Dubhaine Family/Moira/Roleplays/2008/January

January 1st

The Imperial Cagilan Guard had been camped outside the fortress city of Krimml for two days now, their brightly coloured pavilions and silk banners arranged with military precision. From the battlements above an observer could clearly make out the young squires going about their daily chores, fixing food and polishing helms and pauldrons, mending torn surcoats and fetching fresh firewood.

But the squires were but bit players in the spectacle, and soon onlookers from all over the city had gathered to watch the half-dozen noble knights at their training. Arrayed in the finest plate that anyone could recall seeing in many a long year, the dull black surface with its scarlet enamel chasing easily worth a Duke's ransom, many a respectable daughter of Krimml found herself harbouring romances of elopement and high adventure.

Of more interest to the soldiers of the city garrison though were the mighty axes the knights wielded and their fearsome lion helms, which seemed to amplify their battle cries into the murderous roar of those magnificent wild beasts. True they acted individually as knights are wont to do but the whirl of blade and haft as they sparred showed a speed and ferocity that few would wish to be on the receiving end of, and a rumour was soon abroad in the taverns that these were but the vanguard of a larger force seeking a liege worthy of their skill and courage: high lords of distant Atamara come to fight a holy crusade against the evil foes besetting fair Fontan.

Many months before, Moira had researched her expedition to the East Continent with her sisters Aoifa and Brigdha, studying at length the lore of these lands that had reached Cagil before coming to the conclusion that in Fontan she would have the best chance of finding honour. The parting of their ways had been tough on all three of them, but especially so for Moira who would only be accompanied by a few faithful knights and their squires on the long sea voyage.

At first she had found the land and its customs alien - unwelcoming even to nobles travelling under the foreign banners of her kith and kin. All was aflame with war and the common folk sought solace in strange religions but the more she saw of the good folk of Fontan, the more she felt the justness of their cause.

But still she could find no Lord or Lady willing to accept her small company into their service. Doubtless their foreign garb and ways caused a certain mistrust, or perhaps it was just that their numbers were too small? She knew that once she had a liege she could soon muster others to her banner and that the East Continent would echo to the war cries of Clan Dubhaine.

"Captain Heinman, you have charge of the camp. I intend to pay my respects to Lord Alexi and see if he might have some use for our services."

"Do you think it's wise to go into town unarmed Mi'lady? We are strangers to these people, and for all that they hang gawping at us from the fortress walls I can't say that they've exactly made us feel welcome."

"Don't worry old friend, I know what I'm doing. I have heard good reports of this Lord Alexi."

"As you will Mi'lady, but I'd still be happier if Aoidh and Uthwyr went with you."

"If it will make you happier I'll take my squire Iraen. She can carry my axe, although what exactly you hope that will achieve in a fortress of this size save for my quick and glorious death I can't begin to imagine."

"Aye madam, and doubtless our own glorious deaths would swiftly follow. But none could say that I had shirked in my duty."

"Duty dear Heinman will yet be the death of us all, but let us postpone it until another day," her raised eyebrow and sardonic tone bringing a rare smile to the veteran's face.

And thus it was that within the hour Dame Moira Dubhaine came to be walking unarmed and unhindered through the streets of Krimml, oblivious to the curious glances cast at her extravagant scarlet livery as, accompanied by her squire Iraen, she made her way to the palace of Lord Alexi, there to offer her fealty and that of her companions if this good Lord should prove as worthy as rumours had lead her to believe...

January 2nd

The tavern had fallen silent as the five burly Cagilan exiles entered, and now the patrons sat nervously eyeing their heavy-bladed axes and weather-stained cloaks.

"Yfain you old rogue!" Moira threw her arms around the bear of a man standing before her, half knocking him to the ground.

"Steady mi'lady," he spun her round like a small girl, a broad grin on his grizzled face, "I'll be no use to anyone if you snap my ribs."

"Quite right," she laughed as she dropped to her feet. "I was quite forgetting my exalted status," although the look on her face suggested that status was the last thing on her mind.

"Food and ale for my friends," she signalled to the serving girl, "they've travelled far and will be wanting some of your famous Krimml hospitality."

"So what brings you here to Krimml? The last I heard you were getting fat guarding some wealthy smuggler down in Isadril."

"Well, you might say our services were no longer required. We were hauling a cargo of Alowcan brandy up to Castle Ubent when it turned out he'd been skimping on his bribes," he took a deep pull of the ale that had appeared before him moments earlier.

"We were camped overnight in a gorge half a day's ride from the city, waiting on our contact. We told him he needed to post sentries but the bloody fool wouldn't listen, so I told young Rollo to take a scout around and keep an eye out for trouble. Good thing I did too as he found a company of the town watch sneaking up on our position down a dried-up ravine. Anyway by the time Rollo gets back to warn us he's got a fine new parting..."

"Aye captain," Rollo butted in, rubbing the fresh scar on his forehead and spilling the half-emptied tankard of ale in his hand. "I knew I should have worn my hat," and the company erupted in guffaws, tankards clanking and fists hammering the trestles.

"...and we had just enough time," Yfain continued, "to grab our axes and meet them in good order. We laid a few in the dirt but there were too many to drive off, so I had a couple of the lads stow our gear on to a pack horse and we retreated in good order. Last I saw was that fat pig being hauled off in chains, and the rest of his mob being done for. Here's to their memory, there were some fine lads amongst 'em" more clanking of tankards.

"I guess you won't be heading back south anytime soon then."

"No mi'lady, I reckon things are a bit hot down that way just now. Anyway, we heard rumours of some mad Cagilian woman trying to raise an army here in Krimml and I knew there was only one person they could be talking about," he grabbed Moira by the shoulders and she returned the gesture as the whole company burst into song...

Hey, hey, hey, hey who the heck are we, We are the warriors from the mighty CE...

January 3rd

The ale had flowed freely and a good time was being had by all. Well all except the poor landlord and his staff who wanted to shut up shop for the night. A gold coin extra had kept them quiet, but eventually one of the neighbours had called the city watch and rather than get involved in a brawl they'd staggered back to their camp singing that old bawdy favourite The Abbess of Eaglin.

The guards at the city gate hadn't been too happy to see a dozen seasoned warriors rolling towards them, massive axes over their shoulders and singing incoherently in some foreign tongue, but Moira had somehow managed enough composure to convince the officer in charge that they'd be much less of a threat on the other side of the wall and he let them stagger through the postern with an audible sigh of relief.

Unsurprisingly she'd started the next day with a throbbing hangover, further compounded by Yfain's insistence on playing some damned drinking game when they got back to camp. The details were kind of hazy... Thankfully the camp sawbones Helion knew his leechcraft well enough and had concocted a vile brew to drive the evil humours away, taking most of her breakfast with them. She swore she'd never touch Alowcan brandy again...

Now Moira was sat in her pavilion with her squire Iraen unbuckling her black armour, every inch of her body aching from hours of training and the repeated pounding of axe on steel. The life of a warrior wasn't always the glamorous one the bards liked to eulogise...

"Mi'lady," the tent flap parted and Heinman entered, "there's a courier outside from Sir Niles Daray. He seeks a private audience."

"Send him in, I'll see what he wants."

"This way," Heinman held the flap open and signalled for the liveried messenger to enter.

"Mi'lady," the man bowed formally and Moira found herself feeling decidedly out of place sat amidst the heap of discarded armour in her sweat-stained arming jack and hose.

"You may go Iraen, I'll deal with the rest." The young squire followed Heinman outside.

In the meantime the messenger reached inside his tunic and produced a letter bearing the Daray seal, "My master Sir Niles sends his compliments and bids me present you with this."

"Interesting," she accepted the letter and broke the seal, reading the bold hand contained within and studying the attached letter of credit. "Did your master inform you of the contents?"

"No mi'lady, merely that it is of the utmost urgency."

"So it is." she paused, overwhelmed by the generosity of the gift.

"Extend my warmest regards to Sir Nevil. Inform him that thanks to this gift we march for Greatbridge on the morrow with as many fine lads as we can muster, and present him with this gift as a token of my respect," she paced over to her campaign trunk and withdrew the last bottle of Alowcan brandy. It was a twenty year vintage from the dry valleys of Irdalni - no wonder she'd felt so bad this morning, it was a sipping liqueur and she'd been knocking it back like ale!

"You'd also better tell him to be careful when he drinks it. That was a particularly distinguished year."