house and the throne this was quite possibly the best chance his house had to step back into its' rightful place.

James sipped lightly on the admittedly excellent drink in his goblet. Setting his drink next to his plate he tented his fingers and looked over at Franklin. "One would be inclined to think that such a litany of misfortune would render you immune to further disaster. Or perhaps you are to be a lightning rod for our misfortune on this trip."

[Zerlina]

Newt was silent for a moment, a scotch pie having occupied his mouth. He listened intently to Stahn, cheeks turning red slightly from being spoken to by a noble.

“Yes, I do, my lord. That’s what my father always says- Newt, you could eat as much as any two boys your age,” he gulped and coughed a little “My mum, she says that when I die they’ll carve it on my tombstone: Newell son of Albion- Heart like a lion. Face like an angel. Stomach like a hog.” He grinned a little, excusing himself for a moment to wash down his food with some wine ”I like your accent if you don’t mind me saying so. But it’s hard to understand for folks like me. Well- I mean it’s hard enough to understand all these fine folk around me what with their ‘hithers’ and ‘thithers’ and ‘miladies...’ yours I’d say is about three stones harder to understand. Oh, wait til I tell my brother I met a real Northman. He’s going to be so jealous! Is it true that you have dragons and wildmen in the north? And that sometimes it snows so much you lose tall men on their own doorsteps? I heard there was once a man who went out to answer the door and it snowed so hard that he got stuck and the only reason they could find him was because they could see the top of his hat! My brothers used to say if they ever went to the north they’d wear tall hats- but I say, if I ever go I’ll wear tall boots!”

Newt hardly noticed that a silence had come over the others at the table. His focus shifted to Franklin as he told his tragic story. Feeling a little bit ashamed for having been such a glutton throughout, he resigned to just nibble a bit of cheese until the tale was done. When at last Franklin had finished, and left the table, Newt resumed eating.

Lady Agrigola wiped a tear from her eye “Such a sad tale, such a sad tale.” she said

“There, there, my dear,” Latham comforted her, before turning to the rest of the table “Women!” he said.

“Aye” added Lord Arden, raising his cup “I say a toast- to all the lovely women of Galuterra- the loveliest in the world! May they remain ever beautiful, and ever willing!”

The men toasted though the women remained motionless.

“Aye!” chimed in Newt, toasting before turning to Stahn “What does he mean willing?”

[Dragonium]

Stahn chuckled. "That wouldn't be my place to say, lad", he joked, "And less of the 'my lord', eh?"

Newt blinked. "Are you not a noble?"

"No more than you are", Stahn replied, "In the North you raise a family or you take up sword, axe, spear, and you fight for your country. I'm the eldest of three brothers, but I've never been much for hunting or farming, so I became a warrior. But in the end, I suppose I couldn't keep doing it forever. So here I am".

Newt looked incredulous. "And the armies, are they-"

"Line upon line of wild-eyed barbarians", Stahn finished with a smile. He didn't mind telling the boy a half-truth; the only barbarians he'd fought alongside were the men charging by his side ahead of the shield-wall. Still, those days were behind him now.

"Oh, regarding the snow", he finished, leaning across the table with a smile and lowering his voice, "You heard right".

[Prpl_Mage]

Franklin left the festivities behind him and pulled the man out into the corridor and nodded at the guards at the doors.
The man sat down on the hard floor and Franklin watched back into the great hall.

"Finally some fresh air, the smell of the people and the taste of their food is killing me." Franklin pondered as he saw the people at the table enjoying the feast.
It was a feast that he could not fully enjoy, it marked the hope for their country and it was a country that Franklin cared little for. All he wanted was to thwart his hated enemy.

He patted the drunk noble on the shoulder and the man wobbled a little while giggling.
"You feeling better good sire?" Franklin asked the man as he grinned widely.

"I do indeed Thornslide! Could you please take me back to the ale? I haven't had enough yet." The man said while grabbing Franklin's gauntlets.

Franklin helped the man up and brought him back in, he feared that the man had indeed had one too many drinks but it was not his place to speak up about it. He would stand out as little as possible and return to his table and eat the food provided to him.

He just hoped that the tragedy of his tale had overruled the fact that he left out most about his knighthood.

He took his seat next to the northman and heard him talk to the boy about snow or something of the type. Franklin could only think that the snow around this area was more than enough for him.

[Zerlina]

Newt looked sternly at Stahn for a moment.

“That,” he began “is so unbelievably fantastic!” the boy clasped his hands together “Oh, if I could write, you bet I’d write everything you said down so I don’t forget. I can’t wait to make my brothers’ turn green. And Melda- she’s a girl from my town- she thinks she’s fine because she’s got huge chebs but wait til she hears this. What’s a couple pounds of fat to a story like this?

The soldiers- how do they fight in the snow? Do they wear really tall boots? I bet they wear tall boots! And the wildmen-do they get along with the others? Is it true they eat each other? My brother likes to play Wildman with Cynthia the potter’s daughter sometimes. He chases her around the wood-lot and says he’s going to eat her if he catches her.”

Dougal sank slightly in his chair “You must excuse the boy,” he said “Not everyone from around here is as crass or...ill-informed as this young lad.”

“My neighbour said Northmen can have fifteen wives. Sometimes all in one night, whatever that means.”

Dougal drained his chalice and poured some more wine.

As Franklin resumed his seat at the table, Lord Arden began to speak “Thornside, you made the poor Lady Agrigola weep,” he laughed, discretely  “It’s a good thing you went for air or you should have seen one of the less flattering sides of our Lady’s countenance.”

“You are too hard on my wife, sir” said Latham “She is flattering in any light, be it blubbering or merely weeping.”

“MacChathail,” began Lord Arden “You seem awfully quiet. I apologize that there is no one here of substance from the North, but you people so rarely join us in the capital- it is difficult for us to get word to you. I hear that the Macfies in Weswind are a lively bunch, but then, aren’t you all?”

“Perhaps,” began Lady Arden “You could tell us more about Kinnoul. I doubt anyone here has ever been up that far”

“Why would anyone here ever go up that far?” Lord Arden laughed “those who live there don’t even wish to go up that far.”

Latham cleared his throat,  “Even so- tell us if you wish, Kinnoul. It is always good to hear about what’s going on outside of Agrigola.”

[Dragonium]

With a polite smile, Stahn nodded to Dougal. "Think nothing of it", he said. He did not begrudge Newt his curiosity; there was a time when all this - the South to him - was foreign, with its bizarre customs and frivolities. He'd learned to fit in, or at least understand, on his travels, but he remained a Northman, and he could forgive the boy for seeing him as such.

He turned to Newt. "For the most part, the armies are much like the ones here. Lines of infantry, with armour, shield, axe and spear. Perhaps a few archers behind if there's need for them". He took another mouthful of Dougal's mead, which he was coming to enjoy. "They wear their tall boots of course, but the snow ahead of them has been trampled flat".

Newt blinked.

"Because", Stahn continued, trying his hardest to assume the dramatic tone of a storyteller, "Before a single arrow has been loosed or spear has been raised, the wildmen charge forward. I suppose 'wildmen' isn't the best word for them, they are as civilised as any other soldier. There's a Northlands word for them which means 'he with fire in blood'. As soon as the enemy draws close and the shield-wall begins to advance, these men, wearing only the clothes on their backs and wielding whatever weapons they choose, break ranks and rush the enemy, cutting down any who dare resist their charge". Newt was wide-eyed by this point. "Men like me", Stahn finished.

He took a long drink of his mead. "But that was when I was a youth", he added, "And I think with age perhaps my blood has lost some of its fire". Stahn looked over at Dougal, who had been watching him intently. He half expected Dougal to ask him more questions about the warriors of the Northlands, but he simply gestured to a servant who delivered yet more mead.

"You must have been quite the warrior", Dougal said with a smile.