Goldwater Family/Wolfram/Family roots
Family Roots
A small retinue passed by the walls of Castle Ubent, headed into the lands of Aix, until recently part of the Perdanese Kingdom. The men looked weary and rugged, with varying types of armour and weapons, and with the faces of men who already saw enough death in their lives.
However, one thing distinguished them from the occasional mercenary band, looking for money in a war plagued land. A proud gold and black banner, raised high in the wind, and their commander, still resembling a groomed knight after all those years.
“Quite not the turn of events you expected, Sir?”
One of the mercenaries spoke up, adressing the young knight in front.
“No. Definitely not. I’m just happy I will finally see my home again. That’s what I wished for all those years, although not at this cost.”
Horses quietly snorted and neighed as the wagon drove on, with snow quietly cracking below the wheels and hooves. The merchant huddled even more in his warm cloak, trying to escape the cold winds and frost. His apprentice was not as lucky, he had to walk by the horses and lead them, with his feet slowly freezing despite the warm fur stuffed in his boots. Soon they would be back home, in just a few hours, and both men were looking forward to resting back at the merchant's house already. In a warm house, besides a crackling fireplace and without the ever present threat looming in the forests. The merchant and his apprentice were both sturdy men, used to life's hardships, but what would it be worth should they get attacked? No one ever saw the perpetrators, but merchants and their wares have been disappearing for quite some time already. It always happened the same, the robbers would ambush a merchant in the middle of a forest, kill him and all his servants, take all worthy of their attention and disappear before a patrol from Aldburg or further away would pass by and come across them. The bodies of dead merchants all bore the same marks, remainders of arrows stuck in their chests and deep cuts caused by a sword. This, along with the fact that not even a merchant with multiple guards was safe from their actions, indicated that no common brigand stood behind these robberies.
The merchant overheard a subtle noise, unsure of what it was. Even though he was falling asleep only a short while before, he acted immediately and grabbed the falchion resting besides him. Soon he heard it again, and clearer than before - sounds of hooves striking the ground in a gallop and the occasional voice. His apprentice now heard it as well and his face lost some colour as the man froze in disbelief and horror for a short while, before grabbing the handle of a long knife at his belt. They stopped the horses, climbed onto the wagon and waited nervously, eyes locked on to the winding path before them. Soon, a group of seven riders covered in capes, with swords and shields at their saddles, emerged from the forest, quickly approaching.
Wolfram and his soldiers blew past a merchant wagon and continued onwards, only briefly wondering about why it was stopped in the middle of the forest. They still had quite the distance to cover and wanted to reach Foxburg before nightfall. He has never seen the castle, but one of Jacelyn's servants, the same one that delivered the message of his passing, led the small group with ease through the small villages and deep forests. After some more time, the path finally broke out of the forest and offered a breathtaking view for the party. About half a mile away from the winding path they were standing on flowed the river Goldwater, which gave name to Wolfram's house and which he still clearly remembered, despite being away for many years. A mill was built at its bank, with a small dam to ensure it would have enough flowing water to power the milling. A bit further away were scattered some houses, forming a little village, surrounded with snowhite fields. And a bit more to the left, where the river turned and formed a crossing, towered the Foxburg atop a rocky cliff, its incomplete walls and tower pointing at the sky.
"We made it,my lord. Foxburg."
"Who goes there?"
A soldier looked down with caution from the battlements at the incoming party, a bow in his hand. The portcullis was lowered, barring entry into the outer bailey, and more men stood inside the already finished gatehouse, hidden behind its sturdy wooden walls.
"Open the gate. Don't you see the banner?"
Wolfram quickly overlooked the bailey's walls, hoping no brigand had stormed the castle in the meantime. His colours danced unfurled in the cold wind behind him, its golden stripe proudly shining amidst the snow.
"I do, it's ours. But I don't know you, you could have gotten it somewhere else. I'm sorry, I can't let you in. I have my orders fron the Burgrave."
The soldier nervously looked around the gatehouse, bow still at the ready.
"I am the rightful lord of this castle, I give orders to the Burgrave. Open the gate!"
"Now I know you're lying, my lord. My lord may be dead, but I still know him and he ain't you! Go back from where you came, or we will open fire!"
With disappointment and disbelief in his voice, Markvart rode forward and took off his cape. He was a sworn sword to Jacelyn for many years, a bisciyan thane and knight. After his old liege's death, he was sent out to travel overseas and find Wolfram, who at the time earned his living as a hedge knight serving for food and roof over his head.
"Is that you, Dunk, you hotheaded tosspot? Don't you at least recognize me? This here is honourable Sir Wolfram, brother of Sir Jacelyn. Now get that bloody gate open and send word to the Burgrave, before I climb that wall and use your stubborn head as a battering ram!"
The soldier finally disappeared and the portcullis began to rise moments after. The party quietly entered, driving through the outer bailey and headed for the fortified gatehouse, leading to the inner castle. Wolfram still couldn't believe his eyes and what his brother had accomplished. They were both raised in a small manor outside of Foxville, as members of the Bisciyan minor nobility, and now Wolfram is about to become a true baron with his own strong castle.
Of course, the castle was not really that strong yet. Its main tower now stood at only about half its intended size, the palace was only recently built and still wasn't whitewashed, the burgraviate wasn't roofed yet and snow was falling into the unfinished building. The curtain wall was almost finished, but with no hoardings yet and walkways were only at the most exposed areas, susceptible to attack. What was finished, however, was the main gatehouse with multiple portcullises and swinging gates, protected with a square tower and completed with a drawbridge, bridging over the moat separating the inner castle and outer bailey.
A tall, older man rushed over the courtyard to greet the group. His dark hair and beard already began to bear grey marks of age and wisdom, but he still clearly maintained his strength and bearlike figure.
"Welcome, my lord. I am Garett of Stormfeste, Burgrave of Foxburg. Please, forgive the lack of formalities - we have not been informed of your arrival," he offered a slight bow, trying to maintain hold of his green cloak, worn over a well crafted nobleman's jacket. "Now, if you would follow me, please..."
Wolfram and his men dismounted their horses and handed them over to the servants before following the Burgrave up the wooden staircase, built on the side of the palace.
