Dubhaine Family/Aibhlidhn/Roleplays/2020/April

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1st April

Mhed

Wren

The Wren paused motionless atop a rock overlooking the crashing waves far below. Fine salt mist swirled up the cliffs of Hopidrii, lifting her thin hair like the down of a bird.

Empty, she thought. Move on.

Outo Olavi Cosula

OO noticed while being at his restroom that paper was finished.

Scribe! There aint paper to wipe my royal behind! OO screamed.

Scribe run there and said: Sir, there is horrible pandemic stomach flu on the world, thus we are out of paper! Thus only short lett

4th April

Mhed

Eugenica Snodaert

A small stature, up-right and curious, Eugenica approached the circle of kings.

Kings and Queens of beluaterra,

It is with some timidity I introduce myself to my seniors in this hallowed hall. Today I was elected Pontifix Maxima of our realm and I hope to perform my duties and to get to know you all near and far from us. I have met some of you before but never like this.

Daily we hear rumors of fantastic battles against undead and monsters and unruly peasants, sometimes each other. I hope in this hall we can leave the violence behind us and speak with civility of matters present past or future.

A drink to peace and prosperity,

Yours,

Eugenica of Nova

9th April

Fronepu

Eleanore Cruscavas

Eleanore read the message from the queen, her face set in a stony mask. Her captain, Pilar, wasn't fooled, though. He had seen those clenched jaws before, and the way the skin tightened around the scar on the left side of her face. His lady was angry at someone. When she sat staring motionless into the distance for some long seconds, he knew she was very angry.

"Baldric! BALDRIC!" Baldric, her scribe and aide, came scuttling from whichever idleness he had been amusing himself with at the moment. "Yeth, mithtreth? You bellowed?"

"Fetch one of the company artificers here. I've got something that I want built. Tell him that if we still have one of those old Thalmarkian uniforms that we picked up last year, to bring that with him."

"Right away, mithtreth." With that, Baldric scuttled away. Pilar couldn't help but be relieved when he left. Baldric was helpful, even resourceful at time, and fulfilled his duties adequately. But there was just something ... strange about him. And it wasn't just the lisp. Perhaps it was the moist, pale skin, or the pale bulbous eyes that never seemed to blink. Pilar couldn't put his finger on is, but he was always uncomfortable when Baldric was around. But, it wasn't his job to be comfortable. It was his job to get the men to where his lady needed them to be, and get them to do what she needed them to do. So he would continue to do that, and discreetly keep his distance from Baldric.

Soon enough, the artificer arrived with a bag of tools and a bundle of faded clothing. Eleanore drew him to the side for several minutes, gesturing and sketching shapes in the air with her hands, the artificer nodding in either agreement or understanding. A few comments and questions later, and he departed.

"Pilar, fetch me my bow, if you would. And a sheaf of arrows, please. Bodkin tipped."

"Of course, my lady. To the practice range?"

"Yes. Meet me there in about a half hour. The artificer should be finished by then."

Later, the allotted time past, and Pilar approached the range, with Eleanore's bow and sheaf of arrows in hand, and his own bow and another sheaf over his shoulder just in case. The artificer was just finished setting up a target at the hundred pace mark. Pilar squinted downrange to the target, wondering what exactly had been in that letter from the queen. The target was a man-shaped straw dummy, which was common enough for archery practice. But, it was more realistic-looking in form than was usual, so obviously care had been taken to get the proportions correct. It was also dressed in the the old Thalmark uniform that Eleanore had requested, and on the breast of the target was painted the sigil of the Crown of Thalmark. This was ... unusual as well. But, he knew better than to ask questions. He handed the bow and arrows to his lady without a word, and they were taken the same way.

Several of the troopers saw their captain and lady on the field and meandered over to watch. One of them opened his mouth to ask a question, but a look from Pilar stopped the words before they formed. Eleanore ignored them all.

She strung her bow, drew back and eased the string back to rest several times to limber up. Then she nocked an arrow, drew back and held for a second, and let fly.

Pilar had seen better shots with a bow than Eleanore, but not many. His lady could reliably find a finger's width joint or a gap in an enemy's armor nine out of ten shots at this range, so he was somewhat surprised when the arrow did not strike the breast or the head of the target dummy at the far end of the field. It was a hit, but it was low on the torso. If that had been a man of flesh instead of straw, he would be down on the ground, mortally wounded but still living. Eleanore drew again, and the arrow flew again, striking within an inch of the first. A third and then a fourth arrow, then five and six, all clustering within a hand's breadth of the first. And Pilar understood what he was looking at. The arrows were flying exactly where Eleanore wanted them to go. Into the groin of the straw dummy wearing a Thalmarkian uniform with the Thalmarkian royal crest painted on the breast.

10th April

Fronepu

Wilhelm Altenahr

The Holy Warriors.

Wilhelm mused as long buried memories stirred his thoughts. This talk of holy crusaders stirred memories of his youth when he and his brother Ingall, Holy Legate of Arcachon, had burnt a trail of fire and destruction across the far east, all to free the world for the sake of the one true god, Adaghar. Unbidden the chant of the Holy Warrior came to his mind, written by his late brother, at the battle of Ecsetuah, where an Arcachonian army of 1000 men defeated a superior Archaean force of 1500 men. Ingall sang this poem to the defeated enemy on the battlefield. And many times afterwards, as often as he could.

We do not bow our heads to anyone besides Adaghar

This we have chosen as our rule of life

We do not bow our heads to anyone besides Adaghar

All praise to Adaghar


We do not care about the power of the tyrants

We are the foot soldiers of Adaghar

We do not care about the power of the tyrants

All praise to Adaghar


We never care for chains, we’ll fight forever

So let us make War, and battle from the start

We never care for chains, we’ll fight forever

All praise to Adaghar


This is how to free an enslaved world

Thus says the book of Adaghar

The book we recite in the morning and the evening

All praise to Adaghar


All praise to Adaghar

All praise to Adaghar

11th April

Fronepu

Ester Ester Cavendish

Ester Ester pulled her hood closer about her face as she slipped silently down the heavily-shadowed street of Ossmat.

Checking that none of the city watch or black-robed followers of Mordok were about, she rapped sharply on a shop door. Twice...pause...once...twice again. The door opened only enough to let her slip through.

"It is not safe for you here now that the war has started, m'lady," the woman whispered. "You should leave the city."

"I will," Ester Ester answered. "But first I must make sure the community is preparing."

"We are not yet strong enough to rise," Helene answered. "But with your bringing of the word, it will be soon!"

"Yes! And then this sacrilege of a 'Lord' will be cast out!" Ester Ester said, her eyes gleaming.