Arcaea/Dining Hall Late 08-09/Euran's Barbarian Horde

The log hut was dark and dingy, with a thick smoky texture to the air. It undeniably stank of horse. A man faced Euran over an oak table, studying him closely, and giving the baron the feeling that his teeth were being inspected for quality. Any examination into that area would surely be disappointing. After an age the man spoke. His voice had a long, drawn out quality.

"So, you are the man who claims to rule Lantzas."

Euran was feeling decidedly uncomfortable. The day had been an unusual one. He had returned to Castle Lantze to find a letter clutched in his steward's trembling hand. It had been found pinned to the door by an arrow the previous night, and had left his steward decidedly nervous. An invitation, of sorts, addressed to "He Who Clayms Lantzas". In the northern half of the Far East, that was almost as good as a 'To Whom It May Concern'. Lantzas had been claimed by many realms, and many nobles. However, this was an invitation Euran was not prepared to pass up; he had been half expecting something like this would arrive. The bandit attacks plaguing his merchants were not the actions of a loose conglomeration of disparate outlaws. They were far too organised to be that; one bandit would not have been able to consume the dozens of bushels of corn that had gone missing. Or if he had, then he wouldn't have been able to walk away afterwards, and certainly wouldn't have been able to escape the efforts of Euran's militia to find him.

His attention was brought suddenly back to the here and now by the bandit chief's impatiently drumming fingers. The baron cleared his throat and unleashed his voice. "No, bandit. I am the man who rules Lantzas." His opposite sized him up for another second, then nodded.

"Baron Euran... You have taken Lantzas quickly. It is, although I am loathe to utter these words, a tightly controlled region. This has made my living extremely... difficult."

His throat was dry, but he dared not take a sip of the wine that had been laid out for him. It was his favourite vintage, a brew he had had especially imported from Norland, and one he had been extremely disappointed (an altogether less than satisfactory term to describe the sheer incandescent fury of Baron Lantzas upon the disappearance of his specially-distilled-and-imported-5-gold-a-bottle-Moramroth-1007) to find missing. Nevertheless, this bandit certainly had an agenda, and that might include the death of Baron Euran Yetisbane Kandurell. They had been alone throughout the talks so far, and he was pretty confident that he could take this bandit on if it came to a fight, but he would not put it past the man to slip something into his drink.

"And you expect what?" replied Euran, "You want me to leave you and your bandits to rob my traders, to burn my warehouses, too steal from my subjects?"

The baron tried to work out what he knew about this bandit group. It had to be large - they had captured his trader, merchant guard and all - and organised - they had not yet been caught. They moved fast, so were probably all mounted. That would fit with the smell of horses. Now that he thought of it, the bandit chief walked in a somewhat bowlegged fashion; symptomatic of days at a time spent in the saddle. So, the bandits he was dealing with a large, organised group of horseriders, who must be living independently from the majority of the populace, since he had only heard rumours of their existence before. Living independently? They must have their own village like society, complete with facilities to make and mend what they could not steal for their horses.

Just what was he dealing with here?

The chief spoke up again. "No, baron. I do not expect you to allow us to rob further. I am asking for... it pains me to say it... forgiveness, of a sort. Give us some land. Allow us to live off the fruits of our own labour. As it stands, if we settle in any one place, your militia will hunt us down and force us to move on."

Euran pretended to be weighing the matter in the balance. In truth, he barely needed to consider it. There was plenty of room to the North of Lantzas for these people to go. There was one matter to be settled, however. "Will you send some of your riders to serve in the Queen's Army? Your people must be fearsome fighters."

The mix of flattery and the promise of fighting turned out to be just right. "With pleasure." replied the chieftain, grinning.

Euran Yetisbane Kandurell Baron of Lantzas