Sciurus Family/Macrinus

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Lord Macrinus Sciurus is Grand Marshal of Caergoth, Viscount of Wynford, eldest son of Sir Marten and head of House Sciurus. His demeanor is grave and disciplined like his father. Macrinus is very serious about his duties and about the religion of the northmen that his father embraced. His patron deity is Odin.

Tales of Macrinus

On Marching To Battle

Sir Macrinus Sciurus surveyed his troops on the morn of battle. It seemed like five years, not five days, since he had hastily assembled and trained his meager squad of archers. Already the young man who had ridden out to represent House Sciurus in the approaching cataclysm looked back on his memories as though he were watching a different person. Macrinus shook his head slowly and turned to give his Quiet Men their first battle address.

"If you are looking for an inspiring speech, look elsewhere. I am not here to entertain you and pretty words will not turn aside enemy swords. This morning we march on Worav where we will break the strength of the snake men once and for all. We will crack open their toughest defenses and scrape out their lands like a hollow gourd. The like of this battle may not be seen again in living memory.

"This morning you are nothing. If you lived two hundred years you would accomplish nothing, and die, and no man would remember your names. I chose you because there was nobody else to choose, and I will lead you into the meat grinder of hell. But hear me, any man who marches with me into that grinder and comes out the other side will be exalted beyond anything he has imagined. The plunder of the Ash Sea Islands will be his for the taking. Across the realms of Caergoth the mightiest heroes of a hundred battles will clap him on the back and buy his ale and cheer his name. He will stare death in the eye and never blink.

"That is why you march. To win the life you never had, a life worthy of men."

Macrinus watched these words sink in. Poor bastards, he thought, they are as ready as I can make them.

"Now MARCH! To Worav! STRENGTH! COURAGE! VALOR!"

(13 May 2008)

On Blood and Deception

The messenger from Stoneville had arrived in the early morning hours, exhausted but determined to deliver the letter he had carried almost non-stop for two days. Every steward and scribe who had touched it had immediately recognized the seal of Sir Marten Sciurus and in moments the letter had shot through the camp like an arrow into the hands of his son Macrinus. Now it sat, its journey finished, patiently keeping its secrets while its recipient fingered the parchment reluctantly.

Macrinus slowly broke the seal and opened the letter that had reached him with such ominous speed. Immediately and with only mild surprise he noted the precise, blocky strokes of his father's own handwriting. Apparently Sir Marten had not wished to share the letter's content even with his own scribe. Macrinus allowed his gaze to linger for a moment on the top half of the page with its formal opening. The courtesies addressed to The Right Honorable The Viscount Wynford still felt strange and foreign but his father had mechanically penned them all with his usual uncompromising exactness. Only after all the forms had been satisfied did Sir Marten allow himself to express his personal message.

I am dying, my son.

Macrinus, with some effort, did not reach for the reins of the nearest horse but instead forced himself to stand and read. He had last seen his father not a season ago after the Army of Courage had helped to break the pretender lords of Abington. The lands around Stoneville had suffered little during the Abington treason and Sir Marten had looked older, certainly, but no worse for the wear.

The chill upon my lungs has returned and this time it will be the end of me. I have seen enough battles to recognize one that cannot be won. You will not reach me before the end comes, nor should you try. I have made arrangement for my own burial and your duties in your new rank are more important.

You have borne your responsibilities as befits a son and heir of House Sciurus. You will continue to live up to your full potential and restore glory to the name of our once-mighty House.

This was high praise indeed. Sir Marten ruled his House with an iron fist, even beating his servants when they dared to speak instead of communicating with silent hand gestures. With his own children he had not been much more indulgant.

You are now a lord above me, yet you will hear my last command as a father: Find your brother, Alair, and bring him home.

Macrinus' eyes widened. Sir Marten had not spoken of Alair in over two years. The boy had died falling from his horse shortly after the Battle of Worav, where the great Eragon Anu Ra had been killed. Or, at least, so the messenger had told Macrinus on the battlefield. To think that he had been deceived filled his stomach with ice.

When you rode away to battle at Worav, your brother badly wanted to go with you. I would not agree, and so he claimed his right to receive his inheritance and seek his own fortune. By the laws of our House I could not refuse him, but in my anger I banned him from ever again setting foot on Atamara. Now I die, and my ban dies with me.

Find Alair. Bring him back. Danger sits always like a black crow on the shoulder of Power and you will need your brother to watch it like a hawk.

Macrinus crumpled the parchment in one gauntleted fist. He did not need to read the last words on the page, his father had spoken them often enough to carve them on his heart.

Paper decays, swords rust, allies turn false. Only blood can be trusted to the end of the world.

I trusted you! thought Macrinus, And you told me my brother was dead! He closed his eyes tightly and began to plan the search for Alair.

(29 September 2008)

On Family Pleasantries

As the brightly colored tents were packed away and the great throng of nobles began their journeys home to all corners of Atamara, Lord Macrinus Sciurus crossed the tournament grounds to where his brother stood saddling his horse. The tournament field was broad and the churn of shod hooves and iron boots had pounded it into muddy ruin. Sir Alair had plenty of time to notice him as he picked his way across the mire.

Alair was making little effort to conceal the look of triumph on his face. And why should he? By any measure he had won a great victory. With no honor or prestige to speak of in Atamara he had fought his way to the second round of sword fighting and the third round of jousting. He had fared better than many seasoned knights. Including myself, Macrinus thought with some annoyance.

"Well met, brother!" called Macrinus. "Truly the gods of battle have smiled upon you."

Alair now broke into a full grin and just for a moment the years of anger and bitterness fell away from him. For a moment he was once again the young boy following his older brother everywhere, dreaming of blood and glory. Macrinus felt a pain in his heart, and as quickly as it had come the moment passed. Alair tossed his head and suddenly the armor of arrogance and unfeeling that he wore was firmly back in place. "Well met, brother," he called back. "It pleases me to have won some recognition for House Sciurus."

Macrinus ignored the barb, as always. "You will return to service with the Army of Courage, I trust?"

"Aye, my lord Marshal Barad will have need of every able man he can get." Another barb. Alair was equally proud of his assignment to the Army of Courage, a promotion he had argued for passionately. Macrinus had spoken no word in council for or against the move, though he suspected Alair was truly motivated by a passion never to take orders from his brother in the Army of Strength.

As stubborn as father was, no wonder they fought, thought Macrinus fleetingly.

Aloud he asked, "Are your funds sufficient for your next assignment? Will you require assistance?" Macrinus extended the courtesy even though he knew his brother's finances perfectly well. Alair needed no funds, nor would he ask if he did.

"My lord is most generous," replied Alair. "Perhaps he could send the profits of Wynford to our dear family in Stoneville."

There was a sly tone in his brother's words that Macrinus liked not at all. Wynford was still not returned to full production capacity, still piecing itself back together after years of war. This much was well known. But Alair's oblique mention of the family finances seemed to hint that he knew more than he should about his older brother's purse. Macrinus was quickly losing his taste for family pleasantries.

"Very well," he replied curtly. "May the gods give strength to your arm. Bring glory to Caergoth and to House Sciurus."

Lord Macrinus turned abruptly and walked away, troubled beneath his ever calm demeanor. Alair watched for a moment, the triumphant smile still on his lips, and then mounted his horse. It was the longest conversation the brothers had shared since their reunion.

(24 November 2008)

On Family Secrets

Macrinus Sciurus read the letter from his cousin Vitor, paused, and began to read it again.

"My Most Honored Lord Cousin Macrinus," the letter began, "Viscount of Wynford, Grand Marshal of Blah Blah Blah Blah..." Not one for ceremony was Vitor Sciurus. Of course no scribe would have dared put such insolence on paper, but by ancient family tradition no member of House Sciurus wrote to another through a scribe. The letter was composed entirely in Vitor's own quick, sharp strokes.

"How fares your war, old boy? Mine seems to have a few tricks up her sleeve yet. I fear I won't be arriving in Atamara as we planned. It seems my old Marshal went and got himself perished just as I was getting ready to board the ship to Caergoth. Stranger still, my lord General seems to think that I would be a good choice to replace him! Ha! Can you imagine me as a Marshal? Who could have thought that us two boys playing at wooden swords in the courtyard would rise to such rarefied heights, eh? Anyway, it would look rather bad if I were to leave my men in the lurch now. I'm sure you understand.

"Your esteemed cousin (who can still wrestle you to the ground given half a chance), Marshal Vitor Sciurus"

Macrinus folded the letter carefully and put it aside. Damn him! thought the Grand Marshal, I thought that Vitor was the one member of this family I could rely on! Little by little Macrinus fought with his anger and regained some measure of calm. Vitor had not betrayed him, truly. Vitor was a man of House Sciurus in his own right, free to make his own decisions. As head of the family Macrinus could insist that Vitor return home, and Vitor would do so. The man cared for nothing but warfare anyway and hang the details. Probably he would not even complain... but no. There was no need to insist.

I do not need him, thought Macrinus. I want to see a family face and I feel a void now that Alair has gone, but I do not need him. Besides, if I order him to return I will be no better than Alair implied when he--

Macrinus paused. What exactly had his brother Alair written before he stormed off to Beluaterra? Macrinus sorted through his personal correspondence and found Alair's letter of farewell. There, near the end:

"Perhaps you will send to the East Continent for our cousin Vitor? After all, you are the head of our house and it is your right to pull family members from your pockets like concealed weapons..."

A strange turn of phrase that, especially when applied to Vitor. There was very little "concealed" about that man. Indeed, even "weapon" was a bit too generous when describing Vitor. "Blunt instrument" might have been more precise. What had Alair been playing at? The boy had an infuriating habit of hinting that he knew more than was good for him.

Could Alair know of their half-brother?

Macrinus did not think it was possible. No noble member of their family had ever made contact with the bastard son of Sir Marten Sciurus. Sir Marten had never spoken of him to Macrinus or Alair or any other member of the family. Macrinus himself had not known of him until Sir Marten had died and left behind his personal papers. Only then had Macrinus learned of the small sums of money sent to a nondescript village to give the boy a rudimentary education.

Galeo, that was the boy's name, grown to a man now and off adventuring in Dwilight. Alair had been in Dwilight, could they have ever met? Not possible, Galeo had not arrived in Dwilight until after Alair's first dramatic disappearance. Gods take him! raged Macrinus silently. Why can he never say what he means!

Galeo would bear watching, that much was sure. If Alair was in contact with him, it could not be for any happy purpose. And who knew? Perhaps Galeo could win his own grant of nobility should he find a talent for slaying monsters. What a dubious blessing that would be. If Macrinus had learned anything in the last two weeks, it was that one could have too much family lying around.

(26 January 2009)