Chivalry and Criminality (Open - Edwin - Yorkshire)

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Post by JamesG »

((I'll keep the ball rolling, seeing as Eddy is not with our group, and thus has nobody to talk to IC.))

The night air became cool fast. Bazin felt the breeze with gladness, releived to be away from the stifling heat of the burnt town, that radiated from the piles of embers, and the sparks, the glowing orange dots in the night that had settled on his clothes, making him twitch at every sting on his fur. With the smoke out of his eyes and the heat, that had been on his face for what seemed hours, now gone, the ferret-badger felt freed of the town's misfortune, though its memory would live inside him, burning in the flame of anger until he could find the raiders again. Bazin was good at collecting his thoughts, not lingering too long on one subject, and the subject of his revenge was now exhausted in his mind. He could not find the raiders tonight, nor tomorrow, nor probably for many days to come. The Knight would accept that, and remain patient, for he had work to do before seeking out the mustelid that had refused single combat, and burnt the village. King Charles would have to be told about the raiders. If the King knew, then Bazin could request permission to take control of a unit of cavalry to counter the raiding parties. Plus, it meant that Norfolk defences would become even tighter than they were now. Bazin still had no idea how the Parliamentarian cavalry had gotten through all their siegeworks undetected. There were always holes in security, no matter how much they tried to plug the gaps in the lines. The siegeworks were more for dealing with large army movements, not detecting every tiny unit the enemy sent to do his dirty work.

Hungry, and tired. The Domish ambassador was used to these feelings, but it was even harsher now that his rest and meal had been so rudely conflagrated. He knew that his servant, obediantly bringing up the rear, had some food in his saddlebags, but there would not be enough to go round. Bazin needed options. A tavern, or hunting. He could not see any village lights in the distance, and the chances of finding a rabbit or deer in the dark with a group of horses breathing loudly was remote. Bazin considered stealing a farm animal sleeping in the fields they were riding beside, up the dirt road, but knew better; The Loyalist cause would not be popularly supported by the people of they looted them. So, the group rode on, until Bazin flicked a curly lock of his hair from his eyes to spot a flaming torch in the distance. He held up his paw, and waved it to the right, moving his horse off the road. The group took his meaning, and also moved off the road. Bazin dismounted, and pulled his wheel-lock from its bucket holster. Motioning to Monty and a few of the men that had joined them, Bazin silently, but quickly moved from bush to bush, until he could see whom was holding the torch.

Bazin waited for the group to catch up, making sure they stayed silent. A few of them were still wondering why they were all crouched in the bushes, not having seen the torch, or realised its significance. The Knight knew it was highly unlikely that the raiders had camped exactly next to the road he had to pass, but after what he had seen today, it was definitely a possibility. He realised a fur was walking up the road, holding the torch. He cocked the dog on the musket, the flint in the steel jaws resting on the wheel, ready to spark off the powder. A few of the lads motioned to get their arquebuses, but Bazin waved them down. One thing he knew about new recruits; they were always far to eager to fire their weapons, often to no real effect. He stared down the barrel at the approaching figure, whom was looking this way and that for the horses. The man was armed, a feline, and as he passed Bazin's bush, he turned and saw the glint of the jewelled barrel. The fur froze, and whimpered. "Oh please, spare me! I only joined the guards because my father says I'm a shite farmer!" There was a momentary pause, then Bazin laughed. Soon his laugh had spread to the other men. It was not a Parliamentarian raider, it was a guard from a nearby town. A town was less likely to be destroyed so easily, they kept garrisons of properly armed men. The ferret-badger and his new entourage were safe for tonight. "Pardon us, my most observant guard! I mistook you for the enemy!" Bazin responded, still laughing.

After buying the guard a drink once he came off duty, in repayment for scaring the living daylights out of him with a gun, and seeing to it that the group had a proper meal, Bazin was well and truly ready to retire. It was fortunate that he was paid as well as he was; by King Louis for his service as an ambassador, and by King Charles, for being a General, a military advisor and confidante. It helped to have Royal friends, so the ferret-badger could pay the rooms for his companions. The tavern was quietening down for the evening, and whilst several of the young swordsmen that had accompanied Bazin and Monty were still up for late-night drinking, the more experienced Knight knew he needed rest. He bid Monty, good night, finishing by saying, "Monsieur Wagonswift, I have sent a letter ahead of us to the court in York. The King is in residence, and will probably agree to an audience with us, on the understanding we bring important, secret information about enemy movements. Soon, sir, you will meet the King! Perhaps, if we find those raiders and teach them the meaning of merciless slaughter, he will Knight you!"
"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 »

(RatKing hasn't been on since March, so... Not sure what happened to him.)

Monty had managed to remember the basic reign commands for his mount, although if he needed to anything difficult, he'd probably fail dismally. He was thinking through what he could remember, although he hadn't even learnt very much in the first place, when the group stopped at the roadside. He pulled his horse over, and dismounted with them. Being lost in his thoughts at the time, he hadn't seen what had started this, and judging by the look on the others' faces they didn't seem to know either. He drew his rapier, unsure if it would be any use in the situation.

The group moved in silence, and in shadows. From bush to bush, they lay in wait for... for what exactly? Most of the group didn't have a clue what was coming. Eventually Monty saw what must be the cause of this commotion; a torch. There only seemed one, and only seemed one fur beneath it. An odd sight, a single fur with a torch and no allies. The group seemed eager to gut the fur with gunfire, but Sir Bazin was able to calm them. This was a good thing, in Monty's mind. He would never attack someone without first knowing where their allegiances lie, and he wouldn't have let anyone else in the group attack either.

The group waited until the fur, a feline of some sort by the look of it, was in line with them. Sir Bazin drew his gun, and Monty could only hope he wouldn't fire before asking questions; he wouldn't dare command above his rank. Luckily the feline seemed a little too cooperative, especially for the job he claimed to be doing. Monty slapped a paw over his face, imagining what would have happened if this guard had met parliamentarians instead. He joined in with the laughter, although only half-heatedly; he thought about the poor town that would have chosen such a fur to be their guard, especially now that the parliamentarians were coming into Loyalist lands.

In the town, Monty was glad of the drink Sir Bazin had bought, and sat at the bar as he used to, staring into another goblet of wine. He smiled at Sir Bazin's comment about knighthood, and said goodnight. He stayed int he bar, although not joining the revelry that the rest of their group was intent on enjoying. Technically, this was what he'd wanted - To get back into the fight. The only problem was that since the last fight, it seemed the foe had thrown dirt in his eyes. The parliamentarians were fighting dirty, without any of the honour he'd seen when he last fought them. They'd learned new tricks that defied the unspoken rules of war. Eventually, Monty finished his wine, and silently left the bar for the stairs. His sleep came quickly, and yet was blessed with no dreams.