Dubhaine Family/Moira/Roleplays/2008/February

February 15th - Akesh Temple

Drumhead tribunals were something Moira dreaded, the rushed trial of men who she would have preferred to give an honourable death in battle. But Akesh Temple had been a traitorous canker on Fontan's southern flank for many years and rooting out those who had actively sort to overthrow democracy and the rule of law for their own twisted religious ends required harsh measures.

She'd established her court in the palatial home of a now-dispossessed courtier and since the government of Akesh fell her men had been helping the newly-established police force hunt out saboteurs and black marketeers, the mufti-clad Yfain using his underworld connections to good effect. It was on one of these raids the day before that they'd caught a messenger for the resistance movement preparing to slip over the border to Caligus, and under forceful interrogation he'd given up the location of a safe-house in one of the outlying villages. Her men had fallen on the manor house just before dawn, their black peasant garb blending into the night, smashing the doors in with their fearsome axes and spreading panic through the building. Those who tried to escape were cut down where they stood whilst a dozen survivors were dragged back to the city to await trial.

"Jerra Sundersun, you have been found guilty by this tribunal of plotting the overthrow of the government of Fontan. Have you anything you wish to say before sentence is passed on you?" this was the last hearing of the day, and Moira had already passed sentence of death on seven of the twelve defendants.

"The Light of Fontan will triumph over your filthy stinking heathen democracy!" the woman's bestial snarl was followed by a venomous spit as she struggled to free herself from the two guardsmen holding her.

"Then by the power invested in me as a knight, you are to be taken from this court to a place of execution, there to be hung until you are dead," she consoled herself with the thought that four of the defendants had shown remorse for their acts, and even now they were waiting in the makeshift cells for transport to the mines of Evora where they would serve their varying terms of penal servitude.

"NONE CAN DENY THE LIGHT!!! ALL WHO STAND AGAINST IT SHALL BECOME AS ASH!!!" the woman continued to rave and rant as she was dragged outside to the awaiting prison cart, it's iron-barred cage already sprouting talon-like limbs and snarling maws.

"WE SHALL BE MARTYRS OF THE TRUTH!!!" cried one, whilst others began singing hymns of praise to the Celestial Gods.

"They seem happy enough with your judgement Ma'am," Carl signalled for the rest of the men to follow as they set off on foot for the chosen execution ground, the city's main vegetable market.

"Fanatics are always happy to die, it's living that they have difficulty with," Moira shook her head in bemusement. She'd stood a dozen times or more in battle and felt the icy sting of metal skewering her soft flesh, and yet death held no appeal for her. Life was all too brief in these war-torn lands, and death had claimed many of those she held dear, but she could see no sense in the grim fate these misguided souls savoured. Still, it was their choice.

When the convoy reached the appointed place there were cheers of support from the crowd for the condemned men and women. Well, what else could be expected. These poor fools had lived under the cult delusions of their self-serving theocrats for too many years to easily see the freedom and prosperity that they would now enjoy having returned to the bosom of Fontan.

Five grim tripods had been erected, and the prisoners were distributed amongst them, helped up onto waiting wooden stools, the nooses lowered over their heads and fastened around their necks. Moira took her place in front of the crowd, the fearsome axes of her men - those very same men who had cut their way through the city's finest during the final assault - forming a ragged cordon.

"People of Akesh, these men and women have been found guilty of High Treason and crimes against Fontan. They have shown no remorse for their actions, or for the many deaths which they planned, and as such this court has had no choice but to impose the full penalty that the law allows," she turned to face the gallows, "You are hereby sentenced to be hung by the neck until dead, your bodies then to be displayed in gibbets as a warning to all of the fate awaiting those who would impose tyranny on the free peoples of Fontan."

The stools were yanked away and the condemned bodies twisted gruesomely on their flaxen tethers, limbs flailing as their faces darkened and blotched. A few scattered voices half-heartedly voiced Celestial Hymns, but most who watched that sorry spectacle stood in silence and any glamour associated with martyrdom was soon lost in the smell of excrement and the staccato jerking of dying limbs.

February 22nd - Krimml

Moira's pavilion sat at the heart of a sea of bright silks and beyond that the city of felt and canvas that attended to the needs of her Cagilan Guards. At each town and village on the forced march north from Akesh Temple her small band of loyal veterans had been greeted with cheers and hospitality, the word of their brave battle on the ramparts of that once-blighted citadel having spread like wildfire through the southern provinces.

Their regimental colours were now known from Ashforth to the borders of Caligus, the Star of Fontan overlaid with the Caligan Gryphon Rampant and their motto "by the jaws". The cunningly crafted black armour with its snarling lion helms was dull and encrusted with mud as they marched ever closer to the capital, nor was their manner that of the disciplined companies which formed the backbone of Fontan's military might, but the easy familiarity belied a band of warriors who in the heat of battle fought - and if necessary died - as one.

And yet Moira was all too conscious of the new duties awaiting them, for the Imperial Cagilan Guard had been called to the highest calling of a Knight of the free peoples: they would be joining the ranks of the Lions and standing side-by-side with the first among all the warrior societies of the world. She and her men had worked hard for this day and this honour, for the right to stand in the front rank of Fontan's most feared army and wreak utter annihilation on her enemies.

But the Guard were a small company, quite unlike the ranks of disciplined infantry that Count Sulliven and Marshal Ertugrul had gathered to their banner, and she wondered where she would find sufficient men to fill out their ranks. And what impact would an influx of new recruits have on their combat readiness?

The small column had arrived at Krimml late in the evening, tired and hungry and barely able to get their camp in order. That was how she remembered it: the small cluster of pavilions on the sward outside the main city gate, Yfain and Rollo taking the first watch whilst the other men sat joking around the campfires, telling stories of distant Atamara and the fair maidens of Calis and Cagil and mountainous Eaglin. Moira joined them for a while, sharing their relief at being for one night free from the concerns of war, but eventually she retired to ponder her conundrum.

It as an hour past dawn and she was deep in a strange dream in which her young brother Cathal was soaring high above her on the wings of a raven, plunging into an approaching storm. The details were vivid and she tried to call to him, to summon him back to her. She came to with a start to find Iraen leaning across her cot, behind her the sounds of commotion in the camp.

"Ma'am, Captain Heinman requests that you join him immediately," she was holding Moira's tunic and breeches in one hand and drawing back the covers with the other.

"What's all that noise Iraen?"

"Volunteers ma'am. And there's also a messenger from Lord Zanzart who requests an audience with you."

Volunteers? Moira hurried into her clothes and pulled her fiery black hair back into a knot as a single concession to good grooming. Stepping through the pavilion flap she was utterly flabbergasted by the site which met her eyes. Well over one hundred men mustered in the camp, émigrés from the length and breadth of Fontan dressed in a motley assortment of colours and styles, ranging between twenty and fifty years of age and each with the hardened look of the professional soldier. At sight of Moira they cheered so loud that Carl Heinman had to bellow repeatedly to get them to quieten back down.

"And what do we have here?" she stood with her hands on her hips, eyes taking in every detail of dress and stance.

One of the men stood to attention and replied, "We're here to join your regiment Ma'am and fight for Fontan."

She studied him for a moment, "Why should the Imperial Cagilan Guard accept any of you into its ranks? We who have crested the walls at Ashforth and Akesh Temple? We who stood in the bloody mire of Oberndorf not once nor twice but thrice in succession. Why should we accept you into our ranks?"

There was a deafening silence.

"Well?"

The man who had spoken before stepped forward, "Because we are blood of the same blood Ma'am. And we would die with our brothers earning glory for our families, for the Empire which spawned us, and for the people of this foreign land who have welcomed us and taught us the true meaning of liberty."

"Noble sentiments," she walked towards them, arms folded, "but we demand more. It is not enough to be Cagilian. None may wear the black armour and lion helm unless he prove himself worthy."

She turned to Carl, "Captain Heinman, Yfain and yourself can put them through their paces. Work them until they drop and pick the best. We need to field sixty men when we return to the front for there is still much to be done in the north."

"Yes Ma'am!" she dreaded to think the punishing tests her two closest retainers would put these aspirants through, but given the stench of death which clung to the regiment she would not take any man who was not fully prepared for the task.

To the gathered throng, "Not all of you will be chosen. There is no shame in this. No dishonour. There is but one Cagilan Guard in this whole continent, one regiment to uphold our forefathers' proud tradition of military excellence. But there are many Fontanese regiments who would benfit from your service and from the courage which I know each of you possesses. By the jaws!"

"BY THE JAWS!!!"

"Now where's that messenger?" she turned back to Iraen.

"In the Captain's quarters Ma'am."

"Good, then let's see what business he has here."

It transpired that he had brought a chest of gold to pay for recruiting and refitting, "My Lord Zanzert welcomes you to the Lions Ma'am and requests that you use this small bursary wisely."

"Tell your Master that this gift is much appreciated and that we shall rendezvous with the Army as soon as we are in a fit state to march."

February 24th - Commonyr

Moira sat in her pavilion reading the day's despatches whilst Iraen massaged the knots from her aching muscles. The day had started early with a brief but bloody engagement driving off Sirionite raiders, her newly-enlarged force making a reasonable showing for their first battle together. Of the sixty-three men who followed her into battle, only Aoidh had taken a wound - grappling with an elven standard bearer for the Wind Walkers colours.

Yfain and Carl were standing nearby studying a map of the northern realms and guessing at the disposition of enemy troops. If today's intelligence reports were anything to go by the Northern Alliance was crumbling on all fronts, coloured wooden markers showed the positions of Fontanese troops and of known enemy forces.

"Now here's a funny tale," Moira raised herself up on her elbows and passed the letter to her advisors, "it seems that fatuous arse Sir Louis de la Fere was apprehended robbing the Krimml Tax Office."

Yfain studied the report from Sir Elberan, "The lad has a lot to learn about larceny if he's that easily apprehended." He handed the letter to Carl, a broad grin on his face.

"This is going to look bad for Chancellor Tal and his faction - Sir Louis is one of his most vocal supporters," the captain scratched his greying stubble where he'd yet to shave.

"Well I would have thought Sir Aeneas would have been less than pleased to have Oporto associated with this sort of behaviour, but it seems he's taken the whole affair quite lightly," Moira settled herself back down onto the trestle couch.

"Bah! That's the bloody nobility for you - all sticking together. If that had been a commoner he'd have been strung up by now and the whole affair forgotten," as usual Yfain didn't mince his words, doubtless remembering some friend who'd suffered a similar fate.

"Well if they'd been caught red-handed it wouldn't take long for a court to decide the case, now would it?" Moira reached down to the salver in front of her, poured a goblet of sweet elven wine and took a thoughtful sip.

"There could of course be more to this than meets the eye," Carl was reading a report of the troop dispositions in Tabost.

"You mean a conspiracy?" Iraen blurted out. "Sorry Ma'am. I didn't meant to interrupt..."

"That's okay lass," Yfain cast her a roguish grin, "it's the thought on all our minds."

"Indeed it is Yfain," Moira swung herself into a sitting position, pulling the towel around her. "The evidence doesn't look good for Sir Louis. The Tax Office guards are hardly likely to have concocted such an implausible story by themselves, and Banker Carnes clearly puts a lot of stock by their account. But a noble of Sir Louis's public stature is hardly likely to take such a risky course of action unless he hoped to profit by it in ways other than purely financial. After all, what would a few gold from the Krimml treasury be worth to a man with estates and the ear of those in high office?"

"Then again," Yfain's face turned serious, "what would Sir Louis have to gain?"

"Well were it not for the fact he was apprehended in the act I'd assume some political enemy were seeking to undermine his reputation by spreading rumours," Moira bit her bottom lip.

"Then treason it must be," Carl sat down next to her.

"I pray you're wrong Carl," she placed her hand on his shoulder, "the enemy within is by far the most dangerous..."