Post by Nicholas Miller on Apr 11, 2017 21:24:02 GMT -5
It was a little after dawn, and hooves were pounding hard against the frozen ground. Two dozen men, armed and armoured, led by another on, swathed in coats, cloaks and blankets over their armour as they rode hell for leather in the bleak and damp and cold light of the pale sun. The horses were tired and lathered, the men atop of them looked hard yet harried. At first glance, one might take them bandits but for the quality of their gear; routiers, perhaps. But what they were was something else entirely.
They were crossing much ground, and they eventually reached the gate at the castle at Vanderhall and their leader pulled down the scarf that obscured the bottom half of his face, revealing a beard that desperately wanted trimming, and pulled off his hood to show all of his head before exposing the canvas jacket over his armour, the one bearing the crossed keys of a Claviger, and he demanded the gates be opened at once.
At first, Sir Nicholas Miller of the Clavigers expected there would be resistance at the gate. After all, he had been the one to order the initial lockdown of the castle and he did not think the Lord Marshal would do much to relax the security provisions save for the essential running of the castle itself. However, there must have been a standing order to the effect of letting him in whenever he would return for it took little time for the door to be opened, and the men to ride into the courtyard. As they dismounted, grooms and pages had been roused and Nick was already calling our orders, for the horses to be seen to and his men to be found someplace warm and dry and to be brought food and drink for theirs had been a long ride.
And a long ride it had indeed been. Just short of two days past, they had ridden out after snow-obscured tracks had been found and they had followed them into Vanderhall-town. There, it had taken time and bribes to find where the wagon they had been following had been taken, and once more they took to the roads to a coastal town, and there the bulk of their time had been spent. Much silver had changed hands, and not a few less than gentle words and actions had been taken, but in the end, Sir Nick learned what he needed to know, and it was not a pleasant tale he would be bringing back with him. And they had ridden hard on the way back, nearly to the point of killing their horses, for these tidings needed to be made known as fast as could be.
Nick knew his bow, arrows and sallet would make their way to his room soon enough when his horse was going to be unsaddled, and as he walked a page followed him, collecting his hood, scarf and coat as they were being discarded. The archer knight was making his way quickly through the castle, barely feeling the warmth through his snow- and sweat-soaked gambeson and the clothes beneath. His beard needed trimming and his already nearly gaunt face looked pale and drawn, the dark circles beneath his eyes. But there was a determined set to this features, and where he strode servants and guards stepped aside to make room.
When he reached the Lord Marshal's apartments, he walked straight past the two men-at-arms at the door and into the antechamber, where finally one was brave enough to stop him. Reginald, the Dragon's secretary. "Sir, this is..." Of course the man would protest all right. But the archer cut him off. "I must see the Lord Marshal. Immediately."
"But Sir, the hour is..." Another protest. At other times, he might have been a little more forgiving, but not anymore. "Will you let the Lord Marshal know Sir Nicholas is here to see him with news of Princess Mariette, or do I have to shove my way past you first?"
Jean-Luc Deveraux Gabrielle Delacroix Aneira Trevelyan
They were crossing much ground, and they eventually reached the gate at the castle at Vanderhall and their leader pulled down the scarf that obscured the bottom half of his face, revealing a beard that desperately wanted trimming, and pulled off his hood to show all of his head before exposing the canvas jacket over his armour, the one bearing the crossed keys of a Claviger, and he demanded the gates be opened at once.
At first, Sir Nicholas Miller of the Clavigers expected there would be resistance at the gate. After all, he had been the one to order the initial lockdown of the castle and he did not think the Lord Marshal would do much to relax the security provisions save for the essential running of the castle itself. However, there must have been a standing order to the effect of letting him in whenever he would return for it took little time for the door to be opened, and the men to ride into the courtyard. As they dismounted, grooms and pages had been roused and Nick was already calling our orders, for the horses to be seen to and his men to be found someplace warm and dry and to be brought food and drink for theirs had been a long ride.
And a long ride it had indeed been. Just short of two days past, they had ridden out after snow-obscured tracks had been found and they had followed them into Vanderhall-town. There, it had taken time and bribes to find where the wagon they had been following had been taken, and once more they took to the roads to a coastal town, and there the bulk of their time had been spent. Much silver had changed hands, and not a few less than gentle words and actions had been taken, but in the end, Sir Nick learned what he needed to know, and it was not a pleasant tale he would be bringing back with him. And they had ridden hard on the way back, nearly to the point of killing their horses, for these tidings needed to be made known as fast as could be.
Nick knew his bow, arrows and sallet would make their way to his room soon enough when his horse was going to be unsaddled, and as he walked a page followed him, collecting his hood, scarf and coat as they were being discarded. The archer knight was making his way quickly through the castle, barely feeling the warmth through his snow- and sweat-soaked gambeson and the clothes beneath. His beard needed trimming and his already nearly gaunt face looked pale and drawn, the dark circles beneath his eyes. But there was a determined set to this features, and where he strode servants and guards stepped aside to make room.
When he reached the Lord Marshal's apartments, he walked straight past the two men-at-arms at the door and into the antechamber, where finally one was brave enough to stop him. Reginald, the Dragon's secretary. "Sir, this is..." Of course the man would protest all right. But the archer cut him off. "I must see the Lord Marshal. Immediately."
"But Sir, the hour is..." Another protest. At other times, he might have been a little more forgiving, but not anymore. "Will you let the Lord Marshal know Sir Nicholas is here to see him with news of Princess Mariette, or do I have to shove my way past you first?"
Jean-Luc Deveraux Gabrielle Delacroix Aneira Trevelyan