Arcaea/Dining Hall Late 08-09/Dashing Dren Keeps Kaetil From Foe
It was not often that you saw Dren on a horse. Like all nobles he had a basic proficiency at riding, but the viking was one of nature's pedestrians. Animals did not tend to get on well with him. The stallion frothing at the mouth beneath him certainly could not be feeling all that generous to its rider, but this was not the time for mercy. Dren was racing against time. On his cousin's instructions he had made straight for Lantzas on an errand of great importance to his family.
Before the war, not an hour after King Jenred's wedding, Baron Euran Yetisbane Kandurell of Lantzas had received what was probably the most shocking news of his life. He had a son. Kaetil resided at the semi-ruined Castle Lantzas, which was where Dren now hastened to.
Since the start of the campaign against Ethiala, Euran had thought as little of his son as possible. He did not want a son, the pain that he would bring Euran or the responsibility that would be forced upon him. The baron did not feel entirely downhearted that the war meant it would be safer for Kaetil to remain in Lantzas while he fought battles on the front. What he had not expected was that his region itself might come under attack, especially not without some notice. It was with some trepidation that Dren approached his cousin's home, fearing that he might be too late. He rode in through a crumbled hole in the outer wall, wheeling his mount to look for a steward.
"Hello!? Kaetil? Steward?"
His voice echoed back from the surrounding flint. A pile of crumbled rock slid down the side of the main keep, and Dren glanced up to see Kaetil looking down at him from a window. The boy turned away, calling for another. Moments later the steward's worried face appeared.
"Father Dren? It has been too long! I shall let you in directly."
Inside, the priest refused a drink.
"I wish I could reassure you, but I can't. Greater Aenilia are coming in force, and we do not have the men in Lantzas to stop them. I'm glad to see you've pulled everything into the keep; those outer walls are simply undefendable." He turned to Kaetil, who was looking at him in a curious but unsettling way; Dren kneeled, putting himself at eye level with the boy. "I am your... uncle." It would be confusing to explain their exact blood relationship. "Many call me Father Dren, and you are welcome to. I am a priest of Magna Aenilia Ecclesia, and I am here to help."
A cautious nod with untrusting eyes was the most that Dren could expect. He rose to his feet and said, "We must leave, now. There is not much time. Come, Kaetil."
There was no complaint, as they mounted a fresh horse. Kaetil was apparently a strange child, completely composed and possessing wise eyes. He needed proper teaching, Dren thought, but that was not exceptionally hard to come by. What the boy truly lacked was friendship, trust, and love. These were much harder things to acquire. Although he felt a flicker of feeling for his cousin, Dren knew that the Baron of Lantzas was not a loving man; he would make an appalling father. Arrangements would have to be made.
As the pair left the castle grounds, Kaetil's keen eyes alighted on a group of horsemen on the horizon. They bore the flag of Greater Aenilia.
Dren Kandurell (Priest of Magna Aenilia Ecclesia)
"No undead around here, at all!" snapped the farmer. "We're respectable folk, here. Won't have nothing to do with such things."
"Are you sure? Because I think..." Dren tried to say.
"No Undead Around Here At All!" said the farmer, very loudly, as if speaking to someone over Dren's shoulder.
Glancing behind him at Kaetil, the priest was cut off in his next sentence by the door slamming.
"What a very strange man." Dren said, before shrugging and mounting his horse again.
"That was a close call!" said the farmer to a rotting figure in a cage. "Can't be having a priest find out about you, can we. Where would we put our rubbish then?" He chucked a scrap of clothing to the zombie in the corner.
The signs and the commoners tell you that undead are no problem at all around Lantzas.
Dren Kandurell (Priest of Magna Aenilia Ecclesia)
Bread and mead were all that Dren could ask of the small village of Four Marks. He spent the night uncomfortably in a local preacher's house; the man was somewhat overawed by the noble priest of Magna Aenilia Ecclesia's decision to stay in his humble home, but in between the stuttered pleasantries and mumbled prayers Dren thought he saw a good heart in the fellow. It warmed him to see the faith being kept in such a simple and pure form in this humble village.
He rose early to prepare some food and the horse for the day's travel. They would have to use all of the light they could to make the distance to Remton, taking the less used paths and a more indirect route to avoid running into Greater Aenilian forces. If they were just noblemen he would have had little fear, but soldiers in wartime were known to prey upon whoever they could; the idea of kidnapping and ransoming a lord's son would surely appeal to some of them. Kaetil soon joined Dren and they set off across the plains.
The rolling landscape was fairly barren, but groves of trees and scattered farms gave them something to occupy their eyes with. Kaetil took it all in wordlessly; Dren could understand the boy's reluctance to speak to a stranger, claiming to be his barely-known-father's uncle, who had taken him from what he had been beginning to call home. If anything, Kaetil was taking it remarkably well for someone of his age. There was something unnerving in his eyes, however, and a certain quality to his silence... Dren snorted. He was surely feeling a natural avuncular paranoia about his young charge.
The last rays of the sun filtered through a small forest off to their left as they approached the edge of Baron Euran's land. From here on they should be able to risk taking better roads; it might only be an hour's hard riding to Remton. As the viking was beginning to feel some measure of security, mounted shadows detached themselves from the treeline and charged towards the pair, obliterating the dying sun's light.
Within moments they were surrounded by armed riders. The men had greedy looks and were fingering their weapons, but no insignia or sign of their realm could be seen. That was not particularly unexpected; these were clearly bandits. Whether they had been mercenaries brought into the region by some army or another was essentially immaterial. They intended to rob travellers, and as much as Dren had attempted to forsake all trappings of wealth, Kaetil's rich lordling tunic must have attracted their attention.
"I am a priest of Magna Aenilia Ecclesia. If any of you have a shred of respect remaining for the Aenil you will let me pass."
A man detached himself from the mass of armed riders surrounding Dren and Kaetil, inspecting them in a manner that made the viking certain that this man was the bandits' leader. He spat on the ground at the mention of the Aenil.
"There are greater gods than your precious Aenil, but I am not here to have some kind of debate. Your young friend there is clearly a personage of some distinction; you wouldn't happen to have any valuables with you?"
This preamble, Dren was certain, was simply to save their attackers the trouble of searching them. The bandit chief had surely made up his mind already to kill the priest and kidnap the boy. Drawing himself up to his full height on the horse, Dren proclaimed,
"I am not a simple village preacher. I am Father Dren, of noble blood and a servant of the Aenil, and I command you to let me pass!"
This caused a minor commotion amongst the bandits. Most of them had clearly heard of him, and it appeared that the more religious among them were not keen to become the killers of a man who was widely hailed as the 'Saviour of Talex' by commoners. Seeing that his soldiers were in danger of losing their trust in him, the bandit chief decided to end the priest's life before it became more of a problem. He drew his sword and struck in one smooth movement, and Dren would have been taken in the throat had it not been for a lucky or insightful step backwards from his horse. As it was, the blow landed just above his shoulder, merely grazing him and giving him the time to grab his assailant's forearm and help it on its way; the chief was sent sprawling from his mount. Dren thanked the Aenil; at least one of them was watching over him at that time.
Rising to his feet, the bandit was about to order his men to carve up the lucky priest when a horn sounded from the south. Dren's attackers looked suddenly worried, and they turned their heads towards the sound in a search for its source. After several seconds, a lone rider trotted over the lip of a hill to the south, blowing his horn again and riding forwards with an easy confidence. Emboldened by his apparent solitude several of the bandits began to urge their mounts towards the hornblower, when suddenly an cacophony of sound erupted from the east.
Dren Kandurell (Priest of Magna Aenilia Ecclesia)
Around 20 horsemen rode towards them, suddenly extremely noticeable as they had not been before, when the bandits had been distracted to the south.
Before they could react the charging horsemen were upon them, hacking and slashing away at the soldiers. Now that they were close, Dren could see that they were tribesmen, raiders which his cousin had befriended upon taking the lordship of Lantzas. They were saved! Within two minutes the bandits had been driven off, giving Dren cause to thank the Aenil once more. The tribe leader rode up to him.
"Father Dren, is it? We are honoured to see you here. Truly, great Merowech is watching over us."
"My deepest thanks for your swift arrival. Some spirit surely sped you to this place today, I can only agree. I must make haste, but I should enjoy learning of your customs if I can return."
"You would be made welcome."
The tribesmen were not known for their eloquent speech; they quickly departed.
Dren Kandurell (Priest of Magna Aenilia Ecclesia)
Kaetil sat in the kitchens of the Royal Palace, sucking up a large bowl of soup. He had had a hard few days, and given the total upset of his recent life, multiple times, he was bearing up extremely well.
Dren waited outside the throne room, having requested an audience with his majesty.
Dren Kandurell (Priest of Magna Aenilia Ecclesia)
Jenred sighed. War, diplomacy, an enemy Ruler wanting safe passage, and worst of all Edara off on some fool raid or another with no chance of seeing her for days...Heavy is the head...And now Dren wanted to see him, and wouldn't say about what.
"Send him in, send him in. I've only got a few hours before we leave for Lantzas, and if I don't do it now the Aenil only know when I'll get the chance again."
He leaned back for a short moment into the Lesser Throne, thanking the Aenil Dren hadn't requested a formal audience. As it was, he could get away with his normal clothing, which was happily suitable for the Court, and the light coronet. For a formal audience...The Crown, the rest of the royal regalia...But not today.
As the door began to open, Jenred became the King once more, sitting straight as a sword, face set with a mild welcoming smile.
"Priest Dren, it is good to see you again."
Sir Jenred Bedwyr King of Arcaea
"Your majesty, King Jenred of Arcaea, Patriarch of the Empire, Defender of..." Dren looked down, only slightly embarassed. "All that probably isn't necessary on this occasion." The viking was feeling uncomfortable anyway, his shoulders slightly hunched; these days Jenred's kingly manner was somewhat intimidating, even without his crown. Sighing with the effort of forming the correct words, Dren forced himself to meet his king's eye.
"You must have heard of my cousin's, uh, son. A bastard child, but his only heir at the present. Knowing Euran's way with, well, everyone, it's likely to stay that way. The boy's name is Kaetil, and I spirited him from Castle Lantze yesterday - a battlefield is not a safe place for such a young lad.
"Essentially, my problem is this, your majesty; Baron Euran may be a brave soldier, a loyal vassal and a just lord. He is not in ANY way, shape or form cut out to be a father. I know that he does his best to avoid even seeing Kaetil, keeping him as they say, 'out of sight, out of mind'. He cannot be relied upon to arrange for a proper upbringing for the boy. I myself am a priest, a servant of the Aenil; I have sworn to forsake a family, and in any case could not spare the time to properly educate him.
"He is my kin, and I cannot help but feel sorry for him. Abandoning him to a lesser family would not be right; the lad deserves a chance. Do you know of any who might take him?"
Dren Kandurell (Priest of Magna Aenilia Ecclesia)
Jenred stared impassively outward, concealing his surprise well, but this was...unexpected.
"Priest Dren...I will have to consider this. Perhaps Edara has some ideas...For the time being, leave him hear as a ward of the Crown. Remton should be safe enough, and he will be well cared for until we can find some true parents for the boy."
Jenred was...pensive. He was half-afraid that upon being asked, Edara would suggest that they adopt the boy...And...It wasn't that he didn't want children...But...He wanted them to be of their blood...And to raise them from birth...Not some unrelated and half-grown child...
Sir Jenred Bedwyr King of Arcaea
Weight visibly fell from Dren's shoulders; he had clearly been worrying about his cousin's son. He straightened and nodded his thanks to Jenred.
"You can't know how relieved that makes me feel. Kaetil has had an unfortunate enough childhood as it is, and I know that he's a good person at heart. I'm sure you will think of something for him. This is, as you might imagine, something of a personal matter for my family, but when Euran will simply refuse to talk about it..."
Clearing his head with a shake, Dren's features assumed a righteous and pious quality as he turned his mind once more to the service of the Aenil. It was clearly a role that he felt much more comfortable in.
"By your leave, your majesty..." Dren turned and strolled from the throne room.
Dren Kandurell (Priest of Magna Aenilia Ecclesia)
