Chivalry and Criminality (Open - Edwin - Yorkshire)

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Post by zakorath »

Monty stared into his wine and saw his own future within that same goblet he had every day. He was snapped out of his contemplations by Sir Bazin's question. "Me. Well. That's a long story" He sat upright and thought for a while about how far back to go. "I suppose it all started with the Red Banners. We were a vigilante group in the early days." His eyes glazed over and a wistful smile spread across his features, "We would fight the parliamentarians anywhere and everywhere. We even walked into their counties. HA! Not like that any more, eh?" He swirled the wine and took another sip. "But then the war got fierce. We disbanded. I think the old boys joined the ranks, but I'm not sure. This..." He pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket and waved it before putting it back. "...Is them. All of them. All dead. bar one. I have to find them. And that's why I'm here; Frederick was buried here. I payed my respects, and sort of..." He looked around the bar as if searching for a more eloquent word, "...Stayed, I suppose." He sighed, and took another sip of wine. "I fight where I go. If one of them was buried in a parliamentarian land... I'd cross the battle front into hell to pay my respects."

He only helped the war when he passed it. And when he passed it, he always helped. He once again removed the paper from his pocket, and crossed "Frederic De'Angelo" off the list. "I want to fight, Sir. I want to fight. For them." In searching for his fallen comrades, he found that all had died fighting for the Loyalist cause. Except one. One had turned, and joined the Parliamentarians. Monty always hoped that this was not the one remaining survivor besides himself.

Monty pulled a flute from his other pocket, and raised it to his lips. He began to play the old tune he and the other Red Banners had marched to. It was lively and brought joy into the hearts of those who heard it; all except Monty. For him it signified war, death, and betrayal. One of his friends had aided the death of the others, but who, was unknown.

(OOC - YAY! We lasted to page 2, A good start, in my opinion.)

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Post by Eddy »

The guard walked past the inn, enviously glancing in the window at the warm room beyond. Darkness was setting in, and he had night watch duty, just his luck. Normally, he was a farmer, but right now, the tabby cat was doing his required service as one of the small guard for the village. Shouldering his old Matchlock, he carried on his patrol until he reached the squat guardhouse. Along with the inn and the church it was one of the three-all-stone buildings in the village, a squat, ugly little building, which also doubled as toll-house, the village having grown on a junction near the county's edge.

Joining his pike-armed comrade, he stood outside the building, surveying the road as it headed up the hill. Ominously known as 'Gibbet Hill' in the area, the guard couldn't recall there ever being a gibbet there in his memory. A movement suddenly caught his eye as he looked at the road, his comrade noticing the tabby's ears perk up, "what you see, mate?"
"Probably just a deer, John...on hillside, yonder."
A frown from the pikeman, "that's a bloody big deer...maybe a heard." As he spoke the musketeer began to make out the thunder of hooves. "Shit." Fumbling with his musket, he blew on the match, getting barely a glow from the old wick. "Get the serge John." A simple Y-branch lay by the door, and the musketeer used it to rest the long gun barrel, trying to adjust for it's crooked sights...

Lukas charged down the hill, the exhilaration of charging on horseback filling him! It took all his will to suppress a whoop as he drew a pistol from his left saddle holster skilfully checking the lock with his thumb. The pair of modern Daglocks were his pride and joy, the vast majority of men making do with older wheel-lock or snaphaunce pistols. At the edge of the village, he could see a group piling out of a squat, ugly building, seizing pikes and preparing to form a line. There was a bright flash as a musket cracked, covering the road with smoke. The musketeer had fired too early, Lukas clearly heard the spent ball twanging harmlessly off a breastplate. There couldn't have been fifteen in the guard. Grinning, he let out a yell, releasing the reins and drawing his sword, squeezing with his legs to guide the mount onwards.

Rushing to reload his musket, the tabby detected the whiff of urine as the pikemen realised the strength of the approaching body glancing nervously about, offering prayers to Midas. The musketeers cursed loudly as the struggled to light their damp, cheap matches in the guttering candle by the door. A roar sounded from the horsemen, followed by a sudden volley of pistol balls, the weapons' reports echoing about the empty streets. Two fell, but it was enough, as the pikemen broke, the horse hit, swinging blades at bodies as they thundered past into the village square.

Swerving his horse around in the square, Lukas holstered the smoking pistol. As his horsemen formed a circle, each rider holding his second pistol, Lukas surveyed the village. Not at all dissimilar to any he had seen in Gawain, except that the faces that peered fearfully from doors and windows were of course, feline. Raising his voice, he spoke, his Gawain-accented Edwinish, echoing down the silent streets. "Upon the orders of His Highness, the Lord Protector, this village is to be burnt to purify the sin from these lands. His Highness is generous however. You may leave, but, if you resist, there will be no mercy." He emphasised he last two words, and they hung in the air as silence fell over the listening crowds before chaos erupted panic spreading like wildfire
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Post by JamesG »

Bazin listened to the fur's story intently, not interrupting. He seemed a very driven sort of person, exaclty the sort of material neeeded in the Loyalist army. The ferret-badger raised his drink politely as the leopard began to play a tune. He was about to take another sip when a musket went off outside. The knight hesitated, his eyes drawn to the window. More shots, and suddenly horsemen came into view. The town's guard broke, and Bazin could hear the threats being shouted across the square, in an accent the Domish ambassador despised. A Gawainian fighting for the Parliamentarians. Double reason to despise him! Bazin could not believe how far these horsemen had gotten. Yorkshire was no where near the front, which was heavily guarded. Still, there was nothing he could do about that now. He would have to make a decision. Fight, or run. Neither one sounded appealing, but Bazin began to work on a plan.

He picked up his drink and downed it with one gulp. The furs in the tavern, far from looking cheery now, looked horrified at the thought of their homes being burned alive. Some ran out, other stayed, too fearful to move. The chevalier noted, that like the sailor he had recently met, a few carried swords. So much the better! There were no more than twenty horsemen at the mustelid's guess, at a glance from the window. Bazin realised that he could not leave. Certainly, he was an important courtier. But what good was he to these people if he ran? The ferret-badger found an overwhelming sense of indignancy rise within him. The Lord Protector thought himself as powerful as this? To make a sortie against Bazin d'Arras in the heart of Loyalist Edwin? The ferret-badger would not hear of it. Seeing as he and M. Wagonswift were probably the only gentlemen present, it seemed like a personal insult. He resolved that making an escape would be a crushing blow for Edwin. A country village ablaze, and a general of the King running away in fright? There would be pandemonium! No, he had to stay.

"Monsieurs! Your attention please!" Bazin's voice roared over the frightened hubbub, loud and confident. "I believe the stunted scum calling himself Lord Protector wishes to burn us in this tavern alive! He will try to burn your homes and your families in the name of Midas! These savage horsemen will not let us leave alive! We must drive them from here! You have all worn swords, so I ask that you stay and fight for your village!" The townsmen looked terrified, nobody saying a word. Bazin continued. "Well? Will you let your wives, your children, your friends, your homes BURN?!" There were murmurs of 'No', and few shook their heads, still in shock. "I say again will you let your FAMILY and HOMES BURN?!" The ferret-badger roared. The response this time was louder. Still, Bazin could see some men, who were wearing swords were looking to escape. "If there is any man whom wishes to leave us and make their cowardly escape, please surrender your sword to us before you leave!" Here Bazin crushed any last thoughts of leaving. To surrender your sword to make good your escape would be a humiliation too great for any proud fur that wore his weapon to the bar. It probably helped that alot of the group had previously ingested what could now be called liquid confidence, though the threat of imminent death seemed to sober the atmosphere.

Bazin's servant fetched the knight's wheel-lock musket, a finely crafted affair with floral patterns set in gold. The servant himself had his matchlock, and the rest of the bar had their swords. Bazin knew he was asking these men to die for him. They were now instilled with anger against the horsemen, but Bazin himself knew that they were no soldiers. He had one more plan up his sleeve before he would commit them to an attack. First, he needed to get the Parliamentarian's attention. He opened the window, stuck his musket out and pointed it at a clump of horsemen. The wheel rotated against the dog, sparking off the powder and sending a jet of fire and smoke into the air. The musket ball hit a horse, sending it's rider down. Bazin's trusted lackey was next at the window, and the touch of the glowing match agaisnt the powder added another plume of smoke to the haze caused by Bazin's shot. At another window, the ferret-badger fired his pistol at the horsemen, followed by a loud cry to their leader. "An Knight of King Charles wishes to decide the town's burning by single combat! Accept, or you have no honour, Parliamentarian!" The ferret-badger's plan was quite simple, and quite dangerous. In order to save the lives of the men he had just told he would need to make a stand, he intended to try and settle the matter by single combat. It was a practice that sometimes worked, though Bazin had his doubts about whether or not the Gawainian would accept, as he thought of all Gawainians as scum with no honour. Whilst he was waiting for a response, he said to Monty, "Monsieur Wagonswift, I ask that you would do me the honour of being my second if the Parliamentarian accepts my challenge."
"You can't just remain a root forever. Eventually you grow and change into other things, like stems and leaves and such. Are a tree's leaves an insult to its roots?" - Sade

"It is easy for a statesman, whether he be in the Cabinet or the Chamber, to blow a blast with the wind of popularity on the trumpet of war, warming himself the while at his own fireside; or to thunder orations from this tribune and then to leave it to the musketeer who is bleeding to death in the snow whether his system win fame and victory or no. There is nothing easier than that; but woe to the statesman who in these days does not look around him for a reason for war which will hold water when the war is over." - Otto von Bismarck

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Post by RatKing »

Liam Lynch

Within the Demers home, Liam had been seen in the back door and bade to wait for a servant to fetch the Leftenant. As he was in the kitchen, he wasted little time is acquiring an extra loaf of bread to add to his rations, tucking half of it neatly into a pocket and devouring the other half in three short bites. It was the perfect crime, save for the mass of crumbs that remained in his mess of plaits and braids, and would probably remain there for a few weeks or until the wildcat fell into a pond. He leaned against the doorjab, the wood creaking under his bulk as he waited and listened.

There were several voices within the house's main foyer, a few females and males mingling, and judging by the accent, at least one wasn't of Edwin. Liam sorted through his memory for the accent, trying to place it to the various numbers he's heard aboard the deck, either at peace or at war. In short time, his mind held up a card marked 'Mazean', and that made him frown... the hell were they doing here? They sure as hell weren't welcome on this side of the border, and while not exactly friendly, they were at least disliked in the South as well.
His musing went on for a little bit longer, until the Leftenant pushed through the far door and strode to meet his subordinate. behind him, Liam could just make out the shorter shape of a mouse; an older fellow in crimson cloth and leaning on a cane, standing and talking with someone just out of sight. An emissary, perhaps? Come to beg for forgiveness, most likely. The thought made Liam grin and he stood up a bit straighter, or as much as he could with such a belly as he had.

"Ser," he said, knuckling his forehead respectfully.

And then there was the musketshot, echoing through the night air, coming in through the open door behind Liam. The two stared at eachother for a second - they had both seen battle and knew what the sound was... and it was only reinforced by the fusillade of shots and the cries. Liam scowled and grabbed at his sabre's hilt, wrenching the long curving length of pitted steel free and glaring out the door. The Leftenant likewise drew his own sword; a slimmer, straighter sabre. "Back to your mates, sailor - get them secured and find out what is going on." he said, turning and moving quickly back through the door, shouting, "Everyone stay calm, stay away from the windows! Ser Mercutio, if you've weapons and armour-"
Liam was out the door and accelerating - like many fatter furs who carried a lot of muscle, he could produce a surprising turn of speed when he wanted to. He dashed around the corner of the house and towards the stables where the others had been. They were standing atop the carts, their tools still in hand, staring down the road to the figures on horseback lit by torches. The acrid tang of spent powder flowed down the street towards them, stinging their noses. Yohn Halfear glanced to Liam as the big wildcat crunched to a halt beside him. The tiger glanced around, then at the workers on the logs, then back down the street.

"Damn," he growled, the started hobbling towards the stables, "You lot off the masts, get in here and grab the axes... Damn but what I'd do for the ship's armory."
"Yeah, and why not the nine pounders and the moon on a stick while we're at it?" said Liam, peering through the smoke and doing a rough count. "Horses. Never fought horses before."
"Don't fight the horse you great bloody twit, fight the fur atop it!"
Liam grinned; his lone fang gleaming, his eyes glittering with emerald fire as he hefted his weighty sabre. "If you say so, ser." he said and followed them into the stable, to where they had packed their tools.

There was one item they hadn't truly needed but had brought along just in case of emergency. Building and repairing ships was something that needed talent and tools. Talent could be taught and tools could be bought, but it took a certain sort of fur to use a Shipyard Sledge.
It was a lump of lead six inches square on the face and a foot long set atop a stout oak handle. It weighed in at very nearly thirty pounds - very nearly four times the weight of any warmaul. It was used to beat 50-foot long spars of solid oak into submission. It was almost totally useless as a weapon; the weight of the head meant that even the strongest furs trying to swing it in anger would be skewered halfway through the swing because it was simply too heavy to swing quickly. Of course if it connected, whatever was underneath it was going to break and/or splatter.

Liam strode back out of the Stable, his sabre sheathed and the Shipyard Sledge in hand, his thick arms knotting as he hefted it. They had brought it along in case one of the carts dropped a wheel - a single solid smack with the Sledge ensured that it never fell off again.

Getting a swing with it in a fight was a useless enterprise, but throwing it at someone, well... the effect was somewhat similar to a cannonball. His grin had widened, and he started down the road, keeping his bulk to the walls and shadows as best he could, though it wasn't so easy for a fur his size; both height and width worked against him, but he had the handy distraction of someone's horse getting shot out from under them and a familiar, somewhat irritating voice calling out a challenge. Liam suppressed a chuckle as he worked his way closer... their stable had been a small distance away from the main square, and the lanterns that lit the street here were unfortunate in their placement, forcing the big wildcat to dash across their glare several times along the way...
[size=75][i][color=darkred]"Madness doesn't always howl - sometimes, Madness is just that little voice at the end of the day that says 'Hey, is there room in your head for one more?"[/i][/color][/size]

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Post by zakorath »

Monty stopped playing suddenly at the sound of gunfire. Some Gawainian bally great bastard was laying down the terms of surrender. Monty wouldn't, no. Couldn't take this lightly. Sir Bazin surprised him by leaping into action far faster than any nobleman he'd ever met. A challenge was issued, and Monty himself was asked to be a second. "Of course, I shall, my friend. Of course." He ran in huge strides to the doorway, and drew his rapier. It's perfect balance at work immediately, he could still fight almost as well as if he were entirely sober. "Horsemen! Damnation! Why did it have to be horsemen!?" Monty hated horsemen, they were hard to attack with a rapier due to the difference in height. It was easier to thrust a rapier between armour plates from above. Unfortunately Monty had only ever trained in the 'honourable' weapons, and had never learned ranged combat.

"tally ho, gents!" He tipped his hat to a drunken fur who had fallen over in the doorway, and ran into the think of the battle. He skillfully avoided the slow musket fire, and went straight for the horses legs. Sir Bazin had his plan, but Monty wanted to bring the riders down to his level. He sliced the horses' akilies tendons causing them to collapse. He got through a good five or so before he was charged and had to run for cover back into the tavern.

Arriving at Sir Bazin's side again, he had no way of helping. "I'm sorry, but it seems I'm not much use with the cavalry. I can't aim a gun, ya-see." He picked up a bottle of whiskey from one of the tables, and hurled it at one of the horsemen. He followed it with a bottle of gin, and another of whiskey, carefully avoiding throwing the fine wine.

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Post by Eddy »

Lukas's reiters didn't waste time. Four men dismounted, disappearing into houses and returning with flaming brands which were thrust into thatch. The effect was immediate. Lukas wondered if there was anything in the world that caught fire as quickly as burnt thatch. Villagers ran past the horsemen, intent only on getting to safely. He had no reason to stop them.

A shot suddenly sounded from the inn, a horse falling with a savage curse from the rider, who skilfully rolled free, pistol in hand as he rose and fired a shot in the window as. Two more shots fired out, one skimming a horse's flank, the other, a pistol, he felt whizzing by his ear. A voice yelled out for a duel, oddly in a Doman accent, causing a growl from those Gawanians who understood. The smoke from the houses was getting thicker as he spoke in Edwinish, "you, who shoot from closed doors speak of honor?! You refuse terms, may no mercy be shown." As he finished, there was a squeal from a horse, two, three, pistols firing and cursing in Gawinish.

His eyes narrowed as he heard the door bang closed. "Get them up! Move, the riders began to ride, their horses trotting in a tight circle around the square, the warhorses prancing as they were trained to avoid shot. Cursing his arrogance, he chided himself, his father's training ringing in his ears, never stand your horse, foot love it when your still. Yelling in Gawainish, he gestures with his sword "Burn the inn!" Pulling handfuls of burning thatch, the riders circled, throwing fire onto the thatch of the stone-walled building. "Retire!" There was no reason to hang about, flames had set in and he considered the job done, wheeling, they galloped back up the road, away from the smoke and head and into open ground.
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Post by zakorath »

Monty grabbed Sir Bazin, and tried to pull him away from the window. "We have to go, now! The thach'll not last long before the whole place goes up!" He wouldn't leave his friend there. Although it would be just like a heroic nobleman to go down in the fire to save the other furs, he couldn't risk having an international incident on his paws.

The horses retreated into the open hills around the village, and Monty grabbed Sir Bazin and pulled him to the door. Stepping outside he saw almost half the village ablaze. He walked out into the square, and could do nothing but watch as the fire spread. "We need to stop it. It's going to destroy the entire village!" Furs were running all around, and there was water being run to and fro between the buildings.

Monty could barely watch as the tavern's roof collapsed in on it. The fires engulfed the entire top floor. Luckily he didn't have many belongings there to be burned. The only thing he lost was his standard, but he could always make a new one at the next village he stopped at. "Over. All over. What becomes of me now?" He asked turning to Sir Bazin.

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Post by JamesG »

Bazin was quickly dragged out of the Inn by Monty, the angry mob now breaking windows to get out of the burning building. Bazin was covered in ash from when part of the roof had collapsed, his eyes watering from the smoke. He was coughing loudly, and staggered into the fresh air, leaning over to take a few gulps of air. There were buildings ablaze, he could feel the heat from them as the thatch caught alight. Fortunately, being in Edwin, a wetter climate near the coast, there was time for many to escape their conflagrating homes. The magic users were trying thier utmost to quell the blazes with their water conjuration, those without magic returned with buckets from the stream. The horsemen were leaving, so those that had fled were now desperately trying to save their village. Bazin's red eyes mat Monty's, as the leopard spoke. He coughed, and said in a hoarse voice, as loud as he could, "I am in your debt, Monsieur! Now, quick! Fetch buckets! Fetch water!"

Bazin stumbled away trying to assist with the water supply. As a gentleman he had been taught the basics in magical arts, but he could not conjure water to the degree they needed. In the distance, through the smoke he could see the glint of the fire's light on the metal of the armour and weapons of the retreating horsemen. They had killed but a few of them, but their leader had escaped with no retribution. It was a cold, hard blow for the ferret-badger, whom felt wounded in his failure to save anything. The mustelid's greyish-blue eyes, now reflected red from the embers flying through the air, caught sight of his servant with his horse, steering the animal clear of the inn. He could mount the horse and pursue, but even Bazin knew that would be fruitless. No, his vengeance upon the marauding Gawainian would have to wait for another day. He knew the polecat's voice, and that he travelled with a band of merciless cavalry that attacked civilians and refused to fight knights. He would find that polecat sooner or later, Bazin was sure of it.

Bucket by bucket, conjuration by conjuration, the fires were reduced to smoldering, glowing embers and ash. Plumes of smoke filled the night sky. It was hours since the attack, and a sooty, dirtied ferret badger sat forlornly at the base of the tavern's wreck, his horse by his side, held by his servant. No rest, one drink, no food. Like many furs of the village, he had no place to stay. He could sleep under the stars, as many a time as he had on campaign, or he could ride on for another village. He had lost sight of Monty in the frantic rush he had been in going back and forth from the river, trying to get more water. He hoped that the leopard was as willing as he to find the perpetrators of the crime, and put them to the sword. Sin indeed! Bazin, a Trinidian, found the Lord Protector more repulsive than ever, and his lackeys even more so for the dishonourable act of burning unarmed peasants. The ferret-badger did not like defeat, and intended to win the battle back within the week.
"You can't just remain a root forever. Eventually you grow and change into other things, like stems and leaves and such. Are a tree's leaves an insult to its roots?" - Sade

"It is easy for a statesman, whether he be in the Cabinet or the Chamber, to blow a blast with the wind of popularity on the trumpet of war, warming himself the while at his own fireside; or to thunder orations from this tribune and then to leave it to the musketeer who is bleeding to death in the snow whether his system win fame and victory or no. There is nothing easier than that; but woe to the statesman who in these days does not look around him for a reason for war which will hold water when the war is over." - Otto von Bismarck

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Post by RatKing »

Liam Lynch

They had been and gone before Liam could strike one down, but the big wildcat hadn't proved useless. When the fire sprang up and furs were running, it was Liam that roared for his shipmates to come, and his booming voice that carried over the crash and snap of fire and the cries of the people, directing the chains to something more orderly and effective. Fire was the very worst thing aboard a ship, and all sailors knew how to fight it to the best degree. Though there had only been half a dozen of them, the sailors of the Ol' Polina had braved the fires at the very head of the bucket chains to deliver the water where it was needed.

As the hours passed and the fire was down to its embers, the crew were still on their feet, double-checking to ensure that the fire wouldn't spring up again from the embers to ruin what little there was left. They were bleary-eyed and sooty, their fur singed in places and all were coughing. Liam himself was a great blackened wildcat, still smoking slightly as he moved, eventually coming to rest on his haunches next to a gathering of the distraught and homeless, taking up a bucket of water and quaffing half before dumping the rest over his head, producing great sooty rivulets that drained down his impressive belly.
"Cor, what'th'heel was that all aboot? Who were them buggers what done this?" he asked to the air in general.
[size=75][i][color=darkred]"Madness doesn't always howl - sometimes, Madness is just that little voice at the end of the day that says 'Hey, is there room in your head for one more?"[/i][/color][/size]

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Post by zakorath »

Nobody knew where Monty had disappeared to, but any fur who knew him well enough would be able to hazard a guess. He returned to the square as Liam asked who had attacked. "Bally great, Gawainian!" He said sharply with distaste. it was all he could muster. He was gasping for breath, and his whiskers were singed. He supported Alberto, the barkeep, on his shoulder. His bar had sustained the most fire damage, and he had resolved to go down with it in the blaze. Monty had gone back for him; Alberto was his dearest friend in the village. it was he who had given him lodging, food, drink, even lent him money on occasion. And today Monty repaid him the favours.

Other furs took Alberto, and Monty collapsed to his paws on the cobbled street. His breathing was heavy with the acrid smoke. He tried to stand and found himself just sitting and coughing loudly. "Alberto! He's okay?" He asked anyone who would listen. If he had failed to save Alberto's life, even if it was against his wished, he would feel a failure. It was all he had done to help, and should he have failed, he would have failed them all.

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Post by JamesG »

Bazin heard a voice nearby, one he recognised. He turned his head slowly, and saw the sailor he had met before, putting his question out loud. Bazin stood up, and answered morosely, "It is the hideous face of the war here in the countryside, monsieur. My father spoke of the terror of the Thirty Year's War. It is no surprise that a Gawainian marauder has so little mercy for the people of Edwin." The ferret-badger was oddly glad to see a familiar face. Whatever Lynch was, a boisterous troublemaker in Bazin's view, he was a friendlier face than the attackers, whose cruel acts were emblazoned on Bazin's memory, and probably would be until the day he put them to account, or otherwise be slain in the attempt. Bazin realised the wildcat must have been in the effort to rescue the village from total destruction, and thought higher of the feline for it. Perhaps instead of the threat of punishment, a letter of recommendation was more in order, wondered the knight. The ferret-badger realised that he was covered in ash for the first time, and extricated a clean handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his face of the dust and soot.

Bazin was distracted by Monty's shouting. His spirits lifted at the familiar sound of the leopard's voice, though he sounded in a bad way, nearly collapsing to the stony square of the town's centre. Bazin led his horse over nearby, and stood in silence for a while, as the feline coughed. Bazin had not realised in the dim light of the torches, and the eloquent manner in which he spoke, but Monty was quite young, he thought, more so than he had at first guessed. Bazin wondered if he had grown up with the Civil War, the ferret-badger himself had lived long enough to remember the years of peace after the greatest war of all time, that time in which he had grown up. It occured to the mustelid that Monty had acted in a very confident manner in terms of his martial ability - he had agreed to be Bazin's second without a second thought, he had sallied forth and attacked the horsemen and he had saved the knight's life by dragging him from a burning building. For that, Bazin decided that he was a decent warrior, and so asked Monty one more favour. "Monsieur Wagonswift, you saved my life, and agreed to be my second in single combat without a trace of doubt. I am on my way to the court of King Charles. I must report this underhand move by the Parliamentarians. Then, I intend to find that polecat, and return his head to place on a spike over Old Nottingham Bridge. It would be an honour and privilege if you were to accompany as comrade in arms." Bazin's tone was very serious, it showed that he literally meant every word.
"You can't just remain a root forever. Eventually you grow and change into other things, like stems and leaves and such. Are a tree's leaves an insult to its roots?" - Sade

"It is easy for a statesman, whether he be in the Cabinet or the Chamber, to blow a blast with the wind of popularity on the trumpet of war, warming himself the while at his own fireside; or to thunder orations from this tribune and then to leave it to the musketeer who is bleeding to death in the snow whether his system win fame and victory or no. There is nothing easier than that; but woe to the statesman who in these days does not look around him for a reason for war which will hold water when the war is over." - Otto von Bismarck

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Post by zakorath »

Monty was only just recovering from the smoke inhalation when Sir Bazin sprung him with an offer of comradery. He looked at the smoldering remains of the village. "It'd be an honour, sir." Was his eventual response. He knew the horsemen would have learnt from the counter-attack on them, and they wouldn't go down so easily the next time around. They needed more help. He climbed up the statue int he town square and stood on the shoulders of the stone fur. "We are, it seems, to do glorious battle with the horsemen raiders. They defiled your honour, and decimated your homes. Who among you will join us?" He stood triumphantly atop the statue and addressed the whole town.

He could only remember feeling this much command once in his life. He had joined the Red Banners when he was only 15. His friends ages int he group ranged from even younger. They were all runaways, and renegades. He had led them into battle with some parliamentarians, marching with the standard. The sense of command and power was healing enough to get Monty back up on his feet in mere minutes after coughing smoke on the floor like a common beast. He stood atop the statue, and finished his point by extinguishing his still-glowing whisker-tips with his fingers.

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Post by Eddy »

Surveying his men, Lukas took a deep swig of ale. The task, he had decided, was a success but the price was higher than it should have been, three men and six mounts lost, several more injured. Last thing he had expected in that small town was to meet a Domish knight. Looking on the bright side though, the word of a noble would carry more weight in Court. Other groups of horsemen had been sent out and, with any luck, would put the Royal Army into motion. He grinned with the anticipation that only the surety of utterly destroying one's enemy would take.

Currently Lucas and his men were housed in the stable of a walled manor house, which was owned by a merchant called Smith. He had taken a liking to the man as soon as he'd met, the cheetah having pulled himself out of the gutter trading in wool was now wealthy and influential. Men like this were the backbone of the Parliamentary cause, the cheetah had been more than willing to house the horsemen, and, as it turned out, to pass on information to Parliamentary ears. This new 'Middling' class, as it was becoming referred to on the streets of Edwin, was growing. As he watched the practical, intelligent feline go about his business, Lukas realised, that it was these folk, not nobility, who would inherit the next age, and nobility would fight tooth and nail to prevent that.

Rising from his thoughts, he went to check on his mare.
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Post by JamesG »

((I'll assume RatKing is indisposed at the moment.))

Monty agreed, and Bazin smiled, glad that the leopard would assist him. He realised that his new companion did not have a suitable horse. He had ridden in on his, and his servant on the other, both beautiful black creatures. He waved his servant over. "Give Monsieur Wagonswift your horse, and find yourself another one." he commanded, and it was as simple as that. The servant obeyed, knowing that it was not really 'his' horse, but Bazin's, and so went to locate any surviving horses in the village which he could buy. Whilst the servant was preoccupied in doing so, the ferret-badger led the black horse over to Monty, whom was rallying the aid of the villagers. Sir Bazin doubted that there would be many a fighter amongst them, they were peasants, and sailors on leave. Even if M. Lynch was willing amongst them, he had his duty aboard ship. The Domish mustelid handed the reins to Monty, and said, "A sturdy horse for our ride ahead. We must make to the court of King Charles with all expediency."

Bazin did not know how many villagers raised Monty's cry, but he could see a few of the younger lads were eager to follow the two knights (for the leopard looked like a knight to Bazin, even if he had not the title), but he did not know how many of those had horses, arms or experience. It was probable that the young men of the village were keen to get revenge, and to get out of the life of a farmer. So Bazin quickly added. "Those with horses and arms may follow us to the court. The Loyalist Army will reward and thank your willingness to serve for your King, your family and your country." There was a commotion, of the younger lads that wanted to follow the war, and try their hand at finding the raiders, and their parents and friends whom begged them not to go, that they had already lost their homes and could not bear to lose their sons. Some, it seemed would come, others would not. It was only a handful of horsemen that left the village that night, but Bazin was glad of the company. The ferret-badger knew that the Loyalist Army needed every able bodied man in the realm to do his duty, and would arm these peasant boys more appropriately once they got to camp. Their armament was made up of blunt old swords their fathers kept from the Thirty Year's War, or old arquebuses used for shooting pests. It was not much of a cavalry unit, but at least they were making headway to the Court, some days ride away. The black-and-white furred mustelid rode at the head of the group, as he knew the way, though it was dark, and the path lit by moonlight. They would stop and rest when the Knight was confident that the raiders were too far off to find them again.
"You can't just remain a root forever. Eventually you grow and change into other things, like stems and leaves and such. Are a tree's leaves an insult to its roots?" - Sade

"It is easy for a statesman, whether he be in the Cabinet or the Chamber, to blow a blast with the wind of popularity on the trumpet of war, warming himself the while at his own fireside; or to thunder orations from this tribune and then to leave it to the musketeer who is bleeding to death in the snow whether his system win fame and victory or no. There is nothing easier than that; but woe to the statesman who in these days does not look around him for a reason for war which will hold water when the war is over." - Otto von Bismarck

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Post by zakorath »

Monty leaped from the statue, landing on the cobbles a little harder than he'd wanted. He graciously accepted the horse with a slight bow as he took the reins. Using the statue's plinth to aid his height he managed to mount the horse with little difficulty. It was a long time since he'd ridden, and he hoped he could still control such a beast. It was a fine mount, and seemed to be well trained, so it would hopefully be a simple case of remembering the rein commands.

There seemed a few good fighters amongst the small group. He could see at lest three men who knew how to wield a sword. It was partially due to himself that any of these furs know how, since he had held a weekly sword-fighting contest in the small town since the day he arrived. He knew they would need further training, and a few of those with guns had never even handled one before.

It was dark by the time they set off from the town, but at least the moon was almost full, providing enough light to see the trail that they seemed to be following. He stayed behind Sir Bazin, keeping to his own understanding of rank and hierarchy. He was beneath him in social order, and sow as behind him in riding. The ride ahead would be long, and the horsemen would be long gone, thinking the town's blaze a success, so there wasn't much chance of them getting revenge very soon.

The night air reminded Monty of his days in The Red Banners, and he almost felt as though he should be wearing the standard on his back. He had often traveled under cover of darkness, into parliamentarian lands. He was young and reckless back then, a mere two years ago, he had thought himself invincible. Yet in those two yeas thence, he had seen so many good furs die, including his closest friends that he had seemingly aged beyond his years.

(OOC - I would assume so; haven't had him post in a while.)

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