Arcaea/Dining Hall Late 08-09/Foreign Families
"Nearly there lads! Don't give up!"
Darius uttered these words of encouragement to his men as they trekked off to Lantzas in search of the well-reputed houses of healing. Two men had been wounded in a battle with monsters, while two others had been less fortunate and had been presumed dead straight away - they'd only found odd limbs. Darius had found their amateurish tactics to be almost laughably pathetic, assuming formations better suited to standard war than monster hunting, but he hadn't wanted to say much because of the worries of rumour.
As the troop mounted the hill, the houses of healing came into sight, and slightly to the south, the Baron's estate. Darius mentally noted to pay a visit to his liege, if he was around - some reports of court holding in the region suggested he'd been travelling around a little of late. As he thought, he turned and noticed some his men coming up the hill, dragging their fallen comrades, who did not appear to be moving at all. Darius, concerned, moved forwards.
"Is he dead?" Darius asked the two exhausted men carrying their comrades.
Silently, the men nodded, taking the moments rest to catch their breath.
"Very well. Everyone, gather round - you lot stay here. Dig two graves for these men, and you," Darius pointed at one grizzled soldier, "go to my estate and find the chaplain, tell him we need funeral rites."
Darius nodded at the grunt of assent, mounted his horse, and rode down to the house of healers, with his scribe in tow. After a short ride, he arrived, dismounting and entering. he looked around the building in the hall that greetexd him, but after a few moments, a steward of some description hailed him.
"Sir? Are you here for our healers, or our records?"
"Records? Do you keep them here, too?" Asked Darius?"
His scribe coughed discreetly.
"Er, sire, the records of Lantzas hold information on nearly all noble houses of the Far East. It is a well known fact, amongst scribes at least."
"Ah." Darius turned back to the steward. "I would like to hire a healer, my scribe here will take care of that, and then could you show me to the records?"
The scribe departed, while the steward indicated for Darius to follow him.
"So, what records are you looking for?"
"I'm looking for the history of my family... specifically, I need to find one Diodorus. It is a task my father set me."
The steward nodded, and headed down a row of bookcases, filled to the brim with what were presumably past records.
"G, F... ah, here we are. Browse to your hearts content, and find me if you wish to remove anything."
The steward bowed, and departed. Darius took down the records, and carried them to a table near the exit. Looking down, he realised he was in some trouble - his reading was not brilliant, and many of the words were new to him.
"Diodorus... tum ti tum... what the heck is a 'Pian'?"
Darius sighed, and leaned back.
Sir Darius Exiled (Knight of Lantzas)
Much had been keeping Baron Euran Yetisbane busy, of late. There had been the integration of the bandit clan into Lantzas' bureaucracy; that had been an administrative headache, as well as a disaster for his popularity. Quite reasonably, many of the residents of the region were somewhat confused by the fact that the brigands who had been plaguing them for so long were, rather than being hung by the neck until dead as per the usual punishment, being granted lands and amnesty for their efforts.
Much of Euran's time had been taken up with travelling around the towns offering explanations and, where necessary, cracking heads together. Generally, however, the baron tried to be as lenient as possible. The dissenters had good reason to be frustrated, he realised, but demonising the bandits would only cause hatred for generations to come. It would also deprive Arcaea of some top notch horsemen, Euran added in the privacy of his mind, but this was a thought that he did not voice publicly. Somehow he found it hard to imagine the peasants accepting murderers being pardoned for their fighting skills.
On this particular day, Euran was visiting the House of Records in an attempt to provide some legitimacy for the bandits. Surely, somewhere, there would be a record of an ancient house who's last known member had disappeared mysteriously/been last seen wandering in the barrens of Lantzas. If not, he could make up a story about a noble who was thought to have been killed in battle; plenty of heroes had died in Lantzas' defence. Septimus Scarlett and Rhathar Frostbane were just two examples. Both were too recent, of course - the baron would have to look further back into the past to find his answer. He simply hoped that the peasantry would take more of a liking to the bandits if he could prove that they were descended from some noble or another. He had just finished his discussion with Master Ethelred upon this matter, and was leaving the old man's cozy study, when he overheard two scribes talking.
"So, what sort of healer is Sir Darius looking for? We have several newly sworn in journeymen, who would be excellent for any fast travelling you might need to do. They are keen lads, eager to see the world. Many disagree with the comparatively early age we elevate our apprentices, but I've always said that real training can only begin by getting out into the world and healing the sick. Then again, if you're looking for a bit more maturity, men who won't blanch at the sight of a bit of blood, there are some more experienced healers back from their travels."
"What Sir Darius is really looking for," the other scribe replied, "Is a healer capable of teaching him his letters. He understands the rudiments, but his education..."
Euran stepped out into the corridor. A look silenced the pair, although whether it was his authoritative glare or their momentarily terrified glance, it was hard to tell. Months of lordship had failed miserably to civilise Euran, and small children still tended to run at the sight of him. The men were more reassured by his appearance; he was clearly a man capable of fighting in their defence.
"You say Sir Darius is here. Tell me, where can I find him?"
The resident scribe recovered first. "In the Record Room, m'lord. He's searching for a relative."
The baron strode on without a second look. He knew his way around the House of Records extremely well; Master Ethelred was often of much help in crises, and should he ever wish to learn about the history of geography of the Far East, there was only one place he need go. Sir Darius was a member of the vaunted Exiled family, Euran knew, so he would most probably be looking under E. The baron entered the room, ducking under the low doorway, to find his vassal seated at a table and already engrossed in the history of his family. Some of the more exotic words appeared to be giving him difficulty, and Euran remembered the scribe's mention of Darius' lack of a proper literary education.
"Sir Darius! What a pleasant surprise; it has been a while since I we spoke face to face. You are looking for a literacy tutor, I hear? I know just the fellow. Taught me everything I know about writing. He was Dren's teacher too, after me. I can send for him immediately."
Euran Yetisbane Kandurell Baron of Lantzas
