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Author Topic: Ghosts of the Past  (Read 50465 times)

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Offline revanne

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Re: Ghosts of the Past
« Reply #180 on: January 18, 2018, 05:23:21 pm »
Columcil rose quietly from his bed, pulled on the worn, patched,  but clean cassock that the convent's priest had brought across for him the previous evening and slipped out of the room before the other two were stirring. There was the faintest hint of dawn in the sky and as he passed the church he could hear the voices of the nuns singing lauds. He arrived at the Convent gate, and found, as he had expected, Patch already up and waiting for the priest who would shortly arrive to say the first mass of the day. As he had hoped when father Eifion arrived he was full of news; the bandits who had been threatening the town from beyond the gates had, it seemed, gone in the night. The good father was inclined to thank the efficiacy of all the prayers that had been said, but Columcil feared that the experiences of the last few days were having a bad effect on him and he wondered to himself whether they had not just disappeared to appear again once he and his companions had left the shelter of the town. However there was no sense in worrying about that now. Of more immediate concern was the news that Kieran was to be buried that morning, his body having lain in the town church overnight. That was what had brought Columcil out of his bed.

The church was obvious enough, between the convent and the town gate in the main square and as Columcil lifted the latch the door opened readily enough. Before the altar, in a hallowed space marked with a tall candle at each corner, lay the shrouded body of Kieran, his face as yet uncovered. Columcil knelt at his feet and said the prayers for the departed, his conscience pricking him to include prayers for the man he had killed. He suspected that he and his comrades had been buried with precious little ceremony. Rising to his feet, he crossed himself and then knelt at Kieran's head to bend and kiss his forehead, "God speed, my brother, and thank you. May your soul find healing at the hands of the Almighty." Then turning to the altar he prostrated himself asking forgiveness for all he had done amiss and guidance in the unfamiliar paths he was now treading. Aware that others would be coming in soon he clambered rather stiffly to his feet, bowed low to the Presence and slipped out of the church as quietly as he had come.

There were earthly matters to deal with and urgently too. He wondered whether he would be able to call Darcy's missing horse to the postern gate, always supposing that the poor beast hadn't ended up as last night's supper for the bandits. Not wanting as yet to risk drawing the attention of the guards he sat down with his back against a tree at the edge of the street and reached out with his mind, firmly focusing on the mental imprint that he had received from Darcy's horse as they journeyed and ignoring all the other life teeming outside the gates. ((2d6 4+5 =9 1js7g1khhc)) It was not, after all so difficult, and within a few minutes he sensed the animal. There was a sense of the  contentment that comes to most animals, humans included, with a full belly but some discomfort which increased as the horse reacted to the priest's mind call and began to move. Hopefully, thought Columcil it was nothing worse than the soreness caused by a unprotected hoof over rough ground.

Soon, as he had hoped he would, he heard a whinney outside the postern gate which drew the attention of the guard and he went quickly to speak to him, not entirely sure of the reaction he would get.

"Oh it's you father!" - said, thank God, with no hostility, and indeed he was being favoured with a smile of welcome. "You put up a good show yesterday, for a man of the cloth, and an old 'un at that. Kieran's family know it's thanks to you he had a clean death, and well they're grateful." Columcil was saved from answering by the now frantic whinnies of Darcy's horse. The guardsman turned towards the postern saying over his shoulder, "Orders are not to open, though as far as anyone can tell them bandits upped and went in the night, but the beast'll wake the whole town if something's not done. I could shoot it but I mislike killing an animal in cold blood."

"No, stay your bow." Columcil broke in urgently, "Climb up the ramparts and see if anyone is out there and if it's safe call down and I'll open the postern and call her in. That way you're breaking no orders." The man stared at him, but clearly something had to be done before he horse injured itself in its frenzy so he went as bid, though Columcil thought he heard him muttering something about "fierce wild priests from the back of beyond."

"There's none here that I can see." The call came down softly and Columcil moved swiftly to lift the bar and swing the door open. He moved back swiftly but even so he was barely in time to avoid being knocked aside by rapidly moving horseflesh as Darcy's horse suddenly barged through the gate and stopped as suddenly, dropping her muzzle into Columcil's outstretched hand.


« Last Edit: January 22, 2018, 06:24:34 am by revanne »
Let God rise up, let his enemies be scattered;
    let those who hate him flee before him.
As smoke is driven away, so drive them away;
    as wax melts before the fire,
    let the wicked perish before God.
(Psalm 68 vv1-2)

Offline Jerusha

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Re: Ghosts of the Past
« Reply #181 on: January 18, 2018, 08:06:55 pm »
In the early light of dawn, the young man approached and bowed respectively.

“What have you learned?”

“The men have withdrawn, my Lord.  The left ashes from a campfire behind.  I think they have moved forward; I saw no trace of them returning this way.”

“You have done well.” The man nodded, laid his hand briefly on his squire's shoulder and said, “Now get yourself a bite to eat.  I must think on what we should do next.”  The young man bowed again, then joined the others in their small camp.

Lord Jaxom Trillick, son of Baron Trillick of Trillshire, sighed and looked thoughtful.  When he had returned home to the Trillshire manor, later than he had planned, his father informed him of Lord Morgan’s visit and the treachery that had befallen the de Mariots.  God’s blood it was a nasty business!  The old baron had instructed his son to select a small band of armed men to follow Sir Washburn.  Unfortunately, due to the lateness of the hour, they had had to delay until the next day.

Lord Jaxom had formed a band of five men:  two men-at-arms, two bowman, and his 15-year old squire.  They had set out briskly the next morning, following the road that would lead out of the hills toward Rhemuth. But the delay in their departure put Jaxom and his men two days behind Lord Morgan. 

It was on their second day out that one of Jaxom’s men had noted the two men riding ahead.  Jaxom kept his own men back far enough to follow unseen.  He had been dismayed when one of his men pointed out the signs of a stumbled horse, then tracks of another that was carrying a heavier load.  They were travelling fast, followed by two others.  But Jaxom had been told that Lord Morgan travelled alone.  Had his father been mistaken?

When they neared the town, Lord Jaxom had sent a scout ahead.  The scout reported that two men watched carefully, hidden outside of the town gate.  Later the men had been joined by other, furtive men who kept to the shadows.  One man had drawn another apart, but his scout could not determine why.  Lord Jaxom had decided to watch and wait.

Now it appeared the watchers had moved on.  Had Lord Morgan left the town earlier, or was he still within?  Had he ever been there at all, and this was a wild goose chase?

Jerusha   !roll 2d6
20:55   derynibot   1, 1 == 2 ((catastrophic failure.  So much for reinforcements!)

Lord Jaxom of Trillshire decided to return home.  There seemed to be nothing more he could do here.
From ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggity beasties and things that go bump in the night...good Lord deliver us!

 -- Old English Litany

Offline Evie

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Re: Ghosts of the Past
« Reply #182 on: January 19, 2018, 04:09:24 pm »
Aliset sat on the edge of her bed, pondering how she was going to manage to convince her very protective hostess the abbess to allow her to leave the convent walls to enter the village.  There were some items she wanted to buy at market, if she could, before she and her companions traveled on any further.  Nearly losing her dagger the day before when she'd thrown it at an enemy in a moment of panic without any clear plan for how she meant to get it back had set her to thinking.  They could hardly wait around the village long enough to get weapons specially made, of course, but perhaps the local blacksmith might have some ready made daggers better balanced for the purpose?

But first, there was the matter of escaping the abbess' gimlet gaze.

Perhaps she could shapeshift herself back into Alister's form?  She needed to anyway, and as the Reverend Mother was aware of her ability to shapeshift now, and what guise she wore, surely she wouldn't object to allowing her to slip out the gates in that form, would she? But then again, what might the villagers make of an unknown man slipping out of the convent, given the heightened tensions after the violence of the night before? Maybe that was not such a wise idea after all.

A thought occurred to Aliset, causing her to brighten.  Perhaps Master Darcy would escort  her to market?  Surely there were items he'd want to procure also, not the least of which might be a horse, if his own failed to turn up.  She'd ask him.

Her indecision settled, she left the dormitorium of the convent to cross the small courtyard in the direction of the guest house. As she did, she spotted a familiar figure approaching from the opposite direction, leading an equally familiar mount.  She gave Father Columcil a relieved smile as their paths crossed.  He returned her smile, but continued on towards the nearby stables, the limping mount following docilely behind him.

Looking around quickly lest the abbess be observing her and chance to object, she noted that she appeared to be unwatched for the moment, so she let herself into the guest house.

Sir Washburn and Master Darcy sat on the edges of their respective beds, facing each other. They appeared to be deep in conversation, and at her entrance both turned towards her, looking startled. As her eyes adjusted to the dimmer light of the room, she realized she'd caught them still dressed for bed rather than for a day's outing. Well, that was awkward!  She politely fixed her gaze somewhere above Master Darcy's head, wishing she'd transformed her appearance to her brother's guise after all.  The situation would still be awkward, but at least if anyone else chanced to enter at that moment, at least she'd look like she fit in!

"Master Darcy  . . . or Sir Washburn . . . or both of you, would either of you do me the favor of escorting me into the village? We need to replenish our supplies before we set out, not to mention figure out what changes of clothing might serve well to throw our pursuers off our trail.  We can hardly continue on in a set of badly tattered monks' robes and not attract attention, after all! Assuming we can come up with an escape plan at all, but I'm thinking perhaps one of the village merchants might be able to assist with that."  As sunlight streaming through a window gleamed brightly off the top of Darcy's head, she added. "And you could do with a hat, if you please, Master Darcy.  Or some black walnut juice to dye your hair. It's lovely hair, but it does rather stand out, you must admit." Staring at the wall was beginning to feel even more awkward than simply looking at the scantily dressed men head-on, so lowering her gaze to Darcy's eyes, she added, "Father Columcil found your horse, by the way."

"In necessariis unitas, in non-necessariis libertas, in utrisque caritas."

--WARNING!!!--
I have a vocabulary in excess of 75,000 words, and I'm not afraid to use it!

Offline Jerusha

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Re: Ghosts of the Past
« Reply #183 on: January 19, 2018, 06:28:39 pm »
Darcy Cameron stared back into the lovely brown eyes and felt a warm blush creep across his face. 

“I, ah, I have a serviceable cap specifically for that purpose,” he said.  “Sometimes it’s best not to be noticed.”  Sometimes it’s best to be fully dressed, he added to himself.  “No need to do something rash like dye, or a tonsure.”

Under other circumstances, the look Darcy got from Sir Washburn could have led to death.  Darcy was pleased to see the knight’s face showed as much colour as his own probably did.

“If my Lady would consider withdrawing,” Darcy continued, relieved that his voice sounded calm, “we could ready ourselves for the excursion.”  Or immerse themselves in a tub of cold water.

“Thank you,” Aliset said carefully, turned and hurried from the room.

Both men looked at each other.  Finally Darcy said, “Might be best if she transforms back to Lord Alister.”

“For both our sakes,” Sir Washburn replied.
From ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggity beasties and things that go bump in the night...good Lord deliver us!

 -- Old English Litany

Offline Evie

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Re: Ghosts of the Past
« Reply #184 on: January 20, 2018, 12:13:22 am »
Sidana, rightful Queen of Meara (or so she had been brought up to believe), slipped into the hedge labyrinth at the center of the castle's courtyard garden.  Breena, the lady who had been chosen to be her governess and chaperone, had finally fallen asleep in the summer's heat, and so Sidana was taking advantage of her warden's unexpected nap to steal away for a few minutes of privacy.

Perhaps "warden" was a bit strong. After all, she was Queen, wasn't she? So hardly a prisoner here, in this mountain fortress that was her new home and the center of her fledgling court! It was unfair of her to think of Breena so, yet Sidana couldn't help feeling restricted now that she had moved past the comparative innocence of girlhood into the expectations not only of young womanhood, but of a woman born to be Queen. Why, after all, was all this hovering over her considered necessary? Of course she'd been told since earliest childhood that her family had enemies, that the Haldanes, among others, would like nothing better than to see her dead. But wouldn't they need to know of her existence first? It seemed like a lot of silly bother over nothing, to keep her confined to her chambers in what was allegedly her own palace, after all, but Papa had insisted. One never knew for certain who was a loyalist and who was not, and even the most loyal among her family's following might have traitorous relatives eager to curry favor among the Haldanes. So Papa had explained when he insisted on her remaining within the castle's well-guarded walls, hidden out of sight of the outside world, until the time was right for her to claim her rightful place in the world.

And so she would remain within the castle walls.  But what harm would it be to explore the courtyard garden?  Did anyone honestly think Rory Haldane's searching gaze was so deeply penetrating as to be able to see through multiple solid stone buildings and walls?  Pfffft!  That Haldane wasn't even Deryni, unlike his cousin the King of Gwynedd, horrid man! And even if he could, what would he see but a maiden like any other, clad in a simple linen gown and tending to her embroidery in the garden, minding her own business? It's not like she had the words "Queen of Meara" branded on her forehead!

Sidana, holding her embroidery frame close to her chest, crept along the narrow passageway between the hedges, winding ever closer to the center of the labyrinth. She wasn't afraid of getting lost; unlike a maze, there was only one way in and out of a labyrinth.  But from her bower window, she had seen that at the center of this one was a quaint arbor, with what had appeared from above to be a bench seat.  It was there that she hoped to find some moments to herself in the shady retreat, left alone for a bit to embroider and think. And more importantly, to not be told what to think. She knew they meant well, but she was growing tired of that.

Through the foliage around her, she heard low voices. She had not expected that.  Sidana grew still, trying to determine whether the voices she heard were coming from deeper within the labyrinth, or from courtiers outside of it.

"And what of Trurill?" one voice asked. She recognized that one instantly. It was Papa.

"I'm working on that," said the other man. "Within the week, it should be back in your hands.  There are still men of your clan who remember your father fondly and have no love for the MacArdry supplanter."  That, Sidana thought, was Valerian.  Her heart beat a little faster at the sound of it, and a warmth crept into her cheeks that could not be attributed to the summer heat.

"Good, good!  And that damned MacArdry is dead?" her father asked.

A quiet sound Sidana couldn't quite decipher. Disgust, perhaps?  "No such luck," Valerian answered, "since Jass MacArdry isn't in residence at Trurill just now. He left mere hours before we closed in, it seems. But if anything, that made our infiltration easier."

"His wife, then? God knows she's just as much of a nuisance, if not more!"

Valerian laughed outright.  The merry sound caused an odd fluttery feeling inside Sidana. Her blush grew.  "I've heard tales of Baroness Ailidh. Now there's a woman who ought to be shown her place.  No, Brioc, you'll have to wait a bit longer to quench your thirst for vengeance--she's gone with Baron Jass, more's the pity. But....!" Sidana could hear the smile in his voice. "They're in Cassan at the moment, well out of our way, without any way of learning of our plans for Trurill until far too late."

"Ah." Sidana could feel her father's satisfaction from here.  "And Rory Haldane is currently in Laas along with his duchess for the christening of . . . what was it, a grand-niece?  At any rate, it's a relief to have them off our back doorstep, so to speak.  Who's minding things in Ratharkin? Their heir Bearand, I imagine?"

"No, the entire family's gathered in Laas, Unfortunately, their steward is incorruptibly loyal to that treasonous lot of your late wife's wayward kindred who've sided with the Haldanes, so he can't be bribed. But if we can take Ratharkin during the so-called 'viceroy's' absence, we'll have a strong enough base of operations to begin moving openly. Once we've taken Ratharkin, we can set our sights on capturing that rabble in Laas. Alive or dead, although Rory Haldane would be a handy bargaining chip."

"Along with the Morgan whelp, if your hirelings manage to capture him," Sidana's father mused. "Yes, that would put Kelson at quite the disadvantage, wouldn't it?  What about the de Mariot damsel? Is there any advantage to us to capture her alive as well, or is she really worth the bother? She's merely a knight's chit, after all, and loyal to the Haldane, not to Sidana. Probably more bother than she's worth, taking pains not to harm her."

"True," said Valerian. "But Oswald wants her. I honestly don't care if she lives or dies, but a happy Oswald is a loyal Oswald. And right now we need as many loyalists as we can muster, especially if we're to gather enough military support to take Ratharkin."

"And Laas. Traditionally the Quinnells ruled from Laas. I mean to see my daughter crowned there."

The Grand Duke laughed good-naturedly. "All in good time, Brioc!  All in good time."





"In necessariis unitas, in non-necessariis libertas, in utrisque caritas."

--WARNING!!!--
I have a vocabulary in excess of 75,000 words, and I'm not afraid to use it!

Online Bynw

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Re: Ghosts of the Past
« Reply #185 on: January 20, 2018, 07:43:01 am »
Feyd was already on his way. Well accustomed to long and multiple Portal jumps in day. The plans for taking Meara back from the usurpers were started years ago. And secret Portals were constructed to make the task of communication easier. Part of a greater net that just needs to be hauled up when the time is right.

But Feyd didn't care one way or another about Haldane's or Mearan Independence. He was in it for the money and the Grand Duke paid a substantial fee to acquire his services. And there was a greater reward to be had if he brought in Washburn Morgan alive. Failure of course would not be good, this particular client might take greater offense at failure than others before him.

No matter though. The escape route had already been planned as well should it be needed. If he could not capture the Morgan whelp alive, killing him would still gain additional wealth. Failing at both would earn the wrath of the Grand Duke and Feyd knew he would flee home to Torenth to lie low for a bit with the halls of his family.
« Last Edit: January 20, 2018, 10:38:05 am by Bynw »

Offline revanne

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Re: Ghosts of the Past
« Reply #186 on: January 20, 2018, 04:12:16 pm »
Columcil took the injured mare into the stables and let her into a stall making sure that she had fresh water within reach. He rather suspected that an infection was starting in the hoof that had shed a shoe; it should be possible to draw it out by packing the hoof with a poultice but that would delay their journey by a day or two unless Darcy was willing or able to negotiate for another mount in return for leaving the injured one behind. Hopefully though it shouldn't come to that.

He gathered a handful of clean straw and put it around the injured hoof, then drawing his hand down the animal's fetlock, and lifting up the hoof pierced the swollen centre with his knife allowing the puss to drain away into the straw before centering himself and entering into a light trance ((3+5 = 8 14w7x8dmlw)). He could sense the blood flowing strongly into the hoof to carry away the last of the infection then he visualised the bruised and cut flesh healing. As the mare whickered with pleasure and turned to nuzzle him Columcil picked up her hoof and bent to look inside, though he could already tell by the feel that all trace of the injury was gone. All that remained now was for Darcy was to get the animal reshod. He had best go and tell him what he had done; he had seemed somewhat leery of magic although, given the events of the last few days, it seemed unlikely that he would be spooked by a gentle healing practised on his horse.

He picked up the dirty straw, threw it on the pile of rubbish gathered ready for burning and plunged his hands into the water trough. As he withdrew them he caught sight of two figures, both female, and neither looking at ease with the world. The Abbess had just come out of the convent dormitorium and was looking around as though she had lost someone. Out of the corner of his eye Columcil saw the Lady Aliset standing in the doorway of the guest lodging evidently struggling to regain her composure - what in the name of all that was holy had possessed her to enter there alone? If the Abbess were to catch sight of her there would be hell to pay, and the exalted rank of two of the guests would make little difference if Columcil's experience of religious superiors was anything to go by.

Striding towards the Abbess, he called out "Reverend mother, a word if I may?" and simply courtesey meant that she moved a little way to meet him. He made something of a fuss of his concern about returning his borrowed clothes, and hoping that his own were now clean and saw to his relief that Aliset had taken the chance to rapidly regain her composure and position herself to look as though she was returning from the Church. Bowing to the two ladies he made his excuses and headed back to the guest house, entering to find Sir Washburn and Darcy both flushed and in the act of hastily dressing.

Columcil sat down on his bed with a thump and ran his hands through his hair in irritation. Didn't they have enough problems? "Please don't tell me that she saw you both like that?" The silence that met him was answer enough and a flash of anger crossed Darcy's face. "Don't go thinking things, Father, she just walked in here and asked me to accompany her to market. And to cover up my hair?" The humour of the situation began to strike him and he had difficulty in getting the last word out.

Columcil held up his hands in a gesture of peace. "I'm not thinking anything, Son, except that Lady Aliset all but got caught by the Abbess and I wouldn't have given much for your skins, either of you if that had happened. She'd be able to flay you with her tongue alone, I make no doubt."

Struggling to regain his composure, and not in the least helped by Washburn's silent convulsions, Darcy tried to find another topic of conversation and, thank God, remembered what Aliset had said about his horse. "I believe you've found my horse, Father? Is she much hurt?"

Columcil smiled, with perhaps just a trace of apology. "She's fine, Son, eating her head off all night by the looks of her, all she'll need is a new shoe. I ...er...took the liberty of drawing the infection that was starting and healing her cuts."

Darcy looked a little nonplussed for a moment as though he wished that his companions wouldn't keep springing surprises on him, then he smiled a genuine smile and grasped the priest's hand in thanks.

« Last Edit: January 20, 2018, 05:33:25 pm by revanne »
Let God rise up, let his enemies be scattered;
    let those who hate him flee before him.
As smoke is driven away, so drive them away;
    as wax melts before the fire,
    let the wicked perish before God.
(Psalm 68 vv1-2)

Offline Jerusha

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Re: Ghosts of the Past
« Reply #187 on: January 20, 2018, 05:00:56 pm »
Darcy Cameron entered the stable with Father Columcil.  The horse whinnied when they approached and extended her nose toward both men.  Darcy thought the mare favoured the priest, but since Columcil had healed her foot, he couldn’t blame her. He untied his sea bag from the saddle.

“Father,” he said.  “You didn’t sense anything evil, such as an amulet that might have gotten placed in the bag?”

“No son, I didn’t, but then I was more concerned for the horse and wasn’t looking.” Carefully he added, “I can have a closer look, if you’d like.”

Darcy hesitated.  More magic was not to his liking, but his bag had been out of sight for some time.

“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, I’d be obliged,” Darcy finally said.

Columcil extended his senses, not only to the bag but also the saddle and the padding beneath it.

Jerusha   !roll 2d6
16:34   derynibot   5, 4 == 9

Columcil did not sense an evil presence, not like the amulet, but something did not seem to belong.

“There is something odd,” he said.  “I don’t sense anything evil, but something feels a bit off. You didn’t stuff one of the meat rolls inside, did you?”

Darcy managed a slightly nervous chuckle. “No,” he replied.  “I ate every bite.”

Darcy started to open the bag and reach inside, then decided against it.  He untied it, upended it and dumped the contents onto the straw.  He unsheathed his sword and used the tip to sort through the small pile.  There were two pair of breeches; two shirts; one pair of hose; a fair-sized length of line, neatly coiled; a small book; a well-worn leather cap; and a medallion on a chain.

“That,” Darcy said firmly, pointing at the medal, “is definitely not mine.  I’ve never seen it before.”  Using the tip of his sword, he lifted it carefully.

Father Columcil, careful not to touch the medal, looked more closely.  “It’s fair worn, but it looks like Saint Christopher.”

“Not mine,” Darcy said again.  “If I had one, it would be Saint Nicholas.  What should we do with it?”

“We could just leave it here,” Columcil suggested.

Darcy looked around; there was the pile of soiled straw ready for burning, but he was not quite comfortable leaving the medallion within the Nunnery walls.  He looked outside the stable and noticed the barrel waiting to be carried away by the gong farmer.  Darcy dropped the medallion, grasped a substantial handful of straw to wrap around to avoid touching it, and with his sworn once again sheathed, casually walked over to the barrel.  He opened the lid and dropped the straw inside.

“That was probably not necessary,” Darcy admitted when he returned to the stable.
 
“Probably,” Columcil said.  “But somebody put it there, and I doubt it was with the best of intentions. I doubt your horse needed Saint Christopher’s help to find her way to town.”  He did not mention is own encouragement.

Darcy began to return his belongings to his sea bag. Father Columcil picked up the small book from the floor.  The pale green leather that bound it was tooled with an assortment of flowers.

“I’ll take that, if you please,” Darcy said, reaching to take it back and then regretting his hasty words.  He said contritely, “It was my mother’s.  She never read it after my father died.  It was one of the few things I had time to grab before I was hustled out of the house. “

Father Columcil nodded and handed him the book.

***
Later that day, the gong farmer arrived and loaded the Nunnery’s barrel on his cart.  This town was his last stop before he returned north to dump the barrels.  Once outside the town, he clucked at his horse and set off at a reasonable pace.  He was anxious to get back home.

((edited to include Darcy's cap))

« Last Edit: January 20, 2018, 08:05:02 pm by Jerusha »
From ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggity beasties and things that go bump in the night...good Lord deliver us!

 -- Old English Litany

Offline Evie

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Re: Ghosts of the Past
« Reply #188 on: January 20, 2018, 06:44:26 pm »
Aliset was glad of the slight breeze in the morning air, because it helped to cool the warm flush in her cheeks. How stupid it had been of her to just go barging into the guesthouse like that!  She hadn't given it a moment's thought; apparently one of the perils of growing up in a household full of brothers was that she had grown so accustomed to walking into chambers and finding one or more of them in varying states of relaxed undress, she hadn't given a second thought to how different it would be to walk in on Sir Washburn and Master Darcy in a similar state until she'd actually done so and seen their shocked stares back at her.  Well, she supposed it might have been worse. She might have caught them at their bath and startled them so badly as to run screaming for the Reverend Mother's protection of their manly virtues....

The whimsical daydream brought a giggle to her lips, followed by a groan. How was she ever going to manage to look them in the eyes again and manage a straight face and normal composure?

The amused look on her face faded away as she considered her future. Provided she had a future, that is. Provided it wouldn't be summarily snuffed out by one of Oswald's hirelings, or perhaps worse, by that mysterious Deryni she'd seen in her scrying visions on two occasions now.  Who was he? What interest did he have in her, or was it one of her other companions he was after? How was he connected to Oswald?  Was he connected to Oswald?  She had so many questions, and not nearly enough answers.

And another thing she had was fear.  Not just fear of being pursued or even killed, although certainly those were pressing concerns at the moment. More frightening was the thought of being captured and brought back to Caer Mariot, defenseless and alone, to be used by Oswald to secure his hold on her lands and get an heir on her who would have unquestioned rights to the Mariot lands.  She would rather marry anyone else but him!

Well, nearly anyone else.  The thought of that dark, mysterious stranger in her visions returned to her, and she shuddered. She supposed, upon further reflection, that there were worse fates.

And yet who might Kelson give her to? Aliset trusted the King, else she would hardly be trying to escape to him, yet that thought filled her with a little trepidation also. She hoped against all hope that maybe he would be content to allow her to simply remain a ward of the Crown, to be married later at her own time to a man of her choosing, so long as she chose wisely and responsibly for the sake of her people. Aliset was bred to duty; she knew better than to allow emotions to cloud sound thinking when it came to marriage, though she also hoped that she could learn to love whatever man Fate had in store for her.  She wasn't afraid of marriage in and of itself.  She knew she had been well trained to handle a manorial household, and as for more intimate matters, one could hardly have grown up in a manor as small as Caer Mariot, and seen the number of siblings who had been born to her mother through the years, without having some inkling of the delight her parents had found in each other, although one might have wished their bedchamber had had thicker walls!  The thought made her blink away hot tears.  They were all dead now, of course, between childhood illnesses that had taken the lives of her younger two sisters and a baby brother well before their time, the death of her mother in childbed not long afterwards, and now the violent bloodshed that Oswald had visited upon her remaining family.  But what would it be like to be given to a stranger, and have to learn how to adapt her life around his? 

The door to the guesthouse opened, and the knight and the seaman stepped out, blinking in the bright sunlight as their eyes adjusted to its brightness.  Aliset smiled at them, taking comfort in their presence, the sight of them returning her thoughts to the here and now, her earlier embarrassment forgotten in the light of greater matters to worry about.
"In necessariis unitas, in non-necessariis libertas, in utrisque caritas."

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Offline Jerusha

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Re: Ghosts of the Past
« Reply #189 on: January 21, 2018, 03:34:23 pm »
Darcy Cameron blinked in the bright light, waiting for his eyes to adjust.  Lady Aliset was waiting for them, ready to venture forth to the town below.

“I’ll get my horse,” Darcy said to the tall knight beside him.  “I’ll just be a moment.”

“See if you can round up Father Columcil,” Sir Washburn said as Darcy turned toward the stable.

Darcy found his mare ready to go with a borrowed halter and sturdy lead rope.  He looked around and made sure his saddle, bed roll and leather cloak were where he had left them.  She followed him readily, content to be free from the saddle for a while.

Father Columcil had already found his own way to the group.  He stood with his staff strapped to his back.  Darcy bowed to Lady Aliset when he reached them.  “Satisfied?” he asked her.

Darcy had tucked his pale hair under the cap from his sea bag.  He had clubbed his braid tightly up close to the back of his head.  You would only notice it if you were looking for it.

“Well done, Master Darcy!”  She favoured him with a smile.  “Shall we go?”

As they departed through the Nunnery gate, Darcy wondered if, in spite of his own slight disguise, they were still too obvious as a group of four.  He voiced his concern, and Sir Washburn nodded thoughtfully.

“Actually,” the knight said, “I was thinking I should pay a visit to the guard captain to find out if he learned anything useful from our captured assailant.  I’d also like to pay a visit to Kieran’s family, make sure they are being looked after.”   

“Aye, that would be good,” the priest said.  “We owe Kieran much.”

They had reached the town below; it was busy today.  Darcy spied the stalls set up in the town square.  Market day!  There would be throngs of people.  It would make them less obvious; it would also make someone watching them harder to notice.

Sir Washburn left them and turned off to the guard house.  Darcy, Columcil and Aliset picked their way carefully through the crowd, heading toward the blacksmith’s forge.  Darcy’s mare remained calm as various children scampered by.  Aliset eyed several of the stalls displaying bright cloth and ribbons.

“Might look a bit out of place once you return to your brother’s form,” Darcy said to her quietly.

“I am aware, Master Darcy.”

Darcy thought he detected a hint of sadness in her voice.  Of course, she was still grieving her loss. “Dolt!”  he said to himself.

The blacksmith was finishing with a customer when they arrived.  On market day, he was not as busy as usual.  Darcy explained the need for a shoe; Father Columcil asked to have his staff iron-shod.  The blacksmith gave the priest an odd look, but money was money, and it was no business of his anyway.

Lady Aliset looked at the daggers the blacksmith had available for sale.  Darcy looked at several himself, but did not find any with the balance and weight he was looking for. 

Lady Aliset, on the other hand, found a pair that suited her.  “You’ll bargain for these?” she asked Darcy quietly. 

“Aye, and my pleasure to do so for you.  Yon blacksmith already wonders why a priest needs to arm himself so well.”

Darcy’s horse was finished. “What do you ask for the shoeing and these two small daggers?” Darcy asked.

“Two gold pieces for the shoe, three for the pair of daggers.”

Darcy gave him an astonished look.  “That’s a bit high for a poor sailor.” Darcy sounded aggrieved. 

Jerusha   !roll 2d6
15:57   derynibot   5, 3 == 8  (to bargain successfully for a lower price)

The two men haggled a bit longer.   The blacksmith, perhaps knowing he still had the staff to charge for, settled for three gold pieces.  Darcy shook his hand, paid the fee, and once the blacksmith returned to his work, grinned at Aliset and the priest.

“I hope he doesn’t overcharge me to make up for the loss,” Columcil said.

“Why, he wouldn’t overcharge a priest, would he?” Darcy responded, managing to look shocked at the thought.  Columcil snorted.

“My Lady,” Darcy said.  “May I entrust you to our humble priest while I take my horse to the town stable?  I might as well leave her with the others; no need to take her back to the Nunnery.”

“Of course.  We may be finished here before you return.  Shall we meet at the village well?”

“As you wish, my Lady.”  Darcy gave a brief bow and led his horse away.

It did not take him long to make the arrangements to stable his horse until they were ready to leave.  On his way back to town square, he looked through the various stalls.  One caught his attention; it had several swords, knives and daggers for sale.

Darcy looked through the daggers.  Several were more to his liking.  He was about to settle for one in a scabbard a bit too fancy for his tastes when he spotted another.  He forced himself to remain calm as he reached for it.

It could not be, but he was sure he recognized it.  The scabbard was new, plainly stitched, but the hilt was as he remembered it.  In its centre was a large, round, obsidian stone.  He pulled the dagger form the sheath, tested the balance.  It was the same as when he had held it before.  How could it possibly be the Quartermaster’s?

The Quartermaster had had a pair of daggers, one with the obsidian stone, and one with an ivory stone.  Once, just once, he had let Darcy examine the dagger to understand what a proper balance and weight felt like.  Young Darcy had wanted to try a test throw but had been denied.

Darcy sheathed the dagger, then looked casually to see if he could find the second.  He found nothing.

“How much for the dagger,” he asked the merchant. 

“Two gold pieces,” the merchant responded.

Darcy would have paid five for this particular dagger but not negotiating a better price would be unexpected.

Jerusha   !roll 2d6
16:19   derynibot   5, 1 == 6  (dice roll to bring down the price.  I hope I haven’t used up all Darcy’s luck!)

The merchant settled for one gold piece.  They shook hands, and Darcy paid one gold coin.

With the dagger securely settled in his belt, Darcy went to find his companions.  So far, it had been a fine day!
From ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggity beasties and things that go bump in the night...good Lord deliver us!

 -- Old English Litany

Offline Laurna

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Re: Ghosts of the Past
« Reply #190 on: January 22, 2018, 03:27:52 am »
Two letters of great importance nested between the front breast fabrics of his linen shirt and woolen tunic. The letters were held in place by a leather jerkin, laced snugly and belted at the waist. The courier out of Trillshire had one mission: to deliver the two letters into the Duke of Cassan’s hands. There was to be no delay in getting the letters to his grace.  To accommodate his haste, a third letter from Lord Trillick was to be shown at every way station. This letter allowed the bearer an exchange of horses on business for the Duke of Cassan. In the remaining daylight of his first day, Master Pearson had traversed the highland road to Culdi, giving the town a wide berth on orders of the baron. He had changed horses at a small town north of Culdi and had continued on thru the night, passing into Kierney. His next change of horse would be at Castel Dearg, the seat of the Earl of Kierney.  He would have to make two, possibly three, more change of horse before he reached Duke Dhugal at the seaside Castle of Balamar, Cassan’s summer retreat. 

Master Pearson had experience with the roads in Meara and Cassan. He had been running messages for five years. For three years as a guard quartered in Culdi.  He’d risen in the ranks and became noticed by Lord Adam Trillick when he had ridden a letter from Earl Duncan Michael McLain to Trillshire in twenty-six hours. Baron Trillick paid well for his transfer of commission to his own small estate.  The work had been mutually beneficial. Pearson got a little more leisure time. And Trillick got his information sent and received by the fastest courier south of Kierney. On this trip, Pearson was determined to beat his own best time. It had been just twenty-four hours and the seat of Kierney was just passed that thicket of trees and over that next rise.

((13:09 laurnaRoll to avoid being seen
13:09 laurna !roll 2d6
13:09 derynibot 1, 2 == 3))

Did he expect to see that glimmer of shine just inside the tree line off to his left? He didn’t see it at first, but that didn’t stop him from keeping his eyes attentive to such detail, even as he rode abreast of the spot that worried him most. Along this road, this was the best place for an ambush. Close enough to the red castle to spy on the comings and goings, yet still in the woodlands and hidden from the ramparts by the small hill up ahead.

((13:22 laurna 1st roll initiative for  Pearson
13:23 laurna !roll 2d6
13:23 derynibot 5, 5 == 10
13:23 laurna initiative for mearan
13:23 laurna !roll 2d6
13:23 derynibot 3, 1 == 4))

There was that glimmer of a weapon he was looking for. He was ready for it when he saw it.   
The dagger was in his hand, his throw was fast and straight.

((13:35 laurna Throwing dagger at Mearan
13:35 laurna !roll 2d6
13:35derynibot 4, 2 == 6))

The blade skimmed just passed the man in the shadows and landed somewhere beyond.

“Curses!” Pearson yelled as he kicked his mount into a full run and ducked low on the horse's off side in an evade.

((13:35 laurna Mearan shooting arrow at evading Pearson
13:35 laurna !roll 2d6
13:35 derynibot 6, 2 == 8  Yep my luck for the enemy’s attacks has not failed them yet. Dang it.
13:36 laurna roll for evade to worked
13:36 laurna !roll 1d6
13:36 derynibot 4 == 4  Nope! That is my luck. I need to stop writing events that require rolling.
Actually, I need to stop writing events that require combat of any kind. I should write fun things like shopping in the marketplace. Why didn’t I just make a female character that likes to buy fabric and sew things. That is way more my speed.))

The ambusher took his time to draw and aim. The courier had left him only a small moving target behind the horse’s neck. That target was moving away quickly as the horse ran up the last hill. Not quick enough it seemed.

A weight slammed his shoulder! A pain sent him reeling! Nearly did he lose his footing in the stirrup. Pearson hung on. For life and limb, he had to hang on. He was at the top of the hill. Below him the valley opened to farm lands and the red walls of Castel Dearg beyond. He scrambled back into the saddle as best as he could. He was over the ridge. Out of the sights of the archer. Ride hard! His mind screamed Ride hard!  There, at the highest tower, a flag rippled in the breeze. The flag of the Earl of Kierney in residence on this day. Master Pearson dug in his spurs and hung on.

The gates of the great red stoned keep were wide open for the daily business of the Earl of Kierney. The guards on the gate saw the lone rider long before he galloped into the courtyard. Calls and whistles had been made and men were there to stop the wild run of the animal and to catch the man who hunched low, an arrow sticking up from his shoulder. The lieutenant made his orders and the courier was pulled down and held from falling by two guards. The badge of his occupation was in one bloody hand as the courier desperately stayed conscious.

“I have missives for His Grace of Cassan: they must reach him!” he uttered between gasps of breath.

“Bring him into the hall! Call the physician,” the Lieutenant ordered.

The great hall was crowded. It was a day for local grievances to be heard by the earl. Duncan Michael McLain sat on the dais, his McLain plaid over his shoulder, his copper hair tied back in a thick border knot. He was quick to stand when the men brought the wounded courier before him. The commoners making their case, stepped back, as their earl came down the steps to the main floor.

The lieutenant stepped forth with the wounded man’s badge. “Courier from Lord Trillick, my lord. He was ambushed just outside the valley.”

Duncan Michael was none too pleased by that news. “Send out a squadron, clear the roads. I’ll have no more brigands on my land,” he ordered. He made note that the Lieutenant followed through, instantly gathering the guards at the back of the hall, the commander's orders echoing off the stone entrance as he returned outside. 

The earl bent down to the courier, his hand on the man's wrist, his mind already easing the pain. Pearson’s eyes widened for a moment, than eased, knowing the Deryni’s touch was not an evil thing. Shaking, Pearson's hand loosened his jerkin and feebly  pulled forth a parchment. One guard holding him took that as Pearson reach again to get the second letter.

“I am ordered to see that your father gets these. I give them to you. Will you see it done.”

“I will,” replied the earl. Noting the two letters were addressed in different hands. The second he recognized as Lord Adam, but the first he could not discern. “This, who is it from.”

“Sir Washburn Morgan,”  the man said as he passed into unconsciousness.  The physician was rushing in. With a signal from the earl, the courier was moved to the withdrawing room where he could be better attended.

Duncan Michael did not follow. With both letters in his hand, he left the great hall, leaving others to dismiss the court for the day. His seneschal followed after him as they marched through the back corridor, down the tower steps, to a private room in the cellar. “If a Morgan is in Meara, there is trouble afoot. I don’t like that someone is keeping a watch on my roads either. Be vigilant. Learn all you can. I will return as soon as I learn what these are all about.” He waved the two letters in his hand.

Duncan Michael stepped onto a square stone in the center of the cellar floor. He closed his eyes and he was gone. The seneschal of Castel Dearg gave a nod, turned, and then returned to the main floor, with more orders to secure the keep.
« Last Edit: January 22, 2018, 03:36:27 am by Laurna »

Offline revanne

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Re: Ghosts of the Past
« Reply #191 on: January 22, 2018, 07:32:22 am »
As Darcy rejoined them and he and Lady Aliset began to compare purchases, Columcil wondered if he could take the chance to leave them. Cautiously he extended his senses ((6=4=10 7qqdhgnnbj - the dice are being kind, perhaps Columcil has exorcised the evil spirit?)) but he could sense no particular threat. There was a sense of disquiet, hardly surprising given the events of the last day or so, but no overt hostility. It should be safe enough and there were things he wanted to do before they rode out, which was surely likely to be sometime that day.

First he needed to clear his conscience in confession, he had already intimated to Father Eifion that he would be grateful for his services in that regard if the opportunity arose. Knocking at the priest's lodgings he was welcomed in and ushered into the little oratory. There was much he could not share, but he poured out his confused feelings about the man he had killed, and that he had just spent good gold in making it more likely that he would kill again. There was something in Father Eifion's response which suggested that there was a memory of desperate violence and fear in this place and he left, absolved, but with a sense that what he had unwittingly become involved with was in some way part of a greater struggle. He had an increasing fear that sooner or later he might end up face-to-face with his father and grandfather, but that fear, and the anxieties it brought, he could share with no-one else not even in the confessional.

His other duty was much more pleasant and knocking at the back gate to the infirmary, which he was pleased to see was still locked and guarded though known townsfolk were admitted, he gained admittance to the infirmary where he expressed his thanks to Sister Rosa the Infirmarian. Hesitantly for fear of giving offence, but knowing too that generosity of spirit such as the nunnery showed did not always indicate a bottomless purse, he offered two of his gold coins, hoping that his companions would do likewise.

Unoffended but smiling refusal Sister Rosa drew him into her dispensary. "Thank you Father but I doubt that you can truly spare them, and besides we are not badly off."  Inviting him to take a seat she told him swiftly of the history of the nunnery, how it had been despoiled by Ithel and the nuns taken under the protection of the King himself. The Lady Rothana, you've heard of her and the Servants of St Camber ?" Columcil nodded, all priests in training, whether human or Deryni, had for many years been obliged to spend a month on retreat with the Servants, to ensure that the old anti-Deryni prejudices were thoroughly rooted out. "The Lady Rothana has continued to be generous to us here, we are able to give as freely as we have received." She looked searchingly at him and seemed to come to a decision.

"I am not asking what it is not yours to tell but it is clear to me that you and your companions are in real danger and that perhaps it may become a danger to us all. Most in this town will have nothing to do with Mearan traitors, but not all, as poor Kieran found to his cost. Lady Rothana has been generous in more than money, many years ago she gave me an introduction to His Grace the Archbishop and with the permission of the Lady Abbess I correspond with healers attached to the Schola in Rhemuth. I would like your permission to include a letter to his Grace with a letter that by chance," she smiled wryly, " I am writing today. It will not get to Rhemuth the quickest, but perhaps the least likely to be intercepted."

Did the whole world know his Grandfather, Columcil wondered, but the offer was sensible and generous and he thought that the others would have no reason to object. He nodded gratefully and, taking her rising as the dismissal it was, said. "Thank you, Sister. Now I must leave you to your patients."
« Last Edit: January 22, 2018, 12:27:26 pm by revanne »
Let God rise up, let his enemies be scattered;
    let those who hate him flee before him.
As smoke is driven away, so drive them away;
    as wax melts before the fire,
    let the wicked perish before God.
(Psalm 68 vv1-2)

Online Bynw

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Re: Ghosts of the Past
« Reply #192 on: January 22, 2018, 12:22:07 pm »
Pearson drifted in an out of sleep. How long had it been he did not know. But he sleep was peaceful and without pain or dreams. In him brief moments of wakefulness gentle hands touched his head and smooth words lulled him back into his dreamless sleep.

Offline Jerusha

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Re: Ghosts of the Past
« Reply #193 on: January 22, 2018, 01:23:43 pm »
The guard on the ramparts of the town looked down at the market below him.  He was tired after his exertions the night before.  His master had been none to pleased with him, but the events had been out of his control, so he would get a second chance.  His men remained on watch, out of sight, waiting for Lord Morgan and his party to depart and resume their journey south.  Given the bustle of activity caused by the market, he had instructed the men to watch carefully; the ones they sought might decide to leave separately, blending in with the many merchants who would leave once the market was over.

He had also accomplished the final task that his master had given him.  It had not been difficult to catch the lame horse and place the Saint Christopher medal that the master had given him in the bag tied to the saddle.  His master had not told him exactly what it would do, but he hinted that it could effectively eliminate the bearer of it when he chose to do so.  The guard had some misgivings that the medal had been around is own neck, but that wasn’t his problem anymore.

His mouth drew into a sneer as he studied the people below.
From ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggity beasties and things that go bump in the night...good Lord deliver us!

 -- Old English Litany

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Re: Ghosts of the Past
« Reply #194 on: January 22, 2018, 03:46:58 pm »
((14:34   Evie   Rolling for Duncan Michael to have sheer dumb luck and find an extra person he's not expecting to see when he gets to Dhugal....
14:34   Evie   !roll 1d6
14:34   derynibot   5 == 5
14:35   Evie   YES!))

"The Earl of Kierney!"

The unexpected announcement of the new arrival was made hastily, but not before the personage referred to made it through the doorway of Dhugal's withdrawing room. With a nod to the flustered page, Dhugal dismissed the lad.  Mirjana sprang up with a joyful cry to embrace her stepson, who returned her show of affection, albeit distractedly.  Dhugal, on the other hand, studied his eldest son warily, instinctively realizing that Duncan Michael's surprise visit to Ballymar was no mere act of spontaneity. "What's happened?" he asked without preamble.

Mirjana, sensing in that moment that there was something wrong, stepped back, affording Duncan Michael a clearer view of the other occupants in the room.  Baron Jass MacArdry, he had expected to find here, as well as Baroness Ailidh.  His grandfather Duncan, on the other hand, was a surprise, but at the moment an extremely welcome one.

Handing the letters the injured messenger had been conveying over to Dhugal, he informed them all, "The courier tasked to bring you these messages was ambushed in the valley just beyond the walls of Castel Dearg.  One of these letters comes from Adam Trillick; the other comes from Washburn.  Cousin Wash is in Meara traveling en route to Rhemuth even now...assuming no ill luck has befallen him such as Trillick's messenger encountered." His lips tightened. "Any idea why Kelric would have need to send Wash into Meara? It would appear someone didn't wish you to receive these missives."

Duke Dhugal quickly perused both letters, handing them over to Jass to review as he finished reading each.  Looking up with a frown, he said, "It would appear we have a problem on our hands." Glancing at his father, he added, "Father, would you share with Duncan Michael what news brought you to Ballymar mere minutes before his arrival?"

Duncan McLain, Archbishop of Rhemuth, nodded, his blue eyes lacking their customary warmth for once.  "Kelric arrived in Rhemuth late last night.  It seems he attempted to make contact with Washburn around Compline on the schedule they had previously arranged, but was unable to establish communication with him. Instead, he picked up fleeting impressions that Wash was at that moment under some sort of attack. I offered to come through the Portal to inform Dhugal of Wash's mission to rescue the Demoiselle de Mariot, and to secure his aid in determining their whereabouts and what has happened to them." Looking at his son, Duncan added, "It seems to me there is something more going on here than the takeover of one small manor in Trurill, given how much effort has been taken to prevent the maiden and our cousin from escaping to Rhemuth, not to mention the fate of the messenger tasked to deliver these letters to you.  I doubt that ambush was mere happenstance. Richenda has also had a premonition that some sort of grave trouble is about to break out, and has moved the family to the safety of Rhemuth Castle."

Baron Jass spoke up. "Trurill is my responsibility. By your leave, Your Grace, I will head to Caer Mariot as soon as my men are assembled and provisioned."

((Evie   !roll 2d6 for Dhugal's perception/gut insight
15:26   derynibot   5, 4 == 9))

Dhugal nodded. "I will send an escort of twenty men-at-arms to accompany you. It might be overkill, but something tells me this small coup is part of some greater plot at work.  If no other trouble happens after a fortnight to materialize once you get Caer Mariot sorted, you can send them back to me.  Until we know more about what is going on, I'd like you to report to me nightly.  Just after Compline would be best. "

Jass raised an inquiring eyebrow. "Aye, Your Grace. In person, or by Mind-Link?"

"Mind-Link should suffice, unless you feel a need to use the Portal." Dhugal transferred his attention to his father. "You'll bring word back to Kelson and Kelric about this new development?"

"I will," Duncan affirmed.

((15:34   Evie   !roll 2d6 again for Dhugal's perception/insight/"I gotta bad feeling about this"-ness.
15:34   derynibot   3, 5 == 8 ))

"And in the meantime," Dhugal added, "I'll try to establish contact with Richelle in Laas. Perhaps she and Brecon have heard murmurings of similar coups taking place in Meara, or other indications of increased troubles in that region.  It could just be a rise in banditry we are dealing with, but if there is any chance it might be more than that, we need to know.  Or perhaps Rory and Noelie have heard whispers of unrest, but I'm more likely to be able to get a message into Richelle's dreams, since she's Deryni, than make such a contact with either Rory or Noelie. If I can't contact her that way, I'll send a courier, but under the circumstances I'd rather attempt a mind-link first.  In any case, I believe they are all together in Laas at the moment."

((No time to write a second scene at the moment, but I went ahead and rolled to see if Dhugal succeeds in that attempt to contact Richelle, although that scene will need to wait until late at night after she's asleep. I rolled it at a disadvantage since I doubt Dhugal is in the habit of linking with Richelle, but since the dice are smiling upon me at the moment....

15:57   Evie   !roll 1d6 for Dhugal to contact Richelle
15:57   derynibot   6 == 6

So someone else can take that ball and run with it, or I'll pick it up again when I have time.))

« Last Edit: January 22, 2018, 05:42:22 pm by Evie »
"In necessariis unitas, in non-necessariis libertas, in utrisque caritas."

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Re: Not quite fanfic by Bynw
[September 21, 2018, 11:40:43 pm]


Re: Out of Character (OOC) Thread by judywward
[September 21, 2018, 11:35:00 pm]


Re: Not quite fanfic by MerchantDeryni
[September 21, 2018, 10:25:23 pm]


Re: Out of Character (OOC) Thread by Jerusha
[September 21, 2018, 07:49:03 pm]


Re: Not quite fanfic by DesertRose
[September 21, 2018, 06:56:53 pm]


Re: Not quite fanfic by Bynw
[September 21, 2018, 06:30:51 pm]


Re: Not quite fanfic by MerchantDeryni
[September 21, 2018, 06:18:14 pm]


Re: How many jumps per day by MerchantDeryni
[September 21, 2018, 06:10:19 pm]


Re: How many jumps per day by Bynw
[September 21, 2018, 05:58:43 pm]


Re: Not quite fanfic by Bynw
[September 21, 2018, 05:57:33 pm]

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