The Worlds of Katherine Kurtz

Role-Playing and Other Games => Ghosts of the Past Game => Topic started by: Bynw on November 21, 2017, 09:26:09 AM

Title: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on November 21, 2017, 09:26:09 AM
The Ghost of the Past Game is complete. Please continue reading this forum topic to enjoy how the game was played. Or if you prefer, you may go to the following topic on the forum and read the opening part of our cleaned up and edited version of the Ghosts of the Past Story/Game.   
https://www.rhemuthcastle.com/index.php/topic,2829.0.html
Enjoy



This is the official thread for in-game characters only. Anything that is related to the game but not something the characters are doing or saying should be posted in the Out of Character thread. As such this thread will be monitored. Any post that does not belong will be removed and possibly smited.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on November 26, 2017, 03:56:18 PM
** It has been 36 years since the beginning of the Pax Kelsona was declared. Fortunately it has truly been peaceful for most of it. Although King Kelson did lose his friend and mentor, the Duke Alaric Morgan, two decades ago when the outlawed Count Teymuraz made an attempt to invade Gwynedd from the south. Corwyn held them back, but the cost was high for her men and her Duke. In the end, Count Teymuraz was dead, blasted away by arcane power summoned by Morgan himself in defense of his King, his family, his people and lands. Count Teymuraz army retreated and there has been peace ever since.

The line of Teymuraz countinues on in Byzantyum. His children claiming their rights to the thrones of both Gwynedd and Torenth. Although no attacks or other attempts have been made. But peace is not guarenteed. Despite the attempts made to prevent wars with oaths and marriages. These are the things that sometimes cause the very wars they were meant to stop.

It is now the summer of 1164. A warm morning which will lead to a humid afternoon in Culdi. Lord Alister and his man-at-arms, Master Darcy, arrived in Culdi the day before on their trip to Rhemuth. Here they have stopped to refresh their horses and themselves. Spending the night at an Inn. Alister is to meet up with another here to help with his escort to Rhemuth and the King. **
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on November 26, 2017, 09:36:35 PM
**Darcy Cameron surveyed the tavern area of the inn they had arrived at that morning.  Coming down from the private room Lord Alister had paid good coin for (extravagant as far as Darcy was concerned but it was the young lord's coin to spend) he  had selected a table in a far corner out of the direct light of the large fireplace with a good view of the rest of the room.  The tables were gradually filling with patrons he did not recognize.  Good. No one appeared to be following them.  Lord Alister seemed withdrawn, but that was not unusual.  Darcy suspected he surveyed the room with as much interest as he did.

The tavern maid planted two bowls of stew, two mugs of ale and a loaf of bread in the centre of the table.  Her strong arms and ample cleavage were clearly in view and Darcy tossed a coin into the cleft. 

"We'll have the better ale," he said to Lord Alister.  Alister gave him a withering look.

The stew was a bit thin, but appeared to contain  a reasonable portion of meat.  Lord Alister broke off a piece of bread and passed the loaf to Darcy.  Darcy broke off a chunk and examined it carefully, looking for the weevils that were too often present in the loaves served at sea.  Lord Alister looked amused; Darcy scowled and took a large mouthful of bread.

A loud crash sounded from the kitchen area, followed by a shout and a wail.  Lord Alister startled, then looked to investigate.  Darcy laid a restraining hand on his arm.

"No good comes from interfering with the kitchen."  Darcy said quietly.  "Unless you want to be poisoned in the morning."
Lord Alister looked like he might object, but instead turned his attention to the stew.

Darcy did the same, but looked up as another entered the inn.**
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on November 27, 2017, 01:40:07 AM
::Washburn Morgan had been riding several days, when he rode through the streets of Culdi looking for a particular inn.::

A late night Rapport from his brother had sent him out on this latest quest. He had been at the University of Grecotha representing Corwyn's Patronage of the Schoola there: a school sponsoring the brightest human students in Gwynedd. His welcome in this good year of King Kelson's reign had been far more accepting of his family's known Deryni blood than compared to how his father had written of it in his journal. That was back when Alaric had first sponsored the Schoola to match the Royal sponsoring of the Deryni Schoola in Rhemuth. The suspicions and fears of the Grecothan human clergy and professors had finally been proven unfounded after the Morgan's thirty years of patronage.

::Washburn smiled briefly, checking that his saddle packs were still closed.::

The contents of the bag were minimal, nothing much of value. Except... for that precious journal that his mother had always nagged his father to keep. He had not known his father well. That man had been no other than the great Alaric Morgan Duke of Corwyn. He had been and had done so much in his far Too Short a life: he had been king's champion, a general in the wars, a hero, nay, a legend in the eyes of Deryni and human folk, alike. Washburn had only a few precious memories of the tall golden haired Duke of Corwyn; glimpses of happy moments of father and son: riding a big black stallion on the saddle before his father in a parade beside King Kelson who sat astride his royal white stallion, and that time reenacting a battle scene with wooden horses and wooden warriors within the castle gardens of Rhemuth. Washburn had only a few memories of his father in Corwyn... only that last one... that last memory of the great warrior riding out the gates to meet an invading army. Washburn had been only five.

::Sigh::

If it hadn't been for his brother gifting him his father's journal upon his knighthood, he wouldn't have learned of the personal thoughts of the man who was a legend. The journal gave him a goal to strive toward. If only he could be half the champion his father had been. Or even half the nobleman his two brothers had become. It was hard living in the shadows of the Duke of Corwyn Kelric, his elder brother and the Earl of Marly Brendan, his eldest half-brother. They were truly great men. Wash felt the eyes of court, expecting so much from him. Perhaps that is why he was just as happy in the saddle doing the king's business and/or his brother's business than that of playing courtier at either Coroth or Rhemuth.

::Washburn rode passed the family gardens where he knew his grandmother and aunt had been entombed.::

That was decades before he was born. He had seen the tombs upon his last visit here. This trip, there just wasn't time for that. He had promised to be at the inn by noon and it was already two hours after. He was late, and that was a poor showing on his part. Especially to the young lady who had been much distressed by circumstances beyond her control. Kelric had requested that he escort this young lady to the king. If they started out right away, they had several good hours of daylight remaining. Trouble was, he did not know if the lady in question was willing to camp out under the stars. Perhaps she traveled by carriage with a retinue of women; in which case their travel to Rhemuth would be very slow indeed.

::Washburn dismounted before the inn indicated by his brother's Rapport. He unbuckled his one personal saddle bag, then handed his horse's reins over with a small coin to the inn's stable boy. He walked into the inn, his eyes ever vigilant of his surroundings. There were no noble ladies seated in the main room. He did not think this unusual, as a baron's daughter would not have waited for him in such a public place.  There were several men seated at various tables, every one of these men seemed to mark his entrance. He was used to that. He was not here to hide, so he sat at a good table with his back to the fireplace and a good view of the entrance door and a door that lead to the kitchens.::

Moments later, a serving wench burst out that kitchen door, she yelled some rude words in Mearan-border tongue before coming over and plopping down a large wooden mug filled with light ale on the table before Wash. "Wha' can a get fa' ya'," the girl asked.

"The pottage I see your other patrons eating would be good enough, lass. I'd like it hot." Wash put an extra small coin in the buxom girl's hand. She almost seemed disappointed that his gaze stayed on her face and not lower. But then she saw the coin. She smiled happily and returned to the kitchens, bellowing some coarse words and hopefully fetching his meal.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on November 27, 2017, 10:00:38 AM
**Lady Aliset glanced up as the handsome blond knight entered the inn. He looked familiar, although she was fairly sure she had never met him before. She felt certain she would have remembered. No, if this was the man the Duke of Corwyn had arranged to meet with her here, their paths had not crossed before, but his resemblance to his elder brother was unmistakable.  There was no hiding a Morgan, Aliset supposed, no matter how much he might try to blend in with his surroundings.  Unless, of course, Lord Washburn knew how to shapeshift also.

With a start, she realized that the lord in question had probably been told to expect to meet with a young noblewoman on the road, not a nobleman.  She suppressed a rueful smile. It had not seemed entirely safe to head out towards Rhemuth on her own--well, nearly on her own--in her true form as a young maiden. Not to mention how her reputation might suffer were it to get out that a noblewoman was traveling across the kingdom without any maidservants to help safeguard her reputation. But she no longer knew whom she could trust at Caer Mariot, nor in the village below her family manor, now that her cousin Oswald had replaced so many of her household with his own supporters and cowed the villagers into grudging acceptance of their new de facto overlord.

The King, of course, would hardly allow that situation to stand for long, especially once Aliset had a chance to inform him of Baron Oswald's true allegiances.

But first, there was the problem of getting to Rhemuth.

She turned to the traveling companion she had hired to escort her this far. "Cameron, I believe that's the man we're looking for." She pointed out Lord Washburn to him with a subtle glance in his direction and a slight tilt of her chin.  "Would you let him know we're here? I . . .doubt he will recognize me."  Especially not in a young lord's guise!  Unless . . . Had Lord Washburn ever met her twin brother Alister? That thought had not occurred to her before now.  Had his brother informed him of Alister's death along with the rest of her male kindred?

This meeting might end up being more awkward than she'd anticipated! She hoped not.  Maybe there was some way to discreetly inform him of her true identity once he grew close enough to touch. She dared not attempt a mind-link with an unfamiliar Deryni, even an allied one, from across the room. There was no telling who else might be capable of sensing the attempt, even if they couldn't actually intercept the message.  And she didn't want to risk him giving her away with a startled reaction if she spoke into his mind unexpectedly.  Not only did Darcy Cameron not know the noble lord who had hired him was actually a noblewoman, she had also neglected to inform him she was Deryni.  How might he react to that if he knew? While there was a greater tolerance towards Deryni and magic in the Kingdom in her generation than in her parents' day, a few people still regarded Deryni with suspicion, and a few days of acquaintance had not been enough to let her know if Darcy Cameron fell into this category or not.

Aliset hoped for the best as she watched her hired escort approach the Deryni from Corwyn.**



Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on November 27, 2017, 03:20:38 PM
**Darcy Cameron casually approached the man Lord Alister had indicated, hoping to avoid calling too much attention to their meeting.  Not that it would go unnoticed; who had not noticed the tall knight dressed in black with the red Lendour stag emblazoned on the tunic as he came through the inn's door? The serving wench had approached is table far quicker that she had theirs!

Darcy initially approached from behind, but changed his direction to ensure he was clearly seen.  Few people, no matter what their rank, appreciated surprises.  And if he remembered correctly, Lendour was a Deryni holding.  All the more reason to be cautious.  Darcy had nothing against Deryni in general; other than a vague envy of their powers.  Actually, the only Deryni he had ever met had drowned at sea, so the man's magic hadn't helped him much.

Darcy stopped in front of the knight's table, made momentary direct eye contact, and bowed politely, keeping his hand well away from the hilt of the short sword hanging from his belt.

When the knight nodded briefly, Darcy straightened.  "My lord, I believe I am escorting the nobleman you are seeking.  We sit at the table in the corner; he asks that you join us."**
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on November 28, 2017, 05:28:41 AM
**The man who approached, was not a fellow Washburn had originally considered as his contact for the Lady de Mariot. This man in nondescript, serviceable brown garments could barely be distinguished from the shadows of the corner he had come out from. Washburn had been aware of the two men there in his periphery. Still it seemed to him that this fellow's gaze followed the tavern girl too keenly as she served Washburn his stew, as she teased a different fellow at the next table, and then when she retreated back through the kitchen door. What seemed to bring the man out from his shadows was a loud banging of kettles and a shout from the back room. As Washburn took a spoonful of hot stew, he was certain he was about to witness the shadow man intervene in the kitchen on the girl's behalf. Perhaps he was her amore and was coming to her rescue. Somehow Wash got the impression that it might be the cook who would soon need rescuing.

Not his problem, not today; though the cook did put up a stew better than most inns could brag about.

Washburn took in the full make of the man. A sturdy man with a wide walk who balanced well from heel to toe. It came to Wash where he had seen that walk before. On the docks of his home city. Here was a man well accustomed to life on the deck of a seaworthy vessel. The thing was, Culdi was in no way near any harbor. Why was this fellow so far inland. For the Mearan girl Perhaps?

Best to mind his own business. So he hunkered down to fill his empty belly with a spoonful of the stew before it had a chance to cool down. Therefore, when Wash looked up next, he was surprised to find the seafarer, a man actually about his own age, who had turned and was approaching the Lendour Knight. Giving due to the man's bravery, there weren't many who would approach a Deryni Knight of the realm, Wash did little other than lower his spoon and shift his feet to a better place. Just this subtle motion brought the sea man to a halt where he gave a respectful bow. Only after Washburn acknowledged him did he come closer and announced his true intent.

"My lord, I believe I am escorting the nobleman you are seeking...." the man said. "...

Washburn furled his eyes. "Nobleman....?" he repeated not really hearing the rest that was said. "But I was told...." He turned to the seaman's companion sitting at the corner table. A familiar face in the shadows watched for his reaction. Washburn mouth fell agape in surprise. Was he seeing a ghost? Here was the friend he had been told was dead, murdered by foul hands. Yet he was hiding, so very unlike the friend he had last seen at twelfth night when he had stood witness as Lord Dhugal presented squire Alister Mariot for knighthood to the king. That evening which had followed Alister's knighting had lead to quite a row involving Alister, Washburn, young Arilan, and the McLain cousin's all in tow.

Aware that everyone in the tavern was watching, Washburn was careful to not jump up too fast nor pace to the corner table with too much jovial relief. Still he could not keep the wide grin off his face. Finding a friend alive was just too much good news.

"Khardasha! But it is good to see you," he said emphatically but in a low tone, "Kelric's news had me grieving your sorry corpse the whole way here." Wash sat down in the chair opposite. "I am sorry for what happened to your father,  but... my God it is good to see you."**                                 
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on November 28, 2017, 12:30:09 PM
**Aliset's mind whirled as she pondered how to respond to the knight's greeting, considering the implications of her different possible courses of actions.  How well had her twin brother known Sir Washburn anyhow?  She and Alister had been close in their childhood years, but his squiring to Duke Dhugal, followed by his knighthood, had caused an inevitable separation between them during the latter halves of their lives, and although they had retained close emotional ties, they'd hardly had enough time together in the past few years to be able to share every aspect of their very different lives.  She knew that her twin had admired and respected the man before her, but were they close?  Were they merely friendly acquaintances, or so close that she had little hope of pulling off her current masquerade?

Perhaps she should go ahead and reveal herself now, sad though it made her to dash his false hope at finding 'Alister' alive.  It might be easier on him to discover that now than to find it out later, and perhaps be angry at her deception.  But on the other hand, would knowing he had a lady to escort cause him to alter his dealings with her, perhaps slow down their progress towards Rhemuth by insisting on hiring proper chaperones for her first?  Time was of the essence--even now, she suspected her cousin Oswald was beginning to call his allies to himself, spreading word of his treacherous victory over her family to the Mearan separatists whose cause he supported, informing them that they could call upon the greater support he could manage now that he had his hands on Caer Mariot's resources.

Over her dead body! She was the legitimate heiress to the Mariot lands now, and her loyalties were to Kelson of Gwynedd.  And this knight before her was her best chance of getting to her liegelord alive.

Alive and perhaps all the more quickly if she could but keep up the pretense just a little longer.

Aliset rose and favored Sir Washburn with a sweeping bow.  "My Lord, well met! I have much news to tell you, but not here." She swept a quick glance around the room before meeting his eyes again.  "Someplace more private would be best, methinks." **
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on November 28, 2017, 01:32:00 PM
**"I can get us entrance into my family's garden.  There is enough privacy there for you to tell me what in the name of Hell happened to you. And where is your sister?"

Washburn was so intent on his friend's presence that he did not register the commotion behind him nor the awful scream that echoed from beyond the kitchen door. At least not at first. **   
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on November 28, 2017, 01:56:12 PM
**Aliset jumped at the scream, startled, one hand automatically straying to the hilt of her belt dagger.  She cast a wary glance at Darcy Cameron, taking in his reaction before glancing towards the kitchen and looking back up at Sir Washburn with a questioning look.**

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on November 28, 2017, 06:57:04 PM
**Darcy had drawn his short sword more by instinct than desire.  Not necessarily the best reaction in a crowded inn.  He did not charge toward the kitchen door, but moved quickly towards it with his back against the wall.  As he reached the door, he drew back as hot flames surged from within.  He had no desire to become scorched meat, but the scream had died to a soul-wrenching wail....**
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on November 29, 2017, 03:57:54 AM
**Washburn too reacted. In quick motion he handed across the table his saddle bag to Lord Alister. "Take this, mind you don't lose it! Get to your horses! That stable's too close to the kitchen; if the roof goes they'll both go. Mine's the black stallion with the red bridle. Meet you out front."      Wash didn't wait for his friend to move. Rather quickly he spun on his heel, pacing to the kitchen door, stopping shoulder to shoulder with Alister's man. "Friend, follow me! I hear her crying, too. Let's see if we can get to her." Wash hoped the young seaman chose to follow at his back.

The flame at the door had resided to black smoke.  Wash took a deep breath and entered, following the sound of the girls wailing. He found the tavern girl before he had to take in another deep breath, but this breath was hot and smoky and it stung at his throat. The girl was bent over a thick broken beam. The one that should have held the kettles inside the hearth but had burnt at the center and weakened to splitting like a twig. Stew from the first kettle was spilled over the girl's dress and onto the floor. Less fortunately, it was cooking lard and oils from the second turned over kettle that burned across the floor and had set sacs of goods at the back wall to flaming. The girl cried, her hands blackened as she continued to  pull at the broken beam. She couldn't lift it. Try as she might, she couldn't budge the broken shaft off the man who lay beneath it. Here was the tavern cook, who still held the ladle in his hand. "Hurshell wake up," she cried, "Hurshell! I told you to fix that, over and over. You never listen, I told you! Get up!"

Washburn pulled the girl to her feet, she wailed at being handled, but he ignored her. He pushed her to the back hoping Alister's friend was there to take her in hand. In the flame-lit kitchen Wash now saw that only the wetness of the stew had kept the lard and oils from burning the cloths of both Hurshell and the tavern girl. Hurshell was breathing, but he was pinned down and the flames were moving in faster than before. 

::Wash took in another smoky breath.  Steadied his heart rate, than searched for that spell he had always played with in his youth. Move an item with more than just hands. Let the powers of his Deryni blood help lift the beam up to free this man Hurshell, so they could get him to safety before the building burnt down.:: **   
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on November 29, 2017, 11:42:44 AM
**Darcy Cameron recoiled as the tavern wench careened against him.  He grabbed her by the arm to keep both of them upright.   He sheathed his sword and pulled the woman along with him as he turned back into the dining room.

The inn patrons we jumping to their feet as the smoke billowed out from the kitchen. 

"You," Darcy shouted, "all of you!  Get outside and grab whatever buckets you can find!  Form a fire line, fast, or this whole place will go up in flames!"  Darcy had spent too many years at sea to ignore the imminent danger from the fire.  It had been one of his duties to lead the fire brigade on the ship to put out any fire as quickly as possible.  Jumping overboard into the frigid Northern Sea was not a pleasant option if they could not get a fire under control.  Hopefully Lord Alister's friend could look after himself for a moment or two.

More orderly now, men and women dashed from the inn and began to form a line to pass the buckets filled with water from the nearby well from person to person. **
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on November 29, 2017, 12:25:55 PM
**Grabbing up Sir Washburn's saddlebag along with her own travel gear, Aliset dashed out of the building and around to the stables behind it. Alerting one of the grooms to the danger of the kitchen fire spreading, she left them to water down the stable roof in preparation for the imminent emergency as best they could while she dashed inside to assist with leading the horses to safety.

The horses, with their keen senses of smell, had already sensed the danger, for indeed even the humans around could now easily pick up on the smell of smoke emanating from the burning kitchen next door. As she watched, a tongue of flame rose up from the nearby building. She forced her attention back to the horses, saddling them as quickly as she could, for she didn't know if there would be time to lead them out of the stables first and then return for their gear. This was quickly enough accomplished with her own horse and with Darcy's, both of which were accustomed to her, and she allowed them to be led out of the threatened stables by one of the stable lads while she turned her attention to Washburn's mount.

"Whoa, steady lad!" she whispered as she approached Washburn's horse, who regarded her warily. She could tell the rising excitement around them was beginning to spook the large destrier.  Hopefully his training would help keep his mounting agitation in check, although knowing that she was completely unknown to him, she approached him with alert caution as she continued to murmur soothingly as she reached out a hand towards him in hopes he would allow her to saddle him and lead him out to safety.**

[Bynw, do I need to do a roll here to see how Wash's horse is responding to me under these circumstances?]
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on November 29, 2017, 04:06:55 PM
((roll 2d6  results 1+6   Verification Number: 4v6wgc0c24))

**Uncle Duncan had taught him the art of focus. Kelric had drilled him in moving objects; pushing a thing away or throwing something further and with better aim than was normal, such as an arrow, a rock, or a javelin. This skill needed now, though similar, was to hold an object high while wakening enough from his mediation to physically pull the man out from underneath the raised beam.**

**One hand encircled the wood's splintered end. As if the hearth beam was no more than a plank, the nine foot piece raised upward.**

In this partial meditative state, Washburn heard Hurshell groan, "Help me."

"I got ya now. Take my arm, if you can."

**The knight grabbed the man's arm above the elbow, even as the cook grabbed his arm.  It was a good hold and Washburn pulled the man out of danger.  The beam fell to the floor with a decisive k'thunck. Wash left Hurshell sitting against the open frame of the door, letting the cook catch what breath he could.  Wash then spied a stack of gunny sacks near at hand. His dagger was quick to slice the top sack open. Smiling with satisfaction, he saw the contents of ground-down-wheat and tossed the powdery stuff over the burning oil on the floor.  He repeated with a second sack of flour, dowsing the flames that were near. It might not help the building as the far wall was aflame, but it gave the two men time for the one to lift up the other, for him to lean hard on the knight's shoulder, and for the two to find their way through the smoky tavern out into sun-filled daylight and fresh air. **
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on November 29, 2017, 04:38:33 PM
[roll 2d6, results 4 & 6, Verification Number: 3t094b5cgk]

**Aliset sighed in relief as Wash's destrier calmed down enough to allow her to lead him out of the stable.  A passing stable lad accompanied her, assisting in carrying her gear long enough for them to get to the other horses in her care, standing a safe distance away from the burning inn.  Just in time, it appeared, as a plume of smoke began to rise from one corner of the stable roof despite the frantic efforts of the grooms to douse it. A spark must have caught on some spot they had managed to miss.  Hastily securing Wash's saddle bags upon his destrier, she mounted her own horse and the stable lad handed control over the other mounts to her before dashing off to assist his fellows. Muttering a quick prayer of thanksgiving that horses were herd animals and thus--hopefully!--inclined to follow when led, she made her way around the burning buildings towards a spot in line of sight with the entrance, where Sir Washburn and Darcy Cameron would easily see her on their way out.**
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on November 29, 2017, 04:58:19 PM
(( this is another way of posting some thing that is Out of Character. Enclosing it in double parentheses. Two have made die rolls they can just be made like this too. Remember you need a 5 or 6 on any single die to be successful. ))

(( yes I was at work and just getting caught up on the action. Great job! Keep in mind that message board games can take a while since not everyone is online at the same time. It is ok if it goes slowly in between posts. ))

(( generally only use this method of OOC comments if it directly relates to what is happening in the game. Asking for or making dice rolls. Asking for clarification of something that was perviously posted. That sort of thing. Anything else belongs in the OOC thread. And only players should post these kind of comments. ))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on November 30, 2017, 12:41:00 PM
Washburn stood in the middle of the street holding tight to Hurshell who was barely conscious of the chaos all around. Far more denizens of Culdi had appeared to help douse the flames than had been in the tavern. Good. They seemed to have most of the kitchen roof fire contained.

But, Hell and High Water, there went up a flame on the stable roof.

The knight looked up frantically to find Alister, was he out of the stables yet? He did see Alister's seafaring friend at the head of the water brigade in full command of the crowd. There was a good man who knew how to keep his head in a crisis. Washburn was beginning to like him.

He would have set the cook down softly on the ground, out of the way, if it had not been for a racking cough that seized him; his tortured lungs suddenly had the need to expel all the smoke he had breathed in. He let Hurshell down onto the cobble stoned street as easily as he could manage, and then put both hands on his knees, bowing low just to keep from falling over himself as he tried to refill his lungs with fresh air.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on November 30, 2017, 12:55:26 PM
((dice roll 4 & 2  Verification Number: 453dqkrxqh))

The Lendour knight, to his dismay, felt light headed and had to drop to his knees to keep from passing out. The oily black smoke seemed to claw at his throat like a vicious animal.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on November 30, 2017, 01:54:57 PM
Columcil made his way out of the common sleeping room as soon as it was light enough to stir. God's blood! How that man had snored.  He cursed inwardly, then dousing his head under the pump in the inn yard, rebuked himself soundly and headed towards the local church where he said the first office of the day with the parish priest. There was even time to make confession of his ill-humour before attending Mass, and accepting his fellow cleric's offer to break his fast. The priest had offered him hospitality after Vespers the night before but there being no stabling at his house Columcil had been reluctant to abandon his mount to the Inn's stables and so had condemned himself to an irritated night of little sleep.

As he returned towards the Inn he became aware of the smell of burning; more worryingly he could feel the stench of animal fear. As he rounded the corner  a plume of smoke rose from the stables and without thinking he ran across the stable yard and into the building. Thank God there were as yet no flames inside but the thatch was smouldering and the few mounts that remained inside were mad with fear. Even his own stolid gelding, of placid mountain bred stock was rearing in its stall, the whites of its eyes showing.

Och. Those puir young stable lads, they couldn'a deal with this. So thinking he pushed the terrified lads behind him and reached for his pony with both his hand and mind, allowing the trust he had built up over the days of travel to calm the trembling and sweating beast. Taking the halter he led the sweat-leathered beast through the door, extending his mind to ensure that the other horses followed into the yard where there were willing hands to receive them. He caught the piece of sacking thrown to him and with firm gentle strokes wiped the sweat-leathered marks away from Spéan's side, before leading him out into the street, wondering as he did so how much of his precious gold coin he would need to spend on replacing the saddle and bridle and thankful that his own precious pack and staff were on his back.

As he came into the street, he saw a mounted young man holding two other horses and looking anxiously around. Without conscious thought he noted that he was noble, or gently born at the least, and had a fine seat on a horse. Fine horseflesh too, all three animals. But this was no time to be thinking of rank, and circling carefully around so as to approach from the front - this was no time to affright a weapons trained young lad neither- he spoke gently "Can I serve ye in any way, my son."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on November 30, 2017, 02:31:34 PM
Aliset regarded the approaching priest with a grateful smile.  "As a matter of fact, I was just looking for...." She broke off suddenly as she spotted a familiar figure slumped over another man.  "Over there! I think my friend needs assistance."  With a look of appeal towards the priest in hopes he would follow, she led the way towards Washburn and the other man he had rescued.  As soon as they reached the side of the stricken men, Aliset asked Washburn, "Are you all right?"  The priest joined them, and as Aliset took stock of the situation, she could hear him beginning to pray.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on November 30, 2017, 03:17:32 PM
**Cough** "I'm good" **cough**  "...give me a moment" **cough** "he's hurt"
Washburn manages to hold firm the shoulder of the downed Cook.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on November 30, 2017, 03:23:26 PM
((I believe our good priest's player has gone to bed, so we may need to wait until tomorrow if we end up needing a dice roll to see if that was a Healing prayer or not.  I told her I'd stick a mention in there just in case it's still needed when she rejoins game play.))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on November 30, 2017, 08:16:22 PM
Darcy Cameron surveyed the smoldering kitchen, looking for hot spots to be doused to ensure it was under control. He turned at a shout from a man on the fire line and saw the flames on the stable roof.  With a heartfelt curse he redirected half of the line toward the stable.  If they could hold the fire in check, hopefully the stable boys could get the horses out. 

He wiped the sweat from his eyes and saw that horses were being led away to safety.  Whether his own was among the group he could not tell; he would worry about that later. After giving instructions to one of the men he judged to be the most capable to handle the group still focused on the kitchen, he strode quickly to take charge of those he had redirected toward the stable.

He stopped at the sight of the group in the street.  "Sweet Jesu," he muttered to himself.  The Lendour knight was on his knees, alternating between gasping for air and coughing up a lung.  Lord Alister hovered beside him, concern showing clearly on his face.  A rugged priest Darcy had not seen before stood to one side and appeared to be concentrated in prayer.

Darcy wondered what he could do.  He was no physician, though he knew a few remedies for seasickness he was sure the nobleman would not appreciate.  Sudden shouts from the stable area turned his attention there; the flames were gaining ground.

He paused for a moment more, then touched Lord Alister's shoulder to gain his attention.  "Do you need me here?" Darcy asked.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on December 01, 2017, 05:54:09 AM
((Yay - I managed to work ut how to roll the dice. Sadly I got 4+4, so that's not a healing prayer then))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on December 01, 2017, 06:10:21 AM
Columcil felt a rush of anxious compassion as he bent his head in prayer. Dare he try a healing? The lad looked bad; breathed-in smoke and heat could kill as surely as flame. But this was no common man, nor yet even a poor knight by the look of him, with his fancy gear and a blazon which he felt he should recognize. If it had just been the cook... but heal an important knight of the realm and awkward questions would most likely be asked. Back home he was able to give all the credit to St Melangell, and that was just fine by him. He was sure that her prayers were added to whatever healing gift God had chosen to give him. Well if he didna dare try healing he could pray with all the more fervour and he sank to his knees joining his hands in entreaty, and to avoid the temptation of touching the young lord.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on December 01, 2017, 08:22:09 AM
Her twin brother, alas, had been the Healer in the family, not her.  Or at least she'd never been given cause to believe the gift had manifested in herself also, and sadly Saint Camber had never put in a special appearance for her.  Still, a noblewoman's upbringing was not without its own storehouse of knowledge of basic healing skills of the more mundane sort, and it was possible she might have something in her travel kit that might be of use.  And at the very least she might be able to use her Deryni skills to help ease the cook's pain and perhaps even Washburn's breathing.  She had heard the late Duke had been a Healer, but if Washburn had inherited the gift, perhaps he was too worn out to maintain the proper focus. Or perhaps that talent had managed to skip him. So little was known about the Healing gift after all, since it was only so lately rediscovered.

Her keen eyes assessed the condition of the two men before her. The hapless cook's condition was far more grave; she would attend to him first.

She briefly turned to the priest beside her. "Father, is there a physician or Healer in the village who might be called upon to treat the wounded? Or perhaps an infirmarium at a nearby monastery?" Glancing at Darcy next, she asked, "Did you happen to notice one on our way here?"

As she spoke, she lay a hand upon the injured cook's brow, attempting to ease his pain.

((Dice roll--2 & 5.  Verification #  2wmmmddh5c))

She felt the cook begin to relax beneath her hand.  Aliset looked up, wondering if she could assist Washburn as discreetly. "How are you doing, my lord?" She reached out a hand as if to steady him, and lent him a bit of her energy as her hand made contact with his arm, peering at his face in concern. "Able to draw a proper breath yet?"
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on December 01, 2017, 01:45:33 PM
The flames are mostly under control and being extinguished by the people of Culdi and Darcy's quick thinking to organize the fire brigade. No lives have been lost due to the flames, not even a single horse. But many are coughing due to the smoke in their lungs. And the property will need to be torn down and rebuilt.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on December 01, 2017, 02:31:18 PM
Columcil looked up as the young lord spoke to him but, seeing that his attention had already returned to the injured, made his reply to the man addressed as Darcy. "Aye, there is. The priest here, Father Andrew, was telling me of how his Grace the Duke that was, now his Excellency the Archbishop, had given funds for a healer to serve the folk here. He lives outwith the monastery but tends those within the infirmary, as well as in the town, as needed." He crossed himself and got to his feet. "I'll go and talk to Father Andrew, he'll know how best to deal." He hesitated then briefly touched the young lord's shoulder, "Well done, lad, you've made right use of your powers this day." As he walked rapidly back towards the Parish Church, Columcil felt shame that he had allowed his fear to prevent him from using his powers aright.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on December 01, 2017, 03:38:09 PM
((dice roll 6 & 3    Successful - Verification Number: 5n3s9t10nq))

Washburn mentally calmed the tension in his chest. Slowly breathing out, taking in a shallow breath, then breathing out again. The technique for entering mediation was the key. He just had to maintain his focus. People were arriving all around him. A good priest was there beside Alister. His soft spoken words of prayer helped Washburn find a good place in his mind to will his lungs to take in fresh air. Experimenting with a deep breath, he was pleased to find it worked. His cough eased and reseeded away. The tension in his chest relaxed and he was finally able to think clearly again.

Archbishop McLain, the man who was not really his uncle but one that was as close to him as any uncle could be, would have been pleased. He might have said something like, "Washburn, son, as the youngest Morgan, I would have loved if you had chosen the church; if it hadn't been for your need to be so like you father, dashing about sword in hand or arrow knocked to a bowstring meeting every challenge your weapons master gave you. Some day you will find that that is a waste of a good mind. Then you will come back to me for real training." Perhaps uncle Duncan could teach him a thing or two more about his Deryni powers.

He looked up, saw everyone watching him. He put out a hand,"I'm much better. Everyone else good? Yes? Well done... Master....? We've yet to be properly introduced, yet I feel will be friends before the day is done." He nodded to the seaman with a smile of respect.

Then Washburn turned his attention to young Alister. He placed his hand over the young man's wrist and shared a little of the energy he had remaining to help the wounded cook. It had been eight months since he had shared Rapport with this man who was now rightful Baron de Mariot. Even back then it had only been a brief Rapport of congratulations on the youth making his knighthood. So if the Rapport he opened was just one sided, he understood. He was too tired himself to even question the shallow link. Just enough to help Alister help the wounded cook. 
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on December 01, 2017, 06:11:24 PM
"Darcy Cameron, Sir," Darcy responded.  "I'd extend my hand, but I'm afraid it's a wee bit grimy at the moment."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on December 02, 2017, 12:08:32 AM
Aliset risked a surreptitious glance across at Darcy to see what, if any, reaction he might have to the priest's mention of her powers. While she was hardly ashamed or embarrassed about using her talents, especially during times like this, enough people in the kingdom still existed who distrusted Deryni and overt use of their powers, and she had not known the man for long enough to know what he might think.  Evidently the priest himself must be Deryni as well, else he shouldn't have been able to detect anything unusual at all in Aliset's actions.

Darcy seemed to have either not noticed the priest's statement, or else he didn't care what Aliset was or what powers she might have brought to bear upon the situation, for no flicker of reaction towards the priest's words seemed to cross his features as he introduced himself to Sir Washburn.  Aliset herself, however, had to force her own features not to betray her consternation as she felt the knight touch her wrist, initiating rapport.  It was but the shallowest of links, but it startled her nonetheless.  She sensed this was not the first time the Lendour knight had shared rapport with Alister; the main problem was, she was not Alister!  Would he be able to sense that?  Perhaps trying to maintain the illusion of being the Mariot heir rather than an heiress might not be the best of ideas for much longer, but in truth this hardly seemed to be the right moment to spring a surprise on a man who must have been a closer friend to her brother than she'd originally assumed.  She kept her musings well shielded, simply absorbing back the energy he was restoring to her now that the worst of the crisis seemed to be behind them.

She would need to tell him the truth, then, and fairly soon.  But not here.  And there was still the matter of whether to let Darcy know.  He seemed a trustworthy sort, but a woman without a protector could hardly be too careful, and at least Sir Washburn Morgan's reputation as a man of honor was well known throughout the kingdom.  Darcy Cameron might well be just as honorable, but that was as yet less proven to her satisfaction, though she admitted to herself that he had acquitted himself well in their current situation, certainly doing nothing to disprove that she could put her trust in him.

If she revealed her secret, then, it would be to Sir Washburn first.  And then once she discovered his reaction to the truth, perhaps that would help her decide what she might reveal to Darcy.

She looked over at Washburn. "Where shall we stay tonight, then, since it would appear our inn is rather the worse for wear? Had you thought that we ought to press closer to Rhemuth before nightfall, or should we perhaps spend an evening recovering our energies in the village, or perhaps at that monastery guesthouse our helpful priest just mentioned, where the Healer serves in the infirmarium?"  Aliset glanced into the distance, in the direction the clergyman had wandered off, presumably to hunt down a 'Father Andrew' for assistance, before looking down at the injured cook.  "This man needs more assistance than I am able to render, I think, so at the very least perhaps we ought to see him into the Healer's care before we go any further."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on December 02, 2017, 02:35:43 PM
Sitting back on his heels, taking in the fullness of their surroundings with what seemed to be the entire population of Culdi crowding the streets to get a glimpse of the happenings, Washburn wanted with all his heart to get on the road, but he knew that was a bad idea. The young baron was too out in the open, if he had escaped the attention of his cousin's men they most assuredly would have noticed him as he sat here, out in the middle of the street. Therefore, they daren't leave on the road just now. Even begging a room at the Culdi castle seemed a bit too conspicuous.

Washburn was nodding as he considered the monastery and the privacy there. "My lord Alister, I think you've made a good choice. Let us get this man to the infirmary and perhaps from there we can disappear unseen into the monastery for a good night's sleep before we rush to Rhemuth. I for one could use a bath and a good meal. Seeing as how my last meal was never completed." He made a jesting smile to the men around him. "And you know, a good blessing from that priest who was just here would not go amiss."

The knight took note that no one seemed to object. So he stood and waved at a carter who had paused at the side of the road; he was seated before a single rouncy pulling a light wagon. "You there, master driver! You be willing to help us take this man to the Infirmary?"

"Aye, my lord!' the man hollered back. Between the baron and himself they carried the cook, who only gave a light groan, to the cart. They placed him beside a bale of goods.  Wash gave the man a coin and Alister told him where to go.   

Master Darcy came up behind them with the horses.  As they were mounting up, Washburn spied the tavern gal off to the side.  She had her arms around a young boy, the same boy who had taken his destrier to the stables earlier that day.  Wash walked his horse over to the woman. "We are taking your man to the infirmary; you can follow us there. You should have your hands looked at, as well." Then he turned and followed his companions and the cart toward the monastery.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on December 02, 2017, 07:00:28 PM
He couldn't breathe!  Sweet Jesu, there was no air, only flame and smoke. 

"Abandon ship!"  The Captain's cry circulated among the men.  "Man the lifeboats!"

Darcy had never been sure how he made to the lifeboat.  It wasn't the one he was to take charge of, but the Quartermaster was nowhere to be seen, so he took his place, seeing to it that it was filled with the living and lowered to the sea.

It was in the sea that they found the Quartermaster.  Darcy had ordered the men to steer the lifeboat toward him, but by the time they were alongside, it was clear the frigid Northern Sea had claimed another victim. 

"Take this," the Quartermaster had gasped, removing a leather thong from his neck from which hung a small leather bad."  Give it to my neph..."

Darcy had managed to grab the pouch as the Quartermaster sank under the water, destined to the depths below.

Darcy Cameron woke with a start.  He froze and listened to make sure he had not disturbed the other men sleeping in the main room of the monastery's guest quarters.  No one else stirred.  Relieved, Darcy ran his hands through the long strands of pale blond hair and took a deep, satisfying breath.

It had not taken long to reach the monastery Father Columcil had directed them to.  The tavern wench (most likely the cook's wife) had followed them and been taken to the infirmary for her injuries to be seen to.  Lord Alister had spent some time in consultation with the priest and Father Andrew, likely discussing the injuries to be looked after among the town folk.  Darcy had ensured the horses were looked after.  Once immediate matters were settled, he had thankfully enjoyed a hot bath.

He had dined in the guest quarters of the monetary with Sir Washburn and Lord Alister.  The meal had been simple but nourishing.  The ale had been excellent, brewed by the brethren and highly regarded throughout Culdi.  It was a pity to have to drink so moderately, but they had all been too exhausted to fully appreciate it and had turned in early for much needed rest.  Washburn and Alister, as noblemen, shared the quest room reserved for those of higher rank.  Darcy slept in the common room with the few others that were there.

A trip to the privy would clear his head, Darcy decided.  He had not had the dream for a long time; likely the day's events had triggered it.

Once back in the guest quarters, Darcy quietly reached into his sea bag for a leather lace to secure his hair after he braided it.  It was slow to dry after his bath, so he had left it loose until now.  He found a lace, then reached father inside to check the contents of a small pocket sewn within.  The pouch was still there.  After he had seen Lord Alister safely to Rhemuth, he would continue on to Desse to fulfil the promise he had made to the Quartermaster.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on December 02, 2017, 09:39:18 PM
((Ooh, missions within missions!   ;D ))

Aliset paused, listening intently.  She thought she had heard a soft footfall in the corridor beyond her monastic guest room, but all was still now.  She continued combing her hair in front of the hearth, facing the cheery flames within.  She had bathed earlier, which thankfully had not been as awkward as she feared it might be, since she had not had to share the same bathwater and washtub with Sir Washburn.  He had gone to check on their horses and (she thought) to speak to the abbot about something or another. It had mattered not to her where he'd gone; he had gone, and that had bought her a few minutes of precious privacy to wash off the day's soot and grime without fear of him noticing anything amiss in her impersonation of her late brother.  There were parts of him she'd never bothered trying to accurately replicate, after all!

By the time the knight had returned to their shared room, she had washed her stained garments and had them wrung out and drying beside the fire, having changed into her spare set of Alister's clothing and tucked her towel-damp hair away into a neat border braid.  The knight had smiled distractedly across the room at her before making ready for his own bath, and she had seized upon the opportunity to flee, using the pretext of asking the infirmarian if he might be able to spare a few basic medicinals to refresh the scant supply in her travel kit.  She had tarried in the infirmary as long as she could think of excuses to do so, checking on the welfare of the hapless cook and his goodwife, but at long last she figured the knight from Lendour could hardly still be at his ablutions unless he had fallen asleep in the bathwater.  She had made her way back to their room, working up the courage to reveal her secret to him (or was that a revelation best kept until morning, under the circumstances?), only to discover upon arriving there that he had left again.

Perhaps that had been for the best.  Aliset was still quite undecided about how she should break her news to her brother's friend.

She had taken her hair out of the Border braid and run her fingers through it, finding it still damp underneath the top layer.  A wave of tiredness swept through her as she pulled the comb from her belt pouch and began to work it through the shoulder-length strands, separating them so that the heat from the fireplace could make them dry faster.  There was a padded settle before the fire, and she sank gratefully onto the cushioned seat.

Staring into the flames, she relaxed her gaze and focused on the flickering within, calling upon the power within herself to help her scry for any signs of Oswald or those loyal to him who might yet be pursuing her.

((5 and 2, verification # 257bpzs0j6))

The dancing flames, combined with the exertions of the day, began to lull her almost to sleep, but then before her eyes, a black-cloaked figure on horseback revealed itself to her in the flames, a dark silhouette of a moonlit mountain crag behind him.  She knew that terrain.  She and Darcy had passed through that valley but a day earlier, and they had thought they had finally shaken off the last of Oswald's trackers.  With a shiver of foreboding, Aliset realized that her pursuers were not very far behind them.

The footfalls returned.  The door began to creak open.  Hopefully it was Sir Washburn, returning for the night, but all the same, Aliset's hand strayed to the comfort of her dagger's hilt just to be safe.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on December 03, 2017, 03:16:25 AM
The brother of Corwyn's Duke stepped toward the monastic guest room door as stealthily as he could. He was far from home, in a town he knew but little, in a situation where he was responsible to see a friend, who had just lost his family, get to Rhemuth and to the king.  His stealth was so as to not wake the youthful baron if he slept. They had hard riding to do in the next days ahead. Sleep now would be welcome if any of them could get it.

Washburn craked the door just a little, looking about the room, noting Alister was seated before the fireplace. He was starring deep into the flames. A comb was in his hand and he was slowly automatically brushing back his hair. The Lendour knight had to look twice. An odd notion caught him off guard, he blinked again. Most men raked their hair back and braided it without that much care. What ever the baron saw in the flames he sighed anxiously, blinking away his focus. Wash stepped into the room, purposely scoffing his boot and creaking the door. Briskly the baron's left hand finished his braid with a twisted, and his right hand went to his dagger. "Tis but a friend," Washburn announced. "I have news."

"I had a chat with the Abbot. He is a king's man, well, rather he is the archbishop's man and therefore no sympathizer with the Mearian separatists. After Culdi's history, the abbot has no desire to bring on Kelson's wrath. Nor Uncle Duncan's. He's agreed to help us."

Washburn walked up to the fire. Just the slightest fire-log smoke touched his throat and he had to cough. "Thought I got rid of that," he said under his breath. He stepped away from the fire, found a half-filled mug of ale near where Alister sat and swallowed it down. "Sorry if was that yours. Good ale. Is there any more?" 

Alister pointed to an earthen jug with cork stopper over the top, placed on the back table. "Darcy brought it in before he returned to the common room," the baron said.

"I should have asked master Darcy to sleep on a pallet at our door tonight. But I am guessing we are safe enough for one night." Washburn poured out two cups and returned to hand one to his friend. "Just to be on the safe side, I convinced the abbot to lend us three robes from the cloister. Riding out tomorrow, we will be three monks on church business.  Well possibly four. The abbot seemed to think the priest we saw today is in need of travel companions. He apparently is going south.  But I thought I better clear that with you first. If you think we can trust him, he'll help disguise our intent. Course, it may mean we travel a bit slower. You can decide in the morning."

Wash turned his head to suppress another cough. For a moment Wash thought to ask if Alister had improved on that Healer's training he had whispered he had discovered not long before last year. But if Alister was going to offer his skilled touch, he would have done so earlier in the day. Wash decided the youth had been through too much with the loss of his family, so he didn't bring the subject up. "Look, we need to get some shut-eye. You take the cot near the hearth. I think I'll pull mine as far away from that fire as I can get."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on December 03, 2017, 11:08:55 PM
Aliset frowned.  The knight's cough sounded no worse than one might expect from a man who had breathed in too much smoke-filled air earlier in the day. Still, she liked it not. She wished she knew some arcane way to still that tickle in his inflamed tissues, but mere mortal methods must suffice.  She reached into her belt pouch for a small flask of an herb-laced honey she had requested from the infirmarian earlier in the evening, while Wash had been at his bath, and poured what she estimated to be a scant spoonful into her portion of the ale before setting the cup close to the fire to warm up. "This might ease your cough," she told the knight as she looked up to meet his curious gaze.  "I cannot promise it will cure it completely, but it should still it enough to allow you to catch up on your sleep." 

The knight smiled. "Is it a Healer's concoction?" he asked.

Aliset gave a rueful chuckle. "Not exactly. It was my mother's home remedy, truth be told, though nearly as effective. For best effect, it ought to be stirred into whisky, though since I've none of that with me, ale shall have to suffice."  She studied the man before her, summoning up her courage.  "My lord, there is something you must know before we journey on any further together. I feel remiss in not informing you earlier, yet I can hardly think of when I might have had a decent opportunity before now."

"We've hardly had a minute to catch our breaths since we met at the inn, have we?" Wash agreed.  "What is it you need to tell me?"

Now that the moment was at hand, Aliset could not find the words.  Instead, she picked up the medicinal ale from the hearth, handing it to him with a wry smile.  "Drink this first.  And then...."  She offered her hand to him.  "Perhaps it might be easier if I just showed you."

((3 and 1, verification #638vj1sp16))

Wash took the posset she handed him and tossed it down in a few gulps, handing the cup back to her as he took her hand.  She attempted to establish a shallow rapport with him then, prepared to share her secret with him at last, but to her consternation, her extreme need for secrecy coupled with the stress of the previous few days and Oswald's pursuit of her had apparently resulted in an unexpected side effect, for despite having braced herself to reveal everything to the man before her, suddenly she discovered herself unable to lower her shields! His look of sleepy curiosity turned to confusion as she stared back at him in dismay, pulling away from the tentative attempt to link with him.

"My...my lord, I am sorry!  I must be more tired than I realized!  I...I must not keep you laboring under false assumptions any longer, however.  I am not the man who you think I am."  As the Duke's brother continued to listen, a hint of wary caution awakening in his eyes now, she added, "That is to say, I am your friend, if you would have my friendship, and in truth I very much have need of yours.  But I am not Alister of Mariot, my lord.  I am Aliset, Demoiselle de Mariot, and true heiress to my father's lands by blood right and the allegiance he held to our liegelord of Gwynedd.  For the sake of whatever bonds of friendship you shared with my brother, although I find myself unable to lower my shields just now to show you the truth of what I tell  you, I throw myself upon your mercy."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on December 04, 2017, 12:25:45 PM
"Aliset, Demoiselle de Mariot," Washburn repeated, attempting to understand the words that came from the person and voice of the person who he thought was the one standing before him, but who declared he, no she, was not. The man he saw was a comrade in arms, one whom he had but months before jovially ransacked the Rhemuth armory with, looking for just the right dagger to go with his new knight's sword. The same dagger that just now stood in the belt of the person before him. He didn't want to believe what he had just heard.

"You're not Alister!" It was not a question, but a confirmation. "Not Alister, but his sister, his twin sister Aliset." He had heard of magic like this which could disguise so completely. However, he knew nothing of how it was done. Did she have his memories too? Would the siblings have been together when he died? It hurt his heart that the lady would have witnessed that. "Aliset is the older of the two of you, I recall you once told me. I'm sorry... he told me!"  The person who looked like Alister stood before him, barely nodded, looking on anxiously. What Washburn's eyes told him was not in agreement with what his mind and his senses were understanding.  Little things had stood out, mannerisms not quite right. Talents not shared, talents like Healing and Rapport, because the Rapport had never been established in the first place to share them. Oddly it made sense. He looked into the eyes of the one before him and from that moment he knew the truth. "Kelric was right. Alister was murdered, as too was the Baron de Mariot. And only you alone survived. I am so sorry for adding to you grief."

The Lendour Knight stood turning away from his friend's sister. He paced the floor not looking up. Earlier, he had changed into a simple but clean black tunic and trews having given over his ash-covered and flour-cover heraldic tunic to a deacon to see cleaned and dried for their leaving in the morning. He had left his chain mail shirt on the chest at the end of the bed, alongside his long sword and his helm. Out of respect to the monastery, he had chosen to only wear his short sword and dagger. He looked over at the weapon lying there but he did not reach for it. Rather instead he absently said. "All three of my weapons are a matched set. They were given to me by my mother on the day of my knighting.  Maman, yum, the duchess told me then how my father had found the three weapons in the armory of Lendour. This had been years before I was born. The great sword, short sword, and dagger had once belonged to an ancestor, the man whose name I was given at birth.  His story had touched the duke and the duchess, that is why I was named after him, and that was why my father had insisted early on that those weapons would be mine at my knighting. Remember how I bragged about this to you?"

Wash had gotten lost in the memory and shook his head at the slip. "Oh god, I mean to your brother; oh Lady Aliset.... Have you heard this story before? Sir Alister had a good sword from his father, I mean your father, damn. But he didn't have a set like mine. I was shamed by my bosting. And had to find a way to make it right. I did get permission from King Kelson, I swear that I did. Though the master Armorer did not believe. Course that was after we had ransacked the armory searching for a matching dagger. We found one, not exact but very close. It had an ebony hilted, with a twisted silver wrapping for the hand hold, a ruby at the base of the hilt and an emblem of an eagle at the cross. It was a good quality dagger and it still is. As I see it still at your belt."

The hand of the person before him handled the hilt of the dagger, but did not draw it.

"Alister is truly gone then?" Washburn said with sadness. He looked up at the figure of Alister, knowing Aliset's deception was not a betrayal. At least it had not been one set for him, he had just fallen into it by circumstances that were out of control. "I will avenge him my lady! I won't run off now. Though every muscle in me wants too." He looked back into the lady's eyes seeing her without really seeing.  She hadn't dropped her shields. He was a stranger to her and he understood. But he knew now that it wasn't Alister who looked back at him. It was his sister who needed him to protect her and guide her to Gwynedd's King. Kelson needed to be the one to make a ruling which would legally return to her the inheritance of her father's estate. "Your cousin Oswald is a coward if he sends men after a woman!"

Washburn didn't wait for her reply. He suddenly looked around him flustered. He quickly gathered up his things. "And, and...My lady, forgive me for my forwardness before. I will sleep in the commons room. I ask you to bolt this door when I leave. And you will need a chaperon. I swear not from me," he added quickly, "but your reputation must remain impeccable in the eyes of Rhemuth Court, when we arrive there."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on December 05, 2017, 02:19:51 PM
"Wait, my lord!"  Aliset held up one hand in alarm. "Before you go, there are a couple of other things you should know." 

As Sir Washburn's hand paused upon the door latch, she continued.  "Just now, before you came in, I was scrying the flames for signs of my pursuers.  You ought to know that I saw their leader not a day's journey from here. He appears to have picked up our trail again despite our best efforts to shake him off.  I don't know how far behind us he and his men are now, but we probably should not tarry here any longer than we absolutely must." 

At Washburn's nod of understanding, she continued.  "And the other thing is...Darcy Cameron does not know yet that I am a woman.  I met him only a fortnight ago, and while I trust him as much as I've been able--and he has not given me any cause to doubt his trustworthiness--I...thought it prudent to withhold that information for the time being, given the circumstances."  She blushed. "Though if you think he ought to know, I will leave that to your discretion.  I can continue in this guise as long as I must, or take on some other form if you'd prefer--if seeing Alister's familiar form before you daily would be too hard for you--and indeed would rather remain in a man's form for now if that means being able to dispense with any additional travelers in our party who might slow us down.  With pursuit so hard upon our heels, I would be loathe to endanger any of the village maidens or goodwives you might otherwise consider a more suitable chaperone." She ventured a hesitant smile. "Alister trusted you, and he was a good judge of character, my lord.  Therefore, I trust you also.  If you think it more meet to add another lady to our number once we manage to shake off my pursuers, then of course I shall defer to your good judgment.  And, of course, we shall also have a priest with us, if Father Columcil intends to accompany us.  That should hopefully prevent idle tongues from wagging."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on December 05, 2017, 07:07:54 PM
Darcy Cameron awoke alert as had always been his custom.  He lay still to gauge the sounds around him; the few other guests in the common room were beginning to stir.  Dawn had broken not too long before, as the light creeping in from the shuttered windows still held a pink tinge.  Red light at morning, sailors take warning.  There might be rain today.

He stretched on his pallet, felt a satisfying crack of his spine.  It had not been an uncomfortable night, once he had finally slept again.  He rose from his pallet and made his way to the door to go outside to the privy when he stopped. He turned and noticed Sir Washburn stirring on a pallet not far from the separate room the Deryni knight and Lord Alister were supposed to share.  Puzzled, he wondered if they had had an argument, or if one snored so loudly as to be kicked out of the finer quarters.  Sir Washburn awoke, stood and gave him a guarded nod in greeting.

Darcy opened the door and almost collided with Father Columcil.  The good father was holding what looked to be country priest cassocks draped across is arm.

Darcy abandoned hope of this being an uneventful day.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on December 06, 2017, 03:33:38 AM
((This is my second reply, my first reply errored-out and crashed my laptop. I'm learning to save my words before I post.))

Washburn stood and stretched. He had slept on pallets often enough to not think too much of it. Only dukes and kings got the advantage of never sleeping on the floor. He noted Master Darcy's inquiring look in his direction and he truthfully replied in greeting, "The fireplace was too close."

He gave his back another stretch, reaching down for his belt. He saw Father Columcil enter the common room and the frown that came over Darcy's face as he saw the clerical robes. The seaman might take some convincing to play the part of a humble monk. That would be the least of his troubles today. He had not yet meet the priest, but Wash recognized him as the man who had said the prayer on his behalf yesterday. A prayer he much appreciated.  "Ah, Father, well-met. I am in hopes that your presence this morning means you will be joining our journey south? We will greatly appreciate your companionship." It was an auspicious arrangement. The good father would be Aliset's chaperon, even if he was unaware of it.

The knight's nightmare had been about the Queen reprimanding him, before the entire court, for his lack of Chivalry on behalf of Lady Aliset.  Yet the morning's light only reinforced the decision he had made last night. For Darcy's sake, as well as his own, he had asked the noble lady that she remain in the disguise of Sir Alister, her twin brother. Then with his shields open, he let her read the truth in his oath, he promised to be her protector until this business was done.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on December 06, 2017, 11:30:54 AM
(( I also lost a first draft which is why Father Columcil has been somewhat silent of late)).

"And once you were unable to explain your lineage as a healer, you feared your illegitimacy might be revealed and your ordination questioned. I understand, my son, though your first duty as a priest is always towards others and not simply your own safety."

But there was compassion rather than rebuke in the Abbot's voice, and startled at the lack of condemnation, Columcil looked up to meet the other's gaze. Unable to settle his conscience he had begged that he might have the comfort of confession and had been directed to remain in the Chapel after Vespers. He had not expected that it would be the Abbot himself to hear his confession, but it was not his place to question and he had dutifully knelt at the Abbot's feet.

There was gentleness in the Abbot's eyes as he continued. " It was a sin against your calling, both as a healer and as a priest to deny your gift, but you know that and have confessed as much. And I think I know too, what you cannot say..."  The Abbot broke off as Columcil started to get to his feet in a panic and firmly, but gently forced him back down to his knees.  "Do not fear.  I will not ask you beyond what you have freely given, though it was fear of what you might confess that ensured that only I heard your confession.  I have known their Graces of Cassan, past and present for many years and I have eyes in my head."

In shock and confusion, Columcil managed to ask. "What is your counsel,  my Lord? Surely it is best for me to return home, though I will appear disobedient, to my manor Lord and to my Bishop both of whom  enjoined this journey upon me against my own judgement." The obscurity of life as a country priest had suited him well and he had no desires beyond the fulfillment of his vocation. He looked up hopefully towards the Abbot but was dismayed to see the other shaking his head.

'I think not, my son. I see the hand of God in this - though as is His way, He shows us but little of His purpose. There is much that I do not know but I am sure that your path has not crossed that of the young noblemen by mere chance. They are heading for Rhemuth, as do you, and they have begged that they may borrow monks' habits to cloak their departure. Your penance for your fear is to travel with them. And yes I know you have lost saddle and bridle, that will be made good.'

Columcil saw his last hope of escape disappear with those words, but though the Abbot had clearly seen  his forlorn hope, it was denied with humour rather than censure.

"In nomine Patris, Filii et Spiritus Sancti..." The Abbot made the sign of the cross on Columcil's forehead as he spoke the words of absolution. Columcil kissed the Abbot's hand then rose, and turning towards the Presence lamp, genuflected in homage and resignation.




Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on December 06, 2017, 03:14:15 PM
Aliset carefully folded her brother's clothing, returning it to her travel bag before studying her reflection in a polished brass mirror with a slight frown.  The border braid she'd taken to wearing in her disguise as Alister didn't quite go along with the borrowed monk's robes she wore.  It would be easy enough for one of Oswald's trackers to see through her disguise.

((3 & 6, verification #3585bnpphg))

She imagined her hair shorter, with a small coin-sized tonsure in back, and saw her reflection change accordingly.  With regret, she realized she really ought to change her facial features as well--doubtless her pursuers had figured out by now she was using her brother's face and form as a disguise--but it would be easier to explain a sudden haircut to the traveling companions who did not realize exactly who she was than it would be to explain an entirely new face.  Perhaps if the need grew truly great, she would let Darcy and Father Columcil in on the secret that Sir Washburn already knew, and then she could wear whatever form would best suffice for throwing her pursuers off their trail.  But for now, this modification to her disguise would have to serve.

She refilled her wineskin and left to join the rest of her companions.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on December 06, 2017, 07:08:26 PM
Darcy Cameron looked askance at the monk's robe Father Columcil held out to him.  "You really expect me to wear this?" he asked.  "I like to think I have lived a mostly honourable life, but it has not been a pure one.  Do you really want to get struck down by lightning before we have cleared the courtyard?"

At Father Columcil's solemn nod, Darcy crossed himself and shrugged into the coarse, homespun robe.
"I will not, repeat, NOT be tonsured!"

He turned as Lord Alister joined them, his hair shortened to blend with his new attire.  As Lord Alister nodded to the priest, Darcy noticed the small tonsure on the crown of his head.

"Lord have mercy," Darcy muttered as he drew the hood of his robe up to cover his head.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on December 07, 2017, 04:53:34 AM
((Revanne, I hope I am not writing over you, It has taken me three hours to put this together tonight)).

Darcy's hood went up in defiance.

Wash stifled a laugh behind a pretend cough. When he had suggested they pose as monks, he hadn't expect their deception to be scrutinized up close. His sword was a ready deterrent if the wrong person chose to get that close. Belatedly, he noted Aliset's features had shifted. Shifted to Alister with a haircut and a-- a tonsure.

"Gades!"  Easy enough for her to do! "Is that not irreverent?" he questioned her.

Alister's eyebrows raised as if challenging him. "Old bald men are not considered irreverent. Just be glad we still have hair to grow out." Confounding logic that; so like Alister to take the broad view. What didn't help, was that he knew that Aliset's tonsure was a cheat!

Knowing what he must do, the tall knight gave a growl under his breath. "The Archbishop's penance for impersonating a priest will be unpleasant. After he is done laughing, that is." Wash ran his fingers through his hair. Long hair was a province of courtiers at Kelson's court.  Short hair was good for roaming knights, he could except that, but a Tonsure?

"Master Darcy, your choice is good enough. Just keep that cowl up. But if I'm to be our leader, I must fully play the part." A little exasperated with himself over the thought of a haircut, he spoke more briskly than he intended. "I expect everyone will be ready to ride in an hour!" he ordered. "Have my horse saddled and bridled, and our supply bags packed. We shan't tarry here longer than needful."

At that moment a decan arrived with Washburn's clean folded tunic. "Thank you son, I'll keep that for a better day.  Father Columcil, I'll take that last robe your holding." He placed his black tunic in his saddle bag, he almost stuffed his chainmail in to, with his helm, but he had to give that a second thought. Without help, he slide the shirt of interlocking rings over his head and arms. The monk's robe went over that without exposing the metal underneath. Good! A tonsure he would endure. Going without his armor, he would not.

The drate robe was a tad short and his black boots were exposed. He sighed. "I'll need plain footwear. Son," speaking to the Decon. "Can you lead me to the Abbot to beg shoes, for a donation of course,  and then on to the Monastery barber, I'm in need of a haircut."

He left quickly, not wanting to see the smirks made by his riding companions.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on December 07, 2017, 12:20:51 PM
((Reposted here from OOC thread on behalf of revanne))

Columcil saw the covert smirks of his two remaining companions but years of needing to cover his amusement under the appropriate priestly demeanour stiod him in good stead, so he contented himself with remarking  "Well, Sirs, I'd best be about fitting out Spean with the new harness m'Lord Abbot has kindly provided me, if we're to be off within the hour, as his young  Lordship orders,"  before turning and heading towards the monastery stables.

As he went he pondered as to where he had seen that blazon, if only he could remember! It was clear from the casually given instruction which expected unquestioned obedience that he was a young man of some rank. He would have to find a way of tactfully suggesting a more humble demeanour, if the monkish subterfuge was to succeed - though he had no desire to give offence to one of the nobility. This looked like being an interesting journey. He amused himself briefly with the idea of returning to the Abbot and begging for an easier penance - there was an island somewhere of the coast of Meara with a summit which penitents climbed on their knees. He snorted in amusement at his fancy and turned towards the whicker of greeting that Spean gave him. He ran his hands through the horse's mane and took comfort from the physical contact and the loving touch of the animal's mind.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on December 07, 2017, 01:39:09 PM
Aliset stifled an all-too-girlish giggle at Darcy's stubborn defiance.  Traveling out of doors with his woolen hood up in the heat and humidity of a Mearan summer, he was likely to wilt like day-old spinach! She hadn't meant to cause such consternation in her attempt to make her own disguise seem more believable, but she'd take what few occasions for humor she could find just now.  God knows she needed whatever boosts to her spirit she could get!

Following the priest's lead, she headed out to the stables to find her mare Papillon and saddle her for the journey ahead.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on December 07, 2017, 09:46:06 PM
Darcy Cameron mounted his horse more awkwardly than usual; he was not used to monk's robes!  Father Columcil mounted more smoothly, likely due to many more years of practice.  Darcy was stuck with the disguise for now, so he might as well get on with it.  Once they were out of sight of others on the road, he could toss the hood back out of his way.  He did not like the way it restricted his side vision.

Not that it was a perfect disguise for their party.  Sir Washburn's fine mount with its red leather bridle was hardly suited to a poor monk!  Lord Alister's mare, while not as flashy, was still finely bred.  Nevertheless, to most travellers on the road, who had no reason to look more closely, they would pass as brethren out on whatever errand the church had sent them.

The sky was almost cloudless; it would be a warm day as they travelled.  A good breeze would be welcome, but so far there was no sign of one.  Darcy turned his horse to ride beside the others out from the monastery's courtyard.

He took note of the people going about their daily tasks as they departed.  Just in case one of them would appear again along the way.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on December 08, 2017, 05:35:12 AM
The road between Culdi and Rhemuth was a well traveled road. By agreement between Kelson King of Gwynedd and Dhugal Duke of Cassan the road was kept in good repair after each winter's thaw. The full distance could be traversed as fast as three days.* Such as traveling day and night, not caring that he broke his steed doing so.  A more leisure travel, taking care to rest their mounts each night, could take a full week.+ There were a few noble houses along the way from whom hospitality could be requested.  Washburn was certain their small number would not be refused. Also sleeping under the stars on these warm summer nights should not be a hardship.

The hardship was there was a young woman in their midst, whom the others thought to be a man. How to keep her from being pushed beyond her capabilities without giving her secret away. The best answer was a priest of middle years who had likely not been in a saddle for days on end since his youth.

"Father Columcil  would you please lead us at a good pace for monks on a journey. Master Darcy, I'll ask that you stay up front also so as to keep us on the right road." He and Aliset followed close behind.  In this way the energies of the two noble mounts would be tempered to a steady pace, rather than run full out to Rhemuth as Wash would have allowed, were he alone.

((Foot notes:
* The Kings Deryni Chapter Six. A messenger traveled from Culdi to Rhemuth in three days to bring news of Duke Andrews illness.
+  same chapter: Llion escorted the youths Alaric and Duncan from Rhemuth to Culdi at an easy pace  taking seven days.

I am using these travel times rather than the unreasonable travel time of Duke Alaric and Father Duncan traveling from Dhessa to Culdi in only three days. as is seen in Deryni Checkmate))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on December 09, 2017, 09:34:35 AM
Lord Oswald sat on his horse thinking as they rode towards Culdi. From there his query could be in Rhemuth within a week or sooner if they are not stopped. Time is not on his side and his men should have made sure everyone was dead at the manor before claiming victory. He is only one of many self-styled Mearan Freedom fighters. They are loosely banned together with the common goal of rekindling the Mearan independence movement. And as long as their are Mearans in Meara there will be Freedom fighters willing to take up the sword against the Gwynedd usurpers. The previous generation of Mearan Freedom fighters made a mistake that cost them dearly when Kelson of Gwynedd came to press his false claim on the Mearan throne. They had allied themselves with the ousted anti-Deryni Bishop, Edmund Loris and that allegiance cost many Mearan lives. So now that the new generation of Freedom fighters has arrived. It is time to rethink the Mearan position. And it will need Deryni help to combat the Deryni King of Gwynedd and his Deryni allies. Oswald knows he may have to move up other plans if the baron's heir reaches Rhemuth. The pursuit will have to be abandoned if the brat is not delt with soon. Riders are already well under way carrying messages to various Deryni Lords outside of Gwynedd.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on December 09, 2017, 10:23:50 AM
Columcil knew what was in the young lord's mind - Let the old priest set a gentle pace, but not what lay behind it. He'd rather gained the impression that there was some urgency. He found his temper, normally held well in check, begin  to rise. He didna do much riding that was true, but the life of a country priest was hardly one of idleness, with the need to tend his own wee bit garden and help out betimes wi' the harvest. Not to mention walking between some of the further flung holdings of his hilly parish. He'd had a good seven days of riding to harden him to the saddle before entering Culdi and though SpĂ©an was a good solid work horse, with no nobility about him, he could give these fancy-bred mounts a run for their money. He was sorely tempted to try. Biting his lips to restrain his temper, he bethought himself of a way to gain a subtle revenge for the well-meaning patronage.

After a few hours travel he judged by the sun that it must be midday and gently easing Spèan to a halt he made to dismount. Darcy pulled up too, and enquired, "Is there anything wrong, Father?"

"Nay lad, but 'tis time for the midday office, and gi'en that I'm setting the pace, best do it properly It'll not take long." So saying, he reached in the breast of his habit, pulled out a leather bound book and sank to his knees.

"Lord, have mercy!", ejaculated Darcy, then muttered a hasty apology. He was relieved to see that the priest was suppressing a smile, though he spoke gruffly enough. "Let's hope he does, lad, for all our sakes."

As Alistair and Washburn drew level they both looked enquiringly at Darcy who explained, "The good Father is saying his office. He says he won't be long. Shall we make a halt here, My Lord?"

"We've may as well get down and stretch our legs" agreed Washburn equably,  but as we're all meant to be monks...." His words tailed off as he bowed his head but Darcy caught his meaning and he and Alister swiftly followed suit. Washburn's prayers were genuine enough, they could certainly use some help, but he couldn't  help noticing with curiousity the prayer book which the priest was using. The book he was using for his prayers was small, but covered with finely tooled leather. Surely few country priests had such treasures. As Columcil finished his prayers, crossed himself and rose to his feet, Washburn  reached out his hand and said courteously, "That's a fine bit of workmanship you have there, mind if I take a look.?"

Columcil knew a command when he heard one and handed the book over, though  he could not prevent his dutifully lowered eyes flashing with an anger he was otherwise careful to shield. Something in the other's silence warned Washburn that he had overstepped a boundary, though even laymen were surely allowed to handle prayerbooks, so he forebore to open the pages but contented  himself with feeling the leather before handing it back with a muttered "Thank you, Father,". Something nagged at him, though. The book had a feel, almost a mental aroma, that reminded him of someone, someone he knew well, though he could not think of whom, and the priest's shuttered face denied further questions.
Amended because I forgot they were all dressed as monks
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on December 10, 2017, 04:18:08 PM
Darcy Cameron glanced from Sir Washburn to Father Columcil.  He saw the momentary tension between the two.  The Deryni knight was accustomed to a position of authority, so no surprises there.  The good Father, on the other hand, was perhaps not as humble as one would expect from a simple country priest.

No matter to him either way as long as they reached their destination safely.   Darcy made his way to the trees a short distance away and took the opportunity to relieve himself.   Dratted robe was in his way.  How did ladies manage with their long dresses?  He smiled inwardly; that certainly was not one of his concerns!

He rearranged his habit and turned to return to the group but stopped.  He though he heard movement farther in among the trees.  Silently, he moved forward, staying hidden in the trees as much as possible.  Yes, there was a man and horse ahead; odd that he stopped within the trees with the animal.  Darcy studied him carefully; there was nothing remarkable about him.  Average height, plain clothes; had he seen him before?

((Results of dice roll:  6 + 3 = 9 verification zm0lcckph4))

He had seen him!  The man had been lingering outside the monastery courtyard as they had left.  But even more disturbing, he had seen the man on the road as he and Lord Alister had approached Culdi.  That was too much circumstance to suit Darcy.
Taking care to make no sound, Darcy returned to his small group, pulling his hood well up over his head. 

"Sir Washburn, Lord Alister, a word if I might," Darcy said.  Washburn looked at him with interest. "We are being followed," Darcy said briefly.  "I think we may want to pick up our pace a bit.  Not too much to draw interest, but we might want to reach Rhemuth sooner than later."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on December 11, 2017, 10:37:53 AM
As the party quickly remounted and headed further down the road towards Rhemuth, Aliset surreptitiously reached out with her senses, trying to detect the follower that Darcy had mentioned. She thought she could detect someone in the periphery of her senses. Hastily withdrawing that mental probe in case their pursuer might be able to detect it, she centered herself, focusing on her party's need for stealth. Could she use her Deryni gifts to help them pass unseen?  Concentrating her will upon that thought, she focused her energies on helping her party slip away from their pursuer unnoticed.  She knew she could not keep up the subtle cloaking of their passage indefinitely, but hopefully it would throw off the pursuit for a short while.

((Dice roll 4 + 5 [success!], Verification Number: z1vbxgr09h))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on December 12, 2017, 05:36:50 AM
The afternoon steady ride continued on into the late daylight hours of summer. Washburn had forgone any prolong stops during the day, including Father Columcil's afternoon office. This did nothing to ingratiate the noble knight/pretending-to-be-a-priest in the eyes of the true priest.  Had there been proper time for Sir Washburn Morgan to speak privately to Columcil he was sure they could find common ground. The young Morgan wasn't exactly unused to the ways and habits of the clergy. He was family to the Archbishop of Rhemuth, after all. The trouble was, there were far more pertinent concerns weighing on his mind as they rode through the afternoon. Staying alive was a major one.

As for Aliset. To keep her protected, it was necessary that she stay with her companions in their sleeping arrangements. No more rooms for her alone. Far too dangerous for her to be out of Washburn's protection. And for her reputation's sake, better that she be with all three of them than with just Washburn. This meant they could not spend a night in a noble manor house where either Sir Washburn or Sir Alister were known. The host would take offense to the two noblemen wanting to sleep in the common room with their companions. It was never a good idea to offend any host who offered generous hospitality. There were rules of society that just should not be broken nor even bent. Under the circumstances, Washburn considered camping the night under the stars. Only as the sun nested into the branches of the western trees, the humidity rose and clouds gathered in the east. The summer months were no strangers to rain.  Even Darcy commented that by the next morning it would be raining. Sleeping in the wilderness was therefore, out of the question. And what to do about their pursuer?

Since the noon break, during a long portion of their afternoon journey, Lady Aliset 's riding posture had been one in a state of mediation. She barely caught her balance when her horse made a bad step. Washburn did not stray from her side, just in case her horse decided to side step out from under her. He probably needn't have worried, but still, he felt responsible for her.  As to what ever it was she was concentrating on, it seemed to do the trick. There was no sign of anyone following them, at least not one Wash could sense. He did cast out  at two different times to locate if anyone followed them. Though he sensed no one, he wasn't convinced they weren't there. They rode on through the dinner hour nibbling on baked bread. Aliset's exhaustion from her use of magic was evident in the way she took tiny bits and chewed slowly.

Not far ahead was the manor house Washburn had stayed at only two days ago. Nodding to himself,  he made up his mind what they needed to do.

"Follow me," he said to Darcy, as he rode up alongside the two front horses. He took the lead, heading off the main road onto a smaller road that would end at that particular manor house. However, he really had another idea in mind. When the road turned around a clump of trees, it briefly passed alongside a slow moving creek. Washburn pulled his horse off the road and stepped him into the cool waters of the creek. The others looked at him hesitantly. Father Columcil may have even thought the knight's tonsuring had caused the top of the man's brains to have become sun-fried during their journey. Yet no one dared to question Washburn's hand signals for them to continue south, down the middle of the shallow creek.

As soon as the three other horses had moved into the water, Washburn turned his focus into the depths of the glistening surface. Just a little concentration to splash the water up on the bank to wipe away the evidence of the horse's hoof prints.

(( 2d6 roll 2 and 2, failed - Verification Number: 7ttbbwtjp7))

Damn, he must be more agitated than he thought. The water moved a little, but not enough to cover their passage. Frustrated with himself, he reached into the bushes at the sides of creek, pulling out a few long branches with leaves on the ends. Back to the spot where they had walked off the road, he leaned over the neck of his horse and did his best to sweep the hoof prints away. When he was satisfied, he backed his horse into the water then turned to catch up with the others. For nearly a mile, he had them walk through the shallow waters. About the time his companions were ready to complain about the unsure footing for their horses, Washburn turned and climbed the eastern bank of the river. They traveled a short distance through a tall ashwood forest, before they came upon the backside of a small country church and a village just beyond the parish gardens. The church was of thick stone walls and steep slate-tile roof lines. Washburn lead the way past a hedge row with a pen of sheep. On the far side of the pen was a shed row barn with one end for the sheep and the other end for two plow ponies and a half stack of loosely bailed oats and barley.  There was just enough room in the center for their four horses and plenty of fodder for them to nibble on through the night.

The tallest of the four monks, dismounted first. His head was uncovered, his wide tonsure among a bristle of short golden hair displaying his vocation. "Father Columcil, Father Alister, would you be so kind as to ingratiate our party to our hosts within." He nodded toward the church. "If they have a room for us all to stay in, would be ideal. Else wise, we will be happy to sleep in the Nave." Washburn turned to Darcy who was the only one to have his hood up. "Father Darcy, stay with me and help put the horses up for the night." That duty did not seem to displease Darcy at all. Washburn briefly caught Aliset as she started to follow the priest inside. "Get yourself some dinner and some rest, we will rejoin you after compline." Washburn noted how Father Columcil gave him a look, as if to say, you may be impersonating a priest, but you will never be one of us.

When the two were gone, Washburn and Darcy changed their horses bridles for halters, loosened their girths, but left the saddles on. Just on the bad chance, they would be leaving quickly. They feed the horses from the stack of barley and rubbed their horses wet legs down with straw. When this was done, Darcy's eyes went wide as Washburn slipped off his monk's attire, pulled his longbow and greatsword from the bed roll that had been tied under the right flap of his saddle. With ease he swung the long sword over his shoulder onto his back and he reached for the bow string. From years of practice, he had the bow strung in less than a minute. Grabbing last his quiver of arrows. He looked at Darcy with a smile. "How would you like to go hunting with me?  You can recognize our pursuer when you see him, yes?"

Darcy gave a half-look back at the church, then a half-smile to the knight in black. "Yes, I can. Let us discourage him from his pursuit."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on December 12, 2017, 10:53:08 AM
Once they had been offered a room away from curious eyes, Aliset knew she needed to catch up on her rest--it was tempting to consider using a fatigue banishing spell, but that would only cause more problems for her later once the need for sleep and proper energy replenishment caught up with her--but there was one thing she felt she needed to do first before her other travel companions returned. Flashing a weary smile at Father Columcil, she sized him up privately. He had sensed her use of her Deryni powers the day before, but she had not sensed any judgment from him in her use of magic, simply approval at what she had attempted to do to help the injured cook.  Perhaps, then, she could trust him in this matter.  Especially if her sharing was done under the seal of the confessional, which no priest of integrity would ever dream of violating.

"Father, while we are alone together, I would have you hear my confession, if you would.  It has been...longer than I would prefer since I last had the opportunity, and the journey ahead of us might prove... somewhat hazardous, since I am being pursued by men who will likely stop at nothing to prevent me from reaching safety in Rhemuth at the King's court.  I would not have you accompany us without being aware of the risks, and if there is a chance I might die before reaching Kelson's protection, I would not meet our Lord unshriven."

Father Columcil slanted her an inquiring look, but said nothing, merely giving her an understanding smile as he reached into his pouch and pulled out what appeared to be a well worn travel stole, slipping it around his neck.

"I will hear your confession, my son," he finally said as he settled into place comfortably beside her.

She gave a quiet chuckle. "And that, I suppose, must lead to the first thing I need to confess, Father. I am Caer Mariot's heiress, not its heir.  I regret the necessity of deception, but I felt it was necessary for my survival. Is it a sin, Father, for me disguise myself so?" As she spoke, she attempted to let the glamour briefly fade away that concealed her true form, planning merely to allow him a glimpse of her true form before resuming her brother's guise, but much to her consternation, she could not!  Jesu, she must be more exhausted than she'd realized! 

((dice roll#1= 1 + 1, dice roll#2: 5 + 2; verification 214k89bc8z.  Since I rolled "snake eyes" [two 1s] on that first roll, should I consider that a spectacular failure?  Yeah, that could be fun.  ;D)) 

Her eyes widened in alarm, as the priest's also did in matching alarm and confusion. "Oh, sweet merciful heavens, Father, I'm ...I'm stuck!"

"You're...stuck?" Father Columcil echoed, looking uncertain of her meaning, not to mention a bit dazed at the sudden appearance of a young woman before him.

"I'm...oh, damn and blast, I can't get back into my brother's form!  And I must, you know, before Master Cameron and Lord Washburn get back!"

Despite the gravity of the situation and the priest's slow head shake, she thought she caught a faintly amused glint in his eye, along with a swift twitch at the corner of his lips that belied a sternly suppressed flash of humor mingled with the more evident dismay written large upon his features.  "No, that most certainly will not do!" he affirmed.  "Might I suggest, before you continue on with your confession, that we rectify this situation immediately?" As he spoke, he lay a calming hand upon her forearm, lending her enough of his own energy to help her feel better refreshed and more capable of the focus necessary to resume Alister's form. "Is that better?"

She closed her eyes, calling up Alister in her mind, and resumed his illusory form.  "Much!  Thank you, Father."  She opened her eyes, meeting his questioning gaze.  "That was awkward," she said with a self-conscious laugh.

The lips quirked in a visible almost-smile that time. "Quite.  And now, my daughter, I believe there was something you meant to share...."

Taking a deep breath, Aliset unburdened herself of all she'd had to do in order to protect herself after Oswald's slaughter of her family, and confessed to the bloodshed she'd found it necessary to spill and the deceptions her circumstances had forced to maintain in order to escape from his clutches.


Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on December 12, 2017, 11:55:16 AM
((
Quote from: Evie on December 12, 2017, 10:53:08 AM

((dice roll#1= 1 + 1, dice roll#2: 5 + 2; verification 214k89bc8z.  Since I rolled "snake eyes" [two 1s] on that first roll, should I consider that a spectacular failure?  Yeah, that could be fun.  ;D)) 

))


(( There is  nothing about such a critical failure in the core rules but anything can be house ruled. We could  have a lot of fun with all 1's being rolled. ))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on December 13, 2017, 09:05:19 PM
No encouragement was needed for Darcy Cameron to shed his own monk's robe.  His short sword had remained hidden beneath the robe as they travelled, so he was already armed.  He followed Sir Washburn back past the hedgerow to the ashwood forest.  They avoided the creek this time and followed the regular path.

They kept a quick pace but not so fast as to draw attention along the way. The few people they passed nodded respectfully to the tall knight, but gave no significant notice of their presence.  Perhaps they remembered him from his previous visit.

When they reached the main road, Darcy paused.  "Let me scout around a bit," he suggested.  "If the man I saw is truly following us since before Culdi, he should recognize me.  It may draw him out."

"Or cause him to run," Washburn countered.

"And that would be a bad thing?" Darcy asked with a slight smile.

Sir Washburn gave him a sharp look but nodded.  Darcy moved casually out onto the road, surreptitiously looking around.  The man could have passed them, but if in doubt of their continued travel, he was more likely to be close by.  He would have travelled a bit farther ahead, hoping to sight them if they stopped and then travelled on.

There was a thicket not too far ahead; Darcy strolled forward and casually noted the broken thorns.  Someone had gone through, moving off the road.  Darcy decided to circle around behind, hoping to avoid detection and painful scratches.  He turned to make sure Sir Washburn was watching his progress.

Beyond the ticket a horse was grazing, the bridle tied to a low shrub.  A man crouched low, picking through the contents of his saddle bag.  Darcy recognized him instantly.

He strode boldly forward, hand on the hilt of his sword.  "I suppose you have been looking for me?" 

The man drew his dagger, rose up to his feet and faced the intruder warily.

Darcy's sword was already drawn. "It seems introductions are required," he said.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on December 14, 2017, 11:12:12 AM
Darcy Cameron pursed his lips and emitted a piercing whistle, his signal to Sir Washburn that their quarry had been found.  It also suggested to the man standing before him that Darcy was not alone.

The man standing before him was remarkable in his unremarkableness.  No distinguishable feature caught Darcy's eye.  Medium height, plain brown hair under a cap, a face that was neither handsome or ugly.  Average horse.  A man who could easily lose himself in a crowd.

"Why are you following me?"  Darcy asked.

"What makes you think I am following you?" the man replied.

"What should make me think you are not?"  Darcy countered.  This could go on for too long.  "Explain yourself."

"Should I?" The man looked at Darcy carefully, noticed how steady and sure the sword was in his hand. "Very well, I travel to Rhemuth to beg work from my uncle."

"You keep well to the sides of the road and the bush.  Why?"

"There are those I would avoid."

Perhaps a man running from his master, trying to make it to Rhemuth to spend his year and a day?  A man who might not want to reveal his name.  Was he telling the truth?

((dice role, 1 dice, results 1. Verification 72qx8jbhjt))

Darcy could not tell.  It could be plausible, or it could be not.

Darcy heard movement behind him.  He did not trust the man before him enough to turn his head to see who approached. He hoped it was Sir Washburn.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on December 14, 2017, 03:12:51 PM
The Lendour knight could appreciate the seaman's tracking skill. Something instinctual about the way his companion saw the lightly pushed back and broken twigs of the thicket. Wash was as much curious about the way his friend took charge, as he was anxious that Darcy had gotten out of his sight, when the seaman stealthily went around the backside of the thicket. That would not do!

Quick steps brought Wash across the road to the thicket. As he went, an arrow was knocked to the bowstring, readying the weapon in the event it was needed.  Level with the thicket, he could just make out a horse and figures beyond it. This would not do! Indeed!

At Darcy's whistle, he sensed caution, but it was not a sound of emergency, not yet. So Wash traveled as Darcy had, around the thicket and a tree. He heard the men talking...

"I travel to Rhemuth to beg work from my uncle."

((2d6  roll 1 & 1,  spectacular failure, Verification Number: 4rwv7180bq))

"You keep well to the sides of the road and the bush.  Why?"

"There are those I would avoid."

As the men kept talking, Washburn shook his head. Not only could he not tell if truthful words were being said, but he felt a sense of being blocked. Of the two men before him, only the stranger would have such an ability and a need. Who was he and what was he about?

Washburn stepped into view, near the back of his companion. His bow was held in play, his arrow taught in the string, yet not pulled back. Not just yet.

"Why don't you tell my friend and I, just who you are avoiding. And then answer me- honestly- what you know of the heir of Mariot, and a man named Oswald?"

Just on the off chance his arrow was not threatening enough. Washburn let, a for just a second, a flash of scarlet aura encircle his head. Darcy with his back turned did not see. But the fellow with the dagger took note of it.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on December 14, 2017, 04:15:11 PM
Columcil spoke the words of absolution over the young woman's bowed head, and mentally chided himself for even thinking of her as such. He had been wearing his stole when the disguise was revealed to him and such knowledge was therefore under the seal of the confessional and  must be hidden even from his own conscious mind. Besides his own need of concealment, if somewhat less hedged with mortal peril, was enough to make him inclined to be protective of another's, even without his priestly vows. To have called Aliset "My daughter" once was an acceptable way of acknowledging what had been revealed, twice would be foolish.

"Your sin has been set aside, my child, go in peace. And pray for me who am also a sinner."

The face of a young man looked up at him gratefully, although the corners of his mouth quirked in recognition of the Priest's careful way out of his dilemma.

"We'd best get what rest we can while we wait for the others" Columcil continued and matching actions to words he rolled himself in his cloak and settled down with his head on his pack. Sleep though was impossible; as time went on he became increasingly anxious for their two missing companions, but separating further would be foolhardy, even if he felt brave enough to disobey M'Lord out there. He wouldna want to face that one's wrath. He considered extending his Sight beyond the walls of the church - Aye, he knew that what he possessed were Deryni powers but the old language of the Borders still came more naturally to him - but thought better of it.

(( 1 dice roll. Result 2+4 verification code 5b2gjssr0t)).

Who was to say that the one tracking them didna have powers of his own. He'd best be about his prayers and hope that the Lord had forgiven his ill-tempered show of piety earlier in the day.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on December 14, 2017, 04:46:05 PM
((Good grief, we're having spectacularly bad luck with dice rolls today! LOL!  Well, since Aliset is sleeping, let's see if I can flesh our stalker out a bit in the meantime.))

Austin MacInnis watched the young Deryni knight's display with a faint smile on his face. Was he meant to be impressed? He suppressed the urge to reach a hand up to caress the amulet hanging around his neck beneath his jerkin. He was no Deryni himself, but his master had gifted him with certain protections nonetheless, and he'd managed to learn a few wee talents despite being human-born. He was certain now these two men before him were traveling with the de Mariot chit he was sent to find. He would be rewarded richly once he brought her back. Oh yes, he could tell these two Gwyneddan loyalists a thing or two about Baron Oswald if he chose to--not that he would.  Say whatever one might about him, he knew where his loyalties lay.  Oh, not with Baron Oswald directly, though he was happy enough to be of service to him in this small job, so long as the reward was as good as promised. But he had higher loyalties, as did Oswald. And if he did well in this, there would be more opportunities to prove his value to his master.  Austin was an ambitious man. He would take whatever odd jobs would facilitate his rise to the top echelon in the once and future Kingdom of Meara.

"The heir of Mariot and a man named Oswald?" He shrugged, maintaining his nonchalant demeanor in the face of the knight's aura flare. "Who are they?" 

((Dice roll 5 + 4, verification #dbtlc8rjjp, for whether his ability to block Wash's ability to Truth-Read continues to succeed...which it did, darn it!  Though maybe that's just because he avoided giving a direct answer.  Better luck next round, hopefully!))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on December 15, 2017, 12:57:06 PM
Darcy Cameron sighed.  He did not like the man's evasiveness.  They had him outnumbered and stood a chance of taking him.  Perhaps they could beat the truth out of him, but it would be hard won, and he doubted Father Columcil would approve.  That amount of penance he did not need.

The flash of light and the sharp crack of thunder caused all three men to startle. The man before them took the opportunity to throw his dagger at Darcy.

((dice role 2d6; 3 + 2 = 5.  Failure.))

The dagger flew wide, missing Darcy's shoulder by inches.  Austin leaped onto his horse, grasping the reins to pull them up.  But he had secured the reins a little too well to the shrub, and they did not come free at his first hasty tug.  On the second they came free, bringing broken pieces of branch with them.

Darcy uttered a curse and sprang forward with his sword.

((dice role 3d6; 5 + 5+ 1 = 11; Success!))

He delivered a backhanded slice, severing the girth of the horse's saddle.  Saddle and rider began to slip sideways, and Darcy heard the swish of Sir Washburn's arrow as it sailed past him....
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on December 15, 2017, 01:34:57 PM
((Perception roll, 1d6 to see if the thunder/bright flash would wake Aliset or not.  Success on 4-6.  Dice roll=4, verfication #7bm2c1dbf2))

Aliset awakened with a start, hearing the echoes of loud thunder as she sat up swiftly. Had she merely dreamed the bright flash illuminating the room when her eyes first flew open? It seemed even darker now, leaving her uncertain how much time had passed since she had dropped off to sleep.  Not nearly enough to replenish her, she felt as she fell back onto her pillow groggily.  She glanced over at Columcil, who rolled over on his pallet. Without reaching out to him mentally, she couldn't be sure if he was asleep or not, but she didn't wish to intrude on his privacy in either case unless it became truly necessary.

She did, however, feel somewhat uneasy without quite knowing why. Perhaps it was simply because her brief glance around the room had informed her that Darcy and Sir Washburn had not yet returned from their explorations.

Perhaps she should trust that gut instinct and reach out further with her senses to see if she could detect their presence nearby. Or perhaps sense the presence of anyone else close by who might pose a threat to her and her companions. 

Centering herself, she focused on extending her senses outwards to see what they might encounter.

((Dice roll 5 on 1d6, since Aliset is still tired from concealing the party during their journey and not getting enough sleep, but evidently not too tired to detect danger.  Verification #5bsbkm1tx7))

Oh, bloody hell!  She could sense Sir Washburn and Darcy, all right, and what was more, she could sense a third person with them. Some dark shadow seemed to emanate from him, though whether that was because he was a threat or due to some strange power he was using--his was a slippery presence, for lack of a better description coming to mind at the moment, and not easily detected--she did not know, but she intended to find out. Rapidly, she raised her hand to her forehead and attempted to use a fatigue-banishing spell.  An expletive she'd heard Alister use when he thought she was out of earshot escaped her lips as the spell failed ((1d6 rolled due to her exhaustion--result 1, verification #78tq3wssgn)).  Evidently she was too tired to manage her own fatigue now! But despite that, she could hardly leave her newfound friends to their fate unassisted.  Forcing herself to rise and gear up swiftly, she woke up Father Columcil as she returned her dagger to its scabbard.

"Father Columcil, wake up!  Wash and Darcy need our assistance!"
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on December 15, 2017, 01:54:27 PM
Lightning struck and thunder cracked through the trees, not too distant. A dagger flew at Darcy, there was no time to Focus it away. Thankful to Saint Camber, the dagger flew wide of its target. Then in an instant, both men before him were moving. This time there was time to Focus. And time to make a good draw. The stranger's near shoulder was a solid target. Washburn aimed, not to kill, but to incapacitate. He still did not have solid proof that the stranger was more than what he said. The ramifications of killing another without due provocation would be strict punishment in Kelson's courts. The stranger did attacked first, but if Truth Read, it could be claimed that he was defending himself against their bullying. Gut-instinct told him otherwise, yet they needed proof that he was their stalker.

His arrow flew.
((3D6 Advantage and Focus  roll 5, 3, 3, Verification Number: 5sn7l23gcm))

The arrow's flight was true, even as the stranger fell from the slipping saddle as Darcy cut the man's girth. The arrow struck the left shoulder and sent him to the ground.

"Don't kill him!  I want to know who he is and what he knows!" Wash yelled as he ran forward.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on December 15, 2017, 03:49:52 PM
(( I am going to give everyone (all four of the PC's - the bad guy doesn't get one) what is going to be called a Hero Point. The player can spend this Hero point in any of the following ways:

Everyone has 1 (one) Hero Point. ))

(( this post had been edited ))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on December 15, 2017, 04:00:04 PM
((I am guessing the Hero Point is a one time use sort of thing, and we only get more Hero points at certain intervals, or have to earn them through game play or something, similarly to how Force Points work in the Star Wars RPG?

[As I recall, one way in Star Wars that you can earn a Force point back is if you manage to use one up during a dramatically appropriate moment.  So, for instance, Luke using one to determine whether to break left or right when evading enemy fire wouldn't earn him a point back, but using it to help tilt the outcome in his favor when making that critical shot necessary to destroy the Death Star would.  But there were other ways to earn them during the game, you might just have to wait longer to get it back if you wasted it on something less heroic.] ))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on December 15, 2017, 04:17:34 PM
(( Hero Points are similar in nature to Force Points from the Star Wars RPG. And the concept crops up in a lot of other RPGs too. It's always nice to have something to give the Hero's an edge. Right now everyone has just the ONE. When it is gone it's gone. Yes you can get more. And I will give them out. ))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on December 17, 2017, 08:17:55 PM
Austin MacInnis cursed as he and his saddle slipped sideways.  Panicked, his horse attempted to skitter away and Austin kicked himself free from the stirrups when pain slashed at his shoulder.  Damn! He hit the ground hard and tried to roll to his feet but the pain of rolling over on his wounded shoulder stopped him.

"Don't kill him! I want to know who he is and what he knows," Austin heard the taller man shout.

"I'll see you in hell first," Austin thought grimly.  He attempted to roll in the other direction but was stopped by the point of a sword placed none too gently at his throat.

"I would be a bit careful of your next move if I was you."  The fair-haired man above stood far enough away that a lunge on Austin's part would not connect with either leg, and the slightest pressure on the sword would put it neatly through his throat.  The taller man in black had another arrow knocked and ready to fire.  It was time to turn this situation around.

"You have injured me for no reason!  I demand to be taken to the nearest authority to state my case! You will pay dearly for this!"

"We could remove your arrow and leave him to die," the smaller man said. 

The other man thought for a few uncomfortable moments.  "We'll take him back with us.  I will know who he is and what his purpose is here."

Austin smiled inwardly.  This had taken a better turn than he had hoped for.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on December 17, 2017, 08:47:44 PM
((LOL!  I had just rolled for Austin to see if he'd make a safe landing falling off that horse, but you got your scene in there first, so I guess I'll use that roll for this scene. I just have to figure out first how I'm going to apply it.  Dice roll 5 + 4, verification# 6n9f1jl3pm.  Yeah, I suspect he really wants to go to that monastery after all!))

Austin had to work to control his smirk. So, they were taking him directly to the de Mariot lass, were they? That would make his job all the more easy. 

Making only a token resistance, he allowed himself to be escorted by the Mariot girl's protectors.  The wound in his shoulder, that was truly annoying, but he'd had worse injuries before. He'd see the two men who'd accosted him pay dearly for that. But first things first.

Oswald had cautioned him not to kill Aliset de Mariot unless it couldn't be avoided. He wanted her alive. Austin was fine with those terms. But he hadn't said anything about unharmed.  Or untouched, for that matter.  Or unscarred. Or even conscious. 

Austin amused himself with imagining several interesting scenarios featuring his runaway prey as he stumbled through the wet countryside towards the dry warmth of the nearby village church.

((Edited to eliminate mention of monastery that isn't here.  ;D))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on December 18, 2017, 12:41:38 PM
((Ooh, something else has occurred to me!  We have a human villain with some borrowed powers, in the service of a Deryni master. Sort of like the Derry/Alaric relationship, but on the dark side, so to speak.  He is also injured in a way that would cause blood loss, has aggravated that injury by falling on it, and is now being led off somewhere by our heroes at a pace that I suspect is not entirely gentle and considerate of his new injuries.   ;D  Will there be some natural consequence to his health as a result of that?  [I.e, will he lose a hit point?]  Also, can his master sense his weakened state through the link they almost certainly share?))

((Dice roll #1--2 + 2.  Rolled to see if Austin loses another hit point during this trek back towards the church. I assume he already lost one when the arrow went into his shoulder.  Looks like our villain is out of luck this time! One more HP down, 4 left to go, assuming he starts off with the usual 6 we all have.))

Austin stumbled along the trail as he plotted dire consequences for Aliset and the rest of her traveling companions. The diversion helped to keep his mind off the pain in his shoulder and the feel of his own blood soaking into his clothing.  He felt a wave of exhaustion hit now that the earlier adrenaline rush began to wear off, but he fought it. He would not allow this rabble to see any weakness. His master would sense what had happened to him, he felt sure, in general terms if not in specific details. He just had to see his mission through to completion, or at least endure long enough to see the girl's protectors dead, and once his master (or another of his henchmen) caught up with them, deliver her into his keeping. And then his injuries could be looked after properly. He put one foot before the other, his entire focus now on keeping his remaining energies up until he could complete his mission.

((Roll #2--3 +6 to see if his master can sense his weakening energy through their psychic link.  Oops!  Apparently he can, so let's hope he's not too close!))

((Roll#3--Rolled 1d6 to see how far away his master is.  One day's ride per number on the dice roll.  Result was a 3, verification #4zgzsz5p8d.))

In his fortress three days' ride distant, a Deryni mastermind felt a sudden phantom pain in his shoulder, followed by other muffled pains shortly thereafter, and a wave of weakness.  Dampening down the link between himself and his injured minion, he retreated to his study at his earliest opportunity.  Opening a small engraved box upon his desk, he reached within its velvet lined confines to pull out a polished shiral crystal.  Focusing his concentration on it, he whispered "Show me what Austin is seeing."

((Dice roll #4--3 +2.  Verification #n59rnm8cmt))

The shiral remained clouded for some reason.  Were Austin's eyes merely closed, or had he already succumbed to unconsciousness?  Damn it all, he had to find out what was going on! If the de Mariot chit made it to Rhemuth with her tale, the Mearan revolt would be exposed prematurely.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on December 18, 2017, 02:07:27 PM
The darkness of the road set in. The sun was beyond the hills to the west and the clouds, black with moisture, filled the sky over head. Another lightning flashed, more distant this time, with the thunder reverberating through the forest. It was going to rain. Possibly even before they got back to the church yard. Five paces before Wash, Master Darcy lead his captive. The captive's shoulders sagged and his feet drug slowly forward.  The man was hurting, but he was not fighting back or trying to escape. Wash lead the man's horse. A cursory glance of the saddle and bags gave nothing away to the rider's identity.

((1d6 disadvantage  rolled 3 *failure* Verification Number: rwx63qpnlk))

Washburn cast forward to try to discern what he could of their prisoner. All that echoed back in his mind was a shadow, a shield unlike anything Wash had encountered before. He wanted very much to read the man's intent. For everything about the man, except for his words, told Wash to use all caution. If he could touch him, he could learn if the man were truly Deryni or not. That, however, was filled with its own risks. If their captive was Deryni and he was the enemy, Wash must be prepared to do battle of the mental kind. Which ultimately could end in the loser being Mind-ripped. If it came to that, to protect Aliset, he would.  He could use the excuse of removing the arrow to get that touch. Soon. Out from under these rain clouds with four walls for shelter. That would be better place for that kind of battle, then this open road.

((1d6 disadvantage  rolled 4 *failure* Verification Number: 3r9l2qkvqd))

As they walked, Wash took a try at focusing on the horse's mind, his hand resting on the animal's neck. It was said his father could call a deer to the very gates of Rhemuth. This was a trick he had yet to learn. If he ever could learn it. His Grace, Lord Dhugal was the master of that magic. All Wash could sense from the animal was that he was away from what was familiar. There had been several suns on his left side ending with suns to his right side. Translating into southerly travel for several days.

(( 2d6  rolled 2 & 5 success Verification Number: 4nv72n3k8z))

Ever wary of the man before him and the woods all around, Wash and his companion and captive were mid way up the road toward the church when Wash heard the faint sounds of someone ahead in the darkness. He braced himself for an encounter. @@"Caution!"@@ was the single mental word he sent out with Mind Speech on the chance that it was a friend; or a warning if it was a foe.

((sorry it that was 3 actions and not just 2. LOL))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on December 18, 2017, 03:13:37 PM
Aliset saw two familiar figures approaching in the distance, along with one other man less familiar to her, but she recognized him nonetheless. She had sensed him nearby before, albeit not like this, with waves of pain and increasing shock rolling off him.  She felt conflicted at the sight. She was certain this man meant her no good will--indeed had most likely been sent to cause her harm, if not death. Yet despite that, something within her did not wish him dead.  Not yet, at any rate. Not unless it became truly necessary. If he must die in order to ensure the survival of herself and her friends. Not to mention the survival of Gwynedd as an intact kingdom, without the shadow of civil war growing stronger until it overcame the decades of peace that Kelson's decisive actions against the last Quinnell pretenders had brought to Meara.

Within her mind, she Heard Sir Washburn's warning. Caution!

It's Alister! she Sent back swiftly, using her brother's name on the off chance her fatigue had reduced her ability to focus her thought to his mind alone.  ((Rolled one die instead of two because of the distance and she is also tired--result was a 3, verification 5gd54vslxz.))  From this distance, she could not see his features clearly, and there was no other sign that the Deryni knight had registered her attempt to contact him, so cautious she would be.  She stood her ground, awaiting their arrival.  While she waited, she mentally reviewed the small selections of medicinals she'd acquired at the monastic infirmarium the night before.  Which ones might be most effective at preventing infection and promoting healing? After all, Sir Washburn might wish to bring the prisoner to King Kelson alive. And perhaps just as important, which ones might help keep him sedated and prevent him from using any powers he might bring to bear against them?  Or might one of the spells in her family grimoire be better suited for that purpose?

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on December 18, 2017, 04:08:29 PM
((Columcil tends to veer from male to female pronouns while thinking of Aliset. Nothing in his priestly training or experience has prepared him for this.
Reading back a few, it says that Aliset woke Columcil but he doesn't seem to be with her. I am assuming that he proved very difficult to wake and she decided not to waste time.))

Columcil woke suddenly to a sense of dread. He had finally slept, exhausted enough that the storm had failed to wake him. Something had however. He sat up and listened as to whether the same something, whatever it might have been, had woken his companion. He could hear nothing.  His heartbeat sounded loud in his ears and his breathing ragged, maybe that was what was preventing him from hearing Alister's breathing. The youngster slept quietly - maybe all women did, that was something he would never know - but surely not that quietly. Even though she bore the shape of a man he did not dare to reach out to touch but waited for the next flash of bright light from the sky to fill the church. Alister was gone.

Anger flooded him, anger with Alister, but much more strongly anger with himself. Were all those night-long vigils in vain that he could not watch out even half a night? "Could you not watch with me one hour?", he heard echoing in his thoughts. Was it blasphemy to think so? Well, he had no time to waste worrying about it, he had best follow and quickly at that. Should he go mounted? Both horses were still tethered in the church porch, standing together sheltered from the worst of the storm but trembling with fear. It would be needlessly cruel to leave one horse alone, and Alister had clearly gone on foot. He would too. He picked up his staff, wrapped himself in his cloak and then, on a impulse, slipped his prayer book from the breast of his habit. He kissed the cover and prayed that the Deryni heritage of his father's kin would aid him now. Cautiously he extended his senses (dice role 5+5 verification code 21ptcOrqkb) and felt a presence slipping through the forest just beyond the church yard. He must have woken just as she left. Kissing the book again he replaced it, crossed himself and walked rapidly out through the church porch. Both horses were showing the whites of their eyes and sweating with fear. For all his anxiety Columcil could not leave them like this ((I rolled 3d6 as Columcil is a beast-handler 4+3+6 verification 45fk3z177p)) and placing a hand on each animal he reached into their minds soothing their fear. Then, half -ashamed of his time-wasting, he strode out into the storm.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on December 18, 2017, 09:28:16 PM
Darcy Cameron marched their prisoner in front of him.  He had used the man's belt to bind his hands behind him.  He had lines within his sea bag, but he had left it at the stable.  The belt had sufficed.

The man's face was stoic as he plodded forward.  Beads of sweat glistened his forehead; he was still bleeding and in pain.  Darcy would have been more sympathetic if he had not remembered the dagger that had been thrown at him.

Darcy heard the rustle of someone travelling towards them.  He gripped their prisoner's arm.  "Steady now, let's not create a disturbance," he cautioned. 

A grunt of pain was the only response.

Damn and double damn!  He recognized the figure in the monk's robe as they approached. Lord Alister!

Darcy had hoped they could secure there prisoner at the church without exposing the whereabouts of Lord Alister.  This did not bode well.

"Good Brother," the man beside him suddenly called out.  "Pray help me!  I have been taken unjustly captive and sorely wounded...."

Darcy cut off his speech by twisting the man's wounded arm.  He was not feeling charitable.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on December 19, 2017, 06:58:22 AM
Suddenly a rough hand seized Darcy's and forced him to stop.

"That will do lad, no need to hurt without cause."

Columcil, who had come swiftly up behind Alister, ignored Darcy's glare and stood four-square in front of Austin, effectively preventing him from any further sight of Alister. He nodded at Darcy to keep a firm hold of the belt tying the captive, hoping that would reassure the man that he had no intention of aiding any escape.

Austin knew relief that his pain had lessened but this was a complication he could do without. Still the man was a cleric by the look of him, best carry on with his appeal to the soft-hearted clergy.

"Brother," he repeated, "Pray help me. I have been unjustly taken captive..." but was interrrupted.

"Father it is, d'ye no know a priest when you see one. And as for unjustly, whyfore would an innocent traveler be tracking such as us on a night such as this. But with permission of My Lord here, I can maybe do something about that wound of yourn." He bowed towards Washburn, there was now no point in pretending that the other was a humble monk and Washburn nodded slowly, again wondering about Columcil; the man was clearly more than he seemed, did he mean that he was a healer.

Columcil grasped Austin firmly by his good shoulder and began to peel back the sodden jerkin and shirt from the wound. Austin squirmed and tried to wriggle away, but only succeeded in having his bad arm twisted again by Darcy. This time Columcil made no protest at this rough treatment but growled at Austin,

"Hold still, d'ye want healing or no!"

God! the man was a Deryni too, thought Austin but said nothing. Slowly Columcil began to enter into healing trance (6+5 6rwvf2btg) and slipped his hand inside Austin's shirt. Suddenly he jerked himself out of his trance and turning to Washburn said urgently, "Your dagger, my Lord!" and as the other hesitated, "Now, if you please!" Washburn made a split second decision to trust the priest and handed his weapon over. Columcil pulled a leather thong out of Austin's jerkin, ignoring the other's frantic attempts to kick and bite him, and swiftly cut the leather. As he pulled it free he held up the amulet and handed it to Washburn with a bow, "Maybe you know what this heathen thing is, my Lord. I didna ken whether I could've healed past it but I didna care to try."

Anger was rising in Columcil again. Whatever the thing was that had been round the wounded man's neck, it had stunk of something foul. He'd maybe repent of it later but just at the moment he didn't feel like trying again to heal. He turned away in disgust and spoke roughly to Darcy - "He's all yours, Son." ((Modified to make clear Austin not healed))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on December 19, 2017, 09:23:42 AM
Darcy Cameron tightened his grip on the prisoner beside him.  The man was in a panic over the removal of the amulet.  But Sweet Jesu, the priest was Deryni!

Darcy looked warily at Father Columcil and Sir Washburn.  What had he gotten himself into?
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on December 19, 2017, 10:25:34 AM
The bigger question, Darcy Cameron conceded to himself, was what to do with their prisoner.  If they continued to the church, the man would certainly decry their ruse as monks.  The man he gripped seemed to lose some of his bravado with the loss of the amulet, but Darcy felt the man's muscles begin to tighten in resistance.

"Father," Darcy said as he turned Austin away from his line-of-sight to Lord Alister, "why don't you return to the church." He jerked is head slightly in Alister's direction, clearly suggesting that he take him with him.  "We'll linger here awhile and see if we can convince our friend to be more talkative."

Darcy smiled; it was not a pleasant smile. "In the nicest possible way, of course."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on December 19, 2017, 10:31:59 AM
Aliset took a moment to consider her situation.  Father Columcil had revealed his Deryni powers to Darcy, and thus far Darcy hadn't run screaming into the darkness. And surely he had to have figured out by now that Sir Washburn, younger son of the Morgans of Corwyn, was also Deryni.

It would not do, however, for their captive to recognize her.

Under the concealment of her hood, she allowed her features to transform into a form she was unused to assuming, but as her pursuer did not come from the village of Mariot or (as far as Aliset knew) any of the surrounding villages, it was unlikely he would recognize the slightly balding gray-haired visage she now assumed as that of the village cobbler.  ((6 + 5, verification #1904cblgl7, for a successful shift to the new shape.))  Pushing back her hood, she regarded the wounded man soberly as she approached.

"What have we here?  An arrow wound?"  Casting a glance at Darcy, who appeared somewhat stunned (and little wonder, Aliset thought, wishing she'd been able to warn him beforehand), though not so much as to lose his hold on his captive, she drew closer, ready to draw her dagger for self-defense if need be, but thus far the wounded man seemed to realize he was outnumbered and outmatched, now that his protective amulet had been taken away from him.  Pondering her choices, Aliset glanced at Sir Washburn.  "We will need to remove that arrow and staunch his bleeding before anything else, I think. Can't have the man bleeding out and dying on us before we've had a proper chance to question him." Looking into the man's eyes, she added, "You do realize, don't you, that there's no way to simply pull that arrow out without the arrowhead's barbs causing more damage to the wound?  We shall have to push it through so we can cut the head off first before we can draw out the shaft. I can offer you something for the pain, or perhaps one of my Deryni companions can alleviate it via magical means, if they so choose." She gave those men a skeptical smile. 

The wounded man turned pale, but met her gaze defiantly. "I'll accept no painkiller or potion from your  hand.  You likely mean to muddle my thinking, or worse."

"As you wish," Aliset answered, closing the distance between them, and laying one hand upon the arrow's shaft as if to push it the rest of the way through muscle and skin. At the last moment, however, she stopped, laying her other hand upon his brow instead.  ((Dice roll 3 + 4, verification #6gv7mcdrbx)) She attempted to Mind-Read him, but unfortunately she could not.  He was still shielded despite the removal of his amulet.  His shields were not particularly strong, no stronger than might be expected in a human who had spent a lot of time in contact with a Deryni, but she was still too tired to be able to break through them nonetheless, at least not without risking damage to him that might destroy the very memories she sought to gain access to.  She sighed.  "All right, it seems you're not feverish at any rate," she said in hopes the captive would not realize she was Deryni as well, and therefore figure out she was actually the lady he sought in someone else's guise.  "Let's do this, then."  Taking hold of the arrow's shaft again, she braced herself and pushed the arrow through his flesh the rest of the way.  Meeting Sir Washburn's eyes with a faint grimace, she said over the man's outcry, "If you'd remove the arrowhead now, my lord, we need the shaft out as quickly as possible so we can staunch the blood's flow."

((1d6 roll for Austin to check for further damage to his health and see if he loses consciousness. He got a 4, lucky fellow.  Verification#1p4xtx696g))

The wounded man swayed a little, but remained conscious, glaring at his captors defiantly.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on December 20, 2017, 03:04:03 AM
Wash had accepted back his dagger with one hand, even as he took the leather thong from which dangled the amulet in his other hand. Just holding the metal ringed gem near was enough to confirm that this was indeed to source of the shadow Wash had felt earlier. That the good Father Columcil could feel it too, was the surprising proof that he too was Deryni. Darcy seemed none too pleased with this revelation. Wash knew several Deryni priest; beside those who were family. Most of them chose to stay close to Rhemuth or to Valoret, where acceptance was not an issue. Columcil was proving to have a story as yet unheard.  The priest even hinted that he could Heal?  He didn't, however. Holding the amulet by the throng, Wash well understood why.

There was no time to delve into the amulets power. Columcil had turned away revealing Aliset behind him. Only, as she confronted their captive, her face was other than that of her own or her brother's. Darcy appeared none too pleased with this revelation on top of the last.

Wash slide the amulet quickly in his pouch, best if the thing was out of visual sight and not touching skin. He prepared himself to jump in with dagger in hand, as the old monk who was Aliset pushed the arrow head through the wound on their captive's shoulder. The arrow had sunk deep from his shot; it had cleared the bone causing little other obstruction for the steel tip to escaped the body through the back skin. Wash's dagger was sharp, he snapped the head off the shaft in one quick motion. Even as Aliset pulled back on the shaft. He used that moment to place his hand firmly over the bare shoulder, his mind seeking Control through the touch, swift to overcome the other's resistance.

((2d6  rolled 4 and 4, failure, darn, Verification Number: 3rzs394hwf))

Resistance he meet. It mattered not how fast his attack had been; his thoughts did circles around shields strong enough to hold in defense. Yet that was all. Their captive did not respond with a mental attack of his own. Wash had been prepared for that, yet there was no energy build up or reciprocating strike. So the man was not Deryni. That would make things easier.

Their captive pulled away from his touch. Wash let him. Darcy's grip was sure, the wounded man was going no where. "I think we shall take a moment to dress our friend's wound. I have nothing to accomplish that, so I am certain you will not mind if I go through your saddlebags to find what cloth we can use?" Wash was please to see concern in the wounded man's glare with his head turned as far back as Darcy's hold would allow. There was something in the bags that this man did not want Wash to find.

(( 2d6  roll 2 and 6  Verification Number: 6fsvlngrhn))

Wash pulled out a few expected items. A cup, a small knife, dried meat rolls, a bread loaf. He handed over the gauze cloth that had wrapped the bread to Aliset for a bandage. Still, deep in the bag, his fingers touched something round and cold, attached to a torn fragment of cloth. His hand pulled the item out. It was a pewter brooch with an eagle's head pinned to a segment of green and blue wool. Blood was on the edge where the wool was frayed.

It took every ounce of power for Wash to not turn around and brandish Sir Alister's brooch in his captive's face. He daren't, not in front of Aliset. It would send her into a rage. He would show her, later, when their prisoner was more secure. Or dead!

His fist tightened on his dagger. Anger swept through him.  He had his proof. Kelric would say it was justice. Kelson.... Kelson... the man, would not reprimand him. The King.. the King, who was the justice of the land... King Kelson would say he should have brought the prisoner before him and let Him be the Hand of Justice.

Fuming, Washburn stayed his hand.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on December 20, 2017, 09:30:39 AM
Darcy Cameron had a momentary desire to release the prisoner, steal his horse, and get as far away from this small Deryni horde as he could.  But only for a moment.  He had not progressed upward from a kitchen swab on his first ship by running from the twists and turns in his life.  There had been too many twists this day, and his companions had a lot of explaining to do.

Now, however, was not the time.  Not in front of their prisoner, who was sweating profusely, partly from pain, and partly, Darcy suspected, from fear. The older monk, who must certainly still be Lord Alister, cleaned the wound with the small amount of wine left in the wineskin Sir Washburn had retrieved from the captive's horse.  He had tossed it to the monk almost angrily.  What had he found in the man's saddlebags to put him in such ill temper?

Their captive's breathing became less ragged as the monk wound the cloth around the wound.  Darcy maintained his tight grip, perhaps tightening a bit more than necessary as the result of his own frustration. 

Lord Alister finished and stepped back from the prisoner, wiping the blood from his hands on the small amount of cloth that had not been required to bandage the wound.  Darcy took the opportunity to take a closer look at the monk.  Whatever his employer had managed to do, he had done it well.  Lord Alister gave a slight nod, acknowledging the scrutiny.

"My Lord," Darcy said curtly to Washburn.  Best not to use names in front of the man he held firmly. "May I suggest we take this opportunity to question our captive?"  He moved swiftly to grab the injured arm and turn the man toward Washburn.  The man gasped and uttered a curse through clenched teeth.

Father Columcil and Lord Alister looked ready to object; Sir Washburn looked uncertain; remembering what he had found in the saddlebag, he was sorely tempted to allow the seaman to do what damage he wished. 

"We need answers and don't have a lot of time to waste," Darcy said firmly.  "Unless you have a better suggestion, I'll see what I can learn."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on December 20, 2017, 09:55:51 AM
Aliset sighed, acknowledging the necessity of getting answers from their stalker. Deryni methods had failed to obtain that information, partly due to his protective shielding, but also partly (in her case anyway) due to her fatigue, so perhaps Darcy's methods would work better. Still, it would be better if they could question the prisoner out of the rain and damp, not to mention conceal their increasingly suspicious-looking activities for an alleged party of traveling monks from outside observation.  She nearly reached for her familiar belt pouch for the Ward Cubes she'd normally carried with her whenever she ventured away from home, until she remembered that not only was she not wearing that pouch right now, she'd not had time to retrieve those items before fleeing her manor home with Oswald's men in hot pursuit.

"I agree we need answers," she said, "though it would be best if we could obtain them somewhere a bit better protected from the weather and concealed from any curious eyes that might happen to be around."  She briefly debated the wisdom of continuing her thought aloud, but since she was hopeful the captive had not seen through her disguise yet, she carefully phrased the rest of her idea. "Perhaps it would be best to continue this within the shelter of the church, or perhaps even here under a protective Ward, although of course some of you might be better equipped for that sort of thing than I would be."  She looked around at her companions.  "Do any of you happen to have a set of Ward Cubes on your person at the moment?  Or even a set of regular dice that could be attuned to work as such? It needn't even be cube-shaped, just something stackable could work." She glanced at the captive's bag. "Perhaps he has something that might be of use to those who know how to work that sort of thing?"
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on December 20, 2017, 01:41:06 PM
Aliset glanced at Sir Washburn in query, but he simply sighed and shook his head.  Whether he simply meant he didn't have his Ward Cubes on his person at the moment, or didn't have them with him at all, or that he had seen none in their prisoner's bag while he was going through it, she could not tell, but it was sufficient to inform her that a handy set of Ward Cubes was unlikely to be produced from that quarter.  A quick glance at the priest showed him glancing back at her with an expression that was difficult to read, though she guessed he didn't have Ward Cubes either, or perhaps not any that were immediately at hand. Or maybe he was reluctant to tip his hand before their reluctant guest as well.  And as for Darcy, he was unlikely to own anything as esoteric as a set of magical Ward Cubes, wasn't he?  No, unless she spent precious time and energy to search for materials to activate to serve such a purpose, it seemed they were going to have to do without the standard Deryni means of warding.

Which wasn't to say that there weren't any available forms of warding that couldn't serve the purpose nearly as well, at least for a short time until better arrangements could be made.  Casting a quick glance around the area, she spotted a nearby willow tree.  Aliset smiled.  Using her dagger, she swiftly chopped off a slender branch.  Returning to her companions who stood guard around their prisoner, she told them, "My mother used to use an old Border folk prayer to protect our livestock.  Let's see if it might prove useful here." 

Centering herself and focusing her mind on the task at hand, she began to walk around the gathered group in a circle, walking sunwise around them, inscribing a circle on the ground with the tip of the willow branch, the center of this circle at her right side.  As she walked, she began to speak quietly.  "Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, bless the ground that I walk on. Four Archangels, gather near; pray protect those gathered here.  Holy Trinity, grace this ground with protection all around." 

((Dice rolls 6 + 4, verification #50g45zm2n5.  YES! Finally SOMETHING went right!!! ;D)

Thrice she circled the group, repeating the chant.  As she sealed the circle at the end of the third round, a dome of protection, more sensed than seen, rose up around them, obscuring those within from the outside world while deflecting the falling rain.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on December 20, 2017, 02:30:57 PM
Columcil saw Alister's glance and cursed himself for his indecision. He knew that he was far less exhausted than she was; in any case he had already revealed himself to have power of a kind and the warding he could have offered was common to border folk, not just Deryni. By the Saints, she was a brave lass! Something akin, indeed, to how he imagined St Melangell herself. Muttering a prayer of apology to that Saint for his own cowardice, he thought that his best way of making reparation might be to offer to lessen Alister's fatigue,  if he could do so discreetly  ( (1+1 =2 4j66kbhd81)) but as he moved towards her he realised that all he had succeeded in doing was to make their captive eye the both of them with suspicion. 
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on December 20, 2017, 03:16:23 PM
Dice roll:  2 + 3 = 5 (verification 1rqft4kkgj)

Darcy Cameron was frustrated.  The man should not have died.

A few punches in sensitive places and a sharp twist to their prisoner's wounded arm had merely been to let the man know that Darcy meant business and suggest he could do worse.  Darcy did not consider himself a cruel man; the suggestion that he would break the good arm in several places and it would not likely heal straight was meant to frighten.  No one wanted to go through life, even temporarily, with two crippled arms.  Darcy might even have done it.

He had not expected the man to suddenly arch his back in rigour, bleed from his mouth, ears and nose and collapse.

They had all frozen in that moment, staring in horror at the body on the ground.  Father Columcil moved forward first, but Darcy stopped him briefly with an outstretched arm, drew his sword and planted the tip in the centre of the chest of the man laying on ground.  He could be still be alive, though Darcy doubted it. If he tried to spring up or grab the priest, he would impale himself.

Father Columcil nodded, knelt beside the man and felt for a pulse.

"He's gone," the priest said as he rose to his feet.

"Bloody hell, and no I don't beg your pardon, Father." Darcy returned his sword to its scabbard and stood with his hands on his hips.  "If he wasn't already dead, I'd kill him for this.  Now all we have is a body to explain and no information at all!"

Darcy did not notice the look that passed between his three companions behind his back.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on December 20, 2017, 03:35:08 PM
((Noooooo!!! LOL!))

Sir Washburn closed his eyes briefly as if praying, or perhaps summoning his strength.  Or maybe calling up reserves of patience to keep from killing Darcy.  Possibly all three.

Falling to his knees beside the stricken captive, he glanced up at the others. "I might be able to find out the information we need through a Death-Reading, if it's not too late."

He lay his hand upon the man's brow, closing his eyes in concentration.  ((2 + 4, dagnabbit!  V#2gp1l7bbqd))  After a moment, he looked back up with a shake of his head, his lips pressed together in a thin line of frustration.  As his eyes met Darcy's, his gaze softened slightly.

"It wasn't your fault, man.  There was a Death-Trigger set in his mind, probably by whoever it was he was working for.  That much was evident, but unfortunately it did its work thoroughly."

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on December 20, 2017, 09:14:50 PM
There was a moment of shocked silence, then Father Columcil sank to his knees beside the dead man, perhaps to pray for his departed soul, or maybe just to confirm that he was actually dead rather than simply unconscious or feigning death.  Whatever he was doing, Aliset only barely registered the motion. She stood in stunned reflection as she stared at the tableau unfolding before her, mind frantically awhirl as she wondered how in God's name they were going to explain this to the King!  It might have been one thing if their prisoner had died while actively attacking them, if they'd had to defend themselves from some act of violence at his hands at the moment of his death.  But no, this did not look good, not at all.

Although...Sir Washburn had said something about a Death-Trigger.  Aliset breathed a relieved sigh.  Then it wasn't their fault.  Wasn't due to Darcy's rough handling of him.  Not entirely, anyway.  Which might not absolve them fully in the eyes of their King--not if he became privy to the full details, anyway--but it was something to cling to nonetheless.

She knew deep in her soul that this was the man who had hunted her down all the way from her village, even though now she had no way to prove his guilt to King Kelson.  Or did she?  Maybe they could learn something from Reading the lingering psychic impressions from that amulet the man had worn around his neck.  Surely that could provide them with some information about whoever had hired this man to pursue her?  Certainly Oswald had been involved in that in some way, but Aliset knew enough about Oswald's loyal retainers to recognize that this was not simply one of her cousin's lackeys.  No, there was some other person behind all this--some other Deryni.  They must find out who this other enemy might be.  And perhaps if they could prove that connection, that would be sufficient proof to bring before the King to show that, despite the accidental circumstances, this man had truly deserved to die.

With that hope to cling to, she turned to Sir Washburn.  "That amulet...we need to Read it!  We need some sort of proof that this man was ordered to follow us, and if possible, we need to find out who he was reporting back to."

Sir Washburn nodded slowly, although there seemed an odd reluctance in his reply.  "There is some other evidence in his bag that ought to prove sufficient, I think. Handling that amulet would be dangerous.  I sense an aura of darkness shrouding it."

Aliset stared at him. "What sort of evidence?"  And why had the knight not said anything about it before this?  Granted, everything had seemed to happen so quickly....

The Deryni knight seemed even more reluctant to answer this time, but at last he reached for the dead man's travel bag, fumbling inside it to produce what appeared to be a blood-stained piece of fabric. The details took a little longer to seep into Aliset's fatigue-clouded mind, but when at last she pieced them together--the eagle, the colors, the pattern of the weave--she sank to her knees before him, one hand reaching out for the precious item. 

Cradling it against her chest, she began to weep.  "Alister!  Oh, Alister, blood of my blood, my brother...."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on December 21, 2017, 04:05:23 AM
Hell's fury unleashed!

Nothing in this world was ever simple. Escort the surviving heiress to Rhemuth, Safely, his brother had asked of him. A few days in the saddle, acting as guard for a carriage with women on board.  How had that tasked ended up here.

Aliset was weeping. Caused by her exhaustion and grief, her features were shifting to the face of a maiden, whose high cheeks and wide eyes would prove her a beauty, if they had not been for her tears. Wash hadn't wanted her to see the evidence, not like this. It could not be helped. He did not want his companions blaming themselves for this murderer's death. Colmucil and Darcy had fallen into this not knowing the risks. This was not their doing.  He knelt down beside his friend's twin sister, one arm around her shoulders, giving what comfort he dared.

"Colmucil? Darcy?" he said quietly, looking up to the two other men."This is very important that you know the full extent of what you are involved in. This is Lady Aliset de Mariot. She is the only surviving heiress of her late father's estate. Her family has been assassinated upon the order's of her cousin Oswald, who has taken over her manor house. That brooch was her brother's; the same Lord Alister that you thought Lady Aliset to be. That man," Washburn alluded to the dead man, "was the man who stole Alister's life. I knew that the moment I touched my friend's brooch. He may not have been the only one. I fear we may not be able to tarry here too long."

A wave of responsibility came over the son of the King's Champion. He would not be his father's son, if he did not try to make this right. "If you must walk away from this, I suggest you do so now. If there is compassion and justice in your heart, than I plead with you not to. Instead, guard Lady Aliset. Take her back to the church, see that her identity is not discovered. And get what sleep is possible. Say nothing about this to anyone. If I am not returned by daybreak, proceed to Rhemuth, as swiftly as you are able."

"What of him?" Darcy asked of his prisoner. "Are you burying him out here?"

"If it were only that simple," Wash replied. "I'm taking the body to the near by manor house. A few days ago, the baron seemed like a reasonable fellow, loyal to Kelson, too. He knows of me. My rank and reputation should be enough to have my explanation believed. And as I will tell the truth, as much of the truth as Baron Adam Trillick needs to know, I should not be detained overlong. I'll say I am traveling back to Rhemuth to inform the king of the assassination of Baron Mariot and his family. I discovered I was being followed by one of the assassins, whom I confronted this night. I have proof that he is a  murderer. There was an altercation between us and he died, unintentionally, from his wound. There will be no mention of any of you."

Wash turned his attention to Aliset, he sent all the energy that he dared to bolster her through the night. (( roll 2 &4 Verification Number: 39gqkjf5pj That dice rolling page hates me!)) Again, as before, the Rapport was one sided, but that was not a concern. What was a concern was taking the brooch from her fingers. She did not willing want to let it go. But she understood that was his proof. With a kiss to the pewter the surviving heiress let him take it.

"Be well, my lady. Take comfort that Alister is avenged." He stood then, noted the resolution in the two men before him, and he leaned over, lifting the body and throwing it over the neck of the man's horse. The ward was up, a faint shimmer of blue. "Let me go ahead of you, my lady. You may stay a little while under the ward after I am gone. But do not stay overlong. You need sleep in the protection of four walls." She was hesitant, but she did as he asked. He walked the horse through the narrow opening she made in the ward. Wash leapt to the saddle feeling he had failed in some great way.  He gave a nod of respect and kicked the horse into a trot, away from the church and up the road to where the manor house stood on the hill.





Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on December 21, 2017, 01:05:54 PM
Sir Washburn Morgan regretted leaving his companions in the woods. He had only gone a few paces from the ward when he turned to say something to them. He could see them not. The ward was functioning perfectly. There was no evidence that it was there or that three people were safe inside it. If he ever eventually gets back to Rhemuth, he was going to have to ask his nephew to return his ward cubes. His pouch had gone missing after his last visit to his sister Grania's house. He suspected her five year old son, Brion had taken them, thinking them a great dice game. An oversight on his part that he now regretted.

He berated himself. His  hand steadied the body before him. His thoughts replayed the events of the last hour. Why hadn't he been able to mind read the man when he needed to the most? What powers had been in that amulet? And what monster would have set a Death Trigger in his own minion? Who was behind this and why?  Too many questions.

The rain which had been a light drizzle, was coming on harder. Wash brushed he hand over his wet hair and cursed has his fingers touched his tonsured scalp. Damn and double damn. He could not go before Lord Trillick like this. Aliset needed to teach him her magic. If he could make it look like he had hair. He didn't try. Something told him that with his luck at magic, that might lead to some worse fate. His cloak was in his saddle bags and he really needed his horse anyway.

Wash changed direction. He arrived at the back of the church hedge row in the dark unseen. He tied the horse to a tree and secured the body to the saddle after he dismounted. It was dark, raining, and cold, he was in black. It was easy to slip into the shed row barn and retrieve his horse and gear.

(( roll2&6= 6 Verification Number: 69lgdf0rjj , Yes. Wash is good in all things not magic. I guess the dice just will not let him do mind reading. Sheesh))

All remains quiet, even the three remaining horses he leaves behind. He quickly retraces his steps to the tied up horse, throws his traveling cloak over his shoulders, mounts his horse and pulls the hood down over his face. Now he was ready to meet with Lord Trillick and explain what happened.

((Edited to change Grania's son's name to a proper Haldane Name :D))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on December 21, 2017, 01:19:49 PM
((You rolled a 6 there. That's a success.  What were you trying to do?))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on December 21, 2017, 01:22:27 PM
Quote from: Evie on December 21, 2017, 01:19:49 PM
((You rolled a 6 there. That's a success.  What were you trying to do?))
Wash succeeded in sneaking out the barn with his horse without causing the others to whinny and cause a fuss. Thus not bringing unwanted attention.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on December 21, 2017, 01:51:25 PM
Darcy Cameron felt like he had fallen overboard into a raging sea.  Death Readings, Death-Triggers, and now the young lord he thought he was escorting to Rhemuth was a woman!

A lovely young woman from what he could see of her in her monk's robe.  She stood beside the priest, listening to something he was saying to her.  Words of comfort, he supposed.  Darcy quickly cast his mind back over the journey he had made with her so far.  He had not done anything or said anything too inappropriate that he could recall, thank the stars.  There had been a snide remark he had made about a tavern wench, but that had been relatively mild.  Certainly, milder than if he had been with his old shipmates!  Nevertheless, the inappropriateness of the situation bothered him, much more than the death of their captive did.

Darcy had been angered by Sir Washburn's suggestion that he could withdraw from his obligation to the lady.  He was as bound by his word as the noble knight; he had given his word to Lord Alister, and he intended to keep it; the fact that Alister was now Lady Aliset mattered not.  And he would stand in full account of any actions he had to take to get her there!

The brief flash of anger steadied him.  The sooner they got Lady Aliset back to the shelter of the church, the better.  He walked over to her and Father Columcil. "My Lord," he said quietly, "we'd best be on our way."

The face that turned toward him was Aliset's.  Darcy managed a slightly awkward smile.  "If I address you incorrectly, feel free to stick me with that dagger of yours."

Aliset managed a slight smile of her own. 

"A question," Darcy continued after a moment's thought.  "How certain was Oswald likely to be that you will be heading for Rhemuth?"

"Very certain," Aliset replied.  "Why?"

Darcy sighed.  "It occurs to me, that if I knew your successful return to Rhemuth would result in my own ruin, I wouldn't just send someone to follow you.  I'd also stage one or more ahead, to lie in wait of your progress."

Aliset's smile vanished.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on December 21, 2017, 01:59:51 PM
The rest of the party had repaired to the church shortly after Sir Washburn's departure, Aliset dispersing the wards with practiced ease while the two men swept the ground with branches to help conceal signs of their passage.

In somber silence, they had returned to the church, Columcil and Aliset approaching it first with monk's hoods pulled up to conceal their features, and Darcy following shortly thereafter, with a brief detour to the stable to check on the horses and resume his monk's attire lest he be spotted and questioned about entering the church at such a late hour.  While Aliset and the priest waited nervously for her hired bodyguard to return, she rummaged through her small pack of healing herbs, searching for one with a calming effect that would help enable them to slip into restful sleep quickly, yet without making them too groggy to awaken suddenly should the need arise.  She certainly had no wish to drug herself and her companions into a stupor so deep they were likely to sleep through any approaching danger!  Ah, chamomile, hopefully that would serve.

Aliset pondered Darcy's earlier warning as she mixed up enough of the chamomile infusion to share with her companions, downing her own portion of it readily and leaving the rest for the others to partake of or not as they chose.  She knew she should resume her brother's form before they traveled on, but at the moment she was too fatigued and her effort to shift her features back into his was in vain ((Dice roll 4 [only one die due to total exhaustion and grief], Verification 49vwqg7021)), so she simply curled herself into a small ball within the cocoon of Alister's old cloak and fell into an exhausted sleep.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on December 21, 2017, 04:47:40 PM
Another cup  of spiced wine and he would call it a night. The Deryni lord moved over to pick up the flagon from where it rested on the hearthstone - even on a summer evening it was necessary to have a fire in this benighted wilderness of Meara.  The holy protectors send that it was worth the effort, that the accursed Haldane seed which had poisoned his own ancestral home of Torenth and this would be driven from the earth.

He raised the goblet to his lips and all but all dropped it in the spasm which shook his body. A great shudder ran through him and for an instant it was as though a cold blade had cut his soul from his body. He reached out for the link which bound the man Austin to him, and found, as he had known he would, nothing. What had been done to him? Well perhaps that mattered little now, he was confident that the man would have revealed nothing, the death trigger had been set well. But he had no liking for those who damaged his tools. With great deliberation he drank, forcing back his anger. The man himself was worthless, a mere human but time and effort had gone into his training. Still, there were others on the road, though Austin had been the best.

As he drank, another thought occurred to him. His servant was dead but the amulet could perhaps still be put to another use. He refilled his goblet, to the top this time, and starred fixedly into the smooth dark surface.  As he slipped into trance he murmured "show me who holds you now" ((2+6 =8 6mp5o3sk31)). Hell and damnation! He would have known that family likeness anywhere, even cloaked and hooded as it swam up out of the darkness towards him. It was seared into the heart of all his kin. How had that accursed seed, the filthy get of Duke Alaric, become involved with the de Mariot wench? This must be the youngest of his get, Washburn. God knew how she had done it but the girl had got herself a powerful protector. Even more reason why she must be stopped. And with good luck he himself would know the moment that another of the Corwyn brood suffered and died. And this time, unlike his father's nauseatingly heroic sacrifice, it would be in vain.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on December 21, 2017, 05:20:06 PM
The manor house court yard was quiet. Only the pattering of rain on the cobblestones was heard. A shiver, not from his wet clothes, cascaded down Sir Washburn's spine. The cause was indiscernible as Wash dismounted before the stable. With a sense of dread, he knocked on the big barn door. Briefly he wondered if anyone was sleeping in the barn. The door did finally open, he was heartened to see a lad wrapped in his blanket looking at Wash with huge startled eyes of recognition. The boy had helped Wash saddle his horse two mornings ago. His mouth opened when he saw the body on the second horse that Wash lead into the barn, out of the rain.

"Quickly, my lad, find the steward and tell him that Sir Washburn Morgan is once more in need of his hospitality. Only this time I come with troubled news." The boy was gone, leaving Wash to settle the horses. The body, he placed on the floor off to the side.

Twenty minutes later, Wash was standing by the fire place in the Baron's office. He was warming his hands, which had gone numb from nerves as much as the cold. Before him, over the Baron's desk was a portrait of a man dressed in full borderland regalia.

"That was my father," said the old baron as he entered the room. "Lester Lord Trillick of Trillshire. He was a loyal retainer of Duke Jared McLain. Died alongside His Grace at the heathen betrayal of Llyndruth Meadows." Lord Adam came around to look inquiringly at Sir Washburn, who still had his hood up but a bit back from his face. "I am told that you have had some difficult times since we last met and you are looking for a trusted hand to help."

"That I am," Washburn conceded. "I fear I bring trouble to your door." Wash gave a partial accounting of the events over the last two days. The tavern fire. Learning of Lord Mariot's demise and that of his son, Alister. He being followed through the day's ride and him confronting his follower this night only to find Alister's brooch in his bag. "The fellow threw a dagger and I wounded him with an arrow. I removed the arrow, but I fear the fellow was sorely wounded and did not survive long after. I don't even know his name. Yet, I sense there is much more to this than a greedy cousin looking for wealth."

Wash had held the old baron's gaze as he told of events past. Nothing he said was a lie. The baron was not Deryni but you never knew what form of Second Sight could be used by the border folk.

"That is most distressing," Lord Trillick responded when all was said. He held Washburn's gaze a moment longer before taking a good look at the brooch with the Eagle's head. "I recognize that." He frowned as he took up the brooch. "The Mariot's all dead. His Grace, Lord Dhugal, will want to know of this at once."

"I agree. Can you please tell him all that I have told you. Also tell him that the Demoiselle De Mariot survives. She is hidden away in a safe place. She bid that I bring her distress directly before King Kelson. I fear I can not stay tonight, I must be on my way."

"Tonight? In this weather? You are mad. Did your assailant hit you in the head?" he asked with true concern, noting Washburn's hood still on his head. The knight before him did not answer. "That's it, isn't it. I forbid you to go out tonight. Duke McLain would have my title if I let anything happen to a cousin of his. Don't deny it, he would. Your room is being prepared. In the morning I expect to see you at table. Then I will confirm if you are well enough for this journey you seem hell bent to complete."

Wash had no choice but the spend the night in the manor house. It was far more comfort than he deserved.  In the darkness of the night, he even attempted to contact Aliset.

((roll 5 & 6 Success at last Verification Number: 22r4230spj  Jerusha your dice are helping :D))

"Lady Aliset, I know you are tired. I want you to know All will be well, This particular trouble is done with. I will be with you in the morning. So please get your sleep and break your morning fast with a hardy meal. We will leave for Rhemuth together after."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on December 22, 2017, 10:00:43 AM
Darcy Cameron awoke as the first faint light of morning seeped around the shuttered window of the room.  He has slept light, as was his usual habit, but he felt surprisingly refreshed.  The tea Lady Aliset had provided must have done the trick.  He touched the sword he had carefully positioned beside him.  Thank goodness it had been a quiet night.

He sat up and rubbed a hand along his jaw.  Fortunately, the pale, fine hair of his beard was hard to notice.  Or unfortunately, the pale, fine hair of his beard was hard to notice.  It depended on your point of view.

Darcy rose, sheathed his sword and looked around the room.  The door did not have a lock, so he had positioned himself across the doorway.  Father Columcil lay rolled in his cloak on one side of the room, and Lady Aliset lay curled up in her brother's cloak along the other side.  It was good to have the priest with them under the circumstances.

Lady Aliset awoke, lay still for a moment, then suddenly sat up. 

"Good morning, my Lady," Darcy said quietly and moved to open the shutters to let in some light.

"Good morning, Master Darcy." 

Lady Aliset looked rested, but Darcy could see the sadness that lingered around her eyes.  He moved back toward the door, but stopped along side the sleeping priest and kicked his foot.  "Up, slug-a-bed...."

The priest jumped to his feet, grabbed his staff and aimed for Darcy's head.

Darcy, more by instinct than conscious thought, had moved as quickly, drawing his sword.  If Columcil missed his head, his blade was positioned to thrust upward deep into the priest's chest.

Both men froze where they stood, eyeing each other warily.

"Master Darcy!  Father Columcil!  Desist!"  Aliset said urgently, though keeping her voice quiet enough to not be heard outside the room.  "You'll be of no service to me if you kill each other!"

The two men continued to look at each other, neither moving.

"Beg pardon," Darcy finally said. "It was stupid of me."

"Aye, it was," Columcil replied.  He lowered his staff as Darcy sheathed his sword.  "Let us perform our ablutions in the common area and allow Lady Aliset her privacy."

Darcy nodded and moved to open the door.  "You first, Father.  I'll stand watch outside the door until you return."

"Agreed." Columcil walked out the door, and Darcy followed, closing the door behind him.

Aliset realized she had been holding her breath.  She let it out slowly in a long sigh.  Men!
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on December 22, 2017, 05:07:00 PM
Aliset swiftly freshened up and changed into Alister's spare clothing under her monk's robes, which she hoped to be able to shed before too much longer.  She felt much more refreshed than she had the night before.  Gazing into the polished metal of her dagger which would have to serve for a mirror, she focused on transforming back into her brother's image.

((dice roll 5 + 6, v#1fv1d02xqk))

Her features shifted into the beloved form. Aliset stifled a twinge of grief at the sight and finished packing her few belongings.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on December 22, 2017, 11:18:02 PM
((And meanwhile, in a castle only a three days' ride from our brave and hardy adventurers....))

In the window seat of her bower she sat like a bird in a gilded cage, watching the sun rise above the distant foothills that separated the borderland of Meara from the lowlands of Gwynedd barely visible in the distance even at this height.  She sighed, wishing for a moment she really were a bird.  If she were, she could fly through the window to freedom!

There were those among her people who would say she had little to complain about, here in her sumptuously appointed quarters with loyal subjects to wait upon her hand and foot. Such had not always been the case, of course.  She had spent most of her young life in hiding, afraid to come to the attention of the wrong people, those loyal to Kelson Haldane who might wish to see her dead for little more than the sheer accident of her birth and birthright.  She had not sought this destiny, and at times it frightened her, but it had come to her nonetheless.

Sidana Caitrin Annalind Ithelianne de Paor, Queen of Meara (or so those loyal to the ancient House of Quinnell called her, at any rate, for her late mother Ithelwen had herself sprung from that royal bloodline by right of her father, the late Prince Ithel) turned from the leaded glass to lean against the tapestry at her back. She knew without looking at it what it portrayed--God knew she had spent enough hours in this chamber being tutored on her family history!  It had been embroidered by her mother, God rest her soul, and completed not long before her final lying-in before the birth of her brother Llewellyn Brice Sicard. 

The tapestry showed a young Prince Ithel as he'd looked on the occasion of his knighting, when he'd captivated the heart of a young lass named Amalie. His courtship of her had been ardent, and although Amalie knew his mother, Queen Caitrin of blessed memory, had higher ambitions for her son and heir, Ithel soon won her over with clandestine wooing and promises that his love for her was true.  He had given her a token of his love--a ring with a stone as blue as a mountain lake--which he put on her finger the day she finally gave herself to him.

Then war had come to Meara, and Ithel had been plucked away in the flower of his youth, never having had a chance to wear the crown that rightfully should have been his.  But Amalie had blossomed with his child by then, a child he would never live to know about, much less see.  That had been for the best at the time, Amalie came to realize, for had young Ithelwen's existence become known to Kelson's armies, she likely would have been slain as well. 

Ithelwen had eventually ripened to marriageable age, her secret heritage still a closely guarded secret, but at last she found a man she trusted enough to confide in, for if she would share his bed and hearth, she would not have him ignorant of her true identity. Brioc de Paor could well empathize--the tyrant of Gwynedd had also claimed the life and lands of his own father in the same war.  They had lost the Barony of Trurill, their land and means of livelihood, which Kelson Haldane had given to another man who had treacherously sided with Gwynedd during the war for Mearan independence.  Brioc was the last remaining son of that ancient line; he would gladly serve the last true heiress to the House of Quinnell.

And so he had, although his service to Ithelwen had been cut short by her death by childbed fever shortly after young Llewellyn's birth.  Sidana barely remembered her younger brother.  She had only been five when he was born, and he had succumbed to a fever as well before he could walk.  For weeks, their father Brioc had been a shell of his former self, his hopes and dreams for Meara shattered with the loss of his son and heir.  But then his attention turned to his daughter, now Meara's true Queen.  For the past decade, he had watched and waited, slowly and carefully drawing allies to their cause, not yet ready to tip their hand and reveal themselves and their intentions to the Haldane tyrant.  But at last they were nearly ready to make their move, with the assistance of powerful allies from a distant land with an equally deep resentment of Kelson Haldane.  He had found her a Deryni husband who would champion her cause in ways that even Brioc, with his merely human blood, could not.

Though nearly twice her fifteen years, Grand Duke Valerian Tiberios Hogan Marek Phourstanos of Byzantyun was an undeniably handsome man in the prime of his life. She could count herself fortunate in that, at least.  Though something about his manner chilled the blood at times; she had seen flashes of temper in his eyes and a coldness about his expression that made her fiercely glad he was an ally and not her enemy.  He had vowed himself to her service as her father looked on proudly, although he had stopped short of a betrothal just yet.  That, he said, they could discuss once Meara was free and she could sit upon the throne openly.  Then together they would support his brother Iskander's claim to the Throne of Gwynedd.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on December 23, 2017, 02:59:16 AM
What a stupid idea to shave a tonsure upon his head.

Wash cursed under his breath in the pre-morning candlelight. He considered the best way to remove it was to shave his whole head and let all his hair grow out the same length. On this morning, however, that would be a little difficult to explain to his host. "Uncle Duncan," he whispared to the paternal figure who was here only in his imagination. "for this reason, more than any other, I could never make my vows to the church." He laughed to himself. "Well, that is not the most important reason," he said more loudly. That more important reason was an unmentionable. Very different from this bald spot on the center of his head, a reason which he and Archbishop Duncan could joke about for years to come.

How he hoped he and Uncle Duncan would soon be joking about it.  Ever since that assassin's death, he felt an uneasiness; like the man's ghost was haunting him. He would ask Baron Trillick to be sure the body was properly buried. Soberly Wash settled to the difficulty of the morning. Could he work the magic of a little illusion. He stared into the candle flame and focused his energies.   

(( 1d6 Disadvantage with Focus(4,5,or 6 would succeed in the illusion)  Rolled- 2- failed. Ummm--- Revanne--- take those #2 dice back out of the dice pool, please. I much preferred Jerusha's #6 dice. LOL))

Such a simple illusion. He thought he knew how Aliset had done it, yet he could not get even this right. A deep sigh past his lips. He could not go down to break his fast with the baron with his hood up. He certainly did not want to explain the tonsure. Wash pulled out from his bags his woolen arming cap. His host might find it a crude form of morning attire. At least it was less of a lie than winding a bandage around a head injury he did not have.  That problem resolved, Wash found parchment and quill on the guest room desk. He wetted the quill with his tongue and wrote a short missive under the flickering glow of candlelight. 

To His Grace the Duke of Cassan,

My Lord Duke, I write to you about a most serious matter that came to the Duke of Cowryn's attention, and one that I am deeply ensconced within. Events are such that I can not come to you in person to explain, nor can I put them down in full upon this page. What I ask of you is to seriously consider the matters of Lord Oswald, the newly self-made Baron of Caer Mariot. His actions are an offense unto the loyalties of those who live within your protection. His offenses are great and criminal being the cause of the deaths of the father and the son of Caer Mariot.  The daughter survives, and is in the best place of protection that can be managed at this time. It would be wise if you are able to look into the heart of this matter.

Your cousin
Sir Washburn Alaric Cynfyn Morgan


Wash signed with the flourish of his full name. He folded the parchment, soften a stick of sealing wax in the flame then pushed his Lendour ring into a drip of wax. He thought long about adding a message to the seal, but he stopped himself. If someone could place such a Death Trigger in their minion than breaking a concealed message might be in that person's power. Best to not take that chance.

Daylight was starting, Washburn was anxious to be away. He gathered his things then walked down the the great hall. His coming the night before obviously had repercussions. The household was up much earlier this day then it had been three days prior. The baron was already at table, anticipating his guest's needs to be away quickly.

Wash gave the man a sincere greeting. "I am indebted to you for this last night. May I trust that that which I brought in is being duly dealt with."

"It has been." the Baron stated. "You appear refreshed, better than last night, I dare say. Do you still mean to carry through to Rhemuth. Can I not dissuaded you; will you not go to the Duke of Cassan instead."

"Three days to Transha or five days to Rhemuth, the road to Rhemuth will be far easier in this weather. I do have a letter which I desire you to send by courier to His Grace, along with whatever other message you desire to send. I trust you will see it through."

"Yes, of course." He accepted the folded parchment.  "The man you brought in has been looked over and viewed by several of my retainers." ((2d6 roll 3 & 2 failure Verification Number: 78pklsl856)) The baron shock is head, "No one recognizes him. I am sorry, I have not helped you learn his identity." The Baron then returned the brooch he had received from Wash the night before. "This has absolved you from wrong doing. I presume you will want to keep it to show to the King."

"Yes, my lord. It is also the token of a lost friend; I do wish to keep it." Wash took the brooch and sadly folded it away inside his tunic near his heart. For a short time he nibbled on some offered bread and meat rolls but then time seemed pressing and he turned his attention back to his host. "I thank you for this and all that you have done. It is not my desire to shorten my stay here, but I fear I have little time to accomplish my task. May I ask pardon of you for my early departure."

The old baron looked him up and down, concern upon his features. "I don't like it!" he blurted, "My son returns this afternoon, will you not wait so that he could accompany you. You should not go alone." It was a generous offer. In normal circumstances, Wash would be remiss to not accept. However, nothing about the last two days was normal.

"A most gracious offer, my lord. But I daren't delay. Please give me your blessing, and I will be away at once."

Washburn was the brother of a powerful duke and a favored knight of the realm. Baron Trillick would not say against him. "May you find your way swiftly and safely," the old man said with a nod allowing the knight to depart. 
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on December 23, 2017, 06:30:36 PM
Darcy Cameron rose from the table well satisfied.  The meal provided to break their fast had been simple but filling.  Fresh course bread, cheese and an ale that was surprisingly good.  In truth, he had needed a good meal.

But he was anxious to leave.  The thought that others might be waiting ahead to delay or end their journey was not comforting.  They needed to wait for Sir Washburn; if danger lay ahead, and he had no doubt that it did,  it was best to keep their number intact.

"Ah, Brother," said a voice behind him.

Darcy turned to see the church's priest approaching.

"I wonder where the other member of your party is?" the priest asked.  "You arrived with four horses, but I am told only three are in the barn this morning."

Darcy resisted his initial impulse to flash a winning, innocent smile.  It would not do.  He kept his eyes lowered, trusting the hood of his robe to keep his face in shadow.  He tucked his hands into the opposing sleeves of his robe.

"Our brother was tasked with an errand to fulfil," Darcy said meekly.

"An errand?" the priest questioned.

"He did not confide the details to me."

"I see," the priest said.  "God go with you, Brother."

Darcy inclined his head and waited for the priest to move on.  As soon as he could quietly move away, Darcy looked to find Father Columcil.  He stood alone, seemingly lost in thought.

"We need to leave sooner than later," Darcy said to the priest when he reached him.

Columcil gave him a questioning look.  "We need to wait for Sir Washburn."

"Aye, we do.  But I hope he comes soon.  The local priest take too much note of us."

"Does he?"

"He notes the number of horses left in the shed.  That is not a casual interest."

"Let us hope Sir Washburn arrives soon.  I agree, we need to be on our way." 
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on December 23, 2017, 11:21:19 PM
A monk on a black horse rode into the church courtyard coming at it from the main village road. His hood was partially back exposing gold/blond hair combed forward and part of a tonsure. He turned his horse full around giving a cursory look at everything around him. He was noticed by several people. Mostly villagers coming to the church for early morning service. There was one man in priestly attire that watched him more closely than the others from the main church door.  Wash nodded to him from where he sat, but he did not dismount. Rather instead he folded his hands in his sleeves and bowed his head to wait. It was not a long wait. His companions had been looking out for him.  Their traveling gear was already tied to the back of their horse's saddles. Without appearing hasty and without a word, they mounted up.

The four monks rode out of Trillshire Village without a glance back. They didn't need to turn back to feel the priest gaze stay on their backs until they were well out of view.

"I am setting the pace today. It will be much faster than yesterday's travel. Don't fall behind.  If we must stop, give me fair warning so I can find us a safe place to make a break." With that Washburn took the lead. Surprisingly, Father Colmucil fell in beside him. Master Darcy and Sir Alister came up together close behind.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on December 26, 2017, 03:13:47 PM
Aliset waited until they were well beyond the village before she maneuvered her horse alongside Sir Washburn's.  "My Lord," she whispered as softly as she could, not certain if she could manage to Mind-Speak with the newly-met Deryni Lord without physical contact yet. "Do you still have that amulet our stalker was wearing?"

He shot her an inquiring glance.  "I do," he affirmed.  "Why?"

Aliset gave him an uneasy look. "I have a feeling we ought to destroy it sooner rather than later. Maybe not immediately, if you think we're being followed, but as quickly as can be arranged.  It might require magical effort to destroy, and it might take a little time. I somehow doubt something as easy as simply burning or burying it will suffice."

Washburn nodded with a heavy sigh. "No, nothing is ever that easy, is it?"  He slanted a humorless grin at her.

"I'm afraid this won't be, at least."  Aliset gave him an apologetic smile and dropped back to join Darcy Cameron.  "Would you cover me, Master Darcy? I don't dare try to conceal our passage like I did yesterday because that took way too much of my energy, but I'm going to reach out with my senses for just a moment to see if I can tell if anyone is following us. It should only take a few moments, but I will have my entire focus on the task at hand, so I'll need you to be my eyes and ears and ready to bring me back to the present immediately if need be, if we should come under attack while my attention is elsewhere."

Darcy gave their surroundings an uneasy glance and nodded his understanding and agreement with her plan.

((Dice roll 5 and 1, v#1ddn73bzgd for being able to sense if there are followers.  Second d6 roll to see if there were any nearby followers.  1-3=Yes, 4-6=No.  Rolled a 4.  V#1w3x0ss86l.))

Aliset centered herself and went into a deep trance, extending her Deryni senses.  After a few long moments, she opened her eyes, giving Darcy a reassuring smile.  "Wherever our pursuers are, there are none in our immediate area, I can sense that much. I'll let Sir Washburn know."  Darcy smiled back, but continued to keep a watchful gaze on their surroundings nonetheless as Aliset nudged her horse forward again to inform the knight who headed up their small party.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on December 26, 2017, 04:32:34 PM
Grand Duke Valerian Tiberios Hogan Marek Phourstanos of Byzantyun's handsome features were distorted by his scowl of frustration.  The presence of the amulet he had given MacInnes was still strong, but it showed him nothing but darkness.  Perhaps it was being carried inside a pouch or saddle bag. He could sense movement, but nothing more.  He set aside the shiral crystal he had been holding.

Very well, then, it was time to bring another pawn into play.  With luck, he would be able to eliminate the cursed Sir Washburn Morgan.  If not, he should at least be able to slow them down, perhaps enough for Lord Oswald to intercept them.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on December 28, 2017, 03:16:03 PM
The priest of the Church at Trillshire had been told but little of what was afoot and he was content to have it that way. What a man did not know he could not be made to tell, and with so many accursed Deryni in the midst of honest folk that was how it must be. His father had been one of Sicard MacArdry's men, but had escaped with his life from the scene of his master's murder. The Haldane had been inclined to mercy for the men-at-arms but if he had expected gratitude he had been sorely mistaken. His father had bowed his knee to save his life, but he had not forgotten nor forgiven the cold-blooded shooting down of his lord, and his heart would not bow to the usurper. His old loyalty he had kept locked in that same heart and he had passed it on, unabated, to his sons.

As far as the priest at Trillshire was concerned the offence had been worsened by the open admission of Deryni to the priesthood, and the advancement given to these spawn of Satan, while honest human priests, such as he, mouldered away in poverty. His father had told him how the accursed Duncan McLain had been saved by the magic of his equally accursed son. The one was now Archbishop of Rhemuth and his bastard son the Duke of Cassan. How long, O Lord, How long?

The priest watched the four men -monks they of a surety were not!- ride out along the road,  then, realising that he had allowed himself to be lost in his anger, strode back towards the stables, calling for his servant.

"Prepare to ride out within the hour! There is a message I need you to take to the Rose and Crown Inn at Culdi. Hand it straight to the landlord,  none other mind. You've kin in Culdi, I believe." As the other nodded the priest continued, "Good. Take a few days leave to visit, while you are there." That should help to cover tracks if the watchers themselves were being watched.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on December 29, 2017, 10:29:56 AM
"Enter!"  Grand Duke Valerian glanced up from the map before him to look briefly at the person entering the room as the door opened.  He nodded in brief acknowledgement of the man's deeper bow before returning his attention to the map before him.

"I have a task for you," he told his minion.  "Lady Aliset and her companions have managed to eliminate Austin and have shaken off pursuit for the moment." He shook his head. "Oswald's men seem an incompetent lot.  I expect better from you."  Tracing a fingertip along the main route towards Rhemuth, he added, "Thus far, the lady's party has been traveling  more or less along this road, with occasional detours to shake off pursuit, but it's one of the few routes through the Mearan highlands. Once they hit lower country here"--he indicated a spot with his fingertip--"their route options will be more open." Lifting a necklace chain over the map, he closed his eyes, focusing his thoughts on the amulet in Sir Washburn's bag, and allowed the pendant to hang a few inches over the parchment, giving it a spin with the flick of one finger.  ((Dice roll 3 + 6, v#7qxdt6911v))  As it slowly stopped spinning and began to swing towards a particular point on the map, he stabbed it with his fingertip.  "At the moment, they are here."   

Looking back up at his minion, he said.  "You will need to intercept them before they reach the lowlands. Once they reach flat land, it will be harder to predict their route and set up an ambush.  I have men situated further ahead on the trail, but I want you to come up from this side." He indicated a short cut that was less easily traversed, but which would cut quite a few miles off the journey for a single rider traveling at high speed.  "Ensure that they are not able to simply double-back and find some way around the surprise I have in store for them. Is that clear, Master Owain?"

"As crystal, Your Grace. Consider it done."

One corner of Valerian's lips twisted upwards in what might have been a smirk or perhaps the ghost of a smile. "I will consider it done once it's actually done, and not before."  He surveyed the man before him. "Succeed in this task, and you will be rewarded amply.  Fail me in this, and it will be the last time you ever fail me. Is that clear?"

Owain swallowed hard, but met his master's eyes bravely. "I shall not fail you, my prince. Nor my young mistress."

"Your Queen, you mean. Her Majesty of Meara."

"Aye, Your Grace!  For Meara and Her Majesty!"  The minion bowed.  Grand Duke Valerian returned the reverence with a cool smile.

"For Meara and Her Majesty," he echoed.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on December 29, 2017, 01:44:22 PM
Their canter was invigorating. Up and down through the rolling Culdi Highlands, the four riders rode a swift steady pace, sinking their weight deep in the heels of their stirrups and letting their horses have their heads. It was a test run. Washburn needed to know the abilities of his companions. He was far better pleased with each of them than he had first given them credit.

At noon, the sun peeked out for the first time that day through scattering clouds. A breeze was picking up from the west. It was not felt in the wooded valleys but as they broached the more barren landscapes across the hill tops they felt it flip their monks robes to the side. At least it helped alleviate the humidity of midsummer.  One last run down the hill to where a creek sided the road with a patch of trees on the far bank. Wash raised his hand to slow, bringing all of them back to a panting walk. As agreed upon with lady Aliset, he took his turn to cast out for pursuers or persons nearby.

((2d6 3 & 5 Verification Number: w28z0m87lv))

They were alone on the road and no one followed them. Relieved Wash lead his group across the creek and up on the far bank.  Once under the tree cover, he let his fellow riders take a moment to breath.

"That was a good morning passing," the young lord complemented his companions with a node. "The faster we our out of the highlands the better off we will be. I recon by evening we will meet the fork where the road from Ratherkin joins ours. From there we will have our choice to continue on to Cuiltiene or to cut across the farmlands to find our own path toward Arx Fidei. I won't look for a hard run the rest of this day, but if the horses can keep a fast walk with an occasional canter, we will shave a day off our time."

Wash dismounted, lead his horse to the creek to drink, and took a cloth from his bag to dampen and wipe the sweat from his horse's neck and flank. The animal took the moment to recuperate.

Lord Alister came up beside him, doing the same. The reminder of a friend lost was momentary, the concern to keep his sister alive was foremost in Washburn's mind. "Lady Aliset, I have been thinking about the best way to eliminate this amulet I carry. Twice today I have felt a shadow come over my heart and I know that it is from this thing. Whether someone is scrying us with success or not, I can not tell. Someone is trying to pinpoint our location." He hesitated for a moment with his hand over the pouch. "We"--he emphasis the word--"dare not touch the thing; I even fear bringing it out into the daylight. When I first looked upon it, I could see it was a polished blue/red crystal named a jerraman crystal. It can hold any number of spells. Just being in proximity to it could be devastating." Wash took in a deep breath. "You likely would not have heard the story about my Aunt Bronwyn.... It was a sad tale, when I first heard it from my father's lips. It does not lose it's sadness in the repeated times it has been told to me. Lady Bronwyn and her fiance Kevin died on the the day before their wedding from a crystal such as this. It had had a love spell sorely set by a witch for an architect who would win lady Bronwyn over from her true love." Wash took another breath-- there were only a few stories that he recalled his father saying, but this was one he remembered the tones of his father's words and the grief that these words held.

"For that reason, I have had my shields up against this thing most of the day. I agree we need to find a way to be rid of it. I am almost thinking we should take the time to do it now. And then ride through the night. Or wait until nightfall to do it? I should have used that ward you set last night to do it. I am a fool," he finally admitted to her.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on December 29, 2017, 02:17:30 PM
Darcy Cameron lifted his dripping head from the creek and slicked the stray hairs clinging to his face back over the top if his head.  Perhaps his decision to spare his hair and travel with the hood of the habit up had not be the wisest of decisions.  Ah well. The cool water had helped. If it had not been for the presence of Lady Aliset, he might have stripped and taken a quick dip.

Or more to the point, Sir Washburn would not have approved of the waste of time.  They had made excellent progress today; Darcy appreciated that in spite of the need for haste, the knight had kept the needs of both their group and the horses in mind.  Lady Aliset had no trouble keeping up, which did not surprise Darcy.  The lady had given him no reason to think he was not a capable young lord on the way to Culdi.  The only thing Darcy had thought odd was that the young man did not carry a sword.  Now it made sense.

Sir Washburn and Lady Aliset were far enough away that Darcy could not hear what they were conferring about.  Judging from the serious looks on their faces, whatever it was caused them concern.  If it was causing them concern, he would learn about it soon enough.

Darcy rose from his position by the edge of the creek and moved to his horse to check the girth of his saddle.  Whatever the concern was, he hoped it did not lead to more uncomfortable surprises.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on December 30, 2017, 09:13:00 AM
Father Columcil looked at Darcy and his conscience pricked him. He should not have responded as he did to an admittedly stupid act on the other's part. Carry on like this and he would have penances to last until Christmas the next time he made his confession. Well that was his problem; what was all their problems was the sense of menace that he felt all around them. He had best make his peace with Darcy and save his anger, and his staff, for those who wished the young heir to Caer Mariot ill.

He was about to approach Darcy when he saw Aliset and the young lord who had taken command talking seriously together and the latter touch his pouch. That damned amulet, he had felt its malevolence from the moment he had inadvertently touched it. It needed to be destroyed, but how? If he were at home he would say the words of exorcism over it, throw it into St Melangell's Well and leave it to the Saints and Powers of heaven to deal with. Well he could offer his prayers and what power he had, untrained though he was. At the least he could offer to ward the area (dice roll 4+6 77thr863x0) while the more experienced Deryni dealt with the amulet.

As Aliset walked away from Washburn Columcil approached the young lord. Bowing respectfully he spoke in a low voice. "My lord, might I have a word?" Washburn retained the courtesy that had been bred into him but replied brusquely. "Sorry, father, but can't it wait?" "I dinna think so" was the firm but still respectful reply. Sighing Washburn drew the priest further aside and nodded at him to continue. "It's yon amulet - it breathes evil. I canna help ye destroy it, but I'm thinking that I could ward the two of ye," he glanced quickly towards Aliset, "while ye destroy the cursed thing."

"You could do that?"

"Aye. I've little training but it's common enough in the Borders. I wish I knew more of such things as the other..."

"You and me both!" broke in Washburn, though he felt relieved that he and Aliset would not need to expend more of their precious energy on warding "I have, thank God, little experience when it comes to things so full of menace. I could do with my uncle of Rhemuth here, he would know how to deal."

"Your uncle, my lord?"

"Well, he's not truly that but he and my father were as close as brothers and he has always been as good as an uncle to me."

Suddenly light dawned for Columcil. He knew now that Blazon hidden under the monk's habit. This must be Duke Alaric's youngest son. No surprise then that he bore an aura of command. And some sort of kin to himself, though best not to think on that. He caught the other's glance then bowed deeply, "Your pardon, my lord, for failing to know you."

Washburn hesitated for just an instance. There had been something in the flash of the other's amber eyes that jogged at his own memory but then it was gone. "No matter, This is no time for ceremony, but I thank you for your offer of warding and if you could say some prayers too I'm sure that would be of benefit to us all."


Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on December 30, 2017, 01:23:54 PM
"Oh dear Lord! Have I been so reminiscent in my duties as to have never introduced myself to you?" It had been near on two full days. "Oh Father... I beg forgiveness. Here you have been following me blindly into this unknown."

It struck Wash with some amazement. "I humbly stand before you as Sir Washburn Morgan, youngest sibling to the Duke of Corwyn. I believe you will already know that my family is Deryni and that you are acquainted yourself with those talents." Wash gave a wide grin and a courtiers flourished bow, which may have appeared a little awkward while donned in a monk's robe. This only brought out more of a smile upon his lips. "I am at the service of yonder heir to De Moriat at this moment. I hope you are not regretting your entry into our small party."

Father Culomcil seemed somewhat relieved and perhaps a little less standoffish toward the younger lord.

"I gladly will take your offer to help ward us. We may split the duty all three of us in the manor of the old ritual ways, and then all three of us use our talents to destroy this thing." Wash was ever grateful for the priest offer. "Having the Lord's guiding hand on our side in this will be a blessing."

"Ah now, take a moment to refresh. Lord Trillick gave me a substantial number of meat rolls and bread to get me through my quest. It should feed the four of us through to tonight." Wash pulled the saddle bag off his saddle and handed it to priest. "Let me confer a moment more with Lady Aliset before we make our final discussion on what to do with this nasty trinket I carry."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on December 30, 2017, 02:26:21 PM
Darcy Cameron watched the hurried conference between Sir Washburn and Father Columcil with interest.  It had ended with Sir Washburn bowing to the priest with a flourish ill-suited to the monk's habit he wore. Whatever had that been all about?

Something was afoot, and Darcy was annoyed that his companions did not share the matter with him, whatever it was.  He certainly thought he had coped well enough with what had transpired so far that they need not fear he would run screaming into the night the next time something occurred that hinted of magic. 

Father Columcil approached with the knight's saddle bag.  "Master Darcy!  Lord Trillick has sent provisions for our journey.  We will dine better than I thought we might on savoury meat rolls."

"Sir Washburn does not intend to leave immediately?" Darcy asked, hoping the priest might reveal some of what had transpired earlier.

"I believe we will tarry a bit longer," Father Columcil replied, eyeing Darcy carefully. "We have a bit of nasty business to take care of first."

Darcy felt his stomach churn.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on December 30, 2017, 02:56:49 PM
A man dressed in the coarse woollen cloth of a serving man entered the main room of the Rose and Crown Inn in Culdi. Though it was past the hour of Compline men worked late in these long summer days and there were plenty still slaking their thirst after a long day's toil. He edged his way to the bar and ordered a draught of ale then asked in a quiet voice if he might have a word with the landlord. The barmaid looked him up and down as though little impressed with what she saw but such impertinent requests were clearly not a novelty since she replied equally softly, "And what gives the likes o'you the right to demand speech wi'the master?"

"I've summat to gi'e 'im, 'im alone" So saying he palmed a folded piece of parchment from the breast of his jerkin, though the stylised letter "M" inscribed carefully in one corner he kept hidden.

The barmaid knew her part well and raising her voice grumbled, "Well it's taken yer long enough to pay yer debts but 'imself never says nay to good coin, however late. You'd best follow me."

She led the way through a small parlour and out into a back room where she bobbed a curtsey. "Man to see you, Master." Job done, she bobbed again and returned to the bar, glad enough of a good job in an orderly house, where her master would abide no abuse of his serving maids, to ask no questions.

The Landlord looked up from his meal a question in his eyes. The serving man tugged at his forelock and murmured, 'From Father Llewel at Trillshire, Sir."

The other reached out his hand and took the folded parchment, then reached into his pouch and handed over a coin in return.

"You've a bed for the night?"

"Aye, Sir. Kin in these parts."

""Well be off with you then, but have another drink first to play your part well. And thank Father Llewel for me."

Later that night a cloaked messenger took the same message to a darkened house elsewhere in Culdi.  The recipient took the paper, thanked the messenger with the usual coin and waited until the door was shut before reading it and committing it to memory. Then he went into a inner room,  and carefully locked the door behind him before equally carefully setting wards. He blew out the candle he had brought wirh him and opened his hand to release a ball of silver handfire. Then he unlocked the chest which stood in one corner of the room and withdrew an amber coloured stone. He murmured a few words to himself then allowed his gaze to focus on the light which burned within the Shiral until that gaze was caught and held.(dice roll 5+4 =9 3kbfn8dhsj)

"My Lord Duke. I have news for you." The tongue in which he spoke, and in which the Grand Duke replied was not that of Gwynedd, nor yet that of Meara, though the bearer of tidings could pass for a native of both those lands.



Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on January 03, 2018, 10:00:52 AM
Aliset favored Darcy with what she hoped was a reassuring smile.  Given that she was wearing Alister's features, there was some danger it might turn out to be his "charm the milkmaids into the hayloft" smile instead, which might be more likely to spook the poor man, though probably not any more so than he already appeared to be by the good Father Columcil's dire portents.

"Master Darcy, if you be so kind as to lend us your assistance with the task we are planning, that might help expedite matters.  But only if you are willing; we wouldn't wish to impose on you for anything that falls outside your realm of comfort, since Deryni magic would be involved."

"Magic?" Her man-at-arms looked startled. "I really don't know how I could assist with that!  Did you just want me to stand guard while you . . .um . . .  do whatever it is you're planning to do?"

"If that's how you would prefer to help us, I suppose you could, although what Father Columcil is doing should serve as protection enough for the moment," Aliset said, glancing beyond him to where the priest was walking the boundary of a protective circle around them all, using a form of Border warding very similar to what she had done the night before.  Darcy looked somewhat wary but thus far not inclined to bolt, which was just as well since at that moment Columcil had finished walking the circle for the third time and a faintly shimmering dome of energy rose up around them.  She nodded in satisfaction. "I hadn't wanted to speak aloud what we planned until that ward was up, and venturing into your mind to Mind-Speak to you privately seemed discourteous and intrusive, although I trust you wouldn't object to me doing so if an urgent need ever arises?" She smiled questioningly at him.  "This is about that amulet we took from the man who was following us last night. As I'm sure you've guessed, it is a magic item. Sir Washburn and I . . . ." She glanced over at the knight briefly before returning her attention to Darcy and continuing. "We believe it linked that man to whoever it was who ordered him to follow us. That would be someone besides my cousin Oswald, most likely, since Oswald is not a Deryni, but whoever that man's master was is almost certainly a Mearan separatist.  We need to see if we can determine who that person is.  And just as importantly, we need to destroy that amulet so that its creator can't continue to use it. It can be used to track us, and possibly for other purposes as well.  There is an evil taint on it. Perhaps you have even sensed it, despite being human, for such objects can make others uneasy even if they are unaccustomed to working with magic."

Darcy nodded slowly. "I agree we ought to get rid of the thing. But since, as you point out, I don't do magic and don't even have much familiarity with it, how can I be useful?"

Aliset drew a steady breath. Here came the tricky bit.  Hopefully she could ease him into the idea gently.  "Well, what we would do is form a circle--or I suppose more accurately, I should say sit at the four compass points within this circle of protection Father Columcil has just erected around us--with the amulet at our center.  We would hold hands and focus our concentration on the amulet, and that's something you're able to do even with purely human faculties. Then one of our number--perhaps Sir Washburn, if he has more training in this sort of thing than I do--or myself, if he'd rather, will draw upon that combined focus and the energy of the others in the circle to draw the power needed to Read what we need to discover from the object and then destroy it. Again, you needed be Deryni yourself to serve in that way. It shouldn't hurt you, although it might make you feel tired after a bit, and possibly even sleepy. For that matter, it can affect Deryni in the same way." She glanced at Sir Washburn again. "I think that's the extent of involvement we would need from you, Master Darcy.  The more who are joined together in this undertaking, the greater chance we have of it succeeding. Sir Washburn and I might need to join our minds and wills together for this to work, and Father Columcil as well, if he feels comfortable lending his skills to ours in this.  We needn't link with your mind except for the shallowest amount of rapport needed simply to draw upon your strength to combine with our own for this working."  She smiled as winsomely as she could. "Would you be willing to trust us in this, Master Darcy?"
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on January 03, 2018, 01:59:36 PM
Washburn looked appreciatively at the silver dome over their heads. A good ward with a positive feel, almost a familiar feel about it. Magic often touched the senses like the flavor of a good wine, something that touched both taste or smell; actually magic often touched all of the senses at once, gaining individuality from the one who wielded the magic. This ward felt like... family. Weird. Perhaps it was just because the hands that drew it were a priest's hands, Wash decided.

"Thank you, Father Colmucil, nicely done. Though I dare say you look tired. Perhaps you should sit for a moment before we begin." Washburn put out a hand to help the priest sit on the near log. Columcil avoided his hand as he sat. Wash accepted that they were too newly acquainted for such familiarity.

"May I ask if you have a vial of holy water upon you? It would be of great use for what Lady Aliset has in mind." The priest noded that he had this with him. He pulled forth from under his monk's robe a round gold flask the length of a man's palm which hung from a chain off his belt. The relief of two fish swimming head to tail was inscribed around the body of the small flask with an enameled cross on the neck.

"Will this be enough?" the priest asked.

"Aye, Father, It will be perfect." Wash replied. He took the flask and then pulled the pouch from his own belt, noting that the shape of the amulet was still within the fabric. He laid the two items on the ground in the center of the warding. With a glance toward the South, he saw Master Darcy eyeing his every move. "Master Darcy, I thank you for your courage. I promise we will protect you from what we do." was all he could think to say to the seaman.

He then nodded to Lady Aliset that she should take the lead in the east. As she passed him their hands met. I will let you lead in scrying out our adversary. He sent in Mind Speech not wishing to frighten the others more than need be. Know that I am behind you with whatever you require of me.  I have some knowledge in destroying a relic, so I can take that portion of this when you need me too. The Rapport between them, though still tentative, was becoming more familiar and accepting. Wash stepped away pleased. His off-hand pulled an ivory handled dagger from under the robe at his side. He placed the dagger on the ground next to the other two items. Given the right resonance of their counter spell, a Jerraman crystal could be shattered with the point of a heavenly-blessed blade. Thus, what they would attempt would require a hand of blessing.

Some level of Rapport with the good Father would therefore be helpful. Washburn returned to the priest's side.  "Father Columcil, would you be willing to except replenishment of your energy from me?" he asked quietly. He held his fingers just above the priests wrists, not touching. "Rapport need only be of the shallowest, but as I would ask you to stand in the West for Saint Gabriel, Lady Aliset will stand in the East for Saint Raphael, and as I will stand in the North, there must be some small level of connection between us. Would that we test the limits of Rapport before we begin?"

Washburn's hand turned palm up, his shields dropping away, waiting upon the priest to choose whether or not to make the next move.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on January 03, 2018, 03:15:30 PM
Darcy Cameron took a deep, steadying breath.  "Aye, my Lord, I will trust you in this.  I gave you my word to see you safely to Rhemuth.  If this is necessary to fulfil that promise, so be it."

He realised he would be trusting all three of the Deryni is this small party. It unnerved him a bit, but he had learned to trust a good crew in the stormy Northern Sea, and from what he had seen so far, they were a good crew.  And he had trusted his Deryni Quartermaster, at least as much as he had ever trusted anyone.

He was also sure that Lord Alister/Lady Aliset was giving him only the barest of details to reassure him of his safety.  Not that he had never done the same for young cabin boys on their first voyage.  It had been many years since he had been a young cabin boy, but suddenly he felt like one again!

Darcy gave himself a mental shake and, with a hurried but sincere prayer to Saint Nicholas, stood resolutely in his position at the south.  When the time came, he joined his calloused hand to the smoother hand offered by Lord Alister.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on January 03, 2018, 03:21:30 PM
The young lord stood before Columcil in an attitude of openess, almost supplication. Columcil knew that he must respond, knew that there was no real choice. To refuse would be to invite questions which he had no desire to answer. Besides to refuse his aid in destroying such a manifestly evil thing as the amulet would be an act akin to apostasy. He was a priest and as such he was called to fight evil wherever he found it. Quite simply, though, he was afraid. He had already seen Sir Washburn eyeing the circle of protection he had created as though it had struck a chord of recognition. Would entering into rapport reveal their kinship, the kinship which he was under oath not to reveal?

Suddenly his border common sense reasserted itself. Destroying the amulet would take all their energies and a noble knight such as Sir Washburn would be far too honourable to go probing in anither's mind. He must simply offer himself to do what was right and leave the consequences to God.

Bowing slightly he replied to Sir Washburn, hoping that his hesitation would be put down to an unfamiliarity with formal ritual magic."Thank you, my Lord, I'd be glad of some strength from ye, and I would be honoured to serve as you direct. I simply ask that after we are done you permit me to celebrate Mass here, to ensure no trace of yon devil's work can linger around us." Seeing the other's hesitancy and understanding the reason for it he added. 'It willna take long - no longer than it took for Our Lord to share bread and wine when he too had been betrayed."

Without waiting for an answer he looked down to where Sir Washburn held his hand outstretched then slowly raised his own hand to make contact, lowering his own shields as he did so and looking the orher dieectly in the eye.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on January 03, 2018, 03:55:20 PM
The touch of two hands was so much more than what it appeared. It opened a bridge for two minds, though hesitant they both were, at the openness to one another. It was a smooth passage that opened. Again a feeling of familiarity passed through Wash. As if he we were with Uncle Duncan. Wash did not understand it, You must have trained with Father Duncan McLain at some time in your youth. He sent across the link with a smile. He also sent across the link a little of himself; His love for his family: his brother and sisters and their children, his mother and the special love for the father he had lost long ago. Also there was his love for his King, a loyalty he would never break.

The good father shared just a touch of what his love of faith meant to him. That was a great deal to share with a man he did not know well. Wash respected him for at least opening that much. Then Wash shared what he and Aliset planed to do. They would need the good Father to bless the dagger and at just the right moment to add his strength to theirs when it came time to destroy the jem at the center of the amulet.  And of course, he would have what time he needed to perform Mass when all was done.

Be kind to Darcy if more strength becomes necessary and we must pull from him. It would be horrible if what we do frightens him into hating Deryni.  We must be cautious to not mishandled his trust.
Wash sent  with Mind Speech to both Aliset and to Columcil.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on January 03, 2018, 04:18:04 PM
Aliset took her place in the East facing the priest, tucking one slender hand in the knight's larger one and her other hand in Master Darcy's. In her family's circle, she had normally been the person to take up the Western position, but otherwise this posture felt reassuringly familiar, and she relaxed into the comfort of that familiarity as she settled into position and allowed her eyes to drift half shut, focusing most of her attention on the amulet at their center. She left it covered, fearing that if she viewed it directly, its master would also be able to see them clearly. But she did not need her physical senses to See and Feel its malevolent presence before her.

When she felt ready, she lowered her shields to her companions, reaching out with her mind to the two on either side of her.  On Wash's side she encountered the expected touch of shields, which melted away at her psychic touch of them, allowing her access.  With a satisfied smile, she reached out to pull Darcy into the shallow link.

Startled astonishment as her mind encountered unexpected resistance broke her focus. With a surprised glance in the sailor's direction, she blurted, "Master Darcy, are you aware that you have shields?"

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on January 03, 2018, 07:33:35 PM
"What?" Darcy Cameron started at the sharp question.  "Shields?  No, my Lord.  I have my sword, a couple of throwing knives, and a sling to bring down the occasional coney, but I've got no shield."

Aliset looked into the ice blue eyes and stated firmly, "You have shields, Master Darcy," she said, emphasizing the plural.  "Deryni shields."

"Perhaps from travelling with us this period of time," Washburn suggested.  "Humans can develop shields."  He thought of his grandfather, Sir Kenneth Morgan, who was rumoured to have developed shields through his close association with  his wife, Washburn's grandmother, the lady Alyce de Corwyn.

"No," Aiiset said. "I think these are his own."

"But how?" Darcy asked.  "I'm no Deryni!"

The memory came to Darcy unbidden.  His back was afire, burning pain that would not subside.  He had been impertinent, or rather, refused to be belittled, by one of the deck hands, a surly man at best and dangerous at worst.  The ordered punishment had been ten lashes before the crew.  But the deck hand with the lash had a grudge against pale blond cabin boy, who was a bit too clever for his own good.  Ten lashes became fifteen, hard and deep.
 
The Quartermaster had taken Darcy to his own bunk, settled him carefully on his stomach and held the bedpan until Darcy stopped retching.  "Easy now," he had said.  He had laid his hand on Darcy's shoulder.  "Well, you are the surprise.  Nice little shields, you have."

Darcy had looked at him, but could barely follow his words due to the pain.

"Now I need you to do something for me," the Quartermaster had said.  "Think of rolling waves, waves rolling back to the shore.  Roll your mind back with them, and those little barriers that are in the way....."

Somehow the pain had gone away and Darcy had slept until the next day.

"Master Darcy?" Aliset said carefully, trying to bring the man beside her back from whatever memory had claimed his attention.

"I," Darcy began.  "It's a story for another time.  Are they, if I have them, are they in the way of what you need to do?"

"Yes. Can you roll them back?"

Darcy sighed.  "I'm not sure, but I can try."

(dice role, 1 dice at a disadvantage:  1  verification 53n56830bt. Drat.)

Darcy imagined the rolling waves, rolling back to the shore, but they seemed to crash against a barrier he could not overcome.  Perhaps he was too tense, or maybe he had never been able to do it before.

"My Lord," Darcy said, the frustration on his face clearly evident.  "I fear I have failed you."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on January 03, 2018, 08:52:05 PM
"No, no!" Aliset hastened to reassure her man-at-arms. "It's quite understandable. It's something I'm certain you've never tried to do before, at least not consciously, and this is hardly the best of circumstances for a first attempt. Perhaps, if you desire to learn how to control them, we can try again later.  For now, though, we can try another way to lower them. Perhaps if you were asleep, or even just sleepy, your shields will simply roll back on their own.  Would you be willing to let me try something?"

At Darcy's hesitant nod, Aliset smiled and fished a small medallion out of her tunic. "This is a Saint Camber medallion," she told him, dangling the pendant before his eyes.  As it caught his gaze, she slowly began to swing it back and forth, back and forth.  "Just watch the movement and try to clear your mind of all conscious thought. Let your world narrow down to naught but the motion of the pendant...."  As she spoke, she lowered her voice, pitching it to an intimate tone barely audible to the others in the circle.  "Now let's see if I can be of assistance," she said as she gently touched one finger to his forehead, flicking it softly with her fingertip as if brushing back an invisible curtain.

((Dice rolls 2 and 6, v# 4gl7ppk9sq))

"Ah, there we go!" Aliset beamed at Darcy as his eyes widened with surprise as her psychic touch brushed his mind.  "I'll teach you how to have more conscious control over those later, if you'd like.  But for now, we've other work to do."

Returning her focus to the covered amulet in their midst, she stared at it for a long moment before turning the saint's medallion she still held in her hand to reveal a polished surface on its reverse side.  Holding it in her cupped hand just above the amulet, she transferred her gaze to the mirror-like metal surface, gazing into it intently while drawing upon the energies of her companions for added strength and focus.  ""Let us see who wrought thee, instrument of evil," she murmured softly.

((Rolled 1d6 to increase difficulty because Valerian would not have made it easy to track the amulet back to himself. Rolled a 6!  V#68pk7lz3ng))

In the polished metal oval, a reflected likeness began to form....

(https://i.pinimg.com/736x/49/6c/d6/496cd6dca4a9ae095e9c3388debf3dfe--amazing-eyes-beautiful-eyes.jpg)

Aliset had never seen the man before, but pouring the fullness of her concentration upon the reflection, she whispered, "Who are you?"

((Another 1d6 roll, rolled a 5!  V#51rnx3nsfg.  Thanks for refilling the dice roller, Jerusha!  ;) ))

The answer came not in words, but in a series of scenes rapidly playing out before their eyes.  A hot clime, a majestic city in the Eastern style.  A palatial mansion that spoke of wealth and elegance. A long journey from faraway lands. A Portal hop from an unfamiliar place to one much more familiar, no more than a day's journey distant. Furtive meetings with a series of others, most unfamiliar to Aliset, although she detected Oswald's despised features among them. And central to one scene, a beautiful young woman seated on what appeared to be a throne.

Aliset sent a silent question through her link to Washburn, wondering if he recognized the man in the vision. She decided to make one more attempt to find out the mysterious Deryni's identity, although even as she pondered how long she could compel the amulet to reveal its information, she could feel its protections growing stronger.  "What is your name?" she ventured, hoping she could elicit at least that much more while her spell held.

((1d6, rolled a 2. V#5z767dfmq3))

Alas, even as she asked the question, she could feel her control over the amulet slip away. Conserving what was left of her psychic strength to aid Sir Washburn in what he must do next, she squeezed his hand, conveying silently that she was too spent to continue further along those lines and that it was time for him to take over.


Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on January 04, 2018, 04:10:25 AM
Washburn gave Aliset's hand a firm squeeze, sending her reassurance even as he released her fingers. He bent down quickly, scooping up both dagger and the chain that suspended the vessel of holy water. The small flask, he did not touch. Fear seized him that his sullied hands would mar the precious gift that the gold flask held within. He was quick to give the chain into the hand of the priest. The hand which until that moment had been joined with his. In that instant, Columcil took back that which was his. There was no pleasure in his look at the knight, only concern. Had Washburn somehow offended him?

"Father,  I require your blessing." Wash held the dagger by the blade, hilt out flat toward Columcil. "Please! Bless the device which I must use to channel good and defeat that which seeks to find us. For I fear this amulet, even while we are thusly protected by your ward."

Washburn saw the small hesitation in the priest's eyes. He dropped to one knee. "Please, we daren't wait too long,"

The spell's of the Jerraman crystal had been wakened.  Its power was building, waiting for the moment it could see the light, the moment it could subjugate whoever it could capture with in its sphere of influence.

The counterspell Wash had chosen was already whispered words upon his lips. ((1d6 disadvantage 4 Verification Number: 6tctmzvmn9)) The counter spell was failing without the blessing Wash was certain that he required.

Focus... he must find a focal point...
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on January 04, 2018, 06:27:42 AM
Columcil saw the desperation in the young man's eyes and at that point he simply became a soul in need. Anything else could wait. Crossing himself fervently, he unstoppered the vial of holy water. Pouring a little into his cupped left hand and holding his right over it,  he beseeched the blessing of heaven, reiterating his prayers to the four powers that he had invoked in his warding, speaking with a loud clear voice so that all present might take strength from his prayers. "Saint Gabriel fill this holy water with the cleansing powers of heaven; Saint Raphael bring your winds of healing to cleanse us, and this place, of all evil; Saint Uriel we beg that it may be only evil that is done to death in this place."

He paused for a moment and dipping the thumb of his right hand in the water he marked the cross on Washburn's forehead and then spoke spoke urgently to him.  "Sign yourself with your dagger then place the tip in the water in my hand and make the sign of the cross there too. I will then cast the water over the amulet and you must strike." As Washburn began to obey Columcil continued with his prayer. "Saint Michael, grant that this blade may have all the power of the holy blade with which you subdue the enemy of us all."

The blessing completed Columcil cast the holy water over the amulet and Wash plunged his dagger through its centre (dice roll for advantage ((Columcil believes in the power of prayer)) 5+1+2 = 8 verification 3chtkbp3z7). There was the sound of something breaking violently, far louder than the mere physical destruction of the amulet warranted, and a feeling of uncontrolled anger. Then nothing. That could not last though, the amulet's master knew where they were and he was assuredly a highly trained and powerful Deryni and there could be no doubting his evil intent. This was outside Columcil's experience but the fight against evil was not.

He had been careful to bring the elements for mass within the warded circle and dropping to his knees he motioned to the others to do so as he began the words of consecration. He could apologise for his high handedness later.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on January 04, 2018, 12:42:52 PM
Sir Washburn sat back on his heels breathing harder than he thought he aught. It wasn't from physical exertion that had him catching his breath. "May the essence of Air, Fire, Water, Earth— and the Spirit ever come together in places of time and need to squelch evil from where ever it appears on this Earth," Washburn whispered to finish off the last of his counter-spell.

He held the dagger up before his eyes like that of a cross. The light that had infused the steel just moments before he struck it's tip to the pouch fabric and the heart of gem that it held within was now fading away to the dull sheen of a normal blade.

His hand shook just a little as he placed the blade on the ground. He bowed his head in thanks to the Spirites of the Earth and then looked up at the others with a fresh smile. "Thank you," he said to all. "Thank you," he said directly to Father Columcil.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on January 04, 2018, 02:40:53 PM
Darcy Cameron dropped to his knees much harder than he intended to.  Sweet Jesu he was tired; he had stood full night watches in storms and not felt this spent afterwards.  He saw the look of concern in Lord Alister's eyes, but shook his head slightly to indicate that he would be fine.  He had had enough of magic for now.

He had no doubt that what he had seen and experienced in the last while had been serious magic. Deadly magic perhaps, given the power he had felt when the amulet was destroyed by Sir Washburn's dagger.  He did not want to think about what would have been unleased if they had failed.  They?  He doubted his own contribution had been very much, yet Sir Washburn had thanked him along with the others.

He could use a nap and a full jug of ale, not necessarily in that order.  He started when Sir Washburn tapped him gently on the shoulder.  Surely, he had not dosed off while the priest had been praying!

"We dare not tarry here," the Deryni knight said.  "Whoever it was that owned the amulet knows we have destroyed it.  He will act quickly."

Darcy rose slowly to his feet. "Aye," he agreed, "and he won't act nicely, I'll wager."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on January 06, 2018, 04:50:45 AM
His hand tapped the dirt back into place. The tattered pouch with the shards of the blue gem lay neatly buried some two feet below.  He hoped that was deep enough. There had been a moment of suggestion that the shards of the crystal be scattered in the river's bottom. It had been Lord Alister's harsh laugh, "Let's not kill all the local fish from the river!" After which Wash had began to dig his small hole. Father Columcil's observances of Mass finished at about the same time. Each of the companions came to him with a bent knee to receive the Host. The mood of the small group seemed to lighten considerably after that. They had been through much in the past two days. A fellowship was growing where yesterday there had been none.

The silver mist of the ward disbanded from over their heads. Almost instinctively Wash cast outward for anyone with malicious intent nearby.

((2d6 3&3 failed. Verification Number: 1v4gjb61wk)) He must have been more tired than he thought. He could not tell if anyone was near at hand. 

His hand rested upon his horse's shoulder. ((Is the horse nervous? 1d6 roll of 1-3 yes, roll of 4-6 he is calm.  Rolled 3 Verification Number: 7flj15s6rh)) His destrier was tense, the black's ears pinned forward, his eyes locked on something unseen by the men in the trees near the river's edge.

Alister!  Wash send with Mind Speech to get the lady's attention. My powers fail me. Cast outward. Is it man or beast beyond the trees?

His sword had already found its way into his hand. He was likely jumping at shadows. The face from the Saint Camber's medallion may have knowledge where they were but could he have gotten one of his minions to them this quickly? He doubted that, yet a man prepared lives far longer than one taken by surprise.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on January 06, 2018, 02:17:47 PM
Somewhat to Sir Washburn's surprise he felt a hand upon his shoulder and he could barely surpress a start such was his level of tension.

"Sorry, Son," came a hushed voice with a border burr. "I didna mean to startle ye like that."

Columcil supposed that he should revert to more formal language now that the Sacrament was ended but it was a mark of their closer fellowship that the more pastoral address had come so readily. However it was best not to presume so he bowed his head in a slight reverence before continuing, "Would you let me calm this fine lad, My Lord? It's a skill that I have with beasts." Barely waiting for Sir Washburn's nod of agreement, as the latter remembered how the priest had been able to lead horses from the burning stable back in Culdi when they first met, Columcil took the horse's head between his hands and looked into the fearful beast's eyes. The destrier's tension eased but the same could not be said for the young lord whose knuckles were white as he gripped his sword.

"Can you sense anything, My Lord?", asked Columcil but he was startled to see a look of something akin to embarassment cross his face. "I'm sorry Father but dealing with that cursed amulet has left me drained of power." Columcil chided himself for a fool and replied gently. "No, My Lord, 'tis me who should be sorry for asking ye after what you have just done to save us. It's over late for me to hide who I am (or at least that I am Deryni he added mentally) - maybe I can sense if there is anyone out there."

He began to carefully extend his senses only to realise that his powers too were drained. ( 4+4 = 8 1j5xrhqm10 ((It's those dice again))) That thing must have been evil indeed to take all their strengths and he blessed heaven for the help they had surely received in destroying it. It was his turn to look shame-faced and he said quietly. "I'm sorry My Lord, it's drained you and me both, it seems. I hope that Lord Alister is in better shape."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on January 06, 2018, 06:23:55 PM
Darcy Cameron stretched to one side and felt a satisfying crack to his spine.  The tiredness persisted, but he was beginning to recover, at least slightly.  He noted the conversation between Father Columcil and Sir Washburn.    They seemed to be concerned about something.

Darcy looked around.  Only the bare earth gave sign of the evil shards that were buried by Sir Washburn.  Lord Alister stood a little apart, whether deep in thought or gathering his own strength, Darcy could not tell.

The sun slanted through the trees; it was growing late.  He saw the flash of light, reflected off of something metal, saw the path a projectile could take....

"Bloody hell!"  Darcy took off running, launched himself at Sir Washburn.

((dice roll, 1 die, 3  verification 6k9xzpfn7q, crap)

Darcy caught Washburn square in his midriff, throwing him backward, but not enough to move him completely from the crossbow bolt's path.  The bolt tore through the knight's shoulder, forcing a yelp of pain.  Both men fell to the ground, entangled, and strove to rise.

A man darted from the trees, dagger in hand, heading straight for Alister.

But Father Columcil had his staff in hand....
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on January 07, 2018, 03:18:24 AM
((1-3 right shoulder injury or 4-6 left shoulder injury, unless someone else writes about it before I get to post again. Results  2 Verification Number: 4dj1xxdzz2. That's not good, I should have guessed with my bad luck at the higher numbered dice and reversed the sides. ))

Wash only knew as he was shoved down to the ground that his hand could no longer retain its grasp around the hilt of his sword. It took an instant to register why. The pain was instant, numbing after the first thrust.The tackle to the ground was more surprising. Knowing it had likely saved his life was little compensation for the knowledge his companions were being attacked. "Aliset!" he yelled, disperate to wake her from the self imposed trance he now saw that she was in. The Camber Medallion palmed in both hands before the eyes that were those of her brother's. She knew not her own danger.

Columcil's staff raised in defense. He attacked the man, blocking him, yet not stopping the dagger that launched from the enemy's hand, which flew toward Aliset's heart.

(( Telekinesis (Deryni): Moving without moving You can move small options just by thinking about it. You must have eye contact with the object and make a standard 2d6 Test.
Focus: This gives you a success on your next attack roll if you get 4 or above.
Hero point: You succeed on any Test with a roll of 4 or greater. Or if the success is already at that level it succeeds at the next lower pip, in this case a 3,4,5,or 6 to Push the dagger with his mind away from everyone.
Roll 2d6 1 & 3 Verification Number: 5ch5xg61rf   Success!  Thank you Hero Point!))

Seconds passed like hours: The dagger flew through the air like a slow moving bird. Washburn saw its shine in the afternoon sun. It's silver rays gleaming in his eyes like the flair of a firefly. He focused on it, he focused down hard, taking his soul into the light of the steel. Using the spirit of his family, the spirit of his birth, the spirit of generations of men before him, good men, who had done great deeds. This one deed he would do: his mind locked on the thing that flew straight toward his friend's sister. He owed Alister that. It would not harm her! It would not cause her hurt! It would not hurt anyone!

The dagger broke from its trajectory. It twisted in the air. Its speed taking it away, throwing it far from the target it had intended to kill! It sunk, giving off the sound of a deep twang, uselessly into the trunk of a tree well beyond anyone's reach!
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on January 07, 2018, 06:54:23 PM
The unexpected sound of vibrating metal and the knight's shouting broke through Aliset's trance, alerting her to danger. Her eyes snapped open as she whirled to face the source of the attack she now sensed nearby, one hand reaching for the dagger at her waist.

If someone was close enough to attempt to spear her with a thrown dagger, he was close enough for her to try to do the same. Reaching out with her senses, she focused in on the threat before her.  Concentrating the full force of her will on hitting her target, she aimed and threw.

((rolled 3d6 because dagger is her weapon of mastery, but got 3, 2, and 2, which not even a hero point can save.  Verification # 46s4b8hjdr.  Much weeping and gnashing of teeth, not to mention unladylike language inserted here.))

Despite Aliset's fierce concentration, her foe managed to dodge the flying missile at the last moment, much to her consternation.  Alarmed at the loss of her weapon, she instinctively drew upon her powers to reach out for it, mentally willing her dagger to fly back into her outstretched hand.

((2d6, 2 and 5, v#2jsqjqjk48.  Phew! Lucky save!  And I guess that counts as my two permitted actions for this round.  And now I'm off again for a girls' night out, so see y'all tomorrow.))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on January 07, 2018, 08:15:00 PM
Darcy Cameron hit the ground as hard as his target.  The crossbow bolt had found its mark but not the deadly one that had been the original intent.  A small victory, but Darcy cursed himself for not being able to knock Sir Washburn completely clear.  No help for it now.  Darcy rolled, launched himself upward and drew his sword. 

He checked at the look of intense concentration on Sir Washburn's face.  Sweat beaded the knight's face as he concentrated on the path of the dagger in its swift flight toward Lord Alister. Darcy's every instinct told him to leap forward into the dagger's path, but there was not enough time, and the dagger's aim was true.  Somehow, without realizing how, he understood what Washburn was trying to accomplish.  So he stood ready and watched the dagger falter, deflect, and anchor itself in a tree far beyond Lord Alister.

Their foe managed to dodge the dagger Lord Alister threw toward him and ran back toward cover.  Darcy charged after him, checking his headlong rush barely in time to avoid the dagger that flew back to Lord Alister's hand.  The few seconds had cost him the chance to overcome the man quickly, and who know what ambush might lie ahead?  Sir Washburn was wounded and needed their attention.

"Bloody hell," was all Darcy could think to say as he turned away from his pursuit.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on January 07, 2018, 11:26:30 PM
Still deep in trance Washburn moved his mind from the action around him to seek out the Culdi Highland Road and discover whether their attacker was alone.

((2d6 Focus Roll a 4,5,or 6 to see if he can sense others. Rolled 3&4 success Verification Number: 4768x8j26w))

((1d6 roll to see if there were any other enemy nearby. 1-3=Yes, 4-6=No. Rolled 3 Yes there are others Verification Number: 2q7mv8fw4b))

((1d6 how many more enemy: 1or2=3, 3or4=2, 5or6=1, rolled 5 that is one other enemy detected. That is good news at least.))

(1d6 1 point for every 100 yards away the second enemy is. Rolled 2 Verification Number: 45zkr58pnz  that's 200 yards away down the road. Oh Dear! There are still some of those two dice in the dice roller. Can someone please remove them.))

The downed knight woke himself from his trance with a fierce need. The pain in his shoulder seared as he tried to stand.  There was a hand there to stop him, but he shook it off. "We have to ride. Our attacker is not alone! There is another with him. He is on the hilltop, north. He could be in bow range if we don't move! Now!"

Adding action to his words, he grabbed the hilt of his fallen sword with his left hand. Burying the tip in the dirt, he used it to help himself stand. A harsh grunt escaped his lips from the effort and again from the steps it took to reach his horse. He undid the reins that were loosely tied to a tree. He took them in his left hand, threw the far rein over the horse's head, grabbed a handful of the black's long mane and leaped upward swinging his right leg up over the horse's back. It was a momentary scramble. He made it, but the effort left him breathless, lying against the destrier's neck.  That position allowed him to step his horse over to the standing sword and to pull it forth from the ground.

"We have to ride!" he shouted again to the others who had delayed to watch him and who only then were finding their own mounts. "Ride!" he yelled as he spurred his horse through the creek, over the far bank, and up onto the road. He looked north, saw not far up the hill a man break from the trees. A second man raced down the hill riding one horse and guiding a second. It would only be moments before the two enemy would meet, before their attacker would have a horse under him and the two would be chasing them down. His fellowship was in danger! There was nothing for it but to run. Without his sword arm, he was useless in a fight. With cross bolts in the enemy's hands they would never get close enough for that fight, anyway.  As  his friends came on to the road, Wash kicked his horse to a canter and then to a gallop, racing south.  At this pace, his chain-mail shirt jarred against the crossbow bolt which stuck out from his shoulder with every hoof that pounded the road. 
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on January 08, 2018, 01:50:51 PM
Aliset leaped into the saddle, glancing around to see her companions doing the same. Spurring her mount on to follow Sir Washburn's, she reached out with her senses, trying to establish how badly injured the knight leading their party was. A wave of roiling pain met her psychic inquiry and she withdrew her mental touch, concentrating on moving her horse closer to his flank. Signaling the priest to do the same on his other side, she caught Darcy's eye. Waving him on, she yelled, "Ride on ahead of Sir Washburn, but not too far ahead, and keep a sharp look out for any possible ambushes in wait for us.  We need to tend to his injuries, but it's far too dangerous for us to do so here."  Thinking fast, she tried to recall what sanctuaries might be found in this part of Meara.  Ah, there was one possibility that came to mind--the Abbey of St. Brigid!  She did not like the thought of putting the convent at risk, but on the other hand, there had been such backlash from the local population at the atrocities that had been committed there by Mearan separatists of the previous generation that she suspected Oswald's--or the mysterious Deryni's--hired men would not risk provoking the wrath of a populace they hoped to win over to their side of the conflict between those loyal to the Mearan separatist cause and the Kingdom of Gwynedd.  And if they could reach the abbey's gates alive, they would be nearly at Gwynedd's border, and even closer to safety. One might hope, anyway, though deep down Aliset knew better than to think their pursuers would leave them alone once they exchanged their mountain trail for the Gwyneddan hills and plains.

"To Saint Brigid's!" she called out to her companions, though not so loudly that their pursuers might hear their plan and find some way to detour around them and block their progress towards that refuge.  Beside and slightly ahead of her, Sir Washburn seemed to nod in agreement. At least she hoped it was agreement and not a sign he was near to losing consciousness.  Raising one hand to clutch her medallion of Saint Camber, she prayed that they would make it to the safety of the abbey before the knight from Corwyn lost too much blood, and that Father Columcil would be recovered enough from their efforts at destroying the amulet to use his gift of Healing.  Or failing that, that the convent infirmarian would be able to provide Wash with the assistance he needed.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on January 08, 2018, 04:26:58 PM
Darcy Cameron urged his horse forward, past Sir Washburn, continuing forward until he was four horse lengths ahead of his companions.  Far enough ahead to spot anything amiss and be able to warn the others, or far enough ahead that if he sprung a trap himself, they could see it in time to pull up and take shelter.  Though at this pace, it would be difficult. He did not find the thought comforting.

His could not shake the belief that they were being herded forward.  He strained every one of his senses to pick up anything that seemed wrong.  How far ahead was Saint Brigid's? Could they reach the convent's shelter before Sir Washburn could no longer ride? 

(Dice roll, Survivalist, advantage when seeking shelter.  3 dice:  1 + 2 +4 =7.  Sheesh, can't one of us get a break?)

Darcy's horse stumbled, nearly taking them both to the ground.  The mare recovered, but Darcy had no choice but to stop.  He dismounted and checked her for injury.

"How bad is it?"  Father Columcil asked they pulled up behind him.

"It could be worse," Darcy said glumly.  "Her shoe is loose; if I try to keep up this pace, she'll fall and break a leg for sure.  You go ahead.  I'll keep up as best I can and try to keep our pursuers off your backs."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on January 08, 2018, 04:35:04 PM
Aliset hesitated. She was their pursuers' main quarry; if they managed to catch up with her, perhaps they'd let her injured companion go free.  At any rate, she couldn't leave her man-at-arms behind. Or at least she would not, even though she could.

Glancing over at Father Columcil, who was taking note of the situation with grave concern, she told him, "Go on ahead with Sir Washburn and inform the abbey of our situation. They might be able to send aid, and if nothing else, they certainly ought to have a bed in their infirmarium where you can turn to Sir Washburn's injury. I'll remain here with Master Darcy to slow down our pursuers."  Wheeling her horse around, she drew her horse up alongside Darcy's, facing the direction they had come from with a grim smile, one hand upon her dagger.  "They'll not take us down without a fight."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on January 08, 2018, 10:24:03 PM
In anguish and frustration, Wash circled his horse around his friends, guiding the beast with his knees. He growled as his left hand touched the barb embedded in his shoulder, wishing he could rip the thing out of his body. The brief effort made him dizzy with pain and he growled again.

"You'll have no chance against those crossbows." He gasped, coming around to face Aliset. "If you must do this, than take to the trees. Before they come around that bend and see you.  Chance might be that they will follow us and never know you are not ahead of me. Don't-" he gasped-"don't risk a fight unless there is no other way." His bloody hand grabbed up his reins "Quick before they see!"

"Saint Camber save her, don't let her be caught or injured by such evil men." He managed to whisper. "I would rather be dead than see harm befall her." his prayer was said to himself, but his words may have been loud enough that they may have been heard. 

"Columcil, run ahead of me! I will draw their attention when they come around the bend," Wash stepped his horse ten feet back into the middle of the road. He lay down across his horse's neck. It wasn't all an act. He knew it, but hoped his friends believed it to be. When the two pursuers came on, he would taunt them into following him. With hope they would not know Darcy and Aliset were left behind.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on January 09, 2018, 02:11:59 AM
Columcil had been trained to obedience to authority by his days in seminary but it was not natural to him and nor was the idea of leaving an injured man when he could offer aid. "Let me heal you first, My Lord", he begged in a voice rough with worry. ((4+1=5 69krtl6mbf aargh!!)).

Mingled pain and frustration were in the look that Sir Washburn gave him, "There is no time, and we dare not risk rapport or a healing trance out in the open here. The devil will be on our heels soon, for the love of God please go!" Reluctantly Columcil saw the sense in the words, he bowed his head in acceptance, then turned and kicked his mount onwards.

The track curved around a bend and ahead he could see the beginnings of a small town. But there was no sign of a Convent this side of the town walls, which were new by the look of them, strong and sturdy with a solid looking gatehouse. All a bit much for a little town, surely, and betokening a history of violence in these parts.

Dare he ask for help or did he risk bringing more trouble on his companions. Well there was no help for it, he had to try; perhaps he could think of a story that would endanger only himself until he was sure of the nature of his welcome.

The thickets to the edge of the path had been cleared to a bowshot's distance as he neared within what he reckoned was less than half a league from the town but, his senses on edge, he thought he heard a rustle at the edge of the grass to his left. Pulling his mountain pony to a sudden stop he dismounted and swung the staff from his back, slamming it down from where he thought the rustling had come. There was a squeal and a half-grown wild boar shot out, blessedly too startled to turn and attack and shot into the deeper woodland. ((4+2 =6  7hs&zc2l6d - I forgot that Columcil could roll advantage for weapon's mastery - the best thing seemed to be to make him waste an effort. He is as irritated as I am))

Thoroughly annoyed with himself he remounted and hurried on towards the town.

((Modified as I hadn't intended to make Wash appear dictatorial))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on January 09, 2018, 09:17:37 AM
There was no time to lose. It seemed clear to Aliset that Sir Washburn was in no shape to deal with the enemies closing in behind them, yet she refused to leave Master Darcy behind to deal with them alone either.

An idea came to her, and she brought her horse alongside Darcy's.  "Quickly, mount up behind me!  We are still near enough to the village, and perhaps even the abbey, to make it to the safety of those walls if we can ride swiftly, but as your horse is not up to that, our best bet is to let him follow along behind us as best he can. Our pursuers are under orders to stop us; I doubt they'll veer from their pursuit to capture a lame horse, so hopefully we'll be able to recover him once it's safe to do so."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on January 09, 2018, 10:36:18 AM
A sudden thought came to Aliset. There was something she'd heard once of something the Archbishop of Rhemuth (at the time still Duke of Cassan) had done in a moment of desperation during the last Mearan War.  He had used illusory magic to call up the appearance of a wall of flame between his forces and the Mearan separatists attacking them, to buy time for his men to get away.

((Dice roll 3 + 1, v#67gq3g947h.  Nooooo!!!!  *headdesk*))

Attempting to focus on the task, she waved her hand in a wide arc in the direction of their approaching foes, but alas, she was too anxious to summon up the illusory flames. It had been worth a try, but now they really could not delay their escape any longer. With Darcy securely mounted behind her now, they rode hell bent for leather towards the village up ahead, moderating their pace only enough to ensure Sir Washburn would be able to keep up.

((Hope that's OK, Jerusha. If Darcy would rather stubbornly remain with his horse, I can come back and rewrite that bit and risk Aliset valiantly dying by his side...LOL!))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on January 09, 2018, 11:25:44 AM
Darcy Cameron hesitated for a moment, then quickly dismounted and tied the reins loosely to his saddle horn.  The horse he could do without, but there was something else he could not.

As quickly as possible, he untied his sea bag, reached inside to the secret pocket and withdrew the worn pouch on its leather cord.  He pulled the cord over his head and secured the pouch inside his shirt.

"Hurry!" Lady Aliset urged.  She waved her hand in a broad arc at the men behind them; her look of keen disappointment told Darcy that something had not gone as planned.  But what had?

With a little less precision than he would have liked, Darcy leaped onto her horse, barely settling himself behind her and forced to grab her waist to steady himself as she urged their mount into a gallop.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on January 09, 2018, 12:48:54 PM
Two bays, too light and long legged for Mearean stock, looking more of the learner Torenthi breed galloped up the road chasing their query, who had gotten out of view after the last turn in the road. The two riders whooped with delight as the charged around the bend only to discover three horses ahead just moving out, one without a rider and one riding double.

"We have them" yelled the leader. He brought his loaded crossbow up into position, he fingered the safety latch. Noting his partner did the same. "I got the black horse rider, you get the back of the man riding double. Lord Oswald will pay us handsomely for this!" he yelled gleefully.

The path was clear, no obstructing trees, only the road was a bit uneven. Likely why the one horse ahead had injured himself.

The lead pursuer took his aim, careful to balance up on his heels, allowing his knees to take the jarring of rough road and his body to balance the crossbow at an even level.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on January 09, 2018, 01:04:34 PM
Washburn was low on the neck of his horse, a wave of dizziness passed him up as he pushed his horse into a gallop  along side the two riding double. He had seen the enemy come up from behind. His heart was racing, his spurs were jabbing his horse to move faster. Leaning so low, he was sure he was giving the pursuers the smallest target possible.  Then he heard it the twang of the crossbow.

((1d6 disadvantage roll for the pursuer aimed at Wash. rolled 6 Verification Number: 4tsnk12nwc A curse on  those Torenthi dice))

In an instant of anguish, a barb pierced chain-mail, breaches and skin, sinking deep into his right buttocks. Wash would have cried out if he had the energy left to do so. All he could manage was to hold tight to the horse's neck with his left hand and stay in the saddle.  The war horse was well trained and took his wounded rider fast and furiously away from the danger.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on January 09, 2018, 01:51:11 PM
As they rounded one last curve in the road, Aliset noted the village wall and gate just a short distance ahead.  The terrain around them was clearer now, the thicket on either side of the road cleared back to make it more difficult for outlaws to ambush unwary travelers, and the road this close to the village appeared to be better maintained.  Relieved that at least this village was scrupulous in its adherence to civic duties, she urged her mount towards the open gate. She thought she spied Father Columcil's mount just on the other side of the wall now, speaking to the gatekeeper with mounting urgency, if his wild gesticulation could be interpreted as such.

((1d6, rolled a 6 for the enemy. Bloody hell, it's a direct hit!  V#1nts8t9v9j.  Second test roll to see who or what he hit: 1-2=Darcy, 3-4=Aliset, 5-6=the horse.  1d6 roll result=4.  V#5vx1l2bhrx.  Given that Darcy is seated behind Aliset but the shot hit her instead of him, I'm guessing it had to have hit her shoulder.  Unless they shot from the side at a curve in the road, but chances are her arm would still be the most likely target at that angle.))

Just as it seemed they might make it to sanctuary with no further mishap, as they covered the final stretch of ground towards the open gates, Aliset felt a sharp pain pierce her left shoulder.  As the hooves of their horses thundered through the gates, she felt Master Darcy's strong arms tighten protectively around her waist, keeping her in the saddle as shouts behind them and the creak of hinges seemed to indicate that the  good priest had managed to convince the villagers to close the gates behind them. Or perhaps just seeing mounted riders in the distance with drawn weapons converging on their village had been enough to convince them.  Aliset did not know, and at the moment was not minded to ask, her full concentration just then needed to stay conscious and on horseback.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on January 09, 2018, 02:23:28 PM
Grand Duke Valerian smiled in satisfaction as the scene many miles distant played out before him in the depths of his wine chalice.  His henchmen had managed to score several direct hits on their fleeing quarry, and now the four fugitives were holed up in a Mearan border village.  The fact that most of the villagers there were loyal to the pretender king Kelson due to their sense of injury at their treatment by the true heir to Meara and his forces a generation earlier caused a fleeting frown to mar his darkly handsome features, but if they offered his prey too much aid, they would be dealt with in due time.  For the moment, it mattered little to him that the village gates had been closed against his minions.  Lady Aliset and her companions were trapped, hardly in any shape to venture further towards Rhemuth until their injuries had been tended to, and that would allow him sufficient time to send reinforcements to wait outside all of the village gates until such time as they should emerge.  He could be patient.

He gave the man before him a contented smile.  "Your bride-to-be yet lives, Oswald, if you're still minded to have her. I'll have her back in your hands very soon."  His smile turned feral.  "As for the others, I have my own plans for them."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on January 09, 2018, 02:52:50 PM
Darcy Cameron thought they just might make it.  Were those the city walls ahead?  Lady Aliset was taller by several inches, so he moved slightly to the right to get a better view, unwittingly exposing her left shoulder....

He felt her tense with the shock of the bolt entering her shoulder.  He gripped her more firmly, reaching forward to take the reins as they flew though the gate.  He heard Sir Washburn's horse beside him, but did not turn to look until he heard the gates close behind them.

Father Columcil was running toward them.  A man approached to hold Lady Aliset's horse.

"Keep him steady so I can get my Lord safely down," Darcy commanded, jarring her as little as he could as he slipped off the horse.  "Let go of the reins," he said gently.  "I've got you, just let them go."

Lady Aliset nodded slightly, fighting dizziness and pain. She let Master Darcy ease her down from the saddle, but managed a weak protest as he lifted her up into his arms."

"Nay, my Lady.  This is my fault," he said grimly, but low enough that no one else could hear.  "Father Columcil," he said as the priest reached his side, "Lord Alister is injured, and I fear Sir Washburn has fared worse. We need your help." 
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on January 09, 2018, 03:12:49 PM
((2d6 to see if Aliset maintains her brother's form and features.  3 + 1, V#7bprmhtc88.  Ah well, she should be easier for Darcy to lug around now!   ;D ))

As she slid from the saddle, Aliset's world went black. When she became conscious of her surrounding once more, she felt movement and a curious warmth at her side and back which turned out to be Master Darcy, carrying her through the crowded street towards some destination unknown. Something was impeding her vision, but she knew not what, and the pain in her shoulder made it difficult on her to focus.  It appeared to be...long, loose hair?  With a glance down at herself, she realized with some horror that she had shifted back into her own form.  What an odd impression she must be making on the villagers here, a woman dressed in a coarse brown habit, untidy braid replacing a polished tonsure!

She started to protest, to insist that she was well enough to walk, but another wave of faintness caused her to reconsider.  No, on second thought, there were worse places she could be at the moment, and she felt she could take Master Darcy not to take undue advantage of their situation.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on January 10, 2018, 11:24:34 AM
Columcil made to enter the gateway but was stopped by a man who looked both better armed and more ready to use them than was surely usual in such rural townships. He held up his hands in a placating gesture and was trying to think of what story he could tell when out of the corner of his eye he saw his companions brest the brow of the hill. Something was clearly wrong though at such a distance he could not see entirely what it was. One of the horses carried a double load and the other's rider - sweet merciful heavens! Surely he could not be dead. It had to be Sir Washburn by the gleam of his hair, clear even at this distance, and Columcil felt suddenly sick. His distraction was ended by the guard who spoke in manner which made clear the answers to his questions had better be good.

"You, with them, are ye?"

Columcil realised that nothing but at least some of the truth would save them; he could only pray that it would be enough. It would be terrible to escape from whoever was pursuing the Lady Aliset with such venom only to fall victim to the local townsfolk. He began an impassioned plea only to be stopped short by the guard.

"I dunna care what trouble you're in, you'll no come in here if you have owt to do with them cursed Mearan traitors. D'ye recognise our lord Kelson as your king or no."

Well at least he could give the right answer to that one. "Aye, we do, and one of our number, pray God he still lives, is the son of one of his greatest lords, Duke Alaric of Corwyn." At that the guard's face changed. Though Columcil could not know it he had been a small lad when the town had been sacked and all but destroyed by Ithel, and he remembered the king and his champion riding in to their rescue. He held by the loyalty he had sworn in his heart then, and most of the township held with him. Those who still held a torch for the old Mearan line did so quietly or, amongst the boldest, when they were in their cups.

"Come on through, and I'll shut the gate on any who's following ye. They'll no get in so easily" He suited his actions to his words, letting the heavy bar fall into place then added, "the best place for ye is the Nunnery up top of the town. I'll send a lad running up to say you're coming. They've an infirmary there and the good sisters are skilled in leechcraft. They'll do what they can for you. Though," he added morosely, looking towards Washburn, "'tis a healer you need for yon and there are none in these parts."

Columcil bit his lip to prevent himself from replying sharply; the man after all had spoken nothing but the truth. He saw that Darcy was lifting Lord Alister down from the saddle and gestured for him to go on up to the nunnery. "We're expected, thanks be to God, and they can care for you there. I'll see what I can do here." He sighed worriedly. His last attempt to heal had ended in failure, pray God and all His Saints that he would not fail now. Darcy looked anxiously at him but he repeated, "Go my son, your duty is plain, though spare me a prayer or two as you go."

Now he had to hope that the gatekeeper who had spoken so easily of healers was as comfortable with one in the flesh. Turning back to him he spoke urgently. "If you will help me, and if God wills I may be able to save him. Have you any skill in leechcraft yourself?"

The man looked at him curiously and clearly had a question on his lips, then looked back at the white faced bleeding figure spread-eagled across his horse's back and - thank God! - decided that explanations could wait. "I can draw out a weapon, Sir, or maybe 'tis Father, I should be calling you," he hazarded. Columcil nodded, but otherwise made no comment as to his identity ."Good. We'll need to lay him down first - do you have a bed in there?" He gestured towards the gatehouse and the other nodded.

"We'll slip him down over his horse's rump, and carry him flat - one on each side," So saying he slipped Washburn's feet out of his stirrups and with his hand on the horse's still heaving flank calmed the beast's fear and then gestured the other to support Washburn on the right while he carried his left leg and arm. Thankfully there was not far to go and the bed, though rough, was clean. Washburn moaned once then lay still, though his eyes watched them. Crossing himself, Columcil withdrew his precious prayer book from the breast of his habit, kissed it and once again prayed that the healing inheritance of his father and grandfather might run true in him.

"I'll try for his shoulder first, we'll have to push the barb through. Can you do that when I say? It would be good to have your name. " he added almost absently.

"Kieran, Father, and aye, just say the word." He hesitated. "I can cut the arrow out of his bum too, when you give the sign- it won't be the first time. Though it's usually from a hunter whose mate canna tell a human bum from a pig's backside."

Columcil breathed a prayer of gratitude for a practical helper and nodded. Kieran took out his dagger and held the blade in the fire to cleanse it then waited in silence.

Columcil prayed ((dice roll 5+1 +6 1c3kntnfxb - yay)) then setting aside his fear and exhaustion nodded at Kieran and slipped into the light trance which preceded healing. He extended his controls, and soothed away the pain though Washburn moaned again as the barb was withdrawn. The blood flowed freely as the arrow was pulled through but putting his hands firmly over the wound and his thumbs into the hole left by the barb Columcil felt the energy flow through him. There was briefly that odd sensation of another's hands atop his and he knew by that that he would succeed. The flesh closed and soon even the faint line of the scar would heal. Kieran glanced at him and receiving a slight nod dug around the barb embedded in Washburn's buttock. Columcil damped down as much pain as he could though he could feel Washburn trembling with the effort not to cry out. Finally the arrow was out and he could again allow healing power to flow through the wound.

Withdrawing from his trance he felt exhausted. He looked around for water to cleanse his bloodstained hands but Kieran was already handing him a leather bucket full of cold clean water and a rough rag for drying. "Thank you, my son," he managed. "You've worked with a healer before, I think but no matter now." He knelt by Washburn's head and said gently, "I can help you to sleep, son, if you will allow me that far past your shields." Washburn smiled up at him and as the priest put his hands to his forehead allowed his shields to roll back. Somehow this felt familar, but he was too tired to think about it now and his eyes closed in rest.

Columcil slipped to his knees and hands open in gratitude offered his thanks to God and His Saints. He must go up to the nunnery soon but he must rest a little first.



Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on January 10, 2018, 12:49:43 PM
 "Go my son, your duty is plain, though spare me a prayer or two as you go."

Darcy Cameron nodded and said a fervent, hasty prayer that Father Columcil would succeed and save Sir Washburn's life.  He might have suggested the priest help Lady Aliset first, but one look at the knight's ashen face convinced him that the priest had made the right call.  Darcy hoped sincerely that Father Columcil would have no need to administer the Last Rites. There was nothing more he could do here; his immediate duty was to get Lady Aliset safely to the Nunnery where her shoulder could be treated. 

Darcy walked quickly but carefully, trying not to jar the limp body he held in his arms.  The distance to the Nunnery was farther than he had hoped and uphill.  The day had cooled as evening approached, but he was breathing hard when he reached the entrance.  The gate was partly open when he reached it and was swung fully wide by the man who had preceded him to advise the nuns of their coming.

A nun of indeterminant years nodded to Darcy and said, "Follow me."  She then averted her eyes and led him along the covered walk to the infirmary.

As he carried Lady Aliset through the door, he noted four simple cots arranged perpendicular to the far wall.  A nun came out from a small, adjoining room and motioned him to one of the cots.

"Place her here; lay her on her uninjured side.  Sister, help support her."

Darcy eased Aliset as carefully onto the cot as he could, but she groaned softly as he moved the support of his arms away. The sister supported Aliset's back as instructed, keeping her immobile as the infirmarian bent closer to examine the wound.

"You may go now," she said.

  "But I can't leave her!" Darcy began in protest. "I need to insure her safe...." He stopped at the sharp looks from the nuns.  "Oh, yes, of course.  I'll be outside."

The door closed firmly behind him as he left.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on January 10, 2018, 03:01:20 PM
Hold on, hold on! Fingers in a vise grip on the destrier's mane.  All his weight in his left sturrup tilting the saddle off kilter. Hold on, hold on!

Stone walls, oak gates, protection of a small town. A moment of relief shattered by the sight of a braid of brown hair falling over Master Darcy's arm. He carried a woman in his arms, he carried her away from Washburn's sight.  Heavens above was that Aliset? Pain! Failure!

Hands on his injuries, devastating at first, then soothing. Calming. He looked up then to see Columcil's face, a face in trance, Healer's trance. Wash had felt that feeling once before from his sister's hand when as a child he had slipped on the tower steps after waiting so long in a rainstorm, waiting and watching for his father's return. His father never returned. His sister Briony was in tears as she had healed his broken wrist. He only learned latter, why she had cried so hard.

He woke his heart racing, blinking hard in the dim light. A light of a candle somewhere on the far side flickered on the plain stone walls. He lay face down on a cot, his clothes gone, only a blanket of wool pulled up to his shoulders. He took inventory then. Left hand moving over the two spots where he had been sure he had been injured. His fingers touched whole skin. Amazing that. Than his fingers touched the one thing he still wore. A chain around his neck that held a family token. A good copy of the original Saint Camber Medallion which his father had always worn and was now a constant part of his brother's attire. "Blessing to you Saint Camber," he whispered knowing that in some way the saint had had a part of his healing.

He sat up then, bringing the wool over his lap. His movement woke the only other person in the room. A man lying on a palate near the door. The man sat up instantly concerned. "My lord, you should not be up. The Father said you should sleep until dawn."

Washburn shook from lightheadedness. "I..." was all he said for a moment. "I can't sleep, I have to know. What of my companions? I must go to them." He started to stand, wrapping the blanket around his midriff. "Are those me things?" he reached for the table. He was weaker than he thought, he did not make it that far. As he stumbled, the guardsman rushing over to  balance him before he fell.

"There is no news yet from the nunnery, but you can count that the lady is in good hands. I will send a lad to find out more. Please rest, I promised the Father that I would care for you in his absence."

Wash had little choice. He was healed, but he was still weak. Rest would take care of that by morning. Yet he was anxious for news.

Lady Aliset had been injured, of that he was certain. He sat back down on the bed, his elbows on his knees, his head resting on his hands. He casted out with his mind, searching for Aliset.  ((2d6 rolled 1&3 Verification Number: 67v70lcd91))
Damn! He could not reach her. What did that mean?

"Go now, please!" he bagged of the guard. "Find out how she fares."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on January 10, 2018, 03:28:17 PM
Aliset awakened from unconsciousness with a start, eyes frantically taking in the unfamiliar surroundings.  She relaxed slightly as she realized it appeared to be a convent infirmarium, but the absence of her familiar travel companions alarmed her.  How had she arrived here?  The last thing she remembered, she'd been riding through the village gate, her enemies in hot pursuit, and then the rest of the memory was shrouded in the building fog of pain that had clouded those final few moments she remembered between taking the crossbow bolt in her shoulder and arriving here.  Well, not completely shrouded.  She vaguely remembered slipping out of the saddle, half falling from her horse, her vision already beginning to fade around the edges as someone caught her up to prevent her from crumpling to the ground. Who had that been? Ah yes, it must have been Master Darcy!  Sir Washburn had been in no shape to lift her, and the priest had ridden on ahead.... Yes, she remembered now, he'd been with the gatekeeper.  So that meant Master Darcy had brought her here.  But where was he now?

She tried to stand, but the effort was too painful and brought on a wave of weakness that nearly caused her to pass out again.  Gingerly inspecting her shoulder, she saw the bolt had been removed and the injury had been washed and neatly bandaged. That was good, at least.  She wished she had her healing herbs with her, but they were still in her saddle bags, and at any rate, the infirmarian would doubtless have their own stock of potions to help her fight off infection and fever.  Her more pressing need now, it seemed, was to locate the rest of her fellowship.

((2d6, dice rolls 6 and 6...woohoo! V#z1j2bj7hmz))

Ah!  There was Master Darcy just outside her door, and somewhere nearby, though not yet so close, she thought she sensed the presence of Father Columcil.  At first she could not sense Sir Washburn at all, and a surge of sorrow coursed through her, fearing that he had succumbed to his injuries, but then, at the outer range of what she could sense with her flagging energy, she managed to brush up against his mind.  All alive, then!  With a relieved smile, she gave in to her overwhelming need for sleep.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on January 10, 2018, 09:22:52 PM
Darcy Cameron awoke with a start, for a moment confused as to where he was.  Then he remembered. 

It had seemed a long time before the infirmarian opened the door and informed him that the bolt had been removed from Lady Aliset's shoulder, and God willing, she would recover.  Darcy had thanked her, but his request to see Aliset had been denied.  He had not even been told she was resting; the nun had simply said, "No!"

She had motioned him toward the guest house, but Darcy had crossed his arms over his chest, leaned against the wall, and told her he would stay where he was.  She had not been pleased.  She instructed the sister who remained inside to make sure he did not enter, closed the door and strode resolutely down the corridor.

After a while, Darcy had removed his habit, folded it into a makeshift cushion for some comfort against the stone walkway, and sat down to wait.  He assumed Father Columcil would come when he could, hopefully with good news.

Darcy had drifted off to some much needed rest, though he kept a hand on the hilt of his sword.  It was now early evening, and the Nunnery bell began to toll the evening office.

One clear peal, then two, then clank.

Clank?

Darcy rose, stretched, and made his way to the small courtyard in front of the Nunnery's church.  There was a bell tower, rather high for the simplicity of the church.  At its base stood one of the sisters, the end of a rope in one hand, and the rest piled around the hem of her habit.

The aged Nunnery steward came toward her.  "What's happened, Sister?"

"It broke," she replied, "I pulled and the rope broke."

Another nun approached them; she did not hurry; her bearing clearly indicating one who is in charge.

"Reverend Mother," the steward said after bowing with respect. Darcy followed suit.  "The rope has broken."

"You can fix it?"

"I have no ladder that can reach.  I'll have to go down to the town," he replied.

Darcy stepped closer to the bell tower and examined the interior.  Along the far wall rope netting hung, reaching from the floor to the top of the tower.

"Reverend Mother," Darcy said carefully.  "We need no ladder; there is rope to climb.  If your steward has rope long enough for the bell, I can carry it up."

The Reverend Mother looked at him carefully.  "You can climb up that?"

"Aye, my Lady.  I've twelve years at sea.  I've climbed rigging more precarious than this."

She studied him carefully, then nodded. 

The steward fetched a long enough rope to do the job.  Darcy tied one end around his waist, leaving both hands free to climb.  For a moment he thought to leave his sword behind, but thought better of it.
 
After a second assessment of the rope netting, Darcy began to climb.  The netting was old, so he tested each piece to ensure it would take his weight.  One section broke away, but he was able to grasp the one above and continue.  Once he reached the top, he untied the rope from his waist and secured it to the bell's metal ring.  He tied good, strong sailor's knots.  This rope would not break free.

He took a moment to view the town below, the walls and the surrounding hills.  It reminded him of stories his grandfather used to tell.  Stories of the fabled watch fires of Isles, skirmishes with invaders, tunnels under fortress walls.

Tunnels?  Many fortified manors in the rugged Isles had hidden tunnels to allow people to escape or supplies to be brought in under siege.  Could there be a tunnel under this town's walls?

"Master?" called the sister from below.

"Coming!" Darcy called back, and carefully began his descent.  He found one other weak section on his way down, but carefully allowing himself to drop to the section below, descended safely.

"Your pardon, Reverend Mother," he said.  "I have not enjoyed such a view for a long while and tarried too long."  He expected a rebuke, but instead she smiled, thanked him, and led the nuns into the church.

Darcy hesitated for a moment, but decided that Lady Aliset would be safe within the Nunnery's walls.  He needed to find Father Columcil and Sir Washburn, God willing the knight still lived.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on January 11, 2018, 05:04:10 AM
The compulsion was to sleep. Just to lay down and get a full night's rest. Columcil compulsion was hard to counteract. The guard would be gone for some time. If Wash slept now would the man wake him when he returned with his news? Probably not. If Wash wanted to learn how his companions were doing, he needed to stay awake. With every passing minute of quiet, his head grew heavier and he his eyes were shutting for longer moments than they were staying open.

A church bell somewhere beyond the room he was in gave a clear ring. Wash listened, he had no idea what the time was. He would count the bells to help stay awake. A second ring. He waited, expected to count seven more.

***Clank!***  came the third sound.

"What was that?"

***silence***

"Khardasha!" Washburn called out. There was no sound that answered him. His mind raced. Why would the bells stop ringing. Only one answer came to him.  "An Attack! Damn!" Could it be, up at the convent where he had heard Aliset had been taken. He wasn't there to protect her.

Energy surged where he had none a moment before, he threw the blanket off, stood and walked none to steadily to his things piled on the table. Most of his stuff was not there, he hoped it was all still on his saddle wherever his horse was. He pushed the chain mail aside, he could never get that on, not in a hurry. His riding leathers were here; a whole in one back side and stained with his blood. He stuffed one leg in, caught his balance on the table, and stepped into the second legging, pulling the leather trues up and tying off the waist. He found his monk's shoes, which he had learned to despise in the last two days. At least they were easy to slip on. His tunic was too torn and blood soaked to ware. So he threw the monk's robe over his head, grabbed his sword, gathered his courage, and left the guard's room.

There were townsmen on the gate and  armed men on the walls. All seemed intent on what lay beyond, none paid any mind to those who moved about within. Their pursuers must be camped out there, just out of bow shoot.  Wash would have loved to test that theory; his archery distance was far greater than most could boost at. Just now, however, he had only one thing on his mind. Find Aliset and make certain she was protected.

Wash half ran from one building to the next always seeking the roads that went uphill. He was certain he could find the convent gate. It should have been somewhere off of this main street.  Or was that the main street. The stone buildings were so close that he could not tell. He was lost. He never got lost in Rhemuth or Coroth, but this little burg had him all turned around.  He head was spinning once more, he found himself moving as a drunkard moved. Huddling in to a shadowed corner, he passed a fatigue banishing spell. That helped. As his mind cleared he started to question his purpose. No one in town were screaming or panicking. There was no attack going on. In his exhaustion, he had made it all up. Aliset was protected by Darcy and Healed by Columcil. He needed to return to his own bed and rest up. 

Two men crossed the street he had just left. Two more followed them down to a one story building. All four went into the door looking both ways as they entered. They shut the door behind them. Wash was sure he saw the gleam of weapons under their cloaks.  Were they preparing for the Mearian separatist who sieged the town gates.  Perhaps he could help by telling them what they were up against. He stepped slowly down the street to the closed door. There were men's voices heard, mostly muffled. He stalled his knock on the door as he heard. "We can not get to her. Convent gates closed... she's out of our reach." Washburn's short hair raised at his neck. Who were these men. " ...that near dead one ... Keiran left him alone, we can take him while he sleeps, before Keiran returns." There was a humph of agreement. Wash brought forth his sword. He would attack all four of them. On a better day he could. Just now... damn he couldn't handle four. He knew his own limits. He could not protect Aliset if he was wounded again.

Ashamed of himself, he stepped away from the door. Just in time for the local Mearan separatists to reenter the streets. He marked their looks in the torch light. He watched them turn and go down hill. Even though his sword was in hand he could not beat them all. Feeling his cowardice deep within, he turned the opposite way, he went further up hill. Soon enough, he came to the Convent gates.  But just as they had said, the gates were locked tight. No one answered his knocks. The fatigue banishing spell wore off far too quickly.  Exhausted he turned to a space between the convent wall and a smaller building, sliding down to find some protection from the wind from the roof overhang. 
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on January 11, 2018, 10:00:53 AM
Darcy Cameron approached the closed gate of the Nunnery.  From the small gatehouse beside it, a man stepped forth.  Probably the gatekeeper, Darcy thought.  The torches that had been lit at the sides of the gate showed the man's features clearly.

Unlike the old steward, this man was younger, only a few years older than he was, Darcy surmised as he approached him.  He was well built, possibly a formidable guard.

Darcy nodded in greeting.  "I need to step out for a bit.  I will return shortly."

"Sorry," the man said.  "No one leaves or enters tonight.  Reverend Mother gave strict orders."

"I must check on the other of my wounded companions and make sure all is well."

The man shook his head.  "I'll not disobey her orders and loose my position,  so you can visit the town for a drink."

Darcy bristled, arms bent and clenched fists on his hips.  He could probably take the man, but that would jeopardize any future help they might receive from the Nunnery.

"Besides," the gatekeeper continued. "If I did let you out, I guarantee you won't get back in this night."

That would be a problem. He was not willing to leave Lady Aliset unguarded that long. Perhaps his idea to find the others had been a bit rash.  Even if there was a passage, and if someone would admit to it, and if they could convince someone to give them access, it would be full dark by the time they left.  There were advantages and disadvantages to leaving in the middle of the night.  And Lady Aliset had not yet been Healed by Father Columcil.  His plan would wait.

"Very well," Darcy said.  "But there is a priest that may ask entrance.  The injured woman has need to see him."

"I will have to ask the Reverend Mother's permission.  It is up to her to decide."

Did the man have a smirk on his face? 

"See to it you ask the question," Darcy said, giving the man a dark look. 

Darcy returned to his post beside the infirmary door.  He had a clear view of the gate from there.  He would make sure the gatekeeper asked the question.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on January 11, 2018, 04:59:28 PM
The nunnery gatekeeper had not been entirely honest with Darcy. He, like the majority of the townsfolk, was very protective of the nunnery and its sisters. Though it was nigh on half a century ago, the memory of Ithel's ravaging of the holy women and their home was seared into the town's memory. The gatekeeper had his own reasons too. He had run, half -crazed with worry to fetch the Infirmarian when screaming in agony his wife had seemed unable to birth their last child and the midwife had despaired. The nun's very presence had seemed to restore hope and bring peace and though the child had breathed just long enough to be baptised he had not lost his wife nor his older children their mother. Besides he had taken a dislike to the man. He did not begrudge the lady her care but her serving man should know his place better than to start making demands. And if they were bringing trouble to the nunnery or to the town then the whole pack of them could be off. When Kieran had come enquiring after the same lady he had heard a worrying tale for a man who liked a quiet life.

He had not lied - quite - simply failed to tell Darcy that the priest he spoken of had already been admitted some time before.

  *************************************************************

Columcil had waited to make sure that Washburn was asleep then, charging Kieran to watch over him, he made his way up the main street of the town to the nunnery gate reaching it just as the bell began to clang for evening prayer. He stopped short as some disaster seemed to happen to the bell, but when there were no further indications of alarm he knocked at the closed gate and waited. The gatekeeper had been suspicious at first when he requested access to the infirmary but the sight of Columcil's well-worn prayer book had reassured him and he agreed to fetch the Infirmarian who at first seemed to misunderstand the reason for his visit.

"Thank you, Father, but we have our own priest and besides the lady will, please God, live many more years before she has need of the last rites."

Columcil bowed courteously to her before replying with as much truth as seemed wise before the gatekeeper. "There were four of us, including the lady and myself, travelling together for safety when we were attacked outside the town walls. I beg you to let me at least see that she rests quietly." She looked intently at him for a moment then beckoned him to follow. As they entered the room where Aliset slept he spoke quietly to the nun, "Sister, I see that you have tended her well but I beg that you will not take it amiss if I say that God has granted me the grace of healing in my hands." He was taking a risk he knew in saying this, but he could not see that there was any choice. His heart told him that the dangers they faced were far from over and the Lady Aliset must be fully recovered this night.

The nun looked at him intently again, and then smiled. "The lady is in no danger, otherwise I would have healed her. But like you, I am wary still of using my talents before outsiders. The townsfolk accept me with gratitude, most of them, but those who hold with the old Mearan ways..." Her voice tailed off as though she had already said too much and she spoke briskly. "It would not be seemly for me to leave you alone with her and I daresay you would value my prayers." She walked with him to the bed where Aliset lay and dropped to her knees, her lips moving in the words of the evening office.

Columcil crossed himself once again and placed his hands over the linen dressing bound across Aliset's shoulder. He focused his gaze on the unadorned crucifix which hung on the wall at the head of the bed and entered into trance once again aware of the hands which for an instant covered his. (( dice roll 6+5 5qfmvw68n0)). Aliset's breathing deepened and she settled into an easier sleep. Glancing down at the kneeling nun he saw that she was smiling with relief at him. "Thank you, Father, from both of us. I think it would be more seemly if I check the wound but I make no doubt that she is healed, praise God. Will you rest now, our priest lives just over the way and would, I am sure, be pleased to give you a bed for the night."

Columcil was sorely tempted but shook his head. "Praise God indeed but I must return to another of our company at the gatehouse. I leave her in good hands." The Infirmarian got to her feet and led him quietly from the room through a door opposite to the one through which they had entered and across a small courtyard, full of the evening scent of flowers, to a gate in the wall. You can leave through here Father, it's the gate the townsfolk use when they need my ministrations. God be with you."

"And with your spirit." Father Columcil replied before following the wall as it led round behind the nunnery buildings and eventually back to the main street. As he walked wearily towards the gatehouse he was shocked to see that the door stood open. Worse still, when he entered neither Kieran nor Washburn were there. Sinking to the floor he sat with his head in his hands and realised that he was too exhausted to get to his feet. Several days hard riding, a warding and an exorcism followed by a desperate chase and three healings had taken their toll. He attempted the fatigue banishing spell which he had seen others do but either he was not sufficiently skilled or just too tired (( dice roll 2+4 =6 5qfmvw68n0)) . He rolled himself in his cloak, put his head on his pack and slept.




Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on January 12, 2018, 03:36:11 AM
"Coward"  Wash swore under his breath. He sat in the dark corner next to the convent gates that were closed to him. He hit his head back against the wall in his shame. There were four men in town, who wanted him dead. What did he do? He sulked away like a coward. What kind of knight of the realm did that? Not one that King Kelson relied on. Not one that Kelric would call brother. Not one that Alaric would call son. Alaric Morgan, Gwynedd's champion,--the thought brought Wash to standing--how much humiliation would his father have endured if he had been alive and he had learned of his son's cowardice.

Wash tried to use reason, that if they could not find him, they would cause no harm. Yet, yet, what of the man who had helped him? What of the guardsman Kieran? What if he walked in on the four of them searching the gate house. Searching but not finding what they were after. If Kieran started asking questions would they harm him. Wash knew the answer, it was yes! Dangerous men did heinous crimes when they had misguided loyalties and no honor.

"Think, damn you," Wash said to himself as he demanded his tired body to move toward the gates. He didn't hurt anymore, not like he had. What he felt was weakness and exhaustion. "Think, you don't have to do this alone," he said aloud. There are armed men at the gate, very close to the gate house. Get them to help capture the four. Then you won't have to worry for the heir de Mariot's safety come morning when the nunnery gates opened.

He gave one last bang on the convent gate. "You keep this gate closed, do you hear me!" he yelled out. "Lord Morgan demands that you protect the lady within! Let no harm come to her!" He got no reply.

To gather strength he attempted a second banishing fatigue spell (( 2d6 rolled 1-4 failure. Verification Number: 9kr91l8r8c)) Magic abandoned him again. 

Fine, he had to do this out of shire will.  He started off at a walk down the main street. His downhill pace increased to a jog, his jog increased to a run. How much harm could the four men have done in the quarter hour since he last saw them.  Sword brandished, he was about to find out.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on January 12, 2018, 09:14:44 AM
"Crash!". The door to the gate house was slammed back and Columcil woke. He got to his feet, still clutching his staff which he had held against his body as he slept. He had learnt the value of knowing how to wield a stout stick as a studious lad growing up amidst the fierce Transha clansmen and he had continued to practise his mastery of it. The wild beasts of the remoter parts of his parish could not all be soothed with a gentle mind touch and not all outlaws or bandits had respect for his cloth.

Warily he stood with his back to the wall facing the door as two unknown and rough looking men entered with plain but very dangerous looking swords. They looked at him as though they had expected to see someone else but to his surprise made no move to attack. They moved instead to either side of the door where they stood with swords drawn, keeping wary and warning eyes on Columcil the while. Two more men came in dragging between them a man who looked as though he had taken a vicious beating to the head. To his horror as the victim was flung down savagly onto the floor Columcil recognised him as Kieran.

"You lied! This is no young lord," spat one of the men, looking contemptuously at Columcil and kicked the prone man hard. Columcil winced loudly and immediately knew he had made a bad mistake. The man who had spoken smiled evilly. "A priest, he'll do even better! He'll tell us all we want to know." Columcil braced himself and took a firmer hold of his staff but none of the men made a move towards him. Instead the previous speaker, who was clearly the leader snarled to his companions, "hold him firm!" and  they spread-eagled Kieran on his back, two of them forcing his hands away from his head while the third lay across his legs. The leader took out a sharp dagger and leant over Kieran, who said nothing but whose eyes sought Columcil's pleadingly. "A simple choice, Father. Answer what we ask with the truth and he dies easily. Otherwise...". His voice trailed as he slowly drew the point of the dagger down Kieran's arm slicing open a deep cut.

Columcil barely knew what he was doing. He swung his staff at the back of the torturer's head ((dice roll advantage for weapon's mastery 4+3+5 = 12 2271k6hrnx - remembered this time)) and felt a moment of unpriestly exultation as the man keeled over, knocked clean out of his senses. The dagger flew from his hand and Columcil felt renewed respect for Kieran as the prone man made a grab for it as those holding him let go and scrambled to their feet, reaching for their own weapons. He muttered the words of absolution, praying that God would accept them for himself and Kieran and hoped fervently that they could both meet a quick death.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on January 12, 2018, 10:10:52 AM
Darcy Cameron jumped to his feet at the sound of the pounding on the Nunnery's gate.  Finally! It must be Father Columcil.

The gatekeeper, who had come out of his small house at the noise, listened and then turned away.

"If that is the priest, you need to let him in," Darcy said urgently as he reached the gate.  "Ask the Reverend Mother if you must, but the lady needs him."

'It's no concern of yours," the gatekeeper stated, disdain in his voice.  "Besides, your priest has been and gone already."

Darcy had had enough.   He grabbed the gatekeeper's shirt with both hands and cracked the gatekeeper's head against the solid gate.  'Why didn't you tell me!"

"Let go of me!  Who do you think you are?"

"I'm a ship's officer and the lady's man-at-arms," Darcy snarled.  "if it wasn't the priest at the gate, who was it?"

The gatekeeper did not like the look in the smaller man's ice blue eyes.  Sailors could be a mean lot.  He could think of no danger to the Nunnery if he revealed what he had heard.

"It was someone called himself Lord Morgan.  He demanded we keep the gate shut and protect the lady within."

Darcy let the man go. Sir Washburn!  What was afoot? What additional danger had he discovered?  If the knight wanted the gate kept closed, he must fear an attack, or at least a forced entry.

The small altercation at the gate had brought forth several of the nuns, including the Reverend Mother.  She did not look pleased.  "What is going on here, Simon?"

Simon the gatekeeper bowed.  "This man demanded to know who was knocking on the gate."

Darcy bowed in turn to the Reverend Mother.  This was not the time to be subtle.  "The man at the gate was Sir Washburn Morgan. He also escorts the lady we bought into your convent for treatment.  I believe he fears someone will try to take the lady by force.  We need to prepare."

"I will not permit violence again within these walls," she replied.

"In truth, I'd prefer to avoid that myself," Darcy admitted.  "How many men are here with you?"

"Three:  Simon our gatekeeper, our steward, and another man who assists us with heavy labour."

Simon might do.  The steward was well past his fighting prime. The labourer was an unknown.  Darcy was sure they would be too few.  He had to keep Lady Aliset safe, but he could not let harm come to the nuns.

Darcy made his decision.  "We should summon the Watch."

"Your knight said to keep the gates closed.  You can't send someone for the Watch, and you can't let them in," Simon reminded him.

"No, we can't, but we can alert them to the danger, and they can be additional protection outside the gate."  Darcy eyed the bell tower.  He looked at the Reverend Mother, who thought for a moment and nodded her ascent.

The church bell rang loudly, causing alarm in the town at this unaccustomed hour.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on January 12, 2018, 04:21:58 PM
The church bell rang out true. Faces of armed towns folk positioned around the courtyard startled from their lassitude to astute attention. They looked up, they looked at each other, they tightened their grips on their weapons, they curiously watched a tall man in a brown monk's robe race past them like the devil was on his heels.

Washburn's eyes weren't on the town folk, but upon the town's armed guards standing before the barred main gate. The smaller door to the gate house was beyond them. He could see it just past a mule cart which someone had parked there in the last little while. Ostensibly to block the view of the door from the eyes of the town folk.

"You four! Yes, all of you!" the tall lord demanded of the guardsman, "I am Lord Morgan, son of Duke Alaric Morgan of Corwyn.  Follow me! There is treason afoot!" It was not in Washburn's nature to make such commands. This was an exception, he put every ounce of authority he could into his order.

The name of his father sparked recognition all around him. The four rushed to follow him, as did every man in the courtyard. Wash jumped over the wagon blocking the way. He landed on the door's first step, pounded the hilt of his sword against the latch, breaking it clean away.  The door swung wide. What his eyes saw before him was far worse than he had expected. Kieran was there, lying on his side on the ground, his hands just grabbing for a dagger on the floor.  One man was leaping to stop him. Even more serious, two men were attacking a man he did not expect to see here.  Damn, he should have known better. Father Columcil stood rigid, staff in defiance before him, an assailant already downed at his feet.

Admirable for a priest, Wash thought as he made a great leap toward the two assailants. His great sword swung from the full strength of his shoulders; both hands grasped the hilt; the swing was low and wide.

((Wash swinging his great sword at the backs of two men. I am rolling twice to see if he hits each one in turn. 2x 2d6  roll= 2& 2 missed, roll 5&4 hit. Verification Number: 7mh24bmljr)) ((oops I forgot I got a 3d6 roll for a mastered weapon, roll 1d6 for the advantaged roll that I missed. rolled 5  hah! Verification Number: 2sg49mldg7))

The closest man witnessed the blade in action; he dropped low to rolled away.  The blade bit him in the shoulder, the sword's velocity not slowing from the bite. The second man had no notion what hit him. He crumpled as the weapon took him across the waist. His thin leather vest was no match for the sharpness of the steel.

Behind Wash, arms-men jumped into the bloody scene. 

Kieran, whose arm displayed a viscous gash, had the dagger in his hand. He held it firm. He sliced it across the ankle of the man who kicked out at his chest to stop him.

(( who strikes first: Kieran rolled 2+4=7, assailant rolled 2+2=4 Verification Number: 23f76l0v7p))

The guardsman Kieran's dagger struck the booted foot before the kicker could reached him. (( 2d6 rolled  4&2 Verification Number: 4kcdkmxj6t))  The blade skimmed over the leather, yet it did not penetrate. That same boot continued its momentum  toward guardsman's chest. (( 2d6 rolled  1&3 Verification Number: 533rq6gxl4)) Fortunately, Kieran had the wherewithal and speed to roll aside to be clear of the damage this kick would have wrought.

(( I am late for work, I'll see you tonight. ))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on January 13, 2018, 04:39:00 PM
Loud pounding could be heard at the gate, "What's wrong?  Why does the bell sound?" a deep voice called.

Darcy Cameron stopped ringing the bell and strode toward the gate.  Simon already stood before it.

"Are you the watch?"  Darcy called out.

"Aye, what's wrong?"

Darcy looked at Simon.  'You know him?"

Simon nodded.  "He's the watch captain this month."

"I need," Darcy began, and sensed the man beside him stiffen. Darcy decided to change his approach.  "We need your help.  We have good reason to believe someone may try to force their way into the Nunnery tonight and try to remove a lady within against her will.  The gates are to remain shut for the night."  After a brief moment, Darcy added, "The Reverent Mother's orders."

"Is this true, Simon?" asked the watch captain.

"Aye," Simon replied.  Reverend Mother gave me the orders herself."

"Captain, can you post men outside the gate?  And maybe a few along the wall?" Darcy asked.

"Yes, I've good men here" the watch captain replied.  "No one will enter or leave this night."

Relieved, Darcy nodded to Simon and turned back to the courtyard.  The Reverend Mother stood before him, hands in the sleeves of her habit.  An attendant sister stood to one side.

"We are secure, Master Darcy?" the Reverend Mother asked.

"As well as we can be for now.  Reverend Mother, if something does go wrong, may I suggest you and the sisters relocate to the church?"

The nun before him eyed him carefully.  "It has not always been a safe refuge," she said.

"Perhaps not," Darcy agreed.  "But is would put you all in a spot we can defend." 

"If the time comes," she said gravely.  "I shall consider it."

Darcy felt an odd relief that she had not said "when."

A familiar figure was standing not far away.  Lady Aliset!  The infirmarian stood at her side.

"Lady Aliset, are you alright?" Darcy asked as he approached.

"I am fine, though still a bit tired. Father Columcil was here, but stayed only a short time."

"So I'm told," Darcy said dryly as he rose from a quick bow.  He explained what had happened to cause the current situation.

'Lady Aliset," Darcy began carefully.  "If the situation becomes dire, I'd like for you to join the sisters in the church."

"Master Darcy, I am not helpless, as you well know."  She patted the dagger that hung once again from the belt of her monk's robe.

"That I do, which is why I would like you with the sisters." Darcy gave her a hopeful look.  "Perhaps you and the infirmarian could join the other sisters now?"

The infirmarian shook her head.  "I must prepare the infirmary in case there are injuries."

"I'd be happy to assist you, Sister Margaret, if that would be alright," Aliset said.

'Yes, we'll be that much better prepared."

Darcy did not argue.  His respect for the nuns was growing, and he could tell that Aliset's mind was made up.

"We'll also make sure the back gate to the infirmary is locked," Sister Margaret added.

"Back gate?  Why does no one think to tell me these things?" Darcy blurted out.

"Probably because you never ask anyone, Master Darcy."  Aliset smiled slightly at the puzzled look on her man-at-arms' face.  "But first I should introduce myself to the Reverend Mother, and thank her for all she and the sisters have done.  They risk much for us."

"Simon!" Darcy called as Lady Aliset walked away.  The man looked at him but did not move.  Darcy sighed.  "A moment, if you please."

Simon joined him and they moved into the infirmary.  "There is another gate here?"

"Aye.  The townsfolk use it when they need Sister Margaret's help."

"So most of the town knows about it."  Darcy sighed again.  "Simon, show me this gate: I'd like you to guard it."

Simon led them through a small courtyard to the back gate.  Darcy checked to make sure it was secure and left Simon beside it.  Simon was armed with a short sword.  Darcy hoped the man would not need to use it.

"Where will you be?" Simon asked.

"Anywhere and everywhere.  If anything seems wrong or suspicious, sing out and I'll come at once."

"Very well," Simon said.  He took up his post and kept a hand near the hilt of his sword.

Darcy turned to leave and paused.  "Thank you."

From the covered walk, Darcy surveyed the Nunnery grounds.  The watch was posted outside.  The labourer, who turned out to be large and substantial, was posted at the gate.  The steward drifted about, checking things here and there.  Simon was at the back door.  Most of the nuns had followed the Reverend Mother into the chapter house.  Lady Aliset, the infirmarian and another sister were preparing the infirmary.  There was nothing more he could think of to do to prepare.

All he could do now was remain alert and wait.

(Edited to be accurate with revanne's description of the courtyard and gate.)
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on January 13, 2018, 07:28:52 PM
Aliset was glad for the task at hand, glad she could lend her efforts in aid of the good sisters who had taken her into their protection, and grateful for the sense of control over her circumstances that the opportunity to do something--anything--helpful had afforded her.  She was still a little weary, for though she had managed some sleep, it had not been quite as much as she would have preferred under the circumstances, but if there was a chance the convent was to become the focus of an attack, she could hardly be such an ingrate as to ignore the threat of danger to go back to her sickbed! At least her shoulder injury had been Healed, and that was the important thing.

The thought brought to mind Father Columcil, who had left her bedside almost as suddenly as he'd shown up to her aid, gone God alone knew where.  Hopefully back to Sir Washburn's side.  Master Darcy seemed to have things well in hand helping the other men prepare to build up the convent's security.  Aliset sighed. When they'd arrived at the gates of the convent town, her hope was that they'd leave their cares outside its walls for at least a day or two, giving them some time to heal and recover from their injuries, revitalize their energies, and put their heads together to come up with some sort of an escape plan. But no, practically from the moment they'd arrived, her companions had scattered seemingly to the four winds!  Annoyance welled up in her.  How very much like men they were, wandering apart and dashing hither and yon acting all heroic rather than sticking together and covering each other's backs like sensible folk! She stifled a laugh as the irony dawned on her.  Of course they were acting like men, daft creatures!  They were men!  She just hoped, under the circumstances, that all their dashing about wouldn't get them killed, and especially not on her behalf.  After losing her father and her brothers so recently, she didn't think she could bear any more losses.  Not for her sake.  For the safe of Gwynedd remaining an intact kingdom, mayhap, should that become needful, but even losing any of them for so noble a cause would cut deeper than any sword. She'd grown curiously attached to the lot of them in the past few days, even though keeping up with them right now seemed to be more useless than attempting to herd cats.

But preparing an infirmarium for incoming casualties was something she was willing and able to do. Her mother had trained her well for such contingencies, for one never knew when one's manor lands might come under attack by reivers, and such outlaws did not always stick to stealing livestock. As she worked, cutting linen into strips for use as bandages and rolling them in preparation for use, she diverted her thoughts from the mindless task and cast out with her mind to see if she could detect the presence of any enemies nearby.
((2d6, 2 and 4, V#jmfpn5phrb))  For better or for worse, she could not. Hopefully that simply meant that there was no one close by who wished her ill, not that some unseen foe lurked nearby, cloaked from her senses, but alas, Aliset had no way of knowing.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on January 14, 2018, 12:33:08 PM
((See notes from "How things work"))
((Initiative tests for NPC's who have not attacked yet: we have: 6. thug 3 rolled: 1:4 + 3 = 7     8.Thug 4 rolled 2: 2 + 3 = 5. and 7. first guard to make it into the room behind Wash 3: 2 + 4 = 6.
(The last three guards following will not be in the fight unless it continues to the end of the next full round.)
Roll for attacks:Thug 3 he was moving first and attacking Culumcil in front of him. rolled 6 Verification Number: 1tnckzk5vx  Hit
                       Guard 1 attacking closest bad guy, that would be thug 4.  rolled 5 Verification Number: 23vskfdxwb  Hit
                       Thug 4 has 0 hit points left.))

The street thug took the shoulder wound with a viscous growl.  The tall lord with his deadly sword was far more than he wanted to contend with. No, not that sword. But the priest? He was in range, he only had a staff, granted it was a mean staff, but the thug had a sword. Damn if he was going to use it before they took him down.  And use it he did. He lunged at the priest making a viscous swing,  he was low, the strength of his arm was strong, more desperate than he ever remembered attacking before. It hit the priest in the thigh. A good solid bit. The thug felt the exhilaration of success.

The first guard to follow the young lord named Morgan was there ready to jump into the fray.  The man closest to him was the man hunched over, garbing his side after Morgan's attacking blade. His back was clearly open, an easy mark for a guardsman trained to do battle. The guard's sword was in hand, his swing was good. His blade came down hard across the street thug's back. As the street thug crumpled to the floor, the guard recognized the man's face. These men were the bad-blood that hassled the merchants in town. He had wanted to take them down for a long time, but had no reason to do so until now.

The motion in the room did not still. The biggest bully thug at Culumcil's feet was stirring, his pray was wounded, he would be pleased if he could add to the Priest's pain.

((restart the order of fighting that I listed in How some of this works, listing hit points remaining next to name:    1.Lead bully 1hp  2. Columcil 5hp. 3. Washburn 6hp. 4. Kieran 1ph 5. 2nd thug hitting Kieran 2hp. 6. 3rd thug, 1hp. 7. guard 1 3hp, then the other three guards,3hp each, if the fight persists, which I doubt.))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on January 14, 2018, 12:54:55 PM
(( Revanne can you roll for the bully thug, then roll for your own attack. Please if you would hold your Healing until Wash can be at your side. That is if you are willing to try and show a young lord how you use your gift. That is also if your are willing for forgive your forum friend Laurna for her bad luck with the dice. :-[))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on January 14, 2018, 03:57:43 PM
((Thug 1 2d6 roll 2+6=8 1dxf56665m (hmm that treble 6 is sinister)))
((Columcil 3d6 roll 5+4+4 =10 185d19g76t))

Columcil reeled backwards the pain shooting through his thigh like the touch of red hot metal. He lurched against the wall and put his hand back behind him to steady himself. There was no time for a healing even supposing that he could gain the necessary focus. He drew a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment willing himself to dispel the faintness that was threatening. He whispered a quick prayer of thanksgiving that Sir Washburn had returned in time and, please God, with enough help. Even as he thought this he was reminded that the fight was not yet over. A blade sliced up the inside of his calf and, his eyes bursting open, he saw that the man he had felled with his staff had revived enough to seek revenge. Sliding along the wall away from his assailant, the pain driving everything but thoughts of his own survival from his head, he swung his staff again and heard a sickening crunch as the man's skull cracked. The thug collapsed and lay still. Columcil sank to the ground and bundled his cloak against the wound in his thigh hoping to slow the bleeding.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on January 14, 2018, 04:43:11 PM
 Hell and Damnation!

"Columcil!" Washburn yelled. The priest was hit, not once but twice. The older man crumpled against the wall, hands on his leg. Redness quickly staining his robes. The street thug who had attacked the priest first was still standing. As was the man standing near Kieran. Both men looked in need of his help, they were too far apart to hit both with one swing of his great sword. Sir Washburn balance on his heels and swung strong at the man before Columcil. ((3d6 3,4,&2 Verification Number: 33dlszmbzq. What have I said all along, the dice hate me!)) A masterful dodge came from the enemy. Wash had rage in his veins as he made a cut back, using all his body's force into the blade's momentum. ((3d6 4,4,&3 Verification Number: 36gfp7d78q. I think I am going to go cry into my sewing project now)) The blade whizzed just over the man's head as he rolled far away to the far side of the room, thankful that sword had not cut him again.

:'( :'( :'( :'( :'(
((Can someone else roll for Kieran, I would end up being his demise if I rolled.))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on January 14, 2018, 05:48:22 PM
Kieran had at first lain still, rolling aside to avoid his attacker had made his head swim with renewed pain from the savage beating he had received. As his head cleared a little, though the throbbing in his arm was beginning to really pain him, he looked around. He saw the good father hit once, no twice. Though he was lashing out with his staff his hands were not made for combat, thought Kieran. No, he was a man of God and a healer too. This was wrong, and Kieran's thoughts flashed back to the horrors he had seen as a child inflicted on the good sisters. Kieran balanced the dagger in his hand and determined that if he must die he would take one of the traitors with him. He saw the young lord swing his sword - he was a good fighter but somehow his opponent dodged and Kieran threw his dagger with all his strength at the twisting back, ((1d6 3 2wdm3knvrs  >:( )) but his strength was failing and the weapon fell short. His intended victim swung round, picked up the dagger and with a cruel grin drew it across Kieran's throat ((1d6 6 295mlntgf7)). Kieran's eyes sought those of Father Columcil who despite his own increasing pain and horror made the sign of the cross, again mouthing the words of absolution watched by Kieran's agonised gaze. Then his eyes glazed over and his spirit was gone.

((possibly not what you had in mind, Laurna.  :'( :'( :'( - we might need some help down here.))

((modified because I had forgotten that the thug slit up Kieran's arm not his leg))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on January 14, 2018, 11:37:06 PM
((I would add a scene, but I am quite thoroughly lost as to who is still left standing and attacking whom, and with how many hit points left.  LOL!  But don't we have three guards who ought to be showing up at any moment now to put an end to any thugs left standing?))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on January 14, 2018, 11:46:45 PM
((Next turn, Guard 1 3hp. He is already in the fight and ready to swing.  Guard 2, Guard 3, and Guard 4 have arrived in the room just in time to see their friend, a man whom they likely admired, taken down.  The bad guys are: Thug 2 who just took out Kieran, who still has 2hp, and Thug 3 who has 1hp remaining, and had just injured Columcil.
Be my guest to make an end of this, so Wash can help Columcil.  My personal need to see people well and healed is coming through. ))

[Edited to add double parentheses since this isn't actually a story scene.--Evie]
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on January 15, 2018, 12:12:22 AM
((LOTS of loud cursing because I just did a metric crap ton of dice rolling to set up the scene I was about to write, only to accidentally close the tab and lose all of the stuff I copied and pasted into it! Arrrggghhh!!! Let me see if I can look in my email and salvage all of that roll info.  :(  ))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on January 15, 2018, 12:35:19 AM
((Par for the course)) :-\
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on January 15, 2018, 12:51:54 AM
((OK, let's try to set up this scene, shall we?

First, rolling for my guards (2d6 x 4, v#4|2r8x3w05):
G1--3 & 5 -success
G2--1 & 1 (uh oh!)
G3--5 & 2 -success
G4--4 & 4 (better luck next time)

Rolling for my thugs (1d6 x 2.  IIRC, their leader is already dead, so these two are less well trained, hence the 1d6 rolls.  V#15203r4zxk):
Thug who killed Kieran--4 (hah!)
Thug who attacked Columcil--6 (oops!)

Guards 1 and 2 are going after Kieran's attacker. Roll to see which side gets initiative. 1 to 3=Thug, 4 to 6=Guards.  Result=1. V#3xx7t00p42.

Guards 3 & 4 are going after Columcil's attacker, same initiative roll criteria. Rolled a 5. V#2gz9w29kb4. 

One more roll--did that guard who rolled snake eyes end up injuring one of his own comrades with that attack?  1d6 test roll. 1 to 3=Yes, 4 to 6=No. Rolled a 6. *sigh of relief!*

And now I'm going to save draft before writing the scene so I won't do something stupid and lose all this again! *dark muttering*))

Three guards burst into the room just in time to see their comrade slain, his blood spurting across the stone floor.  With mutual cries of rage, they sprang into action.  One of the guards leapt towards their leader, who was already facing down Kieran's killer, sword in hand, but before either of them could strike him down, the killer swung his weapon in a wild arc, attempting to strike down the man facing him with cold fury, but his swing was uncontrolled and he missed, if only narrowly.  The guard entering the conflict struck with zealous anger and with his full strength behind the swing, but in his grief over Kieran's death he missed his target entirely, instead slamming the edge of his blade into the wall behind the thug's head. The thug's startled leap away from the vengeful guard who'd nearly decapitated him proved to be the distraction needed for the leader of the guard to get in a solid blow of his own. The thug screamed in dismay as his weapon arm suddenly went numb, pierced to the bone on the guard leader's sword point.

Nearby, the other two guards coming through the door launched themselves at the other thug standing over the fallen priest. The first of the guards to reach them swung out at the brigand, who nimbly stepped just out of range of his sword swing before closing on him, landing a glancing blow on the guard's shoulder before the guard's companion managed to make it to his side to dispatch the foe with a killing blow.

The wounded guard turned his attention to Father Columcil, standing protectively over him as his friend who had just slain the thug at their feet turned to assist their other comrades. They surrounded the one remaining brigand, weapons prepared to strike him down if he tried any further attacks.

"My Lord," the guard leader said, "Shall we keep this one alive for questioning?"
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on January 15, 2018, 02:12:40 AM
"Tie him up!" Wash said in a dangerous voice.

He cast his gaze about the room. There was nothing to be done for the old guardsman Kieran. A ping of regret made the knight suck in his breath.  A younger guard, who obviously knew the older man, leaned over and closed the vacant eyes.

Wash then looked over the room to find Columcil sitting against the wall. Their eyes meet, "I don't suppose you could lend me a hand?" the priest asked with a half cocked smile. The priest eased his back to the wall, his hand holding his robe tightly around his thigh.  The smile morphed to a half grimace mixed with a laugh. "Thought you were never coming."

Washburn took the three long steps to knell at the priest's side. "Almost didn't, but hay, I've gotten to like you, old man. I know I should have let you taken those four on by yourself, I mean, I see you were holding your own there for a bit. But honestly don't do that again, not without me at least being somewhere nearby. I didn't expect you to come back here, you know." Wash shook his head with a faint smile. "Not that I was much help. Let me see if I can be better help to you now. Let me ease your pain, than let me help you with your focus."

The amber eyes gave the Corwyn knight the go ahead. Wash placed one hand on Columcil's wrist and one over his forehead. He steadied his mind and wished the priest's torchered nerves to ease. To release the pain.  ((Power trait 1d6 success is a 4,5,or 6.  Rolled 4,Verification Number: 2rxfz25pkj)) Wash let his shields fall away, he felt Columcil's shields, with their sense of familiarity; they too fell away. What followed was a shallow Rapport, smooth enough under the circumstances. Wash as a knight had helped his injured fellows in the field with this same ability. He knew how to help men sleep and how to ease their pain. This was a little different, however, Columcil needed to stay awake. The priest needed energy to find his own balance. Wash had been a recipient of the man's Healing abilities only a couple hours before.  He owed the man a debt and he would pay it anyway that he could.

Show me what you need me to do, he sent in mind speech across the link.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on January 15, 2018, 10:40:43 AM
Darcy Cameron stretched, trying to relax the tension in his shoulders.  He had stood many watches in his life, but the feeling that something might happen and not knowing what it would be was beginning to take its toll on his nerves.  Maybe he would check on Simon at the back gate.  Again.

Darcy moved in that general direction, but when he reached the infirmary, he saw through the open door that Lady Aliset was resting on one of the cots.  He decided not to disturb her; so far as he could tell Simon had been bearing up well and Darcy had no real cause to be concerned.

He changed his direction and strolled toward the main gate.  The labourer, now known to Darcy by the odd name of Patch, stood up from the chair he had been sitting on.

A sharp knock sounded on the gate.  "Who goes there?" Patch called out.

It was a member of the watch sent by Sir Washburn to update Darcy on what had happened in the town below.  Darcy was glad to hear that Sir Washburn was unhurt, and Father Columcil was recovering.  Darcy asked the man to let Sir Washburn know that they were still secure, and they would remain vigilant until they received further instructions from him.

One of the sisters came out from the nun's dormitory and walked over to the bell tower.  It was probably time for the last of the night offices, but Darcy had lost track of time and was not sure if it was the last or the first of the next day.  Such things were a little outside his areas of expertise.  He thought briefly of suggesting they dispense with the bell ringing but changed his mind.  He could not think of a good reason to not return to a small degree of normalcy.

He watched as the sisters, including the infirmarian and her assistant, filed into the church.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on January 15, 2018, 04:22:08 PM
Father Columcil had leant back against the rough stone of the wall, his emotional state almost as bad as the physical pain he was suffering. He had seen death before, many times, sometimes hard, painful death. But he had never before taken a life, and he had never, even for the few condemned men he had accompanied to the gallows, seen life taken with such vindictive enjoyment as poor Kieran's had been. But Sir Washburn was looking over towards him and, besides, he needed all his energies to focus on his own physical healing. He put his emotional and spiritual turmoil into the part of his mind where he kept that which was confided to him under the seal of the confessional and drew a mental veil over it, then turned to greet the knight with a smile, even managing a joke.

He was surprised at the warmth of the other's tone and at the gentleness of his touch; even more surprised at the ease with which the other's mind enfolded his as he felt renewed energy flow into him. Maybe he could even share what he felt as he healed. Close as their minds were it seemed natural to speak directly into the other's thoughts.

Place your hands on mine, and allow yourself to sense the energies. ((rolled to see if Columcil can mindspeak Washburn since they are in rapport 1d6 4,5,6 is "yes", 4 2r8xz1hjmw - yes!))

If Washburn was surprised by his use of mindspeech he made no sign but obeyed as Columcil pushed aside his gathered robe and placed his hands into the wound in his thigh. He focused on the torn blood vessels and sinews being rejoined and then withdrew his hands a little to allow the skin to knit. (( 2d6 3+6=9 17c4jvw8mp)) Then he slid his hands down his leg but the wound there though painful was little more than a scratch and required but little healing. Throughout it all he was aware of Washburn's hands on his and the touch of the other's mind and as ever the sense of another presence touching his at the moment of healing.

Columcil shook the skirts of his habit down and as he did so Washburn's touch gently withdrew from his mind. It crossed Columcil's mind to wonder whether he had been foolish to allow so close a touch from one so nearly related if he were to protect the secret of his parentage but without the energy so generously given he doubted that he would have had the strength to heal himself. This whole journey was taking a direction so far out of his hands that he would be best simply to trust that he was being led.

Turning to Washburn he said simply "Bless you, my son". Then more formally, "I'm rather out of my depth here, my lord, what happens now? Do you suppose it is safe to try and join Darcy and the Lady Aliset in the nunnery." He smiled and added, glancing down at the mess of clotted blood that was now the skirts of his robe, "I hope their Laundress will be as able and as welcoming as the Infirmarian."

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on January 16, 2018, 05:09:28 AM
Wash starred a long while at the folds of cloth caked in drying blood. His hand been where the cloth now lay.  Only a few moments ago, blood had oozed from a cut, a cut that had severed skin and muscle of the Priest's upper leg.  He had never followed a Healer in Rapport before. He had given energy to help a family member find the proper balance, yet he had always been the rascal baby brother, the fighter, the protector, the ornery one. No one had taken him in hand and showed him the mechanisms of Healing.  Even sitting here having witnessed it, he didn't understand it. What he sensed more than anything was a deep trance which opened a place deep in the Healer's mind, deeper than normal Rapport, deeper than spell workings, a place he had never thought existed before.  He tried to follow how Columcil did it. The Priest was evoking energies that were fiercely strong, yet delicately held in balance. Wash lost his identity  in that moment. One moment he was merely a vessel to draw upon...

((02:07 laurna This is a test of the rolling system on the chat board, but I am also testing 1d6 to see if Wash felt how Columcil could do Healing. This will not go toward the success/ failures for Healer. Yet if it is a success it will open Wash up to the possibility of Healing. If it doesn't succeeded, he will wait to try at an other time.
02:08 laurna !roll 1d6
02:08 derynibot 6 == 6
02:10 laurna Now that is AWESOME, Bynw you see this right. LOL! love it! P.S This does not count other than to awaken a feeling that Wash has the Healing gift deep inside.))
((Love you, Derynibot))

And... and... the next moment... a sensation bewildering and intoxicating sent his head to reeling. Something shook, something opened, and... and...  what followed...  a need to sooth away the other's pain... a strong need.

He was so overwhelmed by just that feeling, he missed the delicate balance that Columcil used to accomplish his task.  He missed it all. He was dazed and breathless as the Healer moved his hand to the second wound. Wash just sat back, unable to help with that. And then the robes were thrown back over the leg, the leg that was whole.  Columcil was talking something about Darcy and Aliset, something about a laundress and an Infirmarian.

Wash pulled himself to sit up straight. Now was not the time to show his weakness. Wash realized their small corner of the room was the only place of some calm.

Guards and town's men, men of authority, were crowding into the gate house. Someone was yelling off orders, another was cursing at the man tied up, and and there was general swearing in disgust at the bodies of the dead as they covered. The exception was the old guard Kieran. His body was carried away on the cot with care by six guardsman. The others were left where they lay.

Pretty soon eyes were moving to Wash and Columcil to ask questions, questions neither man had the energy to answer. Better to get some rest and tackle that problem with a clearer head.

"Yes, we need to find Aliset and Darcy. Can you stand?" He asked, finding the energy to stand himself. He bent over with a strong hand and pulled the priest to his feet.  The two escaped the gate house before the town constable had seen them go. 

They made the best pace they could manage uphill in the dark. Columcil carried his staff and Washburn his bear blade. Both bloodied in appearance, the townsfolk let them go, no one dared to stop them. 

They didn't get lost this time.  The men before the nunnery gate stopped them only long enough for Wash to yell out. "In the name of Lord Morgan, I ask that you permit us entry within. I must see that our companions are safe."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on January 16, 2018, 09:26:35 AM
"In the name of Lord Morgan, I ask that you permit us entry within.  I must see that our companions are safe."

At the sound of the voice outside the Nunnery's gate, Darcy Cameron sprinted across the courtyard.  Patch was moving to open the gate, but Darcy laid a hand on his arm to stop him.

"Sir Washburn," he called through the gate.  "Is it only you and Father Columcil?"

"Aye, Darcy," the knight replied.  "We are alone except for the guards stationed outside."  Darcy could be annoying, but Washburn would not fault his caution.

Darcy nodded, and Patch opened the gate, closing it quickly behind the two dishevelled men once they were through.

"Sweet Jesu," Darcy said, taken aback for a moment.  "You look awful.  Did you leave anyone alive?"

"Glad to see you as well, Master Darcy."  Washburn grinned. "You don't look that much better."

Darcy sheathed his sword and rubbed his hand along the several days of stubble on his jaw.  Loose, pale strands of hair from his border braid stirred in the faint breeze.  He held out his hand, grasping Sir Washburn' elbow as the other man grasped his.  Next Father Columcil.

"How fares Lady Aliset?"  Washburn asked.

"Follow me and ask her yourself."  Darcy lead them across the courtyard to the open infirmary door.  Lady Aliset was standing in the doorway, and the look of joy on her face at the site of her companions nearly stopped Darcy's heart.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on January 16, 2018, 01:39:58 PM
It was all Aliset could do not to launch herself across the courtyard and shower hugs and kisses on her approaching companions--and Master Darcy too, for that matter--from sheer relief at seeing them all together again, not to mention safe and relatively sound, if rather the worse for wear by all appearances.  Their bloodied and torn clothing spoke of dangers perhaps only barely survived, yet neither of them appeared to be injured now, so Aliset surmised that Father Columcil must have used his Healing gift on himself as well as perhaps on the good knight as well.  Surely all that blood had not simply come from their enemies, much as she might wish it?

But as she crossed the courtyard, she managed to maintain a proper sense of decorum, only her joyful smile belying her feelings. It would hardly do for her to scare poor Father Columcil back through the gates to seek refuge in the village from such feminine assaults, after all, and Aliset was certain the Reverend Mother would take a dim view of such an unseemly display towards men unrelated to her by bonds of blood or marriage.   Indeed she had already expressed a reluctance to allow Aliset to continue her journey with them unchaperoned on the morrow, and had offered to send a couple of the more matronly nuns along to serve as a more suitable escort for her upon their departure. Aliset's protests that haste was needed, an escort of nuns would both slow her party down and endanger the good sisters, and that Father Columcil, respectable priest that he was, would surely serve as a fit chaperone, had all fallen upon deaf ears until Aliset had been forced to reveal her means of disguise to the Reverend Mother in the privacy of the good abbess's study.  Afterwards, the abbess had grudgingly relented, allowing that if Aliset kept to a man's form for the rest of her journey, that ought to suffice to keep virtue and reputation untarnished until she arrived in Rhemuth.

But those watchful eyes were on her even now, so as Aliset reached her companions, she favored them with nothing more than a demure smile and polite inclination of her head in welcoming greeting.  "You are well come, my friends!  Come inside and rest.  I've arranged for some light fare, since I'm certain you must be hungry after our journey and all your recent exertions, and your clothing must needs be laundered and mended, if not replaced, before we can travel further." She grinned. "Don't worry, I've managed to secure a few clean tunics for you to change into.  I can't promise they'll fit properly, but at least you've been saved the need to wear nuns' habits while your clothes dry."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on January 16, 2018, 04:19:31 PM
As the fight in the gate house drew to a close and it was clear that the loyalists had been defeated, one of the guard slipped quietly out of the room as others were pouring in and let himself out quietly through the postern in the barred gate. He shut it quietly behind him; he knew of a way back in where the town wall backed onto a garbage strewn alley, little overlooked and even less traversed, though he doubted that would be using it. Some he knew would call him and his fellows separatists and traitors, but he preferred to name things as they were, if only to himself. They were loyalists; loyal to the ancient house of Meara, to the memory of Ithel strung up like a common felon, without trial, by the accursed Haldane so near to here that it was a wonder his ghost did not walk, and loyal now to his blood and the man who would see Ithel's grand-daughter rightfully crowned.

Not that those he had left behind deserved the title - useless as they had proved to be. Let them do as they would with Tomas, there was little enough that he could tell and at least those who had died had taken Kieran with them, old fool with his craven allegiance. The priest too seemed to be on the point of death, good riddance to him.

Besides he had worries enough of his own - he must contact his lord and face what surely would be his rage at being thwarted once again. As he walked towards those encamped just within the thickets at the side of the road he held his hands out to show that he bore no weapon but his demeanour was not one of submission. Showing the token common to those who served Grand-Duke Valerian and casting his eye somewhat disdainfully upon the ones shown in return, he spoke brusquely.

"It has not gone well. I shall need one of you to lend me energy to seek further instruction, and it is to be hoped, for all our sakes, forgiveness, though I do not say that we shall find it. Come! Quickly!" he ordered as those to whom he spoke huddled together in consternation, "It matters not who it is." With every word the manner of a subordinate was dropping from him, but he offered no explanation as to who he was or how he came to be a guard in such a town. It was enough that he was clearly Deryni and in touch with Grand Duke Valerian for the others to obey without question. It was likely their hope of mercy lay with him.

At a nod from the band's leader a man stepped out and allowed himself to be led away and seated not ungently with his back against the bole of a tree. The Deryni laid his hand on the other's forehead until his head nodded on his breast, then settled himself on the ground and pulled the other against him. Sinking into trance he reached out with his thoughts until he reached the one he sought and, with as much humble remorse as he could put into his mental tone, he made his report.

It was some while until he returned to the band now gathered anxiously together and they were reassured neither by the whiteness of his face nor the absence of their comrade. His voice, however, was somewhat softer as he said, "He will sleep until morning but he will take no harm." He would now be relying on these men for his safety, after all. He continued, "Well we are not dead yet, but there are to be no more mistakes. We are to withdraw from sight of the town keeping watch until we see how and when those his excellency seeks leave. The girl is to be taken alive, but we have bigger prey. Corwyn's brat is there and my lord wants him alive at all costs. The Haldane would pay dearly for his safe return.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on January 16, 2018, 05:41:47 PM
Grand Duke Valerian sat at a great desk contemplating what was in store for the future. Speaking his mind out loud into the shadows as he did. "It doesn't really matter if Oswald's men manage to capture the girl or not. Our agents in the Rheumth Court will tell us what happens to the girl and her lands when it is decided. Even loosing them back to the Haldane can be part of the plan. Let him win a few so he feels like he still has control of Meara. The Haldane will not know of our involvement. But." He says standing up and pacing the floor. "But, the Duke of Corywn's brother. Now that is a prize worth having indeed."

"Go by Portal to make that happen." The Grand Duke speaks again to the shadows in the room. "And this time take the Merasha with you for your crossbow. Rob him and any other Deryni that gets in our way of their power. Take no chances. Hit them all with a bolt or two. Even a human will loose his edge while under the influence."

The shadow moves wordlessly out of the room while Grand Duke Valerian returns to his desk and gazes out the window overlooking the courtyard in thought.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on January 16, 2018, 06:13:23 PM
((Hit us with one or two crossbow bolts rather than just regular arrows shot from a longbow?  Dang, that man hates us! LOL!))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on January 17, 2018, 09:49:17 PM
Darcy Cameron carefully poured the warm water over Sir Washburn's head.  The Deryni knight, sitting in the tub of bath water, enjoyed the warmth as the soap was rinsed off of his body.  He stood up, stepped out of the tub and accepted the rough, clean towel Darcy held out for him.

"You'll go next, Father?" Darcy asked.

"You go ahead," Father Columcil said generously.

They were in the room the nuns usually used for their own ablutions.  Patch had carried in several bucket of steaming water, filling up the wooden tub.  He had also brought a large basket for their dirty clothes.

Darcy did not hesitate.  He stripped off hose, shirt and breeches, tossing them into the basket.  As he stepped into the tub, both of his companions noted the numerous scars across his back.

"Discipline at sea must have been harsh," Father Columcil said gently.

"Not so much," Darcy replied.  "Half of them were from my stepfather."

"Is that why you ran away to sea?" Columcil asked.

Darcy barked a sharp, bitter laugh.  "The bastard sold me to sea."

Washburn started to say something, but Columcil shook his head.  He had heard of such things before.  Sometimes general talk, sometimes under the seal of the confessional.

Darcy hesitated for a moment, grasping the worn leather pouch on the cord around his neck.  It would not do to get it soaked with water.

"I'll hold it for you," Father Columcil offered.

Darcy hesitated for several long moments.  Then he removed the pouch and handed it to the priest. "Sorry, Father, but it's not mine.  I made a vow to a dying man to deliver it to a nephew in Desse." Father Columcil noted the small, tarnished silver ring hanging from a newer silver chain around Darcy's neck that he did not remove.

"I can respect that," replied Columcil.  "It will be safe with me,"

Darcy lowered himself into the water.  With a practised move, he untied his border braid, ran his fingers through it to set the pale hair free, and dunked his head under the water.

Washburn felt a pang of envy.

Columcil held the pouch in his hand.  He could feel square cubes inside the leather.

Darcy surfaced, water streaming from his hair.

"Do you know what is inside this pouch?" Columcil asked carefully.

"Aye, funny dice." Darcy said.

"You looked inside?" Washburn asked.

"Of course," Darcy replied. "I want to know if I'm carrying anything that might get me killed." He scooped a handful of soft soap and scrubbed.

"May I have a look?"  Columcil asked.

Darcy hesitated a moment in his scrubbing, but could not think of a reason to deny the request.  He nodded agreement.

Columcil opened the pouch and poured the contents into his hand.  Four obsidian cubes and four ivory cubes tumbled out.

"Ward cubes! Washburn exclaimed, and forgetting himself, engulfed Darcy in the bucket of rinse water.

"Hey!" Darcy sputtered.  "Have a care, man!"

"Sorry," Washburn said.

"What are ward cubes?" Darcy asked cautiously.

Columcil fingered the cubes in his hand.  They were old, very old.  He could feel a faint tingle of power. "They enable powerful ritual magic," he said.  Darcy gave him a blank look.

"Was the man who entrusted these to you Deryni?' Comuncil asked carefully.

"Aye," Darcy replied.  "They belonged to the Quartermaster.  I knew he was Deryni, but I don't' think many others knew.  The Captain might have, but it was not a question I was going to ask."  Darcy stepped out of the wash tub and accepted a towel from Washburn.

"Darcy, this could help us greatly if we are in need.  Will you let us use them if we need to?"

Darcy considered for a moment, dimly remembering something odd the Quartermaster once said. He could not quite it remember it clearly.  "If they are needed to get Lady Aliset to Rhemuth, use them as needed."

Columcil nodded, returned the ward cubes to the pouch, and handed it back to Darcy.

"You're next, Father," Darcy said, stepping away from the tub.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on January 18, 2018, 02:42:59 AM
((Lovely little episode, Jerusha))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on January 18, 2018, 05:18:40 AM
Senses open-- pathways searching-- time progressing-- no response.

An ancient family relic which had passed from generation to generation was cupped front and back between his palms. This large coin-like pendant was one of the few original Saint Camber medals to survive from the time of Camber's first canonization; it was two and a half centuries old. Its power was subtle, not easily recognized by someone who was not of the family line. For a descendant of Camber, such as Alaric had been ( Duchess Richenda had discovered that connection in their family line back when Kelric was just a babe), this silver medal held knowledge and powers that opened pathways that few other spell-casted objects could achieve. Kelric touched the face engraved on the medal's surface. Using his focus, he centered down to search deeper. His brother once again was not contacting him during their scheduled Rapport. Compline had come and gone. It had been three days since they had last made contact.  They had agreed a week ago that every three days they would make contact at the hour of nine. Kelric felt blind about what was going on. His brother should have more respect than to leave him dangling like this.  The distance between them was great, too great for any one person to make. Kelric centered deeper....

((01:20 laurna Hello Bynw, I am here to make a dice roll.
01:24 laurna It is just after compline, Kelric is casting out with his Saint Camber Medal to make a scheduled contact with Wash. Only Wash is occupied in combat in the gate house, 2d6 roll to see if he can sense anything from his brother.
01:25 laurna !roll 2d6
01:25 derynibot 3, 6 == 9
01:25 laurna I love these dice.))

...fleeting sensations: rage and exhaustion... fleeting images: a flash of a sword, a dagger slicing flesh, blood pooling on the floor under the fallen man, rage at a man who dodged away... "Kel"... another man, a priest by the look of him, taking a wound in the leg... "Kel"... anger flared, unable to prevent the wounding of a friend... "Kelric, come quickly!"

An anxious feminine voice broke his trance. The urgency of his wife's Mind Speech caused Kelric to turn his full focus upon his beloved. "It fell!" she called desperately, "I can't get them out! Help us!"  The vision she sent was of the twins' bed, the mattress lying askew against the floor. The heavy canopy and curtains crumpled down over something that moved underneath.
 
The Duke of Cowyn ran faster through the family's residential rooms of Coroth Castle than he ever had before. He shoved the door aside which led through to the children's playroom. His youngest boys' room was across from the entrance, the door wide open. Araxandra Haldane Morgan was standing there, one arm up, straining to hold the broken canopy rail; her other hand searching beneath the fabric for a squirming, crying child. From the amount of movement seen,  both the boys must be trapped underneath.

"Oh Lord!" Kelric exclaimed, grabbing with both hands the crossrail that Araxa could no long hold high. Seemingly uncaring for her own safety if the canopy should fall, the duchess dove headlong into the fabric pile, pulling forth one crying child. She placed him at his father's feet and then reached back into the fabric, farther this time to come up moments later with their second twin boy. Alain's face was smeared in blood from a cut over his left eye. He didn't cry; only his arms wrapped firm around his mother's neck showed his distress.  Araxa enfolded him in her arms. Speaking softly to him, she carried him over to the hearth and the settle before it, nestling down onto the cushioned seat to comfort her six year old.

"Is that all" Kelric asked, afraid to let the canopy fall too soon. "Bisket! Get Bisket too," Alain yelled over his mother's shoulder. That would be the new puppy's fate to be in the middle of this mess, mayhaps he had been the catalyst to this disaster.

Kelric turned his mind's eye to find the black and gold bundle of fur. Sure enough, his psychic senses touched on the puppy's fear, "Come to papa," Kelric called, using his talent at establishing animal rapport. One hand let go of the beam, lifting the fabric up in time to see a black nose appear. "Duncan, pull Bisket free, save him for papa." The boy at his feet stopped sniffling and pulled at the puppy's front legs until the dog was free.  With a sigh of relief, Kelric let the canopy rail down.  It made a final crash as it came to rest upon the floor. The duke scooped his six-year-old son up into his arms. He paced quickly over to the settle, noticing just then his elderly mother, the Dowager Duchess Richenda, enter the room. She had his two younger daughters under each of her arms. Richenda reached Araxa's side at the same time Kelric did, taking the uninjured grandson from him into her arms.  The boy was getting to be a big boy, almost too big to carry for a lady in her sixties. She settled on the far end of the settle, keeping the boy in her lap, soothing his fears.

Kelric's fingers touched Alain's forehead. The duke, who had inherited so much from his father, had inherited his Healing gift as well.  He was shaking a little to see his son injured, but Araxa was already soothing her young Alain with her words and bringing down his pain so his papa could clean the blood away and see the full length of the gash. Kelirc as quick to fall into his Healer's trance, it rarely failed him after so many years of experience. His wife and his mother were there to help if that was needed. Neither lady could use the Healing powers themselves, yet both were as familiar with the power as if they could. The briefest sense of another's hands and the boy was whole, resting his head down, letting his mother encase him within her caring arms.

"That old ducal bed should have been tossed long ago." Richenda sighed. "Nineteen years ago, I had them remove it from my room. I could not sleep in it, I just couldn't, the memories...." The dowager enfolded the three grandchildren in her arms.

Araxandra looked shamefaced. "It was the only bed big enough, with the two boys growing so fast. I am sorry, maman Richenda." 

"We'll have a new one built for them, stronger than that old beechwood. At least my family is safe."

Though the dowager was sure her words were true, her son sunk down to his knees before her. "Maman, I fear that not all the family is safe."

"Not safe? Your four are here before me. Your two eldest are at Rhemuth, part of the King's household. Nothing could have happened to them."

"Kenric and Kelsonie are fine. It's not my children that I worry for, but rather my brother. Wash was in a fight tonight, somewhere on the Mearan border. It looked far more serious than a brawl."

"Show me!" Richenda requested, her hands grasping her son's wrist, her shields dropping away. Kelric revealed all that he had seen, showing her also how her youngest son had gladly accepted the quest to go to Meara to escort a baron's surviving daughter to Rhemuth to make her plea with the king for her murdered family and captured lands. 

"How could I refuse a friend's dying request? I know, I know, I only heard Lord Alister in a dream, but I did hear him. He needed his sister to be saved from the man who had giving him his death wound. I couldn't save Alister, but Wash was closer than I was. He could reach Aliset far sooner than anyone else I could send.  He knows what is at stake. He will see her honorably to the gates of Rhemuth."

"We're going to Rhemuth!" the dowager declared suddenly. "All of us!" She nodded to the whole ducal family.

"Maman, the Rhafallia II isn't due in port for another two days," her son said.

'Not by ship, by Portal. The three of us can bring the children though. I want my whole family together. I don't know why, but I feel a storm is brewing. It is not a good feeling." The lady's blue eyes had a haunted look, like she had just seen a ghost walk before her as she stared at the bed curtains that were crumpled in a heap. Curtains that at one time had been a part of her happiest days. 
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on January 18, 2018, 10:43:16 AM
Aliset sat on her bed in the small chamber the abbess had thoughtfully provided for her apart from her male companions in the guesthouse.  In her hands was a goblet of wine, although thus far it had remained untouched. She stared into its depths, watching the flicker of nearby firelight shimmer on its dark surface as she focused intently, attempting to conjure up a vision of those remaining pursuers who meant her and her fellowship harm.

((Test to see if Aliset can scry for enemies.

Evie    !roll 2d6
@derynibot    5, 1 == 6 ))

As she watched, the surface of the wine began to shimmer, the firelight replaced by a vision of another fire...a bonfire?  She sensed it was nearby.  Was that the silhouette of the village walls she could see in the distance?  Aliset attempted to get a closer look at the men she could see seated around the fire. She got a vague impression of faces in the firelight's glow before the scene shifted.

Another man, darkly handsome. She had seen this face before, when she'd gained impressions from the dead man's amulet, and seeing it again made her recoil in revulsion at the evil she sensed from him.  He was speaking to another man, giving orders from the look of things, although she could not hear him. The other man turned to leave.

((Check to see if Valerian senses her attempt
!roll 2d6
2, 3 == 5

Check to see if Aliset sees anything else
!roll 2d6
2, 1 == 3 ))

Sensing the handsome man's power, Aliset feared he might detect her scrying and attempt to track it back to its source, so she quickly returned her consciousness to the here and now, downing the contents of the wine goblet.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne 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.


Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha 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.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie 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."

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha 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.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie 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."





Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw 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.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne 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.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha 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))

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie 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.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha 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!
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna 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.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne 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."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw 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.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha 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.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie 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.))

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on January 22, 2018, 06:28:06 PM
(( Your luck has been much better than mine at the dice.  I'll leave it to you.  ;)))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on January 23, 2018, 05:52:02 AM
It was a bit unnerving to see the town gates open, allowing all manor of folk to enter and leave as they desired. The guards were attentive, waving through the locals that they knew, questioning the drivers of carts which were stacked with goods, giving warnings to young men who on other days had been the cause for trouble, but generally, they turned no one away. It was market day. The town relied on the trade of goods to stay independent of the political currents.

Washburn walked the square  wondering if he had been noticed with so much else going on. He entered the gate house, that room which had been the center of last evening's ordeal.  The room had been cleaned, the floor spotless, his belongings missing: the Lendour tunic gone, his chain-mail gone. He turned to leave when the guard captain entered behind him. At least someone was paying attention. Washburn thought.

"My lord, you should have come to see me first," the captain declared.

"Aye. I was on may way to do so," Wash replied casually. "I have questions for your prisoner. Have you learned anything from him?"

"Not anything that you wanted to hear. Tomas, doesn't seem to know too much."

"No? Certainly, he has told you why he and three others were determined to kill me, and why they marked a good man like Kieran with such zeal?"

"Poor Kieran, he was a good man. A man most loyal to the nunnery and to the kingdom. Just hearing you were a Morgan set his pride on the line. That line got him killed." There was anger in the captain's words.

Wash nodded in understanding. "He was your friend."

"He was." The captain's stern glare challenged Wash.

"I owe him my life; a debt I can not repay in full today, but one that I will not forget." Wash sighed. "Will you take me to see Tomas?"

"I already told you he has little to tell. He and those other three were bully's, trouble makers in these parts. Hassled the merchants for protection fees. The town guards did their best to keep them controlled, still those boys were known to beat up a man or two who did not pay.  This is the first I heard of them killing."

"Oh, they didn't seem strangers to the notion, if you ask me," claimed the knight.

The captain grimaced at that. After a moment, he seemed to have made up his mind. He waved Wash out the room. "Follow me." He lead Sir Washburn to the barracks and down into the dungeon. Tomas was chained to the wall. He looked like he had gotten a beating since last Wash had seen him. An uncivilized brutal form of interrogation. Wash considered his Deryni methods far less barbarian, though he knew few humans would think so.

"May I question your prisoner?" Wash asked, knowing that what he asked may be difficult for any human to accept. "I need to know what he knows."

The captain's fists clenched and released. "His soul isn't for you to steel. He must face God to earn his judgment. Not  be condemned by your mere touch before he can get there."

Wash took a deep breath and steadied his ire. Here on the border's of Meara, the old ideals of fear of his race, had not fully given way to tolerance and knowledge.

"I don't have the means or the time to convince you that my abilities are not evil. Seeking the truth is far from evil, in my book. I will Truth read the man, for I want justice for Kieran, as I am certain that you do too."

The captain said nothing but he did step back a pace to allow Wash to move within arms reach of the prisoner. The young man looked up with a determined arrogance, which disappeared with a single touch of the knight's finger upon his forehead. Wash hadn't the need to do that, yet sometimes for the captain's sake, it was better to make it look like such a touch was necessary.

((02:20 laurna Wash Truthreading Tomas.
02:20 laurna !roll 1d6
02:20 derynibot 5 == 5))

"Tomas who ordered you to kill me?"

"Kyle," the man answered. 

The captain's eyes rolled. "Kyle's dead, he's the one who killed Kieran."

"How did Kyle get his orders?"

"Phyer made the order for Kyle to kill you."

Wash looked over at the captain, but the man had no idea who Phyer was.

"Tell me about Phyer, who is he?"

Tomas squirmed under Washburn's touch. There was a trigger there, one placed by a Deryni.

Before the trigger could released, Wash had both his hands over the man's eyes; he delved deep for that block.

((02:36 laurna Wash overpowering a trigger in the prisoner
02:37 laurna !roll 1d6
02:37 derynibot 4 == 4))

Wash found the trigger, it was sloppily placed. He removed it, freeing up the memories of a man named Phyer. It was a code name. Phyer had contacted Kyle only a few months before. They had done odd jobs for him. Mostly brutalizing the citizens who were most loyal to Gwynedd. Leaving those who were Mearan born alone. Tomas had never seen Phyer's face. He had heard his voice often enough from a man behind a brown cowl. Wash placed the memory of that voice in his mind. If he heard it he was certain he would recognize it. There was little else that Tomas could show him. Wash released the prisoner, who looked at him wide eyed. 

"That man Phyer, would have seen you dead," the Corwyn knight said. "Be glad I just released you from his influence, you may yet live another day."

"To see the hangman's gallows," the captain decreed.

Returning back to the main floor of the barracks, Wash was intercepted by a lanky fellow carrying a shirt of chain-mail. His chain-mail; he recognized it by the buckles. "My lord," the man bowed. "By orders of the captain, I spent the night mending the rents in the links. It is whole and ready to be worn again."

A smile passed the knight's lips as he handled the mail, all signs of damage removed. "You have a talented gift, my friend. I thank you." He was quick to pass two gold coins over to the man. Wash left the barracks with a word that he would make a prayer at the Church for the departed guard's soul.

True to his word, the knight was soon kneeling in prayer beside the pall that Guardsman Keiran laid upon. If this man had not opened the gates when he had, Wash may very likely be dead.  Keiran had also helped in his healing and his prayers reflected his thankfulness to the soul of such a good man. He had two coins in his hand as he stood to leave, he had meant to give them to the priest for the widow. But it was the widow who caught his eye as she sat very quietly off to the side, her head draped in black, a youth was seated beside her.  Wash waved the boy over.  The boy of twelve or so came forward, bending a knee to the tall lord. "How do you know this man?" Wash asked.

"He is my father," the boy said proudly.

"Aye, then, I will tell you that your father was a great man. He was loyal and honorable. I want you to be proud of him. I want you to know that he died in his duty, serving his king. I will tell King Kelson what your father has done. And his name will be spoken well of at court. If the day comes that you want to serve the king like your father did, you can come to Rhemuth, speak his name to the captain of the guard, and he will see that you get the training that you seek." He took the two gold coins he was holding and placed them in the boy's hand. "Give these to your mother and thank her for me." The boy was wide eyed for a moment.  He bowed and then scurried back to his mother. Wash gave her a respectful node, and then he left the church.

He had one last duty to make this morning. He walked back up to the convent. Gaining entrance from Simon, he asked the nun who came to greet him for a private moment with the abbess.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on January 23, 2018, 02:05:14 PM
Darcy Cameron looked around the town square at the crowded market stalls.  At this hour, activity was at its height.  No one seemed to take note of their presence, but if someone watched from the shadows or a nearby building, he could not tell.

"My Lady," he said quietly to the woman beside him.  "Father Columcil said he would head back to the Nunnery on his own?"

The woman beside him nodded.  "He thought we would be safe enough."

"The Reverend Mother may be the greater danger when you return alone with me."

Lady Aliset laughed lightly.  "Just don't throw me over your shoulder to add to her current level of concern."

Darcy grinned and they made there way back up the street leading to the Nunnery.  They spoke little, neither one wanting to say anything that might catch someone's attention.

Simon let them in the gate, and when asked, told them that Sir Washburn was with the Reverend Mother.  Father Columcil might have returned, but he was not sure.

"Let's check the guest house to see if he's there," Darcy suggested as he started in that direction. "If he is, he'll be chaperone enough we can sit inside.  With the door open."

Father Columcil was in the guest house.  He had secured a small pitcher of ale and several cups.  Aliset seated herself on the room's only stool, positioning it so she could be seen from the doorway.  Darcy sat down the on his bed from the night before, removed his leather cap and scratched his head with both hands.  Several strands of pale hair came loose from the braid, falling along the sides of his face.  He brushed them back and accepted the cup of ale offered by the priest.

"Do we have a plan?" Father Columcil asked, seating himself on the bed opposite Darcy.

Darcy took a healthy drink of his ale.  "Not really, but Sir Washburn and I came up with a few possibilities."

"Yes?"  Aliset asked eagerly.

"All have some risk. There may be a tunnel or passage under the town wall; they are not uncommon where I come from, and Sir Washburn is familiar with the one at Castle Coroth.  If there is one, and right now it's a big if, it's not likely we could get the horses through.  Someone would have to bring them round to meet us, and that is a risk."

"Other possibilities?" Columcil asked. 

"We thought about trying to get someone to smuggle us out in a wagon or two, but unless our horses draw the wagon, there is still getting the horses brought to us to deal with."

"That's all?" Aliset asked.

Darcy smiled ruefully.  "Other than those two, everything else we came up with was pretty much garbage. Sir Washburn," he added, "did intend to ask the Reverend Mother about a tunnel or passage."

Aliset looked thoughtful but said nothing. 

Suddenly restless, Darcy drained his cup, stood and walked over to the door.  They needed to be on their way soon; they didn't dare stay here much longer.  Yet he also knew that the danger would increase as soon as they left.  He spotted a familiar figure approaching from across the Nunnery courtyard.

"Ah, here comes Sir Washburn," Darcy announced. "Whether the Reverend Mother knows of a tunnel, or if she will tell us if she does, is a roll of the dice."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on January 24, 2018, 04:37:30 AM
"...is a roll of the dice," Darcy was saying as Wash entered the guest room.

"Master Darcy, I know there is little to do on shipboard during your off-hours, but Dice? Certainly by now, you have learned that those are always a bad prospect. Dice rarely roll to your benefit. At least they have most certainly given me bad percentages of winning. I can tell you, I am not lucky at dice." Wash laughed as he pretended to roll a set of dice onto the floor. He looked at the invisible dice and laughed again. "Ah a good roll! For the first time in a long time." He gave his companions a broad smile. "Now, give me four white and four black dice and I can have the power of the Gods'. Sorry Father, just saying hypothetically," he laughed at Columcil's chagrin. "If only one young nephew of mine had not Borrowed," he stressed the word, "my dice, I might actually wield said power." He poured himself some of the ale and sat down on his bed. "Your stuck with me the way I am," he added in a demur tone. One hand brushed across the back of his head. "Owy! Starting to feel like a mowed church lawn. Do you have to shave your tonsure every day to keep it?" He asked the good father with a happy jest. Happy that his was going to grow out soon, that is.

Father Columcil only shook his head. "Doesn't take long before it stops growing and you rarely have to shave. You certain you don't want to be a monk a little longer. One or two more shaves is all that it might take." The good father laughed at the horor that crossed the young man's face.

"Ah no. I will leave that for men with true vocations. That would not be me. Forgive me Uncle Duncan." Wash said to the ceiling.

"So...?" Master Darcy asked as Wash took a long drink.

"Yes," Wash said in answer.

Darcy looked pleased.

"Learned a little something from Tomas. It seems those four were hired by a man using the code name Phyer. I want to show you what I learned. Yet..."

((02:20 Laurna Wash sharing what he learned.
02:20 Laurna !roll 1d6
02:20 derynibot 1 == 1))

He stumbled over the memory like it hurt him. Had some of Phyer's shielding of his identity come across to Wash during his Truth Reading? Wash put his head in both hands and concentrated.

((02:30 Laurna new roll to shield the information in his mind to keep it contained.
02:30 Laurna !roll 1d6
02:30 derynibot 1 == 1
02:30 Laurna What did I just say about dice rolling))

It was no good, his head hurt more than ever. "Aliset...I..." He couldn't say more...
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on January 24, 2018, 09:27:34 AM
"Sir Washburn?!"  Aliset stared at the knight in alarm. Something evidently was blocking his ability to share what he had learned, but what new twist of magic was this?  She knew, of course, of ways to block someone's memories from being accessed in the first place, but blocking another person from being able to share memories gleaned from someone else was new to her.  She searched her minds for what might be causing this even as she reached her hands out to lay them on either side of his head, making soothing noises as she probed gently within his mind in an attempt to see what was causing his distress.

((09:22   EvieAliset   !roll 2d6 to get past Wash's block
09:22   derynibot   4, 6 == 10))

How curious!  There was some sort of compulsion to remain silent there, even though Aliset could not figure out how one might have been transferred from one Deryni mind to another. But that was something to ponder at leisure some other time.  It was sufficient that she managed to find and eliminate it.  That task done, she gave a sigh of relief and stepped back, smiling encouragement at Sir Washburn and awaiting what he had to share.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on January 24, 2018, 03:11:31 PM
"Aaah!" Washburn sighed. "My thanks to you can not be expressed enough. I am guessing the trigger this man called Phyer set in Tomas was not as sloppy a setting as I had thought. I really do need to go back to the Schola to finish my training." He looked sheepishly at the lady, hating to admit his own weaknesses. "What I wanted was to share with each of you was this man's voice. If you hear it anywhere, I want you to be able to recognize the man were up against. At least the local one from Droghera." He looked around at the four seated before him. "Let us try this again." Wash lifted both hands palm up before him. "Touch my hands if you will, Darcy you may join us. If you think you can drop those shields long enough to do so. If not, I understand. Aliset should be able to share with you what she learns separately. No judgement from me either way. All right?"

Aliset stayed standing behind Wash, her hands on his head, just in the case he still felt distress from the sharing. Columcil joined his hand to the knight's right hand. After hesitation, Darcy grasped Wash's left hand. Though dropping those shields of his was not an easy prospect. He didn't completely. If he dropped them enough for get Washburn's information of Phyer, Wash honestly could not tell.

Wash opened to the memory of Phyer giving his orders to Kyle, Tomas, and the two others. The voice was deep with a very slight Torenthi accent. Almost a fake border brogue added, though it was not a born Mearan brogue.

After a moment, Wash himself pulled away. "My brother makes Rapport look so easy," he said with a slight shake of his head.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on January 24, 2018, 06:42:31 PM
Darcy Cameron hesitated a moment and then grasped Washburn's left hand.  He barely knew what shields were, how was he to lower them?  Bloody hell!

Darcy felt a reproachful whisper in the back of his mind.  A woman's soft voice, admonishing that such language was not proper from a Son of Isles. Gently, she encouraged him to lower the barriers, like the tide rolling back from the shore.

It did not come easily, but he pulled them back just enough to receive Washburn's remembrance of the voice.  Darcy accepted it into his memory; he would not forget it.  Just as he had not completely forgotten the voice of his mother.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on February 02, 2018, 11:34:37 AM
A day later

It had not after all been the same day that they rode out; it had proved too difficult to decide on the safest way of leaving their refuge. Columcil had even suggested, only half in jest, that they should wait where they were in the hope that Washburn's message had got through and even now half the Cassani army were thundering towards their rescue. It had not gone down well with the youthful ardour of his companions, in fairness he had had to agree that their continued presence would sooner or later put the townsfolk in even greater danger than they had already. He did not want another Kieran on his conscience.

However perhaps there was something to be said for giving the appearance of staying a little longer, to put those who were watching them off their guard if only slightly. He had breakfasted with Father Eifion after morning Mass and had relished the ample fare, the first really satisfying meal since they had left Culdi. The meal provided in the nunnery guest house, though sufficient for bodily needs, lacked both variety and taste. Father Eifion, noting his guest's enthusiasm, had given the name of an alehouse in the town which had a name for both the quality of its ale and its venison pies. It might, of course, be a trap but if Eifion was in the pay of the separatists then their chances of getting out alive were slim anyway. Better to face your Maker full of good ale and meat. As Columcil made his way back to the guesthouse, he prayed earnestly that he would not find Aliset there this morning and, thinking that, fell to wondering whether it would be possible to find a way for her to accompany them on their foray into town. Otherwise he feared it would fall to him to be left behind while Darcy and Washburn took full advantage of his intelligence.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on February 02, 2018, 01:45:59 PM
"I think she should come with us," Darcy Cameron said as he shoved his foot into his boot and tapped his heel sharply on the floor a few times to make sure the fit was correct. Father Columcil, Sir Washburn and he were in the Nunnery guest house. He reached for the second boot.

"I'm not sure the Reverend Mother will allow it," Father Columcil said thoughtfully.  "Perhaps if she shifts into her Lord Alister disguise...."

"I'm of two minds about that," Darcy admitted.  "I wonder if it might be better if she came with us as herself."

"I'd say that's a bit risky, Master Darcy," Washburn interjected.

"If we hope to give the impression that we are not in a hurry to leave, it might be better if she goes as herself."  He held out his hand to forestall the objection he was sure Sir Washburn was about to make.  "I carried a young lady up to the Nunnery; if we show up with a young lord, that will raise questions and perhaps give away her ability to be someone else."  Darcy firmly moved his mind away from the memory of that particular warm body in his arms. 

"We cannot risk her safety," Washburn said firmly.

"I agree.  We can make it an early night and be back well before dark. Whatever plan we decide on to get us away to Rhemuth, we need to make an early start."  Darcy paused a moment.  "Father Columcil, if you asked Father Eifion to join us, Sir Washburn and I would each have a priest to ensure we are honourable in a public house.  Do you think the Reverend Mother would object?  She can't very well keep Lady Aliset a prisoner here."

Father Columcil looked doubtful.  "I think what we must do first is ask Lady Aliset what she would like to do.  There is no point in annoying the Reverend Mother more than we already have if Lady Aliset doesn't want to come with us."

"Aye," Darcy agreed.  'I have noticed that Lady Aliset knows her own mind."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on February 02, 2018, 02:20:18 PM
((Technically these scenes would all go before revanne's scene above. Dhugal would have made his contact after bedtime, when he would be most likely to be able to get a message through to Richelle in her sleep.  Dice roll was done on 1/22 when I did the other rolls for him, but just as a reminder, I am copy/pasting those results here:

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


Duncan would have left Ballymar to return to Rhemuth after receiving Duncan Michael's news, and Jass would have ridden forth with his retinue the following morning at daybreak.))
======================================
Early evening ((I don't recall what time the messenger arrived, but I'm guessing this timestamp would work.))

Duncan McLain stepped out of the Portal niche in what had once been his study before he became Archbishop of Rhemuth and Father Nivard had taken his place as the Rector of Saint Camber's Schola.  John looked up in mild surprise as Duncan entered the room.

"You're early," John remarked with a welcoming smile.  "We weren't expecting you back for another day or two."

Beside John, Sister Helena--better attuned to Duncan's moods even though he made no conscious attempt at rapport with her at that moment--met Duncan's eyes with a concerned frown, laying the scroll she was reading on her lap absently. "What's wrong?"

"Something seems to be afoot in Meara," he answered as he crossed the room towards the door, "but at this point it's still hard to know what. I need to consult with Kelson, though." He paused at the door to spare them a brief glance over his shoulder. "Not meaning to sound so mysterious, but this feels urgent. I'll try to get back later tonight with a fuller explanation. I understand Richenda is here in Rhemuth?"

Helena nodded. "She and the rest of the family arrived last night."

"Good. Apparently she's sensed...something.  It would be good to know more particulars. And the more Deryni minds we can turn to putting together the pieces of this puzzle, the better."

"Ours are at your service, Your Grace, if you have need of them," Father Nivard reminded him.

Duncan grinned back at him before continuing out the door.  "I was rather counting on that!" he assured them both.
--------------------------------------------------

Two hours after midnight

Duchess Richelle awoke with a start, the images of her vision yet so vivid that her first impulse was to survey her surroundings in alarm, making sure there was no signs of danger in close proximity.  As her extended senses detected no nearby threat, her heart rate calmed, and she took a deep breath, exhaling it slowly to cleanse her inner turmoil from her system.

Beside her, Brecon stirred.  "What is it, love?" he murmured sleepily.

She blinked away the lingering fog of sleep.  "Duke Dhugal...sent me a message, I think."

Her husband looked puzzled at first, then understanding dawned in his eyes. "Through some sort of dream vision, you mean?  Some Deryni thing?"

Despite the gravity of Dhugal's message, Richelle had to smile at Brecon's phrasing.  "Yes, love, a 'Deryni thing' indeed!"  She frowned. "He asked if we have heard any whispers or rumors of unrest here in Meara, or of a rise in banditry recently."  Taking his hand, she Mind-Shared the Duke of Cassan's communication with her. "Apparently Baron Jass is on his way back to Trurill to take care of a coup against one of his vassal's manors by an alleged Mearan separatist, and the messenger tasked with getting the news to Dhugal and Jass barely made it to Castel Dearg alive."

Brecon's frown echoed her own. "I've not noticed any increased activity of that sort, but then again, if there any anything stirring, I imagine the leaders of such rebellion would attempt to keep any hints of it from us for as long as possible."  He looked out the window. It was still full dark, a few hours from dawn.  "Rory and Noelie should be arriving sometime in the morning; perhaps they've heard something.  In the meantime, I suppose we can merely watch and wait."

"And make careful inquiries," Richelle added.

"Definitely," said Brecon.  "I'll send my best scouts out at first light."
---------------------------------------------
Dawn, the next morning

Sir Jass, along with a company of twenty-five men-at-arms--some his own MacArdry retainers, and others of the Duke of Cassan's retinue--mounted up and rode out towards Trurill.  Baroness Ailidh, after watching the departing men ride off, retreated back into Ballymar Castle, but not to remain closeted in the ladies' solar until Jass's communication with his liegelord later that evening.  Instead, she descended the stairs to the hidden Portal room, stepping onto the center stone to return to her home keep at Trurill using a much faster method of travel.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on February 02, 2018, 02:42:04 PM
Even as the good Father arose from his cot to get ready for his morning office, Washburn awoke, fully refreshed from having a good night's sleep. He dressed quickly in trouse, linen shirt, chainmail and his Lendour Tunic. If they were staying put for at least the morning, better to make it appear he was causally using his rank, than to appear he was trying to be secretive. Unless he learned how to use Alisets shapeshifting spells, he doubted that that by now there would be anyone in this village who did not recognize him.

With a little worry for the Noble lady who was sleeping in separate quarters than their own, but who was well guarded by the Infermariana, Wash cast outward with a focused "Good Morning"

((11:48 Laurna mind speak to Aliset.
11:49Laurna !roll 1d6
11:49 derynibot 5 == 5))

"My lady, good morning, I hope it is a refreshing morning for you?" He heard her good morning in return though it still had a bit of sleepness infused in her words. "No need to get up too quickly, all is well here. The good father is going to church this morning and I will make the rounds of the town. I will see what can be happening in the village today. I will return to you with a full report."

"Very well," the lady Aliset replied, much more awake with this reply.

"There is some discussion here about you being yourself the morning. I will allow you your own mind on that subject for today. As long as you remain in our company with all of us, it will be acceptable for you to stay yourself. Your true guardian, Master Darcy, is very protective of you. You know that?" Wash smiled inwardly. "Now if you plan to go about secretively with just Darcy. Do Not do so as Aliset. or even as Alister. Find another guise if you must. Be well until I  return."

Wash finished arming himself; he walked with Columcil as far as the church. Then he continued on to the town walls. He greeted the gatekeeper who had not yet opened the big gates but was getting ready to do so. Wash climbed the steep steps up to the top of the wall.  He greeted the guard standing there, and then walked over to the stone Merlon, leaning out to peer over the crenel.

There was good cleared space of flat land beyond the walls. Well maintained. Only a low hedgerow of brush could be seen beyond the flat land, before the forest began. The road they had traveled up two days ago was clear, no foot traffic, no horse or carts waiting to enter the town. Yesterday had been market day. Today would be a quiet one.

Even in this still morning, it was not completely quiet. There was a very faint rustle among the hedges. Wash watched it for a moment. Yes, indeed something was there.

"Would there be any children picking berries out there this morning," he asked the local guard. "Any reason for a child to be within that hedge?"

"No, my lord," replied the guard. He had not noticed the movement until the tall Knight pointed it out. After a moment the guard nodded that he saw it to. "Been having trouble with the wild boars coming close to the gates. Especially after market day. They look for the leavings our vendors tend to throw aside on their way back home."

"Aye, I see." Wash said, having heard Father Columcil say he saw such a beast on his when here. Nonetheless, Wash could not be certain that was all that it was. "Would you mind?" he asked pointing to the guards long bow.

The guard smiled. "The hedge is out of range," he said. Though he did as the lord asked and handed bow and quiver over.

((12:14 Laurna Shoot a longbow; advantage
12:14 Laurna !roll 3d6
12:14 derynibot 2, 5, 2 == 9
12:16 Laurna Focused Telekinesis
12:17 Laurna !roll 2d6
12:17 derynibot 2, 4 == 6))

Wash lifted the bow with appreciation, the town did not sherk it's duty to have good weapons. He aimed high, marking the light breeze, and the movement in the hedge. He was not convinced if the motion was caused by man or beast. Something lay low out there. With a sharp focus he let the arrow fly. The arrow landed tip in the dirt right where he had intended it to be, just inside the hedge, just before the thing that was routing there.

((12:25 Laurna 1-3 a wild boar, 4-6 a man from the bad guys.
12:25 Laurna !roll 1d6
12:25 derynibot 1 == 1))

A wild boar squealed and ran back away from the hedge and into the forest.  Wash nodded, well satisfied that it had not been a scout watching for their departure. He handed back the bow and arrows. "Thank you, my good man."

The Knight left the walls to find the stables and check on his gear and on their horses.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on February 02, 2018, 04:45:48 PM
((OK, not entirely sure who is still in that guesthouse, since Jerusha's scene has all three men still in it, but revanne's scene has Columcil out to morning Mass already (or maybe he's just returned?), and Laurna's scene is evidently set just before Columcil's, but was posted afterwards.  But I'll assume that at least Darcy is still in the guesthouse and attempt to make this fit. Somehow. If one takes heavy drugs before reading today's posts.  I'm so confused! ;D ))

Aliset waited in a shadowed corner of the courtyard within sight of the door to the guest house.  This time, she knew better than to simply walk in!

She considered whether she should simply approach the door and knock, or if perhaps it might be more prudent to attempt a mental probe to detect Darcy's presence, and then speak directly into his mind.  On further reflection, she decided against that course of action. The poor man seemed spooked enough by the frequent use of Deryni magic he'd witnessed from his companions without adding psychic intrusion to his list of startling experiences.

While she pondered, the door opened, rendering further contemplation a moot point.

Aliset smiled as Darcy exited the building, approaching him to speak quietly.  "If I must spend one more minute in that dormitorium, I shall scream," she murmured, her voice pitched to be barely audible. "Rescue me! Don't we have something outside these walls that desperately needs doing?"  As she spoke, she gradually began to walk towards the gates, Darcy falling into step beside her.

"I was just on my way to seek you out, my lady," he replied.  "Are you hungry? We were just discussing grabbing a bit of tavern fare . . . and, um, making other plans."  He added the last bit in an evasive whisper as they drew near to the gate sentry.

"Sounds lovely," Aliset whispered back. "I'm famished." They continued their approach to the convent gate.

"Ah...Will the Reverend Mother object to you being seen out alone with me?" Darcy asked as he risked a surreptitious glance back over one shoulder.

"In truth, I don't intend to ask," Aliset replied as she continued to walk, one guard bowing as he hastily opened the gate before her, perhaps fearing she meant to walk headlong into the barrier if he lingered too long at the task, since she made no effort to slow her pace as she approached it.

Darcy, ever protective of her, managed to slip past her to exit first, his pale eyes quickly surveying their surroundings to ensure there was no immediate threat in sight.  This quick survey done, and after Aliset had extended her own senses to check for danger herself, she held her hand out and looked at him meaningfully until he caught the hint and offered his arm. "Shall we?"

She allowed him to lead her towards their destination, not knowing what it was and in truth not really caring, so long as it got her out of the overly sheltering confines of the convent, though once they reached a sheltered doorway that hid them from view of any passers-by, she gave his arm a slight squeeze to get his attention before releasing it. "One moment," she whispered.

((16:20   EvieAliset   Rolling for Aliset's shape change
16:20   EvieAliset   !roll 2d6
16:20   derynibot   4, 6 == 10 ))

Muttering the words of a spell under her breath while tracing around her face in an oval, she focused on transforming her features.  Darcy was no longer startled to find a total stranger standing before him, only this time the young lad with auburn hair and a sprinkling of freckles bore no resemblance to any other guise he'd yet seen Lady Aliset wear.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on February 02, 2018, 07:04:12 PM
Darcy Cameron surveyed the transformation beside him.  Sweet Jesu, would he ever get used to this magic? 

"You might have warned me," he said, careful not to sound too reproving. 

"Does the magic disturb you?"  the young man who used to be Aliset asked.

"In truth, I'm not sure.  But no need to worry about it now.  I am told by Father Columcil there is excellent stew and good ale waiting for us in a tavern below."

"I'm all for it!" the young lad declared.

"So who is it I should now address?" Darcy asked.  "Stable boy, pewter's apprentice, cut purse?"

"Hardly cut purse, unless you want to bail me out of the gaol!" The lad beside him grinned a mischievous grin.  "Alfred should do."

"Very well then, Alfred.  We are off to the tavern!"

Darcy was sure it was the calm before the storm.  A few moments of relaxation, a short respite, before they travelled back into the lion's den.

Darcy noted the intense look of one of the town guard as they walked past.  There was no look of recognition.  Darcy had donned his leather cap before they left, hiding his pale hair.  No one would have seen the red-haired lad beside him before.  Nevertheless, without being obvious, Darcy noted the guard's appearance and committed it to memory.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on February 03, 2018, 04:42:58 AM
The stable yard and barn were far to the left of the town square. A short six foot tall brick wall surrounded the yard and butted up against the blacksmith's building. One side of the smithy opened to the yard with a tall awning to allow a horse to be shod underneath it, close to the anvils and furnace. The opposite side of the smithy opened on to the square proper to allow for the weapons master to sell his wares. That was where Aliset's new daggers had been purchased. Lord Washburn fingered a plain brown leather bridle hanging on a near post. It was sized for a small horse. Not large enough for Shadow's muscular build. "Do you have a bridle that would fit my stallion?" he asked of the man who was at the anvil.

The man looked up. He knew exactly which horse Wash was talking about. "Not many steeds of that quality in these parts, my lord. I could make you one, although, it would take two days."

Wash sighed, "Two days? You can do no better?

"No my lord, Your destrier deserves the finest leather, My apprentice and I would be sewing all day and night to have it done by then."

"I will consider it, Master Smith,  yet I am thinking I will not have that time to spare." Wash walked away.

He walked down through the barn isle, looking at all the plowing and driving horses stabled there. None had the head size  of Shadow, none would have a used bridle large enough that he could even trade. That red leather had been a showy sign of his rank. Come the time his fellowship would want to leave, a time far sooner than two days, he needed a more unobtrusive look for his horse. He arrive where Shadowed Night's was stabled. In a larger manger than the others, with a huge pile of hay and oats that the stallion was happily munching upon. "You eat all that and you'll be too fat and lazy to leave," he chided his horse. Shadow nudged him, happy to see him, but the horse whinnied when Wash took a large armful of the hay and moved it down to where the other smaller horses ate their meager portions.  As he pushed the fodder into the other mangers he spied two boys soaping down a pile of leather gear and oiling the leather with a dark stain.

"That is a lot of work you have there," Wash said to the boys. At least eight bridles and eight full harness were among the items hanging from a cross beam.

"Gotta ' ready for 'marrow morn," one boy said.

"Father riding out to Rhemuth; wants his gear clean, no grim on his horses when he rides for the capital," the second boy said.

"Is he now," Wash inquired with interest. "Seeing as how you boys are doing such a fine job, you wouldn't think it a problem if I add one more bridle to your workload, for two silver each." He added to the incentive.

The boys lifted their heads at that. Dad wasn't paying them for any of this work. That is the trouble with family chores. A little coin would be welcome.

Wash went back a few stalls, retrieved the red bridle, reins and martingale. Then returned to where the boys were working. "If you can use that black stain and cover all the red, I'll give you three silver a piece."

Both boys eyes grew wide. "Yes, my lord,"

"We have a deal?"  Wash asked, handing each boy one silver each. "The rest when I come back this afternoon."

"Now tell me why your dad is going to Rhemuth, and perhaps you could arrange for me to talk to him when I come back to pay you this afternoon."

Ideas of how to escape this town were starting to form in Washburn's mind. He returned back to his gear to retrieve his bow and his quiver and that heavy cloak he had in his bags. His hand touched his father's journal. He felt instant shame that he had left it here unguarded and very thankful that no one had pilfered it. He placed it under his tunic and chainmail, near to his heart.

He would need to find Father Columcil soon and perhaps find something to eat. His stallion had had too much food, but he himself had had very little so far this day.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on February 03, 2018, 08:00:57 AM
((Doing a bit of sheep dog here and rounding us all up into that tavern))

Columcil watched Darcy and lady Aliset leave from the guesthouse window. They seemed to be discussing something animatedly but Columcil made no doubt that the lady would win the argument and not just because Darcy deferred to her rank and gender. She was brave and true-hearted, not unlike, he reflected, his mental idea of St Melangell as she faced down the evil of her own day. So thinking, he sighed regretfully for a moment as he thought of his remote parish and the peaceful little stone church containing the saint's shrine, then recalled himself to his present duty with a mental slap.

He had agreed to wait for Sir Washburn but on reflection the stables seemed a better place to wait than the guest house. - Given the good knight's attention to detail it was almost certain he would want to check on their mounts and gear. As he entered the stable his own Spèan and Darcy's mare whickered in greeting and Sir Washburn whirled round his hand already on the hilt of his sword.

"The peace of the Lord, be with you too, my Son!" Said Columcil with a smile, though in truth he was glad that they had such a one with them. Washburn did not look the slightest abashed as he returned the smile but merely asked,

"What of Darcy and my lady?"

"They were heading down to Father Eifion's tavern, I watched them leave past the gatehouse. But whether we'll find a lady or a lad is anyone's guess." Then, with a courteous gesture which was half nod and half bow, he added, "Are you done in here, my Lord? Shall we go?"

"For now, yes. But we need to decide soon what we are to do."

Washburn looked far more worried than was right on a young man's face and Columcil forgot for a moment that he was in the presence of the great Duke Alaric's son and put his hand on his shoulder in reassurance as he would have done with any young man of his parish.

The tavern was only a few minutes walk away, tucked just behind the market square. There were few patrons this early in the day but away in a corner sat a man-at-arms in a leather cap and a young red-headed lad. As Columcil and Washburn made their way across they were pleased to see that there were four mugs of ale waiting on the table."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on February 03, 2018, 04:16:45 PM
With a good meat pie covered in a healthy portion of bubbling cheese and a hearty ale in his hand, Sir Washburn let the troubles of the past few days dissipate. Just enjoy the moment and the camaraderie, he told himself.  The serving girl was pretty, no trouble at all to look upon. And look upon her both Wash and Master Darcy did aplenty, at first. That is until Alfred cleared his young sounding throat and Washburn turned his attention  back to his pie and the seaman backtracked embarrassed, remembering the company he kept. He mumbled something about being so long on shipboard, that distractions such as the pretty lass were difficult to look past. That brought a smile to Washburn's lips, for he didn't have that excuse. He dared to look up at his friends. Columcil was being far more discrete. He most likely was as offended by the remark as Aliset appeared to be, yet he hid it well. A red tinge of anger erupted on Alfred's face. Or was that a young lady's blush of embarrassment. Wash was not sure. Both younger men sobered up quickly, not wanting to offend the noble lady who was in disguise in their midst.

A definite change of subject was required at this point, to keep civility among their small group. So, Wash ventured to ask his companions the most neutral question he could think of. "I am sure we have all noticed the statue of Saint Brigid's in the village square; the lass holding a Croix flambee above her head, she appears to be leading a gentle looking cow to the milking pens. So, I must ask; If Saint Brigid's is known for her good works in dairy and for alleviating starvation in the countryside by the giving of cheese to the poor, then why such a harsh name for a town such as this, to be called Droghera? Shouldn't it take on the name of the convent? I mean to say the date on the statue states Saint Brigid was born in the year 450. Seven hundred years is plenty of time to change the village name, at least I would think so." He was just trying to make a trivial inquiry to give his friends something else to think on.

His companions didn't quite get the point to all that. They looked at him for a moment quizzically. None had an answer, and truth to tell, they likely didn't care. At least the inquiry eased the prior tension, and all turned back to enjoying their tasty hot meal. The normalcy of a quiet tavern afforded each of them the moment to relax. There were only a few other villagers at other tables, also enjoying a good meal. This tavern's reputation seemed well founded.

It was a man at a near table with a lyre set beside him, who perked up at the knight's question. "Tis a very old town, this is, with a very old tale all its own. Older than our mistress saint, and there be a monster at the heart of that tale."

"A monster?" Alfred could not help but ask. "Like a bear, or a cat, or a wild boar? I would hardly call the fauna of the wilds monsters." She looked dubious at the man, whatever fiction was in his story, no monster was worse than the real man who murdered her kin for the sake of a piece of land.

The tavern guest, caught the edge in the young man's voice, and responded gingerly, at first. "Perhaps monster is too strong a term if referring to the wild creatures of the forest, but nay this is not one of them." his voice perked up to a sing song tone. "This monster is far, far worse.  This monster kills and eats for pleasure!  This monster is a Troll!"

The little man ignored Darcy's snicker. He sat himself on the edge of the table nearest the four companions, he brought his lyre to his knee and strumming a chord with a dissident flair. And with this cord echoing across the tavern, the room hushed, all turned to listened to what the troubadour would sing.


In the deep rills of Culdi Highlands
Near the waters of Drogh island
Tis where you find a mountain troll
Guarding his cozy evil black hole
His eyes orange in the light of the Sunderlands

B'ware you should be for you and your kin
if ever you find him and see his sharp grin
Tis the sun you must seek
Or your future shall be bleak
Run, run, run fast, save the skin that you live within.

For whether cooked as stew or as roast,
You'll have little chance of your ventures to boast
When Drogh's has had his meal
There will be nothing left to heal
Not but a bone and a soul wandering the deep rills, you a ghost.


When his song was sung, the troubadour batted not an eye as he turned from the small band of travelers to address the whole room. "I have seen this monster, I know it exists. Shall I tell you what awaits beyond Drogh island?"

A roar of cheers and encouragement went up though the few that watched. The tavern girl and the owner had come out from the kitchens. They had all heard this tall tale before, it was not new to the locals. Nevertheless, it was a favored story, for it was their own, and they loved to hear it told again, and again.



Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on February 03, 2018, 05:15:34 PM
The little man adjusted his position on the corner of the table so all in the tavern could hear his story.  He set his lyre aside and waited for the tavern to grow quiet. 

"Now listen closely," he said.  "To this day it is a difficult tale for me to tell, remembering the terror of that night."

Darcy Cameron leaned back and rested his back against the wall of the tavern, crossing his arms across his chest.  Father Columcil gave his a stern look, and Darcy shrugged.

The little man cleared his throat and began his tale. 

Deep in the bowels of the earth lived a nasty troll named Drogh.  In the dead of night, he would climb up out of his cave deep in that hill on the edge of our town and prowl the forests, snatching unwary travellers or young children if they played outside at twilight.  He would drag them into his cave, stick them on spits and roast them alive over his fire, using their bones to pick his teeth after he had eaten them.  Sometimes, the local villagers would see wisps of smoke escaping from the ground and know another poor soul had perished.

Women of the village lived in fear for their children.  No one dared travel to or from the village at night. 

One night, I, a poor minstrel, approached the town. I had not eaten in several days and hoped to find food and lodging in the village.  I had heard the tales of Drogh, but I was desperately hungry.  Suddenly before me appeared Drogh!  He was an ugly sight, with a bald head and dripping nose.  His legs were gnarled, his back was hunched, and he carried a huge club.

"You are my dinner tonight!" Drogh snarled as he reached toward me.

My legs seemed to turn to water; I could not move.  How could I save my poor skin?  Then I had an idea. "I will sing for you first," I said, though my throat felt dry and tight.  "I'll sing and play until I repeat one song.  Only then will you have me for your dinner!"

"You'll choke on your own fear," Drogh told me. "But play on!  I'll take this wager."

I played on and on and on.  I played every song I knew and made up a few more. Never did I repeat a song or sing the same verse twice!  At last, the sun came up and Drogh uttered an agonized scream!  Drogh turned into that rock you see as you enter the town.  I had won the wager!

The town welcomed me and gave me food and drink.  They gave me the hand of a fair maiden, and I have never left.

Few remember Drogh the terrible troll now.   But sometimes, the ground shakes, and the town folk remember. They know it is Drogh trying to break free to snatch another unwary traveller.

The tavern erupted in shouts and the clanking of mugs on the tables.  Columcil, Washburn and Alfred clanked their own mugs.  The little man left his perch on the table and came toward the strangers.  Washburn congratulated him on an excellent tale.

The little man eyed Darcy carefully.  "You know about trolls, don't you?"  he asked.  "You know my tale is true."

"Nonsense!"  Darcy replied, but with enough sense to keep his voice low.  "Trolls are myth and legend."

"Not where you are from," the little man said sagely.  "You believe."  He left them then, to accept a mug of ale from the tavern wench.

Only Father Columcil noticed Darcy surreptitiously cross himself when the little man's back was turned.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on February 05, 2018, 03:34:08 PM
((Since no one else seems to be jumping to get us out of the tavern...))


The Lendour knight let his companions delay in the tavern, for as long as they liked. The conversation was light. A few smiles lit their faces with the occasional jest. At least no one dared to jest over Washburn's haircut. Not this time.  When the tavern started to get more customers who seemed to show some interest in the four, Washburn perked up with a voice a tad louder than he had used earlier. "Father, and you too my young seamaster, go see our lady back at the convent. I pray she is feeling better by now and she is likely anxious for news. Take a piece of this berry pie, that should brighten her outlook for being left behind. Our new young friend showed some interest in the R'kassi stallion; have you ever seen one, son?" Washburn looked over at Alfred, "Care to join me back to the stables, I forgot to get one more thing I need there."

Darcy was not too pleased at the idea of leaving 'Alfred' behind. Also he would have liked to remind Wash that returning to the convent without the lady he had left with, could lead to questions from the Reverend Mother. He was about to say something, when he remembered Morgan's rank. Father Columcil saw the small defiance in Darcy's eyes and cut him off. "The lady will be happy for the desert. I doubt the convent would offer such a fair as this." The two men departed first. Columcil checking at the door that all seemed well in the town square. When Washburn was sure the two had left peacefully,  he stood and beckoned the youth to follow him.

Again, as they left the tavern, the town square carried on with its busy normal atmosphere. He  and Alfred crossed to the stables, stopping only for a moment to pat Shadow's rump. The black had succeeded in eating every last oat in his grain bucket. "I have a little business with the folks yonder. Can you brush Shadow down for me." Stay in my sight if you please, he Mind Whispered to his young companion. And think you, on how we can disguise Shadow to look like a normal horse. Then he continued down to the end of the barn where the two boys were still working on all that harness. His red bridle was nowhere to be seen.

"Did you do as I asked?" Wash asked the two boys.

"Aye, my lord," the taller claimed. He jumped up and lifted a horse blanket off a peg revealing a large black headstall with matching black reins and breast plate.

"Well done," Wash said admiring the evenness of the black tone. As he handed over the promised coin, an older man, who had been checking the feet of his driving team, walked over and greeted the tall Lord with a respectful bow. "I am the boys' father, Master Stanly. I run the cheesery here. How can I be of service."

"Ah, good day to you Master Stanly, well met." Washburn started. "Your boys have said you are leaving for Rhemuth. Will you be leaving soon?"

"Aye..." the cheese master said with a quizzical inquiry in his tone. "I am taking two wagons of cheese to sell at market in the capital. I can get the best prices there. We will be joining a number of farmers who will be taking their steers to market along with a few choice bulls for sell. A quality dairy bull fetches a good price in Rhemuth."

"Very good, then," Washburn let a smile pass his lips. "May I request that a few be added to your numbers as you leave the village, added discreetly." Washburn emphasized the last words.

"We won't be traveling very fast," the master said with some concern.

"No need." Wash said with a shrug. "My Friends, my two companions Father Columcil and Master Darcy, are looking to go to Rhemuth ahead of me. But they would like to leave the town with as little notice as possible. Can I make this arrangement with you?"

"You'll not be coming as well , my lord?" the older man inquired.

"I intend to stay at the convent until the young lady I came to town with is well enough to ride. The Infirmarian said she had a small relapse this morning after wandering through the market square yesterday. The infirmarian has her resting. But I hope to see her well soon."

"Aye, our infirmarian is the best in the land. Following her instructions is always the best recommendations," agreed Master Stanly. "We leave at first light, have your companions ready before the gates open. I can not delay if they are late," he said this with a deep bow.

"Thank you, you have my word they will be ready." Wash handed the man a gold coin. He then returned to the youth brushing his horse. His hand moved to take the brush from him, but instead as their hands touched, he sent a quick Rapport. I will ask you to be in disguise as either Columcil or Darcy, whichever one will be staying with me. You'll take all four horses with you. Therefor, Shadow will need to be in disguise as well. Do you think you can manage that?

I can replied the lady's voice in Washburn's mind. Although, could we move them back to the nunnery stables to make it that much easier.

I'll make it happen, Wash replied. "Son, it was so good of you to agree to help me today. The lady did ask that we bring Papillon, her horse, yes that one there, and her things to where she could reach them. walking this far is too hard for her just now. So if you don't mind assisting me further, let us get all the horses up to the nunnery stables for the night."  So saying Wash reached over to saddle up Shadow, while Alfred saddled Papillon. Spean and Baldilocks (was that really the Darcy's horse's name, Washburn wondered) would be next.

((Edited  on 2/9/2018 by Laurna to get all four horses back to the nunnery stables.))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on February 07, 2018, 04:26:27 AM
((that same afternoon))

Duchess Mirjana bit her lower lip, distressed by the squire's account, or rather his lack of account. Her guest, nay, her friend, was missing. This was the third squire to returned with no news; the missing Baroness was neither on the south nor the north facing rampart walls; nor in the seaside tower nor the rockery in the south tower; nor had she passed through any of the gates. Before the squires had been sent out, the pages had confirmed that they had not found the lady in the lemon groves nor in the gardens. The pages had been sent on thier searches when the handmaids had returned to tell the duchess that the baroness's rooms were unoccupied. The Baroness of Trurill had supposedly taken to her rooms upon her husband's leaving for the South. She was supposed to join the duchess at luncheon. She had not appeared. This missed moment of friendship was what had started the whole cascading search involving more and more castle servants, yet no one could find her. Baroness Ailidh MacArdry was no longer in Ballymar castle.

Mirjana was a lady breed to her station since the day she was born, raised in a man's world where they dominated everything that a women was allowed to do or even think. The Duke of Cassan had rescued Mirjana from that loveless world. He had given her more love and more freedoms than she had ever imagined that a woman could have.  And respect; the men of Gwynedd truly respected their wives. A thing unheard of in her home country. But with all this freedom to be herself, Lady Mirjana could never imagine being as feistily independent as Lady Ailidh choose to be. The Duchess loved and even admired Ailidh for her candidness, her open wit, and her sense of freedom. Yet her proclivity for independence from this man's world had at times set the Duchess's values upside down. Mirjana controlled her world in soft touches, with strong maternal guiding hands. Not the abrupt, do as she pleased, strong will of Lady Ailidh.  And now, trouble was in the air. Independence did not always mean doing things alone. In situations like these, making a team that would have your back was far better than taking on the fight by one's self. Whether Ailidh even considered the notion, the Duchess considered herself the matriarch, the team leader.  She felt a strong responsibility for all the ladies within her duchy including the vivacious Baroness of Trurill.

Leaving the ladies solar, the Duchess lifted layers of saffron skirts to ankle height and paced down the breezy hall of their rebuilt seaside castle. The breeze felt good in the afternoon heat. She was only a little dismayed that the breeze seemed to follow her as she entered the duke's study; a parchment on his desk blow upward. A hand caught the inkwell before it could blow over. Lord Dhugal was not easily upset by such mishaps; he merely set the bottle to the side and awaited a squire to close the door behind the duchess to allow the pages on his desk to subside. He smiled at his lady and waited, it was clear that she was upset over something, something troublsome enough that it required his attention.

"My lady, may I be of service?"

"Yes, my lord, it does not please be to tell you this. But, it appears that the Baroness of Trurill has left the castle."

Dhugal's amber eyes opened wide. "She went seaside for a walk on the beach?" He knew before he even said it that this would not be the case.

"Nay, my lord. She has not exited the gates in any proper fashion. Though she has left, in some fashion or another."

"Lord have mercy, Not again!" Dhugal exclaimed in disbelief. "Lord Daivi, have the horses counted! Have the squires look to see if there are any missing Cassan tunics or MacArdry tunics. I want proof before I have to contact Jass and tell him to find his own wife hidden among his retainers. He will be furious with her." Dhugal shook his head, a sudden smile crossed his lips remembering a time long ago when he had discovered the young lady dressed as a man, hidden among his men. "I just don't understand why she would do that now."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on February 07, 2018, 09:42:42 AM
Darcy Cameron walked beside the priest in silence as they made their way back along the street to the Nunnery.  They had used up most of their small talk in the tavern, and they could not discuss their plans for departure in case they might be overheard.

Darcy was annoyed.  He was a man slow to anger, a strength he has learned the hard way in his years at sea, but he had come close this afternoon.  He was not used to being so readily dismissed!  At least not in the last several years while serving as a ship's officer.  He had had a good Captain, one he could mostly trust, and he was used to being in his confidence.

All that had changed; he admitted to himself that some of the changes in his life were easier to bear than others.

He casually surveyed the people around them.  No one appeared to be paying any attention to them. 

When they reached the Nunnery gate, Father Columcil turned to look at him.  "You know you can trust Sir Washburn with her safety," the priest said quietly.

"Aye, I suppose I do," Darcy responded and sighed.  "I'm not so sure Sir Washburn returns that favour."

"I'm sure he does, though I doubt he'll tell you that himself."

Darcy snorted.  "Now that I believe."  He looked up at the priest carefully.  "Tomorrow I will have to trust you with her safety.  Are you up for that, Father?"

"Assuming you don't mean her spiritual safety," Columcil replied dryly and paused.  "Yes, I believe you can trust me to keep her safe.  Both her physical safety and her reputation."

"Could you kill a man to insure her safety?"  Darcy asked, careful to keep his tone neutral.

"Son, I've already killed one man in this town."

Darcy was not sure if that answered his question, but he let it go.  "Go on inside, Father. I'll wait out here until the others return.  I'm sure Simon told the Reverend Mother that Lady Aliset and I left together.  I don't fancy trying to explain why I've come back without her."

Columcil smiled and knocked on the gate for admittance to the Nunnery.

Darcy leaned casually against the Nunnery wall.  He did not have to wait long before spotting the Lendour knight and his red-haired companion strolling along the path.  As they continued to approach, Darcy noticed a man following behind, the same man he had seen when he and "Alfred" had walked to the tavern.  It was too much of a coincidence for Darcy's liking.  He moved casually to cut off Washburn and Alfred before they reached the gate.

"You took your time getting back," Darcy said in a voice just loud enough to carry beyond his companions.  Washburn gave him a sharp look.  "I think you have been followed," he said in a much lower voice.  "I marked the man earlier when Alfred and I left." 

"It's a pleasant afternoon," Washburn replied, matching Darcy's original volume.  "Was there a rush?"

Still keeping his voice low, Darcy said, "I'll distract him.  You and Alfred can slip around to the back gate.  You should be hidden well enough so Alfred and switch his appearance to enter as Aliset."

"Are you sure that is wise?" Alfred asked him. 

"We don't have time to think of anything else," Darcy said, gave Washburn a clap on his back as if they were the best of friends, and strode toward the man who had suddenly become interested in a tree along the wall.

"You've got a good tavern in town," Darcy said companionably as he approached the man.  He unfastened his trousers and relieved himself against the wall.  With a look of disdain, the man turned to look the other way, away from Washburn and Alfred. 

By the time Darcy was finished, being careful to take his time adjusting his cloths, Washburn and Alfred were nowhere to be seen. With a nod to the man, Darcy walked back to the Nunnery gate, rapped sharply, and entered when the gate opened.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on February 07, 2018, 02:23:36 PM

Baroness Ailidh stepped off the Portal stone at Trurill and was appropriately greeted by a man-at-arms wearing the Trurill colors and a wary scowl. The scowl cleared as he saw who the unexpected arrival was, and he inclined his head in greeting. 

"My Lady...." As she stepped off the Portal stone, he instinctively glanced away from her face to the stone floor as if expecting another arrival at any moment.  "We weren't expecting you back yet."

"My lord husband and our retinue will be arriving separately," she informed the man, knowing what other arrival he was expecting.  As a second man entered the room, she greeted him with a nod of acknowledgement as she continued speaking.  "We received word at Ballymar from a courier that there has been foul murder done at Caer Mariot, with Lord Oswald Mariot from a cadet branch of that family usurping that manor and its lands, and that there might be Mearan separatists involved in the deed.  I thought it best to return quickly and assist in raising Trurill's defenses, should there be any additional troubles, and to determine if any of our other knights and manors have encountered similar difficulties.  Jass is also bringing back a number of men-at-arms from the Ducal household, but in the meantime, how many able-bodied men do we have at our disposal here if we should need to mount a defense quickly?" The question was addressed to the man who had just entered the room.

Sir Cillian O Ruane, grandson of the late Ciard O Ruane who had once served the Duke of Cassan loyally, fell into step beside his Baroness as the lady exited the room.  "Here in the keep? Many of our men rode out with you and Sir Jass, but we still have about a score in the keep who could readily muster up a defense if need be before reinforcements arrive. And of course we could call a muster from those knights and men-at-arms who owe fealty to you, as well as the able-bodied men in Trurill village, though it might take a few hours for messengers to get word out to them all, and if this is not an isolated incident, those in our more distant manors will wish to hold a few men back to look to the safety of their own lands and families as well."

"Of course. I am hoping this trouble is confined to Caer Mariot alone, but we couldn't take chances, with Prince Rory's presence and attention on the other side of Meara at the moment. And we still have Oswald to call to account, if the news we received is true. He cannot possibly think we would have turned a blind eye to this injustice done to one of our loyal knights, so I surmise he must have reason to think he has protection from our justice, to act with such impunity."

"Shall I raise a call to readiness then, my lady, just in case the tales of murder and revolt are true, and the troubles spread in this direction?"

"Yes, inform the household men to make ready." Her mind considered the domestic side of preparing for an impending conflict. "And have our womenfolk report to me. If we need to ready Trurill for the possibility of a siege and the common folk of Trurill seeking the shelter of our walls, I'd rather not leave that off to the last minute. Better to be overprepared than caught off guard."

"Aye, my lady." At her nod of dismissal, he turned and headed off with brisk steps to inform the guards and men-at-arms of Trurill of the possible danger at hand.




Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on February 07, 2018, 03:36:33 PM
As Sir Cillian went to inform the men at the gatehouse of the Baroness' arrival and news, the man-at-arms who had originally been assigned to keep watch at the Trurill Portal made his way in a different direction as soon as the knight and the lady were both out of sight.

Ruick, we will need to move up our plans.  The Baroness has returned from Cassan by means of the Portal, and Sir Jass is riding back with his retinue as well as reinforcements from the Duke.  It seems they somehow caught wind of our plans here too early. If we're going to make our move, it needs to be now, before the Baron and his forces arrive.

Bloody hell, the reply came back almost immediately. The additional men the Grand Duke promised us haven't arrived yet, Simon!  We can spring a surprise attack on the guards at the main gate and secure the Keep, but we can't hold a large force off for long. Is there any chance of taking the Baroness hostage? Maybe we can use her as a negotiating tool.

She's fully trained, Simon Mind-Spoke curtly. I'm not.  Maybe we should withdraw while we can, and save our attack for when we've got sufficient force to succeed.  There are still some loyalists in Trurill who remember the old days fondly, and who will rally behind Brioc de Paor when he makes his move openly.  Especially when they discover he is sire to our rightful Queen.

You may be right.  But I don't want to be the one to break the news to the Grand Duke, if we have to delay our plans.

Simon pursed his lips as he considered that.  Ruick had a point. Have we heard any word when the additional forces will arrive?

A mental shrug from Ruick.  Could be any time now.  All I can tell you for sure is that old Gareth in the watch tower hasn't seen any sign of them yet.

Simon sighed. All right. No open moves for the moment, then.  But if they do show up, I want to know immediately.  If we can't get them past O Ruane's loyal men at the main gate, perhaps we can let them in the postern gate under cover of darkness.  Or I might be able to work out how to get a few through the Portal, especially if the Grand Duke sends one or more of his Deryni to assist us.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on February 08, 2018, 04:47:01 AM
The three male guests of Saint Brigid's Convent sat practically knee to knee in the guest house working through the particulars of the next 24 hours and the contingency plans for any number of things that could go wrong. All three men prayed that none of those plans would be necessary. Their goal was to arrive at Arx Fidei by the end of the following day.   And then the city of Rhemuth by the end of the day following that. The beautiful city of Rhemuth...  the son of Corwyn never thought he would long to see those high walls and tall towers with as much longing as he did now. He had spent years running from the fancy fashions of high court and the undercurrent of intrigue that followed every conversation. Well, he still didn't like that part of Gwynedd's capital, but the Queen's gracious smile was enough to look forward to tolerating all the rest of court life.

The compline bells rung, the nuns walked through the court yard and into their small church.  Columcil went to stand to join them, but Washburn put out a hand  and asked him to stay. "I have need of assistance if you would not mind helping me." Wash pulled forth the Camber Medallion from his tunic. "It is the time Kelric would be listening for a call from me. I really need to contact him and tell him of our present situation." Washburn looked at the seaman apologetically. "You don't have to witness this if you chose not to." He gave a understanding node to the man. "If you would rather, could you watch the door and be sure we are not attacked."

"That I can do," Darcy said emphatically, standing and moving toward the door.

He actually is getting better about magic,
Columcil mind spoke to Wash as they moved their chairs even closer together and touched hands.

Father, I know you will protect Aliset, but you must understand how hard it is for both myself and Darcy to leave her behind, even for just a few hours. It goes against every fiber in my body. And her Protector over there, is feeling it too. Can you protect her?

I make you an oath that I will protect her with my life.
the clergy man said.

I can ask for no more than that.
Washburn accepted.  So saying he turned his focus upon the silver medal in his hand. The Rapport from Columcil was shallow, yet even so it had that familiar feeling. Washburn was getting use to that; he gave it little thought. Instead he was looking for that which was even more familiar, the strong connection he held with his brother.

((01:48 Laurna Contacting Kelric
01:49 Laurna !roll 2d6
01:49 derynibot 3, 1 ==4))

Wash centered and cast outward. There was a long silence, no hint of his brother waiting to hear from him. The priest had stayed on the very edge of their rapport, not wanting to commit himself. But he understood the need and decided he could offer more than just his energy. Show me His Grace Kelric. I have never meet your brother, perhaps I could reach out for him if I know who I am seeking.

This was an easy task, Wash shared the communications he had set between his medallion and his brother's medal. There was strong magic there, if Columcil could link into it.

((02:01 Laurna Rolling for Columcil to contact Kelric via the Camber Medals
02:01 Laurna !roll 2d6
02:01 derynibot 1, 5 == 6))

The priest had a calming way of building focus, nothing rash, instead very slow, deliberate and balance. It comes from Healing, my son, the older man said. If you want to learn that you must learn the balance of your energies first.

The pair of callers linked closer focusing on the mind they touched far far away. That mind when they sensed it was anxious, he too was having his own trouble completing the link. It was a woman's touch that evened Kelric's energies. Princess Araxandra was much like her parents, ready and able to handle the most stressful situations with prompt expertise. "Little brother, thank the Lord, tell me what is happening."

Just hearing the Duke's voice was the most reassuring sound. It allowed Wash to calm further. Through his link with Columcil, he sent a swift but brief accounting of all that had transpired. Then he passed forward the planes they had for this night and the next day, leaving out the details but giving assurance that everything had been well thought out. "Can you meet us at Arx Fedei. It would be much relief to have an escort from there."

"I'll be there," the duke assured him, "I expect you and your three companions to not disappoint me." Wash smiled; his brother was always telling him to not disappoint a duke of the realm. 

"Give mother a kiss from me,"
Washburn said before letting the link dissipate.

Columcil removed his hand from the knight's forehead and leaned back against the chair. "So that is the Duke of Corwyn."

"Aye, and he will reward you for all that you have helped me accomplish."

"it is not reward that I seek," the priest stated.

"That much I know, What does drive you to endure all of this, I can not guess. but what ever it is. I want to thank you for it." the nobleman commented humbly.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on February 08, 2018, 01:33:00 PM
It was some time before the midnight hour, before the bells toll, before Washburn considered it the best time to leave when a faint knock came to the guest door. The three men inside heard if even for its faintness. They had each been resting in their own way, for everything was already done, they were dressed, their things packed they just needed the appointed bells to ring to move. Master Darcy was cautious to open the door. "Who's calling," he requested of the knocker.

"Sister Ann Marie," came a quiet voice from the other side of the door. "Sister Margaret asks if Father Columcil can join her in the infirmary. She is in need of his services." Darcy looked back at his companions, this was not an expected request. He was given a nod from the priest even as the knight lifted his sword which had been lying beside him. Darcy opened the door a crack. Indeed there stood a pitie nun, head low.  "There has been an injury. A father brought in his boy, who was pinched under a cheese crate. The injury is in such a delicate place that our infirmarian thought it would be best to be handled by a man." Darcy opened the door a little wider. There was no one else about in the courtyard.

"Sister, I will come," the priest said as he stood.

"We will all come," Washburn added. He grabbed up his bow and his quiver, slung them to his back, then picked up his travel bag and balanced the strap across his other shoulder. Father Columicl tossed Darcy the bag that the seaman had intended to take with him. The rest of their gear would be going with the good father and his companion in the morning on one of their pack horses.

The three men were ever watchful as they followed Sister Ann Marie into the infirmary. All was dark and quiet, except for Simon who stepped out from the gate house door, watched the men for a minute, and than returned to his watch duties.

Within the infirmary, two nuns and a man bent low over a boy who whimpered in the fetal position, his hands tucked between his knees. The father was trying to coax the boy to allow them to remove his breeches so as to allow to see the injury. The boy was old enough to know better than to appear unclothed before a nun and was having none of it regardless of the pain he was in.

Father Columcil took the lead allowing the nuns to step back. Wash recognize the boy and the father almost instantly, "Master Stanly, how did this happen?'

The cheese master shook his head, "My fault, I thought to add a few more crates of aged Manchego to the wagon, only we were all tired and the crates were heavy. One slipped and caught David in the groin. I fear for my boy, but I may have delayed your plans too, I am sorry, my lord." The father was clearly distraught.

"Let us take care of this before any other considerations are taken." Washburn bent down to help Columcil ease the boy's pain.

The priest gave a prayer asking for the Lord's care and mercy, his hand covering the boys eyes for just a moment. David's tension eased allowing the father and Washburn to loosen the leggings and pull them free of the area of pain.  There was no cut, but already the right groin was bluish/red and hard swollen. A hernia with bleeding under the skin was surely at the boys hip. Washburn followed Culumcil's hand and placed his own beside his. May I ask that you show me where you get this power that you have, let me see if I can go there too.

Aye, I will let you try but only one try there is little time for more if this child wants to have children when he grows up.


The seriousness in the priest's tone sobered the Corwyn knight. This was not a mere game, lives stood in the balance. A balance that he was not certain he himself could achieve. Opening fully to the man beside him, he let the priest guided him into the place where his healer's gift had laid hidden all these years.

((11:08 Laurna First try at learning the new Healer trait
11:08 Laurna !roll 1D6
11:08 derynibot 1 == 1
11:08 Laurna All I ever get is ones, never anything else. ***Deep sigh***))

Wash thought he had touched on the gift, but alas, he could not bring it forward in his mind. Quickly, he backed away allowing the master of Healing to complete his task. Wash stayed poised to give energy, recognizing that a third party had entered their Rapport. Lady Aliset had entered the infirmary. she too would give Columcil energy if he would allow it.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on February 08, 2018, 02:47:09 PM
Darcy Cameron wanted to pull his eyes away, to not watch the magic that was happening in the room.  The boy's injury made him wince inwardly, almost physically, in fact.  He had stepped aside when Lady Aliset entered the infirmary, and he saw that she did not hesitate to assist.  Sir Washburn had tried to do something, but he had pulled away while the priest seemed to go deeper into whatever it was that was transpiring in this room.  Had he noticed a fleeting look of frustration on the knight's face?

In these short few days he had seen magic kill; now he watched as it tried to heal.  Darcy was not sure if he could come to terms with the two extremes. 
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on February 08, 2018, 04:43:51 PM
Columcil's thoughts were in a turmoil and once again he wondered how in heaven's name he had allowed himself to get embroiled in this situation. At worst he would get himself killed, at best be drawn into an even closer relation with those he had spent his life being happy to ignore, namely his noble kin. Or maybe he had the worst and best the wrong way round there.

He wished that Darcy were not so wary of him, understandable though it was. Darcy was a hard-working man, the sort amongst whom Columcil ministered, and around whom he was far more comfortable than the gentry and nobility. Just being a priest could be enough to make a man leery, Columcil knew all too well, when you added magic into the mix.... Then it was clear that neither Darcy nor Sir Washburn really trusted his ability to protect the lady Aliset. Well he could hardly blame them for that since he didn't entirely trust himself. Given the unconscionable amount of time it had taken them to come up with this plan, and the lack of any other, he thought it best that he kept that worry to himself.

Most of all though he was unsettled by the rapport with Washburn which had drawn him into contact with the Duke of Corwyn himself and her highness his Duchess. Neither had Washburn's innocent talk of reward helped. He was not offended, he recognised that Washburn's knightly vows gave him a sense of obligation towards others, but how was he ever to disentangle himself and disappear back into obscurity when, if, they reached Rhemuth.

So he was relieved rather than otherwise when the knock came on the door, though the relief soon turned to dismay when he saw the lad's injuries. He had to work hard not to speak harshly to the boy's father, whose lack of concern for the safety of tired workers was at fault, and then young Washburn insisted on sharing in the healing. He was being unfair, he knew. Washburn was motivated purely by compassion but he was not sure he could handle another rapport with his kin just then. Struggling to focus as Washburn laid his hand alongside his, Columcil managed to put the injured lad into a sleep deep enough to enable his tightly curled body to be straightened and reached deep within himself for his healing powers. At the vital moment he was aware that Washburn had faltered and drawn back; at the same time, "Blessed Jesus preserve him!", Lady Aliset entered the infirmary. With her, the knowledge of their desperate peril came flooding back and the moment was lost ((3+3 = 6 26nkl0knzh - those dratted dice - it's all their fault I had to give Columcil such a long winded crisis)). Before he could even withdraw his hands, however, Sister Margaret was at his side and, placing her hands over his, the healing power flowed from her into the boy's body.(( rolled advantage with two healers and two known Deryni in the room 6+1+5 =12 64xxhkjvh0))

He turned and smiled shakily at her. She returned the smile and said gently, "I rather feared that this might happen with all that you have on your mind, so I was just outside the room." Her voice as she spoke to the merchant,  on his knees by the pallet, was rather more stern. "Your son will make a full recovery, I hope you will value him rather more than your cheeses in future." More gently, for tears were streaming down his face, she added, "You can take him home to sleep the night now. No need to tell him that he was seen by a woman, in all honesty you can tell him that he was touched only by the good father's hands here." The merchant bent to kiss her hands and then those of Father Columcil and picking up his son as gently and easily as though he were a new born left the room. Sister Margaret made to leave too, then from the doorway she turned and said "What you must do is safe from being shared by any here. My prayers are with you. God speed." With that she was gone.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on February 08, 2018, 05:16:21 PM
As Columcil had attempted to Heal the cheese merchant's lad, Aliset pondered how she might help, wishing that she hadn't been so quick to drop her Alfred guise as soon as she'd entered the convent gates.  Having grown up in a household of brothers, not to mention raised with the expectation that one of her roles as a future lady of the manor was to look after the sick and injured members of her household, she didn't shrink back from the task at hand out of any misplaced sense of maidenly modesty, but she hesitated to openly volunteer her aid because she did not wish to embarrass the boy by seeming to hover too closely while Father Columcil attempted to use his Healing gift on such a delicate portion of his anatomy. Yet if the good priest should have need to draw upon her energy while he worked, she wished to be close enough for him to be able to easily do so.

An idea came to her, and she moved discreetly to one side, ostensibly to avoid blocking the source of light so that the priest would be able to see the injury more clearly, but her change of location brought her to the other side of Sir Washburn.  As Wash was also in contact with the patient, perhaps the Healer could draw upon them both if she simply maintained contact with him.  Laying her hand upon the knight's shoulder, she politely averted her eyes from the patient, not wishing to add to his distress.  Instead, her eyes fixed upon Darcy.

She studied his features briefly, committing them to memory before casting her gaze demurely downwards, not wanting to be caught staring. But she needed to be able to reproduce those features accurately, after all, if she was going to attempt to disguise herself as him successfully before they all left Droghera the following morning.  She briefly wondered if he might find it useful for her to transform his likeness to her own as well before they parted ways in the pre-dawn hours.  The thought nearly made her giggle. How would she broach the topic to him?  "Master Darcy, how would you like to masquerade as a lady for a day or two? More specifically, as me?"  She fancied he'd like that idea about as much as he'd favor slipping out of Droghera in a nun's habit!

She glanced back up at him, only to find him regarding her with an expression that looked half puzzled, half amused. Had he caught some vestige of her thought, perhaps, or had he simply noticed she was hiding her own amusement at something? She glanced away again, her cheeks warming slightly.  All right then, perhaps she'd best find some safer line of thought before she burst out laughing.

A furrow of consternation marked Columcil's brow, and she could sense through the tenuous link between them that his efforts had failed.  But at that moment, another pair of hands--not those of the ephemeral Saint Camber, as Aliset had half expected to see, but those of the infirmarian--came to rest gently upon his. It was then that Aliset detected the shift of energies that confirmed the Healing power had been manifested, and with that shift came the visible transformation of bruised and internally bleeding flesh to healthy wholeness.

Aliset breathed a quiet sigh of relief.  She had feared the boy's injury would mean another delay in their departure from Droghera, as she and her companions scrambled to form some other plan.  But now they must use what precious time they could to preserve their remaining energies for the journey ahead.  With a nod to Columcil and a quick burst of focused thought to Sir Washburn to inform him of her intentions, she slipped out of the room, making her way to the nearby stables.  There were horses to disguise, after all, and that was best done now, under cover of darkness and while no one else was likely to be around.

((17:02   EvieAliset   Roll 3d6 (spending a hero point) for creating illusion to disguise the horses (esp. Shadow).
17:03   EvieAliset   !roll 3d6
17:03   derynibot   4, 6, 4 == 14))

Concentrating most of her focus on Shadow, but sparing a little attention to their other horses' appearances as well, Aliset murmured the words of a spell to cast a glamour over them that would hide their true form from the eyes of any onlookers seeing them depart from Droghera with the rest of the merchant's horses leaving alongside them tomorrow.  The change in Shadow was the most remarkable--instead of a showy black destrier, before her now appeared to stand a small dun mare. Their other horses were less changed, yet a slight tweak of color on one and a shift of markings on the others made them less recognizable, or so Aliset hoped, to those who might be keeping a close eye out for their departure.

And now it was time for rest, to catch up on what little sleep she might be able to muster before she and Father Columcil must ride out together on the morrow. 

Turning towards the guest house, she shifted her own appearance into that of Master Darcy and made her way across the courtyard under the cover of darkness.




Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on February 09, 2018, 04:38:22 AM
Wash was disappointed in himself. Not so much for the failure to heal, for he wasn't even certain that gift had passed on to him from his father. Although, he still held hopes that it was there. He was disappointed in his failure to protect those who trusted him to get them safely to Rhemuth. So many of his small tasks had been failures, at least from his point of view.  He was so fortunate to have such trustworthy persons in his company to cover for his lapses. At every turn, for four days there seemed to always be something hindering his progress. He didn't believe in luck, per say. He believed in hard work and practice. Repetition, in theory, should allow an outcome to become predictable, and not a providence of luck.

The three people with him were good people. They weren't the type to use his lapses for their own gain. To gossip behind his back or to abuse his rank to get what they wanted. They would never voice their disappointment. Yet, in subtle ways, he knew he wasn't coming up to the expectations that they needed him to meet. The more he failed, the more the others seemed to  strengthened their own barriers to kept their own council. Wash did not fault any of them for doing that, it was just that getting out of Droghera, had its own difficulties. Trying to lead four independent souls to openly trust one another to get out safely was going to end in either stupendous success or utter failure. And it seemed only luck held the answer.

Failure was not an option, he told himself

Aliset had left to see to a few chores. Darcy had shadowed her out of the infirmary. Wash knew they were headed toward the nunnery stables and he let them go. Darcy would see to Aliset's safety. Columcil meanwhile had closed down to Wash, he was upset and understandably so. He didn't think anyone trusted him. The truth was, neither Wash nor Darcy would be leaving Aliset behind if they didn't trust him. And he needed the priest to understand that. "Father, I well know that you have had my back since we first meet. You have helped me in far more matters than I have been able to offer back. Not the least of which, you have saved my life. I want you to know, I trust Lady Aliset to your care. The lady... well... she is an independent soul... I am starting to believe that of most Deryni women. My faith tells me that you are able to protect her in our absence.

Columcil nodded.  "I appreciate that, if you mean it."

"I do," Washburn affirmed. His hand grasped the priest's shoulder in confirmation.

Perhaps this didn't solve all that was troubling Father Columcil, but it did some good at least in the man's outward facial expressions.

"Now, if I can just get Darcy to allow a little magic in that damnable tunnel. Do you think he will balk at handfire?"

"After everything else he has just seen?" the good Father returned.

"Damn," Wash jumped up. "Aliset went to do her magic on the horses and I allowed Darcy to follow her, not thinking of the consequences." One more lapse to add to all the others, which could push luck to the unfavorable side.

Wash raced out of the infirmary, over to the side door of the barn. Darcy was standing there, his eyes open wide, his face pale, the color of his hair. Yet, he could not look away. Aliset was patting the neck of a horse, a horse Wash had never seen before, a horse in the place where he had left Shadow. She is good. Wash thought, but he had to distract Darcy before the man saw more than he could handle. "Ah, there you are my friend. Are you ready to join me to stake out a good spot in the woodlands to watch everyone leave the town gates in the morning. I want to be well positioned before any of Oswald's men can move in." Wash had stepped before Darcy to cover the lady's exit from the barn.

"Yes, if you still think this is the best plan." the seaman asked unsure.

"I am open if you have a better solution," Wash said honestly.  He stepped aside now that Aliset had left the main barn door and could not be seen from their particular vantage point. "You have to admit she creates an excellent illusion. It is just illusion, you know. Just a trick to confuse the eye. Not black magic or anything." Wash caught a glimpse of the illusionary Darcy that had been Aliset walking toward the guest house. The real Father Columcil joined him and the two entered the building and closed the door. It was some relief that the real Darcy had not seen that, at least Wash hoped he had not just seen himself walking away.

Wash flashed a key that was on a chain about his neck. "I would be honored if you would join me in a path through the underworld of Droghera. Truth is that I welcome your company in a place I would rather not walk alone."

Darcy doubted the knight was claustrophobic, yet he did sense there were some truth to the knight's words. Odd that he could sense that.  But then that second sight was something he knew he could trust. Just not all this magic, illusionary or not.

They walked together to a small supply room at the back of the infirmary. Wash pushed back a stack of crates revealing a narrow panel in the wall with a small hole above head height. Wash inserted his key into the hole. The panel slid free and opened to a blackness within. The knight walked in first, he started to cup his hands to make handfire. He saw Darcy's eyes open in recognition and therefore changed his action to reach for a torch held in a bracket next to the opening. With a snap of his fingers the torch lit with a small flame.  The real flame brightened and the small room behind the wall was illuminated with a slight wave of the flame from a breeze. That was good, it meant there was movement of air where they intended to go. He handed the torch to Darcy. "Shall I led or would you like to be the one who proves there is no village Troll down here. It's a jest only, honestly!" he said quickly, regretting his last words.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on February 09, 2018, 10:08:51 AM
Darcy Cameron accepted the torch from the tall Lendour knight.  He had to admit the last bit of magic he had just seen had merit.  It didn't help the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach though.  Darcy swallowed.

"I'll go first," he said.  "You can see around my back better than I'll be able to see around yours."  Darcy moved past Washburn and went through the doorway.  "But if there is a troll, don't block my path back out of here."

Darcy held the torch far enough ahead to illuminate the steep stairs leading down from the door.  The light it cast flickered a bit, casting eerie shadows on the damp walls.  Darcy hoped they wouldn't find water at the bottom.  His foot slipped a bit on the next stair; he reached out to the rock wall to steady himself.

"Careful," he warned Washburn.  "Some of these are slippery."

The reached the bottom of the stairs without further mishap.  The torch continued to flicker, indicated there was still a flow of air at this level.  Darcy took a moment to survey the surroundings before moving forward.

A fair-sized tunnel had been carved into the rock, wide enough for a man to move through carrying supplies and high enough that Washburn only had to stoop slightly.  It stretched forward into darkness.  He moved forward, and Washburn followed him. 

Darcy was straining all his senses to help him navigate through the darkness.  It looked like there was something large looming ahead; Darcy hoped the tunnel wasn't blocked.  Something skittered past his boot.

'What was that?" Washburn asked.

'I'm not sure," Darcy responded.  "Probably a rat."

"I don't like rats," Washburn muttered.

"Better than trolls."

They continued forward.  It was darker here, Darcy noticed.  Perhaps there was a turn ahead.  He started to touch the wall with his free hand, then snatched it back before touching the spider that lingered there.  He moved on.

"Jesu!" he exclaimed, coming to a dead stop and almost dropping the torch.  Washburn collided against his rigid back.

"What's wrong?" he asked, grasping the smaller man's shoulder to steady himself.

In answer, Darcy raised his torch higher. 

Before them was a solid chunk of rock, evidently too hard to cut through.  Some long-dead miner had taken the time to carve the outline of a large troll on it.  A bit of crystal in the rock looked like a single glowing eye in the light of the flickering torch.

Darcy let go of the breath he was holding.  "This is not funny," he finally said.

Washburn, who had also taken a moment or two to recover, looked at it carefully.  "Someone did a good job on this. They must have meant it to frighten, maybe as a warning."

"That's not helpful, Sir Washburn!"

'Sorry.  Want me to take the lead?"

Darcy shook his head.  "Nay, let's just hope there isn't worse ahead."

There was a turn in the tunnel, probably to avoid the large rock.  Darcy squared his shoulders and moved forward.

 
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on February 09, 2018, 01:24:04 PM
Aliset studied her reflection in her polished brass mirror with a critical eye.  Master Darcy's face stared back at her. She turned towards Columcil.

"Should I wear the leather cap pulled completely over Master Darcy's hair or not?" she asked.

"Hm. That depends." The priest tilted his head to study the illusory features before him. "Do we want to draw our enemies off Sir Washburn's and the real Master Darcy's trail and divert them into following us instead, or were you rather hoping to slip out of town entirely unnoticed?"

"Ah, good point."  With a whispered word and a wave of her finger, Aliset altered her appearance slightly to conceal the gleaming silvery-blond hair completely, also changing the familiar cap's color while she was at it.  That was easily enough managed.  Turning to look back at the priest, she asked, "How's that?"

Columcil studied her with a slight frown.  "Well, you look less like Darcy now, but on the other hand it occurs to me, if our enemies think we're still in Droghera after we've made our escape, won't they grow impatient with trying to wait us out and come in looking for us instead? I'd hate for them to sack the town thinking we're still here! Maybe we shouldn't try to hide who we are after all."

Aliset nearly threw her mirror at him in exasperation.  "Well, I can hardly disguise us and not disguise us at the same time, now can I?  And don't you think they might still wonder where the other half of our company is?  Besides, how many pursuers do you think are actually hunting for us? Not enough to sack the entire village, surely!  Even if Droghera has a few Mearan sympathizers, these are their friends, families, and neighbors we're talking about."

Columcil looked chagrined. "Well, all right, you have a point. Probably there aren't that many enemies looking for us anyway, though it certainly feels that way, when you're the prey."

Aliset only half heard him, suddenly considering another notion. What if there was some way to be disguised yet not wholly unrecognizable?  After all, she didn't wish any repercussions to fall on the villagers of Droghera either, and even though she figured a wholesale reprisal against those who had been kind enough to shelter them was unlikely, perhaps there was some way to slip past watchful eyes with just enough alterations in their appearance to make their pursuers doubt it was actually them leaving, but still retain enough similarities to their true forms that they might belatedly realize those they were seeking were no longer in Droghera?  It would be a tricky balance, but perhaps not impossible.

"Do you have any secular clothing, Father?"

Columcil shrugged.  "Well, I'm wearing breeches and a jerkin under my cassock. I suppose I could just leave the cassock off and put it in my travel bag."

"Good, good...."  Aliset studied him carefully.  "Perhaps I could make your hair appear completely gray also, and...oh, hang on for a moment...."  Rummaging through her bag for Alister's old clothing, she drew out a russet wool hood.  "That could work. Even if it gets too hot at midday to wear the hood over your head, it's an article of clothing our pursuers wouldn't be looking for on you."  Looking up, she asked, "Would you mind looking a little older than you actually are?"

The priest's lips twitched in a hint of a smile. "You're asking permission to make me gray beyond my years? Seems to me this adventure is already doing a good enough job of that without additional help, but if you think that will help...."

Aliset laughed, tracing an oval in the air around his face and murmuring the words to the familiar spell.

((12:47   EvieAliset   Rolling for casting illusion on Columcil
12:48   EvieAliset   !roll 2d6
12:48   derynibot   3, 5 == 8 ))

Columcil's hair appeared to turn steely gray. With an additional tracing of her finger, she also added another couple of inches to its length before deciding she was satisfied with his changed appearance.

As she turned to repack her other items in her bag, Columcil removed his cassock and packed it away in his own, then donned the borrowed hood. When Aliset looked back up, she smiled at the difference the small changes to his usual wardrobe and appearance had made.  "I think that works.  Hopefully we're just enough changed that no one will think twice about our departure until after the fact, once they realize there haven't been any sightings of us in the village in some time.  Between that and the story being put about that I'm still in the infirmarium, having suffered some sort of relapse, I think it might be another day or two before our pursuers put two and two together and realize we've slipped out from under their noses. And then, even if they do remember two merchants leaving this morning who might possibly have been us in disguise, we'll be long gone, and they'll still have doubts because there would still be two of us unaccounted for." She sighed. "Let's hope the ruse works, anyway. I really don't know what else we can try."

The two of them gathered their belongings and headed out to the stables, Columcil coming to a dead stop just before they reached the door, reaching out to put a hand on her arm, stopping her in her tracks as well.

"What's wrong?" she asked, casting out with her senses to see if she could detect some nearby foe whose presence he might have sensed before her, but if there was such an enemy close by, she felt no sign of him.

I just realized, he Mind-Spoke, you've changed Shadow's appearance already, haven't you?

Yes, Aliset replied. What of it?

Well....  The priest blushed.  He's a large horse, Shadow. What does he look like now?

A dun mare, Aliset replied.  Why, is that a problem?

I don't know.  Maybe you ought to change him back, at least until I can mount him.  Or should I lead him? I could ride Spean instead and just lead Shadow, if that would be easier....

Aliset stared at him, puzzled. I don't suppose it matters which one you ride, though if we end up coming under attack despite all our precautions, wouldn't you rather be riding the horse that is battle-trained?

Well, yes, but . . . won't anyone watching us ride away think it strange if I'm hovering several inches above what looks to them to be a smaller horse?  And how would I even mount him? Not knowing how high his back actually is, what if I accidentally kick him....

It was all Aliset could do not to burst out laughing.  I've made him look different to others, Father! I've not turned him invisible!  Since you know I've cast an illusion on him, you should be able to see him perfectly well.  Just look at him with your Deryni senses, not just your eyes.  Close your eyes while mounting him, if that helps.

She was still giggling quietly to herself as they rode out of Droghera together with the rest of the merchant's horses, riders, and goods.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on February 10, 2018, 05:50:38 AM
In the predawn hours, Washburn and Darcy had settled in the crooks of the branches of a grand old Mearan oak tree. They were some twenty feet off the ground resting comfortably among the leaves. The branches they rested against were as wide as a horse's backside and easy to either stand or sit upon. This had been Darcy's idea, he liked the height to see up the road which   was barely visible in the darkness. The road lay at a distance of about a dagger's throw. Darcy had made the climb up the gnarled tree trunk so easily. Washburn had needed a hand up to get from a lower branch to the one eight feet up which he now sat on.  The vantage was a good one. It did give Wash the consideration that highway banditry might have been in the seaman's past.  But he would never suggest that.

Instead, as they waited for the sun to rise, the knight gave a smile thinking back on that Troll in the cave. For after they'd past the rock carved troll, the tunnel opened to a natural cave with water-warn walls dripping with stalactites. One had a constant drip of water that had warn a bowl shape into the rock below giving off the effect of a bubbling cauldron. For a moment, Wash could not resist lighting his handfire to look into the depths of the small pool of mineral water. It was murky white and reflected the light for all the salts that it held. Then he looked to the back of the cave and could see the glow of the crystal Troll eye, a fat shape of a nose below that, and row of carved pointy teeth. From this vantage the tunnel entrance was well hidden. Who would get closer to that troll to discover it. Not after the stories told about Drogh-the-troll wanting to eat you. 

Darcy had proved his worth when he had looked back and seen what had interested the knight. "A hoax," was all he mumbled as he returned to finding their way out of the cave. They snuffed out the torch and the handfire before the exited the rock crevice and entered the wilderness just above the river.

From there they had stuck to the trees, angling toward the road going south. They had walked about two miles before they edged closer to the road to find a good vantage point to wait. Wash had his bow strung with arrows ready.  Darcy had his daggers readily available; he cleaned his finger nails with one of them as they waited.

The jingle of wagon harnesses, cow bells, and the calls of men warned them that the merchants were making their slow  pace upon the road. They heard the sounds long before they saw the first riders come around the bend which had blocked the view of the road by a knoll covered in thick trees. They would soon know if their ruse had worked, or if Oswald's men stalked the merchants looking for their prey.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on February 10, 2018, 03:58:09 PM
Darcy Cameron shifted his position in the tree to get a better look at the travelers on the road.  Their progress was slow but steady.  Older boys on foot drove the cows forward; the bulls were handled by men.  The wagons followed, along with the riders.  Darcy scanned the riders to locate Father Columcil and Lord Aliset, since he was sure Lady Aliset would not travel in her true form.  A man in a russet wool hood looked familiar; could it be Father Columcil?   Beside him rode another....

"Bloody hell, Sir Washburn!"  Darcy exclaimed in a low voice.  "You could have told me what she was up to!"

Belatedly, Washburn realized he had not considered that Darcy would recognize "himself" among the riders.  Although the cap was a different colour, Darcy knew his own face.  Washburn sighed.

"I thought we had distressed you enough for one day," he replied, his voice equally low.

"And this is not distressing?" Darcy hissed back.  Annoyed, he turned away from Washburn to scan the group and then look behind them.  A figure on horseback was approaching, moving faster than the group ahead. Idiot, he berated himself mentally.  If he had not been distracted by Aliset's disguise, he would have seen him sooner.

"There," he said urgently to Washburn.  "A rider coming up fast."

(Roll to see if Darcy recognizes the rider)
Jerusha   !roll 2d6
16:46   derynibot   1, 1 == 2
(Spectacular failure.  For crying out loud! )

Darcy stained to get a clear look at the rider.  The merchants moved toward the side of the road to let the man pass.  The man gave them a curt nod and kept riding.

Sir Washburn had his bow ready.  "Do you recognize him?"

Darcy shook his head.  "No, I've not seen the man before."

Washburn lowered his bow.  He would not risk killing an innocent man.  He hoped the man was truly innocent.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on February 11, 2018, 01:30:44 PM
Washburn lowered his bow.  He would not risk killing an innocent man.  He hoped the man was truly innocent. 

Yet, just as that man was riding past at full gallop, beyond the congestion of cows and men on the road, Washburn could swear the man turned his head, looked straight at him in the trees and smiled. That's when Wash got a quivering sensation of warning. He was sitting on the tree limb, with bow in one hand, arrow in the other, he could not turn about in time as he heard the faintest sounds of distant crossbows releasing at his back. Even as he heard one, he heard a second one release. How had the enemy gotten behind them? His first concern even as he turned, was that they were aiming at his two companions on the road below.  He was forming the warning in his mind to call Aliset, when the bolt slammed into his side, just under he left arm which still held the longbow up to go over the tree limb.

((I am told Bynw's bad guys have rolled successfully to hide themselves from Washburn's magical surveillance,(like Aliset had done the other day for are group hiding from them.) And that they have rolled a successful attack upon Washburn. I am conforming to that roll. Better me writing about it, than Bynw, I say.))

Washburn's eye's turned to see three men running toward him from deep in the forest, two with crossbows, the third with the Droghera guard's sword.((Meresha attack roll disadvantage. a 6 does not affect a 1 means convulsions. results = 2, Verification Number: 74mqjg7xw7 at least it wasn't my normal roll of one, there is some mercy in the world)).  Then... fire burned his lungs, explosions of colors seared through his vision. He grabbed at the tree limb, at anything that would keep him from falling, it was a long way down. His fingers opened, releasing the bow, nails caught on the oak's rough bark, but that didn't stop his fall. His hand holding the arrow spiked the head into the tree bark to keep what precarious hold that he still had. But the oak was a very old hardwood and the arrow head only skimmed across the surface of the bark. Sir Washburn Morgan fell... eight feet and landed hard against the lower branch. There he managed to clutch his thighs around that and hold tight. A wave of nausea and pain brought his empty stomach to retching. He had little to eat sense the day before. He dry heaved, nothing, then heaving again. Only the pain in his side catching on the motion, stopping his heaving short. A second implosion enveloped his brain and he suddenly knew the cause. Meresha! He screamed within, knowing he could not pass on the warning. Darcy was still on the limb above him, the man had his own concerns. Fear for the others was his greatest concern. He had failed! Failed completely, he thought as he blacked out.

________

Feyd was so very pleased with himself. This had been his day. He would be a wealthy man after this. He had been lucky enough to spy two men coming up from the river in the dark. As he had gotten near to follow them, he had successfully cast a concealment spell upon himself and followed his pray to the large tree that they had chosen to hide in. Then he had backed away. Returning to the camp of separatists watching the road nearer to the town walls. Phyer had just arrived, telling them that he had learned that two of their marked numbers would be leaving in the morning. The two they didn't care about. They would let them go. That left the noble lady and the high ranking knight far less defended. They should try to take them the coming night by infiltrating the convent  during the daylight hours when the gates would be open.

Feyd had smiled merrily at that news. "I know where the lady and the knight are. We can take them now and not worry about the others."

"Oh, do tell." Phyer was quite pleased to hear what Feyd had learned. But when Feyd showed the special bottle of drug laced oil, a special compound of Meresha, sedatives, and convulsants. Phyer backed away. He was Deryni too and had no desire to handle such heinous poison. He allowed Feyd and the other separatist to dip their crossbow bolts into the thick viscous drugs. The drug would not drip off or dry anytime soon. So Rayne had been instructed to get the attention of the men in the trees, when the time was right to do so. And the others walked back through the forest coming at the two in the tree from a good distance away, once again using that same concealment spell.

It went exactly as Feyd had planned. Rayne's run through the merchants had caught everyone's attention. In the noise of the wagons and cows, no one had heard them come forward through the trees. A good solid focused aim on Feyd's part and his target was impaled. The Meresha would do the trick to stop any repercussions. The human separatist next to him was an expert crossbow man, his reputation had that he never missed. He too let his bolt release, aiming at the lady disguised as a man.

((Separatist shooting at Darcy with focused advantage. 3d6 success on a 4,5 or 6. rolled 4, 1, 2 = 7 Verification Number: 1wz327zgfz))

True to his word, the second crossbow bolt flew as accurate as Feyd's had. The back of the person in the tree arched as the bolt struck home.  The only unfortunate was that this second person twenty feet up managed to hold on with all his or her might and stayed high up in the tree. As the three men ran forward, they knew there was no time to climb up and get him. For even as the Meresha took affect the man did not change into a women. They had the wrong target then. There was nothing for it to do but grab at the feet of the heaving unconscious knight, pull him from the tree and run back like hell for their horses tied back in the forest. They had mostly been quiet. No one on the road should have been able to see them through the brush or hear them over the noise of the cows. They would be well back to Valerian with their prize fairly caught.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on February 11, 2018, 03:49:10 PM
Jerusha   !roll 1d6
16:28   derynibot   2 == 2

Pain!  Pain and an awful, wrenching dizziness followed by nausea.  What was happening to him?

Darcy Cameron clung to the tree branch.  He vaguely remembered a commotion behind him and bolts hissing through the tree they had perched on.  He had turned to look at Sir Washburn, only to find him falling from the branch to land on another one.  Men had come and were dragging him away.  Darcy could not summon the strength to try to stop them.  All he could do was grab the branch and hold on.

The pain in his side was intense.  If he had not turned to look at Washburn, the bolt would have caught him square in the back.  At the moment, he thought that a swift death might have been preferable.

He needed to alert Father Columcil and Lady Aliset.  Even if he called out, he was afraid that, in his current condition, his voice would be too weak to be heard.

In spite of the pain it cost him, Darcy managed to move his arm and reach into his belt pouch.  He found what he was looking for.  A sailor's tin whistle.  Please don't let me drop it, Saint Nicholas.

With painful slowness, he managed to raise it to his lips.  With blackness swimming perilously close, he blew as hard as he could.

A shrill blast went forth.  He blew again and again, until the blackness finally overcame him.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on February 11, 2018, 04:49:26 PM
When Columcil had allowed himself to fantasise about riding Sir Washburn's wonderful stallion he had never imagined that the animal would be disguised as a dun mare. He could not quite understand how this all worked - he only hoped that the poor beast had no idea of the indignity practised on him. Still all seemed to be going well. Sir Washburn and the real Darcy had left the previous evening under cover of darkness using the hidden passageway. At first light he and another Darcy had risen from their beds in the guest house preparatory to leaving - Columcil tried not to imagine his next confession: "Bless me Father, for I have sinned. I slept alongside a woman but we did not touch and she bore the shape of a man".

As they left sister Margaret had detained them in loud voiced concern, "Father, and good Sir, the lady is feverish this morning, she cannot ride with you. Your errand is urgent, you say. Well maybe it is but you cannot just abandon her. Sir Washburn will remain? - well thank God at least for a true knight and a gentleman. Will you not at least come and give her your blessing, Father." She had bustled off into the infirmary, and Columcil had followed, wondering what she had in mind but thanking God for her ready wit and her willingness to play a part without asking questions.

Riding out through the town gates admidst the noise and dust of the cattle and horses Columcil thought again of Sister Margaret and the unexpected gift she had given to him.

"My heart tells me you may yet need my help. You are in need of haste but will you permit me to establish a rapport with you? I pray that it may serve for you to reach me if need be." The country priest that had been Columcil would not have understood but days alongside Sir Washburn and Lady Aliset had taught him much and he had allowed her to take his hands and lead him into rapport. ((dice roll 5+2 =7 1nhgjhhz00 Sister Margaret and Columcil establish rapport)). As he turned to leave she had pressed into his hand a small brass medallion with a woman's head embossed upon it. "Use this if you need to contact me and may the blessings of St Brigit, and your own blessed Melangell be upon you".

As the drovers moved out of the town gate and out along the path Columcil found that his attention was dragged forcibly back to the present. His own Spean and Darcy's mare were biddable enough but Shadow clearly longed to stretch his legs in a good gallop and it took all Columcil's skill with beasts to restrain him. He only hoped that his pride in riding such a spirited animal would not come before a fall, but Shadow would not have endured to be led like a common pack animal.

They had covered possibly a couple of miles when a scream echoed through his mind followed almost immediately by the sound of a whistle being blown repeatedly with the most desperate urgency. The noise was shrill enough to penetrate the noise of the cattle, something was obviously badly wrong. Looking at the disguised Aliset he saw the same look of horror on Darcy's face as must be on his own and her lips shaped the words, "Darcy and Washburn!"

Columcil knew already whose the scream had been. It had come again, once the whistle had fallen silent, slicing through his head like a knife, but much fainter. Either Sir Washburn was weakening or he was further away. Likely it was both. God help them, their best protector must have been captured. Praying hard Columcil extended his senses. Yes there were presences both human and ...more horses ((dice roll 6+2 =8 3wdbltnsnj Columcil senses Washburn's captors)). He felt utterly helpless; under him Shadow reacted to his emotion and reared, his forelegs hitting back down to earth with a bang which jarred him in the saddle, and almost as painfully sent a thought seering through his mind. He did not know whether it would work, but it was worth a try. Begging all the Saints and Angels he could think of, and a few he did not know for good measure, he reached out with his mind to the horses that were there at the edge of his consciousness, putting into the uncomplicated equine minds  thoughts of fear and pain and freedom. Pray God they would be driven into enough of a frenzy that at least some would break loose and Washburn's captors delayed. ((2+6 =8 3gf9r3w3n1 - thank you lovely dice!!)). He breathed a silent prayer for pardon to St Melangell who had allowed no harm to living creatures from humankind and turned again to Aliset, hoping that she would be able to make use of the time he had hopefully gained. As he did so an oath all but escaped his lips. Washburn's scream had driven all thoughts of the real Darcy out of his head.




Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on February 11, 2018, 05:37:21 PM
Aliset's nerves were already on edge when she heard the shrill whistle.  She had been watching out for Sir Washburn and Darcy for some minutes before that happened, knowing that she and Father Columcil had been drawing close to the spot where the knight and the mariner would be emerging from the tunnel route and hiding themselves nearby at the edge of the forest, awaiting their passing.  She was not sure  whether they meant to join her and Father Columcil or if she and the priest were meant to rejoin them--a lot depended on whether the two men hiding at the forest's edge had managed to spot any signs of their pursuers behind them on the trail.  So she had been keeping an eye out, waiting for some sign that they had emerged from the tunnel unscathed and that her full company would be reunited soon.

Another rider had galloped past her and Columcil suddenly, spooking some of the cattle and nearly causing Papillon to throw her off in her startlement, so that she'd had to refocus her attention to controlling the startled horse. She prayed that Sir Washburn's battle-trained mount was causing Columcil less of a problem. Just as she'd begin to recover her equilibrium, she'd heard them--not the signal she'd been waiting for, but a psychic scream that made her blood run cold, followed almost immediately by a shrill, piercing sound. 

Fighting to retain some vestiges of calm so she could focus, she extended her senses in the direction of that sound. 

((16:51   EvieAliset   Sensing test
16:51   EvieAliset   !roll 2d6
16:51   derynibot   1, 6 == 7))

She sensed Master Darcy immediately, though she nearly recoiled from the brief brush of her mind against his, for at that brief contact she could sense tattered shields and a psychic disruption in his mind that could only be from merasha. Forcing down her terror, she continued casting her senses beyond Darcy, until she detected Sir Washburn, even now moving further away, although at that moment she detected a flurry of activity that abruptly halted his retreat, at least momentarily.

A glance at Columcil told her that she was not alone in sensing the danger their companions were in. Gathering her courage, and refusing to allow herself to dwell on the folly of rushing headlong towards an enemy armed with merasha, she cried out, "Our companions are under attack, Father!  For Gwynedd and Saint Camber, we must help them!" 

Wheeling Papillon around towards their friends in need, she rode at a gallop, hoping Father Columcil was close behind and whatever other allies might see fit to rush to their aid, but she did not look back to see who followed after her.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on February 11, 2018, 07:40:09 PM
Grand Duke Valerian tapped his finger against his desk in irritation.  It had been too long since he had heard anything from his agents in the field.  Surely the cursed Morgan was not still hiding in that wretched Mearan town!  On the other hand, perhaps he was.  Perhaps this seed of Alaric Morgan had fallen too far from the tree.

Well then.  He would stir things up a bit.  With a smile, Valerian reached into a box on his desk and withdrew a large medallion.  He stood up and carried it over to the window and held it in the sunshine that streamed though.  The words of the spell he murmured caused it to glow briefly.

The next time the medal he had directed be hidden in the bag on the horse left behind saw the light of day, well, the Lady Aliset would have one less protector.

***

The gong farmer turned his wagon toward a fast moving stream.  As he had so many times before, he stopped his wagon at an angle to the stream.  One by one, he unloaded the barrels, removed the lids and poured the contents into the stream. Where the contents ended up from there was not his problem.

Finally, he lifted the last of the barrels from the wagon.  This one had come from the Nunnery at Droghera.  He edged it toward the stream and removed the lid.  Absently, he noted a metallic object that seemed to catch the light of the sun....

***

Lord Trillick road with his small party back north.  In the road ahead, a dishevelled cart horse stood harnessed to the remains of a wooden cart.  One side of the cart had broken off, witness to what appeared to be some sort of panicked run.  Aromas of excrement assaulted his senses.  His squire beside him held one sleeve across his nose. 

Lord Trillick moved forward, his squire followed.  As they neared the stream, they saw several barrels strewn along the bank.  One lay splintered, planks of wood strewn about.  His squire's horse suddenly moved sideways as something fell down from a nearby branch.  The liquid "plop" and the smell told them what it was. 

"My Lord," the squire said hesitantly, pointing to something by the stream.

Lord Trillick and his squire dismounted, moving forward to determine what was lying beside the stream.  Lord Trillick's squire retched, then moved quickly away to be violently sick.  Lord Trillick almost joined him.

The body by the stream had fallen backward away from the water.  His face, chest and arms were blackened by whatever force had killed him.  The vacant eyes gazed skyward.  Lord Trillick crossed himself, but could not quite bring himself to move forward and close the vacant eyes.

White-faced, his squire returned to his side. 

"My lord?" he asked.

Every sense told Trillick this was terribly wrong, and that it must be tied to whatever Lord Morgan was involved in.

"Mount up," Lord Trillick commanded.  "We ride back south, quick time.  We'll stop only long enough in Droghera to have them send someone back for this poor soul.  Quickly!  I fear we have little time to lose." 
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on February 11, 2018, 08:31:14 PM
Even as Aliset pulled her horse up close to where she had sensed Master Darcy, another rider approached, though he retained a wary distance from the tree line. She turned her head, half expecting to see Father Columcil, but while the good priest had indeed followed close behind her, the first man to catch her attention was the leader of the group they'd been riding with.

"My good man, we don't know how many brigands we might be dealing with," the man exclaimed. "Surely it would be better to send word back to the village of what has happened here?"

"An excellent idea," Aliset agreed, "but I dare not wait until reinforcements arrive. My friends are in too much danger.  But I understand if you feel it best not to venture any closer to unseen dangers in such small numbers. Still, if you could return to Droghera for help...."

((Aliset   Roll for number
19:52   Aliset   !roll 1d6
19:52   derynibot   3 == 3 ))

With an assuring nod that he would do exactly that, the man turned away, signaling for three of his party to return to Droghera to summon assistance.  With Father Columcil now beside her, Aliset dismounted, casting out with her senses briefly to ensure there was no foe in extreme close range before dashing the short distance to Master Darcy's side. Father Columcil following with the horses.

"Wards...we need to set up a circle of protection around him--around all of us, and quickly! We'll be of no use to Wash if we are wounded or captured before we can come up with a plan...." She reached into her bag, rapidly flipping through the pages of her family's grimoire.  "I would use the Border-style warding I used before, but if our enemy is using merasha, they might have a Deryni among them. I wish I knew stronger warding magic, or had my Ward Cubes with me...."

Father Columcil's eyes turned to hers briefly in startled realization before he turned his attention back towards the forest shadows as he stood guard over her and Darcy to the best of his ability given their circumstances. "Master Darcy has Ward Cubes!"

She stared up at the priest a long moment, wondering how long he'd known that and why he'd never thought to mention it before--God knows they could have stood to have used them long before now!--then shook her head and returned her focus to the attention at hand.  Doing her best to shut out outside distractions, she rummaged through Darcy's pouch, murmuring words of apology to him in case he still retained enough consciousness to be aware of her actions, and came up with the cubes.  Centering herself, she carefully placed them in their respective positions as she set their potentials.

In the meantime, Father Columcil continued staring into the distant underbrush, doing God alone knew what.  There were odd noises in that near distance--Aliset thought she heard a horse's whinny at one point, and a muffled curse--but then she blocked it from her mind entirely as she finished murmuring the words of the spell, naming the joined oblongs in turn before quietly speaking the final words of power, "Fiat Lux!"


((19:52   Aliset   warding
19:53   Aliset   !roll 2d6
19:53   derynibot   6, 2 == 8 ))

The Ward Cubes felt unfamiliar to her, unlike her family's set, yet she managed to coax the magical protection from them nonetheless.  Setting the four corners of the Wards Major around them all, she tweaked the ward to dim any visible energy, turning it into a cloaked dome instead, one which would still allow them to see out, but would hopefully conceal them from those who wished them harm.

Aliset breathed a sigh of relief.  They were hardly safe, but at least they were safer now than they had been up to this moment.  Now she must see what could be done for Master Darcy.

He seemed to be coming to consciousness again. She was not sure whether that was a good thing or a bad one, under the circumstances.  He would be aware of his torment now (assuming one might have a moment's respite from it while unconscious), but being awake and aware might also allow her to give him some small measure of relief.  No cure, for alas, there was no cure for merasha's disruptive effects except time.  Had he any formal Deryni training and a previous exposure to merasha's effects, he might have learned some means of coping with the disruption enough to function, but alas, up to this point Aliset had not been entirely certain he even was Deryni, and Darcy himself had not seemed to realize that at all.

((19:53   Aliset   test roll--medication in pouch that might reduce the merasha effects
19:54   Aliset   !roll 1d6
19:54   derynibot   4 == 4))
She dug in her pouch for some of the medications she had retrieved from the infirmary during their stay, extracting a small vial of a tincture that was said to help to alleviate the worst of the merasha symptoms.  Whether it would help Darcy function through his pain, or simply knock him out until the merasha finally wore off, Aliset couldn't say.  Holding the vial to his lips, she poured a few drops onto his tongue before stoppering the vial carefully and returning it to her pouch. They might yet have need of it again.

And now for treating his physical wounds.  Aliset studied the injury closely, careful not to touch the bloody clothing around them.  Father Columcil might not be able to risk a Healing while Darcy was still under the influence of merasha, and she was afraid to remove the crossbow bolts until Columcil could safely Heal, but maybe she could at least bandage around them and stop the bleeding that way.

Tearing a linen shirt into strips, she donned leather gloves first and proceeded to do just that.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on February 11, 2018, 11:18:18 PM
The instant Cheese Master Stanly heard the whistle, he knew there was trouble.  That trouble must have to do with the two outsiders, he just knew it. He threw the brake on his wagon, even before he turned back to see the two men on horseback nearest his wagon concentrating on the forest beyond the road. They had saved his son from injury just the night before. He owed them an indebtedness. He knew well enough that Deryni were not immortal. He had seen their race harmed often enough by bullies and men who still thought of Deryni as devil's practitioners. He was not Deryni, but neither was he Mearan. He had been targeted by those same bullies over the last year or so. He certainly did not like where the town ethics were separating into two factions.  Bullying and banditry was the devil's work, in his mind.

Stanly handed the reins of his four-horse team over to his younger son. "Keep them calm," he told his boy. Then he jumped from the multi- crate high wagon to point to Talbert, his journeyman from the shop, to join him. Talbert likewise threw the brake on the second wagon and let his master's older son take the reins.

The two men on foot followed the two outsiders on their galloping horses into the forest. From a distance, they saw them pull a third man, a familiar looking man, from the tree. But before they could reach those three, a glimmering dome went up around them, and then the men and the dome disappeared, completely.  That spooked the journeyman enough to have him back away. "Talbert, just stay here. When they appear again, and they will, offer what help you can for them. Things must be desperate indeed if they are using a ward." The journeyman was a little wide eyed. But when he nodded that he would comply, Stanly was assured; Talbert was a man of his word.

There was a ruckus of horses whinnying further back in the trees. Warily, Stanly slipped from behind one tree to the next. What in the name of Saint Brigid's is going on, he thought to himself.

_____

An anvil with a blacksmith's hammer pounded again and again on the red hot metal that was nestled somewhere behind his eyes. Washburn swore at the hammer, yet it would not let up. Maresha! Think you, you've experienced... experienced this before. Think you!

That day, the day before the celebration of his reaching manhood, when he was just about to turn fourteen, his brother had taken him by Portal to the Rhemuth Basilica, there to see his uncle Duncan at the schoola. Wash had no inkling of what lay in store from him that night. He would never have gone if he had known. Duke Kelric simply stated he had to pass a test to be confirmed as an adult on the following day. The test of Merasha had been furthest from his mind until the few moments before they had handed him a glass of tainted red wine and told him to drink it all down. What occurred then would never be forgotten. It most certainly sobered up a rascal fourteen year old to the dangers of the adult world.

Between the pounding in his head, the pain in his side and the rough handling of the two men carrying him, Washburn remembered every last detail that his brother and his uncle had used to help him get through that night. There was a way to focus past the nausea, past the pain. It wasn't a Deryni focus, but it attested to nearly the same thing. Mediation of the human sort, if he had the Camber medallion against the skin of his chest, his brother had told him, use that to bring about mediation. Slow your racing heart. Ease the tension of muscles and lungs. Washburn did as his brother's voice had encouraged him to do. Wash felt the warmness of the medal, he concentrated on what he knew it looked like. He listened to his brother's voice.  Relax, ease the muscles just enough to seem like he had gone unconscious to those holding him. Just maybe, they would relax their grip on his arms as they drug him through the forest floor past bushes and roots catching on his dragging feet.

The mediation didn't stop the pain, but it lessen the intensity by just a bit. Enough so that the knight could open his buzzing ears to concentrate on the sounds around him.

Horses, three by the sound of them, were making a desperate fuss to be free.  A man, not one of the ones carrying him, was cursing loudly at the beasts as they came up along side where they had been tied. Surely the harsh tone of his captor, was not helping the horses calm down. Think you, think! Would they have had time to disarm him. His dagger and short sword had been at his side, his long sword, where was that?

He chanced a glance with unfocused eyes.Through a red-hazed blur he could see the hilt of his great sword over the back of the man cursing at the horses. No help there. Another quick glance and he saw his dagger and short sword in the belt of the man carrying him on the right. Steady... steady... prepare... you will have one chance and one only. He knew the truth of it. A wave of dizziness gripped his mind. That was the cost of opening his eyes. Use your ears, not your eyes, he scolded himself.

Then he heard it. A horse rearing with a squeal and breaking free. The other horses squealing and kicking to follow their mate. The man on his right loosened his grip trying to grab at the wild horse as it ran by.

Every once of training went into the Corwyn knight's next move.

((Under maresha influence "All other tests are at 1 pip higher." Therefore 2d6 roll, as he has proficiency with daggers. Success on 6, add a hero point to make success on 5 and 6.
rolled 2+ 5 = 7 Verification Number: 6qp0trps3f))

He pushed the man away, daring to open his eyes for a moment to snatch for his dagger and rake it across the man's side as he pulled it free. In the same full motion he used all his weight to swing his dagger into the waist of the second man holding him on his left.

((Second action. 2d6 roll for dagger attack. Stab at the second man holding him. test one pip higher. Rolled 5+6= 11 Verification Number: 4dn0d7xk1k))

His dagger enter flesh and then came out, with all his might, he daren't lose his grip on his one weapon. In that second, with the horses squealing, he was free.

Run, he told his weakened body, run!
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on February 12, 2018, 07:01:06 AM
((Columcil was going to use his medallion to contact Sister Margaret to bring help for Darcy. Dice roll 1+1 =2 xt5qdqtxs7))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on February 12, 2018, 07:29:22 AM
Feyd watched as the Duke's brother made his excape into the woods.

<feyd> !roll 2d6
<derynibot> 6, 3 == 9

Calming his own horse he mounted up. And shouted to the other 2 men. "After him. He is drugged. He cannot get far."

With his men chasing after the running Washburn, Feyd himself put spurs to his horse in another direction.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on February 12, 2018, 09:46:39 AM
Darcy Cameron knew he was being moved.  Sharp pain sliced along his side and up to his head, centering behind his eyes.  He could not hear properly; was he drowning in the sea?  Was this the final turn his life would take?

He was not in the sea; now someone laid him gently on the hard earth.  He tried to open his eyes, but the pain and dizziness increased, so he closed them firmly again.  Someone rummaged inside his shirt, and he thought a familiar voice said she was sorry.  He needed to fight his way out of this blinding, painful fog that kept him from thinking straight. 

Someone lifted his head slightly, and he felt a few bitter drops of liquid pass along his tongue.  He began to feel numb, except for the pain in his side as someone worked at his wound.  That pain he could endure.

Hesitantly, Darcy tried opening his eyes again.  Dimly, he saw himself tying off a strip of linen.  He closed his eyes.  Someday this would all make sense.  If he lived that long.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on February 12, 2018, 02:28:00 PM
Master Stanley stood behind a thick tree trunk, watching the scene unroll before him. He couldn't possibly help in any way, not with what he saw happening before him. He was a cheese merchant, he was not trained with at anything better than dagger throwing, a Sunday afternoon game. But he had trained many a journeyman in his time, and now he had his own boys. Boys who, no matter how good they were, had to deal with fist fights and bullies. He was no stranger to a good fist fight.

Trouble was these men were playing with the hard toys: Crossbows, swords and daggers. By the look of their victim, the tall blond knight who was a Morgan, by the way that he wobbled even as he grabbed the dagger from his one assailant, slashing him, and stabbing the other to get away, Stanley knew that was not an alcoholic daze but a drugged one of some kind. Deryni drugs were efficient at whatever tasks they needed to achieve. For that reason most apothecaries reserved them at only the highest prices and for select members of the community. Far above the rank of a cheese merchant. Advice had always been, don't get involved. Why he was involving himself now, he could not honestly say. But someone had too. Someone had to help or a good man would die.

The knight was staggering, attempting to run. Stanley bit his lip as the one assailant mounted one of the two remaining fractious horses. The cheese master pulled his dagger from his belt. What was he thinking! He couldn't possible make a difference; he was likely to only get himself killed. Then where would his family be, a wife with two boys and three girls, trying to run a business without him. The thought stayed his hand, he hid behind the tree, and bit his lip hard. He did not want to see the rider run down the escaping knight and slaughter him, cold-blooded, before his very eyes.

Yet, the howl of a dying man didn't come. The sounds of horse hooves moved away, not nearer. Could it be true? He had to see. Lord Morgan was still on his feet running and stumbling in the direction of the big tree. In the direction which would guide him very near to where Stanley stayed hidden. Belatedly, back a few paces the two assailants on foot, with their own blood on their hands, sprinted forward to regain their captive.

One man took a leap forward, diving at Washburn's feet. Attempting to trip the fleeing man up and take him down to the ground.

((1d6 disadvantage roll with a hero point for Washburn to not stumble and fall. Rolled 5, Verification Number: 49hdbck48l ))

How the knight did it, Stanley could not guess. Lord Morgan's years of training in balance must have stayed him in good stead even in this drugged haze. For the knight was slowed, but just for a moment, he somehow managed to pull free of the hand around his foot. Spurs may have had some small part to play in that. Regardless, Washburn was still on his feet, still able to run, gaining some momentum from his success. He was finally passing Stanley's hiding place. The cheese merchant ran out, grabbed the nobleman's arm and pulled him more upright, so that the two could run faster. Almost as fast now as the man who was still chasing them down. Stanley saw Journeyman Talbert waving them to go to the hidden spot where the nobleman's friends had disappeared. He had no way of knowing if there was a chance to breech that warding. Else wise, they would both be dead soon enough.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on February 12, 2018, 02:54:35 PM
Aliset saw Sir Washburn continue to stumble towards where she and her other companions waited in concealment.  It appeared that the cheese maker was attempting to assist him, yet Aliset worried that they might not make it to the shelter of the ward before they were either killed or captured.

Unless, that is, she could come up with some means of diversion for their enemies, or better yet, some form of barrier to prevent them from reaching Washburn and Master Stanly.  But what?

Suddenly she had an idea. Glancing back at Father Columcil, she asked, "If I open a gate in these wards, and for whatever reason something were to happen to me, do you know how to close them again?"

Columcil gazed past her at the scene playing out before them as he answered, "In theory, I do. It would be the same as closing any other ward, wouldn't it be? Just retrace the open segment of the ward circle to close the gate again?"

"Exactly!"  Aliset summoned up her courage, now that she knew she would not be leaving her companions entirely defenseless if something were to go wrong with what she planned.  "All right, if this is going to work, we shall have to be quick."

Motioning to Columcil to take a position to one side of where she planned to create an opening in the ward, and holding her index and middle finger together, blade-like, she swiftly traced a high arc in the ward dome surrounding them, creating a doorway in the side facing the approaching men.  Careful to keep her body as shielded as possible behind the warding energies to one side of the open gate, she cautiously aimed beyond the approaching men to the area just behind Sir Washburn, between him and his pursuers, sweeping her hand to trace a line behind him as she muttered the words of a spell.

((14:38   Aliset   barrier
14:38   Aliset   !roll 2d6
14:38   derynibot   2, 1 == 3))

Nothing happened.  Aliset bit back an unladylike curse in her frustration.  Centering herself as best she could, and willing a fleeting urge to panic back down, she focused her mind on a second attempt, this time visualizing the barrier of illusory fire she had intended to throw up between Wash and Stanly and the men chasing them down.  It would not burn, for she was certain calling up a real fire wall was beyond her potential just now, and it would not deflect the bolts of a crossbow if either pursuer were to stop running and actually aim their weapon before letting one fly, but just maybe it might at least cause them to hesitate before plunging through the illusory barrier, buying Wash and Stanly more time to reach the safety of the warded space.

((14:41   Aliset   Second attempt
14:41   Aliset   Using hero point 
14:42   Aliset   !roll 3d6
14:42   derynibot   4, 4, 4 == 12))

For a moment Aliset was afraid the spell was not going to work, but then an illusory wall of flames sprang up before their pursuers. She ducked back fully behind the concealment of the ward barrier, silently urging the fleeing men onward; Sir Washburn and Master Stanly were nearly upon them now, and she would need to move quickly to close the gate behind them once they were inside the ward dome.  There would only be a few scant seconds at best to spare for closing the gate again before the enemy would be upon them.

She whispered a quick prayer to Saint Camber that the knight and the cheese maker would manage to make it to the sanctuary of her warded circle in time.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on February 12, 2018, 04:11:18 PM
Washburn Morgan, through the haze of Maresha disruption, looked up from the ground to see just where it was that Stanly was guiding him.

Lord have Mercy! There was a head, shoulder, and arm of Master Darcy waving his hand in the air with a swish and defiant set  in his eyes.

Fire erupted behind him. The cheese master cursed and jumped forward away from the flames, pulling Washburn a little off his feet.

((1d6 disadvantage roll for not stumbling. Meresha- disadvantage, one pip higher. Success on 6 only.
Rolled 6 Verification Number: 5mt0rkdtbd, Yes for a 6, awesome!))

The knight regained his footing without losing momentum.

"Get the wagons rolling," Master Stanly yelled to Talbert.

The pair ran hard toward the ward, just as Talbert dash away, back to the road. Their assailant, only momentarily slowed by the flames, dove forward with all his strength, to make a last ditch effort to catch Washburn and bring him down to the ground.

((13:58 Laurna Rolling for man closest to Washburn to dive and catch him up.
13:59 Laurna !roll 2d6
13:59 derynibot 2, 6 == 8
13:59 Laurna Rolling for Stanley to attack with his drawn dagger.
14:00 Laurna !roll 2d6
14:00 derynibot 3, 2 == 514:00 darn))

Phyer succeeded in tackling the knight, knocking the wind out of his captive's lungs, both men hit the ground hard. They landed just outside of the ward opening.

Phyer planned to pull the winded knight from safety, recaptured him, and remake him his prisoner. But for Stanly, who was right there. The cheese master made a desperate swing at the Mearan. His dagger swung, but missed as the guard dodged to the side. 

((Washburn with hero point dagger attack on assailant  success with a 5 and or 6.
rolled 3+ 6 = 9 Verification Number: d34lk45k4z))

In that moment, as the Droghera guard evaded Stanly's attack, the black knight pulled his hand free, the hand with the dagger still held tight in his grasp. Desperate, unwilling to be captured again, he landed a good blow with the sharp edge slicing deep into his attacker's shoulder. He pulled the dagger out, knowing that he energy was spent. With sudden immense relief, he felt friendly hands pulling him away from his assailant, pulling him completely into the warding. He managed to tuck his shaking feet inside the opening, just as Darcy, no that had to be Darcy/Aliset, Darcy wasn't Deryni, just as Aliset swiped her two taught fingers to seal the warding solidly closed.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on February 12, 2018, 05:15:02 PM
Feyd watched from a safe distance. The Ward, the firey wall. All well played out. He hadn't had a Deryni in Gwynedd that was a worthy target for many years. Most bearly know that they were Deryni.

As he sat on his horse he knew this was a possiblity. That the Morgan would escape. In fact he had planned on it so it wouldn't take him by surprise when it did. But this Morgan could carry himself so well even under a dose of Merasha. Feyd thought next time it will be two.

One of Feyd's men paniced at the sight of the wall of flames and ran in the other direction. But the other tested it to see if it was real or only seen in the mind's eye.

This would become a waiting game. Feyd's men could hid again in the nearby woods in ambush. Those within the Ward would have to come out for food and water within a few days. They could keep on their tail nipping at their heals the whole way to Rheumuth.

Feyd of course already knew that the ambush here might not work, especially if the Morgan got away before they could put him on a horse. He knew what his next move would be and smiled before he continued to ride off.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on February 12, 2018, 08:03:43 PM
Aliset had managed to coax a few drops of the precious elixir she had between Sir Washburn's lips. She was tempted to split the entire amount between him and Darcy in hopes it might help them recover from the merasha poison in their systems faster, but she dared not.  There was no telling when she might be able to refill the vial, and they might yet need more of it in future.  Sighing, she stoppered the vial again and replaced it carefully in her bag.

Looking up at Father Columcil with a sad smile, she remarked, "I am so sorry you got dragged into all of this!"

Doubtless the priest was equally sorry he'd been dragged into her troubles, but if the thought crossed his mind, he was kind enough not to say so.  He smiled back sympathetically, declining to answer.

Looking outside the wards at the retreating foes, she noticed Master Stanly deftly sidestepping his attacker before dashing away towards the clearing beyond the treeline towards the road, two men riding forward to assist him to safety even as Talbert got the wagons on the move again.  The cheese maker was seemingly uninjured and unimpeded, much to Aliset's relief, his assailant having drawn back to rejoin his companion, no doubt still lurking just out of sight nearby, though just now Aliset was too drained to search for them.  Bit it appeared that Master Stanly would not pay the ultimate price for his assistance to Sir Washburn, and for that mercy Aliset offered up a silent prayer of thanksgiving. There was enough weighing on her conscience without adding an innocent man's death to her growing list of sins.

"I meant to allow that poor man into the wards with us," she confessed to Father Columcil, "but as it turned out, there was not enough time, and I had to close the gate to protect the others. I hope Master Stanly can bring himself to forgive me someday." She swallowed hard. "That is, if he lives long enough to do so. Do you think our enemies will go after the caravan?"

The priest turned up one palm in a "Who can say?" gesture.  "I can't think what possible advantage there would be to them to do so, but then again, I'm not entirely clear on our pursuers' motives in the first place. Is Caer Mariot so desirable a manor that there'd be this much effort put to capturing an escaped heiress just to secure it?  There is more going on here than meets the eye, I begin to think."

Aliset nodded.  "I begin to think so as well. I know that in addition to his crimes against my family, that Cousin Oswald is in league with certain others who wish to see Meara established as a separate kingdom once more. I had meant to warn the King of that when I make my petition for protection and justice to him.  But I think now that perhaps there might be more trouble brewing than the overthrow of just one family manor.  I have had little time to speak to you or the others of the visions that I've seen of a dark man--a man who has the look of a foreigner about him--who seems to have taken an interest in us.  The man whose amulet we destroyed was sent by him, not by Oswald, although they might be working in league with each other.  I did not recognize the face, but he seems a powerful Deryni, whoever he is.  Might I show you what I've seen?  I think it would be best if I show you all, for with so powerful an enemy, if aught should happen to me, hopefully at least one of our number might survive to warn the King."

Columcil looked outside the wards at the shadowy woods surrounding them.  "Aye, though first we need to figure out how to survive long enough to leave these woods again, much less continue on towards Rhemuth!  Although you might be heartened to know Sir Washburn managed to contact His Grace of Corwyn, who even now is riding this way with reinforcements to give us safe escort back to Rhemuth.  Unfortunately, we were to meet him in the lowlands beyond the borders of Meara, but whether we will be able to do so now, God alone knows."

Aliset stroked a sweaty lock of hair off Wash's brow as she contemplated the news.  "But His Grace would surely continue on in this direction if we don't meet him as scheduled, would he not? 'Tis cause for hope, at least.  And before coming here to shield Master Darcy, I sent riders back to Droghera to seek aid for us--perhaps you remember, if you were not focusing so much on causing panic amongst our enemies' horses to take note of it-- so hopefully help will arrive even sooner than His Grace of Corwyn could possibly get here. Let's hope so, anyway. I like not the thought of having to camp out here for days with naught to eat but the few provisions on our persons."

"Not to mention the lack of ... other conveniences," Columcil said drily. "Though I suppose things could be worse."

Aliset arched a brow at him, glancing down at their other two companions, even now moaning in troubled slumber. She looked back up at Columcil questioningly.  "Worse? How!"

"Well, we could be dead. Or you might be back on your way home to Oswald, which I'd gathered you would like nearly as well."

Aliset sighed. "You do have a point."




Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on February 13, 2018, 09:13:44 AM
((Inspired by a dream I had last night.   ;D ))

Aliset pondered the lack of other conveniences the priest had alluded to.  Oh mercy, what if they were stuck in here for hours, or even days?  There was no certainty of help arriving from the village, after all; what if the gate guards decided enough trouble was enough, and simply shut and locked the gates to prevent further problems from descending upon the town? No, they needed some sort of a back-up plan, just in case the worst should happen and they were stuck in this ward longer than any of them had counted on.

Looking around her, she spotted a twig and began to scratch frantically at the dirt near the periphery of the shimmering dome wall surrounding them.

Father Columcil gave her a questioning look as she attempted to dig a hole. "What is it you are trying to do, my child? Perhaps I can be of assistance?"

She spared him a quick look over her shoulder, but continued digging.  "I've had the thought that we have no idea when rescue will come, or even if it will.  In the meantime, I think it would be best if we have at least the most basic of conveniences at our disposal while we wait to see how things play out."  As he continued to look at her with mild bafflement, she added, the color rising in her cheeks, "I'm digging a latrine."

He blinked owlishly at her. "A latrine?"

The blush deepened. "Aye, Father! We'll surely need one at some point." Scribing a small circle in the dirt before her with one finger, she explained, "I had thought I could raise a screening veil--similar to a ward, but not designed to keep anyone out, simply designed to screen the area from view...."

"Ah."  The priest's face cleared as he began to comprehend her plan.  "Yes, I can see how a latrine might come in handy while we wait. Might I help, though? I have some skill in woodcraft, after all."

She stared at him in horror.  "Oh no, Father! We need your hands!  You're our only Healer, after all, and we don't have so much water or wine to spare to wash the dirt off them once Sir Washburn and Master Darcy are recovered enough for you to Heal them!  And besides," she added almost as an afterthought, "they're consecrated!"

The priest's lips twitched in an effort not to laugh. "So they are, my child, although I assure you my consecrated hands have handled far worse jobs than digging a hole in the ground.  Though you have a point about keeping them as clean as possible until I can Heal our friends.  If I might offer a bit of guidance, though, perhaps I can suggest an easier method for digging that hole that will help the work proceed faster?  And I think it likely we'll only need a shallow pit, so there's no need to go at it like you're trying to get to the other side of the world."

A few minutes later, once Aliset had managed a hole in the ground that was not quite as deep as she'd planned to dig, but proclaimed deep enough for present purposes by Father Columcil, she spent a few minutes to restore her energies before tracing a circle on the ground around the hole, mumbling the words of a spell that caused a shimmering curtain of reflective fog to arise around it, obscuring the center of the circle from view.  Her work complete, she sat back to rest, looking satisfied.

"Let's see how our young friends are faring now," Father Columcil said as he passed a hand over Wash's brow, probing shallowly just enough to test whether the merasha disruption had already passed. "Ah, I think our good knight is past the worst of the effects now.  He still has the devil of a headache, and some lingering nausea, but it feels more like a bad hangover than the effect of a high dose of merasha still remaining in his system." He placed his hand over the knight's injury, but before he could summon up the focus necessary to work his Healing powers, the knight's eyes shot open.  "Garderobe?!" he croaked, looking around himself in a frantic daze, apparently still quite disoriented and confused.

Aliset mutely pointed towards the shimmering fog. "In there," she replied, her eyes widening as, without questioning, Wash simply nodded and practically dove head-first through the shining curtain.  A few seconds later they heard the sounds of heavy retching. 

Aliset winced, glancing over at Father Columcil. "Well, at least he's getting any remaining merasha out of his system. Let's see how Master Darcy is faring."  Crouching in front of the sleeping mariner, she gently shook him awake. "Master Darcy?"

The man in question stirred, then opened his eyes. He stared up at Aliset in shock before mumbling, "Holy crap, I'm dead!"

The priest chuckled. "No, son, although I'll allow you probably feel like you'd rather be right now. Might I have a look at your wounds?"

Darcy reopened his eyes rather tentatively, staring up at Aliset.  "I am dead, and there's my ghost."  Sitting up, he looked puzzled. "No, wait, that can't be right."  Raising his hand to his forehead, he winced.  "I feel awful.  What happened?"

"You were hit by a merasha bolt," Aliset explained. "It's a drug that incapacitates Deryni."  She waited for the shock of realization to dawn on Darcy's questioning features.

"But I'm not Deryni!" he muttered, confused.

"Well, I'm afraid the merasha in your system begs to differ."

He stared back up at her again. "You're Lady Aliset?"

She nodded.  "Yes. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. I forgot I was wearing your form. We've been...a bit busy."

He wasn't looking past her, though, but beyond her now.  "Why is there a ghost me sitting on Sir Washburn's head?"

She turned then, noticing Darcy's reflection in the screening mists around the latrine, and giggled. It did rather look as though Darcy sat cross-legged atop the knight, whose body emerged on their side of the foggy partition.  At that moment, the rest of Wash emerged, clearing up some, if not all, of the mystery. 

"Oh God, I want to die," he muttered.

"Not today, son," Father Columcil assured him.  Though perhaps sooner rather than later, if you two don't allow me to tend to your injuries!

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on February 13, 2018, 11:48:12 AM
Lord Jaxom Trillick slowed his small party to a walk as they approached Droghera.  Nothing seemed amiss.  The gate stood open to allow travelers and townspeople to go about their business.  He noted that a large party had left the town earlier.  The ground showed telltale hoofprints from horses and cattle and ruts left by what must have been heavily loaded wagons.  They would not be travelling fast.

Droppings left behind by some of the animals reminded him of his task to have someone see to the corpse they had left behind.  He would do his duty. 

"Take a short time to see to your needs and that of the horses.  We will not stay long," Lord Jaxom said to the senior man-at-arms.  "I'll find the Captain of the Watch and inform him of what we found."  Lord Jaxom dismounted and handed his reins to one of the bowman.   His squire did likewise.

The gatekeeper provided directions to the guardhouse where the Captain could be found.  It was not far.

Lord Jaxom found the door to the guardhouse open and a man he presumed to be the Captain seated behind a table.  He was studying a parchment and looked up when the lord from Trillshire rapped on the door.

Lord Jaxom described the grisly scene they had found and requested someone be dispatched to bring back the body.

"You did not bring it back yourself, my Lord?" the Captain asked with a hint of disapproval in his voice.

"The cart was in no shape to use," Jaxom replied.  "In truth, without a cart, there was no, um, easy way to bring the man here." 

The Captain snorted.  Whether the man before him meant easy or pleasant, he was not sure.  "This is normally a quiet town.  First it was the Lendour knight and his party that got our gatekeeper killed," the Captain paused to cross himself, "and now the gong farmer is dead."

"The Lendour knight was here?" Jaxom all but pounced on the words.

"Aye, he still is as far as I know.  He and the lady are staying up at the Nunnery."

Lord Jaxom's father had not mentioned that Sir Washburn travelled with a lady, but nevertheless, he would speak to Sir Washburn to find out what had happened.

Roll 2 dice to see if the men Aliset sent for help arrive before Jaxom goes to the Nunnery.

Jerusha   !roll 2d6
12:20   derynibot   2, 6 == 8
12:21   Jerusha   Oh, hallelujah!

Both men turned at a sudden commotion that seemed to be coming from the direction of the town gate. 

"Now what?" the Captain muttered as he rose to investigate.  Lord Jaxom and his squire followed the Captain, equally interested to find out what was happening.  They were met partway by a guardsman running toward them.

"Three of the farm guild masters have returned.  There's been trouble.  Someone attacked Lord Morgan and another of his party.  There may be injuries."  The guardsman, clearly excited by his news, followed them back to the gate.

Lord Jaxom grew impatient while the Captain calmly questioned the riders that had arrived.  Finally, he named off four men and gave them instructions to arm and mount-up.  The guild masters would accompany them to return to their group as soon as they were able.

Lord Jaxom saw that his men had reassembled at the sound of the disturbance and stood ready to leave.  He signalled for his horse and quickly mounted, as did his squire.  "Quickly, Captain.  We'd best not waste time."

The Captain said something low under his breath about glorified young lordlings, but within a few short moments they were through the town gate and galloping down the road.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on February 13, 2018, 01:22:47 PM
Columcil felt a surge of warmth towards his companions. Inspite of everything he really was not sorry that he had become caught up in their troubles, though he devoutly prayed that they would be able to leave this benighted neighbourhood before long. Everything that they touched seemed to go amiss. God grant that he would not fail in healing his two brave companions, for his practised healer's eye told him that unless he were able to stop the bleeding once the weapons were removed neither would be long for this world. and if the weapons were not removed then they would most likely sicken and die anyway. Who knew what other contaminant might have entered their bodies along with the merasha?

He wished that he had been able to contact Sister Margaret but the medallion that she had given him had proved ineffectual ((2 dice rolls both snake eyes xt5qtxs7 & 2rs0v8fmss)), he was strongly tempted to douse it in his precious stock of holy water and see if that helped. Then he rebuked himself - what sort of priest was he to wish to bring another, and a Sister at that, into such deadly peril. He must simply get on with it himself and pray that God would not hold his sins against him.

He looked at the stricken Darcy, humbled at the man's courage. He wasn't at all sure how he would have reacted to seeing himself walking around, and then to see what he took to be his ghost as well. He spoke gently "Can you lie still for a little longer, my son, while I heal Washburn here. After all he has been through it's a miracle that he is still able to stand, let alone walk."

As he spoke Washburn gave the lie to his words and crumpled sideways - Aliset ran to grap hold of him, glad that she was, if only temporarily, possessed of the seaman's muscles which enable her to bear his weight and lower him gently to the ground. Columcil knelt at his side, then took his cassock out of his pack along with his prayer book. He brought the prayer book to his lips and kissed it reverently, praying once again that the healing power of his father and grandfather would flow true through his veins, and at that moment not caring if any saw and questioned. Then he turned to Aliset, "Once I am in healing trance can you pull the bolt out cleanly. You will need to cut room with your dagger, I will damp the pain as best I can, but God willing he will not regain consciousness until we are done. Wrap your hand in this robe first though, I wouldn't want to find out that there is still some trace of merasha on the blade." He smiled wanly, "I hope that we will all survive to be lectured by another laundress on our careless handling of our clothes."

Aliset nodded, not trusting herself to speak, though her lips moved in silent prayer as Columcil sank into a healing trance, then glanced at her. She was grateful that her father and brother had never prevented her from hunting with them and she silently asked for their guidance as she withdrew her knife from its sheaf and thrust it into the wound, turning the blade so that she could pull the bolt out cleanly. Fresh blood welled up almost immediately but Columcil's hands were there, plunging into the wound and bringing blessed healing. ((dice roll using hero point - we need Washburn to survive - 4+2+5 =11 603xfr9c5h))

Columcil sat back on his heels, closing his eyes in relief. But the task was not yet done. He scrubbed his hands on the rough wool of his cassock, signalling Aliset to throw the crossbow bolt on the ground and clean her hands likewise. Darcy would be more difficult; he was conscious for one thing, and there were two bolts. Besides he had already had enough shocks that day to fell the staunchest of men.

Again he knelt gently at the injured man's side. Darcy was white but bravely met his eyes. "This will be much easier if you will allow me to put you to sleep." Darcy nodded "Anything rather than see me poke around in my own wounds like that. I'll allow that her ladyship is a sight gentler than I am, but yes, Father, go ahead. Maybe I'll wake up in my bunk back at sea, wondering what I ate to give me such a dream." Columcil traced the sign of the cross on the other's forehead then gently laid his hand across the taut skin. Darcy gave a sigh and closed his eyes. Columcil glanced again at Aliset and twice more they worked together to remove the crossbow bolts and heal. ((another hero point we need Darcy too. 3+4+5=12 165ktmc234))

Once again Columcil scrubbed his hands, then with a sudden move he stood up and began to wander around as though looking for something.

"What's wrong, Father? Have you lost something?" began Aliset. She had expected that he would remain on his knees to give thanks, maybe even offer to celebrate Mass, though maybe he would wait until the others regained consciousness. "Water, lass, we need water," he replied distractedly, "and maybe I can just find us some." He stooped suddenly and picked up a twig which forked some half way down it's length. "I've not been Deryni trained like you and yon young lord, but there's many a border farmer who has saved his beasts from dying of thirst by being able to dowse."

((modified to roll to determine how many hit points were healed. Washburn 2, Darcy 3 362rm0qwk))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on February 14, 2018, 11:18:03 AM
King Kelson of Gwynedd looked across his desk at the Archbishop of Rhemuth.  After the hastily convened council meeting had concluded, they had retired to Kelson's study for a private conversation.

"I don't like this," he said. 

Archbishop Duncan nodded his head in agreement.  "This could get nasty very quickly," he said.

"Or it could smoulder and explode when we least expect it and are unprepared."  The king looked thoughtful.  "I need more eyes and ears in Meara."  He motioned to the young page standing unobtrusively by the door.  The boy came forward and bowed.  "Bring Baron Iain to me."

A quarter of an hour later, there was a knock on the study door.  At Kelson's crisp command to enter, the door was opened and a man entered, along with the page.  The page resumed his post at the door.  The man came forward and bowed.  The light from the candles reflected brightly off his pale, silvery blond hair.

"My apologies for keeping you waiting, Sire," the man said as he straightened.  "I was preparing to leave for Isles and was not in my quarters."

Kelson gazed for a moment at the man standing before him.  Baron Iain Cameron had been his spy in Meara for nearly eight years.  How a man with such distinctive looks could be a successful spy, Kelson had never understood.  Nor had he ever asked.  He motioned the man to sit in the chair across from his desk.

"I'm afraid I must ask you to change your plans, Baron Iain."

Baron Iain had worked for the king long enough to know that Kelson was being polite and there would be no question about the ask.  "Back to Meara?" he asked calmly.  Only Meara would prompt the king to go back on their agreement for a leave of absence, so Iain could take up his duties in Isles after learning of the death of the Dowager Baroness, his mother. 

"I have received disturbing news, more disturbing than your last report.  Archbishop Duncan, perhaps it would be best if you tell Baron Iain the message you have brought to me."

Archbishop Duncan relayed all the information he had brought to the king.  Iain looked thoughtful, turning various pieces of it over in his mind and matching them to others.  The king was right; he needed to return to Meara. 

"What do you want me to focus on, Sire?  Lord Morgan's safe return? The potential uprisings among the landholders?" he asked.

"Duke Kelric of Corwyn is moving north as we speak with a force of men to assist with his brother's return.  I want you to concentrate on finding who is behind all this, and if you can stop him, do so.  I suspect that whoever is behind the disturbance in Meara has determined Sir Washburn is the more valuable prize.  If Kelric fails, though I doubt that will happen, I want you there as another option.  Send any information you gather directly to me as often as you can.   The more we know, the better."

"As you wish, Sire."  Iain permitted himself a slight smile.  "I left provisions and stabled a good horse near a Portal. I will leave at once."

"There is one more thing you should know," Kelson said carefully.  He caught a questioning look from Duncan, but he proceeded.  "There are several traveling with Sir Washburn besides the Lady Aliset.  She contracted a man-at-arms as her original escort, and he continues with them to Rhemuth.  His name is Darcy Cameron."

It was not often that someone took Baron Iain by surprise.  Despite his respect for the man, Kelson savored the moment.

"The Darcy Cameron who would be my brother died almost eight, no ten, years ago of a fever," Iain responded carefully.

"As reported by your stepfather six months after the boy's death.  You never saw the body.   The same man now holds Isles in a grip you intend to break."

"If you are intending this as additional motivation, Sire, it is not needed," Iain finally said.

King Kelson nodded.  "I know that well," he said.  "But if whoever is behind this succeeds in securing Sir Washburn, the man who may be your brother could be collateral damage."

"If the man is my brother and is still as I remember him, whoever is behind this may find his task more difficult than he expected." Iain smiled.  "My brother was a lot like me."

"I hope he is a lot like you," Kelson replied and gave the baron permission to depart.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on February 14, 2018, 02:32:30 PM
Baroness Ailidh awoke abruptly, but did not open her eyes. She had no need to do so to sense the man in her bedchamber.

She heard his quiet footfalls approach her bed. They were approaching from entirely the wrong direction.  He should have been coming from the door to her chamber, although to have done so, he would have had to pass through the antechamber where her maidservants slept, not to mention the man-at-arms on duty outside that antechamber, to reach the inner sanctum of her private bower, the room where she slept alone when Jass was not in residence to share the bed with her.  But no. Instead, he crept his stealthy way from the corner of her room where the secret passage behind the paneled wall opened up.  Few people knew of the passage which Jass had only recently installed in Trurill in order to allow a quick escape from this wing of the castle in case of an emergency. The new paneled facade had been installed a mere arm's length in front of the original paneled wall, creating a narrow corridor between the two.  From inside the room, it was difficult to tell the chamber was any smaller than its original dimensions.  And there had been only a small number of workers involved in the creation of the secret passage--fewer than could be counted on one hand.  Of those, two had been human, and their memories had been blurred after the construction was completed. In theory, they should only have remembered replacing the aged paneling in the great hall, not the narrow passage that descended from her bedchamber to exit near the Portal in the undercrypt. The third, whose memories had not been altered, was Sir Cillian O Ruane, whom she and Jass had no reason not to trust completely, having owed their very lives to him on several previous occasions, not to mention to his father and grandfather before him.

That left the fourth man, a man-at-arms named Simon, who was born and raised in Trurill, and at least up to this point had seemed to be equally loyal to his Baron and Baroness, if not quite as fiercely so as Sir Cillian...or at least Simon never given Jass and Ailidh any reason to believe otherwise. Simon had not been involved in the actual installation of the paneling concealing the new passage, but Jass had trusted him with guarding the areas where the new construction was being installed, and neither of them had thought to alter his memories of the event after the fact. Simon was Deryni, for one thing, and although he was not a particularly well trained one, it would have been much more difficult to alter his memories without his knowledge, and asking for his consent to do so when he had never given them any reason for distrust might have given inadvertent insult.

This, however, was not Simon in any case.  Ailidh was familiar with what Simon's presence felt like.  This man stealing towards her now in the pre-dawn darkness did not feel at all familiar to her.  However, she was certain that he was Deryni. He could not have entered or emerged from the secret passage unassisted if he was not.

He was almost preternaturally quiet, so much so that had she not had her Deryni gift to enhance already keen senses, she might not have heard the soft footfalls stop just at the edge of her bed, nor the nearly silent swoosh of fabric as the bedcurtain was pulled to one side.  He had the advantage of her, or so he might have, were it not for one thing.  Thus far, he had not yet sensed that she was already awake.  And that gave her the advantage of surprise.

((14:01   Ailidh   !roll 2d6
14:01   derynibot   5, 3 == 8 ))

She sensed more than felt the moment when he picked up the pillow beside her--Jass's empty pillow--moving it towards her face, presumably to smother her with it. Instead, she exploded from her feigned slumber like a fox leaping out of the underbrush ahead of a pack of hounds, one hand catching a descending wrist as her other, holding the sgian dhu she kept under her pillow at all times--for this was, after all, volatile Meara!--slashed a deep line across her attacker's throat.

He crumpled in a pool of his own blood, a warm crimson fountain staining Ailidh's nightrail as she watch him fall upon her bedcovers, then slide to the floor below. Leaping out of bed, she traced a glyph in the air to close the secret passage before cradling his head in her blood-slicked hands to Death-Read who he was and who had sent him.

((14:17   Ailidh   !roll 2d6
14:17   derynibot   5, 4 == 9))

What she discovered made her blood run cold.  It would seem more than Trurill and its allegiant manors were in grave peril. Jass must be told, and not him alone. Duke Dhugal must be informed as well, and through him, the King.

There was no help for it, she must leave at once, or at least as soon as she changed her clothing and informed Sir Cillian of what had transpired so he could report it to Jass upon his arrival if she had not returned by then.  But in the meantime, someone needed to clean up this bloody mess....

Throwing open the door to the antechamber, startling her sleeping maidservants to instant wakefulness in the process, she yelled, "GUARD!"
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on February 14, 2018, 03:23:13 PM
((Wow, Evie, good for Ailidh))

Archbishop Duncan had many pressing issues upon his mind as he returned to his study within the Cathedral after leaving the king's side. One item in particular nagged at him. Ignoring all the ceremony of returning and the many secretaries that had invaded his office to continue the days work. Duncan sat at his desk, pulling parchment and quill before him, to write a private letter.

Unto His Grace Stephen, Bishop of Cassan,

I am recently informed of small instances of unrest from the See of Meara. I would like to ask you to be aware of any transgressions that occur within our province of Cassan that may help us determine the intensity of this unrest. I request for you to report back to me that which you consider important on the matter. I value the safety of my Cassan and Mearan people. I do not wish to see a reprise of Mearan's history in replay.

On a more personal note. It has come to my attention that a man of the church has enjoined with the son of my cousin in his travels to Rhemuth. The name I was given of this good priest is one Father Columcil. I do recall many years back ordaining a man of this name. I wish to inquire if this can be the same priest who presides in a country parish of Cassan dedicated to Saint Melangell. Can you give me some assurance of this priest's good character. Perhaps you can determine for me what it was in the first place that has set the good Father with his feet upon the road to travel to Rhemuth. Be assured that I am grateful for the services in which I have so far heard that he has given to the members of the group that he travels with. I am told his deeds have been invaluable for their continued Health and Spiritual well being. I wish to learn the full details of how this all came to happen.


Signed with the flourish of the archbishops signature and the seal of his office.

Duncan reviewed the letter, folded it and sealed the outside and addressed it to Bishop Stephen of Cassan.

With a nod to his secretary, Father John, he handed across the letter. "Can you see that this reaches its intended? Today?

"Aye, your Grace, I will," john said with a bow and departed for the nearest Portal.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on February 15, 2018, 12:17:28 AM
Dhugal listened to his vassal's lady in silence, wishing he'd grabbed a linen shirt to wear under the itchy woolens he'd hastily garbed up in. He'd hardly had time to dress at all, given the unexpected arrival in the pre-dawn darkness, much less awaken his lady wife, now yawning sleepily at his side as they received Baroness Ailidh in their withdrawing room. He would have allowed Mirjana her rest, but it would have hardly been circumspect of him to have received a lady into the ducal presence at this hour of the morning without his duchess present, even if said lady was practically family.  Well, practically foster family, at any rate.

Ailidh had just come through the Ballymar Portal--practically tumbled through, to hear Sir Seamidh report it--looking as though she'd taken no more time in dressing than he had.  It was not the misaligned lacing of her bodice that bothered him nearly as much as the telltale smear of blood that still stained her collar bones and the tiny splatters that dotted one side of her jawbone where she'd managed to miss it in her hasty ablutions before returning to Cassan with her news.  The sight stirred Dhugal's protective ire. Ailidh's attacker would have met with swift and sure justice at the Duke's hand, had Ailidh not already meted out even swifter judgment herself.  Not for the first time, Dhugal had to wonder how Jass's bonnie lass could be so terrifying.

"So the man was planning on smothering you with a pillow, yet you say he didn't actually plan to kill you?" he asked, the point needing clarification. Or perhaps a decided lack of sleep was simply making him slow to catch on.

"Aye, his intent was clear enow, once I Death-Read 'im," Ailidh said, the stress of the past hour causing her to partially revert to the Transha dialect of her childhood rather than the more polished Court speech she'd learned as a young maiden fostered out for an education more befitting to a young woman whose mother had had the good fortune to remarry into the lesser nobility. "He meant tae put me out long enow f'r me shields tae drop."

"For what purpose, if not to kill you? To control you?"

"Aye."  Ailidh took a fortifying swig of Old MacRorie, having previously politely declined the darja tea Mirjana had originally offered her in favor of the stronger libation. The color began to return to her cheeks, and along with it, her composure and a bit more of her Court polish.  "Th' bluidy bastard wanted to set controls in my mind to betray Your Grace."  Dhugal hid an inward smile despite the grim recital she was sharing.  Ailidh's Court polish, such as it was, was a quite relative thing.

"Thank God it didn't come to that, then.  The last place I ever want to find myself is on the other side of a battle with Ailidh MacArdry."  He kept his voice light, knowing that despite the brave front his loyal friend wore, she was deeply shaken by the experience she'd just been through. He needed the levity to keep his own head clear also, to hold at bay the blind rage he could feel simmering just under the surface of his thoughts, that anyone might dare mistreat one of his own in such a way, but he needed his thoughts clear just now.

Taking a deep breath, now that the shock of Ailidh's news had blown away the last lingering cobwebs of sleep, he reached out a hand palm-up to her.  "Show me," he asked as he began to center himself in preparation.

Their rapport had the natural ease that came with decades of familiarity between them, and the images flowed from her mind to his like a rushing river, one image tumbling after the next in the space of a few seconds. And then she was done, her mental touch retracted, retreating once more behind shields even more ordered than before, now that the pent-up tensions had been released in that same flow, to be replaced by weary relief. Dhugal assimilated the memories, assorting them into an orderly pattern.  "So. It seems that you were to leave Trurill vulnerable to the separatists, so they could take over the keep and set up defenses before Jass's return later this morning.  That would have been a nasty shock."  Dhugal mentally reviewed the faces of the conspirators involved in the Trurill plot, and the associates the dead man had known, who took their orders from the same person.  That person looked oddly familiar, but at the moment Dhugal couldn't quite place him.  He turned to his Duchess, sharing most of Ailidh's information with her also, aside from editing out the worst of the gore.  Lingering on that last image, he Sent a silent question into her mind.

Mirjana paled.  "I have never seen that man before, but I can guess who he must be, for he bears a strong likeness to another man I can never forget, try as much as I'd like. But I never thought to see a son of Teymuraz of the House of Furstan extending his reach so deeply into the heart of Meara and even here in our more distant Cassan."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on February 15, 2018, 06:39:14 AM
Aliset looked strangely at Columcil wondering whether the stress of the healings had all been too much for him.
"Your pardon, Father, but we have water. Leastways I've a couple of full waterskins strapped to Papillon's saddle and Washburn would not have survived with a whole skin as a squire if he had forgotten something so basic."

She got up and unstrapped the water skin and handed it to Columcil with a smile. He smiled sheepishly and took it with thanks.

"Aye, you can laugh at me for being daft, I'll no' mind. Mind if we canna leave here soon then we'll need to find more water for the horses, unless you clever folk have a way of getting them to drink from a water skin. We'll need water for when the other two wake up, I'd best see what else is in these saddle bags".

He went to the horses in turn and untied their packs. Rummaging around in them he was pleased to find that along with enough water for at least a day or two there were basic travel rations. They all needed something to replenish their strength, though he heaved a reminiscent sigh for the glories of the tavern's venison pies. As he approached Darcy's horse, Sigrun, the beast turned to nuzzle him happily, trying to eat his jerkin. He spent a few moments enjoying stroking one of less complicated of God's creations, a welcome change from the evil of humanity that he was getting all too well acquainted with. He unstrapped the water skin and opened it to make sure that the water was fresh. A strange smell assailed his nostrils and he took a sip. Hastily resealing the skin he began to laugh and as the strain of the last few days took him he found himself clutching Sigrun's side for support. He must get a grip on himself or Lady Aliset really would think he had gone daft.

At her quizzical look he managed to gain enough control to hand the skin over and get out a few words.

"Trust our Darcy. You best not drink this - he might forgive you for borrowing his shape, but drink his ale, never!".



Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on February 15, 2018, 09:34:21 AM
Aliset giggled.  "Speaking of borrowed shapes...."  She closed her eyes briefly, murmuring the words of a spell while tracing the oval of her face with one finger, transforming her likeness back to Lord Alister.  With a smile at Darcy, she added, "I suppose you'd rather not have to deal with watching yourself for the rest of our journey, and wondering if you've still got some lingering double-vision!  And the disguise is pointless now; no one looking out for us is going to be fooled into thinking you have an identical twin who just happened to join you along the way to Rhemuth! For that matter, I suppose I could just drop the disguises altogether."

"Nay, my lady; you still have your reputation to maintain," Father Columcil reminded her gently.  "'Tis best to preserve appearances as best we can, given our extraordinary circumstances, though I think few would fault you for doing as you must to secure protection and flee to the King's safety." Gesturing towards Aliset's changed features, he added, "This likeness should serve."

"Aye." Aliset turned towards Darcy with a considering look.  "Master Darcy, I know you've seen far too much magic for your comfort of late, and perhaps this is not the best time nor the place, although in truth we can hardly count on safer shelter between here and Rhemuth than where we find ourselves now.  The truth is, whether you were aware of it or not before now, and even though you seem wholly untrained in your powers, you are Deryni.  But please don't let that frighten you!  Being Deryni is neither good nor bad in and of itself.  Even the Church has mostly come to accept that now, albeit some people of Gwynedd have been slower to come around, especially in the more distant corners of the Kingdom."  She picked up a twig, twisting it between her fingers before momentarily igniting one end of it briefly with a pass of her hand over the tip, holding the flame aloft for a few seconds before dousing it with another wave of her fingers.  "Think of the powers within you as being similar to fire.  When used properly and responsibly, it is of great benefit to mankind. We can cook with it, warm ourselves with its heat, see clearly in its glow.  But the same energy can be turned to evil purposes as well, in the hands of someone with darkness in their heart.  One might set fire to a house, or destroy a farmer's crops, or burn a Deryni at the stake with it." She met Darcy's gaze with a wry smile.  "The good or evil is in the man, not in the gift of power.  But with power comes the responsibility to learn to wield it well, and ever in service of the Light."

Offering her hand to him, she continued, "Master Darcy, if you would trust me to help you as I might upon our journey, I wish to do something that should hopefully enable you to come into your budding powers more safely, and if there is aught that I can teach you along the way, I shall gladly do so.  What I have in mind for now is something we call a training control.  You are not a child, and I trust your good judgment not to attempt to use your newfound powers wantonly, so I don't wish to set the sort of controls in your mind that we would use on a young child, to prevent the use of powers until a certain level of maturity has been reached. Instead, what I propose is a lighter control that would simply prevent you from accidentally doing something that might endanger yourself or others in your company.  You would still be able to learn and grow in your magic use, should you choose to do so--and I hope you do so choose--but in the meantime I feel it would be best if we minimize your chances of inadvertently doing severe harm with an attempt gone wrong, or even with some stray burst of energies inadvertently released during a moment of intense fear or panic, which has been known to happen in the past with Deryni just coming into the use of their powers.  Would you agree it would be best to minimize such risks, Master Darcy?"

Darcy looked wary, understandably reluctant to let anyone set any sort of controls in his mind. His gaze back at her reflected a momentary inner battle, but at last he sighed. "I've trusted all of you this far. I suppose it couldn't hurt to allow that. I wouldn't want to accidentally endanger you in any way, after all."  He favored her with a lopsided grin. "Would you mind leaving me enough control to wreak havoc on our enemies, though--inadvertent or not?"

Aliset laughed. "My good man, you may wreak all the havoc that you like amongst our enemies!"  She sobered. "Just try not to kill others, even our foes, unless you absolutely must.  We've worked so hard in the past few decades to show the human majority of mankind that Deryni in and of ourselves are not the enemy, and need not be the cause of mindless fears. But it is difficult not to fear what you do not understand, as you well know, Master Darcy, and so we must not feed such fears with our actions if there is aught we can do to prevent it."



Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on February 15, 2018, 12:40:10 PM
The younger Lord Morgan awoke from a nightmare that he swore should have been far worse than death if it had actually come to pass. The relief of hearing voices familiar and calming was unlike any he had ever experienced. For a moment, his hand pulled the Camber medallion from his tunic. Even without opening his eyes, he whispered words of forgiveness for his lapses and appreciation of the Saint's way for allowing him such good fortune and such good people to have at his side.  When he opened his eyes, he saw the other's watching him and he blushed. Self-consciously, he placed the saint's medal back under his tunic.

He closed his eyes tight again, for a moment, assessing his condition. He was surprisingly pleased to feel a semblance of repairing shields that he could bring back into play. They were not anywhere near as strong as his normal state, but any strength to them at all at the moment was a blessing. He most certainly did not like this state of vulnerability that Maresha induced.

"If I never experience that drug again, it will be too soon," he said aloud as he sat up pulling his knees to his chest and resting one hand under his chin there. The other hand rubbed his forehead. The headache was still there, but only a minor irritation. From experience, he knew that could last a day, possibly even two. Only time would fully return all his Deryni facilities to his control. Yet, he had better control now than he thought possible. 

"Aliset?" he was unsure if the man who had Alister's face was really the lady, but it had to be, no one else would have taken that form. "What ever tanist drug you gave me, seems to do its job well. You were wise to have procured it." Just seeing the three friendly faces watching him made him smile. "Bless you, Father, you are a miracle worker. I cannot even begin to express my thanks." His eyes followed the priests to the pile of three crossbow darts lying together at the edge of the barrier. He shivered! Three? Damn!

He turned his head back swiftly to look at Master Darcy who must have taken two darts from the enemy ((the second non-maresha bolt must hadve been used to get Darcy out from the tree, that one had failed its purpose, however.)) The seaman sat cross-legged looking pale for his ordeal but as Healed as Washburn was. "I am sorry for what I have caused you to endure. Merasha is nasty even for humans..." Washburn set a reassuring hand on the mariner's wrist. He encountered the man's reforming shields and something more behind them finding its own recovery from the drugs effect, much the same as his own. Wash gasped for a moment. Human's didn't react that way to the Merasha, and the evidence opened the knight's eyes wide. "You have Deryni abilities in your blood, did you know that?" He looked at the others, for each of them was nodding, having already discovered Darcy's hidden traits.

"A true protector indeed!" he exclaimed with a nod,  accepting the man as Aliset's guardian. "All of you..." he couldn't finish the words. His relief was so profound.

"Now, if only we had some of that ale?" he managed to inquire instead. "My throat is parched."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on February 15, 2018, 01:12:32 PM
Aliset slanted a teasing grin at the knight. "Trust a man to awaken from being half dead when he hears someone mentioning ale!" Sobering and looking somewhat in awe, she added, "And speaking of Deryni powers and training, I'm quite impressed by yours, Sir Washburn! Two merasha darts would have felled most Deryni instantly, not merely caused them to stumble around a bit as they sprinted through dense forest.  Whatever your secret is for combating merasha's effects, I would dearly love to learn it!" She grinned once more. "Even if your coping skills weren't quite up to the task of preventing you from adding your own special touches to my lovely new latrine!"
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on February 15, 2018, 02:10:34 PM
Darcy Cameron reclaimed his water skin and the wrapped piece of berry pie he had somehow neglected to give to Lady Aliset.  "This is not water," he warned his companions as he passed the skin around.  They took grateful, though small, drinks from the skin while Darcy withdrew his eating knife from his belt and cut the pie into four small pieces.  Never had so small a celebratory feast tasted so good!

But they were not out of the woods yet, both literally and figuratively.  They all seemed to realize it at the same time.  Father Columcil stoppered the "water" skin and returned it to Darcy.

Darcy cleared his throat reluctantly and looked at Aliset, now in her guise as Alister.  "Not knowing how much longer we can stay," he began after a moment, "perhaps you should do whatever you need to do about those training shields now." Darcy wondered if he sounded as nervous as he felt.

"If you are ready," Aliset said. "Perhaps we should sit."  Aliset moved toward the centre of the dome, sat, and patted ground across from her.   Darcy sat down on the designated spot, cross-legged as usual.  He noticed that "Alister" had assumed a more lady-like position.  If he survived this, he would mention it to her.

Aliset held out her hand, palm upwards. Darcy placed his calloused hand on top.  Father Columcil and Washburn moved to one side to watch.

"Roll back your shields," Aliset said. They were still so fragile that she could have forced her way through them easily, but that would have severely impacted Darcy's trust!  After a moment she felt his shields roll back, much smoother than they had previously.  "That's much better, Master Darcy.  You are getting the hang of it."

Darcy managed a small smile, wondering what would happen next.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on February 15, 2018, 02:41:02 PM
Aliset allowed her psychic touch to linger lightly just on the surface of Darcy's unshielded mind, giving him time to grow accustomed to the sensation.  "Do you feel this?" she asked him.

Darcy started to nod, but stopped, unsure whether moving his head might hinder whatever she was attempting to do. "Yes," he replied. "It's like...a soft brush of...maybe a butterfly's wing inside my head."

She smiled. "Good. There shouldn't be any pain, or even much pressure, but I'm glad you are able to detect something.  Now what I want you to do is try to follow that touch as I go deeper, and see if you can sense what it is that I am doing as I go. And it's fine to move your head; that won't affect anything one way or another."

"Um...all right." He felt a bit awkward, not knowing what to expect, but he trusted that Aliset knew what she was doing.

"Imagine a small child learning how to write his letters for the first time. Pretend I am tracing them in the sand, like so...."  She traced a shape along the surface of his mind.  "And now imagine that child following along with that motion, his small finger atop the one teaching him his letters. Only instead of using our fingers, we will be using our minds. Just try to relax and follow what I'm doing with your mind."

"All right." Darcy wasn't certain what Aliset meant, but he'd do his best to work it out as they went.

Sensing his readiness, Aliset began to probe deeper.  As she did, her eyes met his.  "I am just going to search for the spot where I need to set this training control.  I promise not to wander out of bounds, or go fishing for any thoughts or memories I have no business knowing. Lesson one on Deryni ethics--never go eavesdropping on others' minds without permission unless the need is great." She smiled. "And by need, I mean if lives are at stake, for instance. I'm not talking about simply wanting to discover some pretty barmaid's name!"

Darcy chuckled. "So noted."

"All right, we should be just about.... Oh, that's interesting!"  Aliset cocked her head to one side, studying him with a considering gaze.

Darcy felt self-conscious. "What's interesting?"

Returning her focus to the area, Aliset murmured, "Apparently someone in your early childhood was aware that you're Deryni, because there's already a training control in place!" Meeting his eyes again, she added, "It's a childhood control--the more restrictive sort I mentioned earlier. I will need to remove that block and replace it with one that is more appropriate to your age and current learning needs.  May I?"

Darcy nodded.  "Um, yes. Whatever you think best."  Her statement puzzled him, calling up vague, unformed memories just beyond his ability to grasp.

He felt a small psychic twist at that moment, followed by a sensation of something released, and with that sensation, a sudden clarity.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on February 15, 2018, 06:07:50 PM
Darcy Cameron sat very still.  The memories Lady Aliset had somehow released did not flood his consciousness.  Instead, they seemed to filter into appropriate corners of his mind.  Corners he could study in depth later. 

But on the surface, he remembered things that were long absent.  He had never questioned that his life before he was sold to sea was vague; it just was.  Now at last he remembered his parents; his father stern but readily forgiving, his mother an endless comfort.  He remembered the older brother he had practically worshipped. With an inward smile he remembered the pony he had inherited when his brother had moved on to a horse.  How many times had he been bucked off when he was riding it unsupervised when he was supposed to be in bed?  She had been named Sigrun; no wonder the name had come to mind when he purchased the horse grazing contently now within the dome.

Not all of the memories were happy ones.  The sadness he felt when his brother left for training at the court of Rhemuth.  Now Darcy remembered the small ring his brother had given him before he left.  The ring, far too small now to fit on his hand, which he wore on the chain around his neck.  He remembered his father's death under circumstances so suspicious even the five year old Darcy had noticed.  He remembered the grief.

But it was good to know these things now.  He would study them more when his attention did not need to be focused on what needed to be dealt with today.

"Lady Aliset," he said quietly.  "I am forever in your debt."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on February 15, 2018, 06:16:36 PM
Phyre surveyed the faintly glowing dome before him.  Sir Washburn Morgan had escaped their trap, and Phyre could feel his payment also slipping though his grasp.  His side hurt from Morgan's desperate dagger slash; at least his wound was not as serious as the crossbowman's.  He had had to leave him while he went after their horses.  He finally found the horses munching grass by the side of the road, now perfectly calm.  What had gotten into the beasts to make them so frantic earlier?

Now partly hidden behind a tree, Phyre watched the dome, looking for any sign the four protected inside were ready to make their break for freedom.  Despite being Deryni, Phyre had little knowledge of warding.  He could not see inside the dome, but he did not know if they could see out.  So Phyre kept himself at least partially hidden. 

The crossbowman sat propped against a tree where he could observe the dome from another angle.  Phrye had bandaged the wound in the man's waist as best he could but had not spent a lot of time over it.  At least he had managed to stop the bleeding.  He needed the man to call out if there was any activity on the far side.  Phyre had left the man his crossbow.  Whether the man still had the strength to use it was another matter.

They continued to wait.  Eventually, when food or water ran out, or when they could no longer stand the confines of the dome, the four inside would leave.  Perhaps Lord Morgan and the other man had died from their wounds, increasing Phyre's chances for success.  Either way, Phyre would be ready.

***

Lord Jaxom Trillick was impatient with the slower pace.  Although they left Droghera at a gallop, it soon become apparent that the farm horses could not keep up the pace.  While they could work in a field for hours, they were not bred to run for distance.  The group needed the farm guild masters to show them where the attack had occurred, so they must all stay together.  At least they were proceeding at a fast trot.

They rode two abreast.  One of the guild masters rode at the head of their small column with the Watch Captain.  Jaxom and one of his men-at-arms rode next, followed by his squire, the remaining guild masters and his other man-at-arms. His bowmen brought up the rear, placing them far enough back to have a little extra time to draw and fire.

They travelled several miles before the guild master in the lead pointed ahead and the Captain signalled them to slow their pace.  Jaxom looked ahead and saw a dimly shining dome in front of a large oak tree. 

Cautiously, the Captain led them forward.

***
Phyer signalled the crossbowman to keep still.  He could hear horses approaching; hopefully they would continue down the road.

They did not.  They turned into the woods to approach the dome.  Phyre recognized the Captain of the Watch and at least one of the farm guild masters.  Phyre had given him a hard time about one of the wagons he was bringing into Droghera; perhaps that had not been wise.  He counted the number of riders and the number that were armed.  If the crossbowman did not move and remained undetected long enough, Phyre could withdraw and make his own escape.

Roll 2d6 to see if Phyer escapes undetected
Jerusha   !roll 2d6
11:47   derynibot   1, 2 == 3

Phrye carefully began to inch backward, watching the riders.  He did not see what lay in the leaves as he set his hand on the ground.  The need for silence was forgotten at the sudden pain the snake's fangs caused as they bit deeply into the back of his hand.  With a yelp, he sprang to his feet, shaking his hand to dislodge the creature.  It continued to hang on.

"Phyre!" the Captain called out.  "What in blazes are you doing here?"

Phyre thought desperately while trying to dislodge the snake.  Finally, it broke free, taking skin from his hand with it. 

"I was investigating the ward, I mean dome," Phyre began.  "I thought it suspicious."

"Investigating it from your arse?" The Captain motioned the rest of the column forward.

"Where is your horse?" Lord Jaxom asked. 

"I left him back there."  Phyre waved vaguely toward the trees behind him.  "I'll just go get him now."

"Don't let him go!  He's lying!"

They all turned to look at the young man who was standing in a doorway that had opened in the dome.

"He tried to kill Sir Washburn and Master Darcy!" 

Several things seemed to happen at once.  The crossbowman suddenly rose from where was sitting, raised his loaded crossbow and aimed for the young lord standing in the doorway.

(Rolling 2 dice (focused would be three but the man is injured, so rolling at a disadvantage) to see if the man fires the shot successfully.)
Jerusha   !roll 2d6
15:17   derynibot   6, 4 == 10
(Drat)

Lord Jaxom's squire was already moving, spurring his horse to run down the man with the crossbow.

(Rolling 2 dice to see if the squire charging on his horse can spoil the crossbowman's shot)

Jerusha   !roll 2d6
15:18   derynibot   5, 6 == 11
(Oh yeah!)

The crossbowman flinched at the sound of the horse charging straight at him. The bolt was shot high and shattered where it hit above the door in the dome.  Someone inside the dome knocked the man in the door to the ground.  Phyre tried to run but was forced to stop by Lord Jaxom's bowman, whose drawn bow was pointing at his chest.  The squire's horse knocked the crossbowman down, but the squire managed to maneuver it to avoid trampling the man.  The man did not try to rise.

Father Columcil, watching from inside the dome, fell to his knees and said a heartfelt prayer.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on February 16, 2018, 05:48:26 AM
Washburn truly wasn't himself, not yet. The events were happening too fast. From inside the Ward, he was pleased to see Lord Jaxom Trillick ride up with the guard captain and a good contingent of men. For sometime, Washburn had thought he had seen a movement behind that near tree. It was none too surprising when Trillick's men flushed Phyer out. Now, that snake was a surprise, a snake-in-the-grass to rat-out a snake from the village. It all seemed justice in Washburn's mind.  The knight was rather pleased to see his sheathed short-sword still hanging on the man's belt. That and the empty matching dagger sheath tied next to it. Washburn's bare bladed dagger was in his hand. As soon as Trillick had the area secure, Washburn intended to retrieve his belongings. The trouble was there had been three assailants and only one man was accounted for.

His distraction was once again another of his bad lapses. He had seen Alister/Aliset use her fingers to make an opening in the ward, yet he had never imagined she would actually lean her body out beyond its protection. He wanted to tell her to come back into the safety of the ward. Then suddenly, Lord Jaxom's squire was spurring his horse forward toward the big tree. Why? Washburn turned, that's when he saw the second assailant with a crossbow. Damn the crossbow was aimed, the man's finger on the release. He fired...

((02:02 Washburn disadvantage to use Telekinesis
02:09 Washburn !roll 1d6
02:09 derynibot 6 == 6))

Washburn's instincts took over. With mind, not body, he pulled Lord Alister back from the door. The delicate control for handling a woman was overruled by his need to have Aliset out of danger. His abilities weren't quite in full balance. His need had his mind pull just a little too hard. In an instant, Lady Aliset went from standing to falling backward. She yelled in astonishment, unable to save herself from the fall.

The crossbolt hit the ward and splintered just above where Alister had been standing. It wouldn't have hit her, but the splinters could have done some damage had they been near her face. Desperate to reversed his pull, Washburn tried to stop the lady's fall with his abilities.

It seemed he needn't have tried.

Darcy leaped forward, catching the nobleman around the waist and swinging him up to keep him from falling to the ground. He held Aliset close to his body assuring himself that she would not fall further. In that moment, she turned to look up at him with thanks. His gaze held her thankful eyes. Wash knew it wasn't Alister that Darcy was seeing just then. Lady Aliset stared back at Darcy... neither seemed to move. Then Aliset was blushing, giggling in fact. "You can put me down now," she said in a light attentive tone.

Master Darcy remembered himself then. He placed her feet on the ground. He stepped back making a deep bow, feeling a mix of gallantry and abashed impropriety.

Most of that little scene had happened inside the ward. Everyone outside was too occupied capturing the two assailants, to have noticed the small exchange within.

Embarrassed, Washburn walked passed them, "My apologies, my lady," he said, ducking his head and then walking out of the dome to welcome the son of Lord Adam Trillick.

At the sight of Lord Morgan, Jaxom dismounted. In two steps he was grasping Washburn's elbow in thankful comradely. "My father worried over your abrupt departure from the manor the other day. He had sent me to escort you to Arx Fidei. I had thought I had missed you, and that you would be well away from here by now!"

Wash nodded. "I knew I had not fooled Lord Adam.  Though I never thought he would send his son after me." Washburn grasped the man's shoulder. "Your timing is good enough. I would be ever grateful if you could complete the task given to you by your father. It would please me greatly if you could escort myself and my companions to Arx Fidei. I am to met my brother there."

"It would be my honor, Sir Washburn," Jaxom replied. He said nothing, but he did make note of the torn black tunic and the old blood dried on the knight's side.

Meanwhile, Morgan had his eyes on one of the captured men. "Phyer, I presume," he said in a controlled low tone. Controlled because he wanted to strangle the man. "I will take back what is mine." The captured guard's hands were yet free, but with three arrows pointed at his chest, he daren't try anything. Washburn almost wished he would, any excuse to take the man down. Instead, Phyer put his hands up, letting the knight unbelt the sword and dagger sheath.  Disappointed Washburn stepped back.  "Tell us, what is your real name?" Wash put force into the Truth Saying.

((03:15 Washburn Disadvantage TruthSaying. Washburn gets a 4,5,or 6 for success.
03:15 Washburn !roll 1d6
03:15 derynibot 2 == 2   Oh well, can't win them all :D .))

But it was not enough, his energies weren't yet back in balance. Not enough for that kind of interrogation, not against another Deryni with shields. "Never mind, don't bother answering me. Your captain will surely have more appropriate means of interrogation than I have." Washburn stepped back coming to level with Droghera's Captain. "This is the man that ordered Kieran's death." He didn't need to say more. The Captain would see that justice was done.

Washburn walked back to the dome, buckling his weapons to  his belt, back where they belonged. "Now, where did I drop that longbow," he asked, while searching the ground. "Ah, there it is under the tree." He reached down to pick up the bow and his quiver which had been resting in the tumbled grass. A silver glint caught his eye. A memory flashed. He reached down and picked up a boatman's whistle. "You need to be returned to you're rightful owner, with much thanks for his ingenuity to use you."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on February 16, 2018, 09:22:20 AM
Darcy Cameron hoped his deep bow to the lady before him hid the warm flush he felt creeping across his face.  With his fair skin, it was always so bloody obvious.  He stepped back to give Washburn room to pass through the opening in the dome and approach the nobleman outside.  Lady Aliset, in her disguise as Lord Alister, turned away to watch what was happening from a safe spot within the dome.  Darcy stepped to the other side of the open door, near enough to protect her again if need be.  But not too near.

Suddenly, he supressed a laugh.  What if Aliset had still been wearing his form?   He would have been holding himself close and gazing into his own eyes.  Now that would have been disturbing!

Darcy gave the scene before him almost his full attention.  His thoughts wanted to turn back to that brief encounter.  Aliset stirred feelings in his heart he was not accustomed to.  Twice now that had happened.  He was not a fool; he knew that she was beyond his reach.  He also knew that his duty was to stay by her side and protect her.  He would have to cope somehow.  Set those feelings aside.  Allow nothing to taint her reputation.  Nothing!

On the other hand, he was glad he had had the good sense to avoid the brothels that were always close by to a seaman's ports of call.  He was no innocent, of course, and liked a pretty face that had a nice body to go with it, but he had been careful with the occasional partner he chose.  He had seen too often what happened to men who were not!

What did he have to offer her besides his protection?  He would give his life if she needed it, but that was all he really had.   That might change, though, if he could find his brother once they reached Rhemuth.  He also realized it might not; he had been away a long time.

His thoughts were brought back to the moment when Washburn approached him holding something in his hand.

"I believe this is yours," Washburn said, extending the tin whistle towards him.

"You found it!"  Darcy was genuinely pleased.  "Be assured I'll be keeping this close by in case it's needed again."

Sir Washburn clapped him on the shoulder and moved on.  Darcy spotted Father Columcil.  The priest had saddled his mount and was beginning to tie on his belongings.  They would be leaving soon.

Darcy wondered if he might be able to catch a private word with the good Father after they departed.  Confession might lighten the weight of his current predicament.  Or not.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on February 16, 2018, 11:04:26 PM
Sidana Quinnell de Paor, rightful heiress to Meara (or so she had grown up being told, and had no reason to doubt), stood just outside the closed door, eyes wide as she listened to the shouting voice of her father just beyond it. She wasn't eavesdropping, not exactly.  In truth, she could hardly have failed to overhear what Brioc was saying unless she retreated clear to the other side of her bedchamber and climbed out her window, where maybe--just maybe--the thick stone walls might finally muffle the sounds of his yelling to something less distinguishable. But not having a death wish, and being too distracted by the sound to concentrate on any of the several boring pursuits she might instead focus upon in the security of her private bower, she stood just at the door trying to work out what had put her father into such a towering rage.

Grand Duke Valerian was speaking now, and while his voice was quieter--so quiet, in fact, that Sidana was forced to put her ear to the wooden partition between them to make out his response--it was no less furious for all that.  While she could not understand all the particulars of their exchange, she had managed to gather that some planned coup to retake Trurill had failed, a valuable retainer of Valerian's slain in the effort, Brioc's patrimony yet remained in the clutches of the treacherous MacArdrys, and therefore they were short the men and materiel they'd hoped to commandeer from Brioc's rightful barony to redirect to the war muster.  Brioc in his fury was all for retaliatory slaughter of Jass MacArdry's home clan in Transha, a plan Valerian coolly refused to countenance, reminding Brioc that they could hardly risk alienating any Mearans who might bear no love for Gwynedd or the Haldanes, but might hold sympathy for fellow borderers set upon by Brioc's small cadre of loyalists, and therefore might refuse aid to the separatists when it was time to move against their foes in Ratharkin and Laas. 

And some effort to retake the Demoiselle de Mariot and capture the youngest of the Morgan Lords had also suffered a setback, it seemed, although Sidana was less sure about what that effort was meant to accomplish. Something about placating the new Baron of Caer Mariot and providing him with the bride who would secure his hold on his new demesne.  Having met Baron Oswald when he arrived at her Court to swear fealty to her, Sidana could hardly blame the demoiselle for running away.  The man gave her the shivers, loyalist or not, and not in a good way!

But not all the news was bad.  Their forces were in position now to capture Ratharkin during the so-called Viceroy's absence, despite the fact that they would be moving to take that town with fewer men and resources at their disposal than they'd hoped to have. Oswald had supplied a score of men, despite not yet having his promised bride in hand, and from all across Meara the word had quietly gone out to those they knew they could trust that it was time to take up arms for Meara and the Queen.  For the past week, she had been receiving them, accepting the homage due her during the few hours per day that she was allowed down to the Great Hall to see and be seen.

One set of footfalls sounded like they were moving further away--to the door on the opposite end of the antechamber, Sidana surmised. Her guess was confirmed when she heard that door slam behind the departing man, presumably the Grand Duke.  Before she could straighten from her position leaning against her bedchamber door, it opened suddenly, nearly causing her to fall at the feet of the one who had opened it.  She looked up with a blush, expecting to see her father's scowl.  To her dismayed surprise, it was Valerian; Brioc, it seemed, had been the one who had just left!  Her blush deepened.

A dark brow arched as her foreign suitor surveyed her coolly. "Listening at doorways could get you in a great deal of trouble, Your Majesty. I strongly advise against it."

She shivered, feeling a trickle of cold fear down her spine at his words, although she could not think why she should react that way. Surely he meant no harm by it; why would he wish to threaten her? He was to be her consort someday, after all!  Still, a vague sense of disquiet came over her even as she summoned up an apologetic smile.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on February 17, 2018, 01:44:13 AM
Father Columcil had watched the interplay between Darcy and Aliset with disquiet, for although she was disguised as Alister, he very much doubted that her adopted shape was what Darcy had seen or felt in his imagination. Oh, he had no fears for the lady's virtue, Darcy was far too honourable for that. No it was Darcy he worried for, the lad had had far too much to deal with already in learning that he was Deryni, and as his hidden past became clear to him doubtless there would be sadness and even horror to cope with. The last thing he needed was a bad dose of love that could neither be expressed nor requited.

Columcil would have hoped to lift some of the burden but nothing in Darcy's attitude towards him had suggested a willingness to confide in the clergy. The tensions of a few days ago - blessed saints it felt like weeks!- had gone but he suspected that Darcy's increased friendliness, even respect, had more to do with gratitude for Columcil's healing powers, and even he thought with a surge of guilt, his hitherto unsuspected skill of cracking people over the head with his staff. All he could do would be to wait and pray, and hope that if the opportunity arouse he would respond appropriately.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on February 17, 2018, 06:41:29 PM
"My Lord," Darcy Cameron said, bowing to Lord Jaxom Trillick.

"Master Darcy," the nobleman nodded in acknowledgment, then turned his attention to Sir Washburn and Lord Alister.

Carefully concealing the irritation he felt, Darcy straightened and made his way to his horse.  No trace of the protective dome remained.  Lady Aliset had dispersed it shortly before.  They were now preparing to leave.  She had returned the ward cubes to Darcy's pouch, careful that their hands did not touch.  He was careful to avoid looking into her eyes.

Phyre was now securely bound.  His hands were tied behind his back and he sat mounted on his horse, his legs lashed to the stirrups of his saddle.  For good measure, in case he attempted to kick his mount into a break for freedom, a rope was tied around his neck.  The end was held by one of the guards.  A man who had been a friend of Kieran.  Phyre's chances of escape were not good.

Perhaps the crossbowman had been more fortunate.  He had succumbed to his injury after firing his last shot.  Father Columcil had administered the last rights.  Now the man was draped across the back of his horse, hands and feet secured underneath the beast so he would not slip off.

A shaggy head poked at Darcy's side.  Spean poked again, insisting that he be acknowledge and his muzzle be stroked.  Darcy smiled and obliged, which caused Sigrun to poke his other side. 

"Patience, my pet," Darcy said.  "I've got two hands, you know."

Father Columcil approached, whistling softly to his own horse.  "He is a bit demanding of attention," he said. 

"Aye," Darcy replied.  "I've no objection."

Darcy looked back toward the Sir Washburn, Lord Trillick and Lord Alister.  They were in deep conversation, likely considering what should be done next.  Without his input.

Darcy mentally shook himself.  There was nothing he could do about it.  "Father Columcil," he said quietly.

"Yes my son,  the priest responded.

"When we have a chance, could I speak with you privately?"

'Of course," Columcil assured him. "Perhaps we have the opportunity now, while the others of our party are busy in conversation.  I'm suspect God might allow us to dispense with some of the usual formality."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on February 18, 2018, 04:45:10 PM
Columcil traced the sign of the cross over Darcy's head and murmured the words of absolution. Darcy remained with his head bowed for a moment longer then said quietly. "Forgive me for teaching you your job Father, and I admit that it is some time since I last made my confession, but aren't you supposed to give me a penance?"

Columcil spoke in the driest voice that Darcy had yet heard him use, "You feel that your life has been too indulgent of late?" Then returning to the kindliness of the tone he had used in the sacrament they had just shared he continued, "The good Lord knows your heart my Son. I'm thinking that there's likely to be penance enough for all of us before this journey's done." Darcy lifted his head and smiled at the priest but the latter could not help but notice his sidelong look at the three nobles who still stood with their heads together in close counsel.

Suddenly a wave of anger flooded Columcil; not on his own behalf, he was content to let others lead while he mopped up the hurts where he could, but on Darcy's. While there were none other to help, the Lord and Lady had been happy enough to treat Darcy as one of their company and give him a voice, but now this young sprig from the Trillick manor had arrived it appeared that Darcy was to be dismissed back to his role as servant. Columcil admitted grudgingly to himself that the other's arrival, with his men, was timely and would make the rest of their journey, please God, easier than heretofore, and he knew well enough that once they arrived in Rhemuth they would all resume their allotted stations in life - in his own case he devotely prayed for nothing more - but though Darcy had said nothing his hurt was as tangible as a dagger thrust.

For a moment Columcil toyed with the idea of spooking young Trillick's horse as they rode out and seeing his nobility hit the dust, but sadly he dismissed that as unworthy. There was something that he could do, though it would take courage. As the three nobles finished their discussion and broke apart to give the orders for departure he went to Washburn, bowed deeply and said quietly, "My Lord, a word, if you would be so gracious."

Washburn looked shocked at the other's formality, even distressed, and Columcil realised that any slight to Darcy had been unintentional. The Lady Aliset surely too had intended no hurt and was wise to keep a distance for a while for both her and Darcy's sakes. The angry rebuke which he had been steeling himself to utter died on his lips, and he resolved on another way, although that would take even more courage. As Washburn moved aside with him he continued,

"My Lord, would you permit me to show you something?" Washburn looked puzzled for a moment then understanding dawned and the last of Columcil's anger evaporated as the young Lord trustingly laid his hand in his his own and allowed Columcil to Show him what he had seen in Darcy's face ((dice roll 6+4+3 =13, rolled advantage as they have already shared rapport 3hlbr4ft7b)). As Columcil withdrew his hand from under Washburn's and their rapport ended Washburn remained in thoughtful silence.

After a moment Columcil broke the silence and still speaking quietly said, "You are our leader, my Lord, both by birth and by your qualities, but if I can speak as a priest for a moment, Darcy has deserved better of you."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on February 19, 2018, 03:35:23 PM
Washburn had nodded at Father Columcil's frank words. He had been so immersed in his own grievous errors that he had not seen how he had excluded a very important member of his party from the next group of decisions that need to be made. Actually, Darcy's input was exactly what Wash needed at this moment. For Lord Jaxom and he had had differing opinions on what direction to take to get to Arx Fidei.

"Master Cameron, a moment if you would, please." The young man was finishing the last buckle on his supply bags to the saddle. The look he gave the knight was grudging compliance. That look in itself, struck Wash for his remission in gratitude he had neglected to give the man earlier. "I did not thank you just a bit ago as I should have. I reacted too vigorously to protect a certain person in our company, only to find myself giving unintended harm. Your quick hand and dexterity kept said person from hitting the ground and for that I am most appreciative."

"I am sworn to protect the heir of Mariot. I will not fail in my duty," Darcy said with a stern face.

"In that regards, you are a far more successful than I am." Washburn said with shame touching his voice. "Don't think for a moment that I haven't recognized this loyalty in you. And I know you will do right by the heir of Mariot, even after this journey has reached its destination." Washburn perked up, than patted the man on the shoulder in acknowledgment of his loyalty freely given. "Now, Lord Jaxom and I are in different mindsets as how to get to Arx Fidei by the safest, fastest route. Would you wayin an opinion on the matter?" With that Wash turned to wave over Lord Jaxom.

Jaxom was just dismissing the guard Captain to return to Droghera with the prisoner and body of the accomplice. Washburn gave the captain a nod as the town guards were ready to depart. Wash was certain that justice would be swift in that town. The heir of Trillik gave his last command to the guard Captain and let them ride off. Than he walked briskly back into Washburn's and Darcy's presence. "Aye Sir Washburn, is the consensus that we take the main road through Cuilteine?"

"A moment on that, Lord Jaxom. First, I have been remiss in not yet introducing you to the other valuable members of my team. This young man is Master Darcy Cameron. He is ship's officer and Navigator on board the Skjoldr. Master Cameron has impressed me at every turn with his quick thinking, and leadership skills. He was the one to organize the fire brigade back at Culdi, during the tavern fire. I presume you heard about that."

"I did. The town constable was saying how pleased he had been that the fires were put out quickly and did not spread further. I heard something about a pale haired man leading the townsfolk that day. So then it was you Master Darcy? Well done!"

"Thank you Lord Trillick," Darcy said dipping his head in respect.

"Aye, it was him, to be sure. I was busy coughing my head off for having breathed in too much smoke." Wash returned a gallant smile to Darcy's grimace. Wash sobered up a little more. He still wasn't winning Darcy over. "Now, to the business before us. Lord Jaxom, if we may have a look at that map of yours? I want Master Cameron's opinion on the two routes available to us."

Jaxom signaled a man to unpack the map and when he had it he passed it to Washburn. Wash unrolled it, handing one edge to Darcy while holding the other to see the full detail of the local area from Ratherkin in the upper north west corner to Rhemuth in the southeast corner.  With his free hand, Wash pointed to Droghera and then to Arx Fidei lying on the halfway point to Rhemuth. "Lord Jaxom would have us take the road to Cuilteine around these hills and then down to the lowlands here. He says there are at least two estates along the road that are loyal to the king and can be counted on to take in our numbers for the evening. For he is not certain that with our late start we will get to Arx Fidei before dark. 

"I, on the other hand, wish to avoid Cuilteine. I am thinking that it would be best to take this smaller path, here." Wash pointed to the pass between the two hills going east "It will allow us to reach the lowlands sooner. Although the road is almost non-existent. I am told there are only open fields and small farms all along this cart path. I have no qualms about sleeping under the stars tonight. But I need your opinion on this.Which direction would be best for our journey." and for our lady he implicated looking at lord Alister. "Is the shorter distance, in the long run, the safest route or not? I know you don't know these lands personally, but you know distances and maps far better than I. I trust your opinion on this."

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on February 19, 2018, 06:38:23 PM
((No pressure here, Laurna. Aack!))

Darcy Cameron studied the map provided by Lord Jaxom carefully.  Whatever his personal feelings might be, seeing Lady Aliset to the presumed safety of Arx Fidei was his main concern.  His own pride was second.

Why did presumed come to mind?  Darcy studied the map closely. 

"Either route will work," he said finally.  "The problem is whatever trap lies ahead of us."

"Trap?" Lord Jaxom asked.  "Surely with the capture of these men the route is clear"

"And that might be exactly what they hope we believe."  Darcy responded.  "Whoever they might be." He thought for a moment longer.  They did not have time to consider every possible twist and turn.

"I must agree with Sir Washurn," Darcy said at last.  "But we must been on our guard. It's entirely possible that traps have been laid along both routes."

"You are paranoid," Lord Jaxom said. 

"I'd rather he be paranoid than careless," Washburn responded. 

Lord Jaxom shrugged his shoulders and moved away to ready his men.

"Sir Washburn," Darcy said in a low voice. 

"Yes?"

"Is there some Deryni way you can contact Duke Kelric?  Let him know the path we mean to take?"

"Yes," Washburn responded.  "Though I might need Father Comucil or Lady Aliset's help to contact him at this distance.  What troubles you?"

"Just about everything," Darcy responded.  "Where did that third man ride off to?  The game's afoot.  I fear we may be at the disadvantage."

(Edited because I forgot about Feyd.  Or maybe I was trying to.)
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on February 21, 2018, 03:13:49 PM
The plans for the summer royal progress to the Isle of Hort was now postponed and most likely cancelled. While His Majesty Kelson was in council determining the degree of concerns coming from their western province of Meara, Queen Araxie was in the queen's solar in conference with her stewards and chatelaine cancelling the travel plans that had taken all spring to prepare. If the court intended now to remain in Rhemuth, all sorts of new plans and schedules had to be reorganized. Kelson was even considering a progress to Meara, which might be necessary. In his mind that would be the wisest solution to remind the Mearan people that he was their King. That plan, however, had many of his councilors offering objection. Until it was certain just what was the situation in Meara, it seemed prudent to hold firm in Rhemuth and wait to learn more. Kelson continued to stress that plans should be made ready for any contingent that might arrive.

For the non-militant members of court, all thoughts turned to how best to confront and tolerated the upcoming hottest month of the year while remaining within the main castle walls. Whatever forms of keeping the castle cool would need to be implemented. Not truly a pleasant prospect as the humidity was already threatening to make for some blistering days and unbearably warm nights.

Dowager Duchess Richenda, at an age where she found herself more susceptible to extreme temperature changes, would have preferred an easy summer spent in Coroth with its light sea breezes and afternoon rains. She had been the first, however, to implement the gathering of the Haldane/Morgan families under the protection of Rhemuth's secure walls and their loyal retainers. There was strength in the bonding of their two families. Strength that was recognized throughout the Eleven Kingdoms. A challenge had not come in over twenty years, not since the death of Teymuraz at the hand of her husband, Duke Alaric Morgan. May his soul ever rest in peace. Richenda whispered over her hands that clutched a needle and gold metal threads which were embroidered on an exquisite set of lions and gryphons Quartered on a tunic for Prince Rhys-Alaric Haldane's coming birthday of fourteen years

The two families tight bonding came from two marriages between daughters and sons. Not only had her eldest son Kelric married the strong and vivacious Princess Araxandra back in the summer of eleven hundred and forty-five, now with six strong, healthy children to pass on Alaric Morgan's legacy. A second surprising and equally joyful marriage occurred a few years following between Richenda's youngest daughter, the Lady Grania, and non other than the Crown Prince of Gwynedd, Prince Javan Uthyr Richard Urien Haldane. Their marriage had occurred upon Prince Javan's Nineteenth right-of-birth on the fifth of May in the year of our lord eleven hundred and forty- nine. Their marriage had been bound under full splendor and regalia which the proud Royal parents, Kelson and Araxie, had arranged. With four children to blessed the royal couple, Grania was again to be seen in the fullness of begetting a fifth child, a third boy by all promise of the Healers who cared for her.

So it was in the late morning hours as the castle walls warmed and the king and queen were busy with business that Richenda was grateful for the time spent with her youngest daughter Grania. Both ladies sat under the trellises covered in blossoming wisteria vines and climbing roses. The fragrances of the garden were lavish and the colors divine. Children's joyous calls and screams were pleasant to listen too here in the great outdoors, where the sound was free to escape and not reverberate as they did within the indoor rooms.

Kelric's middle daughter, Araxelle Jehane, sat under the lattice with Grania's oldest daughter beside the other women. Their fine fingers embroidering the small flourishes around the Morgan shield and The Haldane balzon. Delicate work that Richanda was all too happy to pass on to her granddaughters. Grania's youngest daughter of three was balanced upon her moma's knee. The only girl to play with the boys was Araxelle's younger sister, Brownwen Alyce; she was running fast circles around her younger brothers and keeping them in line, so at least Richenda hoped. Duncan Sean and Alain Anthony were in rare form, whooping it up and playing stick fighting with soft twigs they had broken out of a bush. Prince Kenneth Brion, Grania's second boy of just five years, was right there with his cousins as the third adversary. Richenda laughed as all three boys took to chasing each other. Alian running the fastest and dodging the others attacks the quickest. Just as her youngest son had done when he was that age.

Richenda sighed. Where was that youngest son of hers now. Kelric had sent that he had not been able to make contact the night prior, after the duke had arrived at Arx Fidei. There was no word of Washburn's contingent arriving there. Kelric had said he would turn westward in the morning to go in search of them. That youngest son of hers, was giving Richenda new worry wrinkles about her eyes. That young man knew the importance of making contact. Why had he missed it?  Richenda did not want to think of the possible reasons that could have prevented him from doing so.

"Let's play hide and seek," Duncan Sean yelled. "Bronwenie, your it."

"Why am I it?" the girl called with a cry.

"Because your a girl." Duncan answered. At that Araxelle jumped up to her sister's defense. "I'm a girl and you better all hide good, because when I find you, your going to get it." Richenda and Grania were both shaking their heads as they watched the older girl stomp to the middle of the grass, turn her back and started counting backward from ten. The younger kids scattered to the bushes and behind the rows of blooming roses. Richenda laughed. Kelric's middle daughter of eleven had had her Deryni training controls mostly removed and the girl knew full well how to use her senses to find her siblings and cousins, but they did not know that.

((this story bit is only half done, I will post the rest later tonight. Not enough time now as I must get ready for work.))

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Demercia on February 22, 2018, 01:21:38 AM
((Good to see Alain is not forgotten ))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on February 22, 2018, 05:31:24 AM
Arexelle yelled, "One!  Ready or not, here I come!"  She circled the vacant lawn once, pretending not to know where any of the other's had gone.

There was some giggling coming from a rose bush to the right, but Arexelle was not inclined to catch her sister first. She ignored the giggle and veered left passing a hedge row.  "Now where could that little brother of mine be hiding." She headed left around the bush scarring young Duncan out to the right. He was preparing to dash home when she instead veered right and cut off his run. "Tag you," she called, as she touched his arm.

With a false cry of anguish, Duncan fell to the grass. "Why do you always get me first. Not fair."

"Because you need to be more fair to our sister," the older girl told him with a scolding.

"Oh, all right! Sorry Browen!" The boy yelled to the bush on the right, trying to give away his sister's hiding place, even if he truly meant the apology.  Arexelle ignored the "Shhhsh!" she heard coming from her sister's hiding place. Instead, she stalked to a tall hedge covered in lavender flowers. The hedge was wide. How to scare out Alain and still catch him if he ran? It wasn't possible. As she went one way, he came out from the other. When she tried to cut him off, he disappeared behind again. They played at duck and dodge two more times. Before the older sister dove to catch Alain. But the six year old was fleet and fast. He darted out of her reach and raced for home. He called "Home Free" as he made it there. Declaring himself the winner of the game and getting a hug from his twin brother for his success. Yet two children were still hidden. It took but a reach and a touch to catch Browen. The girl pouted for just a minute before running home to join her brothers; Duncan give her a hug of forgiveness. That left Kenneth for last.

Richenda had watched the game with giddy pleasure. Her own children had never been this close together in age and had not played in this way. The pleasures of being a grandmother were so much greater than the worries of being a mother.  As Arexelle frowned after looking around a few bushes, that sense of worry crept into Richenda's mind. She had not seen where Kenneth had gone hiding. She could not sense him, either. "Grania, where is Kenneth?" The boy's mother looked up in astonishment. Her worry was apparent upon her face. She passed her youngest daughter to a nurse, stood and paced quickly out into the garden. Richenda following right behind. Fear filled Grania's eyes as she wildly looked around the garden. "All ye, All ye, come in Free," she yelled, calling for an end to the game.

Silence.

Tears forming in her eyes, Grania was close to panicking. She could not feel her son. Servants were sent to guard the gates and search deeper into the garden. Richenda grabbed the wrist of her daughter, "Lets do this together," she said, "we will find him." She touched Grania's forehead and let her daughter rest her head on her shoulders. "Focus." Together they concentrated on finding Kenneth Brion Anthony Haldane.

((02:25 Grania mentally searching for Kenneth. 2d6 as she is Ritual magic user with success of 4,5, and 6.
02:25-!roll 2d6
02:25 derynibot 3, 4 == 7))

After a moment, Grania wiped her tears and looked straight at low row of rosemary bushes.  She led her mother across the garden, both women looking over the plants at the boy sitting low with his eyes closed. Each of his palms were open downward over stacked black and white cubes, one pair under his right hand and one pair under his left hand. Behind him, to each side was a third and fourth pair of cubes. Richenda reached for the ward cubes, her own hands shacking; thankfully the cubes weren't activated. A five year old should never be able to do that magic, let alone know how to place them. Kenneth was clearly copying what he had seen some adult do. There wasn't magic from the cubes, yet the boy did have some magic that he was casting as a weak concealment type spell around himself, almost like what a ward could accomplish. Grania was astonished. "Kenneth, Don't do that!"  she called out waking the boy up from his focus. "Mommy couldn't find you."

Kenneth smiled "I was hiding. Cousin Arexelle'ye didn't find me, I win," he said plainly like he had done nothing wrong. His mother picked him up in her arms with a worried look. She touched the boy's forehead. Her training controls were there, in place, yet the Haldane blood somehow was manifesting its own tendencies to know how things were done. "Ever since His majesty set his potential, he has been showing small aptitudes like this."

"I think His Majesty Kelson will be the best one to reset his grandson's training controls. I would not presume to touch on the Haldane's potential," Richenda said with a touch of awe. With Haldane blood running in half her grandchildren's blood, the dowager duchess had deferred their training to the highest source, even though she was considered one of the most adept Deryni in the kingdom.

"How did Kenneth get these?" Richenda asked gathering all eight ward cubes into one hand. There feel was so familiar, she should have been able to guess whose they belonged to, but she was thinking they were Javan's even though they didn't feel like his. Grania asked her son pointedly to tell mama where the cubes came from. The boy's response was "Uncle Wash."

"He gave them to you? Tell me the truth." Grania said more sternly.

"He showed them to me, then he put them away but he didn't, they fell under his bed instead. He left them there, so I took them for safekeeping." Grania turned a serious look back to her mother. "My brother doesn't have his ward cubes!" Seeing fear in Richenda's features, Grania turned back to her son. "You should have given them to me, Kenneth love, next time any adult drops something, don't you go picking it up. You come tell your mama about it. Can you do that for mama."

"Yes!" The young prince said, suddenly he nested his head against his mother's shoulder ashamed.

Washburn hadn't contacted the family and he didn't have his ward cubes. Richenda felt a shiver down her spine. The women returned to the garden covering, with a nervous sweet beading the elder lady's brow. "Will you help me cast out for your brother, I need to know where Washburn is," Richenda finally said.

"Maman, I will gladly help you." The two women instructed the nurses to take the children indoors. They remained on the bench sitting shoulder to shoulder. Richenda cupping the ward cubes in one hand and her camber medallion in the other. They formed Rapport and sent out tendrils of energy searching for the missing son of Alaric Morgan.

((03:11Richenda searching for Washburn she is spell master so 3d6 with success of 4, 5, or 6.
03:11Richenda-l!roll 3d6
03:11derynibot4, 5, 2 == 11))

The distance was great, the energy surged into her from her youngest daughter. There, right there, focus tighter, was that the touch of her son's mind?
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on February 22, 2018, 07:32:30 AM
((Oh help Laurna! I nearly choked on my lunch fearing some tool of Valerian's had somehow got into the garden and had kidnapped Kenneth. I think Grandpapa Kelson is not going to be pleased with his grandson.))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on February 22, 2018, 03:18:01 PM
((
12:22 Wash Wash contacting Kelric disadvantage roll of 4,5 or 6 success.
12:22 Wash !roll 1d6
12:22 derynibot 1 == 1
12:23 Wash There go those ones again. I get far more ones than 6, actually than anything else.

12:27 Wash second roll Washburn contacting Richanda. Richenda has already made contact and Washburn is in focus, therefore I am rolling standard 2d6 with success of 4,5 or 6.
12:27 Wash !roll 2d6
12:27 derynibot 5, 4 == 9
12:27 Wash better))

Sir Washburn had stood between his horse, Shadow, who looked once more like a big R'Kassi stallion, and Father Columcil's highland pony. They needed to be on their way, yet still, he needed to make contact with his brother. Everyone else except the good Father had mounted and was ready to move out. The route was chosen. Just a half mile ahead they would take the farm road east and not continue south to Ciulteine. With his hand cupped around his silver medallion, the young Morgan focused down. Finding a calmness he had not had experienced since leaving Droghera. A full day had past in the protection of the dome ward. A full day that Washburn recall but little of. He had thought the taint of Meresha gone from his body. Yet, he still could not contact his brother. Perhaps Kelric was already on the move, riding toward him. But would he be coming the wrong way, by the road and not the farm lands. Wash needed very much to contact him.

He centered down further. A hand touched his wrist. Father Columcil offered him a steadying source of energy. That was when Wash touched another. It was not Kelric. No indeed, the feminine sigh of relief was tangible in that first contact.

"Maman!" Washburn exclaimed, doubly surprised by the strength his mother used to tighten the link between them.

"You will be the death of me, young man!" was the first thing she claimed. "Are you all right?"

"Yes!" he knew she felt the lie the moment he said it. "Rather, I am now." he said more correctly.
"I will tell you all when i get back, I hope that to be two days time."

"Where are you now? Kelric should have met you at Arx Fidei last night, but he said you did not get there."

"We are just on the road south of Droghera. Can you contract Kelric and tell him we will be taking the east pathways through the farm lands and will not be on the main road. Tell him to use the utmost caution. We do not know what is set between us to keep us from meeting."

His mother was silent for a moment. Wash knew she was bravely putting aside her fears. He was doing his best to conceal his own concern from her. "Son," she finally said. "Don't be negligent. Pay attention to Everything that goes on around you. Do not do like you did, dropping your ward cubes and leaving them for Prince Kenneth to find. He did find them, you know. And he did try to use them. No harm, but you must be more diligent. I cannot stress this enough."

Shamed, Washburn ducked his head. "Yes, maman. I will not make such a lapse happen again."

"See that you don't!"
With that his mother assured him she would contact Kelric.  She sent her love and he returned the sentiment and then the link ended.

Washburn had a tear in his eye. He looked up at Father Columcil. "It seems Father, that I deserve penitence. It was my fault that the ward cubes were left behind. Thankfully, Kenneth Brion was unharmed by such a lapse. I need to do much better than I have done up to this point in my life. Before anyone else becomes harmed. I must see us safely returned to Rhemuth. No more lapses on my part." He held up his hand making it a valiant oath.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on February 22, 2018, 03:50:22 PM
Columcil traced the sign of the cross on Washburn's forehead, aware as perhaps not before of just how hard it must have been to grow up as a hero's son. Running wild amongst the other lads at Transha, and though studious he had been as wild as any of the others, he had no-one to be constantly compared to and found lacking. His step-father had been kindly enough - and ready enough with his belt when Columcil's quick intelligence led him into more than acceptable mischief - and he had not felt the lack of a father or a name but until now he had not thought that perhaps he and not his noble kinsman was truly the privileged one.

"My Son, do not take too much upon yourself," - as he heard himself speak Columcil realised how quickly he was returning to the more cultured speech he had learnt at Seminary and which he believed he had all but lost in his years in the borders. Irritated with himself for his irrelevant self-absorption at such a time he continued, "if failing to take care of your belongings is a mortal sin then hell's going to be a mighty busy place."

Washburn gasped at such irreverent language from a priest and then as Columcil had hoped looked up and returned the priest's smile, albeit weakly.

"I could not fail but hear, linked as we were, but rest assured that I shall regard anything I heard as sacred as if it were in the confessional. That was her Grace the Duchess I take it?"

"My mother, yes, the Dowager Duchess," Washburn swallowed hard, willing no more tears to come.

"Well she has a son of which she can be very proud." Seeing that Washburn seemed inclined to debate the point Columcil turned away and mounted Spean, though not without giving a glance of wistful envy as Washburn in his turn mounted. It had been wonderful to ride Shadow even for such a short time. Again he rebuked himself and patted Spean's neck, "Truth is, my beastie, you're more suited to an old priest, take no notice of my haverings."

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on February 22, 2018, 06:57:18 PM
Darcy Cameron sat astride Sigrun, absently stroking her neck.  It was more to calm himself that his horse.  Every nerve seemed to be on edge.  He did not share Lord Jaxom's sense of relief.  He had an uncomfortable feeling that their foe, whoever he was, might be counting on that.

Sir Washburn seemed preoccupied with something, standing as he was between his own horse and Father Columcil's.  The good Father had joined the knight and together they seemed to be concentrating on something.  Darcy hoped it had something to do with contacting Duke Kelric, but he had not been privy to what transpired.

A movement beside him caught his attention.  Lord Alister moved his horse into position beside him.  Darcy nodded, careful to avoid any presumption.  Lord Alister nodded, carefully neutral.

Bloody hell, Darcy thought.  It had been easier when he had only known her as Lord Alister.  This would not do; there was too much at stake to lose his focus now.

"My Lord," Darcy said to Alister.  "I think we are ready to leave."  He looked ahead to Lord Jaxom.  As they had agreed earlier, Lord Jaxom would take the lead along with one of his men-at-arms.  Sir Washburn would follow, with Jaxom's squire riding beside him.  Darcy and Lord Alister would come next, followed by one of Jaxom's bowmen and Father Columcil.  The remaining bowman and man-at- arms would come last.    Sir Washburn had not been pleased at first with the arrangement, but finally agreed when Darcy pointed out that he made too clear a target for a crossbowman if he took in the lead.

Darcy had argued that the Watch Captain could spare two of his men to ride with them, but the Captain had been adamant that their duty was to Droghera.  Sir Washburn had reluctantly agreed; the Captain would not budge, and they could not delay longer.  The Captain's party had departed with their captive and the body of the dead crossbowman, wishing them Godspeed on their journey.

Now Sir Washburn and Father Columcil were mounted, and Lord Jaxom signalled for them to move out. 

Darcy was not sorry to leave Droghera behind, but he fervently hoped safety for them, and especially Lady Aliset, would be found ahead. 
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on February 22, 2018, 08:49:57 PM
((Have to agree with Darcy. This is scary, hope they make it ok.))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on February 23, 2018, 04:31:08 AM
The riders turned off the main road onto the rutted county path.  They waded through two small streams and past a thick glen of trees which cleared suddenly to drop into a valley between two mountains; opening to an inspiring view of  Gwynedd's grasslands.

(https://i.pinimg.com/564x/0f/96/84/0f96847f50af854292baa6e3a883261f.jpg)

As far as the eye could see, rolling green covered every inch of land. Tiny farmsteads dotted the countryside. Not a castle could be seen. This was the hidden heart of Gwynedd. This land belonged to the hard working common folk, who eked out a fair living by raising sheep and cows, and tilling small patches of land to grow their food.

Washburn had been tense through the denser tree cover as the narrow road ran through it. His senses were heightened as he look for any signs of the third man who had orchestrated the last attempt to capture him.

(( 1d6  success on 4, 5 or 6, rolled 3 Verification Number: gj2w728l5m))

He sensed no one, yet he didn't trust his own powers at the moment to not have miss what might be hidden. Therefore, he kept a wary eye on their surroundings. Behind him, he noted that Lady Aliset was doing the same.  When they breasted the hillock and looked down over the valley, a small sense of relief swept through the party. Below was open country. A follower would have to keep a greater distance to not be detected by one of their group. Wash took a moment to slow Shadow and move back level to the two behind him.

"Master Darcy. You are probably thinking the same as I. I want it to be understood that if you are questioned about it later, what I say to you are my orders and if it comes to pass, you are doing as I requested." Darcy's lips pressed together, certain he was not going to like what he heard. "I believe there is safety in numbers, and I believe we need to stay together. However, there may be circumstances ahead where that may be an impossibility. Your priority is not to me. It is to Lord Alister." Darcy was nodding with understanding, even while Alister/Aliset was preparing to argue the point against it. "Listen to me, Lord Alister. You and Darcy must escape whatever trap is laid before us. You must make it to the king.  Darcy will be certain that he gets you there. I have no doubt the man is a capable protector. If at all possible, take Columcil with you. He is a good man with more talent than one would expect from a borderland priest.  Lord Jaxom and I will fend off the best we can to be sure you get away."

Even Darcy wanted to protest, even though he knew in his heart this was how it had to be. "I will be condemned for leaving you behind."

"That is why I am enforcing that these orders come directly from me. I am not without my own defenses. I can handle myself. And it isn't my intention to fall into the enemy's hands. Trust me! If I know the lady is safe, it will be far easier for me to do what needs to be done. Do we understand one another."

"Aye, my lord, we do."

"Lord Alister?"

She was none to happy, never-the-less she complied. "Aye."

"Thank you," Washburn said. "What I am counting on, is that we will meet the Duke of Corwyn at the base of this valley, before the end of this day." Better assured Wash spurred Shadow to move back in line ahead.

Wash cast out his senses again. (( 1d6 success on 4,5,or 6  rolled 4 Verification Number: 7drh5lgr23))   This time, as they moved into the open farmland, he was more assured that if they were being watched, it was from a greater distance. One that could not do immediate harm.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on February 23, 2018, 10:10:20 AM
((09:24   Valerian   !roll 3d6
09:24   derynibot   3, 3, 2 == 8
09:24   Valerian   !roll 3d6
09:24   derynibot   1, 2, 4 == 7

09:25   Aliset   !roll 2d6
09:25   derynibot   3, 1 == 4
09:25   Aliset   !roll 2d6
09:25   derynibot   1, 6 == 7))

Valerian watched from a distance, scrying for the Morgan stripling and the runaway de Mariot chit.  As the image of the travelers resolved into crystal clarity before him, he bit back a curse.  There, stretched out before them, was the wide-open vista of the beginning of the Gwynedd lowlands.  His minions had failed him, and he was beginning to run out of options.  He could not afford to stretch out his resources too thinly, after all; he needed to hold some reserves back for the taking of Ratharkin and eventually Laas.

But he was far from powerless to stop them, even at this remove.  He had a contingency plan. 

The table before him on which his scrying crystal sat also held an open map and a bowl of water.  Murmuring the words of an incantation, he began to sprinkle water upon the map, focusing his working over the stretch of terrain where the travelers rode, even now beginning their descent into Gwynedd.  As he sprinkled the parchment, he began to blow, his hot, heavy breath sweeping over the increasingly wet display before him.

================

Aliset surveyed the lowlands before her with a worried frown. Something felt...wrong somehow, but she could not say exactly what or why.  Those storm clouds in the distance were vaguely disquieting, though.  Summer showers were hardly a rare thing in Gwynedd or Meara, but what had started off as fluffy white clouds gathering like sheep overhead had begun to turn gray and ominous.  Could a storm be brewing?  She tried to cast out with her senses, wondering if perhaps they ought to find shelter, though she was loath to stop before their party reached the relative safety of Arx Fidei, or at least met up with the Duke of Corwyn's reinforcements.  However, distracted as she was by her growing sense of urgency to reach safety as soon as possible, she failed to detect anything unnatural about the gathering storm.

=================

Valerian frowned as he continued his weather working.  While the clouds looming above the escaping party grew darker and more ominous, large drops of rain beginning to fall upon them now and the grass bending under the winds he was creating, he had intended to wreak far more havoc upon them than that!  Slowly, never taking his eyes off the scene in the crystal before him, he stabbed one finger on the map above the unwary travelers, circling it above their heads, at first slowly but then with increasing fervor, attempting to create a vortex, a whirlwind to destroy all along its path.  But it was of no use.  With no one else at hand whose energies he might draw upon, the clouds in his view swirled uselessly above the escaping travelers, creating gusts and rain but little else.  All he had accomplished was a steadily more ruined map.  With a cry of fury, he hurled it across the room.

==================

With a cry of horror, Aliset saw the swirling clouds and suddenly realized this was no ordinary storm. 

"Sir Washburn!" she called out, pointing to the vortex attempting to coalesce above them.  "We must seek shelter, now!"

The knight, casting his gaze skyward, noted her cause for alarm. Searching the landscape below them frantically for someplace their party could escape to, the only shelter that seemed adequate was a stone-walled barn on a farm in the near distance.  Signalling to Lord Jaxom and Darcy, he indicated that they should all ride for cover to wait out the storm, hopeful that they might arrive in time to set up wards for additional protection, yet just as suddenly as the storm had arisen, it dispersed, leaving behind a cloudless, sunny sky.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on February 23, 2018, 12:03:15 PM
His Majesty the King ran his hands through his hair until it stood up on end. Dhugal and he had been friends for over half a century and sometimes his blood-brother was as exasperating now as he had been as a hot-headed young man.

"Dhugal, do you really need me to spell out for you the difference between a topic for discussion and an order!" But the expression in those grey Haldane eyes was less anger than frustration."

"Jesus Christ, man! - Sorry Duncan- Think, will you! I need you to return to Ballymar. I agree the rebels, whoever they are, are most likely to attack Ratharkin while Rory is absent, but sooner or later Laas will be in their sights. And short of a full scale invasion of Meara the best way of getting reinforcements to Laas is by sea from Ballymar."

Kelson looked at his glowering blood brother. "So I am not asking you, as you put it "to skulk like an old man by the sea while others have a share in the action" but ordering you to return home and ready that northern fleet that you and Richard Kirby have worked so hard to assemble."

Dhugal put down the goblet which he had been clutching tightly for fear he might succumb to the temptation to throw it at the King and, reaching over the small table which separated them, brushed his lips across the back of Kelson's hand.

"I'm sorry, Kelson and, to give you the answer I should have given ten minutes ago: as you command, Sire. I suppose I didn't expect to have to face this again. The fleet Richard and I have built has really been for trade with the Northlands. As you should know, my lord king, given how much more you've been extracting from my duchy in taxes." The red flush of anger and then embarassment faded from his face and his voice took on his normal teasing tone. Then more seriously he turned to look at borh his father and his king.

"How did we get here again though. Do you have any more idea of who is behind this.?"

Both men shook their heads and looked as worried as Dhugal felt.

Finally the king spoke. "There must be something that I am missing -some focal point but whoever is behind this has been far too clever. One thing though," and he paused as though thinking aloud. "Whatever the Mearan rebels may claim to think of Deryni, there is a Deryni behind this somewhere."





Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on February 23, 2018, 06:25:41 PM
Darcy Cameron had seen many storms during his life at sea.  Many had come up as quickly as this one, but never had he seen one that was so suddenly gone.  Totally gone.  Bright sunshine dried his clothes as he rode forward.

He glanced aside toward Lady Aliset, in her guise as her brother, riding beside him.  She looked as disconcerted as he felt.

"Lord Alister," Darcy said in a tone just loud enough to be heard above the sound of the horses.

"Master Darcy?"

"I suppose that was magic."

Aliset sighed and nodded.  "I think it was a weather working, but it failed, thank goodness."

"Aye, or we would not be in Gwynedd anymore." 

Aliset gave him a surprised look and realized they had finally crossed from Meara into Gwynedd.  "Gwynedd," she said softly.  "Do you think we can reach Arx Fidei before nightfall?"

"It may be farther than we can reach before the horses need rest.  And ourselves as well," he added.  "It would stand us well if Duke Kelric reaches us before then."

"Yes, it would."

They rode on in silence.  The awkwardness they had both felt seemed to drift away.  It had been a chance moment, nothing more. 

Lady Aliset turned toward her man-at-arms and favoured him with a smile.  Darcy nodded in acknowledgement.  All was well, at least for now.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on February 24, 2018, 04:13:25 PM
Dhugal stood as though to go, began to make his bow, half-straightened, and slumped back into his chair, looking carefully at his feet. Part of what he had to say was a tad sensitive; although he was almost certain that Kelson would not take it amiss, shouting defiance at one's sovereign, however close a friend, was probably not the best way to mention something which if Kelson were so minded could be open to misinterpretation.

Kelson allowed the silence to continue, honest enough to admit to himself that both the man and the king in him were enjoying the other's discomfiture but before it could become really uncomfortable he spoke.

"Whatever it is you have to say, Dhugal, just say it. I won't bite your head off. I even promise not to start shouting first. And Duncan here can administer healing, absolution and penance, as appropriate, if it comes to blows."

Smiling, Duncan made a 'keep me out of this' gesture with his hand but the king's tone of voice was enough to let Dhugal know that he was forgiven. With more confidence he began,

"We both think that Ratharkin is a likely target and if that's the case then whoever is behind this will have most likely infiltrated even those we think to be loyal. God, I'll never forget poor Istelyn left to the wolves with those who should have been his protectors turning on him." Kelson looked ready to speak but Dhugal forestalled him, remembered pain in both their eyes though the martyred Bishop of whom they spoke had been dead more than half a century.

"There was no way you could have known," and he grasped Kelson's wrist in sympathy. "There was no way you could have known, and Rory has done miracles in winning most of the Mearans over, but there are always those ready to be bought."

Catching his father's eye he added, "And I'm as ready as you are, Da, to think that some at least of Rory's success is due to the intercession of Saint Henry Istelyn, as he is now."

Kelson knew that even a recently angry Dhugal would not have re-opened the wounds of the past without cause but he could not see where this was going and despite himself he shifted restlessly in his chair.

"Bear with me, Kelson," Dhugal begged. "Do you remember a young lad called Andrew McGregor?"

Kelson looked momentarily puzzled but Duncan gave a very unepiscopal guffaw. "The lad whose hide you tanned for him? And if I remember rightly he had to do with raising that ghost at Valoret? Well I'm assuming he escaped the gallows, though the way he was going someone must have been praying hard for him, but what became of him?"

"Well there were times when I thought I should have thrashed him a lot harder, and he's always been too clever for his own good, but give the man his due he was always utterly loyal to Jatham, and to Jatham's son when he succeeded to the Earldom. He was Jatham's master of arms for a stretch, not the most popular because even the wickedest of lads couldn't get away with a thing, but his mercenary blood was always wanting to get out and Rory and I decided to put it to good use. And, well for the last ten years or so he's been wandering through the villages of Meara in one disguise or another keeping his ear to the ground."

Dhugal looked sideways at Kelson, and murmured, "Forgive me Sire, if we should have asked your leave..." but Kelson smiled reassuringly. "Dhugal, you might make me pull my hair out, but I would never doubt your loyalty, nor Rory's. What worries me more is that he has had no hint of the latest trouble. Either he is not as good as you hoped or we have real problems. And I hesitate to ask this, but you are totally sure of his loyalty?"

"He allows me to Read his mind," Kelson raised his eyebrows questioningly, and Dhgal added, "Oh he bears me no ill-will, even at thirteen he was canny enough to know I could have inflicted far worse on him, and though he is a powerful Deryni in his own way, I doubt that he is skilled enough to fool both myself and Mirjana. As a spy, he's good. So good that what I suggest is that, this time with your knowledge and leave, we send him to Ratharkin. At best we'd have enough advance warning of any attack to bring the troops under Duncan Michael's command there in time, at worst a point of contact within the town."

Kelson continued to look dubious then nodded, "Like I said, you have my total trust. If you are prepared to vouch for his loyalty, then I accept it too. How soon can he get there?"

"As it happens he is in Culdi at the moment, had he been out in the wilds I'd not have mentioned him. Assuming I can contact him once I return to Ballymar, he could portal into Ratharkin tomorrow."

"Do that, then, and Dhugal, I really would rather have you here, but I fear we might be needing those ships. I have a feeling this is more than just a few Mearan hotheads."

Kelson stood up and when Dhugal stood in his turn - Duncan claimed the privilege of age and remained seated - and again made to bow Kelson seized him in an embrace and hugged him tight. "Go with God, my brother."

((Rolling for Dhugal to contact Andrew 3+4 = 7 rl533dxzzs- rats Dhugal must be too tired, or Andrew too drunk. He'll have to keep trying)).



Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on February 24, 2018, 05:54:03 PM
((What ghost at Valoret? Did I miss something?))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on February 25, 2018, 02:44:43 PM

Youngsters minding their flooks turned to watch the group of men as they trotted by. It wasn't often that nobility passed along this route. The sight was something to give young boys grand dreams of growing up and of knighthood.  Far from the thoughts of their sons, the farmers who watched were more alert and concerned.They watched the men pass, but their considerations ran more to what trouble was coming around. No one waved to the men, this was not a pageant of richness. Here was an armed group, serious in their attentiveness to their surroundings with dower expressions under their helms. The few farmers on the road with hay waggons and such were quick to veer off the path to let the riders pass.

On a better day, Wash would have loved to walk slower and take in the beauty of the valley. On another travel perhaps, he would come this way and do just that. Today, he was tense, looking at the faces they passed, assessing that each one ment them no harm. He almost wanted to apologize to the common folk for even thinking one of them might be an adversary. They didn't deserve that judgement, yet he daren't let his observations slip. Life and limb were dependant upon his not miss calculating the capabilities of their enemy.

At late morning they had traveled a good ten miles or more down the valley path. Aliset, I am going to try to contract my brother. Be even more vigilant while I am in trance if you would. He sent her in quick Mind Speech.

After she acknowledged him. Wash turned his gaze one last time around the green pastured land. He then pulled the Camber Medal from his tunic. He focused on the silver cowled face looking up at him. "Blessed Saint Camber, I beseech the, allow us an uneventful passage through this valley, may we come upon my brother with our party whole and well." He whispered bringing the silver to his lips. With it cupped in his hands, he closed his eyes and reach out to Kelric.

((Washburn contacting Kelric. No longer at disadvantage, Maresha influence gone. 2d6 standard roll. Results 1-5= 6 success. Verification Number: 6pvsz44642))

There you are little brother,  Kelric answered his call with a sense of relief in the link. You've given the lady dowager a great deal of stress. It seems I am to get your delinquent self home, like I had to do in the old days. If she dishes out punishment it will not be my fault.

I assure you, I have endured punishment enough for my late coming. I will welcome maman's punishment with a warm heart. Washburn replied. We are a third of the way down the valley. Did Her Grace contact you. Are you on the same road.

We are now, I recon would should meet you in less than two hours. Are you being followed?

We believe that we are, but that person has yet to show themselves. I do worry for Aliset's sake. Baron Oswald means to make her his bride. And for some reason this man after us seems to think I would make a wealthy ransom. Who ever he is, he is a strong Deryni. Did you see that little storm dance earlier? I am glad that it failed.  Oh, and he plays with Maresha. Be wary.

Is that why we missed meeting you at Arx Fedei, last night? Concern tinging the duke's words.

Aye it is.  Washburn said without elaborating more. We will step up our pace and met up with you as soon as can be. I need to go back to my surveillance.

Very well,  I will stay attentive if you need to contact me, the duke of Corwyn relayed.

Thank you, big brother, this isn't the first time you've pulled me out of trouble, but it is the first time I will thank you ahead of time for doing so. Wash laughed thinking back on other times he had been in trouble-- better times.

Hah! I'll take that. Just remember to thank me in front of maman. I want to see you be that humble.


Your rescue has a high price
. Wash said with a laugh. Very well, so be it.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on February 25, 2018, 03:28:21 PM
Feyd had positioned himself behind a small copse which kept him hidden from view but allowed him a good view of the path winding down the valley.  He had guessed correctly that they might come this way.  Nevertheless, he had left his few remaining resources along the road to Cuilteine, armed with merasha dipped crossbow bolts.

His own crossbow was propped against one of the trees.  He had thrust several of the tainted bolts into the ground beside it, ready for reloading.

He would have to make each shot count.  With luck, we would be able to get off a second shot before the others either ran for cover or charged his position.  He would aim his first shot at the Morgan whelp; the second would be for Lady Aliset; as lord or lady he would recognize her. 

Feyd saw the sudden buildup of dark, ominous clouds. The wind picked up and he caught his crossbow before it could be blown out of his reach.  The leaves of the trees gave him some shelter from the rain but not much. 

He had not expected the vortex that opened up in the sky between his position and Droghera.  It never touched the ground, instead it quickly dissipated along with the rest of the storm.

Feyd recognized it as a weather-working, one that had not succeeded.  No one in Meara could have produced that but the Grand Duke.  And he had failed.

Feyd considered his options.  Finally, he retrieved the bolts, put them back in their case, and with his crossbow still in hand, turned to retrieve his horse.  The plan had not gone well from the start, and the Grand Duke could not blame him for the final failure.  Nevertheless, he would not hurry to return to Grand Duke Valerian.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on February 25, 2018, 05:44:09 PM
I've realised that these scenes with Dhugal should really be happening the day before the latest action involving our characters. Please adjust your imaginations accordingly

(( First failed Roll for Dhugal to contact Andrew 3+4 = 7 rl533dxzzs. Second successfull roll 4+5 =9 7cvpf6z3m8))

Dhugal stepped out of the portal in his summer residence at Ballymar, pleased to note that the guard whom he had ordered to be in place at all time in the portal's antechamber had jumped to attention and stood with his hand on his sword hilt. Recognising his Duke he took his hand away and bowed deeply, beginning to apologise.

Dhugal gave him time to straighten then clasped his shoulder, "Padraig, never apologise for doing your duty. Understood."

"Aye, yer Grace. Thank ye - I didn't want ye to think I was aboot ta run ye through."

Dhugal smiled and continued through to the Ducal quarters, with a word for each of the guards he met on the way, thanking God as he did so for their loyalty. He was thankful, too, that though Ballymar was the place where he, Mirjana, and the family could relax away from the pressures of court life, being where it was up on the northern shore of Cassan and at the edge of the highlands, it was more castle than palace and accordingly defensible.

He knocked on the door of Mirjana's solar, and entered at the sound of her voice to find her sitting alone save for a maid who was dressing her hair ready for bed. The maid curtseyed deeply, and rose, flustered, when Dhugal gently took the brush from her hand and dismissed her with a "Ye can go now, lass, I can see to her Grace's hair." As the door closed, Mirjana teased gently, with that trace of a foreign accent which Dhugal had come to love, "I'll thank you not to scandalise my maids, my Lord," but one look at his face showed her that he was in no mood for jest or indeed for dalliance.

Briefly Dhugal told her of his conversation with Kelson and of the orders he had received. "Och, I shouldna 'a shouted at him like that, but he worries me when I'm no there to protect him. Wi' Alaric gone these many years and Duncan an old man,"

"And many good young men there, as loyal and as ready to die for their King as you," Mirjana interjected gently and took his head onto her lap. Dhugal lay there, as she gently brushed his hair back from his forehead with her hand. She was right. His head knew it, his heart just had difficulty accepting the fact that he was no longer the young warrior Duke who had saved the lives of both his father and his king and he wondered, as he had wondered before, whether Alaric was not in fact the most fortunate of them all, to die in his prime in the service of the liege Lord he had served so faithfully and loved more than life itself. As he was drifting off to sleep he forced himself awake with an effort.

"Andrew, I'm supposed to be contacting Andrew.!" He sat up, rapidly explained to Mirjana what Kelson had agreed to and began to hunt for the medal, the twin of which Andrew held, which would enable him to make contact even over the miles which separated Ballymar from Culdi where Andrew currently was, enjoying what was supposed to have been a few weeks of summer leave.

"My love, think! I think he'll not be expecting a contact at this hour, no? And he'll most likely be in a tavern somewhere, yes? And how will he get access to the portal in Culdi Castle, even with your token, at this hour of the night even supposing he is sober?

Dhugal was forced to agree (( failed roll)), he would try again at first light which came early enough in these summer months, when Andrew would be alone in his lodgings, and if past experience was anything to go by, none the worse for the copious amounts of ale he had drunk.

                                             ***************************************************
Dhugal rolled away from Mirjana and sitting on the edge of the bed held a small brass medal in his hand. He allowed himself to drift into a trance and reached out with his thoughts, far away, and then further still until he reached the mind he sought, the touch made familiar with long years of contact. He sensed drowsiness, a gradual awakening and then the sudden jump to full alertness of the trained spy, whose life might depend on his ability to regain his senses in a instant. ((successful roll for contact))

"My Lord? Is aught wrong?"

"Aye, least ways something's afoot. As soon as you can the morn come here to Ballymar."

"Aye, Sir. 'Tis near enough morn now, the castle'll be stirring within the hour."

The contact was broken but Dhugal knew that Andrew arrive through the portal before most folk had broken their fast. He'd best make sure that the guards knew to expect him.

       ************************************************************
The two men sat in the Duke's private withdrawing room behind the Great Hall, supplied with bread, meat and ale to break their fasts. Andrew McGregor was a very different man from the lad he had thrashed all those years ago, thickset and weathered rather than slender and raw, but the most important change was that he was comfortable in his own self and in his identity as Deryni. He might use his gifts in ways that largely went unnoticed but here was a man who had found his place in life.  As the Duke explained the nature of his task to Andrew, the latter frowned looking worried.

"I dinna ken how I've no heard nothing of this, my lord". And I'm not liking either of the reasons which I can speir. Either I'm losing ma touch at this game, or yon's a verra powerful deryni wha's ahint a' this."

"The last is my fear, and that of his Majesty the King. But maybe Ratharkin will be where ye can find something to gie us a clue."

Andrew stood, bowed and then hesitated, the scene reminding Dhugal of his own hesitancy before the king the day before. He gestured the other to speak; Andrew took a deep breath and began as though he already knew what the answer would be but felt he must speak anyway.

"Your Grace." - Another deep breath -"If we're dealing with yin as powerful as ye speir, maybe now tis the time for ye to set a death trigger. I'd sooner that than betray any of yous." ((Rolling to see whether Dhugal sets a death trigger in Andrew. Dice roll 3+4=7 5ts3wp3gdj))

This was an old argument and though Dhugal could see the sense behind the request he was no happier with the idea than he had been when Andrew had first mooted it. It smacked too much of dark magic for his liking, and his father had been vehemently opposed when he had mentioned the suggestion to him.

"I understand why you ask, but there is one thing about having an Archbishop for a father, you're left in no doubt as to what would be mortal sin. His Excellency says no, and so do I, but I make no doubt he'll be praying all the harder for you."

Whether or not Andrew found that a comfort, he was far too wise to say. Bowing again he merely said, "As your Grace decides," and went on his way back to the portal and thence to Ratharkin. Dhugal feared for what he might find there.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on February 26, 2018, 08:02:43 AM
Feyd was well versed in the old portal locations. He would use them again and take the nearest available portal to Rhemuth and wait.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on March 01, 2018, 04:11:23 AM
Huntsman Rayne Lanackie could not appreciated Master Feyd's order to be the one to race south on the road to Cuilteine. The orders were for him to contact the Mearan loyalists in that town; enlist them to detain any of the southward travelers until Master Feyd could interrogate them. The orders did not end there. Rayne was to travel further on the road to an estate near Arx Fidei activating the loyalist there. The huntsman considered these orders a poor use of his talents. He wanted to be in on the current action. But Feyd wasn't the type of man you held your ground against. Rayne had said, 'Yes sir, I will do that, sir,' even if it went against the huntsman's instincts.

Rayne was Sir Oswald's man, Baron Oswald now. He had helped his master take down the old Baron de Mariot in an 'accident' that no one suspected to be fowl play until other family members started to die off too. Rayne was proud of his accomplishments. Oswald paid him well for those past deeds. But then the daughter got away.  T'was fortunate that the escape had not been Rayne's responsibility.  The person's whose responsibility it had been, had met with a nasty demise. Soon after the girl's escape, Baron Oswald had come to Rayne demanding, "Find her, bring her back to me!  Harmed is fine, Dead is Not! Just don't maim that pretty face of hers. My wife needs to be pretty. Use this and she won't give you any trouble." The baron had handed him a strange looking device. It was a hollow needle made of gold, shaped like a curved barb, attached to a tube with rings that fit on the inside of the index finger and a bulb at the end of the tube that rested inside the palm of the hand. A Deryni pricker the baron had called it. The bulb was full of Maresha. Touch any Deryni with the hooked needle, squeeze a little on the bulb and the drug would render the victim insensible. Rayne rather relished the idea of giving it a try. The device was in a tin canister in his bag, just waiting for a time when he could use it.

Master Feyd, however, had taken control of Oswald's small group and Feyd's instruction came from a Grand Duke. Rayne's personal tasks would have to wait while he did as Feyd ordered. So on that morning, he had galloped his horse though the farmers and their herd of cows, causing the necessary distraction to bring about the capture the Lendour knight. He hated missing out on the excitement of capturing the enemy. So much so, that once he was out of sight of those on the road, he doubled back through the trees to see how it all played out.

Ha! Good, that arrogant knight was down. Two of Feyd's men were dragging the unconscious nobleman to his doom. That would make his job of catching the girl so much easier.  He had a good notion that she would not get herself captured as easily as that knight just did, so his time to catch her himself would be forthcoming.

Oh! Look there, a wounded man was up in the big tree. This man, although weaving unsteadily, was holding himself firm to the tree branch out of Feyd's reach. Rayne recognized him as the girl's first protector. He would have happily taken this man out of his misery, if it hadn't been for more men coming up the hill on horseback. Time it was to leave. Rayne raced his horse away, smug in his knowledge that the man in the tree would be soon dead and the knight wasting away in a dungeon cell. The Huntsman could complete his orders and then he would see to his real task of capturing the girl.

He galloped onward to the the town of Cuilteine. It didn't take him long to find the contact Feyd had in that town. Feyd's orders were passed along to the few loyalists there. They would stop anyone who managed to escape the ambush that had happened on the road. Rayne's orders were not done, yet. Much as he wanted to stay in Cuilteine, he had one more place to ride to; he was to stop at a small estate outside Arx Fedei. This was the furthest out that the loyalists had infiltrated. As a last attempt, they needed to be aware of the game that was afoot. So Rayne had spent the night sleeping in that estates gate house, dreaming of using his pricker and seeing the effects of Maresha on that willful de Mariot runaway.

The sound of horses and men trotting up the main road had woken Rayne up to the first light of the new day. He had looked through the estates bared gates to see twenty or more riders. The banner was black with a green gryphon. Everyone knew the blazon of Corwyn. What in blazes was the Duke of Corwyn doing on the fringes of Meara? Feyd had to be warned.

There would be no passing the riders on the main road. Only one other way would get him to Droghera ahead of those riders and that was the Gwynedd Hidden valley road. Rayne's mount was quickly saddled and he was off, up that road at a full run.

The huntsman made good time. By noon he was more than half way up the valley. That is when he saw the glints of shine on metal far ahead of him. The cloud cover had dissipated quickly to let the sun illuminate the zenith. Those strange clouds had been an oddity. But Rayne thought little about it. He was just glad he saw that helmed group of riders while he was some ways down the valley from them. It wasn't hard to surmised that they weren't loyalist. No they had to be more of those dratted king's men. Hum, think, he had time, if he could stop them, even slow them down, he would be doing his Queen a great favor.

Rayne veered off the road to enter an open barn on one of the larger farmsteads. Up in the vally's side hills, he had seen a man and several boys moving their cattle from one field to another. They would be too busy to notice him. He entered the barn and looked around. All sorts of tools and instruments hung from the walls and rafters. What would be a simple effective trap. With more time he could imagine several ways to take out riders. But what he had to do, he had to be fast and unobtrusively. He looked in a wooden bucket on a high shelf. Hah! That would do!

Still seated on his horse, he stood in the saddle and pulled the heavy bucked down. Cobwebs and dust came way with the bucket. It had not been moved in decades. Balancing the bucket before him on the saddle he examined one of the caltrops. Roughly made, not quiet as glorious as the old Rum war-caltrops with their barred ends. But these would do just as well. They had likely been made during the last Mearan wars. The farmers may have thought to use them to hold the Mearan army's back in the old days. There were at least two dozen of the four-pronged star devices, each metal prong three inches long. 

Rayne carried his toys back out onto the road. The upper edge of this farmer's land was marked by a hedge three feet high and a gate that could be closed across the road. Rayne leaned over to closed the gate. Then at about three to six feet out, on the east side of the gate, he began to evenly spread out his toys. He knew many horses preferred jumping the wide hedges rather than the taller gate, so he tossed several caltrops into the grasses, both north and south of the gate.  All thirty devices were spread out, all standing with a deadly point upward to catch horses hooves, most were hidden in the grass and the few on the road would not be seen from the upside of the close gate. The huntsman looked about, assuring himself that no one had seen him, and then he galloped back down the valley, past the barn and past the next farmstead, he then ducked into a copse of trees to watch.  He waited about thirty minutes before he saw the riders as they galloped down the road. They most certainly looked to be in too much of a hurry to stop and open that gate. Most soldiers and nobleman would happily challenge themselves to a good jump; the sport of hunting necessitated the polishing of such a skill. Whether they jumped over the gate or the hedges, it mattered not to Rayne. Either way they would land right on top of his scattered little toys.

The hunter smiled with pleasure at the prospect of squealing tumbled horses and thrown injured men.

((Unless something occurs to stop the first two or three pairs of riders in the galloping group, a nobleman who is a good rider and knows how to take jumps rolls a 3d6 to see if they get over the hedge or gate. A soldier or less skilled rider rolls a 2d6 to get over the jump.  If a successful jump is made, a disadvantage 1d6 is rolled, 5 or 6=avoid injury.  2, 3, or 4= horse is lamed up. 1 horse goes down. Then if horse goes down, roll another 1d6  If 5 or 6 =rider is uninjured. 2,3, 4=rider takes one hit point. 1=rider takes 2 hit points because he lands on one of the caltrops. It will take two or three injured horses before the riders behind pull up and not take the jump.))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on March 01, 2018, 02:34:28 PM

The Gwynedd men were making good time at a good canter now that they were half way down the valley. Duke Kelric would not be too much further ahead, yet so far there was no sign of him. Just ahead there was a closed gate across the road, but that didn't deter Sir Washburn in the least. If anything it caused the men around him to straighten their riding positions and to tighten their spurs against their horses flanks. Nothing like an invigorating jump.  Wash made a last sweep of the countryside looking for adversaries just as they were coming upon the closed gate.

10:11 Laurna Washburn seeking for adversaries anywhere near 1d6 roll succeed on a 4,5, or 6
10:11 Laurna !roll 1d6
10:11 derynibot 6 == 6
Wash detects an adversary far ahead.

There far ahead, much further than the range of a bow-shot, was an adversary in the distant trees. The group was nearly upon the gate. In the few paces before jumping, Washburn decided the barn ahead would be the best place to pull his group up, and decide then, how best to handle the enemy ahead.

"To the barn!" the knight yelled to everyone, just as Lord Jaxom prepared to jump the gate and the first man-at-arms moved to the hedge to make his jump.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on March 01, 2018, 06:46:15 PM
Darcy Cameron had to admit to himself that he was enjoying the ride beside Lord Alister.  In spite of the increased vigilance they all felt, it was almost like their initial trip down to Culdi.  Easy camaraderie, no complications.

He spied the closed gate just ahead, and felt a small knot develop in his stomach.  "Lord Alister," he said.  "They aren't planning on jumping that, are they?"

Aliset, not realizing her man-at-arms discomfiture, nodded. "It's not a very high gate, and one could always try the hedgerow instead."

"I think that will be me then," Darcy replied.  Aliset looked at him in surprise.  "I've been at sea for 12 years," Darcy said.  "I've not been jumping many horses."

Aliset smiled and nodded.  Darcy guided Sigrun toward the hedge, farther down from where the leading man-at-arms intended to jump.

Dice role for Lord Jaxom, 3d6 for an experienced rider.
Jerusha   !roll 3d6
15:50   derynibot   5, 5, 4 == 14

Lord Jaxom, in the lead, lined up his approach and jumped well clear of the gate.

Dice role for an uninjured landing.
Jaxom : 1d6
Jerusha   !roll 1d6
15:51   derynibot   5 == 5

With a somewhat undignified whoop, Lord Jaxom landed clear and continued onward.

Dice role for the jump of the man-at-arms.
Man-at-arms  2d6
Jerusha   !roll 2d6
15:52   derynibot   1, 1 == 2

With a shriek, the man-at-arm's horse stopped in front of the hedgerow, pulling to the side and almost dismounting his rider.

Roll for injuries.
Man-at-arms 1d6
Jerusha   !roll 1d6
15:53   derynibot   3 == 3

The horse stopped, refusing to move further, one leg held above the ground.

Darcy had no time to wonder about what had happened.  He had Sigrun in position.  "Easy you go, Pet," he said to his horse.  "You can do it."

Dice roll for Darcy's jump.  2d6, inexperienced rider.

Jerusha   !roll 2d6
15:54   derynibot   5, 2 == 7

Sigrun cleared the hedgerow easily.

Darcy roll for a safe landing  1d6
Jerusha   !roll 1d6
15:56   derynibot   1 == 1

Jubilant at their success, Darcy was unprepared for Sigrun's unexpected scream. In a moment, exultation shifted to despair as Sigrun fell forward.  Darcy managed to kick himself free at the very last moment.

Roll for injury. Darcy 1d6
Jerusha   !roll 1d6
15:56   derynibot   1 == 1
(Oh good grief!)

Darcy hit the ground hard, his breath completely knocked out of him and experiencing a sharp, deep pain in his thigh.  He did his best to roll with the momentum of the fall, but it didn't help much.  Gasping, he turned his head and saw Sigrun struggling to her feet.  He felt along the side of his leg and was surprised to feel warm blood. "Sweet Jesu," he muttered when he saw the caltrop embedded deeply in his thigh, blood seeping around the edges of the wound.

Still not recovered of enough breath to call out, he did his best to tap into his fledgling Deryni powers.

"Stop! Don't jump! Caltrops!"
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on March 02, 2018, 04:42:54 AM
Lord Jaxom made that jump like an expert houseman, for indeed the nobleman surely was. As for the son of Corwyn, he had done this often enough with several horses of various abilities. None with the competence and vigorous desire as had his current war horse. Given a free reign, Shadow would happily rush the fence and bound upward with a force great enough to jump a six foot fence. Shadow didn't understand moderation. Washburn had learned to hold his stubborn beast back, to steady him on his hind quarters, and to fit a perfect set of strides into the short distance before the jump. Following Lord Jaxom, Shadow fought for his head, he wanted to run. "Easy, boy," Wash said soothingly, making the stallion pace himself perfectly to the exact spot where Wash knew his steed would get the best send off to leap over the four foot gate.

Then, suddenly, the horse ahead, carrying the man-at-arms, bulked. Horse and rider crashed into the hedge. The squire riding near Wash didn't slow. He had hoped to follow close on the man-at-arms heals, over the hedge, but that space was suddenly blocked. Instead the Squire veered, crowding Shadow as both prepared to take the gate together. Trained as a warhorse, Shadow took the crowding with displeasure. He nipped at the squire's horse, backing the boy off, ruining Washburn's strategy to take the jump cleanly. Spurring Shadow to pay attention, Washburn nearly missed Master Darcy's brave rush at the hedge with his fine legged mount making a clean long jump. Washburn was impressed. Until he heard the horse squeal on the landing. In the glint of sun just as Shadow was pushing off, Washburn saw one, on the far side of the gate, right where he would have chosen to land.

Nasty iron spikes there on the ground. Holy damnation! "Hold!" Washburn yelled.

((Wash jumping gate 3d6 roll= 2,2,3=7 failed Verification Number: 55ltpp7dkz))

Even as Darcy was falling to the ground, unsure of his companion's condition, the Lendour knight threw all his weight onto his horse's neck, pulling the destrier's head hard over and breaking the stallion's center of balance. The stallion reared and screamed, his side chest slamming the gate, his sudden stopped motion launched his rider hard against the wood slats.

((Wash staying on horse after refusal 1d6 roll 4  failed Verification number 3n2mg52b0p))

There was no staying in the saddle, not with Shadow's hind feet slipping sideways and his front legs sliding across the top of the gate.  For a moment, Wash thought he would be squished between horse and wood. But then the big horse reversed his fall and staggered back a pace. The squire's horse nearly ran through the gate then, unable to stop or jump. In that instant, all Wash saw was a chestnut in too close a proximity. Then he was grabbing at the smaller horse's bridle and keeping him from the danger on the gate's far side.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on March 02, 2018, 08:52:33 AM
((Edited to slightly modify beginning, since I just remembered Darcy had attempted a Mind-Speech warning, and wanted to see if Aliset would pick up on it. 

08:56   Aliset   !roll 2d6
08:56   derynibot   4, 2 == 6))

Stop! Don't jump! Caltrops!

Aliset heard an unexpected voice within her head, but did not know what it meant, and at that moment was too distracted to give it much thought.  Papillon whinnied in confused fear as she lurched to one side to avoid the chaos suddenly springing up before her, nearly throwing Aliset out of her saddle. Aliset scrambled to regain control of her panicked mount, her attention fully on that task for the next few seconds, although once Papillon recovered from her momentary alarm and grew less agitated, Aliset was able to rein her in and take full stock of what was happening.

Sir Washburn had suddenly stopped his horse rather than attempting the leap over the gate, that much had seemed clear to Aliset in that brief moment before all hell had broken loose. What she couldn't tell was why, although now that she surveyed what was happening on the other side of the fence, she thought she saw at least one reason.  Master Darcy appeared to be injured, as did his horse!  How or why, Aliset did not know. Had the horse stumbled on the landing after the jump? Aliset couldn't remember; that would have been right around the time all the confusion began.

Her keen eyes searched the other side of the fence, trying to spot whatever it was that Sir Washburn saw that had caused him to halt suddenly rather than attempt the jump. Had it been a viper, perhaps, or maybe a peasant's scythe left out in the grass rather than carefully put away?  Even as she had the thought, she knew how unlikely that was.

((08:42   Aliset   !roll 2d6
08:42   derynibot   5, 5 == 10 ))

There!  She did not know what it was, but it looked nasty and altogether unnatural. Most likely a weapon of some sort.  Were there more of them out there? Had they been scattered deliberately to injure and lame unwary riders?  And for what purpose?

Aliset shuddered as she drew alongside Father Columcil, who had also managed to halt his own Spean mere moments before following headlong into the fray.  Dismounting, she pointed out the spiky object to him.  "Master Darcy appears injured, but it might be best if we approach him slowly. There might be more of those things in the grass beyond the fence.  Maybe we should use your staff to part the grass for a better view of where we're stepping." 
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on March 02, 2018, 10:39:55 AM
Rayne Lanackie almost cheered at the mayhem his toys had caused at the gate down the road, but he decided it was best not to make his presence known.  Not that anyone would have heard him above the noise of the squealing horses and general shouts of the men.  The lead man had jumped clean; the first to try the hedgerow failed and now had an injured horse.  The other man to try the hedgerow had jumped clean, but horse and rider had fallen immediately after.  The horse struggled to its feet; the man took a bit longer to rise and limped over to comfort his horse.  Rayne looked more closely at the man.  Had he seen him before?  He shielded his eyes from the sun with one hand and strained to get a better look.

Does Rayne recognize the man he had seen in the tree at Droghera.
Jerusha   !roll 1d6
16:05   derynibot   4 == 4
(Failure is not always a bad thing.)

Rayne dropped his hand and shook his head.  No, he had not seen the man before.

No matter.  He watched as the mass of men and horses tried to disentangle themselves at the gate.  He was in no hurry to leave; it would take them a while to resume their journey, and they would be travelling much slower.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on March 02, 2018, 11:50:33 AM
All was chaos at the gate as Columcil pulled Spean to a halt. Riding somewhat behind the others he had been irritated by the speed at which they approached the barrier in front of them. Blessed Mary Mother they were not in that much of a hurry! Had it not occurred to their Lordships to untie the gate and go through like sensible folk? As Lord Jaxom sailed gracefully over the barrier, horse and rider making an elegant arc, he had had his answer. Of course not. Untying gates was for lesser folk who could only gawp as their betters showed off their horsemanship. Angrily Columcil shook his head as if to dislodge his thoughts - he had better get this growing dislike of the gentry out of his head before they met up with some real nobility or he was like to find himself in trouble. Maybe it was just Lord Jaxom that got under his skin, he had respect enough for Lord Washburn and Lady Aliset. But the sooner he could fulfil his own mission on behalf of St Melangell and return home the better.

Muttering under his breath to himself Columcil saw a man-at-arms fail to jump the hedge for no reason that he could see but a stab of pain from no-where made him wince. Then Darcy went forward and he was over, but Sigrun had fallen! The pain this time was blinding ((2bxfgf7bgf 4+5+2 =11 rolling advantage to sense Sigrun's pain)), even before Sigrun screamed. Ack, the poor brave beast. His previous bad mood was swallowed up in real rage, a rage only intensified as a faint voice said something in his head about caltrops. He slipped his feet out of his stirrups and hastily dismounted, aware that Aliset was saying something to him but too angry to listen properly.

Turning to her he said tersely, "It's caltrops, some b***," he bit off the epiphet with difficulty, "has seeded the ground around yon hedge." Someone needed to do something to stop any more riders going over but they were not going to take notice of him. They would of Lord Washburn though. Pushing his way heedlessly through the horses and riders milling about in front of the gate, Columcil reached through to Washburn who was trying to calm both his own Shadow and a squire's horse. 

"Leave the beasts ta me, My Lord, and do summat wi these fools!" As he spoke Columcil had taken the reins Washburn was holding out of his hand, slipped them along his arm, and had a hand on each horse's muzzle speaking words of comfort and sending calm into their thoughts. "Cum on na, ma bonnie lads. Nae need ta fret." Washburn straightened at Columcil's calm assumption that he was the one to take charge and called out in a commanding voice for all to dismount and hold their horses still. Both horses and riders were keyed up by the speed at which they had been travelling and the shock of their sudden halt but in a short time Washburn's authority had re-established order.

The squire whose horse's reins Columcil was holding had with a sheepish expression regained control of his mount and when Washburn returned it was to find Columcil with his arm around Shadow's neck and the stallion nuzzling into the neck of the priest's robes. "I'll thank you, Father, to stop making love to my horse before he forgets he's a fierce war horse!" Washburn spoke sternly but his grin belied his words and Columcil grinned back. Aye, the lad would do, would do very well indeed.

"Aye, he looks better in his own shape." Then, serious again, he added "Well done there, My Lord. We'd best be seeing what we can do for the poor beasts over yonder. Sigrun's pain is like a knife in ma head." He hesitated for a moment, wondering if he was about to be overly presumptious then decided that this was no time to be worrying about such things. "By your leave, My Lord, I'll tether Shadow's reins next to Spean, I could do with your help with the wounded. You've healer's blood in you right enough." He could not restrain the thought And I should know, since it's mine too, but it most certainly was not the time for that comment.

((All four following dice throws have validation 63xnqpl4nm)). 

Columcil and Washburn went to the gate. Columcil was unsurprised to find that the latch was long gone but he had hoped that the replacement rope could be easily lifted over the post. To his frustration it was tied in a succession of matted knots. Muttering about poor husbandry he tentatively tried to extend his powers to prize the knots apart but Sigrun's pain was like a burning brand in his head ((1+3=4)) and he could not focus. To his relief Washburn had his sword out and with deft strokes cut through the recalitrant strands and lent a willing shoulder to help Columcil lift the sagging gate far enough out of the mud for the two of them to squeeze through.

Columcil wanted to run to Sigrun but the beast was already afrighted enough. Instead he walked slowly, his hand out and said quietly to Darcy, "Hold her still, if you can. I wilna hurt her." He did not know whether Sigrun knew that he had healed her before but she allowed him to lift her leg and bend over her hoof. The caltrop was still there, one of its upturned points embedded into the soft frog of her hoof. "Sweet Jesus!" he swore, not caring if anyone heard him, "these bloody things are evil. Hush now, ma lassie, we'll ha it oot."  He firmly grasped the wicked thing and gently pulled it out, giving it to Washburn who at Columcil's nod put it into his belt pouch. "Follow me if you will my Lord."  ((roll for rapport with Washburn 6+6 =12)). Columcil felt Washburn's mind join with his in a close rapport, evidence perhaps of all that bound them, then he forgot all else, running his hand down Sigrun's foreleg and cupping her hoof in his hand. As he felt the healing energies he could feel Sigrun relax and coming out of his healing trance he saw that all trace of the cut, and the bruising that had surrounded it had gone. ((roll to heal Sigrun 5+1 =6)).

"Bless you lad. It'll no be long before ye're doing this yersen." Columcil spoke almost absently to Washburn, there was still pain in his head, for another beast had been injured, though not one as well known to him as Sigrun. Still he must see if had the energy to heal again, this time without Washburn who was talking earnestly to Darcy. Walking back through the gate, ((as I read it the man-at-arms didn't actually jump the hedge)) he found the man-at-arms whose horse had refused the jump bending anxiously over his mount's foot. The horse having baulked at the jump and therefore not landed so heavily, this time the caltrop had not inbedded itself and Columcil found that he could slip easily enough into trance and guide the blood around the injury to bring healing. ((6+3=9)). The man-at-arms looked a little startled but grateful and managed a few words of thanks before taking refuge from the unknown by burying his face in his horse's mane to comfort them both.

Taking a deep breath Columcil began to turn towards where Spean and Shadow were grazing peacefully, but glanced towards where he had left Washburn and Darcy on the other side of the hedge. As though he felt his glance Washburn began beckoning urgently, and Columcil noticed for the first time that he was supporting Darcy. What a fool he was, he had been so taken up with Sigrun's pain that he had never thought to ask if Darcy was injured.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on March 02, 2018, 03:14:50 PM
There was a rush Wash felt as Sigrun's hoof was healed clean. The good father's Healing abilities were keen; he had knowledge of how animals sensed pain and how their body's healed. Even without his Deryni talents, Wash was certain Father Columcil would have made an excellent animal physician. In their Rapport, Wash could sense Columcil's true compassion for easing the injured horse's pain. Perhaps that was half the key to bringing forth the Healer's ability within himself. ((1d6  rolled 1 Verification Number: 7hzmdt79vl)) yet he still could not find it. He failed miserably to help Collumcil heal the horse hoof. Somewhere, deep within himself he knew the ability was there. Columcil showed him that, yes, it was there. Both men suddenly knew it. But how to tap into it.

The priest could feel the second animal's pain from even this far away. Having successfully Healed one horse, he quickly moved on to the second injury one.

Washburn straightened as he placed Sigrun's good foot upon the ground and rubbed his hand down the knee feeling the past tension of the animal release and go away. Yet, there was still pain in his mind from somewhere. Instinctively, Wash looked up at Master Darcy. The man was standing against his horse's flank, his face as pale as a ghost, his eyes shut tight. Darcy was braving that which he could barely take, with short intakes of breath. Wash looked down to see the seaman's hand pressing his thigh, blood oozing down the leg, a beastly device of Iron puncuted breaches and skin.

"Holy...No you don't..." Wash gasped, grabbing Darcy's shoulder as he felt the man grow weaker and start to black out. Wash tried to encompass Darcy's mind and send him energy, but even in his weaken state those shields of his were strong.  ((1d6 rolled 1 Verification Number: 4ln7skq57z)) ((Darn, he best leave off, afore he turns Darcy into a toad.))

Wash had to give that up and go straight to the wound. Darcy had one firm grip on the saddle, which was all that was keeping him standing. Apparently at sea, a death grip on a rope might be all that could keep a man from being washed overboard in heavy seas. Darcy had that grip now.

Washburn ran his hand over the device. Angrily he pulled it out. Blood ran over his fingers, Damn! Columcil was too far away. "Saint Camber, help him!"

Calm down, center, find the key. Darcy needed him. He liked this man, too much so to let this wound take him down.  Washburn pulled forth his medallion; found his true focus. Center... Caring... Compassion.. Love of life. Those were the key.

((12:12 Wash-laurna !roll 1d6
12:12 derynibot 6 == 6))

A hand, eitheral in form, not really there, yet an embodiment of compassion covered Washburn's hand. Without really knowing why, the knight pushed his index finger deep into the wound. He thought to squelch the flow of blood. What he felt from himself through the hand over his, was so much more. The blood vessels were made whole, the muscles knotted together, slowly as he withdrew from the wound tissues were repaired... and.... Healed... "Gades!"

"Bless you Camber!" Washburn said as he opened his hand over the leg. He knew the saint had come and had gone, leaving his blessed touch behind.

((edited for hit points healed.
1d6 rolled 5 Verification Number: 2v5zr5r5gc))  good! 3 hit points total healled
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on March 02, 2018, 04:01:33 PM
As Father Columcil headed forward to speak to Sir Washburn, then to tend to Healing the injured horses, her words to him apparently having fallen on deaf ears, she shook her head in disbelief.  Horses? thought Aliset. What about the injured MAN lying there!  MEN!!!  Heavens above, she would never understand the lot of them!  This was why God created women--not as an afterthought, but because He'd realized the world needed more sensible creatures than this flighty lot to serve as stewards of His creation!

Well, at least since she'd managed to avoid injury herself, and had no Healing gifts to offer, and at any rate Sir Washburn and Father Columcil seemed to be getting that end of things well enough in hand now--Aliset breathed a sigh of relief as finally someone had taken note of Master Darcy's predicament without her having to rush blindly across a field of spiky metal things to his aid!--so she decided to turn her irritated attentions to helping out in some other useful way.  Ridding their path of those accursed hazards might be one way. What had that voice in her mind called them? Caltrops?

Walking cautiously through the gate, she picked up a twig and began parting the long grass with it, peering carefully at the ground before her before placing each step forward, searching for the metal objects in question to remove them from their path. As she found each one, she carefully set it to one side, the caltrops forming a small spiky pile next to the fence.  Perhaps they should take them with them once everyone was Healed and they left this place to continue their journey towards Rhemuth.  They might come in useful against their pursuers, after all, loath though Aliset was to injure anyone's horse, no matter how foul its rider. 

As she searched, she pondered that mental warning.  Who had sent it? It didn't 'sound' like Sir Washburn's mental voice. Had that been Master Darcy's? Yes, it had to have been, unlikely as that seemed.  Having learned he was Deryni, it made sense that he might have tried to reach out with his fledgling powers at a moment of crisis.  Aliset smiled, feeling proud of him for having attempted to call out a warning to them, and even more so that he'd succeeded in his attempt, however belated it might have been.  She glanced in his direction. It appeared he'd been successfully Healed after all.  Looking at his bloodstained clothing, Aliset suppressed a sigh. More tattered laundry.  It would be a wonder at this rate if they didn't all turn up before King Kelson looking like beggars!  She would see if she could find a packet of needles and some thread the next time they found themselves someplace civilized. Perhaps there'd be supplies of that sort at Arx Fidei. 

Assuming they managed to meet up with His Grace of Corwyn and made it alive to Arx Fidei, of course.  These caltrops had not grown in this field on their own.  With a frown, Aliset looked around at the surrounding countryside, casting out with her senses for any signs of the enemy close at hand, watching them.

((15:54   Aliset   !roll 2d6
15:54   derynibot   5, 5 == 10 ))

There!  As she looked in the direction of a wooded area just at the edge of the grasslands, she thought she spotted some movement, then was sure of it as the light caught a reflection off something hidden in the trees and brush.  Quickly, she looked around for the nearest armed warrior.  Spotting Lord Jaxom close by her, she discreetly pointed him towards the motion and murmured, "We are being watched."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: HoundMistress on March 02, 2018, 06:06:45 PM
((You are all doing so well! I'm so glad to have some new pieces to read. You are all so talented!!!))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on March 02, 2018, 06:40:52 PM
"You can let go now."

Darcy Cameron opened his eyes to see Sir Washburn smiling at him.  The intense pain in his leg had gone.  Muscles that had started to stiffen from bruising relaxed.  Tentatively, Darcy released his death grip from his saddle.  There was no dizziness; his legs, both of them, stood firm.

"You did this?" Darcy asked quietly. 

"Aye," Washburn said, gripping Darcy's shoulder in quick reassurance.  "Thank you.  You showed me I could Heal."

"You are thanking me?"  Darcy asked incredulously.  "Sweet Jesu man, you saved my life.  I owe you much."

"Perhaps we owe each other," the Lendour knight responded, still on a bit of a Healing high.  But he sobered quickly.  Healing was not a gift to be flaunted, and he was not a man to boast of such a blessing.  "We need to regroup and move on."

"Aye," Darcy said simply.  Sigrun's head nudged his shoulder as if to make sure he was well.  "Come, my pet.  This journey is not done."  After a quick caress of his horse's head, he followed Sir Washburn back to the group.

In their absence, Aliset had gathered a disturbingly large pile of caltrops.  Darcy winced at the sight.  Now she was motioning to Lord Jaxom, pointing at something in the trees farther down the road.

Aliset turned as they approached.  "There is someone watching us from that direction," she said. 

"Lord Jaxom could take a couple of men and flush whoever it is out," Darcy suggested.  "I could go with them," he continued hopefully.  He had a score to settle.

"Nay," Washburn said.  "Whoever it is, he is too far ahead of us.  We'll ride out, but watch to see if he moves on.  When we are close enough, Lord Jaxom, have two of your men ready to ride out fast and hard. If we can catch him, I want to know what this was about."

Lord Jaxom nodded his agreement; Washburn's plan made sense. Darcy turned to Lord Alister.

"My Lord," he said.  "You are unhurt?  No injuries?  Papillion is well? "

Lord Alister smiled at him.  "Yes, Master Darcy.  No worries here."

Darcy hoped he disguised his relief.  God help anyone who hurt Lady Aliset.  Or tried. They would find him a very determined protector.

(Edited last sentence when I realized it could be read that Darcy would not protect her.  Eek!)
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on March 03, 2018, 02:09:02 PM
Columcil watched his three companions but made no attempt to join them. Let Sir Washburn enjoy the elation of his first healing and the knowledge that the healing blood of his father ran true in him. He would have to find a time  to apologise to Darcy, though for the young Lord's sake he was glad that he had not been there to share in the seaman's healing, but not while the feminine irritation of Lady Aliset was looking daggers at him out of Lord Alister's eyes. He had seen that look too often in the eyes of his own housekeeper not to recognise it for what it was.

It was true that he had forgotten Darcy, and he would need to make reparation for that, but he would have defied anyone to think of anything but Sigrun, the way the puir wee beastie's scream had been burning in his mind. And truth be told had he remembered Darcy, who after all though he had been in pain had hardly been in mortal danger, he might still have chosen to put the horses first. His love and care for animals came he supposed from having St Melangell as his patroness who had outfaced the Prince of Meara himself, so they said, and protected the hare that he was hunting under her skirts. Given the valley for her own, all living things had come under her protection, and though she was gone these many centuries still the folk of her valley, that was now his parish, looked more kindly on living things than was commonplace. Or perhaps, he wondered for the first time, it was the other way round and his affinity with animals was part of his father's Deryni heritage and that was what had drawn him to the service of St Melangell. Ah well, best leave well alone, he had managed well enough without asking such questions.



Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on March 03, 2018, 03:18:50 PM
 ((Revanne's references to Saint Melangell church and valley and the similar setting to which our characters are traveling through.))
http://www.st-melangell.org.uk/English/Church/stmelangellchurch.htm. (http://www.st-melangell.org.uk/English/Church/stmelangellchurch.htm.)

(https://www.rhemuthcastle.com/proxy.php?request=http%3A%2F%2Fsnowdoniavans.com%2Fwp-content%2Fuploads%2F2016%2F11%2FPennantMelangell.jpg&hash=2d98fa2e5f09191b5044b252d607bb63bbd77995)



(https://www.rhemuthcastle.com/proxy.php?request=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.st-melangell.org.uk%2Fimages%2Fstmelangell.jpg&hash=d1fe1320fc963c3847dcb89cc21742221e703314)

((Valley from St Melangell near Llanrhaeadr-ym-Mochnant which is just a little North west of Shewsbury))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Demercia on March 03, 2018, 03:24:07 PM
(( It's a beautiful peaceful place, but despite the link definitely not English.  Welsh😀  ))

Double parentheses added by DesertRose
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on March 03, 2018, 03:28:21 PM
(( Thank you for posting the pics, Laurna. It is a beautiful spot which I have visited several times and entirely devoid of lurking assasins with crossbows or caltrops. ))

Double parentheses added by DesertRose
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on March 03, 2018, 04:42:06 PM
(( A beautiful  place, can see why Columcil  loves it. Near Shrewsbury  which is in Shopshire near the Welsh border, home of Brother Cadfael.))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on March 03, 2018, 06:37:58 PM
Darcy Cameron nodded to Father Columcil as the priest approached. He was getting ready to mount up and continue the journey to Arx Fedei. 

"Master Darcy," Father Columcil began, "If I might have a word."

Of course, Father," Darcy replied.  "But first I must thank you for healing Sigrun.  She was sore distressed; I am grateful you were able to help her."

"I should have looked to your injury first," Columcil said, beginning what he thought would be an apology.

"Good heavens, no!"  Darcy replied.  "I was in pain, 'tis true, but my Sigrun needed help first.  She may not be the grand noble steed Sir Washburn rides, but she's a good, steady horse.  She's the first I've ever owned, except for a pony by the same name long ago.  I quite fancy her.  And she puts up with me."

Sigrun turned her head toward the priest and nudged his shoulder.  Columcil stroked her soft muzzle.

"She knows a friend, Father," Darcy said with a smile.  "We both thank you."

Columcil watched as Master Darcy mounted his horse, no trace of previous injury or stiffness marring the smooth ascent.

"God go with you, Master Darcy," Columcil said. 

"Thank you, Father," Darcy replied and guided Sigrun to take their place beside Lord Alister.

Father Columcil gazed after them a moment longer and then turned to retrieve Spean.  Sometimes it was best to accept what was and put aside guilt that was not needed.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on March 07, 2018, 04:14:23 PM
"What devil's magic is this?" Rayne cursed. The riders who had stumbled into his trap were preparing to ride out.  They had milled around for a while, in small groups; some even searching the grasses for the Caltrops. A couple horses and a man had even looked injured. But even that horse and rider, with the greatest injury, were among the rest preparing to move out. How could that be? He had witnessed the calamity of that horse landing on his toys and seen the rider all bent over in pain. Yet... there they were... whole and riding out. The devil indeed took care of his minions by giving them the impossible ability to Heal. Healing was just a wives- tale, so he believed; was there really such a thing? Would God stand by and let these demon spawn steal his gifts? Apparently so, because they were coming this way.

Suddenly, Rayne knew he had to move out. He daren't get caught, he would not be able to complete his mission and see his master happy; nor help his Queen if he were caught.  Rayne turned his horse into the woods and up the hill. There was no going up the valley until he had escaped these devils. He would have to stay ahead of them and go back down the valley while staying in the woodlands. He was hoping he could find a path over the hill into the next valley. All he needed was a deer trail. His mountain pony could handle any terrain. He was a true hunter after all. He just didn't like the thought of the hunter becoming the Hunted. Perhaps he could devise a quick trap or two to dissuade pursuit.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on March 08, 2018, 08:55:00 AM
Darcy Cameron scanned the valley before them for what must have been the hundredth time.  At least it seemed that way.  They had lost almost an hour back at the gate, and Sir Washburn had them riding at a brisk pace.  The Lendour knight wanted to meet up with the Duke of Corwyn before nightfall, and Darcy was in total agreement.

The tension within the group was almost palpable.  Darcy began to feel a dull ache across his shoulders; he ignored is as best he could.

"Master Darcy," Lady Aliset in her Lord Alister voice, loud enough to be heard above the jangling harness and the horses.  She had been scanning ahead with her Deryni senses but had not detected anyone directly in their path.

"My Lord?" Darcy replied, diverting his eyes from the path ahead of them to look across at the man riding beside him.

"Do you think we will run into more trouble?"  Aliset asked as she attempted to ease the tension in her own back.

"I have no idea," Darcy said after a moment.  "I feel we must be ready for anything.  I certainly didn't expect to find caltrops strewn around a country gate!  In fact," he continued, pointing forward,  "for all we know there may be a herd of killer coneys hiding in the bushes just ahead, ready to dash out and trip us!"

Aliset's sudden laugh caused Sir Washburn to turn and look back at her.

"Master Darcy is suspicious of killer coneys ahead," Aliset said after catching her breath.  Washburn gave Darcy a stern look.

"Aye, it could be," Darcy said and grinned.  "But look at it this way.  After we defeat the demon foe we can roast them for dinner!"

Aliset laughed again, Washburn rolled his eyes heavenward, and the squire riding beside him chuckled.

"Quiet up there, Master Darcy," called Father Columcil.  "You are making me hungry."

Sir Washburn shook his head and refocused on the way ahead.  Had Darcy allowed himself to seem ridiculous to ease the strain for just a bit?  He wouldn't put it past him.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on March 08, 2018, 03:04:44 PM
"It's a wonder the Norse folk ever come out of their homes; what with folk tales of Trolls under every bridge and mountain cave, and these 'killer coneys' hiding in the bushes, a herd of them no less." The knight tried to suppress a smile, but failed. He looked out over the bare fields to the right. He could swear he could see a few of those long eared hares near a hedge row. Fat ones by the look of them.

Wash turned his focus to see if he could call one closser.
((12:39 LaurnaWash calling out a rabbit.
12:39 Laurna !roll 1d6
12:39 derynibot 1 == 1))

Quite the opposite. The hare jumped back, making a dash for the hedge like a fox was on its tail. The knight had to laugh. He would have to leave beast-calling and the like for Father Columcil. That talent he had just discovered was enough for him to learn. Again he tried to suppress the elation of making a  successful Healing. That was a wonder from the heavens indeed.  Shadow whinnied, seeming to agree with Washburn's thoughts.  Wash patted the big black's neck. "Good Shadow,  and don't you fret those killer coneys won't be tripping you up, I assure you."

Washburn turned his focus back to the trees ahead of them to the left.

((Roll 1d6 success on 4,5,or 6  rolled 4 Verification Number: 1b9qtz5zlg))

Sure enough they're adversary was still ahead moving at a good pace. Wash wanted to catch that man. He didn't want to pass him up or have him double back on them. But he also didn't want to send Jaxom's men into the tree cover prematurely. No knowing what tricks this fellow had in mind. So their group stayed on the main road keeping tabs on the man in the trees ahead of them. Master Darcy may have thought they were moving quickly, but truth was they were going at a nice steady pace. One that allowed for a constant surveillance, yet one that did not allow the man in the trees to get too far ahead of them.

The talk of rabbit for lunch made the knight swallow, he was hungry too. Catch this man up and then they could hunt for a yummy coney to roast.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on March 08, 2018, 04:26:44 PM
Father Columcil caught the direction of Washburn's glance and it did not need Deryni powers to work out what the knight was contemplating doing. An empty stomach, the meagre travel rations in their packs, and the prospect of austere Friday fare should they reach Arx Fidei before nightfall, gave enough of a clue. The imagined smell of roasting meat tantalised his nostrils and for a moment he considered giving Washburn a nudge in the right direction. He had no idea whether his companion could call beasts, he knew that he could.

"Lead us not into temptation", he muttered under his breath. These were not the "killer coneys" of Darcy's lurid imagination, nor even the wild coneys of the fields and warrens that saved many a poor family in a hard winter. No, these were St Melangell's sacred hares, and as such best left alone. They were not out of danger yet, nor like to be even once they had met up with his Grace of Corwyn; if the ferocity and ingenuity of the foes they had met were any indication then there was far more at stake than the fate of one heiress. They could not afford to offend any Saint whose aid they might need, still less one to whose service he was sworn. ((Rolling to see whether Columcil acts- 123, Wash fails by himself, 456, Columcil warns the hares away. 6!! 7924gr7qlf))

With a mental "Begging your pardon, my Lord,", a thought that he was careful to keep well shielded, he waited until he saw Washburn's focus sharpen, then sent a flash of warning out to the nearest hare. With a jump it moved back into the hedge as though the fox that Columcil had pictured was indeed on its tail.

Washburn laughed, and bent to pat Shadow's neck. Columcil hoped that his lordship would be as tolerant if he ever brought himself to make confession of his interference.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on March 09, 2018, 02:59:47 PM
The forest ahead was thinning, and that spelt doom for Rayne. Without the trees, he would be seen, and then his pursuers would surely chase him down.  He would double back if he could, but these men seemed to know exactly what pace he kept. They stayed just enough behind him that if he turned, they would have time to run up into the tree-line and catch him. He even tested the theory once by slowing. They seemed to slow too. He felt like he was being herded forward. Why?

Just ahead in an open space there was a small church with a short square tower and a bell perched atop it. He climbed higher in the hillside trees to keep out of the clearing. That is when he saw the glint of metal in the afternoon sun. The were still a little off, far down the valley road. Yet sure enough, he sharp eyes spied a small army of riders. "Curse me!" He groaned, was that the black and green pinion he had seen at the break of morning down by Arx Fidei. Why are they on this road? One guess. The huntsman thought as he looked back over his shoulder at the the riders on the same road, just up the valley behind him. If ever he needed to get out of this valley and over the hill to the next one, it was now!

With the church building below him, he finally found what he was looking for. A walking path that went from the church yard, and headed north up into the trees and north over the hill. This was his escape. If he was to make it, he had better slow his pursuers down. He had formulated two ideas, he had just been waiting for a chance to use them.

He carried two iron beast traps; he pulled them from his bags before he jumped to the ground. He found a good spot to lay them just inside the tree line where the wind had swept the debris to cover the path. Opening the round jaws with their sharp pointy teeth, the hunter set each one on the diagonal across the path about three strides from each other. He didn't bother spiking the chains into the ground. He wasn't coming back for meat. He just didn't want to be pursued any longer. Grabbing an arm full of debris, he strune the leaves across the traps and all across the path. Hiding his work.  Then, if that wasn't enough, about fifty feet up the path he set a trip line a few inches off the ground, tying each end securely to a tree. He was running out of time. The riders were coming up to the church.

Quickly mounting, Rayne, trotted his pony up the steep incline of the path.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on March 10, 2018, 03:46:01 AM

((again keeping track of the adversary  success on 4,5,6  rolled 2 Verification Number: 5jbv387j1j))

Unlike the several times before, the Deryni knight cast forth his ability to keep track of the man they were chasing and just how far ahead of them he had gone. This time, Wash could sense him not. Wash looked around with his eyes. He could not see any motion ahead of them. Where did the man go?

((seeking the adversary, Rolled 1 Verification Number: 3mpxnl5m8t))

Wash rubbed an eye, trying to refocus. I am so hungry, I am losing my focus? he considered the notion for a moment. No, he couldn't sense the man ahead, because he no longer was ahead. But where?

The Rhemuth bound rider's cantered along the valley road as it curved around a gathering of trees. On the far side, a long wood fence separated the open field from the road. What at first looked to be odd shaped gray colored sheep, turned out to be several rough cut standing stones, many with the cross engraved on the flat side. Here was the valley residence graveyard. Up the hill a pace was a low church built from the same grey stones as the grave markers.

"Whoa!" Wash called to the men before him, signaling the men behind with a held up hand. "Lets halt for a moment." He brought Shadow down to a walk and then pulled a little more firmly on the reigns. All the other horses were happy to take a break, Not Shadow. The black pranced in agitation for a second before settling to a stop.  Master Darcy and Lord Aliset came up level with Washburn. Jaxom turned his horse to the side. Half looking at the knight while still keeping a wary eye on the road.

"What is it? not more of those evil iron stars?" Darcy asked. The tension in his shoulders was keen, an hour was not enough time to forget the pain of falling, literally, into the trap set for them before. He didn't even want to contemplate more trouble, yet he was sure it was there. As they all were.

"I sense a change, but can not make it out." Wash said. "Alister can you find our man? I'll not run us into more trouble if we can avoid it." Wash didn't have to ask twice as the heir of Mariot was already meditating on her ring and seeking the creator of the caltrops trap.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on March 10, 2018, 10:00:18 AM
Columcil was glad to see Darcy included in the leaders' deliberations and even more glad that he was not. The life of a country priest had not prepared him for decisions about strategy and his own leadership, though confidently exercised, was of a different realm. He was content enough to remain in the background and pick up the pieces, though he would have been even more content if there were no pieces to pick up. Somehow he doubted that would be the case.

He patted Spean's neck in appreciation of the pony's courage and stamina and cast a wary eye at Shadow's impatient prancing. "Aye, we're best off knowing our place, you and me, eh Spean." But that did not mean that he did not have skills that he could offer in addition to his healing; most of his life had been spent finding his way outdoors, with a freedom that he could daresay that their lordships would have envied. He slid off Spean's back and loosely looped the reins over the saddle bow. Spean was uninterested; he was going nowhere beyond the low growing blaeberry bushes with their succulent leaves to the side of the road.

Walking up to the leaders, he bowed respect and asked, "Wi' your permission, my lords, I'll just tek a canny look around yonder." Washburn nodded, his mind still on Aliset, but added, "Don't go out of bowshot range though, we don't know yet where our friend with the caltrops has gone"

Columcil bowed acquiescence and carefully sweeping the ground in front of him with his staff he moved forwards alongside the path, as he did so he allowed his senses, both human and Deryni, to likewise sweep across his surroundings. Suddenly he recoiled. A sense of something wrong, something hidden, something put there with evil intent assailed him ((rolling for Columcil to sense danger 6+5 =11 3w58pddw45)). His hand went automatically to the cross around his neck "deliver us, Lord from all evil!" and he tightened his focus. It was there ahead of them on the path. Suddenly he saw it, about fifty yards further on. A rope tied across the path, just a few inches above the ground. He shuddered at the thought of Shadow, cantering proudly out in front, tangling his legs in that and being brought down. He heard in his imagination the splintering of bone and the mental scream of pain which would go through him, and he made no doubt Sir Washburn, like red-hot metal.

Forgetting all else he turned to go and stumbled in his haste, his staff slipping on the piled leaves. ((Columcil avoids the mantraps, same validation as above, 2+1 =3!! I hope Wash can remember how to heal)) Fearful of loosing his balance he took three falling steps to the side before managing to jerk himself upright and put his foot firmly down. For a moment he did not know whether the pain belonged to him or someone else, then as the fiery agony took hold he could be in no doubt. Shards of white hot pain were shooting through his right ankle; he tried to lift it and could not. Looking down he saw that he was caught in that most evil of things, a man trap, the cruel metal teeth biting through his ankle and blood beginning to spurt from the wounds. Loosing his balance entirely he toppled over, the intensification of pain made everything around him begin to pulse with a pale bright light. Just before he passed out he was aware of his shoulder hitting something hard.

((I do love my character really.))



Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on March 10, 2018, 12:50:18 PM
((Evie snickers a bit at the reference to "Lord Aliset" above. I imagine it's pretty hard for our poor guys to keep track of whether "Alister"/Aliset is a lord or a lady at any given moment!

OK, dice rolls.  Soooooo close on both, but sadly Mibbit declines to cooperate with me today:

<Aliset> !roll 2d6
<derynibot> 4, 2 == 6
<Aliset> !roll 2d6
<derynibot> 2, 4 == 6 ))

Aliset looked up from her scrying with a frown.  "I can't tell for sure where our enemy has gone, Sir Washburn.  I think...northish?  But I couldn't say exactly where with any certainty.  I'm sorry.  The best I can suggest is that we continue in our present direction, as he seems to be heading away from it. I think he's trying to escape us for once, instead of the other way around."

She extended her senses outward, still wary, her instincts not trusting that their foe would be giving up his harassment of them so abruptly without any more of a fight. Why would he do so? Surely not just because he was out of caltrops?  Or perhaps he was retreating to safety because he knew himself to be outnumbered--or at least Aliset hoped that was the reason!--but would he have simply left, or would he have left some other traps behind to hinder their progress?  Unfortunately she could not tell.  She could sense something of his evil intent, but that was hardly helpful; it wasn't as if she hadn't known of that already!

What she could easily sense, however, was a burst of white-hot pain emanating out from a familiar presence just at that moment.  Breaking out of her trance, she searched around her wildly for the source of it, finally spotting him lying in a pile of leaves.  "Father Columcil!"  She began to run towards him.

((<Aliset> !roll 2d6
<derynibot> 5, 3 == 8   Finally!))

As she ran, a reflected glint of light peeking through a similar pile of leaves caught her eye, causing her to stop abruptly.  She extended her senses in that direction, recoiling at what she discovered.  Whirling, she threw up a hand in a halting gesture towards Wash and Darcy, who had started to follow her. "Hold!" she yelled.  "There's a trap of some sort in those leaves!  And I fear Father Columcil must have fallen prey to another."  Picking up a sturdy branch, she proceeded towards the priest with increased caution, prodding the ground in front of her as she went to ensure she was not walking into a trap herself.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on March 10, 2018, 03:58:08 PM
Wash was concentrating with Lord Alister, could she find their missing adversary. She was having as little success as he was. Absently Wash looked up. Where had Columcil gone? He thought he left strict orders to stay in line-of-sight and not go wandering off. Yes, it was lovely country churchyard, but did the man really have to go visiting just now?

((Rolling for find Columcil  1d6  rolled 3 failed. Verification Number: 5z8nt78mvf))

Washburn cast outward. The priest was usually well shielded but surely he should be able to find him. There was a faint snapping sound, a sound which triggered Washburn's alertness, he turned quickly from the church building to look out over the headstones toward the trees.

"Father Columcil!" he called out. Even as Washburn cast outward, he saw Alister's shoulders tense. Then the young lord was running, jumping over the low graveyard border fence, and charging passed gravestones heading toward the tree-line.

((10:50 Washburn !roll 1d6
success on 4, 5, or 6
10:50 derynibot 4 == 4))

Washburn's mind wrenched at the nauseating pain. Columcil's agony was so acute, Wash stumbled forward as he started to follow Lord Alister. Darcy was there with a quick hand under his elbow, allowing the knight to catch his footing. Together the two men leeped the  low fence poles and raced after Alister, followed her through the long grasses and around a few tall headstones.

Damn! There just under the shade of the trees was a blood soaked foot, partially covered over by a priest's habit. The man the foot belong to was arched back his eyes wide his breathing haggard. Beneath the hem of the wool was an metal device, a device of the most evil trappings.

Darcy and Wash both rushed forward together. Only to be stopped by Alister's sharp yell of "HOLD!" She picked up a branch and prodded the ground. SNAPE. A second beastly leg trap released, biting the stick with a daunting force. Hatefully, Lord Alister tossed the branch to the  ground.

The caring heart of Lady Aliset had her dropping in the form of Lord Alister, to his knees alongside Father Columcil's shoulders. She had her hands over his eyes attempting to ease his pain.

((13:03 Washburn need a roll for Aliset 2d6
13:04 Washburn !roll 2d6
13:04 derynibot 3, 2 == 5 ))

She did her best to ease the pain, but it was so sharp, it seemed impossible to erase the pain completely. Washburn gave a quick prayer that he would be able to help with that in just a moment. But first there was this mettle monstrosity that had to be opened. He knelt at the fore of the foot and pointed Darcy to go to the back. Both men nodded to one another, knowing they had to open the jaws together to free the wounded leg. "On three!" Wash called. Placing a hand over each jaw of the bloody iron. Darcy did the same on his side. "One... two... three..." with force the two men spread the jaws wide. The pin to hold it open was on a small chain and Darcy was the one to slip the pin into the evil device. With careful manipulations they were able to slip the trap off the man's ankle. Blood soaked the ground as they did so. The foot hung off angle, as they carefully lifted it free, and finally laid the leg back to the ground.

Washburn's heart pounded in his chest, he had to be quick, he had to use every once of power that he had. But first he had to steady his mind, he had to focus. Focus deep, find his center,  the medallion had helped him before. His fingers fumbled around his neck, finally finding the chain there. Pulling the medallion free, he looked at the face that seemed to frown at him. "I am so sorry, Saint Camber, But I need you again. So soon, I know, but I need you to help me. I know you will help a good man of the cloth. You will not make him suffer after all the good that he has accomplished."

Wash took a deep breath and centered, he calmed, he  really did care for this man and that helped him find a place deep in his mind where his father's talent began to steer to life. It didn't want to come out at first. The Healing gift was slow to manifest, until Wash doubled his efforts by adding his full effort into the mix.

((Washburn 1d6Healing (6) deep deep focus(one pip lower, 5,6), hero point( one pip lower 4,5,6) rolling healing Columcil  rolled 4 Verification Number: 12bg2fwnrm))

What had troubled him most was the angle of the bone. With one hand on the foot and the other cupped around the ankle, Wash had to straighten that which was broken and heal the bone when it was finally correctly positioned. If he just had the training to know when that was. Miraculously a eitheral hand covered his hand and a mind guided his hands to make the brake straight. "Your sure that is good?" Wash asked the other; getting back an assurance that was sensed but not seen. He extended his Healing, he felt the bone knit back into wholeness.

((Healing points 1d6 rolled 2. 2/2  = 1 healing point. Verification Number: 36lcqnj8p7))

The bone felt good under his hand, but still a warmth seeped out between his fingers. The bleeding had slowed but the wounds from the teeth were quite deep. Again Wash focused on the flesh, using every once of energy that he could muster.  He was happy to accept Master Darcy's hand on his. The seaman was allowing him to draw energy from him and that was as much a miracle as any other.

((11:27 Washburn !roll 1d6  healing on(6)  Hero point on(5,6)
11:27 derynibot 5 == 5))

That bit of added energy did the trick. Washburn breathed out as flesh repaired itself under his hands. There was a sense of the saints pleasure at helping even as the saint disappeared. And then Wash was looking at Darcy's concentrating face. "Thank you, I needed that." Wash said. He removed his hands, he used the hem of the priestly robe to wipe the remaining blood away.

((13:49Washburn opps forgot to make one more roll for healing points. I will get this posted yet. 13:50 Washburn!roll 1d6
13:50 derynibot 6 == 6
So 6/2= 3 three healing points.))


"We really do need a laundress," he quipped looking up at the pale face of his patient. "Aliset, is he alright?" he asked all concerned. forgetting to use the lady's brother's name. He twisted his face up for a moment at the lapse.  Lord Jaxom who was standing near, but not to near. Hopefully, he had not heard him.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on March 10, 2018, 06:41:01 PM
Darcy Cameron sat back on his heels, feeling drained, but glad he had been able to assist.  He could only wonder at magic powerful enough to save a man's life.  Or destroy it.  The concept of a death trigger still disturbed him. 

Father Columcil stirred, opened his eyes, and after a moment, tried to sit up.  Lord Alister helped him, murmuring quiet words of encouragement.  Columcil shook his head and then tentatively reached toward his ankle, looking relieved that all was well.

Darcy stood and withdrew a pace or two.  Lord Jaxom and his men milled about, apparently having failed to catch the man who had done this.   Darcy hoped the man would eventually be brought to justice.  Given the chance, he would be more than happy to administer that justice himself.

Good and evil, evil and good.  Aliset had told him it was the person that turned the magic to evil, not the magic itself.  Father Columcil had said much the same during Darcy's confession.  Was it that simple or that complex?  Darcy sighed.  It was what it was, and he would have to deal with this new hand he had been dealt.

Lord Jaxom seemed to be studying Lord Alister.  For no good reason, Darcy felt a vague disquiet.

"Lord Alister," Darcy said in the old voice that carried well across the deck of a ship.  "Let us help Father Columcil back to the horses."

Between them, they helped the priest up on his feet, and supporting him between the two to them, guided him away from the traps that had been laid.

Lord Jaxom followed, still thoughtful.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on March 10, 2018, 08:58:56 PM
"I think he'll be fine," said Aliset, only vaguely aware of Washburn's momentary slip of the tongue as she took stock of Father Columcil's condition, marveling anew at the Healing gift that her twin brother had once used and which it seemed Lord Washburn had now managed to learn. Oh, how she wished she'd shared her twin's talent in that area, although the time or two she had attempted it in the past had yielded no result.  Ah well.  It was said the gift was rare, even in this new generation of increasing openness and learning about how to use Deryni gifts.  She would simply aspire to find other avenues for increasing her skills in the innate talents she did have.  She felt for her water flask, unstoppering it and handing it over to the priest as she continued to indirectly address Lord Washburn's question as she spoke to Columcil.  "Here, Father, drink this. It should help your body make up for the lost blood in due time. You need to keep your fluid intake as high as possible in the next few days until it's fully replenished. Deryni Healing can only do so much." As she realized she was probably informing the most experienced Healer of their group of something he probably already considered blindingly obvious, she blushed. "As you doubtless already know."

"Lord Alister," Darcy said, "Let us help Father Columcil back to the horses."  Aliset glanced up at the man with a ready smile, thankful for the distraction from the momentary awkwardness.  With a nod, she rose, assisting the good Father to his feet.  "Steady?" she asked him, and after Columcil had a moment to get his balance and give her a confirming nod, she and Master Darcy escorted him back to Spean's side.  Looking around again to catch Lord Washburn's eye, she noticed Lord Jaxom watching them--or was he looking at Master Darcy?--with an oddly intent look, and wondered why, but it would hardly be ethical of her to use her Deryni powers to pry. They had more important matters to concern them than satisfying a momentary curiosity, anyway.  She looked around at the others.  "Has anyone had a chance yet to ensure the rest of the path forward is clear of other traps?"
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on March 11, 2018, 01:25:08 AM
Columcil felt the healing warmth, that he was accustomed to sense leaving his being into another, this time entering into his body bringing a blessed end to pain and restoring flesh and bone to their proper place. He thought he caught a glimpse of a grey cowled face giving him a compassionate but reproving shake of the head. He must be still half in a swoon he thought. As Lord Alister helped him to sit up and he turned to look at him he half expected to see Lady Aliset smiling down at him; more peculiar still, as his eyes regained their focus, he was sure that there was a young woman in a nun's habit walking away from him a couple of hares gambolling at her feet. He took the water that was offered to him and drank gratefully. Quite obviously he needed to clear his head. Seeing visions was all very well, not seeing danger was more to the point in their present predicament. No wonder St Camber, for it could only have been he, had administered a gentle rebuke.

Thank God and his saints for these his companions who had come to his rescue; he would need to make both thanks and apologies for his stupidity, but now was not the time. He had turned back and lost concentration for a reason, what was it? Blessed Saviour, yes, the rope!

As Lord Alister and Master Darcy helped him back to Spean's side, his eyes urgently sought Lord Washburn. "My lord! Further up yon road, there's a rope. It's stretched across to trip our horses. It's what I was coming to tell ye, when..."

His voice trailed off, he would readily humble himself before Lord Washburn but not before Lord Jaxom's watchful eye nor that of his men.

Lord Washburn nodded somberly -was there no end to the malice of their opponent? - and turning to Lord Jaxom he said, "Yet more trouble! Can I ask you to send a couple if men ahead on foot to investigate. And from past experience, best have them covered by a couple of your best archers who can be clearly seen"

Whatever was puzzling Lord Jaxom he laid it aside and went to give the necessary orders.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on March 11, 2018, 03:39:19 PM
"Did you pick up Father Columcil's staff?" Darcy Cameron asked Lord Alister.

"No, I didn't," Alister responded.

"I should have thought of that," Father Columcil said.  "I seem to be causing no end of trouble."

"It's not you that's causing trouble, Father," Darcy said.  "I'll fetch it."

"Master Darcy, please be careful."   Alister looked beyond him back towards the spot the staff was likely to be found.

"I think I'm a match for any killer coneys," Darcy said with smile.  Surprised at the angry look Alister shot at him, he hastily added, "In truth, I can't believe the man who set up the two traps and trip wire could have had time to do much more, but I'll be careful.  You have my word on it."

True to his word, he jumped the graveyard border fence and proceeded slowly forward.  As he neared the bloody ground around the trap the priest had sprung, he was even more cautious.  He spotted Columcil's staff to his right and carefully picked it up. He hefted it with renewed respect for the man who wielded it so well.  The added weight of the iron was impressive.

Darcy turned carefully to return to the group when something a little farther ahead caught his eye.  He took a cautious step forward and nudged it with the staff.  It was a metal tin.  He picked it up carefully and shook it; something inside rattled.  Dolt!  That had probably been a foolish move; anything could be inside this tin.

Darcy wondered if he could sense if it was safe or not the same way his Deryni companions did.  He tried to extend his senses, concentrating on the tin in his hand.

Rolling two dice, since Darcy is untrained in his powers
Jerusha   !roll 2d6
16:17   derynibot   3, 5 == 8
Success!

Darcy almost dropped the tin as a sense of foreboding filled his mind.  Whatever was inside the tin could stay there.  He looked toward the trees away from the path.  That line would do well; no one would be likely to be passing that way when there was a good path.  He drew back his arm and hurled the tin.  It flew true and far enough away that he did not hear it land.

He turned and made his way carefully back to the horses.  Columcil, Aliset, Washburn and Jaxom were all staring at him as he leaped back over the fence.

"What was that about?" Washburn asked.

Darcy took a moment to hand the staff back to Columcil before answering.  "I don't know, exactly.  I found a tin with something inside that rattled.  It may have been dropped by the man in his haste to set the traps.  Whatever was in it, I'm sure it was evil.  So I chucked it away."

The four faces staring at him displayed a variety of emotions.  Washburn annoyed, probably because he had not been consulted.  Columcil seemed to understand; Alister looked to be somewhere in between.  Jaxom was mystified.  Darcy remembered Aliset's rebuke for not asking questions before charting his course.  How long ago was that, back in the Nunnery yard?

"Beg pardon that I acted without consulting you," Darcy said, although not looking very contrite.  "For all I knew it might have blown up when opened, and I didn't think we had the time to destroy it like you did the amulet.  If I have erred, the fault is mine."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on March 12, 2018, 12:50:59 PM
Columcil found himself warming even more to Darcy. He took the staff gratefully, and when Darcy felt obliged to mutter words of contrition for what seemed to Columcil a very sensible action - he was no seaman but surely if you stopped to consult your betters whenever danger at sea loomed the entire crew risked being drowned and the ship lost whilst honour was being satisfied - he put his hand briefly on the other's shoulder in a gesture of support.

He supposed that their journey together had been a little like being being at sea, each becoming dependent on the other for their very survival and the normal rules of protocol and deference to an extent set aside. This had inevitably changed with the arrival of Lord Jaxom and his men; he really must get over his dislike of the man who was harmless enough though he did, in Columcil's not nearly humble enough opinion, seem a bit gormless. ((Quick translation. Gormless is a British word which avoids the stigma of bad language but is very expressive. It means daft, or dozy - someone who is a "few sandwiches short of a picnic."))  It would change even more once they arrived at Arx Fidei and thence, he supposed to Rhemuth. And even before they got to Arx Fidei, the Duke of Corwyn was riding to their rescue, with the might and authority of the Crown of Gwynedd, and the boundary between noble and commoner would become absolute.

Ah well, it was as it was. But surely they did not need to appear before him as ragged vagrants. He had never thought of vanity as one of his sins; he was learning a lot about himself not all of it good. Maybe there was a solution though.

Quietly turning to Lord Alister he said with a formal bow, "Might I have a private word, My Lord?"

Lord Alister looked a little bemused but agreed readily enough. Walking far enough to be out of earshot Columcil continued. "Actually it's Lady Aliset I need, my Lady, or at least her skills." He added the latter quickly as the male face confronting his looked askance. "We're out of the wilderness now, and belike to meet with his Grace of Corwyn. I'd no like him to think us a pack o'beggars. D'ye no have some spell that can tidy us up a bit?"
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on March 12, 2018, 01:31:48 PM
Aliset gave Father Columcil a sympathetic smile.  "Well, I can try, at least."  Murmuring the words of the spell, she waved a finger in the priest's direction.

((13:11   Aliset   !roll 2d6
13:11   derynibot   2, 3 == 5))

His clothing appeared to shimmer briefly, stains and tears fading out of sight, but alas, the illusion lasted only for mere moments.  Aliset shook her head.  "I'm sorry, Father. I think perhaps if I were better rested, but I'm having trouble maintaining enough focus for the task at the moment.  But I'd be glad to mend your cassock once we're able to stop for rest, and perhaps we can find more suitable clothing in Arx Fidei."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on March 12, 2018, 02:00:32 PM
Darcy Cameron pushed back too many strands of loose, and now rather damp, pale blond hair.  As he watched Father Columcil and Lady Aliset walk back toward the horses, he realized how ragged they looked.  How ragged they all looked. He rubbed his jaw; many more days of this and he'd have a fair beard grown.  He had worn a beard years ago; the Captain said he looked like a snowball.  Darcy had promptly shaved it off.

Lord Jaxom and his men, although dusty, looked positively dapper.  Jaxom was saying something to his squire, who listened intently.  Darcy sensed as well as heard Washburn move up beside him.  Darcy was beginning to become more comfortable with the added dimension to his life.  At least a little.

He turned to look up at the Lendour Knight, whose tunic was torn and bloodied in several places.  "Your orders, Sir Washburn?" Darcy asked.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on March 12, 2018, 03:39:34 PM
Washburn had heard the report to Lord Jaxom from his men. The footpath that lead from the church graveyard to the the top of the hill had been used by a horseman since the morning rain. That was most likely the man who had set these last traps to forestall any followers and capture. To Washburn's dismay, he appears to have succeeded and was well away by now.

((Sensing how far away Rayne had gotten up the trail. Rolled 3, Verification Number: 23wnkbjsck))

Washburn shook his head. Where the man had gotten to, he could not tell. He just prayed he was far, far away and no longer a threat. This cat and mouse game was getting tiresome. With a wave of the hand, Wash tried for a fatigue banishing spell.

((fatigue banishing spell. Power trait with standard usage. rolled 6, 4 Verification Number: 1pwmwj0px4))

With a sigh of relief, he at least knew he could continue on without losing his step or concentration. At least for a while longer.

Comments were going around in whispers about their baggardly apparence. Sir Washburn had to smile at that. So long as it wasn't the king who came riding up. He thought their ragged look was well earned. He had never been the courtier type, in need of looking dashing and impeccable at every instant. Muddied and torn was just fine with him, to his mother's severe disapproval on several occasions. Looking bloodied? Well, they all did rather look to have come from a battle scene.  At least from the skin layer down, they were all hail; that is what counts.

Wash even afforded Master Darcy a broad smile when the stepped together. His orders? Humm, Wash wanted to be far far away from here the faster the better. Just in case that trap man decided to turn around and follow them.

"Let us take a moment to water the horses at the church well. Perhaps clean our hands up a bit. Father," Wash yelled out across the graveyard. "Perhaps you can go within, umm with an armed escort, I fear, and make a beseechment to whatever saint visits this house and ask for a clear path to Arx Fidei. I think a little thanks would not go amiss after what has been granted to us. I will join you shortly after I see to Shadow's needs."

Wash turned back to the young seaman. A smile caught his lips. "That beard gives you a rather dashing maturity. Perhaps you will think twice before shaving it." His hand brushed the back of his own head and his smile faded. "I think my own shaved head is growing in more slowly than your beard. Dang, I can explain the rugged cloths to my brother but not that stupid tonsure.  Lord Alister, can I have a moment of your time?" He was wondering how he could properly ask the noble lady, without looking like a fool,  to make an illusion to bring back his hair.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on March 12, 2018, 04:02:51 PM
"My lord?"  Aliset regarded Sir Washburn with a quizzical look.

He sidled closer to her, his voice kept low as if he didn't wish others to overhear.  "Do you think maybe you could use some of your illusion magic to do something about...."  He appeared at a loss for words for a moment before waving his hand across his body to indicate--Aliset supposed--his appearance.  "Could you maybe do something to help us look a bit more presentable before His Grace my brother arrives?"

"Ah." Aliset gave him a sympathetic smile. "I'm sorry. Father Columcil already asked me to try, but I'm afraid I might need a bit of rest first.  At any rate, surely His Grace will understand what we've been through to get to him?"

"Well, yes, that's true," Sir Washburn admitted with a sheepish smile.  "But still...." He took a deep breath.  "Do you think you might be able to do something about this, at least?" He made a quick, pointing gesture towards his hair. At least that's what he appeared to be pointing to. Or maybe it was his forehead.  Yes, that might make more sense. 

"You have a headache, my lord?"

"No, no!" Washburn glanced back over one shoulder, again as if to ensure no one else was in earshot before blurting out, "I meant the tonsure."

Aliset frowned, puzzled.  "The...tonsure?"

A slightly impatient expression crossed the young lord's face. "Yes! You know...the bald spot?"

It was all Aliset could do to hold back a laugh.  "Do you mean the almost imperceptible spot at the top of your crown that you can't even notice unless you stare directly at it?  That tonsure?"  Mischief lit her expression; she couldn't help it now. "I'd be glad to help.  Shall I just trim the rest of your hair to match, my lord?"  She attempted her most innocent expression, no doubt failing dismally. 
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on March 12, 2018, 04:44:40 PM
"Oh... No...never mind..." Wash said seeming entirely too flustered for such a little defect. He felt ashamed for even bringing the matter up before the young lady. "Let us water the horse's quickly." Then more loudly he said to Lord Jaxom who was coming up to him. "We need to be back on the road before more mishap finds us." Rather before Lady Aliset finds a pair of sheers, he considered internally behind tight shields, yet he was not quite able to hide his dismay.  The Lord Alister seemed all too happy to disappear into to the church to retrieve Father Columcil. The reason might likely have been to escape the knight's presence before she got caught laughing out loud. So much for vanity, Washburn thought.

The baron's son, Lord Jaxom Trillick, hadn't understood all the delays in the first place, and he was more than happy to reorganize his men, most of whom were already at the well giving their mounts a much needed bucket of water to drink.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on March 13, 2018, 02:43:38 AM
Columcil was glad to obey Sir Washburn's request. Lady Aliset had been nice enough but the understanding smile on her face had made him realise what a fool he was being. As if his Grace was going to be interested in what he looked like.

The small grey church looked reassuring like his own at home, and it was with a sense of coming home where he belonged that he pushed open the oak door, faded by the elements to a soft silver grey. His fingers reached almost of themselves into the holy water stoup and he blessed himself, feeling a sense of pure joy at the simple gesture of his faith.

There was no shrine within, but to the side of the altar stood a homely wooden statue of Our Lady with a jug of hedgerow flowers in front of her, the simple loving offering of country folk. Moved to tears, the thrust of homesickness which shot through Columcil had, for a moment, the white-hot intensity of the physical pain of the man trap. Not usually overly emotional in his prayers he laid himself prostrate in front of the altar and wept.

Almost at once he felt comforted, that his grief and penitence had been accepted, but was there also just a hint of impatience? As though just beyond the edge of his hearing someone had coughed dryly. Of course. He had been sent in here with a task to do, not just to indulge himself, so he had best set about it.

Pushing himself up to his knees he scrubbed his face dry with the sleeve of his cassock - really it could hardly make it look worse - and looking up at the rood above the altar gave thanks for their protection thus far, for the kindly intervention of the Saints and humbly asked that future guidance and protection be given. Then he reached into the inner breast pocket, where it was safely stowed, brought out his grandfather's precious prayer book, and lost himself in the psalms and prayers of the daily office.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on March 16, 2018, 12:58:03 PM
"Riders a half league ahead," announced the scout as he galloped back into the presence of his commanding lord. 

With those words, the Duke of Corwyn felt a surge of relief. The tension in his back eased and he sat up straighter in the saddle. Kelric Alain Morgan was not the eldest child of the renowned hero of Gwynedd, Duke Alaric Anthony Morgan. His sister, Countess Briony, was that. Kelric even had an older half-brother, Lord Brendan Coris, who was Duke Alaric's step-son from his wife's first marriage. Though Kelric grew up with two older siblings, it was always known that he was the rightful heir to the Duchy of Corwyn. Even so, it came as a shock that the responsibility of the Morgan legacy fell so suddenly and harshly upon the then Sir Kelric's shoulders.

Kelric had been eighteen when his father took the Corwyn army east to confront the threat of Byzantyun hordes who had already usurped the principalities of Vorna, Vechta and Lorsol. The massive eastern army had marched on Tralia, pushing the Hort of Orsal to his island summer palace, and then burning the winter palace to the ground. The horde were like locusts feeding on that which they touched. The armies of the Forcinn States and of R'kassi managed to hold their lands, keeping the horde from ravishing the south. King Liam of Torenth held the north against his own uncle's ambitions. But it was neither north nor south that Grand Duke Teymuraz set his greedy eyes upon. He wanted Gwynedd for his own and for his kin. He would settle on nothing less than crossing the twin rivers by barges and then landing in Coroth to steal her riches and to destroy any who did not bow down to him. From there, he held plans to march on Rhemuth, to finally take what belonged to Festil's descendants: the crown of Gwynedd and the destruction of the House of Haldane.

The combined armies of Corwyn and Tralia met the enemy very near the burned winter palace. The battle on the shore line had been both ferocious and brief. In the midst of the tempestuous bloodbath, the Champion of the Haldane challenged the Grand Duke in single Arcane combat. The Grand Duke agreed. Yet Teymuraz never intended to play fair. Even as Teymuraz cast his half of the warding, his orders had the four Camberian Councillors who were there to moderate the duel slaughtered by merasha cross bolts. Duke Alaric escaped the mass slaughter, but just by the quickest of actions. He finished his half of the dueling ward, encircling himself and his opponent from the armies that surrounded them. In a battle of wit and power, it was Alaric who summoned the greatest energies, and it was Gwynedd who defeated the eastern foe. Only when the arcane wards fizzled away, leaving the champion vulnerable in that moment of his victory, Alaric Morgan was pierced through the heart by a merasha arrow. Who shot the arrow? No one knew. Kelric and Brendan were the first to their father's side. Their efforts were for naught. Alaric Morgan's bloody hand blessed his sons, and then the greatest hero of Gwynedd was gone from this world.

Rage filled the Corwyn and Hort's men then. Without the guiding mind of Teymuraz, the horde faltered.  Teymuraz's sons could not take the controls in the midst of battle. In the shortest time ever, the horde were no more.

The sorrow and grief of that day and the days that followed had never eased from Kelric Morgan's mind. Though his birthday had come and gone in the short spring season of war, Kelric at the mature age of nineteen was not prepared for the day he escorted the body of Gwynedd's hero and savior back home.  So much responsibility tempered the new Duke of Corwyn. His eldest brother Brendan, Earl of Marley, had stuck close to his side in those first horrible days. Elsewise, he didn't think their mother could have made it through the initial grief. The two sisters were there for their mother too. No one left Duchess Richenda alone, in those first few days. The Morgan family survived. The highest honor of a state funeral was bestowed upon the hero and Champion of Gwynedd. King Kelson Haldane was as bereaved as the Morgan family to have lost his dearest mentor and friend. In time, after the funeral processions  had crossed the land, with much weeping by the common folk, the Champion of Deryni and Humankind alike was returned to his home and laid to rest. Only then did the Kingdom of Gwynedd turn its heart toward peace and prosperity. 

The youngest child of Alaric Morgan was fourteen years Kelric's junior. Suddenly this five-year-old was without a father, yet he was the remaining happiness in their mother's eyes.  To say that Washburn was spoiled was likely an understatement. The boy had all he asked for and more. Kelric had taken on his brother's care like Wash was his first child.  It was fortunate that Duke Kelric already had the love of his heart. Two years following, on the anniversary of his parents' wedding day, he made his own happiness with his marriage to the Princess Araxandra Haldane. Having gained some wisdom in raising his brother, Kelric was an even better loving father and husband.  If he had known what he knew now, he likely would have been both more strict and more lenient on his brother as he grew. Letting Washburn have all the battle training that he could stand, yet little of the schola's training, had likely been a mistake. The Duke of Corwyn was thinking it was time he taught his little brother that the name Morgan implied responsibility too.

Meanwhile, the scout had halted just the other side of the Duke's squire. He did not approach until he was given permission to do so. Then he made his report. "Your Grace, I made count of ten horses before a local church. The guardsman seemed at ease, giving water to their mounts from the church's well and some taking food from their packs. I took note that not one man seemed to guard the road. Although, at the far side of the church, far enough away that I could not discern who they were, I saw several men walking back from the trees edging the gravesite. I could not discern the reason; I hesitate to say that I thought perhaps they were relieving nature's call. All in all, not one seemed to have noticed my watching them. I returned to you before they might have learned of my presence."

"And a blazon?" the Duke of Corwyn asked, holding back his liver chestnut, who fussed at the tight reins that kept him from moving forward.

"I only saw the colors of blue on white, my lord. No blazon was displayed," the scout answered truthfully, knowing he had looked but had not seen one in his short perusal.  His Grace's silvery gaze held the scout's eyes for just an instant before releasing the man with a dismissing nod. The scout backed his horse away, not deterred by the Deryni lord's Truth Reading. It was a necessity that came with his position, and he had long ago accepted that.

The scout took his place on the far side to the Duke of Corwin's squire. The youthful squire, Sieur III de Vali, son of the Baron Sieur II de Vali, who was riding behind the Duke, made room on the narrow valley road without crowding the duke's warhorse. Rexxar was an amazing R'kassi stallion, bred from the Earl of Derry's lead stallion and star mare. Squire Sieur knew well enough that Rexxar would tolerate the closeness of his own mount, but the Duke's sudden taut shoulders told the squire it was best not to crowd the duke himself. It was clear that though Duke Kelric Morgan was relieved to have finally found that which he quested for, his normal mood of forbearance was upset by what the scout reported. 

How could his brother be so lax, hadn't he taught him better than that? The threat of treason and insurrections occuring in Meara had been emphasized by his king. This 'rescue' of his brother was much more than that; it just might prove to be Gwynedd's opening martial move into the Mearan province. The Duke of Corwyn was to make a commanding presence to the people without appearing overbearing. The king's hand was a just hand, and Kelric was here in the King's name. His own personal concerns and that of the Dowager Duchess of Corwyn came second. And that had been a hard balance for Kelric to make after receiving Duchess Richenda's rapport at mid-morning. Kelric wondered again just why it was that his brother was having such a difficult time with this simple task? If he was in as much trouble as he had relayed, then why was he stopped at a church in the mid-afternoon when he knew he was supposed to have met up with Kelric... yesterday!

Suppressed anger prompted the Duke of Corwyn to put spurs to his stallion's flanks. He wanted to see for himself just how lax the men under his brother's command truly were.  Squire Sieur balanced the pole in his stirrup and leapt his horse forward to match the duke's pace. The honorable pennon of Corwyn rippled out with the speed. The great gryphon flew, green on a black field, the embroidered gold threads of the flory-counter-flory glistening in the afternoon sunshine. The twenty men behind, in battle gear and bright colored caparisons draping their steeds' backs, were a sight this valley had not seen in years.

The pounding of horses' hooves and the jingle of harness was heard by those in the church yard well before the duke and his men charged into view. The guardsman were mounted, quickly forming up in a small defensible line halfway between the church yard and the road. After a row of trees, the Duke of Corwyn slowed his stallion at the sight of the four mounted bowmen in front and the lord and squire behind. As the Corwyn's blazon was recognized, the young lord behind called for weapons lowered. He trotted forwards between his men, giving the duke a deep bow in the saddle. "We are well met, Duke Kelric. Your presence has been greatly anticipated."

Duke Kelric did not know the nobleman who addressed him, but he had learned from his mother that a baron's son had joined Washburn and his companions. "Indeed, then we are well met. Whom do I address?" Kelric asked, keeping it civil while his mind and his eyes searched the churchyard beyond the riders.

"I am Jaxom Trillick, son of Baron Adam Trillick of Trillshire. My father sent me to escort Sir Washburn to Arx Fidei."

Kelric wanted to burst out, Then why were you not at Arx Fidei yesterday? but he withheld his anger. These men looked more flustered than they should be. Up by the church well, there was one man holding the reins of four horses. This man had the palest blonde hair, his looks familiar in some way, but Kelric could not recall at the moment why that should be. The man was looking at the church door nearby. 

"Then I must inquire," the duke said, "just where is Sir Washburn? I see his destrier, but not him." The terse inquiry was meet with dutifully bowed heads, but no answer.

Before Sir Jaxom could look up and give that answer, a loud voice called out from the church. "I am here, Your Grace! I am most grateful for your coming. I thank you from my heart."

Washburn paced forward to stop ten feet before his elder brother, where he went down on one knee. The relief playing on the younger brother's face turned to a frown when he noted Kelric glaring at him. "I owe you the greatest of apologies, my lord. I fear I have not succeeded in doing as you requested of me. I have the heir of Mariot under my protection, but our path to Rhemuth, which should have taken but five days, has been hindered multiple times. It is now seven days and we have but traveled two-thirds of the distance. I am sorry that I have failed you."

The Duke's eyebrows furrowed as he looked from his brother to the other two men coming out of the church. An older man in priest's robes, worn and blood-stained, he did not know. As for the young man who walked shoulder to shoulder with the priest, Kelric knew him almost immediately, yet he knew it could not be. The death of Sir Alister de Mariot was the instigation of this entire event. Here before him that young man went down on his knee and bowed his head. Kelric sent out a focused Mind speech, "Sir Alister, is that you?" What he received was a humble feminine voice.

"Nay, Your Grace, I am Lady Aliset, the twin sister to my beloved brother Alister. I have taken his form to travel with these men. My apologies for the deception."

"Ah, I see. Under the circumstances, my lady, no need for an apology," the duke replied through their rapport.

The duke looked over the four companions more closely as they were all now kneeling shoulder to shoulder. What a tired, gruff looking group of men they appeared to be. "Sir Washburn, attend me. Tell me how it is that we come to meet here in this way?"

Wash was instantly obedient. Even as he stood and walked toward his elder brother, Kelric had to comment, "Sweet Jesu, what in the world happened to you? You look like you've been dragged through the forest by wild boars."

"Aye, something akin to that," the knight humbly replied. "Though wild boars would have been more pleasant."

Kelric's features softened instantly as Washburn placed his hand in his. "Wait, not here." With practiced grace, the duke was dismounting, his squire taking the reins of his stallion. "Let us retire to the church for a moment of privacy." Belatedly, he motioned for the others to be at ease.

The two brothers standing side by side were so much the same, it astonished those who had not met them both before. Kelric's hair shined a yellow-gold in the sunlight, while the younger brother's was barely a shade darker. Kelric was a tad taller while Washburn was a tad broader of shoulder.  Both had the Morgan bearing that had been noteworthy of their father in his time. Both wore a black tunic, only one displayed a green gryphon and one displayed a red stag. The gold flory-counter-flory was embroidered on the hem of the duke's tunic. Washburn only had that embroidery at the neck-edge and edge of his sleeves.

Dutifully, when they reached the church inner sanctum, Wash bent down on his knee once more. "I beg your forgiveness. We have met with many difficulties along our route to Rhemuth."

"I can see that...." The elder brother placed both hands over the younger brother's head. "Show me," he whispered as full rapport formed between the two siblings.  There was a long pause, and then Washburn let the fullness of the last week play out, holding nothing back. There seemed no point in doing so. Kelric recoiled at the memories of merasha; his mother had not relayed that to him, so he was taken by surprise. The healings of the priest in their company seemed to be God-sent, for there seemed no other explanation for the man to have fallen into their company. The last shock was Washburn learning to Heal the injuries that had occured this day. That took Kelric by surprise. "Didn't Father Duncan ever test you for that trait?" the duke asked as he pulled his hands away.

"I don't believe I ever sat still long enough for him to do so," Washburn responded.

Kelric burst out laughing in his relief. "I do believe you are right." His hand curved under his brother's elbow, beckoning him to stand. He looked over the younger man as if seeing him for the first time.

"I do believe you have changed, little brother. Perhaps I should not be calling you that any longer."

"In private, I will cherish you calling me 'little brother' until the day we are both so stooped over, so much so that we can not tell which one of us is the tallest."

"Oh, so you think I will be stooped over first and then you will be taller than I? I will make you a bet that I will always have that inch over you. Even stooped over as an old man, as you say." Kelric clapped his brother's shoulder in familiar comradery.

"I'll take that bet," Washburn replied, knowing he had somehow passed his lord's scrutiny. Though with all his lapses, he did not see how.

The two gave a donation to the church, and then together they exited the door to their awaiting men.





Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on March 16, 2018, 02:31:18 PM
Darcy Cameron glanced up at the sound of horses approaching at a quick pace.  Lord Jaxom immediately motioned to his men, who mounted up and formed a line half-way between the church yard and the road. Darcy stood with the horses, ready to quickly mount, draw his sword and position himself farther back between the line and the church. He glanced toward the church door as the mounted men stopped short of Jaxom's defensive line. 

Darcy searched back through his memories to the heraldry of Gwynedd that his tutor had drilled into his brain so many years ago.  The pennon was that of Corwyn; Washburn's brother had arrived!  Darcy secured the horses' reins to the graveyard fence as Sir Washburn emerged from the church, called to his brother, approached the mounted duke and went down on one knee before him.

Darcy wiped his hands on the sides of his battered tunic and tried to straighten it a bit, although he knew it was a lost cause.  Aliset and Columcil emerged from the church shortly after Washburn, and Darcy fell into step beside them as they approached the duke. He noticed that the Duke of Corwyn seemed surprised at the sight of Lord Alister, but the moment passed.  Almost as one they lined up beside Washburn and each went down on one knee before Duke Kelric.

At his brother's command, Washburn rose and went forward.  As the brothers moved toward the church, Darcy wondered if they were to remain kneeling. Duke Kelric released them as he strode by, and Darcy rose and rubbed his knee.  In his haste to show proper respect before the duke, he had managed to kneel on a rock. 

He surveyed the group before him; twenty men were mounted and well armed, and there was a young squire holding the Corwyn pennon.  That should get them safely to Arx Fedei and then to Rhemuth, although perhaps Jaxom and his men would turn back to Meara.  Somehow Darcy did not think Jaxom would turn down the opportunity to ride to Rhemuth with the Duke of Corwyn. 

"You look thoughtful, Master Darcy," Aliset said.

"I'm thinking our odds of reaching Rhemuth just got better.  Though whether it will be smooth sailing remains to be seen."

"You won't relax yet, will you?" Aliset asked with a smile.

"While riding with the Duke of Corwyn?  Not a chance of that.  And if I look about to do something totally improper, please kick me or something before I disgrace myself!"
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on March 16, 2018, 05:05:31 PM
Columcil got slowly to his feet as Washburn and Duke Kelric entered the church where he himself had so recently found peace. He turned towards Aliset and Darcy to find the two of them engaged in conversation so looked instead towards Lord Jaxom. It wasna the man's fault that he looked relatively neat and clean, nor yet that, being mounted, he had contented himself with a deep bow rather than going to his knee. But he had not liked the way the man had looked down at them kneeling before the Duke.

His attention was drawn back to Darcy as the latter spoke to him. "You're more used to kneeling than I am Father, but I can tell you I was glad when his Grace gave the word to rise. I was kneeling on a dam... er blessed stone." Darcy looked somewhat shamefaced as though expecting a rebuke both for his levity and near profanity but Coluncil scarely gave him time to finish before bursting out:

"I'll kneel to my Lord in heaven, aye and his blessed Saints if any so desire. I'll kneel before our Lord the king and any that bear his authority as does his Grace the Duke. But I've no liking for kneeling in the muck so yon bitty gowk can stare doon at me, nor at the rest of yous neither. His heid is aye twa seezes ta big nor his bonnet wi'out us mekin it swell aye mair!" He drew breath, glad to have his anger off his chest, only to find Darcy staring at him in blank astonishment.

"I'm sorry Father, I'd not like to be looked at the way you were just looking at Lord Jaxom, so I'm getting that you are upset with him, but I didn't understand one word in two of what you were saying!"

There was a barely repressed snort from behind them and both men turned to find Alister's face contorted in his efforts not to break out in unseemly laughter.

"I don't come from as deep into border country as our good father here, but I think I can translate well enough. With your permission, of course, Father."

Columcil nodded, feeling more embarassed by the second, and Aliset complied, though in a sufficiently low voice that they had to bend close to hear her.

"He'll not kneel in the dirt so that that bit of a youth can stare down at us. His - that is Lord Jaxom's -head is already twice as big as his bonnet without us making it swell any more."

It was perhaps just as well that it was at that precise moment that the church door re-opened and they all composed their features into an expression of solemn respect.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on March 16, 2018, 11:02:11 PM
Aliset was still giggling quietly to herself over Father Columcil's outburst nearly an hour later, after she and her companions had taken a few brief moments to tidy themselves as best they could using water drawn from the nearby well to clean the dirt and bloodstains off their skin as quickly as they might manage before setting forth again on the road to Arx Fidei, for even with the arrival of the Duke of Corwyn and his men, none of their party had any desire to be outside the relative security of town walls come nightfall, given the tenacity of their foes. Still, they had no wish to arrive at such sanctuary without having at least made an attempt to look more presentable than they'd been when His Grace the Duke had found them.  Alas, laundry and mending must wait yet a little while longer--or better yet, a complete change of clothing!

Aliset caught a glimpse of the comparatively more dapper Lord Jaxom out of the corner of her eye as their party rode forth from the church grounds, which caused a burst of inner amusement again briefly, though she quickly sobered as a sudden realization struck her.  On one hand, she could sympathize with Father Columcil's opinion of the man.  Borderers and Lowlanders tended to mix about as well as water and oil, unfortunately, and while technically the heir of Trillick was border-born,  he was far more Court-bred than border-bred.  It was a common enough problem among the nobility of the borders.  The border dukes and earls, and sometimes even barons, often found it desirable to send their sons, or at least their heirs, to Rhemuth to learn such court polish as might be useful in forging alliances with the lowland regions, yet in some cases those sons were away from home for so long that they had difficulty relating well with the common folk once they returned home, or at least it became more difficult for the common folk to relate to them.  Some managed to relate to both bordermen and lowlanders with ease--Duke Dhugal, for one, not to mention her own rightful baron, Jass MacArdry.  But then, on the other hand, there were the Lord Jaxoms of the world who sometimes came across as being out of touch with the common folk of their homelands, having taken on high and mighty lowlander pretensions, though they might genuinely have all the best of intentions and still think of themselves as being bordermen, little realizing how their words and actions might sometimes be off-putting to others around them.

But that, in turn, made Aliset wonder--how well would she, a born and bred Border lass, fit into Court life in polished Rhemuth?  Oh, she'd had the benefit of a nobleborn lady's education, and had even visited Gwynedd's fair capital a few times, the last being for the occasion of Alister's knighting, although that had seemed such a grand spectacle that she had scarcely managed to take it all in, and could remember little about what had happened and who else had been there anymore. Despite the grandeur of Rhemuth's Great Hall, her full attention had been on her brother that evening, so suffused she had been with her pride in him.  And too shortly afterwards, she'd returned home along with her family. But she had little knowledge of what Kelson would expect from her now that she was the King's ward, or how well she might fit in with the other ladies at court. Would she be welcomed there, or viewed as a socially awkward outsider from a backwater manor, orphaned and stripped of her rightful dower lands, little more than a beggar living off the King's charity? Then again, it was entirely possible she need not worry about fitting into Court life overmuch; after all, the King would be within his rights to simply marry her off to whichever strong warrior lord he felt might take back Caer Mariot from her cousin, winning a reward for loyal service and a bride who happened to go along with the property.

Something of her worry must have shown on her face, for Master Darcy moved his horse closer to hers to whisper, "Are you all right?"

She shrugged, at first not wanting to confide her fears to him, but after a moment they burst forth from her anyway. "Do you suppose I'll end up stuck in the Queen's bower," she whispered back, "or just get bartered off to the highest bidder?"  Mercy, she hadn't meant to express her worries quite as starkly as all that, but the words were out now, and she could hardly call them back. She stared at Papillon's mane in misery as they continued to ride onward towards her uncertain future, unable to meet her man-at-arm's concerned gaze, a rising blush staining her cheeks.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on March 17, 2018, 03:34:08 PM
Over my dead body! Darcy Cameron wanted to declare, but he knew he could not.  It was a promise he could not keep.  The king's will would be done whether he liked it or not.  Lady Aliset continued to stare at her horse's mane, blushing in embarrassment at her sudden outburst.  Her inner turmoil pulled at Darcy's heart more than he wanted to admit, and he found the blush, even though it spread across her brother's visage, most appealing. 

He leaned closer and said quietly so only she could hear, "I'll not abandon you, no matter what.  You won't be alone to face whatever is to be."  Aliset nodded and turned her gaze to the road ahead. 

It probably had not been the right thing to say, but he had felt the need to say something. Offer some comfort, no matter how small it might be.  Now that Darcy remembered his life before the sea, thanks to the lady who rode beside him, he might be a contender for her hand.  But only if he found his brother, if he still lived, and his brother acknowledged him.  Would he want to?  Darcy had been all but dead to him for over 12 years.  Maybe he would rather ship him back off to sea and have him out of his life.  By God there would be a fight if he tried it!

What if the king refused to consider him at all?  What if he couldn't find his brother in time?  Could he stand by and watch her wed another?   Could he offer his congratulations and wish them well?

Maybe the sea wasn't such a bad idea.

With his own thoughts in a turmoil, Darcy noticed the light was beginning to fade.  It would be well past dusk before they reached Arx Fedei; he hoped they would make it there before dark.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on March 17, 2018, 04:46:27 PM
Columcil kept as far back as he could to be out of the dust of the pounding hooves, though he was glad of the two archers at his back, their watchful eyes would, he knew, be constantly scanning their surrounds. So placed, he was able to see what the Duke was doing and, somewhat reluctantly, he found himself growing in genuine respect for the man, as well as the dutiful honour he owed for the high office he held. If he had thought about it at all he would have expected the Duke to ride out in front, his squire beside him, with his pennant flying proudly, making clear his rank and the distance between himself and those who followed.

Once started on their way, however, and having assured himself that all precautions against ambush or attack had been taken, the Duke had bidden his squire furl his pennant and had given the leadership of the column to his brother. Even from his distance Columcil could see the pride shine from Sir Washburn and his heart warmed to see the trust between the two brothers. He had feared from the Duke's first expression on seeing them that young Washburn was in for a royal dressing down, but their demeanour on leaving the church had suggested that whether or not a rebuke had been administered they had come to an understanding.

But it was not just to his brother that the Duke showed himself gracious. Although they were moving at a steady canter, he slowed his stallion, who without doubt would have outpaced them all given his head, and allowed himself to move back through the ranks with a word for all who had joined with his company. He had a kindly word and a pat of approbation on the shoulder for the young troopers of Lord Jaxom's company, doubtless knowing that anything more lengthy would petrify them with awe, and spent somewhat longer in conversation with the more seasoned men whose military experience gave them at least a modicum of common ground. Lord Jaxom seemed to grow half a handspan taller with pride as the Duke spoke words which were clearly of thanks and commendation but even Columcil's dislike of the man could hardly fault his pride in a duty well done and acknowledged as such. As the Duke spoke first with Lord Alister and then Master Darcy, Columcil found a knot begin to form in his stomach. He knew that Washburn had sensed something of their kinship, the eldest son of the great Duke himself would surely have awesome power, probing maybe beyond Columcil's ability to protect the secret that was not his to share.

Spean was nearly along side the Duke now and there was no avoiding. Columcil bowed as low as he could over Spean's neck, and voiced a deferential  "Your Grace."

Kelric could tell that the priest had some fear related to himself, though he could not imagine what. The man had saved his brother's life and more than once, and as a healer it could not be that he feared his Deryni powers. But he was doubtless the highest ranking nobleman he had met. The man had a way with beasts, did he not? That would give him the best chance of putting him at his ease.

"Please straighten up, your bonnie little pony will wonder what you are doing and I'd hate for him to miss his footing and brain you if his head comes back suddenly."

Whatever Columcil had thought the Duke might say, it was not that and he sat up with a jerk, though he avoided meeting the Duke's gaze as the latter continued.

"I and my lady mother owe you our thanks, Sir Priest for the saving of my brother's life. He tells me that you have been of great blessing to him and the rest of your companions. He's been in sore need of your guidance."

The words were spoken without any hint of criticism and were doubtless a gracious means of putting him at his ease but Columcil's own fear of the Duke was suddenly swallowed up in his need to put the record straight.

"Forgive me, your Grace, an I speak out of turn. But it's me that is beholden to his Lordship, your brother. He's a canny leader of men, aye and brave too and we'd all a' bin in our graves these many days syne wi'out his Lordship. And I dinna ken if ye knaw but he's shaping to be a bonnie healer."

As he spoke, his speech becoming broader in his passion to make the Duke understand, Columcil met the other's gaze, his amber eyes flashing. There was something familiar both in speech and gaze which Kelric knew he should recognise but before he could cudgel his memory his squire was cantering back towards him.

"Lord Washburn's apologies for the interruption, your Grace, but he fears we'll not reach Arx Fidei before nightfall. What are your orders?"
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on March 17, 2018, 06:52:10 PM
Aliset watched as His Grace of Corwyn moved down the line of the company, his charm putting even the most lowborn commoners at ease.  Granted, she'd experienced a few mild flutters when he'd stopped to speak with her, though those weren't so much from anxiety as from sheer feminine attraction. Jesu, but God had favored the Morgan men with handsomer than average features and an amount of natural charisma that was simply unfair, but awe-inspiring to behold!  She normally had little use for the sort of empty-headed, giggly lasses who simpered at the sight of any well-favored male in their midsts, but Heaven help her if she hadn't practically had to sit on her own hands to stop from fussing with her hair when she saw him heading towards her to exchange polite greetings, and her still in Alister's guise!  Wouldn't that have looked odd--a man with such a keen eye for the fairer sex as her brother Alister had been known for, appearing to greet Duke Kelric with a flirtatious mien? Aliset nearly laughed out loud at what conclusions Lord Jaxom might have drawn from that!

Yes, His Grace was quite soundly and, by all reports, happily wed, and to no less a personage than the King's own daughter, and Aliset was under no illusions that she would be given to any lord of such high rank and station anyway, not even a younger son such as Lord Washburn, sadly.  Oh, not that she harbored some deep (and most likely quite unrequited) tendresse for the youngest Morgan son either, but at least he was someone she knew somewhat better, given all they'd experienced together during the past week, and had grown to like and respect a great deal in that short time. But certainly the Morgan brothers were very little hardship on the eyes, never mind that the younger of the two could definitely do with a proper bath, a change of clothing, and a comb at the moment.

And then there were her other two companions-in-adversity, Master Darcy and Father Columcil. After all they'd been through together in the short time she'd known both, she could hardly bear the thought of being parted from either once they all reached the King's court. She could hardly do much about being parted from the priest, unfortunately; the Church would decide where he went, and when, and she was hardly in any position just now to beseech his superiors to grant her the boon of assigning him to be her chaplain. Nor would she wish to, if his heart remained in his parish church of Saint Melangell. And she certainly did not wish to get on the wrong side of a saint either! No, God had sent Father Columcil into her life at a time of desperate need, and either God would find some way to keep him close by her afterwards or would send him on his merry way to help others according to his divine calling, and either way, may God's will be done.

But Master Darcy's offer--that had touched a chord deep within her. She realized suddenly that if, at the end of their journey together, she were to lose his loyal companionship also, that would be the keenest hurt of all.

But that, mayhap, might be the only one of the three bonds grown between herself and her companions that she might have some hope of continuing to keep close by even once they all reached Rhemuth. She had hired him as her man-at-arms to keep her safe, after all, had she not? And would she not still need his services as her loyal retainer even once she'd reached the King's Court, where she would know no one else? She would need someone she could trust, someone who was loyal to her personally, no matter what, and who could follow her anywhere, no matter what Kelson Haldane might ultimately decide about her fate. And Darcy himself seemed willing to continue in her service.

I'll not abandon you, no matter what.  You won't be alone to face whatever is to be.  The words echoed deep in her soul long after he'd finished whispering them, easing the tightness in her chest and giving her comfort.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on March 18, 2018, 03:08:27 AM

Sir Washburn Morgan felt a sense of pride as he headed the columns of 30 strong knights and armsmen south on the valley road. The majority of Kelric's men were a mix of Corwyn and Lendour lords and guards of several good families. Many Washburn knew by name. A few he had even trained alongside of. Washburn was of course the brother of the Duke of Corwyn who was both overlord of the Duchy of Corwyn and the Earldom of Lendour. On the day of Washburn's knighting, Wash had been awarded as Knight Protector of Lendour for Kelric's first born son, Lord Kenric, until the time the boy reaches eighteen. At which time Kenric would gain the title of Earl of Lendour from his father. That the duke gave Washburn lead of not just Lendour's nobility but over the two barron's of Corwyn was an honor the younger brother would not soon forget.

They cantered for a good part of the afternoon. Slowing to a walk as they neared several farmers bringing their herds across the road for the evening. Then when the way was clear, they were back to an easy canter to get as much distance under their feet as they dared as the sun lowered in the sky. Even at the good pace they were making, it became clear that they would not come to the gates of Arx Fedei before nightfall. The monastery was not accustomed to opening their gates in the full of night. Washburn was sure that for the Duke of Corwyn, they would make an acception, but that decision would need to come from the duke himself. So he had sent Squire Sieur to request the duke's orders.

Duke Kelric sprinted forward, marking several men as he passed them to follow him. Baron Sieur was one, as was Lord Jaxom, as well as Lord Alister and master Darcy. Washburn was please to see the addition of the last man, even if Darcy was take back by it and Alister was pleasantly amused. Washburn brought the columns to a walk allowing for the viewpoints of Kelric's advisors to be heard. Most were in favor of continuing on into the night to reach Arx Fedei.  Kelric himself was not of that mindset, for he knew the abbot would comply, yet would be much displeased to accommodate so many at such a late hour. It was Lord Jaxom who offered the name of Lord Buckley, whose manor house was just where the valley road and the main road came together. His gate house was of stone, with a walled court yard, and a great hall that could easily sleep the thirty of them.  Lord Jaxom admitted that his father knew Lord Buckley and that he did not, but he knew the man to be King Kelson's vassal here in the upper lands of Gwynedd. It was quickly agreed by Duke Kelric that this would be the best alternative.

They rode for another hour. The sun having set and the moon just rising above the trees, when they saw the torches that lit the gate house just off the main road. The guards at the manor took little time getting permission to allow the travelers within. The courtyard quickly became a staging area for all thirty horses; allowing twenty men to see to all their mounts while ten men entered the manor, to greet the local lord and have accommodations made up in the main hall. It was passed the supper hour and not much more than stew and bread could be offered, but that was enough. Duke Kelric was happy to have a roof over their heads for the night and a warm hearth to sit beside.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on March 18, 2018, 09:31:09 PM
Darcy Cameron sat at the end of the trestle table set below the high table. In spite of their late and unannounced arrival, Lord Buckley and his lady wife had set out an evening meal on the hall's high table for the Duke of Corwyn and his men.  It was not exactly a "high" table, sitting on a single step above the main floor of the hall, but the symbolism was still there.  Lady Buckley had retired shortly after they were served, not knowing another noblewoman was among her guests.

The duke, his barons, Sir Washburn, Lord Jaxom and Lord Alister sat above with Lord Buckley.  Darcy did not mind sitting below; he has positioned himself so that he could both survey the hall around them and reach Aliset's side immediately if needed.  Father Columcil sat next to him, seeming uncomfortable to be so close to the head table.  He had been called upon to say grace before the meal; it had been simple and brief, and Darcy thought it most fitting.

In spite of the peaceful setting, Darcy felt restless.  Perhaps the concept of feeling safe had become too foreign.  He needed to stretch his legs.  With a nod to Columcil, he rose and bowed to the Duke of Corwyn, who looked up at the movement below.

"With your permission, your Grace," Darcy said after bowing.   "I thought I would check our horses one more time.  Our four have had a trying day."

Duke Kelric nodded his assent.  Darcy left the hall and stopped beside the weapons that were propped beside the main door.  It was not proper courtesy to bear arms in the hall of their host.  Darcy retrieved his sword and buckled it around his waist.  There was probably no need to do so; he did it anyway.

The courtyard was quiet but not silent.  Servants, stable boys and others were up late due to their arrival. The night was clear; Darcy looked at the stars above.  How he liked the twinkling lights above!  He could chart his way anywhere he wanted to go based on their positions.  It was a comforting thought.

He entered the stable quietly, not for any good reason other than he saw need to announce his arrival.  He nodded at a stable boy laying out harness and moved farther within; their horses had been stabled toward the back.

He spied the man ahead in a closer stall.  He was rummaging in his saddle bag and seemed agitated.  Darcy drew back into the shadow of another stall, empty except for bags of feed.

Whatever the man was looking for, he was not finding it.  Finally, with a muttered curse, he removed the saddle bag and dumped the contents on the ground.  Kneeling down the man examined each item that had fallen to the floor.

Darcy felt he had seen the man before.

Roll to see if Darcy recognizes the man.  Success on 4,5 or 6
Jerusha   !roll 2d6
21:27   derynibot   5, 1 == 6
Success!

Darcy tensed; he knew the man.  It was the man who had ridden past their group of master farmers and cattle in such a hurry on their way out of Droghera.  This was not coincidence!

For a moment Darcy wanted to confront the man, but in truth, he had nothing against him but suspicion.  Was he searching among his belongings for the tin Darcy had chucked away? Even if he was, there was no way to prove it.  And even though his senses had told him it was evil in some way, there was no way to prove that either.  Plus the man was either a guest or a member of this household.  It would not sit well with Lord Buckley, or even more so with Duke Kelric, to accuse without proof.

So Darcy waited in the shadows to see if the man would find what he was looking for.  Belatedly, he realized he had not thought to wear his dark cap to cover his hair.  The moon was bright and most of the shutters were open.  Darcy spied an empty feed sack on the stack of full ones.  The man before him was making enough noise going through his belongings that Darcy did not hesitate to quietly drape the sack over his head.  If the man spotted him Darcy would be hard pressed to explain why he was wearing a sack on top of his head.  He'd deal with that if he had too.

'Master Darcy, are you within?"

Father Columcil!  The man Darcy had recognized looked up, reaching toward some weapon, possibly a dagger, as he stood erect.

Darcy quickly moved away in a direction that would make it look like he was approaching from farther within the stable, discarding the feed sack as he moved.

"Father Columcil, well met!" Darcy called as he strode boldly forward.  He nodded to the man he had been watching.  "Misplace something?" he asked mildly as he moved toward the stable door.

"No, found it," the man said curtly.

Darcy continued through the door, grasped the priest's arm and turned him back toward the hall.

'Problem?" Columcil asked quietly.

"Aye, I fear so.  The man inside is the same man that rode past us on the way out of Droghera.  We need to have a word with Sir Washburn and Lady Aliset.  Be on your guard."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on March 19, 2018, 11:03:32 AM
Columcil had very much wanted to get to Arx Fidei for the night although he accepted without demur that the Duke had not only the authority, but the knowledge and experience, to make the decision not to ride on into the dark. He had hoped though, to be able to pray at the shrine of St Jorian. The story of the martyred Deryni saint, burnt for the "heresy" of seeking to obey God's call to serve Him in the priesthood had first been told to him by his grandfather (though surrounded as he was by such powerful Deryni he told himself he had better discipline himself to think of him only as Archbishop Duncan). As the Archbishop had explained why he would override the bar to ordination which Columcil's illegitimancy presented there had been tears in the old man's eyes as he spoke of his own call which could abide no rules laid down by men and of the terrible price paid by others before him of which Jorian was only the last and best known. Throughout his training Columcil had spent many hours in front of the statue of St Jorian and he had hoped to be able to spend the night there in vigil, praying for guidance for the future. He was still willingly bound by his allegiance to St Melangell but these comrades of his had become far more than the mere chance acquaintances of their first meeting and surely God had not led their paths to cross without some purpose of His own.

He had hoped that he would be able to find a quiet corner in the manor chapel to say his office and pray but found himself expected to sit at table right up against the high table. The meat and root vegetable stew that they had been served was warm and filling and Columcil knew that the rules for Friday abstinence were relaxed in cases of travel, but tucking into the rich succulent fare did nothing to alleviate his spiritual unease. Darcy, too, seemed ill at ease and soon made his excuses to leave the hall. Columcil was searching around in his own mind to find an equally plausible excuse when the chapel bell rang discordantly for Compline. Lord Buckley seemed oblivious but when Columcil rose and made his bow before Duke Kelric he received a nod of understanding dismissal without having to offer any word of explanation.

Once out of the hall however he offered a hasty prayer of fervent contrition to the Almighty and headed towards the stable where he found, as he had expected, Master Darcy. He had not expected the urgency of the other's response though, as he found his arm grabbed and himself turned back towards the hall "...We need to have a word with Sir Washburn and Lady Aliset. Be on your guard."

So speaking Darcy propelled him with haste towards the entrance to the great hall and it took all of Columcil's strength to bring them both to a halt. "Not so fast Master Darcy. If it is the man you say it is -and I make no doubt you are right for you have an astounding memory for such detail - we cannot arouse suspicion. None of us knows this Lord Buckley, even Lord Jaxom admits that he does not and that his father has not seen him much in recent years. If this man that has intended us so much grief is at home here, who knows where the loyalty of this house lies? We must think of some way of attracting our companions attention without bringing suspicion on ourselves or them. We must think of a diversion."

Darcy stared at the priest, forced to admit that he was right. He was learning a lot about priests but nevertheless looked rather oddly at Columcil who, realising what he was thinking, smiled and said, "I wasna always an old priest. Learning how to distract attention from myself or a friend saved us many a beating as tearaway lads in Transha or bread-and-water penances, aye and the stripes to go with them, as young seminarians. Hush now and let me think a wee bit."

Maybe he would be able to reach out to Washburn's mind, after all they had shared rapport and at a deep enough level for healing to take place. He stilled himself into a light trance ((4+2=6 7r4t54db0 - grrr)) but whether it was his fear of revealing too much about himself, or that Washburn himself was uneasy in this unknown place and keeping his mind tightly shielded, he could find no posibility of contact. Perhaps, loath though he was to do it, he could create sufficient agitation in Shadow for one of the stablehands themselves to run and fetch Sir Washburn. But no, he could not do that ((rolled advantage 4, 5 or 6 - 2+3=5 jfc72v360k grrr, grrr)), their mounts had suffered enough stress and deserved better of him. Besides if Shadow became really agitated he might injure himself before his master could reach him. He would simply have to think of something else.

Darcy was standing still enough but clearly barely restraining his impatience. "Quickly!" urged Columcil, "Go and tell them that you found me in the stable yard being ill. You think I am unaccustomed to the mead they served at supper after having little to eat all day." As Darcy stared at him appalled Columcil swiftly traced the sign of the cross on the other's forehead "Ego te absolvo. That's for the lie, though that mead could well have made anyone ill. Now, go! Have no fear, I can act a part if I have to, though 'twould be best if only Lord Alister and Sir Washburn came."

Somewhat stunned, Darcy did as he was bid and hurried back into the hall while Columcil positioned himself against the outer wall of the stable ready to double over if necessary.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on March 19, 2018, 08:31:52 PM
Darcy Cameron paused just inside the door to Lord Buckley's great hall and took a steadying breath.  Father Columcil was right; charging head first toward the high table would not go over well.  Nor would running in armed.  In spite of his own reservations for doing so, he unbuckled his sword and laid it against the others by the door. 

As he approached the high table, he saw that Washburn was in conversation with the duke.  Lord Jaxom was immersed in lively conversation with Lord Alister.  Lord Alister looked politely amused and slightly bored.  Darcy forgave himself for his inner smirk.

It would be best if he approached Washburn quietly but with some degree of concern.  He did not want to embarrass the good Father, but he needed to secure assistance.

As Darcy approached the high table, Duke Kelric looked up.

"Beg pardon, your Grace," Darcy said as he rose from his bow.  "If I might have a word with Sir Washburn?" Washburn gave him a curious look.  Darcy cleared his throat delicately.  "Father Columcil is feeling a bit indisposed.  Nothing more that mead on top of too empty a stomach after the day we've had I'm sure, but if Lord Alister and/or Sir Washburn could spare a moment?"

Aliset, who overheard the request, rose immediately.  "Of course."  She knew immediately that her man-at-arms words did not quite ring true. 

Washburn stood as well.  "I'm sure it's nothing, but I could use a bit of fresh air myself."  At his brother's nod of agreement, Washburn joined Darcy and Aliset and withdrew from the hall.

Once at the door, Washburn turned to Darcy.  "What is this about?  What are you up to?"

"Let us join Father Columcil, and I'll explain.  I suggest you bring your sword."  Darcy lifted his own sword from the stack by the door and led the way outside.  "There is one who has joined us here that bodes ill."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on March 20, 2018, 04:47:53 AM
Washburn was only too happy to follow Master Darcy and to retrieve his sword. As he clipped the sword and scabbard on his belt hanger, he suppressed his anger for having lost part of the Heirloom set. This sword was not meant to be carried alone. Its big brother was his favored great-sword, which had gone missing the day before. Even in an alternate state of merasha induced delirium, Wash had not mistaken the sight of his great-sword on the back of that man who orchestrated his attempted captured. That man had not succeeded, yet he had commandeered the Lendour heirloom. Grateful for his escape, Wash had not complained, yet the reminder of the loss gave him a moment to swear he would find a way to get it back.

At this moment, however, he had to put that anger aside and refocus on his friends. Something was up and he had yet to get a clue just what that was.  "So our hosts meal wasn't very good. Are we out to hunt killer Coneys to sate our appetites?  Or at least clear the throat of that poor mead. If Columcil is truly ill, I will gladly stand before Lord Buckley and forcefully request that he open his wine cellar. Certainly, he must have better than what he served the duke of the realm at table-side." Wash was not really joking as his eyes scanned the moonlit courtyard looking for the good Father.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on March 20, 2018, 05:49:14 AM
Duke Kelric realised how much his opinion of his brother had changed in so short a time. Just a few days ago he would likely either have refused his brother permission outright or at the least demand that he explain himself. Worse still he might have chided Washburn for the lack of manners shown by him and his companions.

The realisation that had been creeping up on him since their conversation in the Church, and having spoken with his companions, now hit him with full force though nothing about his demeanour showed anything. He trusted his brother, utterly and completely. Washburn had been sent to do a simple task which had turned into a nightmare in the fulfillment of which he had handled himself well and won the loyalty of his companions. Whatever was going on, and Kelric was certain that it had nothing to do with the supposed overindulgence of the priest, he would not help matters by interfering unless he was specifically asked to do so. One of the burdens of his rank was that he could do nothing discreetly - even going to the garderobe would have had the whole hall on its feet until he had rapidly waved them down. Until he was asked, or unless he knew that Washburn was in serious danger when his love for his brother, always there but masked perhaps too much by his sense of responsibility and irritation, would be shown in all its intensity. Then let others beware.

For now though his task was to continue as though nothing of note had happened. He cast his senses discreetly outwards to feel if there was any other Deryni present ((123 yes, 456 no 4gt1833bmn)) and being reassured that there were none he risked Sending to Washburn

"No need to explain but I sense something's wrong. I'll cover for you here but keep me informed. Be safe."

Washburn gave no outward sign that he had heard but replied "Yes. Something's afoot and I'll wager that it's not Father Columcil. And thank you, My L... brother."

Kelric was hard put not to smile as his brother signalled his recognition of the change in their relationship by his change of address but turned towards Lord Buckley and said by way of explanation. "My brother met up with Father Columcil on his journey, it seems that the country priest is not used to such good fare as you have provided."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on March 21, 2018, 05:14:49 AM
The figure of a priest was standing in the shadows of the stable wall. He held one hand to his belly as if it hurt and one hand to the wall as if to hold himself from falling. A stable boy was standing next to him looking concerned, but uncertain if he could even touch the priest and lend a helping hand. For the priest did look ill.  When Washburn saw him, he almost believed Columcil's act. Forced to playing the part before the stable boy, Washburn paced over to Columcil's side and put his hand under the good priest's elbow. "You don't look well, Father."

Columcil gave a belch that could turn the stomach of anyone in hearing range. The boy turned pale, not knowing  how to help the master's guests. Washburn sympathized. "Lad, go on, go back to taking care of the horses, I can see to the good Father."

The boy appeared to not have heard, "I can get you water to drink," he offered trying to be helpful.

"Nay, laddy," Columcil said while scrunching his shoulders high and squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. "Wha' I nee' is sa' peppermint leaves for boilin' w't a wine in my wine skin. Both wil' a be found in me' saddle bags. But I am nat'a sure I can'a walk that far myself."

"I will get them for you." The knight turned to the boy, handing over a half cent. "Thank you, lad, we got it from here."  The boy didn't question; once the coin was in his hand, he ran off. Washburn turned to Darcy and Aliset. "Stay here with Columcil. I will retrieve that which Darcy saw inside." Washburn's hand brushed Darcy's wrist. "Can you show me what he looks like," he asked very calmly, not wanting to frighten the seaman's fledgling use of powers.

((02:23 Wash Shallow rapport between darcy and wash 1d6 4,5,6 success.
02:23 Wash-darcy!roll 1d6
02:23derynibot1 == 1))

Unfortunately Darcy had not been prepared to drop his shields in order to share the information so readily. Apologetically Darcy instead whispered, "Same man we saw yesterday riding hard. He's wearing brown leathers, has black hair and mustache, a heavy belt over his jerkin with several daggers and a long cleaving knife."

Wash nodded, "Our trapper then." Wash scowled. "He is human and very dangerous. Lets not all walk into his traps, let me go first." The knight stepped toward the stable entrance.

((02:28 Wash, Wash sees Rayne when he walks in the stable 2d6 5,6 yes.
02:29 Wash-darcy!roll 2d6
02:29 derynibot 6, 5 == 11))

Half way down the stable yard, Wash was certain he saw the man Darcy had seen. The man was bent down tucking a dagger in his boot. When Washburn started walking his way, the trapper made the pretense of tying his saddle bag on his horse's far side. Hiding himself behind his mount while keeping an eye on the entering knight.  Washburn paid the trapper no mind as he walked passed him down the aisle, looking for his and Columcil's mounts. When he reach Spean, he pretended to look into the Priest's belongings bag. All the while trying to make contact with the Trapper's mind.

((02:56 Wash Opening his senses to make contact with Rayne 2d6 success 5,6
02:56 Wash-darcy !roll 2d6
02:56 derynibot 1, 1 == 2))

After a moment that seemed useless. He was going to need physical contact to read the man or to influence his actions. All of Washburn's senses were focused. One hand pulled his own dagger free, hiding it well between the horse and himself, while his other hand seemed to rummage through the bag on the saddle.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on March 21, 2018, 12:09:21 PM
"I don't know that Sir Washburn walking into a possible trap by himself was such a good idea," Darcy Cameron muttered as he stood beside the much-recovered priest.  He looked at Aliset and asked, "Did you bring your dagger?"

Aliset nodded.  "I picked it up as we left."

"But you don't have your staff, Father."  Darcy unsheathed his dagger and passed it to Columcil, who took it with some reluctance.  "Just in case, Father Columcil.  I hope you don't need to use it."

"So do I," Columcil replied, "but I will if I must."

Darcy stood at the ready, uncertain whether he should stay with his companions or go after Sir Washburn.  After all, Washburn had said "Let me go first," not "Wait here."

The sound of a startled horse made up his mind.  "Keep her safe, Father," Darcy said as he drew his sword and darted toward the barn.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on March 21, 2018, 03:55:15 PM
Master Rayne was furious with himself. Where was that dagnabbit trinket Lord Oswald had given him? The lady was nearly within his grasp. He was certain to capture her tonight. The lady had remained in that poor disguise of her brother, whom Rayne knew full well was long dead these past weeks. She would find a way to sleep in a seperate room from the rest. Lord Buckley's steward had already assured Rayne that he would give Lord Alister the corner room, the one with the passage into the secret stairs. Together the steward and he would slaughter that man-of-arms of hers and Rayne would be off with his conquest with none being the wiser until morning. Trouble was, without the drug, he would have a harder time with her. Well, he had handled feisty women before. He knew their weak points and he would use everything he knew to accomplish his task.

But then that man-at-arms walked right past him. Rayne cursed himself for being so careless as to think Lord Buckley would let one of his guests out of his sight from the main hall. Buckley was not a too brilliant fellow, even if he was a Mearan loyalist. When the man-at-arms left, he had encountered someone else outside, and then the two of them had walked away. Rayne was certain he had been compromised. He repacked his belongings in his bags fast, then he reached up to the saddle for his crossbow and loaded an arrow into it. He hung the loaded crossbow back on the off-side of his horse.  He tightened his horse's saddle girth back up and readied the horse to make a speedy get away, if need be. The gatekeeper already knew to open the gates for him when he was ready to leave. So that wasn't a bar to his escaping. The man would be watching out for him. Grabbing two more throwing daggers, Rayne placed one in his belt and was bending down to put one in his boot, when that lord-ling knight entered the barn.

The man must have nine lives, like a devil cat, Rayne thought. He knew Master Feyd wanted the knight alive. Why? He was too much trouble alive, better dead and out of the way, so he could get to his lord's future lady. Rayne considered his options as he hid behind his horse and watched the knight walk further down to the horses stabled there. The knight was so foolish as to turn his back on him. Foolish indeed.

Rayne brought the cross bow up and balanced it over the saddle. That wide back was an easy target. His finger pulled the trigger. Then he was moving. Horses were nayying, but he didn't look to see if he had hit his mark. He mounted up quickly and spurred his horse for the barn entrance. A throwing dagger was readily in his hand when that damned man-at-arms ran up and tried to block his path.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on March 21, 2018, 06:55:33 PM
Darcy Cameron ran forward and saw the horse and rider bursting forth from the stable.  The man's hand was raised, and Darcy barely had time to see the moonlight flash off the dagger's blade.

Roll to see if Rayne's dagger injures Darcy
19:28   derynibot   4, 1 == 5
19:29   Jerusha   !roll 2d6
Failure!

The uneven pace of the horse racing forward caused the dagger to go wide.  Darcy heard it singing past his shoulder.  Horse and rider were charging ahead; Darcy had no choice but to dive to the left.

Can Darcy avoid the charging horse?
19:29   Jerusha   !roll 2d6
19:29   derynibot   4, 2 == 6
Oops.

The horse's flank caught Darcy on his shoulder, but it was his left shoulder, and Darcy focused and swung his sword across the horse's flank, aiming for the saddle girth, as he fell to the ground.

Darcy, precise attacker, focused attack; success on 3, 4. 5, 6
19:31   Jerusha   !roll 2d6
19:31   derynibot   1, 4 == 5
Yippee

His sword struck true.  The saddle girth split, and rider and saddle spilled to the ground.  But the horse was between Darcy and the man.  Darcy rolled and gained his feet quickly, but the man was already up and running.  Darcy sprinted after him, and saw to his alarm that the man was heading straight toward Colmucil and Aliset.  Sweet Jesu, let him get the man before he could reach Aliset!

Father Columcil moved Aliset behind him and raised the dagger in defense. 

The noise in the courtyard had roused the guests within.  Lord Jaxom emerged, looking confused at the scene before him.

"Lord Jaxom," Darcy yelled.  "Stop the man! Take him down!"
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on March 22, 2018, 04:02:46 AM
Sir Washburn may have had his back turned to his adversary, a thing every fighting master warned that one should never do, yet his mind's eye was deliberately focused on every action the man behind him made.

((00:31 frogzilla (kind of a cool alias, don't you think?) Rolling for Washburn- focused sensitivity 2d6 4,5,6 success
00:32 frogzilla !roll 2d6
00:32 derynibot 3, 4 == 7  success))

The man behind him was most definitely the same man he had been sensing all afternoon as they had followed him down the valley. Wash had not seen the man in the trees, but he knew the man's life force which was filled with purpose and hate. If only he could subdue the man's mind from this distance, but the trapper's hate was strong, almost like a shield. In his sharp focus, the knight felt rather than saw the ranged weapon drawn. Wash sucked in a breath knowing the bolt was already loaded and at close range. He had but a split second to turn. He daren't duck down as then the horse would become the weapon's victim. Yet, he had to see the arrow to deflect it with his powers. He turned, breaking his deep focus in the instant that the twange of the crossbow released it's bolt.

((00:31 frogzilla Rolling for Washburn's unfocused Telekansis 2d6 success on 5,6 
00:32 frogzilla !roll 2d6
00:32 derynibot 3, 4 == 7, failure))

That split-second of turning stole his opportunity to Push the bolt away. The projectile was a blur as it flew toward the knight.

((13:47 frogzilla Laurna is rolling for Rayne using his crossbow on Washburn at close range 3d6 success on 5,6.
13:47 frogzilla !roll 3d6
13:47derynibot 4, 2, 4 == 10
13:48 frogzilla Rayne missed Washburn.))

It was only sheer luck that the projectile missed its mark. The mettle point skimmed the black tunic of his shoulder.

((00:34 frogzilla Does the bolt hit an animal? 5,6 hit
00:34 frogzilla !roll 2d6
00:34 derynibot 2, 2 == 4 failed))

The bolt Flew clear over Spean's shorter back. It skimmed across the hairs on the rump of the black stallion, causing the war horse to jump and squeal like he had been bitten by an animal. With a thud, the arrowhead embedded itself in the partition between the horse stalls.

"Curses!"  The trapper was getting away! Nothing for it until Shadow was calmed, else the great beast would splinter the stall apart in his panic to be free.  Wash dodged around Columcil's pony, freed the lead rope tying Shadow to the railing.  He yanked the rope down stopping the stallion from a full rearing up. A hoof kicked out, missing Washburn's chest. The knight yanked the rope again. This time he was able to touch a calming hand to the great black's nose.

((01:36 frogzilla Washburn's Rapport with Shadow- does the horse calm instantly Advantage roll for the long time established report between rider and horse.
01:36 frogzilla !roll 3d6
01:36 derynibot 5, 4, 2 == 11))

The Lendour knight established the rapport he had long ago trained into his favored mount. Shadow settled with a knicker and a few backward steps and then willingly was led forward to be tied securely, once more.

There was noise in the courtyard. Anxiously , Wash ran after the fleeing trapper. He feared he would be too late to assist in the action sounding off ahead of him.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on March 22, 2018, 12:22:44 PM
"Lord Jaxom," Darcy yelled.  "Stop the man! Take him down!"

Lord Jaxom Trillick gave Darcy a startled look, not comprehending why Lord Alister's man-at-arms had his sword drawn and was chasing after another man in the courtyard. "Sweet Jesu," Jaxom muttered when he realized the priest was standing with a dagger to face the man, who was quickly closing the distance between them.  Lord Jaxom drew his own sword and moved forward.

Darcy saw Lord Jaxom finally react, but he feared it would be too late.  The man he was chasing stooped down and grabbed a dagger tucked into his boot.  It caused him to slow his pace, but would it be enough?

As the man raised the dagger to throw it at Father Columcil, Darcy put all his energy into a burst of speed.

Will Darcy catch Rayne in time to stop the throw
Jerusha   !roll 2d6
12:08   derynibot   5, 6 == 11
Success!

Darcy slashed the man's side with his sword, cutting through the man's tunic and into flesh and bone.  The man stumbled, and Darcy grabbed for his arm.

Will Darcy disarm him
12:09   Jerusha   !roll 2d6
12:09   derynibot   1, 2 == 3
Failure.

Darcy grabbed the man's arm and twisted, but Rayne did not release the knife.  Instead he twisted his own body, trying to trip the smaller man and send him to the ground.

Will Rayne trip Darcy
Jerusha   !roll 2d6
12:32   derynibot   2, 2 == 4
Failure!

Darcy moved in closer to restrict the man's movement, deliberately digging his elbow into Rayne's injured side.  Lord Jaxom, reaching them at last, forced the dagger from Rayne's grip.  Darcy twisted Rayne's arm behind his back and forced him to his knees.

Darcy's chest was heaving from the exertion.  He wanted to ask Lord Jaxom why it had taken him so bloody long to do something.  Instead, in between gasps, he said, "Lord Jaxom, much obliged; well done."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on March 22, 2018, 02:14:08 PM
Lord Jaxom had barely scuffed his tunic as he had wrestled the dagger away from the captive's hand, yet he gave it a brush and a straightening before he waved his two armsmen, who had followed him out into the courtyard, to secure the man twisting to get away from Master Darcy.  Jaxom nodded to the navigation's officer taking his praise without a second thought. It was well known that ships officers had to be good at grappling down bigger men, else-wise mutiny would be more prevalent. Darcy was just doing his job. Belatedly, Jaxom, realized he had to reward lord Alister's man-at-arms with a return praise. "Thank you for apprehending this attacker. What was he after?"

The eyes of the captive had been staring at the priest and the lord just out of reach. At Jaxom's question the man's eyes turned away. It was Jaxom's turn to look over at the old priest and the young lord. A queer look crossed Jaxom's features. Why was it that the old priest, with not but a dagger, stood in protection of the lord whom had recently made knighthood; wasnt that just this last twelfth-night? Lord Alister did indeed have his dagger in his hand, but not his sword. Jaxom realized for the first time that Alister hadn't ever even carried a sword. No knight would have walked freely without sword at his side. Even if he had lost it, just has Sir Washburn had nearly lost his to that captured man Phyre earlier this day ((yes it is still the same day as than)), a real knight would have commandeered a weapon from a guardsman. It was the right of nobility.

Suddenly, the name Washburn had used earlier this day, the name Aliset, stung Lord Jaxom's mind. Wasn't Alister a twin and wasn't his sister's name, Aliset. The reason for the discomfort of his dining companion at the high table came clear. Lord Jaxom gave a wide smile to the young man standing at the back side of the old priest. The lady of de Mariot is said to be a beauty. He imagined just what hid behind those brown eyes.

"Let us get this man into the presence of the lords in the hall. His Grace, I am sure will want to know the meaning of this assault." As Lord Jaxom assessed the courtyard for any other altercations, he nodded to Sir Washburn, who was just stepping out from the barn. The knight was nodding agreement to going back to the main hall, even as he slipped his dagger back into his belt sheath. The trouble was secured, for now.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on March 23, 2018, 12:56:34 PM
Lord Jaxom made his way proudly into the hall but made a deferential enough bow to Lord Buckley and a deep obeisance before the Duke of Corwyn before signalling to his men at arms to force their captive to his knees in front of the high table.

"Your Grace, My Lord. I found this man engaged in violent affray in the courtyard, and I believe that without my timely appearance the good Father here would have likely been run through. Is that not so, Father?"

Columcil nodded curtly, not thinking it seemly to contradict a member of the nobility in front of His Grace. Inwardly though, he seethed. Yes,  Lord Jaxom had been the one to finally bring their tormentor down, but yet again he could not help but feel that Darcy had been treated unfairly by this lordling. Columcil wanted to Mind speak Darcy in commiseration ((2+2 =4 3gh00h4qz5)) or to reach out in the same way to Washburn to beg him to speak up for the man-at-arms (( roll advantage for all the good it did 3+4+4=11)) but, aware of Lord Brackley and Duke Kelric's eyes upon him, he feared that he could not produce the necessary focus without appearing to be vacant and ill-mannered. To be thought of as a drunken sot was bad enough, he had no wish to add insolence to his list of sins, still less be publicly rebuked for it. Perhaps in a moment of quiet, if one ever came, he could ask Lady Aliset to help him slip into rapport without making it so obvious.

As he thought of her, the look that Lord Jaxom had given to Sir Alister in the yard flashed back into his mind and its meaning hit him. Dear God, no! The man knew that they had been riding in company with a young unmarried woman. Blessed Saints! The damage a man with mischief on his mind could do with that knowledge.

His thoughts were interrupted as those around him sank again into obeisance and he hurriedly bent his knee with the rest. Duke Kelric had risen from his seat and walked rapidly around the table to join them, beckoning several of his men to draw their bows and be ready to aim at the prisoner, and distractedly waving a end to the varying gestures of respect. Columcil felt sure that the Duke was Mindspeaking his brother though he listened with apparently full attention to Lord Jaxom as the latter gave his report. Quite casually Duke Kelric placed his hand on Darcy's arm to draw him into the conversation, a gesture that Jaxom could hardly object to, as in fairness to the man he had made passing reference to Darcy's actions. Columcil was again sure that more was happening than met the eye, as Darcy stood a little straighter and prouder, and he began to feel ashamed of his somewhat grudging respect towards the Duke.

"I trust you are recovered from both your indisposition and the violence you have witnessed, Father?"

Columcil had not expected to be directly addressed and he felt himself colouring. "Aye, Your Grace." Something seemed to compel him to lift his bowed head and dare to look into the Duke's eyes, where he saw, - did he see?- the very slightest suspicion of a wink. Praying desperately that he was not about to make a terrible mistake he bowed over the Duke's hand and brushed it with his lips.

His voice said "Thank ye for your concern, Your Grace."

((Columcil Mindspeaks Duke Kelric rolled disadvantage 5. 12c4gglhm5))

His mind said "Your Grace, I fear I am breaking confidence but there is something you should know."

"If it is about the Lady Aliset, I already know. Is there something more?"

"Sir Jaxom kens. I dinna ken how, but he kens awreet."

"I trust you in this, though that's a complication we don't need. You see a lot for a 'drunken old priest'. That was quick thinking out there.". As Columcil straightened, relieved and pleased to have been so commended he felt the Duke's gaze upon him and briefly met it, unaware that his amber eyes were flashing with emotion.

Something jiggled at the back of Duke Kelric's mind triggered by that voice that became broader in its speech with emotion and those unusual eyes, but there was no time to pursue it. He wished that he had had the opportunity to contact Kelson, the man kneeling sullen and silent at his feet was at home here and it seemed unlikely that his actions and loyalty could be totally unknown to the Lord of the manor. He took a deep breath, in truth he already knew that the King would not want him to publicly accuse one of his barons of being complicit in treason even if only by passive collusion. Not this side of the border, at least not yet. His hand went instinctively to his father's St Camber medallion which never left his neck and closed around it as Kelric prayed that Lord Buckley would not betray himself not yet be betrayed by his underling.  and thus force the issue.

He turned back to Lord Buckley who had risen as the Duke did and remained standing, his face impassive.

"My Lord, do you have somewhere private to secure this man? I think he will have much to tell us."

Did Lord Buckley turn a shade paler? It was hard to tell. At any rate he gave no hint as he replied,

"Of course, your Grace. If you would give the order for the prisoner to be brought, I will lead the way." Lord Buckley included both Lord Jaxom and Duke Kelric in his words but at a sign from the Duke it was his own men who took charge of Rayne, pausing to tie his hands behind his back and loosely tie his feet so that he could still walk but with difficulty. Kelric glanced at the bowmen to follow but when Lord Jaxom made to follow stayed him with a look which then moved towards Washburn.

"My Lord Washburn, would you attend us in this?"






Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on March 24, 2018, 05:07:04 PM
Darcy Cameron was quietly pleased at the chagrined look on Lord Jaxom's face.  The man was a peacock; prettily dressed and utterly annoying.

Now that Duke Kelric and the others had left the hall, people began to move about, some gathering in small groups to speculate on what had happened in the courtyard.  Darcy saw more than one man glance in their direction, then look away.  Belatedly, Darcy realized that his tunic was stained with blood, again.

Aliset had also noticed.  "I hope that's not your blood, Master Darcy," she said, looking concerned.

"Nay, it's not mine," he reassured her.  "But I seem to be a bit hard on my clothes."

Father Columcil snorted and Aliset managed a smile.  Darcy was about to suggest they sit down at the table when he saw that Lord Jaxom was heading toward them.  There was no polite way to avoid him, and Darcy contemplated doing something impolite but thought better of it.

"Lord Alister," Jaxom said as he reached them.  "After that fight in the courtyard, I could use some refreshment.  Would you join me back up at the high table for more of Lord Buckley's mead?"

Sweet Jesu, Darcy thought.  Hasn't Lady Aliset been through enough without having to endure more of Lord Buckley's ghastly mead?

Jaxom motioned toward the high table as he spoke, making his intention clear to the rest of the room.  Aliset hesitated a moment, then nodded, unwilling to offend him, at least this time.

Jaxom smiled and allowed Lord Alister to precede him.  There was something about his smile that Darcy did not like.  Before Lord Alister could be seated, one of the Corwyn guards returned and said something to him.  The young Lord nodded and preceded the man from the room.  Again Lord Jaxom attempted to follow, but he was waived back.
 
Father Columcil tapped Darcy lightly on the arm.  "We might as well be seated ourselves."  Darcy nodded absently and sat beside him.  "Can you lower your shields a wee bit?"  Columcil asked quietly.  "There is something you should know."  Columcil moved his hand so it barely touched Darcy's on the table. 

Darcy gave slight nod, and after a moment of concentration, rolled back his shields.  It was not as easy this time; he had not realized how solid they had become during what had recently transpired.

The "sound" of the priest's words in his mind was odd, but not uncomfortable. Lord Jaxom knows she is Lady Aliset and not her brother.  I don't know how, but he knows.  I have informed his Grace.

Roll to see if Darcy can mind speak
Jerusha   !roll 1d6
17:36   derynibot   2 == 2
Sigh....

The implications of Columcil word's alarmed Darcy enough that his shields snapped back into place. "Sorry, Father, I didn't mean for that to happen."

"I understand, son; this new development concerns me as well."

Now that Columcil no longer spoke directly into his mind, Darcy resisted the temptation to shake his head the same way a wet dog shakes. He supposed he would have to get used to this new form of magic. "We'll need to ensure we keep a close watch to ensure her safety.  I don't trust him," Darcy said in a low voice. 

Father Columcil nodded, but wondered how they could keep a closer watch on Lady Aliset than Darcy already kept.  Darcy wondered if he should attempt to follow Aliset, but since she had been summoned by one of the Duke's men, he decided to remain, carefully watching, his senses alert for any sign of trouble.

((Edited to put Aliset in the right place at the right time.))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on March 26, 2018, 03:54:27 AM
Nine men filed into the private room at the back of the great hall. Lord Buckley, the first to enter, stepped all the way to the back of the room to stand beside his working-table.  Duke Kelric followed, yet he choose to stand near the hearth at the side, his back warming with the low fire. Washburn and Lord Alister respectfully followed the duke to stand at his side. Two of Lord Buckley's men stood to either side of the entrance; one of these men was the Steward Dolin of the Buckley Hall. 

((Washburn Rapport 2d6  success on 5,6   rolled 1: 3 + 6 = 9   Verification Number: 3kw1kqt97r))

From the moment he had entered the hall after the altercation in the courtyard, Sir Washburn and been passing along snippets of information through the brother's well established rapport. His Grace was therefore informed of all that his brother knew about the man whom the Corwyn guards, entering last, pulled non-to-willingly into the center of the room. Once there, they forced him to his knees. The trapper's gaze had locked onto those of the manor lord's for just a instant, almost pleadingly, but he was met with a hard look of castigation.  Then after, the prisoner looked only at the black knight with a seething hatred.

Lord Buckley was the first to speak out. "If you will allow it, your grace. I can have my steward beat whatever answers you need out of this man. You needn't waste your valuable efforts on such as he."

The duke considered the manor lord's request for just a moment before shaking his head. "Under normal circumstances, I would allow you to do just that, Lord Buckley," Kelric replied, "The trouble being that nothing about any of this is normal."

Sir Washburn got a mental request from his brother to prepare himself for the interrogation.  Washburn stepped forward to stand over the accused man. As was the duke's right, he choose to preeminent the authority over the lord in his own home. Washburn knew his brother would never have done so had he but trusted Lord Buckley. "I believe this business is a concern of the King's, I would know what this man knows. As lord of the manor, I request you to bare witness to all that is said and done here. I trust that you will not object to what I consider a necessary means of discovering the truth.  I am sure you are aware that I and my brother have ... certain abilities... which allow the questioning of this man to be both painless and informative. I am looking for justice, are not you also?"

Lord Buckley had very little control over the situation, he knew it full well. He inclined his head in agreement with the duke. "I will thank you for allowing me to witness your questioning of this man," the manor lord said.  "Proceed."

Did Wash just see lord Buckley's hand tighten on the edge of his desk. Wash was quite glad he had not given up his sword when he had entered the hall this time.

Kelric turned his full attention on the prisoner. "In the name of King Kelson of Gwynedd, I stand in judgement of the accused. Have you anything to say before we begin?" the Duke questioned. The prisoner's lips remained pursed together, he offered nothing, his dark eyes burning with hatred.

"Sir Washburn..." the duke gave the questioning over to Wash. Let us refrain from questions that might implicate our host, Kelric mind spoke. I don't relish the idea of fighting our way out of here.

I understand and concur, Washburn replied in kind.

((Washburn Truth-Saying the Huntsman  2d6  success on 5,6   rolled  2: 5 + 6 = 11 Verification Number: 3kw1kqt97r))

The Knight of Lendour looked straight at Rayne. In that minute. the trapper thought he was going to lose his soul. He started to object to the Deryni's touch, when he found that even without being touched, he could make no such objection. The hated Deryni didn't need to touch him to capture his gaze and his mind.  Rayne tried desperately to look away, only to find himself drowning in the knight's intense sea blue eyes.

"Tell the duke your name and position?" the knight asked with a quiet calmness that was disconcerting.

"Rayne Lanackie, master huntsman." Rayne found himself saying, unable to disobey.
A series of short questions followed asking pointedly about the setting of leg traps near the church graveyard, and caltrops set on the ground along the valley road. With each question, Rayne could only say "Yes," as if he were a raven calling for scraps of food.

"What was your purpose for setting these traps?" the knight finally asked.

Rayne wanted to hesitate to not answer at all. It was not a yes or no answer and surely he could get around it in some fashion of blathering a nonsensical excuse.  But then the blue eyes held him and he could but only comply. "To injure the king's men, to delay them."

The knight's eyes only intensified all the more. "What is the reason that you needed to delay the king's men?"

"To capture the girl." Rayne spit out. He would have turned to Lord Alister if he at all could turn away from the knights questioning.

"Whom do you work for?" The knight asked quickly, avoiding the question of what girl.

Rayne so wanted to blurt out the girl's secrete and let shame fall upon her head, but he could do no more than answer the posed question. "Baron Oswald de Mariot!"

The Deryni's gaze burrowed deeper into Rayne's soul and Rayne hated him all the more for it. "Did you shot me with a crossbow bolt?" the knight suddenly asked.

"Yes!" Venom filled that one word like the bit of a snake. There was a gasp from someone in the room. They probably just understood what had been the cause of Sir Washburn's ripped and soiled clothes.

"Did you shot me when I was in the tree, yesterday?"

"No." came a regretful reply.

"No?" the knight looked away for a moment, yet his gaze returned before Rayne could blink.

"Did you shoot your crossbow at me on the Cuiltrien road, near the town of Droghera?"

"Yes," Rayne offered, "Twice!" he announced, clearly pleased with his accomplishment.

Washburn shook his head, pushing past the memory of that pain. He turned to look at the duke for instruction. Clearly, Lanackie had confessed enough to get himself hung, but certainly that wasn't all the man was guilty of. Can you glean Oswald's plans? Kelric asked. Washburn most certainly didn't like that this trapper job was to capture "the girl" for the usurper of the manor of Mariot. He wouldn't want to pursue a line of questioning which might bring Lady Aliset's secrete into play, certainly not in front of Lord Buckley. If Lord Buckley was complicit in these acts, the lord couldn't learn that "the girl" in question was standing right here beside them.

((Washburn Rapport continuing Truth-Saying 2d6  success on 5,6   rolled 3: 2 + 6 = 8 Verification Number: 3kw1kqt97r))

Washburn was careful how he phrased his next question. "Do you receive money from Oswald de Mariot; the man who has become Baron de Mariot?"

"Yes."

"In your duties to Lord Oswald de Mariot, have you killed any man, woman, or child?"

"Yes!" Wash saw a burning fever in the hunter's eyes. Deryni Truth-Saying forced the man to answer honestly, but it didn't mean that the huntsman did not know that he was betraying himself and his master. Lanackie wanted so very much to see the death of the man who questioned him.

"Can you name this man you have killed. And name any others that have died by your hand?

Suddenly a flood gate of names, rolled off of Lanackie's tongue. Names that Washburn tucked away in his memory, most were guardsman and merchants, but then the name Baron de Mariot crossed the huntsman's lips, quickly followed by the name, Baylyn de Mariot. Washburn knew Baylyn to be the eldest brother and first heir to Lady Aliset's father. 

Washburn was horrified by the names. The one name he was grateful not to hear was Alister de Mariot.  But then he already knew Alister had been murdered by that other man, the one they had encountered their first day on the road.

"There was another man tracking us that day we left Culdi. Give me his name?"

"Master MacInnis."

"Was he under Oswald's order's."

"No," Lanackie answered truthfully.

"Humm, you sure? Where does MacInnis's loyalties lie?"

"Royal princess of Meara." That took Washburn by surprise. He looked up at his brother.  What had he stumbled onto?

"The royal house of Meara is extinct." the duke stated, he stepped forward, focusing on truth saying the prisoner himself, preparing to mind read the man to get an answer.  "Which princess is this that you refer to?"

"Princess Sida..." the name was swallowed by a throat full of blood, which erupted from the prisoner's mouth. It soaked the hem of Kelric's tunic and boots. The Corwyn men who held the prisoner were slow to react holding the body up from falling forward. Washburn was instantly out of his focus and staring across at Lord Buckley's steward, whose sword point was exiting Master Lanackie's chest. Washburn's own sword was instantly drawn, using the point to push the man away from the prisoner. Kelric's own dagger was in his hand, turning to protect himself if Lord Buckley attacked.

The lord of the manor, moved not from his place. He merely gave his steward a barely seen node, then yelled, "What is the meaning of this? Dolin what have you done?"

Steward Dolin, jumped Sir Washburn. The weight of Dolin's body rammed into Washburn's unmoving sword. The sharpness cutting from breast plate to spine.

((Edited last sentence to be more clear that it was Dolin skewered by Washburn's sword.))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on March 26, 2018, 12:54:08 PM
Lady Aliset, still wearing the guise of her late brother (though it was anyone's guess how much longer that disguise would serve her), leaped forward as the body slumped to the ground before Sir Washburn, ostensibly in an instinctive move to catch the dead steward's body, but the swift movement provided cover for her to both make contact with the slain man and establish a brief contact with the knight beside her. 

((12:07   Aliset   !roll 2d6
12:07   derynibot   4, 3 == 7 ))

As she caught Steward Dolin's falling body, she attempted to establish a rapport with Wash, but he seemed preoccupied.  Understandably so, under the circumstances! Perhaps he was already in rapport with His Grace.  But for whatever reason, she could not make the required psychic contact, and if she couldn't reach his mind despite the familiarity between them engendered by the events of the past week, she had little hope of establishing rapport with the Duke himself, standing beyond his brother.

It was up to her, then, to do what must be done, unpalatable though it was to her to delve deeply not just into a dying mind, but that belonging to her brother's murderer. Yet they must discover who was the driving force behind all the enmity that had been brought against not just her family, but now against all the companions who accompanied her.

((12:08   Aliset   !roll 2d6
12:08   derynibot   2, 5 == 7))

Aliset pushed her mental probe deeply into the dying man's mind, sifting for information about the Mearan princess that Rayne had mentioned in that brief moment before the steward had taken the life of Oswald's henchman.  The steward must have wanted to protect that information at all costs; therefore it stood to reason he also had known the information which she and her companions needed.

There it was!  Dolin had never actually laid eyes on the Mearan claimant himself, but he knew of her existence and her name. The Princess Sidana Quinnell de Paor, descended from some heretofore unsuspected daughter of the late Ithel of Meara.  De Paor....Oh, now there was a surname familiar enough to one whose manor was on Trurill lands!  And seen in the distance in one memory, a castle situated on a mountain top high in the Mearan range where those loyal to the ancient Mearan line were being called to muster.  She tucked the image away for further reflection, certain she could identify it later. If not her, then perhaps one of her companions could.

Who had the steward been answerable to? Who was his direct link to the Pretender's throne, since it appeared he'd had no direct contact with the Pretender himself?  Even as Aliset tried to gather that information, the man's remaining memories dispersed into foggy darkness.

Aliset lay the man's body on the ground and straightened, absently wiping his blood off her hands. She glanced at Sir Washburn with a faint nod, but decided it would be better to wait for more privacy before attempting to share what she'd learned. She did not trust Lord Buckley.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on March 27, 2018, 04:04:39 AM
"Demon's and Hellions, will the Devil never be sated," Sir Washburn cursed under his breath. Two dead men lay at Washburn's feet, when just moments before, he had thought he had complete control of the situation. He'd been utterly wrong. Had he put all their lives in danger? His brother's life too? Lord Alister was absently wiping the blood off her hands after she'd laid the steward's fallen body on the floor. Alister's nod told Sir Washburn that she had achieved some form of Death Reading in the brief seconds that she had made contact. First things first, they had to survive this debacle and not be ambushed by Lord Buckley's men.

Washburn Morgan was quick to assume a guarding stance in front of the Duke of Corwyn. His sword at the ready and his dagger in his off hand. No matter the odds he would protect his brother and his friends from any foe. The two Corwyn guards were quick to follow suit. They left the body of Rayne Lanackie on the floor and stood protective from anyone who might enter the room. They, however, had no more than long daggers to hold in tense hands. Stay between the guards and me if we have to fight our way out, Wash sent to both Kelric and Aliset.

Yet Kelric was already sheathing his dagger. His face as serious as Washburn had ever seen the Duke of Corwyn be.  Kelric was watching Lord Buckley from his periphery, trying hard not to walk straight over to the man and Mind Read him. He knew he dared not. Without looking up from the bodies on the floor he asked, "Please, tell me, Lord Buckley, that you knew nothing of this man," he pointed to Rayne Lanachie, "nor of your henchman's allegiance?" Everything hinged on Lord Buckley's response, would he play his part? Would he act shocked and dumbfounded by his steward's actions even if he was not? Would he lie to the duke? Kelric wished that he did so. Honor be damned, an admission of treason would lead to a bloodbath in the halls of Buckley manor. The victor uncertain.

Lord Buckley's face twisted. He may not be the smartest man, but his family had lived between two politically varied lands for centuries. In secrete their allegiances may have swayed back and forth from generation to generation. But for survival, they had learned how to lie and how to lie well. Lord Buckley put his hands in the air and dropped to one knee. "All that I know of that man is that he came here yesterday eve. He bunked in the gate house and left in the early morn. i did not know that he had returned this evening." Kelric accepted that, for some of that was said in truth. Buckley did play his part as he said. "Steward Dolin's actions have me flabbergasted! How could I have known he harbored such alliances?"

"How, indeed." Kelric agreed hearing the lie beneath the words. But outwardly accepting them at face value. "Then you know nothing of this Princess of Meara?"

"I know nothing, Your Grace. You must believe me."

"I think that I must," the duke said, knowing all was a lie. He motioned for Lord Buckley to rise. "At ease men." Kelric indicated outwardly, but inwardly he said We are a lion in a trap! Make it look good, but don't You ease up for one moment" he sent to Washburn and Aliset.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on March 27, 2018, 02:34:36 PM
Darcy Cameron did not need his fledgling Deryni powers to know something was amiss the moment Duke Kelric, Washburn and Aliset re-entered the hall, followed by the Corwyn guards and Lord Buckley.  The bloodstained hem of the duke's tunic would have been disconcerting enough, but the bloodied sword in Washburn's hand drew the eyes of the entire room.  All those in the hall rose and bowed as the Duke of Corwyn entered; Darcy used the moment to quietly move forward to take his place beside Aliset.  He did not allow his hand to hover over the hilt of his sword; an aggressive move on his part could ignite the tension in the room like a flame ignites a tinderbox.  Instead he took a towel that rested beside the fingerbowl on the high table and handed it to Washburn to wipe down his sword.  The tension eased slightly once Washburn had returned his sword to its sheath. 

"Lord Buckley." Duke Kelric turned to look back at the manor's lord, demanding his attention as well as effectively blocking him from signalling to any of the others in the hall. "Although I greatly appreciate the hospitality you have extended to us this evening, especially without notice, we must continue on our journey.  We will depart at once."

The expression on Lord Buckley's face shifted from consternation to guarded relief.  "The hour is late, your Grace, would you not prefer to wait until first light?"

"Thank you, Lord Buckley, but no.  We have a full moon to travel by and should make good time.  Lord Jaxom, have your men assemble our mounts in the courtyard."

Lord Jaxom bowed, looking puzzled but asking no questions.  He motioned to his men to carry out Duke Kelric's orders. Darcy noted that one or two of Buckley's men shifted warily as Jaxom's men passed.  Duke Kelric did not linger in the hall and Darcy and the others followed, joined by Jaxom and Father Columcil.  Father Columcil retrieved his staff as they left the hall and returned Darcy's dagger.  Darcy noted that several of Buckley's men also rearmed themselves as they left.  It did not please him.

It did not take long for Jaxom's men to bring out their horses.  Except for the jingling of harness, the courtyard remained eerily quiet.  Darcy appreciated the duke's foresight in having the horses brought out to them, avoiding the possibility of someone trapping a large part of their group in the stable.  More by instinct that conscious thought Darcy retrieved the dark leather cap from his sea bag and pulled it over his hair.  He mounted quickly and brought his horse into position beside Aliset. 

This time Duke Kelric lead their party out of the manor gate.  The archers brought up the rear, bows strung and at the ready as one would expect of a party travelling at night.  At least Darcy hoped Lord Buckley took it that way.  No blessing was said as they departed, no wishes for a safe journey.  Darcy was glad to be gone.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on March 28, 2018, 02:27:15 PM
Lord Buckley was glad to see his guests gone!

As soon as the lord of the manor was certain all thirty-two of the king's men were down the road, beyond his sight in the dark, he ordered the manor gates closed and bared. He spared no time in rousting the house. He ordered his chaplain to see the mess in his withdrawing room. He ordered the captain of the guards to make the castle ready for abandoning. He ordered his wife to prepare the family for leaving. They were to only bring the most essential items and the items of most value. By the midnight hour, wagons were loaded, guardsmen were mounted, and no one but the lowest servants were to stay behind.

Lord Buckley would escort his family to his wife's grandfather on the boarder of the Connait. Then he and his men would turn north and join the rebellion in Meara.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on March 28, 2018, 05:02:22 PM
When all was ready Lord Buckley drew one of the mounted guards aside and spoke in a low voice:

"Ride as fast as you can - but safety is of more worth than speed- to the priest at Trillshire and give him this letter. He will get it safely where it needs to go."

The man bowed his head in acknowledgement but needed no further instructions. He had made this journey before. The summer nights were short and it was not yet mid-morning on the second day when he dismounted before the church just as the priest was coming out from Mass. He slipped from the saddle then, somewhat stiffly, to his knee. He spoke loudly for the benefit of any within earshot.

"A blessing father, of your charity, for a weary traveller who is unsure of his road"

The priest's hand touched his head in blessing then slipped down his arm and smoothly, for this too had been done before, palmed the letter marked in the corner with the stylised letter M that the supplicant held out.

"You'll be glad of something to sup and a bite to eat. I'll have my man bring you something out, and then if you tell us where you are bound, he can set you a pace or so on your way."

"Culdi, Father."

"Why then you are in luck for Jehan has kin there and is always pestering me for leave to visit. He'll do more than set you on the road, he'll ride with you." With the bluff good humour he affected he pulled the man to his feet and turning shouted, "Jehan! Hey there, Jehan!"

Soon the two were on their way, but there was only one who rode later into Culdi, for once they were out of sight of habitation Lord Buckley's man had turned east and ridden by little known tracks that led at length into the heart of Meara.

Jehan made his way to the Rose and Crown, where he made sport of the soft touch of a priest for whom he worked who could always be swayed into giving him leave to visit his kin. "You'd a thought e'd a sussed me Nan would 'a bin 6 feet unner be naw, the times ah've visited 'er on 'er death bed. Soft as butter, the old man is!" Guffawing he downed his ale. "Ah well, best be on me way to a good meal an a soft bed at our Mam's." Catching the barmaid's eye he stumbled, as though outside of one ale too many, and she, good-natured lass that she was, put out her hand to steady him, deftly palming the letter that he slipped from his hand to hers. Then he was gone and she went to see if her master had anything more he needed with his dinner. Bobbing a curtsey she placed the letter by his plate then went out. What she did not know she could not be asked, and her master's business was none  of hers.

As many times before a cloaked messenger took the same letter to a house elsewhere in Culdi, where he handed over his message and waited only to receive his usual coin before disappearing into the darkness of the night.  The recipient read the letter, swore under his breath then went into a inner room, carefully locking the door behind him and equally carefully setting wards. Then, and only then, did he allow himself to swear long and fluently in a tongue which was not that of Gwynedd. He blew out the candle he had brought with him and opened his hand to release a ball of silver handfire. Then he unlocked the chest which stood in one corner of the room and withdrew an amber coloured stone. He would have to make his report to his Lord, but terror seized him. The Grand Duke's anger was known and feared even by those who served him best, for his punishment of the most trivial failure could be swift and cruel. And his anger now must surely be beyond bounds. How could those fools have had the two cursed Morgan brothers within their grasp and let them ride out unscathed? He tried to focus and could not ((1+3=4 3sfs3lvxfq)); he wiped his sweating face with the sleeve of his robe and tried again. Still he could not focus ((2+4=6 356h5mkkrd)). He might be marked for death, but if he failed to pass on the message that death would be slow and agonising. He went to the little altar which stood at the side of the room and prostrated himself in anguished supplication. Finally he rose, crossed himself and taking a deep breath managed to still his thoughts enough to allow the shiral crystal to draw him into a deep enough trance to reach out to his Lord((6+4 =10)).

"My Lord Duke. There is news." As their minds touched he gave way to his fear and prostrated himself once more upon the floor in abject submission.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on March 29, 2018, 10:27:53 AM
Darcy Cameron scanned the night around their party as they travelled south along the road.  The full moon shone brightly, lighting the way ahead.  Nevertheless, they were not travelling as fast as they would have in daylight. They had been travelling for almost an hour, and Darcy was feeling the fatigue from a day that had stretched far longer than it should have.

Not too long after they were away from the Buckley manor, Duke Kelric had motioned Sir Washburn forward and turned the lead over to him.  He had moved back to position himself beside one of his barons riding several horses ahead of Darcy and Aliset, who was still disguised as her brother.  Darcy wondered how much longer she could maintain the ruse.

As he had several times since they resumed their journey, he looked over at the rider beside him to check how she was holding up.  There had been no discussion about what had happened in Lord Buckley's withdrawing chamber, but Darcy could see that she was very tired.  More than once he saw her rub her forehead and then sit a little straighter in the saddle.  He would have to ask her later about that; the movement was too consistent to not have a purpose.

This time when he looked at her, her head had fallen forward, and he saw her grip on her reins begin to loosen.  Immediately he moved Sigrun closer, reached across and gently gripped her arm.  Startled, she jerked upright.

"Do you want me to ask for a halt?" Darcy asked her quietly.  "We might all appreciate a short rest."

"No, please, I'll be fine."  Aliset would have reached toward her forehead again, but Darcy held on to her arm.

"Are you sure?" 

"Yes really."  Aliset saw the concern on his face and managed a small smile to reassure him. "It can't be much farther to Arx Fedei."

Darcy released her arm and studied the stars above them.  "I think it should be just beyond the next rise in the road."

"I will definitely be fine, if we are that close."

"Aye, I hope so.  I don't want to have to throw myself on top of you if you fall off to protect you from the horses."  The minute he said it, Darcy realized it was not exactly the right thing to say.  Aliset looked aghast.  "No, no, that's not what I meant," Darcy said hastily.  "I mean, I would protect you, of course, but...oh bloody hell!"

Aliset started to laugh and Duke Kelric turned to look at them.  "Is everything all right back there?" he asked.

"Aye, your Grace," Darcy responded, hoping the duke did not notice how red Darcy was sure his face was.

"It's my fault, your Grace. Master Darcy was doing his best to keep me awake.  His tales from his life at sea often make me laugh, except for the ones that horrify me."  Aliset smiled serenely in Darcy's direction.

Darcy sighed inwardly. Eventually this day, now night, would have to end.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on March 29, 2018, 01:45:45 PM
The man leading the Corwyn and Trillshire men, was a man filled with self-reproach and exhaustion. Yet Washburn dearen't let either show, for the danger was not fully over, and the day was not fully closed. Every fatigue banishing spell had less and less effectiveness and that in itself was troublesome. 

((10:08 ArxFidei Rolling for Wash being able to sense if they are followed.
10:08 ArxFidei !roll 2d6
10:08 derynibot 3, 6 == 9))

It was fortunate that he still had enough energy to seek if anyone followed on the road behind them. The scene they left behind could have been brutal. Lord Buckley could have ordered an ambush on his unarmed elite guests at dinner. If it hadn't been for Darcy's discovery of Rayne, would Buckley have ordered an ambush while the king's men slept? They might have had their throats slit by now. Wash was rather disturbed by his part in the outcome, yet he would take that over whatever Rayne's intentions had been. Still, given everything that had happened in the last week, he was in awe that they actually got out of Buckley Manor with nary a scratch.  Wash doubted Buckley's men would attack them on the road; especially once the duke's men were fully armed and anticipating trouble, but it didn't pay to let his guard down. Would Buckley have them followed to see where they would go. As yet Washburn had sensed no one on the road behind them.

What if danger lurked ahead?
((10:23 ArxFidei Rolling for sensing the road in front of them.
10:23 ArxFidei !roll 2d6
10:23 derynibot 5, 4 == 9))

Wash was happy indeed to once again sense no one on the road ahead of them. For this night was getting on, and the full moon was starting to lower in the sky.

The Lendour Knight turned to the nobleman riding beside him. "Lord Jaxom, you know this road better than I. Will we make the abbey before the moon leaves  us in full darkness?"

"Aye, we are close. The path will be to the left, just ahead."

"Good, I will trust you to make sure that I do not bypass it up." Wash tried to make it a jest, but his tired expression was too obvious to the man riding next to him.  Once more the knight brush his hand over his eyes.

"Are you having trouble seeing my lord?" the Trillshire heir asked.

((10:39 ArxFidei Fatigue banishing spell
10:39 ArxFidei !roll 2d6
10:39 derynibot 3, 6 == 9))

Surprised to find the spell still worked, Wash returned an energized smile. "No, no trouble at all. I just don't want to be looking the other way and canter right past our destination, only to be embarrassed by you pointing it out after the fact."

"I would never dream of causing embarrassment to you, my lord." Jaxom said sincerely.

"Than I can count on you. Good! Now, find us that path."

True to his word, a short time later Jaxom pointed out the crossing in the road that would lead to the abbey on the hillside. The stone walls were a heavenly sight, the shale roof lines gleaming in the last of the setting moon. The gate was dark, the torch there, burned out for the night. Sir Washburn dismounted, found the bell-pull rope at the side of the gate and gave it a strong pull. A small bell rang out somewhere on the far side of the wall. A long silence and nothing. The horses mulled around behind him unsettled in the delay. Washburn pulled the bell again. A small gate-grill opened and a monk peered out. "Who ever goes there, you should know well that these gates will not open until dawn."

"It is the request of the Duke of Corwyn that we seek shelter under your holy roof. Do not turn us away, I plead of the, as we have been seeking your sanctuary for what has seemed to be the longest day of our lives."

"The Duke of Corwyn? He just left here this last morning."

"Aye, and he seeks you hospitality once more." Wash stood aside to let the gatekeeper see the duke sitting patiently on his sorrel steed just behind.

The grill closed, the sound of the bar on the gate lifted, and on well-oiled hinges the double gate into Arx Fidei opened wide. A welcoming sight indeed. Washburn stepped aside, letting all the travelers ride into the courtyard. Lastly, he led his stallion into holy refuge. When the gates shut close behind him, he wanted very much to go to his knees and collapse. Not quite yet, he told himself, not quite yet.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on March 29, 2018, 02:12:08 PM
Aliset was so, so tired!  She had kept up her energies by using fatigue banishing spells, but each had been less effective than the last, so by the time the company rode through the gates of Arx Fidei, she struggled to maintain consciousness.  Yet although guest rooms for the travelers were quickly enough acquired, there was one thing necessary for her to do before she could finally seek her rest.

Approaching the Duke of Corwyn, she waited until she caught his eye before giving him a respectful bow.  "Your Grace," she murmured softly so as not to attract the attention of those around them readying beds and pallets for slumber, "Before we retire for the night, there is something you must know. It concerns what I was able to glean from Lord Buckley's steward's mind as he was dying. I would simply wait until morning, once all our energies are restored, to share what I learned, but what I learned seems urgent enough that I feel I ought to share it with no further delay, especially if you have made arrangements to contact His Majesty tonight." 

The man standing before Aliset neither confirmed nor denied her supposition regarding any plans of communicating with King Kelson, but he held out a hand in invitation.  "If you feel it is that urgent, then let us not delay any further. Show me."

((13:53   Aliset   !roll 2d6
13:53   derynibot   1, 1 == 2
13:54      Aliset mentally utters unspeakable language her mother never taught her))

Even as Aliset was reaching forward to lay her hand upon the Duke's, her shields beginning to roll back to allow the mental sharing, the last vestiges of her fatigue-banishing spell wore off with a suddenness that caused her to stumble, falling into the startled Duke's arms, almost knocking him into the wall behind him. Had Aliset still been conscious, she would doubtless have been mortified, but as it was, she fell limp in his embrace, sound asleep.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on March 29, 2018, 02:50:39 PM
Father Columcil knew he should not find the scene playing out before him amusing; it must be the exhaustion he felt permeating his entire body.  Aliset had turned to speak to Duke Kelric and suddenly collapsed into his arms.  It was Darcy and Jaxom darting from opposite sides of the courtyard at the same time toward the young lord in the duke's arms that was amusing, as well as alarming.

Roll at a disadvantage due to exhaustion to see if Darcy gets there first.
Jerusha   !roll 1d6
15:24   derynibot   6 == 6
Success and a hero point, too!  Woo hoo!

Darcy reached her side first, said something to Duke Kelric and lifted Aliset up into his own arms.  One of the monks motioned for Darcy to follow him, presumably to one of the guest rooms.  Father Columcil quickly caught up with them, mummering something about lending Darcy a hand.  As had become their custom, he would share the room they were assigned as chaperone, and Darcy would sleep on a pallet across the inside of the door.  Lord Jaxom stood to one side looking dismayed but saying nothing.

A little less drama and a bit more discretion would have been preferred, but tomorrow was another day.  Or was tomorrow today? Sweet Jesu, he needed sleep!
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on March 30, 2018, 02:15:29 AM
Father Columcil was both touched and dismayed by the tenderness with which Darcy laid the limp and exhausted Alister down. He knew, with no need to even touch the other's mind, that, as far as Darcy was concerned, it was Aliset that he held and Columcil's heart ached for the man who had become his friend. Surely he must know that nothing could come of this. Darcy gently wrapped the blanket around the sleeping form and made as though to bend down and kiss its forehead but thought better of it or perhaps sensed Columcil's warning glance. Without a word the men laid themselves down on their pallets and were themselves soon themselves in an exhausted sleep.

But, though he was more tired than he could ever remember being, Columcil woke while it was still dark. Although Aliset was young enough to be his daughter, and he had truly come to think of her with a father's affection, and though he was and always had been very content in his celibacy - listening to the confessed sins of marital disharmony for half-a-lifetime had left him on many occasions going home in great content to his solitary bed - he was not unaware of female beauty. "I'm celibate, not dead!" he muttered to himself, though he had no doubt that both Washburn and Darcy would have laughed themselves silly at the thought of the old priest being discomfitted by the close presence of a young woman - though they would be far too kind and well-mannered to be so rude to his face.

But that was the least of his worries- and in truth one he could have laughed at himself, muttered a prayer of apology to St Melangell for an old man's foolishness, and gone back to an untroubled sleep. His real fear was how long he could keep his true identity hidden in the presence of two Morgans. Sir Washburn had been worrying enough but his brother the Duke was another matter entirely. He had assumed that his dislike of Lord Jaxom was evidence of a dislike of the nobility in general - Sir Washburn's diffidence and courtesy being the exception - which would create a psychic barrier between himself and the Duke behind which he could hide. O sweet Jesus! Why did the man have to be so honourable and considerate so that Columcil found his respect, at first given grudgingly and out of duty, had turned to real honour and even liking. The Duke said little but he watched and Columcil worried about what he thought behind the few words. Ah well, it was in the hands of the Good Lord, though He too saw all and said little, and His plans were not necessarily in accordance with His servants' intentions. Tossing and turning was not going to resolve this and risked waking his companions for all that they were sleeping like the dead to all appearances. He rose as quietly as his aching body would allow and, taking his shoes in one hand and his pack in another, he stepped carefully over Darcy and went to find St Jorian.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on March 30, 2018, 12:26:37 PM
"What do you think, Goodwife?"  The old tinker finished polishing the edges of the cooled solder he had poured inside the tin pot to cover the gaping hole.  He then pried out his tinker's dam of mud from the outside and held out the pot for inspection.  The gaping hole in bottom of the pot was now repaired and the pot was ready for the goodwife to scorch another batch of pease porridge. 

"Bless you, Master Tinker," the stout woman said.  "It's as good as new."

The tinker smiled and accepted the coins the woman counted out into his hand.  She was pleased enough at the repair work that she added a small piece of meat pie for the tinker to take with him.  The tinker thanked her, packed up his tools, and returned to his modest cart parked outside of her door.  He untied the reins of the old horse, waved farewell to the Goodwife and moved on to seek his next customer. 

As the tinker munched on the meat pie (he had eaten worse and he had eaten better), he studied the small knots of men and boys that gathered in doorways or around the town wells of Ratharkin.  In the week he had been in the town, the gatherings had become more numerous.  Talking among themselves in low towns, glancing up at the tinker but taking little notice of him.  He was not a stranger in Ratharkin; he visited the town periodically plying his trade. 

It was the new men on the town walls that troubled him.  Not many, but enough that he noticed they were not the same ones that often greeted him when he arrived, asking if he had a good dagger or two or a length of harness chain. 

It was late enough in the afternoon to pay a visit to the tavern near the city walls, the tavern that served the soldiers when they went off duty.  Or sometimes before.  The tinker halted and secured his cart at the side of the tavern and entered.  He was no stranger here, and the proprietor's wife greeted him warmly.

"Good to see you, Master Tinker!" she called as he entered.  "You have been long absent."

"Aye, that I have," the tinker answered.  "I caught a rheum in the spring, it laid me up for weeks.  Only now am I back on the roads of Meara."

"Glad you are now well, Master Tinker.  I've several pots that could use your mending."  The woman set a mug of ale on the table before him.

"My pleasure to be of service," he replied.

Settled on his stool, the tinker took a long drink of ale.  If you wanted to ensure the patronage of the local garrison, you served good ale, and it was good.

A middle aged man approached him.  Ah, Tinker," he said.  "This is not the Meara of the old days."

The tinker took another drink of his ale, giving him time to decide how to reply.  "Aye," he said.  "Not like the old days."

"Rightly spoken," the man said.  "Those were the days we had our own true queen!"

The tinker looked sorrowful.  "Aye," he said.  "I was there when Queen Caitrin gave up her crown to the Haldane."

The man gripped his shoulder and said, "Never fear, old man.  We will have our queen again."

The tinker nodded, noting the man's appearance for future reference, then returned his attention to his ale.

Not too long afterwards, he retrieved his cart and returned to the room he had rented in a conveniently located inn.  He had paid fair, but not extravagant, coin for the corner room that gave him a good view of the gate of Ratharkin's castle.  He was not as concerned about a breach of Ratharkin's town gate as he was that of the castle gate.  Every instinct told him something would happen soon.

He stood by the windows of his room after darkness fell, watching the town below.  While he could not see the city gate from this location, the increasing groups of men moving toward the castle told him the plan was in motion. At least fifty men stood outside the castle gate.  He saw a lone torch shine briefly; then the main gate of the castle was opened, and the men poured inside.

The tinker sighed.  There would be death in the castle this night, but there was nothing he could do to prevent it.  He moved back from the window and reached inside his battered tunic to retrieve his ward cubes.  He performed the familiar ritual and the protective arc rose above his head.  He sat and grasped a medallion that was attuned to the man he needed to reach.

Sir Iain Cameron, still in his guise as the old tinker, reached across the miles to contact Kelson Haldane, rightful King of Gwynedd, to inform him that the Mearan rebellion had begun.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on April 05, 2018, 06:03:09 AM
Columcil made his way out of the guest quarters of the Abbey and into the silent church. Matins was over by some hours and though there was the faintest of silvery glows over to the east he judged that there would still be the best part of an hour until full light when the brethren and students would fill the church for Lauds.

He paused just inside the door, feeling calmed simply by the lingering smell of incense and the faint glow of the presence lamp by the high altar. His fingers felt automatically  for the holy water stoop and he blessed himself then genuflected towards the Presence with a sense of home coming. Walking comfortably in the dimness he slipped into the side chapel dedicated to St Jorian and was dismayed to find that another supplicant had got there before him. St Jorian, for all he was barely a generation raised to the altars, must surely be a comfort to many a young man struggling with his vocation given that he had been a student here himself before being revealed as Deryni and suffering the cruellest of deaths.

Columcil began to turn making to move back into the nave, but even that slightest of movements betrayed his presence. The figure crouching before the likeness of the saint turned his head and spoke, "Don't go! There is grace and enough for both of us here. He never got to be a priest in life, let him bless us from heaven."

"Your Grace, forgive me! I would not have presumed. Pardon my intrusion I beg you." Columcil knew he was babbling but he could only think of getting out of there. He bowed and again made to go but was again forestalled as the Duke got to his feet in one smooth movement and reached out a hand to draw him closer in. "Please, save your obeisance for Saint Jorian. Here I am just a humble petitioner. "

Kelric sighed looking younger than Columcil had seen him, then smiled. "There are times I miss my father so much. He could have advised his Majesty, and reassured mother so much better than I. And it was he that first told me about St Jorian.'

Columcil should have felt honoured by the casually revealed confidence that the Duke had been in conversation with both his Majesty the king and her Grace the dowager duchess this night. His priestly instincts should have been responding sensitively to a soul revealing its vulnerability. But, O God, it was fear of closeness to this very man that he feared and had brought him from his bed. He would have damned protocol and simple courtesy and walked away but for the terrible dawning fear that this untimely encounter might just be an answer to his prayer. 

Kelric had returned to his knees and since there seemed no alternative -he could after all hardly stand while a noble Duke knelt- Columcil knelt beside him. It was not for him to break the silence, besides which he felt strangely at peace.  After a while the Duke spoke again in a low voice.

"They took my father to watch him burn. A warning of the fate that would befall a Deryni boy who stepped beyond his bounds. He was only a boy and Jorian wasn't much older. And then when uncle Duncan choose to go into the priesthood, the fear my father suffered...." Kelric spoke almost to himself and seeming to realise this he turned and smiled apologetically at Columcil, with the glimmer of tears in his eyes.

"Forgive me father, you came here to pray not to listen to my maudlin reminiscences. St Jorian's story has a meaning for you too?"

There was no compulsion in the question, either from rank or arcane power yet  Columcil felt strangely compelled, and began to speak with a like openness to match the Duke's.

"Aye it does. His story was told to me by my gr...His Grace the Archbishop. "

Columcil tried to cover his slip but it was too late and with horror he saw the light of realisation dawn in the Duke's eyes. What had made him be so careless after all these years and to this man above all? Except perhaps that it was the sense of kinship, felt more strongly kneeling together in the gloom that had led him to make so foolish a slip to one who could make sense of the clues. Well,  he had broken his most solemn oath and must abide the consequences. Maybe he had somehow offended in his years of priesthood and this was God's way of punishing him, although -sweet Saint Melangell!- surely there were easier ways of disciplining an erring priest, especially  one whose sin, whatever it might be, was unwitting.

Several things that had been nagging at Kelric had indeed fallen into place. Dhugal's son! With his father's eyes and manner of speech, without the court polish of course, but now he knew what to look for...Dhugal as he was surrounded by his border Clansmen. ...of course. And conceived doubtless before he left for court. Well there was little shame in that, whatever the churchmen might say, so long as the child so conceived was provided for and given a way in life, which Columcil clearly had.  And that made him what? Well some sort of distant cousin, though to what degree he had no idea.

Kelric came out of his reverie, a little shocked but mainly pleased to find the answer to an admittedly minor puzzle, to find the man beside him deathly pale as though he had received a death sentence. There was some secret here, something wrong beyond his illegitimacy. Were not illegitmates barred from the priesthood? But Colcumcil had spoken of at least one personal conversation with Duncan who must surely have recognised his grandson and therefore overruled the bar in his case.Whatever the cause the man deserved better of the Duke of Corwyn than his world should crash around him, so he had better set about righting the havoc he had clearly, though unwittingly, caused. Making no use of his Deryni powers, they would be out of place in so sensitive a situation, but putting into his tone the authority that would insist upon an answer, he asked gently,

"Unacknowledged? "

"He doesn'a even ken me ma fell wi' a bairn. His excellency the Archbishop,he that's my grandfather, knows and has been aye guid ta me. It's thanks ta him that I could be a priest despite that all knew I had nae father who knew me. And I swore ta him on holy writ that I'd no betray wha I am. An I never have, and I blab it noo to a Duke, of all people. Nae disrespect to your Grace. And I came here to pray that St Jorian would keep my secret safe. Guid has an aye strange sense of humour."

It all poured out and Kelric felt the anguish and the integrity. Well he was no priest but he too held men's secrets. Getting to his feet he moved to stand in front of Columcil and took his hands in his as though he were receiving homage.

"Be comforted. I receive your secret, which you have kept with honour and asking nothing but the right to serve, and will hold it as under the seal of the confessional,  You deserve much more of me, but this at least I can and do give. You have my solemn word I will reveal none of this save that if Archbishp Duncan should speak of you I ask your leave to answer him openly. Read the truth of what I say"

The formal dispassionate language and the ritual gestures calmed Columcil, as they were meant to, and though in his heart he already knew that he could trust this man's honour, he did as he was bid and and raised his amber eyes shining with tears to meet the Duke's gaze and, impertinent though such presumption seemed to him, read there the truth behind the words ((4+6 = 10 1rkczmmrqd. These hero points are mounting up nicely )). He managed to whisper "Aye my Lord, thank ye^  before his precarious composure left him entirely as in a reversal of the usual form Kelric bent his head and kissed Columcil's hands before slipping back to his knees beside the priest and for the first and most likely the only time embraced him as a kinsman.

Columcil could not really take in Kelric's words but he could not mistake his intent. It seemed that he had been led to make that slip not for punishment but to calm his fears. He could not restrain his tears, and when Kelric knelt back down beside him and put his arm around him he found himself weeping into his shoulder, heedless of rank.

All too soon the light became noticeably brighter and columcil's inner sense of time reasserted itself and reluctantly he withdrew from the comfort of Kelric's arms.

"The brethren will be here for Lauds soon, I'll gang and leave ye to your prayers."

Columcil climbed awkwardly to his feet, wiping his face on his sleeve, then turned and bending brought one of Kelric's hands to his lips, though he could only manage to whisper, "Thank you, Your Grace.' Then he turned and made his way out of the Church.







Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on April 05, 2018, 02:44:17 PM
Lord Jaxom Trillick closed the door of the room he had been sleeping in behind him. He hesitated for a moment, thinking that perhaps his plan was not a wise one.  The answer to a casual question to one of the lay servants had told him which of the rooms Lord Alister had been taken to.  Like everyone else in their party, except for Lord Alister who had collapsed into the arms of a very startled Duke of Corwyn, Jaxom had fallen deeply asleep as soon as he laid down on his own pallet.  Not too long ago, however, he had wakened and been unable to fall back asleep.  The question of whether the young Lord Alister was actually his sister Aliset would not let him rest.   So Jaxom left his squire soundly sleeping, and now found himself in the narrow corridor between the guest rooms of Arx Fedei.

Surely, Lord Alister's annoying man-at-arms and the old priest would not be sharing the same room with Lady Aliset.  If his suspicion was right, that would not be proper at all, no matter how well Lady Aliset disguised herself!  Would she be able to maintain her disguise as she slept?  Jaxom couldn't imagine how she would be able to.  He walked quietly down the corridor, reached the room he was seeking, and listened at the door, hearing no sound of movement.

Roll to see if Darcy will wake up as Lord Jaxom tries to enter.  Rolling not at a disadvantage as Darcy has now had some sleep.
Jerusha   !roll 2d6
14:12   derynibot   5, 5 == 10
(Success – sorry Jaxom!)

Jaxom pulled the door open and peered inside.  Only one pallet of the two he saw in the room appeared to be occupied.  In the dim light, he could not make out the features of the person sleeping on it.  He would go inside just far enough to get a better look.  As he stepped forward, he was not expecting to encounter a barrier across the door.  As he tried to step over whatever it was, an arm reached up, grabbed his leg, and toppled him backward.

As the man crashed to the floor with a startled yelp, Darcy Cameron was on his feet with his sword in his hand.  He laid the tip against the man's chest.  "I would be very careful how you move next," he said. 

The man froze, and Darcy smiled a grim smile.  "Why Lord Jaxom," he said quietly.  "This is a surprise.  Are you lost?"

"Let me up, you fool!"  Jaxom kept his voice equally quiet.  "I couldn't sleep and thought I should check on Lord Alister."

"Get up," Darcy said after a moment and sheathed his sword.  "Lord Alister still sleeps soundly.  And good for you he does."  Darcy watched as Jaxom stood, trying to recover his composure as best he could. Darcy stood in the doorway, his arms outstretched with his hands resting on both sides, blocking the view of the inside. 

"What's this?"  Father Columcil asked as came down the corridor and approached them. 

"I was just checking on Lord Alister," Jaxom replied.  "I'm afraid I startled Master Darcy."

"That is certainly true! Now good night, Lord Jaxom."  Darcy's stern look clearly indicated that no further conversation was welcome.  Jaxom turned and retreated down the corridor; Darcy turned aside and let Columcil back into the room, closing the door behind them.

"Checking on Lord Alister's well-being my...."  Darcy broke off his sentence.  "Sorry, Father."

Columcil edged closer to the pallet where Aliset still slept, blissfully unaware of what had just happened.

"I can't believe she is still asleep," Darcy said quietly.  "Is she all right?"

The priest observed her breathing for a moment and then nodded.  "What really did happen here?" he asked.

Darcy quickly told him, all the while looking at Aliset's even breathing.  "Do you think we should tell her in the morning?"

Columcil looked toward the shuttered window of the room.  Pale light was beginning to show along the edges.  "It's already morning.  Secrets can be a great burden, Master Darcy.  I suggest we tell her when she awakes.  Or rather you, since I wasn't here for most of it."

Darcy nodded, but was puzzled at the sense of peace the priest seemed to have acquired after the tension of the previous day.  It was not his place to ask; it probably came from being a priest.

Darcy adjusted his pallet and then sat with his arms crossed over his chest and leaned against the door. 

"You're going to sit like that, are you?"  Columcil asked.

"Aye. Until Lady Aliset wakes up, no one else is getting through this door!"
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on April 06, 2018, 05:02:58 AM
Sleeping soundly in this safe place of refuge, Washburn experience a dream where he chose to go to seminary school instead of mastering the art of weapons. In this school, he locked himself into the study of books and manuscripts and the art of Healing. His studies allowed him to avoid the violence and bloodshed of the past days. In this dream, the knight came to the realization that he had matured beyond the need to be the best at swordplay and the best at archery, perhaps the time had come to focus his talents on more beneficial needs. Join a monastery and study.

Then the bells rang in his dreams, they rang even as he awoke to the sound. It was the early hour of Lauds. Washburn groaned at the thought of being forced to get up so early for worship. It was not in his bones to be that devout.  One service at Trece or even one at Sext was more than enough. "Sorry Uncle Duncan," he said to himself, I will promise to learn and to try to be a good healer, he thought but not to be a priest. Content with this new path that had opened for him, he rolled over on his cot and went back to sleep even before the bells finished tolling. Too many fatigue banishing spells; the mind was not yet done exacting its revenge for a spell to often used.

In his sleep, the knight was dreaming again. "Help us! Help us!" Cried out a feminine voice. "The castle is taken, the guards are killed," the voice wasn't a voice, rather a panicked girl's mind, a mind shouting as loud and as hard as it could, to whoever could hear her. "Their killing the servants now, they will find me! Help me! Help Ratherkin!" And then Washburn was instantly awake and there was not but silence in the room around him.  He sat up on his cot in a sudden cold sweat. It was only a dream, a cold harsh dream. Then why had if felt so real.  In his heart, he knew it was real.

A shiver ran through his spine.  In the light of the morning sun through the half open shutters, the Lendour knight noticed that the larger guest bed was empty. His brother was already awake and away.  As was the squire who had slept on the pallet by the door. His protective instincts kicked into full motion, in moments he was dressed in the fresh tunic that had been laid at the foot of his cot.  He shoved his feet in his boots and ran out the door into the narrow hallway, in need to find his brother and in need to know that Aliset and his friends were alright. Aliset was closer.

He barged into the room where he knew she slept. It felt like there was furniture blocking the door, so he shoved hard, stopping only when he heard a loud "OOWW!" As the door finally opened. 
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on April 06, 2018, 02:47:56 PM
Darcy Cameron stood glaring in the doorway, one hand on the hilt of his sword.  Was there no end to injury on this journey?  Recognizing Sir Washburn, he released his hold on the hilt and started rubbing his back as he moved out of the doorway. 

"You could have knocked or otherwise announced yourself, Sir Washburn," he said.

"I needed to check on your welfare," Washburn said.

"You'll have to get in line," Darcy said dryly.

"I think NOT!"

Surprised at the sharpness of the Lendour knight's tone, Darcy made a slight bow and winced.  "Beg pardon," he said, "but you are not the first visitor we've had trying to come through that door."

Sir Washburn took a deep breath.  "I beg your pardon, Master Darcy.  I had a most disturbing dream just before waking.  What do you mean, you had another visitor?"

"Lord Jaxom," Darcy replied, as Aliset stirred on the pallet and sat up, hugging the blanket around her as if needing comfort.

"Lord Jaxom?"  she asked. 

"Aye.  He stepped on me when he tried to enter the room.  Without knocking."

"What did you do, Master Darcy?"  Washburn asked, hoping it had not involved bloodshed.

"I tossed him on his head.  Least likely place he'd be injured."  Darcy looked smug.

"You did what?" Sir Washburn's eyes widened.

"Tossed him, just like a caber.  When he tried step over me I grabbed his leg and tossed him backward outside the door.  So not exactly like a caber, but close enough."  Darcy was grinning now.   

"What in the world did he want?" Aliset remained seated, the blanket still gripped tightly.

Darcy's grin faded.  "He said he couldn't sleep and wanted to check on Lord Alister. It was true enough, from what I could tell, but it didn't excuse trying to sneak into the room." 

"Master Darcy," Aliset said.  "We all had a very trying day.  Perhaps it was nothing more than he stated."

Darcy looked at Father Columcil, and Columcil cleared his throat.  "It might not be that innocent," he said cautiously, "except I realized last evening that somehow, he has figured out you are Lady Aliset and not your brother.  I took the liberty of letting Duke Kelric know and Master Darcy."

"And my brother told me, after we had retired to our room."  Washburn sighed; this day was not starting well.

"Lady Aliset," Darcy asked, finally noticing that she looked pale.  "Are you unwell?"

Rather than answer Darcy directly, Aliset looked at Washburn.  "You said you had a disturbing dream. What was it?"
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on April 06, 2018, 03:10:47 PM
Sir Washburn took in  deep breath before answering the lady. "Ratherkin is besieged and a girl child was calling out for help." The knight didn't want to mention the killing that had been claimed, he didn't want to upset lady Aliset more, but from the look of horror across her eyes, he knew she had experienced the same dream.

"Then, it wasn't a dream," she whispered, ducking her face into the blanket for an instant. Then she too sucked in a deep breath, picked up her head, and bravely looked at the three men who would all do anything and everything that they could for her. "If His Grace doesn't already know, we need to tell him. And I have more to tell him too." Her feet slide to the floor at the side of the pallet, yet she didn't stand, not just yet. "Sir Washburn. can you find you brother and bid him to meet with me in a private place. Umm, Gentleman, ah rather, Master Darcy and Father Columcil? Pray excuse me for just a moment while I dress. If you guard the outside door, should be good enough."

Even though all three men were looking at the face of Lord Alister they all three saw the lovely features of Lady Aliset hidden beneath the guise. An embarrassed blush crossed all three men's cheeks as they made sudden haste to exit the room.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on April 06, 2018, 05:27:03 PM
She had little enough to wear that was suitable for entering a Duke's presence, save for one undamaged outfit, but she could hardly appear before His Grace of Corwyn in Alister's guise wearing Aliset's spare clothing! Nor could she resume her own shape just yet, not with Lord Jaxom apparently peeking in doors in hopes of catching her out and confirming his suspicions about her secret. Sighing, she put together an outfit from the least damaged garments from Alister's wardrobe, promising herself that once they arrived in Rhemuth, she would make all haste to a laundry and a seamstress with her remaining gold, and not necessarily in that order.  But for now, illusion would have to suffice.

((16:45   Aliset   !roll 2d6
16:45   derynibot   2, 4 == 6))

Or maybe not.  Aliset surveyed "Alister's" reflection in her pocket mirror with a critical eye.  Yes, perhaps the illusion of more presentable garments she attempted to conjure up might hide the stains and tears in her clothing from the casual gaze of someone not expecting to see anything but a lord in his finery, but even as she attempted the spell, Aliset knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Duke Kelric would see straight past any such attempt at salvaging her appearance.  Ah well, at least she need not confess the sin of vanity to Father Columcil later.

Combing her hair and fastening it back in a neat Border braid, for she could manage that much without resorting to an illusion, at least, she took a deep breath and stepped out of her chamber.  Master Darcy stood just outside the door, waiting with Father Columcil to escort her to the chapel.  As they approached the sacred space, Lord Washburn's presence just outside the chapel door hinted that his mission to locate and bring his brother to meet with her had met with success.  Smiling at him in gratitude, she allowed him to open the door and escort her into the ducal presence.

Duke Kelric turned towards her, his gaze curious, as his brother retreated to the chapel door, still within view yet discreetly out of earshot.  As Aliset stifled the instinctive urge to curtsey and bowed deeply instead, the duke paused briefly, as if to sense that they were truly unobserved, before gesturing to her to be at ease.

"My Lady," he addressed her, his voice purposely kept low despite the lack of anyone else nearby who might eavesdrop on their conversation, "I am told you have urgent news you wish to share with me."

"Aye, Your Grace," Aliset confirmed.  "It concerns Lord Buckley's steward, the man who threw himself upon your brother's sword.  As he fell, I managed to catch him long enough to do a Death-Reading."  Her voice faltered briefly; some people--even among the Deryni--disapproved of that particular use of magic, and she belatedly realized she did not know what Duke Kelric's personal feelings on such usage. But his questioningly arched eyebrow seemed to betoken only curiosity, not anger.  Thus encouraged to continue, she added, "I was not able to learn much, but I did discover that he acted in the service of a lady he believed to be the rightful Queen of Meara, and that her name is Lady Sidana Quinnell de Paor."  At the Duke's thoughtful frown, Aliset added, "I am not sure how familiar you are with the baronial families on this side of the Kingdom, Your Grace, but before Sir Jass MacArdry was made Baron of Trurill, the previous Baron was Brice de Paor.  His lands were attainted after his treacherous actions during the last Mearan war, but he left a son who would have considered himself the rightful heir to Trurill--Brioc de Paor.  He evidently married a daughter of the late Prince Ithel, which is how the Lady Sidana comes by her claim."

"I see." The Duke pondered the information. "An illegitimate claimant, I presume, since Ithel of Meara died unwed?"

"It would seem likely, Your Grace, although a claimant nonetheless.  Or perhaps some sort of clandestine marriage is being claimed at this late date. I wasn't able to glean that much information, I'm afraid.  In any case, there are still enough discontents in Meara who would grasp at any straw to restore the Quinnell line to a Mearan throne, even if the pretender is baseborn and on the distaff side of that ancient lineage." Aliset gave him a wry smile. "My household's and my own personal loyalties to King Kelson notwithstanding, we Mearans breed strong Queens, you must admit, Your Grace."

Kelric smiled at that.  "So it seems, and strong ladies as well. I must confess I was a little taken aback to find my brother providing escort for a young lord when it was a lady I had sent him to protect, though under the circumstances I must admit your present disguise is probably for the best."

Aliset tried to stifle a blush, but the warmth in her cheeks informed her she had failed dismally. Seeking to divert the Duke's attention from her present unkempt attempt at disguise, she suddenly remembered the other thing she had managed to glean from the dying man's mind.  "Oh! I nearly forgot, there was one other thing I saw!"  Holding out her hand to him, she asked, "Might I show you? It's a visual memory."

The corners of Kelric's lips twitched in amused remembrance. "Only if you promise not to fall into a dead faint this time, Lady Aliset."

Embarrassment struggled with mortified amusement briefly. The amusement won, and Aliset found herself giggling.  Unable to meet his humor-filled eyes, she closed her own as she focused on the image she had gleaned from Steward Dolin's mind in those final moments of fading memories.  The Duke's hand warm in her upturned palm, Aliset called to mind the mountain castle silhouetted against the Mearan sky.



Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on April 07, 2018, 03:05:14 PM
Darcy Cameron waited patiently outside the chapel door with Father Columcil.  He hoped there would be time before they departed Arx Fedei for a wash and a shave.  A change of clothes would be welcome as well, though he wasn't sure he still owned anything that wasn't bloodstained or torn.  At least Sir Washburn appeared to have found a fresh tunic.

Waiting was giving him too much time to think.  He wondered what information Lady Aliset was passing on to the Duke of Corwyn.  Not that it was his business; his duty was to  escort the lady safely to Rhemuth, but he was still curious.  They were within reach of Rhemuth now.  Once there, he would escort her to the king, or would he?  Would he be summarily dismissed and Lady Aliset be whisked away to be sequestered with the ladies of the court?  Would Lady Aliset still need him as her man-at-arms?  He could not deny the truth that he would willingly remain at her side for as long as she would have him. 

He heard footsteps approaching the chapel door and straightened.  The stars would chart his course as they always had; he hoped they took him in the direction he wanted.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on April 07, 2018, 03:33:54 PM
Grand Duke Valerian was no fool. He knew why his predecessors failed in their attempts to take Meara or even Gwynedd itself. They all under estimated the resolve of the Draper usurpers who call themselves Haldane. They hold on to their lie that they are all noble and royal born. They hold on to the Deryni power they were given by the cursed traitor Camber. And if forced to retreat, they foolishly scatter with every man or woman left to themselves. His thoughts were deep as he watched the taking of Ratherkin. He mused a bit that none of the usurpers were present during the attack. Those that survived would make great hostages.

But the Grand Duke's thoughts were back on the future. If forced to flee from this stronghold. He would ensure that the most loyal of Mearan nobles would be given refuge and safety in lands far away in exile as they waited for the next opportunity to strike. Even the Queen would be saved. He made certain that there were Deryni among her attendants and ladies. And a Portal nearby in case it was needed.

The usurpers may when a battle. But they will never win the war. Turning to one of his men. "Make sure our spies in Rhemuth are listening. It wont be long until Kelson hears of the attack in Ratherkin. We must know of his plans before he does."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on April 07, 2018, 04:47:39 PM
Kelric had remained in the chapel after Columcil's departure, his head bowed against the statue's feet. He had come here in search of peace and had instead found himself the recipient of another's trouble. At least one of them would go away comforted. A word in Uncle Duncan's ear would not go amiss, supposing he ever made it back to Rhemuth. Maybe it was time that Dhugal knew that he had another son he could be proud of, one that was no sort of threat to Duncan Michael, though he had no intention of being the one to tell him or that it was by Dhugal's own father's command that the knowledge had been kept from him. He respected his older kinsman and he had been his rock after his father had died, catapulting him so suddenly into his responsibilities as Duke, but no sane man risked drawing Dhugal's wrath upon himself.

Sweet Jesus, it appeared that none of Washburn's companions were what they seemed!  He could fully understand why the lady Aliset had opted to travel as her brother, but if Lord Jaxom could ever prove his suspicions then there could be hell to pay for her if he spoke publicly. And what would be the price of his silence? That Kelson should give her to him in marriage? And now, after his conversation with Kelson, he had begun to wonder whether her man-at-arms was not the simple seaman he appeared either. The description that Kelson had sent of his spy in Ratharkin, Sir Iain, was uncannily like that of Master Darcy, surely there could be few with that distinctive colouring and fewer still that shared the same surname unless they were kin?

He amused himself for a few unworthy moments pretending to wonder if Washburn were all he seemed either. Had his father been still alive he would have perhaps dared to make a joke of it when he was alone with his parents, for the sheer pleasure of receiving a cuff from his mother and seeing the light of utter trust and adoration in his father's eyes as he looked at his beloved Richenda before threatening to have the hide off his first born son. Oh God, how his missed his father, though neither could he imagine him as the old man he would have now been.

But would he ever get back to Rhemuth? He knew that he was simply distracting himself with these idle thoughts. At least now he knew that his son would have a good regent and mentor in Washburn, though he had never thought to think that, or, God help them, see the necessity. The news from Kelson had been bad, very bad. It was that which had sent him here to St Jorian's chapel to pray, and that which had led him to welcome Columcil, hoping that the priest's presence would strengthen him. Well perhaps after all it had and, although Columcil would never know it, that embrace had been as much for himself as for Columcil, when just for a short time he had been able to lay aside the Duke and be simply Kelric. But as dawn approached he could no longer have that privilege. Sir Iain had managed to get word out of the treacherous attack on Ratharkin Castle; by now it had surely fallen and they must leave Arx Fidei as soon as possible, though he would beg the Abbot's leave to have a simple mass said for them before they left. At least, he and his troops must leave to meet with the troops that Duncan Michael had been bringing down from the north for some days. By royal command Washburn and his companions were to continue on to Rhemuth with the added protection of Lord Jaxom's troops. None of them would like it but they would simply have to obey orders as must he.

But there remained a short time before he must begin rousing others and he opened his spirit in prayer to the Lord whose will governed all, asking that he be given the courage and wisdom not to fail his earthly lord in this time of trial. As he knelt in peaceful surrender suddenly his thoughts were pierced by a scream. "Help us! Help us!" It was a female voice, no rather a young girl's voice, crying out with her mind to whoever could hear. "The castle is taken, the guards are killed. They are killing the servants now, they will find me! Help me! Help Ratharkin!" Kelric reeled back, wondering what extremity of terror could enable a young mind to be heard so far away. Then he chided himself and bit back his expletive, mindful of the holy place in which he was; it was all too clear what was causing the terror. But had he really heard someone or was it just his imagination making too vivid a picture of what must even now be happening in Ratharkin. If it was not just his imagination then surely another of the Deryni within these walls would have heard it too. Washburn and Lady Aliset, at least, especially if they were asleep. His first instinct was to go and rouse them, but at once he thought better of it. He must not risk putting his thoughts into another's mind. If there had been a voice for them to hear, then better they come to him, and Columcil knew where he was.

There was nothing that could immediately be done to help any of the poor souls in Ratharkin, except one thing, he soberly corrected himself, and crossing himself he knelt back at St Jorian's feet. There would have been many this night who died in fear and pain and he asked that the saint who knew what it was to suffer an agonising death might ease their path into the hereafter.

He was still deep in prayer when a very somber Washburn came into the chapel, genuflected and then gently touched him on the shoulder. "Your Grace, my brother, I am truly sorry to disturb your prayers, but there is something you must hear now."


 
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on April 07, 2018, 06:47:39 PM
Iain Cameron stood at the window of his rented room, watching fate play out at Ratharkin's castle.  The gates remained wide open.  More men, unfortunately those spurred on by the mob, entered to bring more carnage.  Iain suspected there had been carnage enough by now.

"Help us! Help us! The castle is taken, the guards are killed. They are killing the servants now, they will find me! Help me! Help Ratharkin!"

Iain froze, the cry piercing through his very being.  Worse yet, he recognized the voice, though it sounded only in his mind.  Young Lady Agnes, granddaughter of Ratharkin's castle steward, Sir Ainslie Carlisle.  He had met her on one of his visits to the castle, as a tinker sent to repair pots and pans.  In reality it had been to subtlety pass intelligence to her grandfather.  He had found her a charming child, full of intelligence and questions.

For a moment, he stood uncertain.  His duty was to King Kelson, his orders clear. But he could not ignore the cries of a desperate child.  He knew of a secret passage into the castle and had used it himself more than once.  Instead of the common sword he wore as a tinker, he drew from its hiding place beneath the thin mattress on the cot a more formidable weapon, his father's sword.  For a moment, he held the hilt before him, looked at the cross it formed in the moonlight, and asked Saint Camber for his blessing on the child he sought. Then, resolutely, he descended the stairs and went out into the night.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on April 08, 2018, 04:33:23 AM
"Washburn," the duke said only just loud enough for his brother to hear him.  "Have your two other companions attend me, I would speak to all four of you as one."

The younger brother bowed a quick respect, then stepped across to the chapel door, opening the door wide enough to admit the two men waiting without.

"The Duke of Corwyn would have orders for us." Washburn let the two men enter. He briefly gave the nave beyond the door a cursory glance. There were many priests just then, dispersing from the first service of the day.

((01:23 jaxom Can Washburn sense if Lord Jaxom is lurking nearby?
01:23 jaxom !roll 2d6
01:23 derynibot 3, 2 == 5))

Not sensing the presence of the son of Baron Trillick lurking around, Washburn was reassured. Perhaps Jaxom had really just been concerned for Alister's well being, as he had said. There was hope he was not going to be a menace. Faint hope. Wash closed the chapel door firmly, then joined the three others. Columcil and Darcy were just rising from their respectful bow to the Duke.

"I have been in touch with His Majesty, King Kelson. I don't think I need to explain to any of you how that can be." The duke spared a quick glance at the young man-at-arms, and was glad to see there was no fear in the man's eyes. His brother had revealed in the beginning of this journey, that the young seaman had displayed some resistance to magic. Traumatic events had certainly changed up this man. Kelric knew they would change even more before he let them go about their chores this morning. "The four of you are ordered by the King to attend him in his court by this very evening. It is not a terribly long journey, six hour ride at the greatest. You are not to tarry in your travels. I don't think I need to tell you that, as I am sure you are as anxious to get to Rhemuth, as the King is to have you attend him. He needs to know everything that you know." This time Kelric looked strongly at Lord Alister. "Tell him everything. Especially that which you just informed me of," he said to the heir of de Mariot. "I will be in contact with him again this evening, but it is my hopes that you will stand before the king before I can make that Rapport."

All four companions, sucked in their breath. It was the Duke's brother who dared to question one of the highest lords of the kingdom. "You will not be coming with us? Kelric, I was trusting that you would escort us to the capital, yourself?"

"Sadly, No. Dear brother, you have proven you are quite capable of getting Lady Aliset to the King. It is but half a days ride through the heart of Gwynedd. I know the four of you will make the journey without further trouble. Nevertheless, I have been ordered to have Lord Jaxom Trillick and his men escort you safely on this last leg of your journey." As all four standing before the duke began to protest, Kelric creased his eyebrows and gave them all a hard silvery-eyed glare. All four fell silent, feeling admonished by a parent.  "I am well aware of your concerns. In this, there is no choice. I can not spare anyone else to ride with you. The king's orders are explicit. My men and I are to ride north. We are to make an immediate response to the injustice of these rebellions."

Sir Washburn, almost reached out to grab his brother's arm in his concern. But the look Kelric gave him forced him to his knees instead. "Take me with you. You will need my sword."

"No!" The plain word scalded Washburn, and Kelric instantly regretted it. "Wash, understand me. You have your tasked laid ahead of you. You must get to Rhemuth and tell Kelson all that you know. Then you do as Kelson orders you to do. If those orders are to follow us to Meara, than I will welcome you at my side. But if those orders are for something else, you must do as the king bids. He may not want the Corwyn reagent in the same place as its Duke.

"Reagent?" Washburn looked up sharply from where he knelt. "It can't possibly be as dire a situation as that?"

"Your telling me that? After all that has been done just to keep this lady from escaping Meara? I am not a fool, and neither are you." Kelric had stuck a serious cord, and now all four men had taken to a knee before him. "I accept your respect of me," he said in the silence, "and I thank you for it. When all this is over, I will gladly sit down and share an ale with each of you." The duke wished so much that this would lighten the mood of the four before him, but he had to give up on that wish.

"There is one more thing you need to know. His majesty has a man on the inside in Ratherkin. He has been supplying Kelson with information on the rebel forces. It is particularly important that you know who he is, when you return to Meara. He is in the disguise of a tinkerer. He is Iain Cameron, a noble and very loyal baron as well as a spy for His Majesty." This time Kelric purposely singled out Master Darcy in his gaze.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on April 08, 2018, 12:10:25 PM
Darcy Cameron involuntarily sucked in his breath, but he held the Duke of Corwyn's gaze.  He was aware his three companions were staring at him.

"He is alive, then?"  He finally asked.  "My brother still lives?"

Duke Kelric nodded.  "At least as of his last report to King Kelson."

"You have a brother?"  Aliset blurted out.  "A baron?"

"Aye," Darcy replied, and at the duke's nod, continued.  "My brother, Iain Cameron, has been Baron 'o Isles since our father died.  I would have been just short of six years at the time.  Iain had been sent to Rhemuth the year before to train as a squire. Your Grace, did he win the accolade?"

"Yes, he did."  The duke smiled.  "I was at his ceremony; he was an impressive young man.  I thought it odd that none of his family attended."

Darcy's face was beaming with pleasure.  "That is good news, your Grace.  Thank you."  Then the young seaman's face darkened.  "Things changed greatly in Isles when my mother remarried."  He turned to face Aliset.

"On my honour, Lady Aliset, it was never my intent to play you false.  Until you removed the old training controls you found in my head, I remembered nothing of my life before the sea.  Once I remembered, well, I needed time to consider all of it and what it would mean.  There's been no time for that!  I've been concentrating in getting you, nay all of us, safely to Rhemuth in one piece."

Father Columcil was nodding his understanding.  For a moment, Washburn said nothing and then said, "Now you are Lord Darcy."

"Sir Washburn, I earned my Mastery in twelve hard years at sea.  Master Darcy will still suffice, for now."

"I'm afraid not, Lord Darcy," Duke Kelric said.  "Now we must all prepare to depart.  I will see you safely on your way before I leave for the north."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on April 09, 2018, 04:11:49 PM
Duke Kelric made as though to gesture the others to rise then seemed to think better of it. Instead, he put out a hand to help Columcil to his feet, and asked,

"Would you say a blessing for us all, Father, before we must go our separate ways?" using the contact to send "I would have liked to have you say Mass for us but it might have been a little difficult to explain to my Lord Abbot why I choose a travelling priest instead of himself." Columcil nodded acquiescence but could not resist sending in return "Aye, especially given that said priest's cassock is fit for naught but the ragbin."

He wondered if he had presumed too far when the Duke made no sign that he had heard, but then Columcil saw the corners of his lips twitch as he moved to kneel beside his brother. But then he was ashamed of his jest as the enormity of the privilege he had just been given struck him, and turning to face his companions he asked for the protection of God and His blessed Saints to be upon them. Invoking the sacred Trinity "in nomine Patris, et Filii et Spritus Sancti" he made the sign of the cross over them all, a gesture which each echoed.

As they all stood, Kelric embraced his brother and nodded to each of the others in turn before turning to leave the chapel.

"I must go and give orders for us all to be ready to leave within the hour. I will ask my Lord Abbot to arrange for Mass to be said and for travel rations to be made ready. We will not stay to break our fast, we need the bread of the Lord for our souls more than food for our bodies in these perilous times. We will gather again in the church in half-an-hour."

There was nothing to discuss, they were under the orders of the King himself and idle conversation seeming out of place, Columcil rapidly gathered his pack together and made his way to the church, choosing to stand in a quiet corner near the back. As the church began to fill with the troops of both Lord Jaxom and Duke Kelric he became aware of a quietly heated conversation taking place just outside the door, and - God forgive him! - recognising the voices he edged close enough to hear.

"Lord Darcy, Your Grace?" The voice was full of scorn, veiled out of deference to the other's rank but scorn nonethess. "The man's naught but a common seaman, for all that I make no doubt he is good enough in his own station in life." Strain as he might Columcil could not quite make out the Duke's response although the tone was not one Columcil would have liked to have had addressed to him.

"As Your Grace pleases." Lord Jaxom clearly had many things that he would have rather said had not his training in obedience constrained him. As two men entered the church he made a show of bowing the Duke in through the door, but made no move to accompany the Duke to the front preferring to remain where he could mutter out his frustration. Columcil was grateful that their eyes were both fixed on the altar but when he heard, "And I suppose he's going to say that the priest is the Archbishop of Rhemuth in disguise!" he could not help but wonder whether Lord Jaxom was really as oblivious of his presence near him as he seemed. The man was ranting and had struck out at a venture but he could have wished he had chosen a topic a little less near the bone!

Falling to his knees, and letting the shock of the hard stone serve as an act of contrition, Columcil bowed his head and perpared to receive the precious Body of his Lord.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on April 11, 2018, 02:47:52 PM
Sir Washburn Morgan wouldn't have said he was angry, not if any of their party had dared to ask him. Not really angry, as he led the nine mounted horses at a canter away from the sanctuary of Arx Fidei. He admitted to himself that he was upset, quit possible even upset to distraction. And that wouldn't do anyone any good if he could not keep his focus on the road ahead. The trouble was most of the riders following him did not know him, and therefore they would misinterpret his tense square shoulders, clenched jaw, and utter silence as anger. Perhaps they thought he was angry at his brother, the Duke of Corwyn. Perhaps they thought the duke had denied him his chance to go north as some form of punishment for some unknown slight or flaw in his character. Washburn knew none of that was true, but how could the other's know the real reason. That real reason is what upset Washburn more and more as he considered the future in all its possibilities. He didn't like any of them. 

Most would say that the Duke of Corwyn's presence in Cassan and Meara was a good strategy. It was a show of the king's hand where lawlessness had erupted. The king's champion would join up with the armies of Cassan and Kierney and they would subdue the people's rebellion. The trouble was that rebellions of the common folk cared not for title nor honor. There was no chivalry in this type of uprising. Just like the dishonorable attacks of caltrops and man-traps that Wash's party had come upon yesterday. The people would use any and every form of violence to attain their goal. Kelric's men were too few, they counted but twenty-two in total, twenty-two of the best men of Corwyn and Lendour. Washburn would have preferred it to be twenty-three.   Why, oh why, hadn't Ratherkin stayed loyal, even for a few more days? If the whole party of thirty-two had been able to return to Rhemuth, then when the uprising began, the king would have ordered three times as many men north. Prince Javan's elite brigade and Haldane arms could be added to Kelric's best men. The spear-head into Meara would then have had a solid predictable outcome in their favor. And, Washburn would have been among them to see to the protection of his elder brother.

Washburn again scolded himself for thinking the worst. This incident was very unlike that which his father rode out to meet nineteen years before. That was against Teymuraz, the devil spawn Deryni of the east. This was Meara, nothing like the hordes of Byzantine fighters.  Washburn had a job to do. He needed to see the people he had come to care about safely before King Kelson's court. This task was as important as the other. Then when that was accomplished, he would request of the king that he be assigned to his brother's side.

Washburn casted out around him to see what lay on the road ahead of them.

((12:17 Road Washburn casting out for what lay ahead on the road. 5, 6 he senses people
12:17 Road !roll 2d6
12:17 derynibot 1, 5 == 6
12:19 Road 5,6 he senses armed riders or 1-4 farmers
12:19 Road !roll 1d6
12:19 derynibot 1 == 1))

There were indeed a group of men on the road ahead, but further casting out proved them to be farmers and the common folk going about their daily chores.  This was good. Washburn spurred Shadow a little faster and was pleased to note the other's followed his pace.

About an hour past with the sun rising over the hilly country and grasslands when Lord Jaxom gained the courage to come level with Sir Washburn and make a request. "I think we should let the horses walk a pace." Washburn could not help but notice that Jaxom's eyes seemed to turn back to Lord Alister. Washburn wanted to laugh at the man for being so obvious. Lord Alister was quite capable of keeping the pace that was set, even if he in truth was a lady of the nobility. The young heir of Meriot had already proven this over the last week. But Washburn was not about to point that out.

"We can take a breather. A short one," he added. He put up a hand and brought his party down to a walk. "Why don't you set the pace, Lord Jaxom. I have a bundle that Duke Kelric asked me to deliver to Father Columcil. I shall use this reprieve to see that he gets it." With that, Washburn reined in Shadow and let the other's pass him by. Jaxom wasn't too happy with being in the lead, as surely he had wanted to fall back to Lord Alister's side. But this command denied him that opportunity. Aliset and Darcy both looked appreciative of that little fact as they walked past Sir Washburn.

Shadow was set at an easy walk when Spean came abreast. "Father Columcil. I neglected to give this too you earlier." He lifted up a linen-wrapped bag that had been tied to his saddle pack. "It is a gift from both Duke Kelric and the Abbot. They both thought you could use a new Cassock when you come before the King. I will see that we all have time to clean up and change before we are admitted into the king's presence." He handed across the wrapped garment, knowing it would be of the best of wool and silk for daily vestments. Perhaps equal to or better than what a country priest would wear for ceremonial service.




Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on April 12, 2018, 08:32:09 PM
The old tinker made his way through the streets of Ratharkin toward the castle.  The violence within had not yet spilled without, but soon it would.  Looters would take what they could find, and common men would become soldiers for the cause, using the rebellion to take retribution for wrongs true or imagined. 

He kept to the shadows and made for the hidden gate at the base of the castle.  Hidden behind shrubs and thistles, most would not take a second look.  The tinker edged behind the thorns, managing to snag his tunic only once, and found the lever that would open the narrow door.  It creaked slightly, but no one was near to hear the sound.  The tinker slipped inside.

He had no need of a torch.  He cupped his hand and silver-blue handfire lighted his way.  He crept quickly up the steep stairs cut into the inside of the wall.  Finally, he reached the wooden door at the top.

Jerusha   !roll 2d6
20:55   derynibot   4, 2 == 6
Iain does not sense anyone outside the door

He extended his Deryni senses beyond the door.  He could not sense the presence of anyone, but he drew his dagger and held it close.  Slowly he opened the door inward and peered beyond.  He saw no one, but heard the sounds of fighting not too far away.  Cautiously, he cast outward in a general call.

Jerusha   !roll 2d6
20:58   derynibot   1, 3 == 4
Failure to detect Lady Agnes

There was no response.  It did not mean Lady Agnes was not still alive; she might be too frightened to respond, or was somewhere his call had not reached.  He made his way toward the section of the castle where many of the noble families, including Sir Ainslie's family, had rooms.  To his dismay, though not to his surprise, he passed the slain bodies of knights, soldiers and servants.  As he came closer to the quarters he sought, there were bodies of women, cast aside as of no consequence.  He steeled himself and moved forward.

No, please, don't hurt me.  No!

The cry was clear and close.  The tinker moved into the inner room.  A grinning insurgent was holding Lady Agnes aloft by one arm, swinging her back and forth, his sword coming closer to her with each swing.

"Shall we have a game of it, little lady?" he said, laughing at her frightened face.

Jerusha   !roll 2d6
21:09   derynibot   4, 6 == 10
Will Iain slay the lady's captor; Yes

The tinker moved soundlessly forward, drawing his dagger.  He gripped the man's sword arm and drove the dagger deep into his chest, piercing the man's heart.  Man and girl fell to the floor, making more noise than the tinker would have liked.  For a moment Lady Agnes stared at him in fright and then she recognized him.

"Quickly," the tinker said.  "Come with me.  I'll see you to safety."

Agnes nodded and took his offered hand.  The tinker looked around and recognized the old tapestry hanging in a corner of the room.  "Quickly now, this way."  Putting action to words, the tinker pulled her behind the tapestry.  Behind it was a hollow alcove.  The tinker reached for a hidden latch, and the wall behind them slid open.  He guided the girl through and the door slid closed behind them. For a moment, they stood in darkness and then the tinker cupped his hand and brought forth silver-blue handfire. 

"I know where you can be kept safe, Lady Agnes.  Will you trust me?" the tinker asked.

Agnes nodded, and then cupped her hand and formed a small ball of green handfire.  "I can help," she said.

Iain Cameron smiled and resisted the impulse to say it was not needed.   He held out his hand to the young girl, and she grasped it willingly as he led her away from the death in the castle.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on April 19, 2018, 12:17:36 PM
Lord Jaxom was honored to lead the party at a stately pace of a walk for a time or so.  Then as the sun rose in the sky, he became aware that their journey would not find them before the king at the appointed time if they continued at this rate. The whole party really did need to move out, even canter for a while to make up for the slow morning hours. This irked Jaxom to no end. How could he be sure of the lady's well being if he was out front, leading their group, he needed to  be riding at the lady's side so that if anything happened, he could call for a halt. Why hadn't the duke's brother resumed his duties as leader, as he should have done so an hour ago. No wonder, Duke Kelric left his brother behind. This Sir Washburn must have no sense at all. Was he at the back trying to court the lady in disguise. A look over his shoulder told Jaxom, no. Washburn was happily riding beside the country priest, the two seemed to be enjoying a good jest near the back of their party. It was that Darcy fellow-- a lord indeed-- Jaxom huffed to himself, who seemed to be too attentive to the lady riding beside him. Lord Alister was even looking a bit annoyed by something. Jaxom's protective instincts assailed his sensibilities. Perhaps it was better to move at a faster pace, less time for chit chat at the back of the group.

He called the group to a halt, motioning for Sir Washburn to come forward.

With a laugh over some remark made, Sir Washburn rejoined Lord Jaxom at the head of the que. "Is there trouble ahead?" the knight asked. "How can I assist?"

Jaxom cleared his throat, resisting the thoughts that came directly to mind. Instead he plainly said, "Tis the village ahead. Should we bypass it, by going around. I think we will need to pick up the pace."

Washburn squinted his eyes at the row of five small buildings, barely a village, more like a communal farmstead. But Jaxom did have a point, there seemed to be trouble wherever the enemy could find a place to hide. Washburn had been keeping an attentive surveillance on their surroundings, which wasn't hard to do at a walk. He was glad that Jaxom at least was perceptive enough to see that danger could and did at times exist.

"Very well, I do agree with your assessment. We will take the side road around over there. Tighten your reins up, my fellows," Washburn called over his shoulder. "Time for a goodly jog." With that Washburn put action to his words. Spurred his black Shadow forward and lead the party far around the cluster of habitations ahead.

Lord Jaxom happily took the opportunity to move back in the line and find himself riding beside Lord Alister. He ignored, as a gentleman should, the unkind glanced of the seaman on the lady's opposite side.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on April 19, 2018, 01:21:55 PM
"If Lord Jaxom sets any slower a pace," Aliset muttered under her breath to Darcy in extreme disgruntlement, "he'll have us dismounted and entering the outskirts of Rhemuth on our knees!"

Darcy stifled a laugh. "Now, now, at least a steady walk is better than fleeing for our lives, as we've already done far too many times upon this journey!" Not that he felt at all sorry for the target of the lady's ire. The arrogant lord at the head of their party was just as irritating to him also, just for different reasons.

The lordling in question halted their already slow progress at that point, signaling for Lord Washburn to join him. There was a brief conference between the two lords, maddeningly just out of earshot, then Washburn took the lead, this time setting a faster pace that brought the smile back to Aliset's lips.  Darcy, easily imagining it on her own fair face despite the fact that she currently wore her brother's features, forced his mind to other matters quickly, forestalling any telltale blush that might give away his feelings for the maiden in disguise.

Lord Jaxom drew alongside them, on the other side of Lady Aliset, and shot him a supercilious glance. Darcy bristled, but determined to keep the peace, he redirected his attention straight ahead for the moment.  There was still the risk of danger springing out at them once again, after all.  Darcy returned his full attention to keeping a wary eye out for any traps or enemies that might lie ahead.

Aliset, her too-brief distraction thus otherwise engaged again, turned an annoyed look towards the man who had just ridden up beside her.  "Is it your intention that we arrive in Rhemuth before nightfall, my lord?" she asked coolly.  "At the pace we've been riding, either the King's Court is much closer than I remember it being, or the roads have shrunk since my last visit to that city, if we're meant to arrive at the city gates before the sun goes down."  Or before Hell freezes over, she Mind-Spoke in an acerbic aside to Darcy.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on April 20, 2018, 03:33:36 PM
Darcy Cameron struggled to supress another laugh as they rode forward.  Hell would probably not freeze over on this warm summer day, but he grinned nevertheless.  Lord Jaxom continued to ride on Aliset's other side.  Either the man had chosen to ignore Aliset's cool reception, or he was oblivious to the fact.  Darcy thought it was more likely oblivion.

They turned onto the sideroad to avoid the farmsteads.  It was narrower than the main road and Darcy was forced to move Sigrun onto the grass.  The footing was not as sure here, and he did not want to risk an injury to her.

"Lord Jaxom," Darcy called across.  "Could you move back or up? There's not enough room for the three of us abreast on this road."

"Pick whichever you prefer," Jaxom called back and kept firmly in his position beside Aliset. 

Let's move up, on three, Aliset Mind-Spoke to Darcy.  Darcy saw the determined look in her eye and nodded.  One...two...three!

In unison, Darcy and Aliset spurred Sigrun and Papillon ahead, leaving the startled Jaxom positioned behind.

"Hold on, Darcy! That was not what I meant!" Jaxom shouted.

"Keep up as best you can," Darcy called over his shoulder, and Aliset smiled.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on April 23, 2018, 04:57:41 PM
Columcil felt some surprise at how comfortable he was being in company with Washburn as they rode along, even relaxing enough to laugh out loud at the young lord's jokes, and it seemed that the ease was reciprocated. He was not convinced that Shadow felt the same at the company he was keeping, the stallion did not even deign to glance at the shaggy border pony ambling at his flank and every now and then looked backward at his rider as if to say "if we go any slower, we'll be going backwards." Though he was enjoying this slow meander through the lush summer countryside, here in the fertile heartland of Gwynedd, after a time Columcil began to feel as twitchy as Shadow. This after all was no summer excursion but the last stage of a desperate journey, with information which they must lay before the king. Thinking thus, his anxieties about that coming encounter with his Majesty began to fill his mind and he was just plucking up his courage to speak more seriously to his companion when Sir Washburn was summoned forward by Sir Jaxom and Columcil was left to ride by himself.

By this stage in their journey together, stout-hearted Spean adjusted his pace to keep up with the other horses without Columcil having to pay very much attention, and he found that there was nothing to distract him from his worries, not even when Spean suddenly broke into a canter in the wake of Sigrun and Papillon. As Spean's hooves beat rhymically on the dry ground the same phrases echoed round Columcil's head, "What if he knows me for who I am? What if Duke Dhugal is there. What if...? What if...?" If only Duke Kelric had come with them, and could have spoken to Archbishop Duncan on his behalf. He berated himself for his selfishness when people were being slaughtered in their beds and the kingdom was in danger but he seemed unable to help himself. He had met the King once before as a seminarian when there had been a royal visit to Arx Fidei. He remembered bowing low and hearing a voice speaking gracious words, and himself muttering foolish nothings in reply, in the manner of ordinary folk meeting royalty. But this time the King's attention would be upon him and there would be no hiding in the crowd.

If only he had spoken to Sir Washburn when he had the chance. Well perhaps he could rectify that by speaking mind to mind. It appeared that Aliset and Darcy were too occupied with annoying Lord Jaxom to listen in, besides which he was not intending to reveal anything that they could not be privy to.

((Columcil Mindspeaks to Washburn, roll advantage 5+6+3=14. I do hope that all these hero points aren't a bad omen. 1nvgbj4pzm))

Washburn heard the horses behind him pick up speed and took that as a signal to give Shadow more of his head, enjoying the horse's smooth gait as he settled into a canter. At this pace it could not be long before the walls and towers of Rhemuth came into view and he would lead them before the King, able to be confident that Kelric had sent a good report of him to Kelson, though whether his mother would be impressed by him was a different matter. He was reflecting on what he hoped the King's orders for him would be when a voice spoke into his mind.

My Lord, may I crave a moment's indulgence? It took him a moment to recognise just who was speaking to him, with the customary accent all but smoothed out and the formality of address. When he did recognise it, he could not restrain a mental laugh.

Father Columcil. Just a moment ago you were laughing at my awful jokes and calling me Washburn. Why so formal?

There was a subdued chuckle. Aye, well, I'm getting in practice so as I'm no shaming ma'sen in yon Court in Rhemuth. There was a pause then Columcil spoke again, once again in the formal tones which Washburn found disconcertingly false though there was genuine enough appeal in the other's voice. My Lord, I beg that you will pardon me from appearing before his Majesty. It's his Grace the Archbishop I have business with. I'm a humble priest, that's all.

Columcil knew that he had been unable to hide the real distress in his voice, and he could but hope that Sir Washburn's compassion would be aroused. The answer came with compunction, but definite.

No, Father. I speak for all of us, your part must be properly acknowledged. And besides, this is the king's command and not my call.

Seeking to lighten the other's mood Washburn added, And, unlike we three, you will be properly dressed in your new cassock. I will need you to assure his Majesty that we are not a band of ruffians.

I'll no go before his majesty dressed like yon popinjay if the rest o' ye are no going to scrub yourselves up

Columcil's response was so prompt and so typical that Washburn almost laughed outloud, relieved to have his friend back to normal, though he could not imagine what was bothering him. He must know that the King would look on him with great favour.

Columcil sighed. He had tried and must simply hope that the King was too pre-occupied with the fraught affairs of his kingdom to pay him close attention.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on April 23, 2018, 07:53:29 PM
Darcy Cameron was enjoying his ride beside Lady Aliset.  And although it was not charitable, Lord Jaxom's discomfiture riding behind them did not bother him at all.  It was now late afternoon, and what had started as small villages springing up beside the road had became larger centres of population.  While previously they had the road to themselves, they now shared the road with travellers on foot, merchant's carts and those Darcy guessed to be mounted messengers.  He was used to bustling port towns, but nothing in his experience prepared him for the grandeur of Rhemuth when it appeared before them.  He almost pulled up Sigrun to stop and look, but caught himself in time and continued forward.

"They call it Rhemuth the Beautiful," Aliset said beside him.

"That she is," Darcy replied, and tried not to stare and the grandeur before him.  Beyond the waters of the river Eirian, Darcy could see the formidable walls of the city.  The spires of the Cathedral of Saint George could be made out in the distance, and beyond that the towers of Rhemuth Castle.  Darcy was determined not to be awestruck, but it was difficult.

The road became even more crowded as they approached King's Landing.  They would have to take the ferry across the Eirian to enter the city proper.  There were many travellers wanting to make the crossing before sunset; after sunset the ferry closed for the night.  Sir Washburn sent one of Jaxom's men to assert their place among the waiting travellers. 

The man returned looking apologetic.  "We will have to await our turn, Sir Washburn," he said hesitantly.  "There are other noble parties in front of us, not to mention merchants of note."

Washburn bristled and then realized that the sorry state of their combined appearances did nothing to help their cause.  No squire held his Lendour banner aloft to announce his presence.  Even Lord Jaxom was looking less than dapper by now.  Nevertheless, the Lendour stag embellishing his tunic should stand them in good stead.  He rode forward to address the ferryman.

"Master Ferryman, I am Sir Washburn Morgan.  I am under orders to report to King Kelson before nightfall.  I request passage for myself and my party as soon as possible."

The ferryman looked up at the tall knight before him seated on the black destrier.  The tunic was dusty, stained and torn, but the ferryman remembered providing passage to the Duke of Corwyn several days before.  There could be no doubting the resemblance.  He bowed.

"My lord," the ferryman responded.  "I can have you on the next ferry after this one.  This one is fully loaded and about to cast off.  It will be faster to put you and your party on the next one, rather than unload and reload this one."

"That will do," Washburn said with a nod.  "We'll form up and be ready to board."  He motioned for the rest of the party to come forward.

Once the next ferry was in position at the loading dock, they dismounted and lead their horses on board.  Darcy felt quite at home on the brief journey across the river.  Once the crossing was complete and they were again on dry land, they remounted and rode forward to enter the destination of their long and arduous journey, Rhemuth.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on April 23, 2018, 08:40:24 PM
He had been watching the ferry crossing for several days. Gazing through the small Shiral crystal he kept with his personal things. Random lookings as time permited the opportunity to watch. And seeing the dirty, torn, and bloodied Lendor tunic at the rivers edge meant that his steadfast watching has finally paid off. The Morgan and his friends will soon be in the Palace.

Feyd smiled. He carefully wrapped the shiral crystal back up and stored it gently. He aquired his other things. Those that he would need at the Palace. He then dressed in his fineres that would be fitting for his character, the role he would play out at the Palace. Entering with a number of other foreign guests this day. None would notice one extra minor lord among their number.

The persona was well established, this was not his first trip to Rhemuth after all. He had business here before dealing with an inconvenient Deryni. The Portal here was well hidden and forgotten by most. Like many of the ones he uses in his travels. Everything was set and ready. He says a brief prayer before heading to the Palace himself.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on April 25, 2018, 04:22:34 AM
Passing beneath the wide arch of the Rivergate barbican, was a relief beyond measure. The capital city of Rhemuth was like a second home for Sir Washburn. Well, third home really. His real home was Coroth, a place of leisure and family, he often found himself coming and going from Coroth, yet rarely staying long. Cynfyn Castle in Lendour was his duty bound home. One where he was appointed lord and had to see the accounting well kept. In spring and in fall, it was his duty to be in Lendour to see that the spring plantings made, the birthing of the livestock handled properly, and than in fall, the harvest brought in and counted. Also to oversee the court of Kenric Morgan, hereditary Earl of Lendour who was only just this year coming into his own, at the age of fourteen. With the exceptions of the times the earl or the duke were present, Washburn was the one to resolve small disputes and to determine what needed to be brought forth to the Duke's attention. Rhemuth, on the other hand, was a home both of family and of duty, though there was not a single room in Rhemuth that Washburn could call his own. He was either the guest in the duke's apartment, or a guest of the Archbishop, or the guest of Prince Javan and Lady Grania, his sister and her husband. Or at times, he stayed in town at the Boar's Head Inn on King's Way just to stay out of the center of the 'todo' of court society. In fact, he was sorely tempted to lead his party to the Boar's Head Inn, just now. A place to clean up and prepare themselves properly before entering the castle would have been the least troublesome of all options. But NOT with Lady Aliset. That would be unforgivable. It was not like his party had arrived unnoticed, either. As they left the Rivergate behind them, and entered into the busy market square, he was certain that runners had already been dispatched to the King to inform him of their arrival.

The hour was late afternoon on a bustling Saturday, the market square would be open until sundown, hawkers and merchants were busy earning their keep. A man in a monk's robe, yelled out to them. "Hear ye, travelers, be ye well on this day, Saint Christopher's Day. If your travel this day has been good, give the patron saint his due." He held out a hand toward Washburn and company.

Washburn pulled a coin from his purse, "Aye, today has been a good travel day. I will happily thank Saint Christopher if he be our benefactor," the knight said while tossing the man the coin before traveling on.

The way from the North city wall to the castle was the shortest distance, which bypassed the majority of the city. The street was finely cobbled in arched designs, here the wealthiest merchants lived and many noblemen held private residences. Beyond the market square the road was wide and clean with good stone and brick buildings backing on to private gardens. High on the plateau to their right was the outer curtain wall of the great castle. The road curved upward to the castle's first gate. The small group was passed through without question. The road here was steep, it climbed to the second curtain wall. The dead zone between the two walls was open and rocky, a defense for the ease of archers standing high on the second wall. Not yet to the top of this plateau, which castle Rhemuth sat upon in its majesty, Washburn led his wide eyed companions upto and through a third defense inner-wall gate before turning left and entering the long gate house pass-way which then cornered to the right before they could enter the courtyard proper. The stone steps which led to the bronze doors of the Great Hall were ahead of them. Washburn veered further to the left, toward the stables, waving men over to assist as they dismounted.

Washburn was no sooner out of the saddle, when a squire in Haldane livery stepped up beside him. "You are awaited for by the king in the great hall."  The squire looked the group of ten over with a discerning eye. He neither laughed nor grimaced at their rough appearance. "I am to give allowance of thirty minutes if you feel the necessity of freshening up."

Washburn wanted to laugh, the squire was being so proper about it. "Yes, I think we would all appreciate the king's reprieve of thirty minutes. Inform His Majesty that we will make the most of the time and we will come before him at the top of the hour. Would you be able to order hot water sent to the Duke of Corwyn's apartment?"

The Squire nodded, "The need has been foreseen and preparations have been made." The youth bowed and left them to return to inform the king.

Washburn shook his head and smiled as he turned to the nine members of his group, all now standing, their mounts led away, each holding a bundle of their own private things. "We have thirty minutes. Let us make the most of it. Follow me, if you will." As they entered the main castle, Wash pointed out the barracks for the four archers under Jaxom's command. Then he headed up the circular stairs to the second floor, down a long hall, past the hug oak door that led to the King's tower, then on to the next set of doors that opened to the duke of Corwyn's private apartment. They were greeted by a dozen servants. Lord Jaxom and his squire were quickly shuffled off into the first room. Once they were sure he was out of sight, Washburn personally escorted Lord Alister to the duchess's private solar. The door was opened without him knocking. Princess Araxandra was there looking wide eyed at the young man Washburn escorted. "Is this the person, I believe it to be?"

"It is," Washburn said very quietly, "Your Grace, would you see to her proper care?"

"For shame, for shame, if you were my son and not my husband's brother, I would see you thrashed for treating a lady so." Before Aliset could utter a word, the princess had pulled her through the door, and shut it closed behind her.

Washburn sighed. He was not going to live this down any time soon. He turned back to his last two companions. "This way, Lord Darcy, Father Columcil. Let us see if we can make quick work of a hot bath and change of clothes."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on April 25, 2018, 10:15:15 AM
"I would ask if the lady's safety is insured in there," Darcy Cameron said, "but I fear my life would be forfeit if I were even to think about hovering nearby."

"You have the right of it, that's for sure.  I've already been threatened with a thrashing, and I'm family."  Washburn grinned and led the way to a large room where two steaming tubs of water waited.  Darcy motioned for Father Columcil to proceed him, but the priest shook his head and stepped back.  A servant was already assisting Washburn to undress by the first tub.

"I'll be quick," Darcy said, trying his best to ignore the hovering servants.  He stripped off his clothes and stepped into the second tub, noting that one of the servants picked them up and tossed them to one side as if they would only serve as rags to swab a deck.  With a sigh, Darcy realized he was probably right.  He wasn't sure he had anything left in his sea bag that not in some state of disrepair.  He untied his clubbed braid and ducked under the water.

A short time later he was freshly shaved and standing in his only clean braies, rubbing his hair vigorously with a towel to dry it as much as he could.  One of the servants had looked over Darcy's shoulder while Darcy rummaged through the contents of his sea bag after bathing, had shaken his head, and had gone off to find other clothing.

Father Columcil had finished with his own bath and wore his new cassock. "It's a bit fine for a country priest," Columcil said, looking slightly embarrassed.

"It looks most befitting," Darcy replied as he combed his fingers though his fair hair and quickly braided it.  He had just completed the club when the servant returned with shirt, hose, and a tunic.  They were all black, and Darcy suspected they had been outgrown by Washburn at some earlier point in time.  Darcy dutifully donned each garment as the servant held it out to him, uncomfortable with the attention. The tunic was a tad long for him, but it would do.  He reached his limit when the man attempted to buckle his sword for him and Darcy snatched it away to adjust it to his own satisfaction. 

"I think we are as presentable as can be expected," Washburn said and then added after looking pointedly in Darcy's direction, "and we thank you for your assistance in keeping us on time."

"Aye," Darcy added, feeling abashed as he followed Washburn and Columcil from the room.   Adjusting to this new status would take some time.  He hoped he would not totally disgrace himself before the king.  And Aliset.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on April 25, 2018, 01:00:42 PM
Aliset bristled inwardly at the Haldane Princess's words. She realized the lady's heart was in the right place, yet the shaming admonition stirred up Aliset's protective instincts towards the man who had risked his life on multiple occasions in service both to his mission to see her safely to Rhemuth and, in doing so, to honor his friend her brother's memory.

As the door closed behind her, Aliset murmured the spell under her breath which would dispel the shapeshifting illusion and restore her normal features and form.  The Duchess of Corwyn turned to find a young woman in a youthful man's clothing standing before her.  The young woman made a properly deferential curtsey despite the oddity of her appearance.

"I beg your pardon for the state of my attire, Your Grace," Aliset said, "but the truth of the matter is, without your brother-in-law's protection and heroic efforts on my behalf, I would never have made it out of Meara alive, much less as far as Rhemuth Castle. None of us would have.  Sir Washburn is indeed well worthy of the accolade, as my brother Sir Alister oftimes remarked to me, and equally well worthy of the Morgan name, to have managed as well as he has done to fulfill the mission entrusted to him to preserve both my life and my reputation, so much as might be managed under the extremity of my circumstances." She was careful to moderate her tone so as to conceal the sense of pique that had prompted her words, hoping that the princess before her would accept them as statement of fact rather than as an implied rebuke of her treatment of Lord Washburn.  Well, no, who was Aliset kidding?  Secretly she did hope that Araxandra of Corwyn caught some hint of the underlying rebuke, plausibly deniable though Aliset hoped her delivery made it!

The King's daughter, thankfully, looked more thoughtful than offended as she replied with a gracious nod of acknowledgement, "I am very glad to hear that my lord's brother was able to be of such able service to you and deliver you safely into my father's keeping.  But come now, let us see what we might do to see you refreshed from your long journey before you are presented to His Majesty."

Aliset took a deep breath as a maidservant showed her to the hot bath awaiting her.  Doubtless her temper was on edge due to the discomforts of travel and the constant stress and peril she'd endured ever since Oswald's attack and the deaths of her remaining family. It was hardly the Duchess of Corwyn's fault for having leapt to such a damning conclusion about Lord Washburn's competencies based solely on the appearance of the two bedraggled persons who had turned up at her door!  As she disrobed and slipped into the fragrant bathwater--oh, how luxurious it felt to feel the clean liquid slip around her bare form!--Aliset hoped that the resulting cleanliness would be equally restorative to her frayed patience as well, renewing her usual equanimity before she had to enter the King's presence.

Aliset closed her eyes as the maidservant scrubbed hair and body clean of the accumulated grime of travel.  As she emerged from the rose-scented bathwater, an lady-in-waiting stood by with a set of fresh linen towels, blotting up the excess moisture from her hair and skin as yet another maidservant emerged from a nearby chamber with a small tray of sweet pastries, tiny meat pies, and a goblet of watered wine.  "There will be a larger meal later, of course," Princess Araxandra assured her as she re-entered the chamber, "but this should hopefully be sufficient to restore your energies until that time." With a tilt of her head, she studied Aliset's newly-cleansed appearance before giving a decisive nod.  "There isn't enough time to allow your hair to dry the usual way, I'm afraid, so if you will allow, my lady?"  Raising her hand, Kelric's Duchess sketched a quick glyph in the air, and suddenly Aliset felt her tangled, dripping tresses turn silken-smooth and dry, their shining length swept back into an elaborate, ribboned braid and arranged into intricate knotwork at the nape of her neck and secured beneath a shimmering gold, bejeweled caul.

The Demoiselle of Mariot, looking far more her usual self than she had at any time since her harrowing misadventure had begun, expressed her gratitude profusely as she allowed herself to be laced into a surprisingly well fitted silken gown of deep emerald green while she partook of the small but savory feast before her.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on April 26, 2018, 02:12:29 AM
Sir Washburn adjusted his knight's white belt over his fresh black tunic with his Lendour heraldry. Reaching for his sword, he proudly slipped it into the belt's hangers, giving it and his dagger a finale adjustment at his side. Even fresh footwear had been brought forth and were now upon his feet. Not his riding boots, but a good black-leather pair of walking boots, which were best for standing long hours on the Great Hall's marbled floor. One last comb through his short hair and he had to admit its length allowed for quicker preparations than his prior long hair ever had. For the first time, he didn't envy Lord Darcy and his long braid. He glanced over at the younger man, nodding with approval at the rather dashing contrast of Lord Darcy's pale hair and black attire.  Darcy should turn a few ladies attentions at court this day.

The oldest of the three men came forward. Washburn gave a second nod of approval for the distinguished look of the country priest. The bath and new clothes took years off the man's appearance. Columcil was a man in his prime, perhaps only a few years older than Washburn's brother, Duke Kelric and certainly much younger than his eldest brother, Earl Brendan. Washburn chided himself for ever thinking the good priest as old as Brendan was.

"What wonders a good bath and thirty minutes can bring," Washburn said with a nod towards his companions. "The women, I am certain, will keep us waiting. Perhaps we will have time to beg a bit to eat. Now that I feel rejuvenated, I am famished." He left the dressing room to enter the main room only to come up short before a platter of meat pies and hot pastry wrapped cheese and ham. "Ahhh! The duchess has read my mind. She mus'ent be so upset with me," he claimed with a rueful smile, then beckoned the others over to eat their fill.

"Do I sense the smell of fine edibles?" Lord Jaxom proclaimed. He and his squire joined the three men around the table ladened with food.  He was pristine in his fresh clothes-- Washburn briefly wondered how many sets of clothes his squire had lugged across the wilds for his lord. For indeed the young lord of Trillick was a handsome man with his neat appearance and perfect trimmed mustache.

"Indeed, come join us Lord Jaxom, there seems to be plenty for all. I think we have a few minutes yet before we are called." He didn't want to mention that they were awaiting on a lady. He was pretty sure that Lord Jaxom was well aware of what they waited for, yet the offering of food was a good distraction.

Well... it might have been a good distraction if not for a few minutes later, when the Duchess of Corwyn entered the room. Everyone was bowing as she entered, yet the five men never made their full bow as their eyes locked on the stunning lady entering the room behind Araxandra. Shock prevailed in the silence. Washburn had seen the fine features of Lady Aliset before, mostly in the confines of Saint Brigid's in Droghera. There she had been a vivacious lady of ability and purpose. This... Washburn could not help but stare... this was a fine courtly noblewoman. A Baron's daughter to be presented to the King. "My Lady!" he exclaimed taking a deeper bow when he remembered himself to do so, taking note that two of the men beside him were in even more shock and slower to bow than he.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on April 26, 2018, 10:23:43 AM
Darcy Cameron had not realized how hungry he was until he spied the food on the table in the outer room.  He managed to wait until Sir Washburn helped himself and then reached for a slice of savoury meat pie. Another hand snatched it before him, and Father Columcil took a deep bite into Darcy's intended target.

"My penance for bathing first, Father?"  Darcy asked.  Father Columcil grinned and Darcy helped himself to the adjoining piece, finishing it in only a few bites.  Lord Jaxom joined them, looking approvingly at the priest's rejuvenated appearance and acknowledging Darcy with the slightest of nods.  Darcy decided to ignore him and turn his attention back to the fine food when the door to the chamber opened.

Darcy turned to bow to the Duchess of Corwyn as she entered but froze at the sight of the woman entering behind her.

Lady Aliset was a vision!  Darcy had been captivated by her during their stay at Saint Brigid's, admiring her beauty but also the spirited determination that was so much a part of her.  Nothing had prepared him for the woman who stood before him now, dressed in a fitted silk dress and jeweled caul.  Suddenly, he realized he was staring with his mouth open and hastily completed his bow.

Lord Jaxom Trillick was in no better shape, seeing Lady Aliset for the first time.  He had heard that the Demoiselle de Mariot was a beauty, but this went beyond his expectations!  She would suit him nicely for a wife; his father could not possibly object.  Well, except for the slight issue of spending the night in another man's room.  He was sure that issue could be negotiated.  He bowed even more deeply. 

Princess Araxandra smiled in acknowledgment, accepting the fact that she was not the centre of their attention with good grace. 

"Gentlemen, I believe we are expected before the king," she said and waited expectantly.

Washburn strode forward, offered her his arm, and managed to partially block Jaxom's approach.  As he began to guide his sister-in-law toward the outer door, Jaxom moved forward to offer his arm to Aliset and was dismayed when it collided with Darcy's chest. 

'Thank you, Lord Darcy," Aliset said as she placed her hand on Darcy's extended arm.  "We started this journey together; let us see where it takes us now."

"The honour is mine, my Lady," Darcy replied solemnly and guided her forward.

Lord Jaxom lowered his own arm awkwardly and fell into step behind them, resenting the sorry pretence of a nobleman that had outmanoeuvred him again.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on April 27, 2018, 06:37:17 PM
The old tinker paused at the narrow wooden door at the end of the passage and looked down at the six-year-old girl beside him.  The glow from his hand fire reflected off a pretty face surrounded by disheveled red curls.  She was still frightened, and the tinker feared shock from the earlier horrors she had experienced would soon set in.  She held his hand resolutely, trusting him to see her to safety.   He hoped there was still safety to be found in Ratharkin.

He squatted down beside her.  "Lady Agnes, we're about to go outside, so we need to put out our hand fires to allow our eyes to adjust to the darkness."  Agnes extinguished her hand fire in a careful move and waited for him to do the same.  "I'll keep mine just a little longer; I need you to do something for me."  The child gave him a wary look but nodded.

"I need to give you another name to use for now.  Something very unlike your own."  The tinker thought for a moment.  "How about Gelsey -  Gelsey Baker.  Would you mind being called that for a while?"

Agnes repeated the name twice, then nodded.  "Do you have a name?"

The tinker smiled.  "Everyone just calls me Tinker."

The newly named Gelsey shook her head.  "I don't think your mother called you Tinker."

"Well no, she didn't, but it works for me now."  The tinker was surprised but pleased that the girl was still thinking clearly.  "I'm going to put out my hand fire now, and after a moment or two, we'll go outside.  It might be easier if I carry you, to make sure we don't get separated." 

The tinker extinguished his hand fire and felt the girl's grip tighten.  He stood and listened for a moment at the door, hearing nothing through the thick timbers.  The exit from this tunnel was on the other side of the main castle gate and put them closer to the destination he had in mind.  He leaned down and slid his arm around Gelsey, picked her up and balanced her on his left hip, behind the hilt of his sword. She slid her right arm around is shoulder. 

"That's a good girl.  I need you to stay quiet, and if anyone asks us any questions, let me give the answers."  He felt her head nod agreement beside his.  Cautiously, he opened the door, paused and then stepped outside. 

As with the passage entrance he had used earlier, the door opened behind a thick screen of bushes and thorns.  Shielding the girl as well as he could, the tinker worked his way around them.  He heard sounds of men coming from the direction of the gate.  Were the bastards actually laughing?  He retreated behind the bushes and waited for them to pass.

There were three of them walking abreast, swords held before them at the ready, but obviously expecting no trouble.  One carried a soldier's helmet as if it were a trophy.  Gelsey remained silent within the tinker's arm as the tinker waited for them to pass. Once the way was clear, he slipped again from behind the bushes.  Keeping within the deep shadow along the castle wall, he made his way to the street that led to Merchant's Row.

There was more activity in the street than he wanted, but there was nothing he could do about that.  Skulking along the merchant buildings would draw suspicion, so the tinker moved at the edge of the street, doing his best to look guardedly confident.  He was just a tinker, after all.  He avoided using his Deryni senses to scan the area for danger; any person out at this time was likely to be hostile to some degree, and he did not want to be psychically noticed by another Deryni. 

He was almost halfway to the house of the merchant he sought when a voice called from a short distance ahead. 

"You there!  Where are you bound this night?"

The tinker slowed his pace but did not stop.  "I take my niece home.  She was to spend the evening with me, but the sounds of the fighting woke her."  Two men stepped before him, and the tinker stopped, shifting Gelsey farther away from his sword.

Will the challenger become suspicious of the tinker?
Jerusha   !roll 2d6
15:31   derynibot   2, 4 == 6
No. Whew.

The men looked the tinker over and the young girl.  Gelsey hugged the tinker harder and buried her face against his neck.  The two men looked at each other, and the tinker tried not to hold his breath.  After a moment, one of the men waved him on.  The tinker nodded his thanks and continued on.

"Good girl," the tinker said softly when they were safely away. 

They passed two other small groups of men, but no one challenged them.  The tinker could hear a larger group ahead, but he had reached his destination.  The challenge now was to wake the goodwife within without drawing too much attention.

Will the goodwife ignore the tinker's mental summons?
Jerusha   !roll 2d3
15:47   derynibot   2, 3 == 5
Failure. She will not ignore him.

The tinker stood at the door and knocked just hard enough to sound like he was expected.  At the same time, he sent a mental prod to the woman inside to awaken so she would hear him.  A few moments later, the door opened.

In the doorway stood a large woman holding a large iron skillet.

"Mistress Baker," the tinker said with a small bow.  "I return your niece to you."

For another moment the woman stared at them.  "It's about time," she finally said and stepped back so he could enter with the child.

"What are you up to on this evil night, Tinker?" She said as she closed the door.  Gelsey looked up at her, and the woman gasped.  "Lady Agnes!  God be praised someone has been spared this night!"

"No," the child said quickly.  "I'm Gelsey."

"I thought it best she uses another name for a bit," the tinker explained.  "Better she not switch back and forth.  Gelsey, this is Mistress Baker.  Your grandfather orders the breads and sweetmeats for the court from her."  Belatedly, he realized he should have used the past tense.

Gelsey looked at the woman closely.  "I like your tarts the best.  The cherry ones."

"Bless you, child," Mistress Baker said. She looked at the tinker.  "You want me to look out for her."

"Aye, but it could be for a long while," he responded.

"No matter. She shall be as my own.  Maybe even learn to make a proper tart while she's here."

Gelsey smiled and seemed to accept the arrangement.

"If I can't return myself, I will send someone for her once it is safe to do so.  You will know who you can trust."

The tinker set Gelsey down and squatted down beside her.  "I must leave now.  You can trust Mistress Baker to treat you well and keep you safe.  You will have to pretend to be her niece and help her with the shop.  Can you do that?"

"Yes, but I wish you would stay too."  She looked at him bravely, but he saw the tears swimming in her eyes as she spoke.

The tinker hugged her.  "I have work I must do to set things right again.  All will be well."  Iain Cameron  stood, bowed slightly to Mistress Baker, and let himself out into the street.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on April 28, 2018, 07:57:19 AM
Father Columcil knew that he should say something charitable to Lord Jaxom but he just could not bring himself to do so. His list of sins to bring to confession was growing daily, and lack of charity was no worse than the hypocrisy which a sympathetic word to the noble Lord would have betokened. Oh, and best add vanity to that, he thought wryly,  running his hand appreciatively over the smooth fabric of his new cassock, though he doubted its practicality for when he returned home. Always supposing Archbishop Duncan didn't have him safely shunted away into some monastery. Duke Kelric had promised that all was well, but his Grace had rather more important things to think about than a newly discovered distant cousin. Columcil feared that when he met his grandfather he would feel compelled to reveal his breach of faith and he could see no reason why the latter should view him with forbearance. What did either really know of the other, after all?

First,  though, there was the king to be faced. He did not in the least begrudge Darcy his change in status, indeed he was delighted that his friend's love of Lady Aliset was not now entirely hopeless,  but he would have been grateful for another commoner alongside himself as they went before his Majesty. "Head down and say as little as possible," he muttered morosely to himself and thus occupied in his own thoughts it took a second for him to register that they had stopped moving. He barged into the back of Lady Aliset and retreated hastily, his face flaming, only to tread on the toes of the man at arms in Corwyn livery who had followed behind. "Beg pardon," he murmured , wishing that the ground would open and swallow him up. They had not even moved out of the apartment yet and he was making a fool of himself. The man at arms was a kindly soul and remembered all too well how terrified he had been the first time he entered the King's presence.

"No harm done, Father. But his Grace the Archbishop is  looking our way. I think he wants a word with you. And quite right too, you being a priest an' all.'

What was wrong with this floor -why would it not open and swallow him? Columcil looked up and saw for himself that the cause of the delay was indeed his grandfather. He was talking to the Duchess but looking in his direction. Surely nemesis would fall. Why had he not stayed in his Parish? Saint Melangell was managing very well without her shrine being recognised by the church authorities.  Surely it was the sin of pride had made him agree to his journey in the first place and he was about to learn his penance.

The Duchess raised her voice and spoke to them all.

"His Grace tells me that his Majesty feels it better that you should not enter the great Hall, as he understands the sensitive nature of what you have to convey. I am to conduct you to his withdrawing room - you will, I trust, forgive the royal guards, they are for your protection." She gestured through the open door and indeed there were four Haldane archers standing ready to accompany them.

Darcy turned round and grinned at Columcil - "Word will be all around the palace that we are under arrest, mark my words!"

Lord Jaxom bristled angrily at the thought of such humiliation but Columcil had no time to waste on him as the Duchess was continuing,

"The Archbishop seeks a private word with Father Columcil, and will conduct him to the King shortly."

She gestured to a small side room and the Archbishop entered, gesturing for Columcil to follow and close the door behind him.

Columcil sank to his knees, bowed his head and waited for retribution to fall.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on April 28, 2018, 11:29:00 AM
Sir Washburn took little note of the Haldane guards, if anything he appreciated them at his companion's back. One was even the captain of the guard, Captain Brion Ralson, Brother of Lord Ralson, a formidable man in his fifties, as loyal to the King as any man could ever be.

"Word will be all around the palace that we are under arrest, mark my words!" Darcy's barely heard comment was as far from the truth as could be, and Washburn wanted to negate it in a comment of his own, but his attention was solely on the Archbishop standing before him. Wearing a face far more serious than was Duncan's usual want, Washburn gave his uncle a formal greeting. Duncan's tension eased for a moment, "It is very good to see you, my boy. We were greatly concerned for you after your mother had a dreadful premonition. She is inside with Kelson. Now, Wash, don't you let the dowager's composure fool you, it is all a facade, she has been greatly worried on your behalf."

Washburn grimaced inwardly. If Maman had let her outer venier of courtly patience and calm slip before Duncan, than she indeed truly was upset. Her youngest son felt guilt in being the cause of such turmoil.  Again, he would beg to be immediately released to join Kelric, for surely, most his mother's disquiet was for her eldest son marching into Meara's unrest, now that the youngest son had escaped from there. With Washburn's own discomfiture over coming before his mother's gaze, he almost missed the archbishop's request to have a private meeting with Father Columcil. Washburn understood this not at all.  Would not the archbishop have wanted to be witness to all the information they were about to impart to the king?

Before Washburn could question it, Duncan was leading Columcil into a side room. Uncle...Your Grace, do be kind to the good father, for I owe him not only my learning of the Healing talent, but my very life, thrice over!

((09:09 mindspeach Washburn sends mind-speech to Duncan roll of 5 or 6 Washburn gets and acknowledgment that his words are heard by Duncan.
09:09 mindspeach !roll 2d6
09:09 derynibot 3, 2 == 5))

The archbishop, the man Washburn was as close to as an uncle, did nothing to acknowledge the Lendour Knight's words. Had his words even been heard? This disturbed Wash more than the thought of coming before his mother. Why was Duncan so distracted? Wash considered for a moment how Father Columcil's every Rapport had reminded him of Duncan. Why was that? What was it about Columcil that made him as familiar as family. He would have like to have considered it more, if not for the fact that the withdrawing room door opened ahead of them, and there waiting were two very serious people: The King of Gwynedd and the Dowager Duchess of Corwyn.

Washburn, took a breath, straightened his back, and escorted the Duchess of Corwyn at his side and the Lady de Mariot with Lord Darcy and Lord Jaxom at his back, into the presence of the King. ... and his mother.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on April 30, 2018, 07:19:26 PM
Darcy Cameron, along with the rest of the men in their small party, went down on one knee before the King of Gwynedd. The two ladies made deep curtseys.  All remained unmoving, though it was for a brief moment, until the king motioned for them to rise.  Once standing, Darcy took careful note of those seated or standing at the long table before them. There could be no mistaking King Kelson, seated in an impressive carved chair in the centre.  The raven hair beneath the modest crown was streaked with grey, pulled back into a border braid similar to Darcy's.  The grey eyes were keen and gave away nothing.

The older woman beside the king wore her age with grace and dignity, her beauty hardly diminished.  She was eyeing them carefully, and Darcy did his best not to fidget under her gaze.  There was an empty chair beside the king; perhaps it was meant for Archbishop Duncan.  Darcy was uncomfortable with the fact that one of their party had been whisked away; he didn't like being a man down.  Two archers in Haldane livery stood discreetly on guard at the ends of the table.

"Your Grace," King Kelson said to the woman beside him.  "Your daughter-in-law and son are already familiar to you."  The woman nodded, but her face, like the king's, gave no hint as to her inner thoughts.  "The other woman before you is Lady Aliset de Mariot, the surviving heiress of Meriot. Lady Aliset, you have Our deepest condolences on your losses.  We regret them most deeply."  Aliset curtseyed, willing herself to remain composed.  "Lord Jaxom Trillick of Trilshire is the man standing behind her.  He has aided with her reaching the safety of Rhemuth." Jaxom bowed, graciously accepting the introduction as praise.  "The man beside her is Lord Darcy Cameron of Isles, and it pleases Us to know that he has not been dead for the last 12 years."  Darcy, partway through a respectful bow was so startled at that last piece of information that he straightened a little prematurely.  "Please be at ease, but We must know in detail the information you bring before Us.  Lady Aliset, as this all began in Mariot, please come forward and begin."

Sir Washburn and Princess Araxandra parted to allow Aliset to move forward.  Unexpectedly, Darcy followed just behind her until she stopped before the king.  He bowed to the king and then moved back to stand on the other side of Washburn, providing himself an unobstructed path to the Demoiselle de Mariot in case she needed him.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on May 01, 2018, 02:46:39 PM
Lady Aliset shot Lord Darcy a grateful if somewhat nervous smile before approaching the foot of the royal dais.  Kneeling before the throne, she gazed up at her King, her hands held together palm to palm, as if in prayer or as one preparing to make an appeal, although this was also the traditional posture of homage. And in truth, at the moment the gesture could correctly be interpreted in all three ways.

Breathing a silent prayer to God and composing her thoughts into some semblance of order, Aliset began to recount her story. 

"Your Majesty, a week or more ago--I am afraid I have lost count of the days--as you already know, a great evil befell my family.  My cousin Oswald, who styles himself 'Baron' now, murdered my father and brothers in order to lay claim to my lands.  He spared my life only because my youngest brother and I managed to flee before we were captured, and Oswald seeks my return because he believes marriage to me will consolidate his claims over the Mariot lands. Alister and I were not more than an hour from home before we were hunted down; he was slain trying to protect me so I would have a chance to escape. Were it not for my brother Alister's appeal to the Duke of Corwyn in his dying moments, seeking aid in delivering me into Your Majesty's keeping, I might even now be a prisoner in my own home. Oswald has been aided in his treachery by others whose sympathies lie with a Mearan Pretender, although from what little I have been able to discover about the plot, I think his aid comes from someone else.  Some powerful High Deryni lord who seeks to place the Pretender on the throne, and who perhaps has agreed to aid Oswald in exchange for his loyalties and my manor's resources." Aliset bristled with anger at the thought. "With your rightful resources, Your Majesty, for my family's loyalty has ever been with Your Majesty, as is mine own, though I have not yet sworn you homage.  Yet freely is it given to you now, Sire, if you will accept mine oath, and in doing so, See the events as I have witnessed and experienced them since Oswald's treasonous actions against me and against You!"

King Kelson, giving the maiden before him an appraising look, nodded his acceptance with a faint smile and placed his hands over hers as she spoke the words of the traditional oath.

"I, Aliset de Mariot, do become your liege man of life and limb and of earthly worship, and faith and truth I will bear unto you to live and die against all manner of folks, so help me God."

"And I, Kelson of Gwynedd, hear and shall not forget, nor fail to reward, that which is freely given:
fealty with love, valor with honor, and oathbreaking with justice." His gray eyes reflected a brief, warm sympathy for the woman before him before hardening slightly. "And now let me see for myself the ordeals which you have been forced to experience as a result of keeping your faith with Us."

Aliset felt the gentle though insistent psychic touch of the King's mind even as she willingly dropped her shields to his mental probe into her recent memories.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on May 02, 2018, 01:45:35 PM
Sir Washburn Morgan watched the noble lady of his escorting. He felt pure pride, like a brother would, as she gave her fealty to her sovereign. He felt a momentary pang in remembrance of the lady's twin brother. The face of Lord Alister he was like to never see again. A friend he would miss. He had come to accept Lord Alister's death, it was just that the lady wearing his face had almost been a comfort, a knowing that the young knight had not died unloved nor unrequited, in the terms of family love and friendship. Washburn's hand felt for the edge of green wool that he still held near his breast. He pulled the wool free from the inside of his tunic. He rubbed his thumb across the pewter brooch; the eagle's head at the center with it's blue jeweled eye, almost brought tears to the stout knight's eyes. He blinked, then willed the wetness back. Wash, more than anything wanted justice done. He wanted to be back on the road to find the conspirators, he wanted to put an end to all the evil playing out in Meara. Would the king see it as he did? Would the king accepted what he had done; all he had done in self defense and in protection of the lady. It was time that Washburn plead his guilt to several men's deaths and accept what justice the King's will would decree for his actions.

King Kelson's hands rested over the Lady Aliset's veil and hair lightly with his thumbs touching her forehead for a long few moments. When his eyes opened his right hand moved to under the lady's chin and he lifted her face until she gazed up into his silver eyes. "I am so sorry, my lady, for all that you have suffered. Know that you are safe within these halls. Know too that I will do all in my power to see that your lands are returned to you and that this unrest in Meara is squelched. Rise, Lady Aliset Heiress de Mariot, and take your place in my house, beside my Queen Araxie and her ladies at court."

With those words, he gave a hand for Lady Aliset to stand. She did, then she curtsied, "Thank you, Sire." Grateful, she backed away to stand next to Darcy with Jaxom at her back, both men offering her protection.

Sir Washburn dared not spare a glance at his mother; he could not foretell her thoughts with her lips mildly pressed together and her hands folded tightly in her lap. Even if he endured the king's wrath, he had great doubts that he could endure his maman's. Best not to think on that. What would his king think of all that he had done in the past week? At worst he would be punished for the deaths that had happened around him, though only a few had actually died by his own hand. He remembered them all with regret and wondered if there had been any other way?

Holding the pewter brooch high in his open palm, he eyes cast to the floor, Sir Washburn stepped forward and knelt before the steps to the king's dias. "Your Majesty, I offer you Lord Alister's brooch, which does hold the essence of my friend's death done by the hand of a man known as MacInnis. I wish to plead my guilt for having witness and even being the cause of many a man's death in the several day's past. I plea to you, that what I have done, I have done to protect the Lady Aliset. I also plea guilt that I was not fully capable, as harm did befall the lady on more than one occasion. As you have now witnessed those events. I submit myself to your judgment." Washburn dared to not look up as Kelson opened his palm over the pewter, and pressed the brooch into Washburn's outstretched hand. As their hands touched, the residual scenes held firm in the brooch played out. They were of a youth having the brooch bestowed to him by his father, and then the violent death of the hand that covered the brooch as he used it to call first Lord Jass who did not answer and then more desperately Duke Kelric who was awoken out of a dream and answered the young man's dying plea.

When the scene was finished and would repeat, Kelson took a deep breath. "This man, MacInnis, he died just after you had captured him?"

"Yes, Sire, we believe there was a death trigger in place. I admit to having shot him with an arrow and he was given some roughing him up, we wanted answers, yet I swear to you that we were not the cause of his death."

"Let me be the judge of that. Will you willingly submit to my scan of your memories of all that has occurred in this mission? Warn me now if I will find thoughts or actions that were not chivalrous."

Washburn held his breath and cringed inwardly for a moment. Was there any time that wayward thoughts had filled him about the lady in his care. He admitted that he had found her quite attractive on several occasions. But had his thoughts wandered deeper than that. Dear God, he hoped not. Nodding that he was ready to submit to the king's full perusal of his memories, he willingly lowered his shields and dropped his hands, clasping them behind his back.

The king's touch was deft and strong, yet eased when he met no resistance. Washburn lost himself as the last days played out in a mass of quick scenes, one after the other. Grateful that the king did not linger on the young knight's inner thoughts, but concentrated mostly on the perpetrators and the men who would wreak havoc with his kingdom. When all was done and Kelson released him, Washburn sank down on his haunches, his head bowed for a long moment waiting for his punishment for all that he had done.

Yet the words he heard, above him were not the words he expected to hear. "I understand what you have done. I will take it all into consideration. For now join the others and be at ease."

With care Washburn got to his feet. Only then did he look into his king's eyes. "I can ask no more than that. Thank you, Sire." and he backed away to stand beside Lord Darcy and Lady Aliset.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on May 02, 2018, 04:30:22 PM
"Lord Darcy Cameron," the king said after Washburn returned to his place among the others. "What have you to add to what I have learned so far?"

Darcy straightened his shoulders a bit more and hopefully looking more confident than he felt, moved forward and knelt before the king.  "I do have some information that the others are not aware of, Your Majesty."  The king nodded, and Darcy continued verbally.  "The last voyage the Skjoldr made before the Captain died was a run from Torenth to Meara.  We normally stayed within the Northern Sea, but the payment offered was too high to turn down, so the Captain agreed to the voyage.  The Captain had a policy of never carrying cargo that could get him arrested or killed without knowing what it was, so we opened the crates once we were safely at sea."  Darcy paused a moment and then continued.  "Most of the crates held what we suspected:  swords, pikes and other weapons."  The king raised one dark eyebrow and Darcy inwardly winced.  "Two of the crates were more disturbing.  They held large, heavy iron bolts, winches and plates.  All the fittings needed to construct trebuchet; many trebuchet."

"Who were you to deliver them to?" Kelson asked.

"That was equally strange.  We were to deliver them to an address on the docks of Castleroo, but no name was provided."

"So you don't know who the cargo went to?"

"I don't know the man's name, Your Majesty, but I saw who came for it.  The Captain gave me leave to linger on the docks while the rest of the crew prepared Skjolr for the return voyage."

"Are you willing to show me?"  The king's face was neutral as he asked Darcy to open his mind to him.

"I will do my best, Your Majesty, but I am not well practised at it."

'Will you also share with me your experiences on this trip and your life at sea?"

"Aye, Your Majesty.  But understand the sea is a rough life."
 
"I'll try not to be shocked, Lord Darcy."  King Kelson laid his hands on Darcy's head, and with only a little difficulty, Darcy rolled back his shields.

Kelson was surprised at the clarity of the former seaman's memories.  The only other man he knew with such attention to detail was Sir Iain, so perhaps it was to be expected.  Although Kelson did not intrude on Darcy's personal memories, the man's feelings for the lady he had been hired to protect crept through.  Kelson was certain Darcy had not intended that, and it was complication they did not need just now.

"Brioc de Paor took delivery of the cargo," Kelson revealed as he removed his hands from Darcy's head.  "You have led a dangerous life, Lord Darcy."

"Perhaps adventurous would be a better term, Your Majesty."  When the king smiled, Darcy gathered his courage to ask the question that was troubling him.  "Your Majesty, if I may be so bold to ask a question?"  When the king nodded, Darcy continued.  "Why did you say I have been dead for twelve years?"

"A fair question, Lord Darcy.  Your stepfather informed your brother that you had died of a fever shortly after your tenth birthday.  You had caught a chill on a cold, stormy day riding the horse Sir Iain had given you.  He didn't send word until six months after your death."

Darcy's eyes widened and then narrowed.  "It was on my tenth birthday that my stepfather sold me to sea.  And I never received the horse!"

King Kelson nodded, and Darcy stood, bowed, and returned to his place beside Aliset.  She gave him a sympathetic look, and Darcy took a deep breath to quench the momentary surge of anger directed towards his stepfather.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on May 02, 2018, 04:33:01 PM
((Kelric mindspoke Duncan 4+1=5 2ljzmn4t - He didn't!))

Duncan stood looking down at the man kneeling submissively before him and barely had to extend his senses to feel the fear and distress emanating from him. How had he got things so wrong? This was his grandson, a good and faithful priest, a man moreover who by all accounts had not hesitated to risk his own life to protect others. And he knelt in fear, expecting to be rebuked at the very least. As so often he imagined he could hear Alaric's voice, all these year's after his death, speaking in his memory. "Always an over-developed sense of the dramatic with you, isn't it? You made him a priest, so you didn't get things that wrong. If he's scared now, having His Grace the Archbishop going all penitent over him will terrify the daylights out of him. Just reassure him that he's not in trouble, and tell him what you want him to do. You're in enough trouble with Kelson, and that's as nothing to what Dhugal will say to you, don't add to it!" The really annoying thing about the Alaric of his memory was that he was so often right. Could it be that his cousin had become the voice of his conscience as he had so often been his?

"Please rise, my son, or should I say my grandson?"

Columcil was startled by the affectionate tone in the Archbishop's voice and as he looked up he realised that the other was wearing little of the panopoly of his rank. His purple cassock was of fine wool, but without the silken sheen of Columcil's own new black cassock, and his pectoral cross was of simple chased silver without any jewel. If he was to be rebuked, at least it would not be with the whole authority of the Church behind it. He began to draw breath but made no move to get to his feet. His grandfather only knew that he had left his Parish, and the reasons for doing so had seemed good enough at the time; surely he could not yet know that he had betrayed his trust in revealing his identity to Duke Kelric. He had best make that confession and let there be no pretence between them, though he trembled inwardly at the thought of the affection in the Archbishop's voice turning to anger.

"Your Grace, forgive me. I did not intend to betray you - in all these years I have spoken no word, and I wouldn'a, not even under torture, but His Grace the Duke, somehow he got under my guard..." He came to a halt, how could he describe the sense of being kin which he had felt in the Duke's presence. A lack which he had never felt before, being more than satisfied with the entry into others' lives which his priesthood had given him.

Duncan realised that he should have expected this, once he knew that Kelric had met up with Washburn and his small party. Kelric was too skilled a Deryni, and too close to Dhugal, not to have made the connection. He shuddered slightly at what Kelric too might say to him about the deception he had enforced on Columcil. Far more deferential than his father had ever been, Kelric was nevertheless unafraid to speak his mind, especially when he thought an injustice had been done. He could argue in his defence that he had been bound by Columcil's mother, and by his own fear of what this unknown son might demand, but once the lady was dead and her son well-established, and happily so in his own Parish, there really had been no excuse for his failure to tell Dhugal - as Kelson had already made more than clear.

Looking down he realised that his silence was further intimidating Columcil. This part of the tangle he had helped to create he could at least unravel.

"I am very sure there has been no betrayal on your part. I have kept an eye on you all these years, though I was careful not to let you know. What priest wants to think his Archbishop is keeping him under surveillance? And I have had nothing but good reports of you, and never any suggestion that you would betray any secrets whether your own or others. But I doubt you would have deceived my nephew of Corwyn, I'm only surprised that his young brother didn't see it. But then Washburn never did stop long enough to think."

Columcil's head came up at that and he barely prevented himself from bursting out in Washburn's defence. Duncan saw the reaction and smiled, albeit a little ruefully, at the emotional response so like one that his father would have made.

"Yes, my judgement of my younger nephew has been at fault, and I have reparation to make there too. I fear that I have been an Archbishop too long for the good of my soul. But come, you are not here to hear my confession, nor I yours. Please, get up and sit with me."

Duncan put out his hand with his ring for the other to kiss and then with a strength of grip which surprised Columcil grasped his wrist and helped him to his feet. He motioned Columcil to the bench which ran along the wall and only when when they were both seated did he release his grip.

"We do not have much time, the King is expecting us, and he may want to read your memories of the last few days. No, do not fear!" - this as Columcil turned pale, "I have already told him what was not mine to reveal, for which I ask your pardon. He is too close to Dhugal to be pleased with me, but that is for me to endure, and he is too just to carry that anger over to you. He asked if you had been well provided for, and I told him that you had been enabled to fulfill your calling. I trust I spoke right there?"

Columcil was struggling to know how to respond to any of this, quite unlike anything that he had been expecting, but he managed to get out, "Aye, bein' a priest has been sich a blessing ta me, and I ha'e Your Grace ta thank for that. I wish ta God that I'd never left St Melangell and the guid folk o' ma Parish!"

The last sentence burst out of Columcil with such heartfelt passion that Duncan wanted nothing more than to pull him into an embrace. But they would doubtless both end up weeping and be in no fit state to go before the king.

"Thank God for that. But it seems clear that God has guided you in these last weeks, to meet up with the Demoseille and her companions. Without your ability to heal, we would be mourning them as well. We have much to speak about together, both as your father-in-God and your grandfather, but we cannot keep the king waiting any longer. Be assured though that both he and I hold you in high esteem."

Duncan did not dare say anything more for fear of breaking down, and Columcil was in no better case. Dazed he followed his grandfather to the door, and thence into the King's withdrawing room. Duncan bowed deeply to the King, aware that there was a unaccustomed cold gleam in those grey eyes as he straightened and their eyes met.

"May I present, Father Columcil of Pennant Melangell, My Liege."

Columcil was horribly aware that all eyes were on him but he dropped to his knee smoothly enough. As he lifted his gaze towards the king he saw warm approval and as he was motioned to rise he heard the royal voice say, "I understand that We have much to thank you for, Father Columcil." Flushed Columcil made haste to stand beside Darcy and Washburn.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on May 04, 2018, 05:25:27 PM
Kelson did not really need to ask the priest anything. Kelric had reported to him in the late hours of the evening before, following the group's arrival at Arx Fidei and anything lacking he had already drawn from his reading of Lords Washburn and Darcy, and Lady Aliset. It was clear that they had all done well in a difficult situation. But he wanted to affirm Columcil by taking note of him as someone worthy of expressing an opinion and, rather more deviously, he hoped that Columcil would be as forthright in praise of Washburn as Kelric had led him to believe and in a way that was closed to him as King.

Washburn obviously still expected some sort of rebuke at the least, if not actual penalty, for some of the decisions he had had to make and the blood that had been spilled and Kelson felt for his loss of innocence. He remembered all too well his own distress as a young King on discovering that dealing out death came with the responsibility of power. But he had fulfilled the task laid upon him to bring the Lady Aliset before the King and with as much honour as was possible. Whether the two Duchesses of Corwyn could be persuaded of this was another matter and Kelson wished Washburn well in his dealings with them, though of course he could never say how much he sympathised with the young man. Sooner or later, though, they would have to acknowledge that the infant terrible of the family had grown up and he had deliberately invited them into this audience partly so that Washburn's first encounter with his mother was in a protected space.

As Duncan introduced Columcil they had both appeared composed and, to do him credit, Duncan had the courage to look his King in the eye though not to sustain the contact. Keeping his mental tone brusque Kelson sent,

You have done right by him this once at least, I trust, by telling him of our conversation, and was slightly placeted, not so much by Duncan's careful use of the unaccustomed private honorific in his reply, as by his tangible mental wince at the phrasing of the question.

Aye, Sire.

But he really could not bring himself to let go of his anger with Duncan just yet, this discovery of an unknown son to Dhugal was another complication he did not need. Duncan's voice spoke again in his mind with the same careful deference.

You should know, Sire, that Kelric knows though not, apparently, Washburn.

He spared a moment to reply tersely to Duncan, Noted, then turned his attention to Columcil, noticing how he had moved to stand with Darcy and Washburn. Bringing warmth into his tone he addressed the priest out loud.

"Father Columcil, I have learnt from His Grace of Corwyn that it was by chance that you became involved in the rescue of Lady de Marriot and we thank you again for your service towards the lady and therefore towards our crown, I fear that you must have witnessed some distressing sights and some acts of violence. It is our intention that our Lords should act according to their knightly vows and therefore we would ask you as a priest, if you believe that things could have been done differently. You have our leave to speak openly."

Columcil moved forward and knelt before the King, unsure of what exactly the King wanted of him. He was aware of Washburn's anxious look, and realising that the latter feared that he was being asked to condemn his actions, sought around in his mind for the right courtly words to express his feelings. Then he caught sight of Sir Jaxom's look of complacent superiority and all restraint left him along with his resolve to refine the broadness of his speech.

"An it please your Majesty, I've nae knowledge of whae it is ta be knightly, an' as fer violence, I'm ashamed ta say that some of it was doon ta me, but I ken right that wi'out yon braw lairds and, aye her leddyship, we'd none o' us be here noo. I dinna ken that anyone could have done different, nor lead us better than Lord Washburn, aye and become a bonny healer forebye." Columcil's glance went to Darcy and Washburn and just for a brief moment lingered on Aliset, then looked back up to the King with his amber eyes shining with emotion.

Kelson had his answer, and he thought that Richenda and Araxandra had learnt more than they had expected, if their startled glance at each other at the mention of healing was anything to go by. Well, to be fair so had he. Until he spoke Columcil did not favour his father, but get him roused, the broadening of his speech and the flashing of those amber eyes would surely reveal whose son he was to anyone who knew Dhugal well. Sweet Jesus, what a coil! And he could not fail to notice that Columcil had made no mention of Lord Jaxom, just what had gone on there? He thought for a moment of Mindspeaking to Columcil, but that might be a step too far. ((At least the dice think so; Kelson mindspeaks Columcil: 3 + 1 = 4, 5hsjm8zqns)).

Suddenly Kelson had had enough. He was already missing Kelric and hoped that they would be able to speak at the usual hour later that evening. In the meantime, Javan was proving a wise counsellor to his father and he needed to tease out some of the political implications, most of which seemed dire, of what he had learnt with his son. He motioned Columcil to rise and said with genuine feeling,"Thank you for your honesty, Father,".

He swept the room with his glance, trying but failing to get Washburn to meet his gaze, and then continued, "We thank you all for your co-operation, We will have further need of all of you in the near future, but in the meantime I will leave you to seek your well-deserved rest." Then the King rose, and all sank into profound reverences as he left the room.




Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on May 05, 2018, 01:37:00 AM
In the wake of King Kelson's exit, the quiet of the room turned to the hum of low murmurs. Darcy had a hand of comradery on Columcil's shoulder, and the two men turned to Lady Aliset with proud smiles and gracious words. Not to be left out, Lord Jaxom stepped forward and bowed to the younger Duchess of Corwyn. "Duchess Araxandra, I find the Lady Aliset a credit to her father's name," he said boldly. "It would be my honor, if you would allow me to accompany the Demisel de Mariot to dinner." Belatedly he asked. "And of course, I look forward to the company of Father Columcil and Lord--" a sharp exhaled breath "--Darcy--" almost as if it hurt him to say it "--during the repast that I understand is to begin shortly."

Duchess Araxandra looked the young heir of Trilleck squarely in the eyes. She could well see that he was enamored with her charge. The look of the other two men, watching for the duchess's response was a little harder for her to understand. They had all traveled together, and as much as she had gathered, they had all become a close working team. So why the long faces. "I will allow this one time. You have all been invited to sit at the high table with the king tonight. Lord Jaxom, you may sit at my left hand, with Lady Aliset at your left hand. Father Columcil, then you and Lord Darcy. Did I hear mention of Healing, Father?" She turned her attention to the priest. "I would be most appreciative if you would tell me something of yourself over the King's dinner." The princess looked at the good father directly, there was a sense of quiet recognition, so similar to the recognition her husband had given Columcil.

Columcil quietly replied, "Aye, tis not much to say, Duchess Araxandra, I come from but a humble parish of Saint Mellangal."

"Then I will happily speak with you about rabbits," she said with a winning smile.

Araxandra ignored Lord Jaxom as he puffed himself up with victory before her. She turned to Darcy. "Lord  Darcy, I expect to hear at least one gallant story about the sea. Something to keep us ladies entertained." Having given her final say on the matter, the princess turned to Lady Aliset. "Shall we go and settle you in the Queen's Tower before we dine. In that way we will not have to worry about your keep at the late hour after dinner." Araxandra's intentions were to see Lady Aliset properly housed among Queen Araxie's ladies, in a place where no man dared enter. That would in effect solve all manner of ills where the young heiress's reputation was concerned. 

Sir Washburn was distracted from the dinner arrangements being made next to him. He briefly looked over at Captain Ralson, giving the man his respect. The Captain returned the exchange with a nod, but nothing more. There seemed to be no indication that the young Morgan would be detained. Perhaps there was hope after all. If his actions were to be pardoned, that still awaited on the king's final word, but if that word was given, could someone at court back his position to follow Kelric back into Meara. At the least let him join the ranks of Prince Javan's Lancers. For surely the King would not delay his troops, counting only on Corwyn and Cassan to solve the insurrection?

Washburn's eyes looked up toward his mother. She had influence with the king; would she support him in this. But his heart sank when he saw how intently she was watching him. A tilt of her head, invited him to walk the few steps of the dias to present himself to her.

He bent knee before her and kissed her extended hand. "Dowager Duchess Richenda. I am glad to find you well and here in Rhemuth."

"Am I not still your mother? Would you not greet me as a son, not one of Corwyn's knights?"

He looked up at the cornflower blue eyes that opened wide to him. She stood beckoning with open arms for him to stand and give her a hug. He was no longer a boy, and it had been sometime since he had welcomed the hug of his maman. Yet, when he did stand, though he stood far taller than her, he felt her strength in the arms that surround him, he felt her approval of him as a man, no longer a boy. That didn't last long, however, for once they had parted, his mother pulled forth a small red velvet bag that he instantly recognized. "I was going to reprimand you for leaving this, but I do believe you already know not to leave it agan." She handed him his ward cubes.

"I thank you, maman, and I do hope Kenneth came to no harm from my lapse. I swear to you, it will not happen again." He pocketed the small bag on the inside of his tunic.

"Kenneth is a resilient boy, so much like both his grandfathers. Kelson has seen that his training controls are properly aligned. He looks up to you, you know. You best be a good role model; to him and to Alain and Duncan. They, all three, talk about their uncle, who I think has earned that praise."

Washburn looked up surprised. "I love all my nephews." he said quietly, wondering if he heard in her tone of voice the approval that her words seem to convey.

"Before we go to dinner, tell me more about Healing," she inquired. "Did I hear Father Columcil correctly, did he say you have done a Healing?"

For the first time Wash let a true smile part his lips. "Yes, maman, he is a Healer himself, Don't let his shyness fool you. He is a very good Healer. There are no words to explain how he found this energy within me, and how he taught me to use this gift. I have so much more to learn, I would ask for leave of my duties to attend the schola for at least a short time."

This seemed to please the dowager greatly, but then Wash back tracked. "That is after these events is Meara are quelled. Will you do me the greatest honor by speaking to the king, and ask that he send me forth at once to join Kelric's forces."

Richenda sucked in a breath at this request, shaking her head, no. "You just got here. From what I hear has happened, you must rest... I can not have both Alaric's sons in Meara." His mother was adamant. All Washburn's hopes were dashed. He would not beg, he would be a man and abide by the Corwyn matron and by the king's final word. She saw that in him, and for the first time with him she reconsidered her words. "I will talk to the king. Rest tonight, and His Majesty will have an answer for you in the morning."

"Thank you!" he said, suddenly hopeful. He took the  elder lady in a warm embrace, this time it was a mutual hug between mother and son.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on May 05, 2018, 04:15:12 PM
Duncan looked with relief at the genuine warmth of the embrace between Washburn and Richenda, that was one relationship at least that was being repaired. He was filled with pride for his grandson, and the way in which he had spoken up for their group without fear or trying to curry favour, but he was filled with foreboding. How long could it be before rumours began to circulate, and if the King summoned Dhugal for a council of war, as surely he must with two of his senior Dukes absent, then the fat would really be in the fire.

He supposed that he deserved the King's anger, but that made it no easier to bear; what hurt most was Kelson's accusation that he had grossly misjudged his own son. He really did not think that he could abide to sit through a formal dinner with the regal stare boring into his soul and he had a desperate need to unburden that soul in confession. All would be in hand here, and if Kelson did unbend enough to wish to speak to him then he was only a word away. Catching Araxandra's eye he bowed farewell and slipped out of the door without ceremony.

By the willing permission of the King he had his own quarters within the Castle itself and he returned there briefly to change into the plain black cassock of any priest before quietly making his way to the portal in the royal library.  There was one man who would understand the agony of choosing to conceal a truth for reasons which would seem indefensible to others. The irony, which was not lost on Duncan, was that it had taken him himself many years to forgive Denis Arilan for what he had seen as his self-interested concealment of his identity. And now that they were both old men he was going to beg leave to kneel at Denis's feet and seek forgiveness for what there was of self-interest in his own concealment of another's true identity.

Later that evening Duncan returned to the castle as he had gone, humbled by the grace of the reception he had received and shriven clean of his offence towards Columcil and Dhugal, and what had been even harder to confess, his resentment  of Denis which had lingered for so long. His penance, he knew could not long be delayed.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on May 06, 2018, 03:13:44 PM
Darcy Cameron speared a piece of mutton from the heaping platter of food before him a little more savagely than he had intended.  Father Columcil jerked his own hand back before a bit of the rich sauce could stain the sleeve of his new cassock.

"Beg pardon, Father," Darcy said, genuinely contrite. 

"At least you were not aiming for Lord Jaxom," Father Columcil responded in a low voice.  "I'd rather see the sauce spilled than blood."  He reached for a breast of partridge.  "I don't think I have ever seen this much food before."

"Aye," Darcy agreed, trying not to look farther up the table to where Lord Jaxom was engaged in conversation with the Duchess of Corwyn and Lady Aliset.  In truth, he was glad not to be that close to the King and the other members of the peerage that sat at the high table.  Sir Washburn sat between Queen Araxie and his mother and looked to be enjoying himself.  Both ladies laughed lightly at something the Lendour knight said.  The few times Darcy had glanced in Aliset's direction, she was politely choosing from the tasty morsels Jaxom selected for her plate.  Jaxom was too skilled in court manners to do something as fortunate as dumping his own plate in his lap.  Darcy idly wondered if there was a Deryni way to make that happen, but he doubted Aliset would thank him for it.

"Father," Darcy said after a moment. Columcil looked up from the last of his partridge.  "I have a thought to travel to Desse tomorrow to deliver the pouch to the Quartermaster's nephew.  Would you like to ride with me?  There is a healing shrine just inside the city; you could spend some time there while I go down to the docks.  Desse is not more than five miles away; we can easily be there and back by evening."

Columcil nodded, pleased with the prospect of escaping the court for a while.

"I will, of course, have to ask Lady Aliset's permission to be away, but I suspect she will be safe within the Queen's Tower."  Several royal pages were beginning to clear away the platters and bring around bowls of scented water for the guests to rinse their hands.  Darcy had not done full justice to the excellent meal that had been set before him, and regretted his preoccupation with Lord Jaxom.  Nevertheless, he was pleasantly full.  As the pages began to set platters of sweetmeats and cheeses before them, Princess Araxandra looked in his direction.

"Lord Darcy," she said.  "Will you now tell us a tale of the sea?"

"Of course, Your Highness," Darcy said.

"Try to keep it suitable for the ladies, Son," Father Columcil muttered as Darcy stood to address the table.  Darcy managed a nervous grin.

"Your Majesties, Your Graces, my Lords and Lady," Darcy said with a bow. His voice, used to shouting orders above the sounds of a raging sea, carried easily to the far end of the table.  He reached inside of his belt pouch and withdrew his tin whistle.  He held it out for all to see.  "This little whistle saved my life when I was a cabin boy and had my first encounter with," he paused for effect, "pirates!"

"We were in port in the Bay of Northarch, on the coast of Tolan.  It's a nasty port at best, but times had been hard and there was competition in securing provisions for our ship, Skjoldr.  I was given charge of watching over the sacks of barley and rye the Quartermaster had secured while he went with the horse cart to pick up the casks of ale.  The Quartermaster gave me this very whistle; I was to use it to call for help if anyone tried to steal any of our supplies.  I sat atop one of the sacks and did my best to keep a sharp watch." 

"Pirates also need to provision their ships, but they tend not to pay, preferring to pilfer a bit here and there to take back to their ships.  Almost an hour had passed when I saw three men approaching.  They wore dark scarves around their heads, and one wore a gold ring in his ear. A large bird with brilliant plumage sat on the shoulder of one of the men.  I had never seen the likes of it before!  I took careful note of the cutlasses they carried.  The Quartermaster was due to return soon, so I waited and hoped they would pass by."

"That was not to be.  They spotted the provisions and approached.  It would come out of my meager pay if any of the sacks were lost, so I stood atop my sack, armed only with a dagger and my whistle, and waited as they approached.  I thought I heard the sound of the cart returning, but I did not dare to turn to look behind me."

"For a moment they looked at me and then reached for the nearest sack.  I advised the man not to, making up a yarn about the sacks coming from a merchant that had just perished from a terrible disease, as had most of his workers.  For a moment I thought they believed me, but they laughed and the pirate picked up the sack."

"I did the only think I could think of to do.  I threw the whistle straight at the bird.  It dug its claws deep into the shoulder of the man, who yelped in pain, and then flew straight into the face of the man with the sack.  That man dropped the sack, which the third man tripped over.  It had been the Quartermaster's cart I thought I heard, and he drove the cart, heavy with its load of ale, straight at the pirates.  The pirates had the good sense to turn and flee, thought I'll not repeat the oaths they shouted at us as they ran.  They were not for polite company."

Darcy's tale had gone better than he expected. "Well done!" Sir Washburn said.  The ladies clapped lightly and smiled.  Darcy risked a glance at Aliset and saw that she look pleased.

"Just a bit far-fetched, Mas, er, Lord Darcy?"  Lord Jaxom's disdain was clear in his voice.

"I'm sure it happened just as Lord Darcy told it," Aliset responded, emphasizing the proper address for her man-at-arms.  "Lord Darcy's whistle saved lives on our journey, and I am truly grateful for it." 

"You are not alone in that, Lady Aliset," Columcil stated, and Darcy felt himself blushing.  Aliset was smiling at him, and that was what mattered most.

The meal did not last much longer.  They all rose and paid respect to the king and queen as the royal couple left the table.  Darcy picked up the item he had retrieved from his sea bag before the meal and hastened toward Lady Aliset.  Jaxom had positioned himself to escort her from the room, but Aliset quickly drifted to the other side of the Duchess of Corwyn. 

"Lady Aliset," Darcy said and bowed when he reached her side.  "May I have a brief word?"

"Of course," Aliset said.  "I'll just be a moment, your Grace."  Aliset gave a brief curtsey and moved just far enough away with her man-at-arms for a little privacy.

"Lady Aliset," Darcy began.  "May I ask your leave to travel with Father Columcil to Desse tomorrow to keep my word to the Quartermaster and deliver his bequest to his nephew?  We should be back before evening, and I believe your safety should be assured among the ladies of the court."

"And in a tower, no less!" Aliset said and nodded.  "I will grant your request, provided you are not planning on meeting up with any pirates while you are gone."

"Fear not on that score!"  Darcy hesitated a moment and then continued.  "I confess I have no idea what noble ladies do at court to keep occupied, but I wondered if you might take pleasure in this while I am away."  Darcy held out his mother's book of poetry.  "It was my mother's.  It contains poems and sagas from the Norsemen."

Aliset smiled and accepted the book from his hand.  "Thank you.  I am sure I will enjoy it and I will return it when I have finished it."

"No hurry, my Lady.  I have it memorized by now."

"Do you have a favourite?"

"Aye, the Saga of Sigrun."

'Your favourite is a story about your horse?"  Aliset stared at him, looking incredulous.

Darcy laughed aloud. It was a pleasant, engaging laugh and Aliset smiled.  "Nay, it's the story of a brave Norse lady; a little like you, in fact.  But I did name my horse after her!"

It was Aliset's turn to laugh, and those standing nearby turned to look at them both.  The Duchess of Corwyn cleared her throat delicately, and Darcy bowed to both women as the duchess steered Aliset toward her new quarters.

There was a jauntiness to Darcy's step as he left with Columcil and Washburn.  Jaxom was left to leave alone, looking not at all amused. 
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on May 07, 2018, 10:12:06 AM
Columcil felt considerably relieved by Darcy's request. A day away from the complexities of the Court  would be a blessing for them both. Columcil entirely sympathised with Darcy's feelings towards Aliset, and even more with the quite opposite emotion they both harboured towards Lord Jaxom, but the protective instinct that made him keep a wary eye out  lest the younger man transgressed the boundaries of appropriate behaviour did nothing to soothe his already overwrought nerves. His interview with his grandfather, so long feared, had reassured him in one way but puzzled and alarmed him in another. He did not want anyone to be angry on his behalf, least of all the King. The only hurt his birth had ever caused him had been the doubt as to whether he could fulfill his calling to be a priest and it was his grandfather who had resolved that.

As far as he could see everything had been fine as it was - His Grace of Cassan had legitimate children enough, his mother had married and been loved and cared for and he had had the life he longed for. But, brash borderer though he was, he was not about to tell the King not to be so daft.. The coldness of the royal look turned on his grandfather had frozen him, he shuddered at how he would feel to be the recipient. . He should never have come and he had best be about fulfilling the mission he had originally set out upon before he got caught up in things  beyond his station. He would seek another audience with his grandfather,  as priest to Archbishop, plead the rightness of St Melangell's church to be recognised as a healing shrine, bid farewell to his companions, and set his face towards home.

He had hoped to see the Archbishop at dinner, but he had not appeared, and another day surely would not hurt. Besides the healing shrine at Desse might give him some ideas as to how he might develop things at St. Melangell's.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on May 07, 2018, 11:50:48 AM

Washburn shared his room in the Duke's apartment with the two men he had come to know as good friends. All three had slept fairly soundly under the protection of the king's guard who were known to be stationed at every major door and intersection in the main halls. It was a good sleep that Washburn had, yet still he was uneasy about his morning's interview with the king. Would Kelson pardon him and see him on his way back to Meara? If he did, Wash might be saying goodbye to his companions as they readied to ride out for Desse.

"You know that I would ride with you, if circumstances aren't such as they are." Wash said to Lord Darcy.

"Yes, and I would enjoy your company if you did decide to come with us." Darcy replied as he pulled on his riding boots. "Surely the King wouldn't begrudge you one day off."

"Huh!" Washburn laughed at that. "With Dukes and Earls arriving for this morning's War Council...? Be glad you have an excuse to be away." Washburn looked over at his own riding boots with a long face, then choose his court footwear instead. "I spoke to Prince Javan last evening. If I am allowed, I have a place in his ranks. The word isn't said yet, but they may be leaving as soon as tonight or tomorrow early for Ratherkin. You should likely return before that, but if I am gone by the time you do return, know that all is well." Wash sucked in a breath and then released it with a smile. "Here's for a good day had by all."

"Oh, Aye to that!" and "Indeed, to a good day!" where the replies of this two companions.

Washburn looked over at Father Columcil with a rare smile. "Don't you plan on returning home to your rabbits anytime soon. Something tells me you would be welcome here in Rhemuth for as long as you like. Perhaps you and I can see to a bit of learning at the schola, you can temper my fidgeting if I get antsy sitting in a classroom." Wash suddenly laughed at Columcil's shake of his head. "My learning instructors all hated me. In less then two hours time, they would be telling me, 'Go, go, do your weapon's drills, I'll have no more of you this day." Washburn chuckled at Columcil's laugh.

"And you think, I could temper you to sit in a classroom all day?" The priest asked in a tone of disbelief.

"Aye, ye e'pe't ye w'ld threet me with Killer Coney's and Trolls if I n't abide." Wash laughed as a pillow came flying his way. "I suspect you will have to teach me the border tongue too."  he laughed all the more.

The two companions finished making their preparations to ride out to Desse all with light hearted joking about trolls and fleeing rabbits.

"You will watch after Lady Aliset!" Lord Darcy said to Wash with a more serious tone.

"You know that I will." Washburn replied. "She is safe. And I will find ways to dissuade Lord Jaxom. Should not be hard to see him back on his way to Meara, even if I have to drag him there myself." Wash got an appreciative pat on the shoulder from Darcy. Then the two men walked out for their trip to Desse, and Washburn was left to face the King's war council.

He gathered up his things, found Lord Jaxom and his squire in the main room of the duke's apartment. "Was that Father Columcil and Lord Darcy I saw just leaving."

"Yes indeed,they are gone for the day." Wash tried desperately not to roll his eyes a the gleeful smirk that crossed Jaxom's lips. "Come, we need to make early mass and then to await King Kelson's final decisions in the great hall. We best be available when he sends for us."

The two men, followed by Jaxom's squire, made their way to the king's chapel for early Sunday mass.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on May 08, 2018, 10:31:34 AM
Darcy Cameron made a final check of Sigrun's saddle girth while the horse turned her head and attempted to grab the leather cord that secured her owner's border braid.

"Sigrun, stop that!" Darcy said firmly as he reached up to protect the braid.  "Where she learned that trick," he added for Father Columcil's benefit, "I have no idea."  Sigrun nudged his shoulder and he stroked her head.

"She knows it will get her some attention."  Columcil, already mounted on his mountain pony, nodded sagely and turned to leave the stable.  Darcy mounted and joined him.  Miraculously, their own clothes had been laundered and mended, and Darcy was glad to be back in his normal attire.  The distinctive black tunic he had borrowed would draw too much attention on the docks of Desse.  Attention he would just as soon avoid.

It was a fair morning with a clear sky and a gentle breeze.  Although the hour was early, Kingstable Street was busy with a variety of townspeople.  Some were on foot, some drove carts, and there were other riders as well.  Many nodded or spoke to the priest as they passed; Darcy admired the fact that Columcil took a moment to speak to each one.  It meant that it took them a little longer to reach Millsgate, but their early departure allowed them plenty of time to reach their destination and return.  Once through the Millsgate, they would cross the Molling River via the Millsbridge and follow Via Romana to Desse.

Although he knew Lady Aliset was safe within Rhemuth Castle, Darcy still scanned the area around them for any sign of danger.  It was probably foolish, but it had become a habit over past weeks. 

"She is perfectly safe, you know," Father Columcil said after the first mile of their journey.

"Aye," Darcy said, and waited for what he suspected the priest would say next.

"You will likely not see her as much, now that she has been placed with the other court ladies."

"Aye, but I still have a duty as her man-at-arms to report to her regularly," Darcy pointed out.

"That may change, now that she is safely delivered."  Columcil saw Darcy bristle, but continued.  "No matter how much you may wish it otherwise."

Darcy sighed.  "Father Columcil, I know you know how I feel about her.  I didn't plan for it, but it is what it is. But I'm no fool; I'll not do anything to disgrace her, save maybe throwing Lord Jaxom in the middens."

Columcil chuckled.  "You might get help from the lady herself if you try that." 

Darcy smiled at the thought and then became serious again.  "I also don't have much to offer her, at least in terms of land and title.  Isles is Iain's, as it should be.  I have some money secured from my days at sea, but I know I'm not established like Lord Jaxom.  And I'll likely never earn the accolade."   He turned to look at the priest beside him.  "Don't for one instant think I'm giving up on her, but I won't be offering her less than what she deserves."

"Fair enough," Columcil said.  "Just don't be climbing the Queen's Tower to carry her off in the middle of the night."

For a moment Darcy stared in disbelief at the older man riding beside him and then grinned.  "Only if she askes me to."

Father Columcil rolled his eyes heavenward and decided it was a good time to pick up the pace.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on May 08, 2018, 05:37:37 PM
((Chronologically the evening before the last two pieces. Please readjust your imaginations)).

On leaving the great hall  after dinner, the King and Queen made their way to their appartments but before they entered Araxie stopped, and swung Kelson around to face her. "Go and talk to Javan, it's not too late and unless you talk all this out - whatever all this is - you are going to be tossing and turning all night!"

Kelson made to protest but she stopped him, in the way that never failed to work, by reaching up and kissing him soundly. "I know you share everything with me, but there are things that our son has more wisdom in than either of us. And, yes I know, too, you wanted him to have a last evening with Grania, but there is still plenty of time for a fond farewell. Now go!"

A few minutes later there was a soft tap on the door of Prince Javan's appartments. Javan groaned as he disentangled himself from Grania and stood away from the cushioned window seat where they had been sitting with her head on his lap, but Grania gave a satisfied smile and said, "Well don't keep his Majesty waiting!" and turning to the squire who had appeared from an ante-room instructed, "Leave the door, but please bring a flagon of spiced wine and three goblets, then you may retire for the night."

Javan opened the door to his father who looked apologetic as he entered, until that is he caught sight of the look on Grania's face. His look tried, and failed, to be stern, but his voice was full of affection as he said, "Why, didn't I guess? Whose idea was it this time?".

"I plead guilty, Sire",  and Grania dipped him a half curtsey before coming to accept his kiss. Javan inclined his head in affectionate respect and gestured to his father to sit down.

"You know they are always right, Sir, so we may as well accept it when your lady and mine conspire together for our own good."

Kelson took a long drink from the goblet that Grania offered to him - how was it that the Morgan family seemed to have such a skill for acquiring Fianna wine just that little bit better than even he could command? - and heaved a long sigh.

"I won't pretend I'm not grateful, lass, I could do with talking some of this out before the Council tomorrow. I'm guessing though that you have not brought me here to keep your husband up half the night to discuss military strategy given that you've had three goblets brought. What else it I should know? - other than Rory pleading the need to come and offer his resignation on his knees, and arraign himself for negligence,  incompetence and everything short of out-right treason, and the whole bag of trouble that young Washburn has brought with him."

Grania and Javan exchanged troubled glances but for once Grania allowed her husband to speak.

"Well you can hardly blame Uncle Rory for taking the capture of his capital and the murder of his garrison badly..." Javan was beginning but was interrupted by his father,

"Of course, not. But him falling on his sword or at any rate expecting me to publicly chastise him would only serve to bring comfort to our enemies, whoever they are. Not to mention being unjust. I won't be made into a tyrant just to make Rory feel better."

Kelson put his goblet down rather more heavily than he intended then looked a little abashed.  "It's not that I don't understand, I feel much the same myself. How could we have missed this? But I need Rory and Brecon to stay where they are in Laas, to rally loyal forces there, though the rest of the family have been moved to the Isle of Orsal, partly for sanctuary and partly to keep an eye out for anything Liam might have missed, if he's as blind as I have been." The King sat in gloomy silence for a moment though he roused himself to add, "That's privileged information by the way."

Javan and Grania nodded then Grania asked tentatively, "What trouble do you mean, father, that Washburn brought with him?"

"Oh, it's nothing to do with him directly, but unless I'm very much mistaken Lord Jaxom and our newly returned from the dead Lord Darcy are sniffing around Lady Aliset like a couple of dogs around a bitch in heat." Javan looked at his father with what was a very passable imitation of the feared Haldane glare and Kelson hastened to turn to Grania in apology. "Please forgive me, my dear, I could have phrased that better. What I meant to say is that we could have a fight on our hands if those two young men are kept cooped up together for too long."

Grania had to bite the inside of her lip until it hurt but she managed to keep her countenance straight and smiled reassuringly at her father-in-law. "Never mind, I knew what you meant and it is a bit obvious. But at least for tomorrow you don't have to worry about that. It seems that Lord Darcy has an unfulfilled obligation to an old sea-faring comrade in Desse and has begged leave of Araxandra to journey there for the day tomorrow. He's taking the priest with him."

Kelson heaved another long sigh, this time of relief. "Well that's one less thing to worry about and with Father Columcil gone I shan't have to worry about Dhugal, though there's Duncan, bother him! But with Darcy's account of arms being shipped to Meara I really do need to speak to Dhugal and Richard Kirby." He looked up to see Grania and Javan looking at him with equal expressions of perplexity and realised that he had been thinking aloud. It was Javan who spoke.

"What's wrong with the priest? I saw very little of him but he seems honest enought and by all accounts was a great help to Washburn after they met up. A bit rough round the edges, but he is from the borders, after all. Get him and Dhugal together and we'd not understand a word they were saying. And what on earth has Duncan done, I've never heard you speak about him like that before? And where was he at dinner?

Most people had learnt to read the signs of the King's anger and deflect it or submit to it with as much grace as they could muster. Javan, together with Grania, was one of the few privileged to know when those signs were masking distress and he hastened to pull back, holding his hands up in surrender.

"I'm sorry, Sir. I don't mean to pry, but you know I have your back if you need me."

Kelson smiled with genuine warmth. "Thank you, just take it from me that tomorrow looks much better with both Lord Darcy and Father Columcil in Desse. Not that either of them deserves less than my fullest thanks, but I really don't need any more difficulties at present."

Grania and Javan's eyes met but it was she who spoke.

"I'm sorry to say this, Sire, but there is one difficulty that you will need to deal with and that's Washburn." Kelson was alerted to something wrong by Grania's use of his title but remained  puzzled by her words.

"Washburn. Why? I thought that there was real warmth between him and Richenda this evening. Forgive me, but your mother can be a little fierce sometimes."

Privately Grania agreed with him but it was best not to be sidetracked especially since she knew that he was going to be upset by what she had to say.

"I'm afraid it's not mother who is worrying him, it's you. He's terrified that you are not going to pardon him and that he will be left behind when the other knights go off to fight for their king."

Kelson sat with his head in his hands for a long minute before he spoke. "I have no intention of pardoning Washburn. No! hear me out" - this as Grania made to interrupt, "I cannot understand why anyone who has brought an heiress out of desperate danger, through considerable difficulty into safety and brought me information I would not otherwise have, should consider himself in need of a royal pardon. But I do intend that he should stay here in Rhemuth, or perhaps in Corwyn. I don't think I can bear to risk another of Alaric's sons and with Kelric riding into Meara..." His voice broke and Grania moved her chair next to his, taking his hand in hers.

"I know, father, we all miss him still. But Washburn barely knew him, all he has is the legend that he can never hope to live up to. He will feel utterly ashamed if he is not considered worthy to fight for you." Blinking back her tears and being very careful to look neither at Kelson nor Javan she managed to force a laugh. "And as for the pardon, well he has always been in one sort of trouble or another and he just takes it for granted that he is this time too."

Kelson looked at Javan, "Did you know of this?". There was genuine question, not accusation, in his voice and Javan answered as simply as he had been asked. "About you being encouraged to come here this evening? No. About Washburn? Yes. He asked me if he could ride amongst my troops and I said that he could if you would so allow. Forgive me if I should not have so presumed, but I think you cannot know, Sire, how hard it is for us who have grown up with such heroes for fathers."

Kelson reached across the table so that he was grasping the hand of his son as well as that of his daughter-in-law, to whom he had become almost a second father. Never to replace Alaric, but as dearly loved. "No presumption. I owe you both my thanks. Both as King, and personally, you have saved me from making a bad mistake with Washburn. I was thinking of myself more than him, though there is still the question of a regent for Corwyn if the worst should happen. But that's for the future and please God will never arise."

Grania realised that the King was drawing back from the fear that possessed her too, though she thought that Javan and the other young men needed to prove themselves too badly to allow it to touch them. Draining her goblet she got to her feet, "Her Majesty told me that you were to be allowed until the bell for Compline to discuss military strategy, so I will bid you goodnight, Sire." She dropped curtsey to the King and smiling at her husband, left father and son together.








Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on May 10, 2018, 10:37:40 AM
The Shrine of Saint Varnar of Bassettdale was located just inside the wall surrounding the port town of Desse.  It clearly enjoyed good and generous patronage.  Darcy Cameron waited until he was sure Father Columcil was well-received before proceeding down the main street that would lead him to the docks.  It felt strange to be travelling alone after the companionship of the priest, the knight and the lady, but the responsibility for this errand was his alone, and he would not have brought Lady Aliset anywhere near the docks! 

The houses he passed were those of the wealthy merchants who prospered from the goods they imported or exported from Desse. The man he sought was a merchant, but not one that would be found here.  Master Tariq would be closer to the docks.  He dealt in the heavy lines the ships needed for just about everything a voyage required.  Some lines always needed to be replaced when a ship was in port; Master Tariq might not be wealthy, but he would not lack for customers in this town.

It was close to midday.  The timing was right to catch Master Tariq at his meal at his shop near the docks.  Darcy would rather convey the news of the Quartermaster's death and deliver the pouch in some privacy, rather than disturbing the merchant in the middle of conducting business.  Darcy reached inside the bag of generous provisions that the Duchess had provided and withdrew a chunk of cheese.  He would explore the provisions more thoroughly after he had finished with Master Tariq.

The splendor of the previous buildings steadily declined as Darcy neared the docks.  These were simpler buildings, constructed of wood rather than stone.  Once he reached the area he believed the merchant would be located, he stopped and asked for directions from a stooped, older man standing in front of a shop.  The man gave him a dark look, spat on the ground and waved toward a general direction farther down the street.  Darcy, already watchful as was best to be along the docks, grew warier. He wondered what could have caused that kind of reaction. When he reached the building most likely to be Master Tariq's, he stopped and stared with dismay at the scene before him.

The building was a charred ruin.  A sign with the coil of line painted on it lay on the ground, blistered from the heat.  There was still a faint smell of smoke and burned wood and something else in the air; whatever had happened here had been recent.  Miraculously, the buildings beside this one had not burned.  Darcy caught sight of the man approaching him before he came too near and turned Sigrun to face him.

"If you are looking for line, you'll have to look elsewhere," the man said.  He looked like a seasoned sailor; the clothes were rough but good enough, and he walked with a slight limp.  Injuries were not uncommon at sea, nor along the docks.

Darcy kept his expression neutral; every instinct warned him this might not end well.  Another man stood watching them from a shop just beyond.

"Was this Master Tariq's place?" Darcy asked.

"Aye, what of it?  Are you a friend of his?"

Darcy shook his head.  "Nay, I've never met the man.  I was to deliver the message that his uncle had died at sea."

The man laughed; it was not a pleasant sound.  "No need for that now.  Tariq burned along with his shop."

Darcy could not suppress a look of surprise.  "He did not manage to save himself?"

The man laughed again, as harshly as before.  "Kind of hard to do that when you're locked inside. He was one of those devil-spawned Deryni."

Darcy suddenly felt cold, even though the day was warm.  "No need for me to linger, if that is the case," he said as calmly as he could.  The man moved to grab Sigrun's rein, but Darcy stepped the mare farther away. 

"I don't suppose you've got some coin to pay for that information," the man said and nodded toward the other man, who began to move forward. 

Can Darcy talk his way out of this and leave unharmed?
Jerusha   !roll 2d6
10:49   derynibot   1, 5 == 6
Success!

Darcy was sure he could probably take them both, but how many would come to their aid he did not know. No one would come to his aid, and you could never depend on the watch this close to the docks.  It would be better to talk his way out of this.

Darcy barked a short laugh.  "I've been out of work since my Captain died!  I spent the coin I had left on this sorry horse.  But you can be assured that when I find work, I'll certainly make a contribution to Saint Nicholas to grant you fair winds!"

Darcy moved Sigrun forward into a quick walk.  The other man tried to block his path, but Darcy neither slowed nor diverted from his course.  The man scowled and stepped aside at the last moment.  Darcy did not look back, but he used his Deryni senses to make sure he was not being followed.

It was a very troubled young seaman who returned to the Shrine of Saint Varnar.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on May 11, 2018, 04:49:08 AM
Filing out of the royal chapel in the wake of the Haldane were men of title and distinction. Prince Javan was at his father's side, as was the Duke of Carthmoor. It had been Twelfth Night since Washburn had last seen Prince Albin.  Araxandra had sent Lord Kenric to cover his father's place at the king side. Washburn had intended to join the young Earl of Lendour as soon as the Sunday mass came to an end. Yet Wash found his place taken by a man of impeccable honor: his eldest brother, Brendan Earl of Marly. Brendan had given Wash a warm handshake as he arrived at the end of the mass, but then as the king turned to leave the chapel, Brendan Coris took a lively step to walk at his nephew's side, he would be the one to assist Lord Kenric Morgan in his first official duty as Earl of Lendour.  Wash did not begrudge his older brother the honor. Brendan, Kelric, and now Kenric were appointed members of the royal council. It had never bothered Washburn before that he was not on the council, so he knew it should not bother him now. If he just hadn't felt that he had such a personal stake in the current situation.  So Lords Wash and Jaxom followed behind the royal routine, knowing they could not enter the council meeting until they were called upon, which would be well after the agenda had begun.

At the entry to the King's withdrawing room, five other councillors had arrived. Laird Seisyll Arilan was there. As was Duke Angus MacEwan of Claiborne; Wash briefly wondered which Deryni the Duke had trusted to bring him through to Rhemuth.  Then there was Lord Seamus O'Flynn, the heir of Derry, he must be here to represent his father. Washburn had heard that Lord Derry was not well. Laird Arilan's son was standing with Seamus. Lord Jamyl Arilan was a good man; he, Seamus and Prince Javan were long standing friends. And then there was Stephen de Varnay the Earl of Sheele; whom honestly Washburn did not know well.

Coming up from the halls, Washburn turned to see Archbishop Duncan McLain and Bishop Denis Arilan. The two men were the dignified oldest men of the king's royal council. All entered the withdrawing room and arranged themselves at their seats. Just before the doors closed, the last two men rushed to enter. One was the tall copper haired Duke of Cassan leading a well dress seaman. That had to be Captain Richard Kirby the man who headed the Cassan's ducal fleet.

The door closed behind these last two men. Washburn settled himself to stand in the morning light of a window to keep his eye on both the withdrawing room door and the doors leading into the queen's tower through the castle gardens as seen through the fine clear glass. It was too early as yet for the women to have stirred. The calm-quiet on that side of the castle reassured him that Lady Aliset was well. Wash found it funny that Lord Jaxom had not understood Washburn's chosen place to wait. Among the slow-to-increase gathering of the Rhemuth's courtiers in to the great hall, the young lord paced the floor anxiously. Wash was fairly sure he was not thinking about the curious onlookers, nor even about being called before the King's council.  Washburn only shook his head and let the man go, when Jaxom's nerves got the better of him. The heir of Trillshire left the hall, likely to stalk the queen's tower. Little good would it do him. Queen Araxie was certain to have been warned about the young man. Washburn doubted Jaxom would even be allowed to catch a glimpse of Lady Aliset. Washburn's station at the window had a far better chance of it, that is if the women chose to step out into the morning sun-rays on the Queen's rose-gardens.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on May 11, 2018, 12:31:25 PM
Dhugal waited in the antechamber to the portal in Ballymar Castle for the man whom he would take through the portal to Rhemuth with him. Richard Kirby arrived punctually as befitted a man whose life had been governed from early childhood by the rhythm of sea watches.

"My Lord", the greeting, and the bow which accompanied it, was warmly respectful, conveying both acknowledgement of rank and friendship. Dhugal acknowledged the greeting with a smile but did not immediately lead the way to the portal. Instead he put his hand on the other's arm to detain him, waving the duty guard out of earshot.

"Richard, a word to the wise before we go before the King"

"Sir?"

"The loyalty shown by your family towards those you serve has always been impeccable right back from when your father first served Duke Alaric."

Richard bowed in appreciation of the compliment, but a little warily, not sure where this was going."

"You cannot but be aware that your family's current loyalty, yours and that of your brothers in Coroth has been noted and is valued -a value which has nothing whatsoever to do with the quality of the Fianna wine you serve."

"Your point is, my Lord?" Richard was definitely wary now.

"Simply that his Majesty may wish to avail himself of that loyalty in ways which he would prefer you did not clarify in open council. Shall we go."

"Aye, Your Grace. And thank you." Richard bent his knee in recognition of his obedience to the veiled warning and followed the Duke into the portal.




Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on May 14, 2018, 01:43:48 PM
The old tinker sat with his cart on one side of Ratharkin's market square.  It was quiet for a market day.  Although the streets were far from empty, it was only now, the third day following the fall of Ratharkin, that people attempted to return to normal activities.  The Quinnell banner boldly fluttered in the breeze atop the castle walls.

For too many, there would be no return to normalcy.  It was fortunate that most of Prince Rory's court had travelled with him to Laas and were safe, because the slaughter inside the castle had been merciless.  All those in residence who had not supported the takeover had been put to the sword. At first, few had come forward to claim to claim the bodies, fearing for their own safety. In a bold move, the Bishop of Meara sent a representative to the castle and demanded proper burials for all those slain, and the insurgents had the good sense to agree.  The attendance at the funerals had been larger than the tinker expected. 

It seemed the insurgents had not expected it either.  The remaining prominent men of the town, unless vocal supporters of the Mearan rebellion, had been rounded up and confined in the castle dungeon.  The rebels had not stopped there; they also imprisoned any heirs old enough to be separated from their mothers.  On a late-night foray into the castle, the tinker had learned that the heirs would be held hostage to ensure their fathers pledged allegiance to the Mearan Pretender. 

The visit had also allowed the tinker to discover the identity of the leader of this faction of the rebels. It was Baron Oswald de Mariot who had directed the attack once the gates were opened.   The same man who had murdered the family of the young woman the tinker's brother had been hired to protect.  The man's ruthlessness was noteworthy; the tinker would have no regrets if he was provided the opportunity to remove this viper's head.  Fortunately for Baron Oswald, the tinker had a more important target.

The Pretender Queen of Meara would need to arrive in Ratharkin sooner rather than later.  Already Oswald was having to reassure his men that she would indeed come and bring with her the reinforcements they needed to continue to hold Ratharkin.  And with the Pretender Queen would come the person behind it all.

This was the target the tinker was waiting for; Sir Iain Cameron accepted another pot brought to him for repair and continued to wait.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on May 14, 2018, 02:33:08 PM
Lady Grania left her youngest baby girl in the hands of her nurse and then she called to her three older children, "Come dears, we missed the early mass with papa. I don't want you all late for your Sunday lessons and you don't want your mama to miss second mass, now do you? Grandmother Araxie would not approve." Grania had a loving smile for Princess Jerusha, who arrived promptly at her mother's side, her gold hair was prettily twisted in red ribbons, her grey eyes diverting back and forth between her maman and her younger brother. Kenneth arrived with his tunic half over his head. "Kenneth, darling, didn't Nanina help you dress?"

The boy wined a little as he came to stand next to his sister, "I didn't want the red one, I wanted the black one. Like Uncle Washburn wears. Nan'a wouldn't let me have it."

Grania shook her head. If her brother only knew how much trouble his presence caused among all her family. With a sigh she said, "Papa will want you in the red tunic today, love. You're uncle will understand, too. You can ask him. I know Wash would tell you to wear your Haldane lion tunic with pride. He is devote to your grandpapa and he loves you too. He told me so himself."

"He is not mad at me for having his cubes?"

"No, Kenneth, my love, he is not mad at you. Not at all." Grania pulled the red tunic back down on the boys shoulders and adjusted the small belt so the tunic hung straight. It wasn't a page tunic, he was still a little young for that, but it did have a small lion in gold on the center chest. She kissed her boy's forehead, then looked up to see her eldest, Prince Rhys-Alaric, run up to stand before her with a book in his hand. He had inquired from his father about the Mearan governorship last night and he wanted his instructors to go over the book Javan had given him to study from. Grania was proud how Rhys- Alaric had taken the initiative to learn more.  Thusly ready, Grania noded to the royal guard to attend them as they left her family appartements and made there way to the chapel. There they met up with Princess Araxendra and her children. The two twin boys instantly grabbed Kenneth away from his mother and the three of them scurried into the teach room. Grania saw that the scholarly priest quickly took them into hand and sat all three of them down with a task to keep them occupied. Araxandra's daughter, Bronwen Alyce, and Grania's daughter, Jerusha Rhysel, both of the same age, hugged like sisters and walked into the teaching room together. Rhys-Alaric moved off to the far corner where an older priest took the book the prince handed him and nodded with approval after seeing the title.

"They are all fine," Araxandra said to her sister by marriage. "I can feel the tension in your shoulders." Araxandra said as she gave Grania a hug. "Kelric is well, I had Rapport with him this morning. He and his men meet up with Duncan-Micheal last night, they are camped five miles outside of Ratherkin. They will wait there today until they hear from Kelson. If the king gives the word, my brother will leave by mid-afternoon. In a straight march the Haldane Lancers will be able to join my husband the day after tomorrow. Kelric assured me that nothing more than scouting will occur before Javan can meet up with him."

"And then?" Grania asked almost in tears.

"You're letting your pregnancy guide your emotions, my dear."  Araxandra said in understanding as she gave Grania a full hug. Neither woman wanted to answer the question that hung in the air. Instead they were both happy to see the Queen and Dowager Duchess approach with many ladies in attendance.

After all the ladies had filed into the royal chapel, Araxie motioned for Araxandra and Grania to attend her. "Daughters, I want you to take Lady Aliset into your hearts and into your care. She has been through much. Lady Aliset," she turned to the young heiress who had been asked to stand at the queen's side.  "You already have met Princess Araxandra, I wish to present to you Lady Grania, she is Lord Washburn's sister." When all had greeted with curtsies and then with hugs, Queen Araxia went on to say, "After Mass, we shall all retire to the gardens. That will be the most peaceful place to await the outcome of the King's council."

"Yes, Your Majesty," both daughters replied with a curtsey, both knowing their queen well-enough to know that even she was tense about the meetings at hand. They took Lady Aliset between them and took extra care to point out the highlights of the chapel to her and to whisper other quiet information to her that they thought a lady new to the Rhemuth Castle should know.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on May 15, 2018, 01:46:15 PM
Kelson Cinhil Rhys Anthony Haldane, King of Gwynedd, Overlord of Torenth, Prince of Meara, Duke of Haldane, Lord of the Purple March, Guardian of Gwernach, Covenant Holder of the Treaty Act of 1145 over Tralia, Lorsol, and Vorna, Knight of the realm sat straight back and attentive, his hands resting on the arms of Gwynedd's gold and jeweled thrown at the head of his war-council. His son, Prince Javan Uthyr Richard Urien Haldane, Hereditary Prince of Meara, Duke of Southmarch, Earl of Dunluce, Knight of the Realm addressed the men in attendance, giving a brief accounting of all that was known to have transpired in the past weeks in the Province of Meara. Every man had heard rumors of the devastation in Ratherkin, but the full accounting as had been given by Kelson's agent brought out many an angry voice around the table. The anger brought out speculation as to who was behind all this. Many names were dropped, some were agreed upon that could not be, but some were held high on the list. Without proof, Kelson would not condemn any name without assurity and he just let the names linger until the anger in the room had subsided to a low growl. Finally he nodded for Javan to have a seat. As the prince sat, keeping an eye on his father and an eye on the table at large, his calm semblance settled the councilors. In time, they all turned toward their King. When Kelson was assured he had all their attention, he sat forward his hands moving to rest flat on the table.

"My Lords, I have one name for you. It is not the name of the man behind all, but it is the figurehead that the Mearan's are placing above all others as their Queen. Sidana Caitrin Annalind Ithelianne Quinnell-de Paor, legitimate daughter of Brioc de Paor, who legally married the supposed illegitimate daughter of Prince Ithel. Yes, the very same eldest son of Caitrin Queen Pretender of Meara."

There was hush for an instant as the threat of a new Pretender was absorbed by those in the room. But then voices once more broke out in anger. Loudest among them was Duke Augus in his heavy border brogue, "You deposed Brice of Trurill decades ago. His lands attainted and honorably rewarded to Baron Jass MacArdry. How does this son of a traitor, this Brioc de Paor dare to place a new pretender on the Mearan throne?" Kelson only gave a node in agreement as again voices erupted at the table. It was not Kelson's usual means of holding council to let them steam up in this way, but he felt they needed to be roused to the danger and then in time they would settle to a more productive methodology to combat this threat.

"What of Trurill? The barony must be in danger?" came a voice louder than the others.

"It was," Duke Dhugal intercepted speaking up and standing for the first time. "Baroness Ailidh MacArdry near-singlehandedly put the rebellion in her own castle down. But there was still some rioting in the village streets. Which has since been quelled by Baron Jass and my son Duncan Michael as their men at arms moved through the area. The City of Laas is also being threatened, we may expect an uprising in a day or two. It all stems on whether these rebels produce this pretender Queen in person and display her before the people of Ratherkin. So far it is but hearsay and rumor. Yet if she truly exists, Laas may rebel against Duke Rory and Duke Brecon who are in residence there at this time." Dhugal turned back to his king made a bow of apology and sat down.

Kelson turned his attention then to the sea captain seated beside his blood brother. "The Haldane Lancers are mustered to arms, ready to march on my word. Before I ask for a full account from each of you what arms can be further mustered in the next twenty hours, I want an accounting of shipments sent to Laas. Captain Richard Kirby, can you give Us what you know of any shipments of contraband arms sent to Laas. I make no accusations as to how you have this knowledge, your family has been loyal for decades; Duke Dhugal has vouched for you.  I just need the facts and who the shipments were delivered to."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on May 16, 2018, 09:18:54 AM
Grand Duke Valerian smiled as he set the shiral crystal back down on the table before him.  The news he had just received was excellent.  Baron Oswald had taken Ratharkin!  His ruthlessness was a slight cause for concern, but fewer Haldane supporters left behind in Ratharkin was to his advantage.  Perhaps Oswald had earned his bride after all.

The news that the cursed Duke of Corwyn had been diverted to Ratharkin with a small force of men was no cause for concern; it fitted nicely into his strategy.  They would have to wait for reinforcements before they could attempt to retake Ratharkin; by the time the reinforcements arrived, Valerian and the main force of the Mearan resistance would have laid siege to Laas.  The lands around the Bay of Kilarden had been generous in their support of the Queen's cause, and the ships from Tolan would soon be in place in Laas Bay.  The longer Oswald could hold the Haldane's attention on Ratharkin, the better.   Once the Haldane forces realized the real threat was to Laas, they would reach it too late.

It was time for Queen Sidana to be presented to her people.  There was little risk to the journey; there was a Portal along the way and one in Ratharkin Castle itself, if the queen needed to be whisked away to safety.  Valerian had taken care to ensure several Deryni ladies served the queen, and they knew where their true loyalties belonged.

All Valerian needed now was for Feyd to fulfill his part.  A hostage would either ensure success or escape.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on May 16, 2018, 12:02:30 PM
Feyd has enjoyed the hospitality of King Kelson that is granted to foreign Lords as he has moved amoung the people of Rhemuth, in and out of the castle.

Using his credentials of a Forcinn Lord and Patron of learning, he has spent much time among the academia in and out of the Palace. Haunting both the Royal Library and the schools of the city.

Lord Collos d'Chameaux of Vezaire, as he is called, knows the ins and outs of the Palace. And the best places for an ambush of the young Morgan.

Too bad the Lady Aliset is cloistered in the Queen's Court. She too would be a great prize to bring back. But then again he wasn't hired to bring her to the Grand Duke. So it doesn't matter at all. That is someone else's problem.

No his quarry this time in Rhemuth is Washburn Alaric Cynfyn Mogan. Youngest son of the Late Duke of Corwyn Alaric Anthony Morgan and the brother of the current Duke. Who at this time is on his way to Ratharkin to put down the Grand Duke's rebellion in Meara. But Washburn is safe in Rhemuth.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on May 17, 2018, 12:45:45 PM
In the royal council chamber Richard Kirby swallowed uncomfortably. Duke Dhugal had implied that the King would not appreciate him incriminating himself, or revealing that many ships, sailing blamelessly on the business of the lords that funded them, carried other cargo to supplement their income. How else were men to be recompensed for the dangerous business of having the sea for a mistress? The "old grey widow-maker" some called her, and rightly too.

But now the King had called on him openly and he must answer. He looked to his Ducal master for guidance but Dhugal was staring fixedly at his father, who equally strangely was refusing to meet his son's gaze. But there was a way to be both open and discreet, and he blessed the powers that made that possible, though many, even now, regarded them as cursed.

He stood and bowed to the King.

"Your Majesty. I fear I cannot answer your request." Ignoring the sharp intake of breath that went around the room, he continued,  "Quite simply, I do not know, though I can make a good guess at which ships might be carrying such cargo. I beg, though that you will not impute an intention of treason unless such can be proven."

He risked a look at the King's face but that remained impassive, not suggesting blame but giving no encouragement either. With no further word he rose from his place and came before the throne, dropping to his knees with the deliberation of a supplicant.

"I beg of you, Sire, read the information that I have, and act on it as you will." He looked his King straight in the eye before bowing his head and inviting the royal touch. ((Kelson reads Richard's mind, rolling advantage because of Kelson's skill and Richard's openness. 1+4+3=8. 6jtxkxh79c. Ah well)).

Kelson paused for a long minute, then taking care to make no physical contact, reached towards Kirby's hand, signalling that he should rise. The other, feeling no touch either on his head or in his mind, lifted his gaze to see that the king was now smiling, though gravely.

"Thank you, Richard. But I should feel shamed if my trust in you was not as great as your trust in me. It will be enough if you can convey any suspicions you have to Dhugal. I cannot promise immunity, if there is reason to believe that treachery to our crown has knowingly been committed, but rest assured that now is not the time to otherwise impose the full weight of the law on those loyal to us."

Kelson deliberately spoke his foster's brothers name loudly and Dhugal pulled his gaze round to meet the king with an apologetic bow of his head. Kelson gestured to Kirby to be seated, he bowed deeply and complied, saying as he did so,

"I should also have a fair idea of the ports they are likely to be sailing between, and I dare promise that most of their captains would co-operate willingly once they know the wickedness of the purpose to which their cargoes are to be put. With your Majesty's leave I will prepare a letter, instructing all such ships that they are to co-operate fully."

"Do so, with our good will." Kelson thought it wise not to elaborate further on the forebearance that would follow such co-operation and if any thought that they heard the royal lips mutter the words "Fianna red", they were equally wise enough to feign deafness.

"Before we turn to the retaking of Ratharkin" Kelson was continuing to the room at large, when he was interrupted without ceremony by Duke Angus,

"And take vengeance on the bloody murdering traitors!"

"Those responsible will be pay the appropriate penalty but I would prefer to avoid as much as possible creating further martyrs for the future. Let justice be done, but vengeance is best left to the Almighty." At the tone of Kelson's voice Duncan lifted his head for the first time knowing that the King was thinking of his first Mearan campaign so many years ago when he had let his anger, justified though it was, get the better of him. He forbear to speak, however and in any any case was given no opportunity as Kelson continued,

"Before we turn to the retaking of Ratharkin, we must give thought to Laas. Rory and Brecon are still there as are the men of the garrison. All else have been evacuated, by the good graces of the Hort, but the townsfolk have no such recourse. We can only bring a very limited number the same way, and reinforcement by land, even from the Connait may not be possible if all the countryside is raised against us."

Kelson slammed his hand onto the table with such force that everyone jumped. "How did we let this happen! I should be flogged for negligence. Or replaced as a foolish old man."

Javan, Dhugal and Brendan, amongst others, all tried to speak at once but were silenced as Kelson drew a depth breath and held up his hands for quiet.

"Be that as it may, and Rory and I hopefully can soon argue at leisure as to which of us is the more to blame, it gets us nowhere. I apologise for lapsing into self-indulgence. Dhugal and Richard, how soon and how many boats can you get to Laas?"

With a nod from Dhugal, Richard Kirby answered. "As to numbers, Sire, twenty boats each carrying between eighty and a hundred men. The fiery cross went out some days ago and the clansmen have been quick to answer. Many make their living as much by fishing as crofting, so the sea is not unknown to them.The first boats, perhaps as many as ten, could leave today, the rest as the men come into Ballymar. As to time, with the wind from the ocean to the west, as it mostly is, we can make it work for us much of the way, unless a storm should blow up. Four days at best, a week at worst. Do you concur, my Lord?"

Dhugal replied. "I know better than to question your knowledge, Richard. The main problem is horses; we have few war horses, and the men could not ride them if we did. Still, mountain ponies may be better anyway, in Meara. And with your leave Sire, we might be advised to retain some boats and men, say five out of the twenty, in case any others try to bring troops in by sea. Sad I am to say it but we cannot rule out a link with Torenth."

Kelson said nothing to this last remark but sat in silence for a while. "Aye, do as you say. Dhugal I shall need your further counsel but now take Richard back to Ballymar. And thank you both for your preparedness."

Both men took this as their dismissal and turned to the royal presence to make their reverences, Dhugal with a deep bow and Richard dropping briefly to one knee, before leaving the room.






Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on May 18, 2018, 01:06:05 PM
Lady Aliset tried very hard to lose herself in the words the priest recited for the mass, but her mind kept drifting in other directions.  She had purposely held her emotions in check during her flight from Caer Mariot, so they could not distract her from her goal of reaching Rhemuth.  But now, unbidden in the peacefulness of the royal chapel, memories and emotions returned.  Memories of her father and brothers, especially Alister, who had given his life, so she might escape.  She felt tears forming in her eyes, and she tried to blink them away.  Princess Araxandra must have sensed her discomfort; she reached across and briefly squeezed Aliset's hand in reassurance.  The mass should have been comforting, but it seemed to be having the opposite effect.

After the mass, Aliset walked with Araxandra and Grania back to the Queen's Tower to gather embroidery or other projects to work on while enjoying the Queen's Garden.  Aliset turned down the kind offer of a piece of needlework and instead selected the book of poetry her man-at-arms had given her.  The memory of his laughter made her smile despite her earlier thoughts.

Princess Araxandra saw the brief smile.  "Is your smile for the book or the young man who gave it to you?"  she asked.

'Probably both," Aliset replied, blushing slightly.  "I know I can depend on him no matter how dire the circumstances."

"Well, you don't need to worry about dire circumstances in Rhemuth," Araxandra replied.  "Though I wish I could say the same for the rest of the kingdom.  Come, let us go outside and try to enjoy the day while we can."

Once in the Queen's garden, Aliset drifted away from the other ladies and chose to sit on the bench near the low garden wall.  From here she could see the great hall beyond the lovely flowers.  Leaning back against the wall, she leafed through the book and decided to start with the Saga of Sigrun.

***

Lord Jaxom Trillick strode out from the great hall and headed toward the Queen's Garden.  The absence of that counterfeit lord Darcy was to his advantage in pursuing his intentions for the Lady Aliset, and he did not intend to waste the opportunity.  He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't see the man approaching him until he collided with him.  Started, he found himself looking into the face of one of the many foreign dignitaries that frequented King Kelson's court. 

"Beg pardon," the man said, bowing slightly. "I did not see you approach."

"No harm done," Jaxom replied somewhat brusquely and moved aside to continue.  The man fell into step beside him.   

"We seem to be heading in the same direction," the man said with a disarming smile as he touched Jaxom's wrist.

Jaxom's eyes went blank, and he continued to walk unquestioning beside the foreign dignitary until they reached a secluded spot at the edge of the courtyard.  Moments later he emerged alone and resumed his walk to the Queen's Garden, looking like his former determined self.  He did not notice the new signet ring on his right forefinger.

***

"My Lady," Lord Jaxom said cheerfully from the other side of the garden wall that separated him from Aliset as he bowed.

Aliset tried to hide her annoyance at the unwanted intrusion and nodded politely.  "Lord Jaxom.  As you can see I am spending the morning with the queen and her ladies."  She hoped he would take the hint and leave.

"Is it a good book you are reading?" he asked, reaching across to touch her hand to turn the book toward him.

Thoroughly annoyed, Aliset snatched her hand back, barely noticing the scratch from Jaxom's ring. 

Suddenly, Aliset's world seemed to collapse around her.  Her Deryni senses were gone!  Unable to move, she could do nothing as Jaxom swiftly lifted her from the bench and moved quickly away.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on May 18, 2018, 02:06:00 PM
What fresh new hell is this?  Aliset's dazed mind tried to figure out what was happening to her. She had to be under the influence of some sort of drug, that much she knew, although she knew not what. It was not merasha, she felt certain, for she had been trained to recognize the effects of that dreaded drug, but whatever it was, it had a similar effect on her ability to fight what was happening to her.  Even as she lost command of her own body, her limbs falling limp and helpless towards the ground as Jaxom lifted her up in his strong arms, she started to feel a slight tingle on the back of the hand that had held Darcy's book. Even as she had the thought, she could feel the book slip out from her numb fingers, falling unheeded upon the ground. She watched as it grew farther and farther from her grasp, like her ability to focus.

Surely she was not entirely helpless, though! Aliset gathered the tattered edges of her psyche, trying to gather up enough focus to send out a psychic cry for help. She knew it would be hopeless to try to call out to any particular mind, given how immediately the disruption of her powers had taken effect, but perhaps someone might be able to pick up on her distress in the Deryni-friendly refuge of King Kelson's court!

((13:34   Aliset   !roll 2d6
13:34   derynibot   4, 3 == 7))

But alas, the disruptive effects of the drug were thorough enough to prevent her from accessing even that uncontrolled a use of her powers. Aliset's mind scrambled for some other way to extricate herself from her predicament.  Gathering what little remaining energy and willpower that she could, she attempted to scream for help.  Princess Araxandra and the other ladies were not so very far away, after all. Surely someone would hear her and come to her aid....

((13:35   Aliset   !roll 2d6
13:35   derynibot   5, 1 == 6))

The tiny sound that emerged from her lips was barely more than a squeak. Closing her eyes in despair, Aliset wilted in Jaxom's arms, too spent to consider any other options for the moment.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on May 18, 2018, 04:25:01 PM
Columcil was warmly welcomed by Father Malcolm who was, he discovered, the senior priest at the shrine. Columcil introduced himself briefly, giving his own credentials as a priest of a healing shrine for which he hoped to gain archiepiscopal approval. Just coming through the gate had given him a sense of such home coming that he had to struggle to control his brogue, though he made a greater effort when he saw polite incomprehension on the other's face.

"Our main Mass of the day is in an hour, Father. I assume you will wish to join us."

"Thank you, Father, that would be good. I'm no wantin' ta be a trouble ta ye, but I'm sore in need o' shriving."

He was led into a small side chapel where a young priest waited to hear confessions, Father Malcolm mentioning, as if casually, that Father Ninian had recently finished specialist training in healing at the Deryni Schola in Rhemuth.

The heart of his disquiet he not did feel able to share even in the confessional. And after all a country priest, even though he be a Deryni and a healer, who confessed to causing a rift, albeit inadvertently, between the Archbishop of Rhemuth and the King was asking to be read a lecture on humility in the face of such arrogant delusion and given a penance to mortify his overweening pride which would keep him on his knees for a week. But there was more than enough of his want of charity, towards Lord Jaxom in particular, and his failure to keep the office faithfully to make his confession honest enough. Not to mention his failure to fulfill his mission, and the needs of his Parish that were so often far from his thoughts.

Father Ninian listened in silence and when Columcil had finished offered counsel that was both perceptive and charitable. Bowing his head in acceptance of his penance - and praying that he would be given the grace to indeed act with more charity towards Lord Jaxom- Columcil waited for the words of absolution to be pronounced. When there was only silence he looked up to see Father Ninian gazing at him thoughtfully.

"There is something beyond that which you have told me."

Columcil made to speak but Ninian rapidly continued "I know that there is that which is not yours to tell - I can sense its presence and will not press you on that - but  it is not that of which I speak. I wonder if you even know that you are in danger of rebellion against the will of God. He has led you away from your Parish,  and joined you with the stories of others. You have set your hand to this plough, yet you keep looking back. Even if you return to St Melangell's it will be as a Deryni healer and not as the simple priest others knew."

Columcil heard the words with the awful finality of a bolt dropping across a door but he also knew their truth. He had been holding onto the idea of simply going home as a refuge from so much that been assailing his heart and soul, but he had really known that it could not be so simple. And it was a sin, the worst sort of sin, to seek refuge in anything but God alone.

Ninian's eyes were shining with compassion and Columcil knew that he had spoken, not in rebuke, but to keep him on the right path. He managed to whisper,

'Thank you, Father," before bowing again to the words of absolution.

He went to Mass resolved to honestly seek God's will for his future, and to ask the Archbishop to provide for the future of St. Melangell's as seemed good to him. But for all his resolution there was heartache, and it was with a sober heart and mind that he waited for Darcy. When Darcy appeared, it was clear that he too had received unwelcome news, indeed the young man was as troubled as Columcil had seen him. Columcil thought perhaps that the calm amosphere of the shrine would be of comfort but Darcy seemed unwilling to stay though he did ask for Mass to be said for the repose of a soul.

"Begging your pardon,  Father, but if you are ready, let's out of here. It's an ill place, this town, and my promise unfullfilled. Pray God my promise to Lady Aliset will not go the same way."

As they rode back towards Rhemuth neither was in the mood for speech and Columcil, unsettled even further by Darcy's anxiety, was content to allow him to set the pace.





Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on May 19, 2018, 07:30:12 PM
The door to the king's royal council meeting remained steadfastly closed. For Sir Washburn, who waited anxiously for news, this was a small torment. It appeared that at no-time-soon was he to be sent for. This exclusion forced him to reflect on the last weeks' progress, he knew he had made errors and that his accomplishments had been found wanting. In real world situations, not just training and tournaments, Washburn needed to prove that his knighthood was worthy of the spurs that he wore. There was little he could do about the past. He reflected instead on doing better in the future. Ahead were hard times, with much that needed to be accomplish and many lives that needed to be protected.  His duty, his honor, and his self esteem required him to give all that he had to see this cause to a good end.

And this situation in Meara was not to be underestimated. Washburn worried about his brother and the rebellion the Duke of Cowryn had sworn to put down. Kelric might not be aware just how entrenched the Mearan's had set themselves up in order to obtain this false independence; an independence which was turning out to be a lie to the people. Whoever was orchestrating this did not have Meara's freedom in mind. Not with men like Oswald abusing his station and slaughtering hardworking common folk.

Wash needed his focus for the campaign ahead, yet he needed to be assured that when he left Rhemuth, he left the people who had trusted him in these last days to be well cared for. His vantage at the alcove window finally rewarded him with the sight of the Queen and her ladies arriving into the garden. His heart leapt at the sight of Lady Aliset de Mariot in the company of his sister, Lady Grania, the Duchess of Southmarch.  In his sister's hands, Aliset would be well. Grania had a soft touch, a mothering warmth in her ways.  Across the rows of flowers, Washburn could see Aliset's sad expression. This wrenched his heart. He knew he could not be the one to assuage her grief. As much as he would want to run over and give the lady a tender shoulder to cry upon, he knew he never could. He would never be that close to Aliset again, not as close as they had been in these last few days. He frowned. He would have to content himself to love Aliset as he loved his sister. As he watched Grania care for the young heiress, he was happy to see that the duchess treated the young heiress like family. Wash nodded to himself that it was good enough, for now.

So Washburn had smiled when Graina allowed Aliset to wander to a quiet part of the garden to read Darcy's book of Poetry. Now that would be a good love match, if Washburn's instincts about his two companions were correct. Lord Darcy and Hieress Aliset would make a happy couple and a good addition to the barony de Mariot. He determined that the one thing more that he could do for Lady Aliset was suggest to the king what a good match Darcy and Aliset would be. Yes, that would be the best thing he could do for the young heiress.  Aliset settled on a bench near the inner garden wall where Washburn could see her over a spray of blooming red roses. Satisfied, he turned his attention back to the council room where the door still remained closed. Soon, surely soon they would ask him to join them.

Motion in the garden caught Washburn's attention. Lord Jaxom was there speaking softly to Aliset over the short wall.  "You would dare the wrath of the queen?"  Wash said under his breath. To approach one of the queen's ladies in the queen's garden was a flogging offense. The lordling must certainly have better sense than this? Apparently Jaxom did not. The young man reached over the wall to better see the book Aliset held. Aliset pulled back in resistance. "Damn him!" Wash said aloud. The Lendour Knight's feet were turning to go to the lady's rescue, when suddenly Aliset fainted away in Lord Jaxom's arms. "What in the flames of Hell has he done?" Washburn cursed.

Jaxom looked left and right very quickly, then he lifted the lithe form the the lady up over the wall. He adjusted her position in his arms, and then darted out of the garden the way he had come. Noting his direction, Washburn set off at a full run, dodging courtiers and servants who looked after him astonished at his indignity. Wash bounded out a side passage down a half flight of stairs that took him to the hallway were the garden doors would be. 

((12:28 Washburn does Washburn see Jaxom from the bottom of the steps? 5&6 yes
12:28 Washburn !roll 2d6
12:28 derynibot 4, 1 == 5))

Jaxom was not in sight. Wash looked out the garden door as he ran past. He wasn't there. Could the man have gotten ahead of him so quickly? Not while carrying the lady. But there were many doors down this hallway and stairs that lead up and down. Which way? Which way?

Wash pulled his dagger from his belt, holding the pummel before him with the large ruby gleaming in the garden lit doorway. Wash calmed his nerves and centered. Jaxom, where was Jaxom? He knew the man well enough from their three days travel. Never once did Wash think Jaxom would be the type of man to kidnap a lady. But infatuation often made a man blind. That didn't seem truly feasible; this lord may be a pompous-ass, but he was not a philanderer, yet Wash had witnessed nothing less.

((12:32 Washburn Washburn opens his focus to locate Jaxom, he already knows the man so 2d6 success on 5/6.
12:32 Washburn !roll 2d6
12:32 derynibot 4, 5 == 9))

Another deep breath and Wash found his focus and what he sought. There behind that door. There was Lord Jaxom and the essence of Lady Aliset's terrified unshielded mind. The knight's dagger reversed to display the deadly sharp edge. In a mad rush Washburn kicked in the door that had just closed, but not enough to let the lock catch.

Washburn didn't care that he found himself in the royal library. All that he cared about was Jaxom leaning over Lady Aliset, who lay deathly still on the librarian's desk, the hateful man Jaxom kissing her lips. The lady neither moved, nor cried, yet her eyes were wide open, watching in frozen horror.

Fierce anger gripped Washburn then, he yelled at Jaxom. "Get your hands off her, you filthy swine!"

Suddenly, Jaxom was looking upward, blank-eyed. As he turned, he revealed he was not alone. The hand from a grey-bearded Moorish Tradesman reached up and touched Jaxom's forehead. "He is the enemy," the man said plainly with his hands over Jaxom's forehead. "The Lendour knight wants your lady love for himself. Kill him so she can be free of him. Then and only then will Aliset be yours, forever." In the swift move of a trained warrior, Jaxom pulled forth his sword and leaped at Washburn with all his might.

((13:06 Jaxom Jaxom Initiative test
13:06 Jaxom !roll 2d6
13:06 derynibot 3, 1 == 4
13:06 Washburn Washburn initiative test
13:07 Washburn !roll 2d6
13:07 derynibot 1, 3 == 4))

Washburn had no time to pull forth his own sword. Dagger in hand, he too attacked this swine, calling himself lord. The sword and the dagger clashed together in the same instant both men were swift and strong. Both men were also angry with the supposed actions of the other.

((13:08 jaxom Jaxom initiative 2nd test
13:08 jaxom !roll 2d6
13:08 derynibot 4, 4 == 8
13:08 Washburn Washburn initiative test
13:08 Washburn !roll 2d6
13:08 derynibot 6, 3 == 9))

The two men pulled away from each other only momentarily before they attack again. This time the dagger was faster than the sword.

((13:15 Washburn Washburn attacking Jaxom with dagger 2d6 standard.
13:15 Washburn!roll 2d6
13:15 derynibot 6, 5 == 11))

The dagger sliced under the courtier's guard hand, biting hard into the man's side. But the man's eyes were blank, not registering the pain and that is when Washburn knew the grey-bearded man was a Deryni guiding this attack. Jaxom was under his spell. Even still, Jaxom was a danger that had to be neutralized. Washburn made his second attack; pulling his blow like he would in the training yard, only intending to knock his friend back.

((13:22 Washburn 2nd attack with the dagger
13:22 Washburn !roll 2d6
13:22 derynibot 4, 3 == 7))

But that was a mistake, Jaxom's focus was too deadly, his intent too strong. He held his stance when any other man would have fallen.

((13:30 jaxom Jaxom attacks with a mastery of swords so advantage 3d6
13:30 jaxom !roll 3d6
13:30derynibot 4, 3, 4 == 11))

The sword swung down, down strong, but clumsy, giving Wash the chance to jumped away.

((13:32 jaxom Second attack
13:33 jaxom !roll 3d6 13:33
derynibot 6, 4, 5 == 15))

Jaxom's controlled mind turned vengeful, his longer reach allowed him to continue the circling of his sword to reverse its momentum, to slice its sharp point across Washburn's off-side shoulder. Wash was used to turning away with a shield to protect him on that side. His need to Not kill his friend had hindered his ability.  This angered Washburn more than the blood dripping down his arm.

Behind Jaxom, the old grey-bearded man was lifting the semiconscious lady off the desk. He had a large glass container of some red liquid in his hand like a decanter of wine. As he stepped to the curtained garderobe in the corner of the room, he poured the liquid over the maiden and then more upon himself. It ran over them both thicker than wine, more like blood.

Damn it was blood! Whose and why?

Washburn had no choice. If the old man had found a way to get through the warded veiled archway into the next room where the portal lay, than he would be away with Lady Aliset in an instant. The bearded man had to be stopped, and stopped now. Still Lord Jaxom stood in the way. Wash leaped at Jaxom diving under the man's sword.

((15:25 Washburn Washburn leaps under Jaxom's sword. does he get hit by the sword doing this. 5/6 yes.
15:25 Washburn !roll 2d6
15:25 derynibot 5, 1 == 6))

The sword was in the hand of a slower man, now that the bearded man no longer guiding him, but he still was a agile warrior. Jaxom's sword hacked at the back of the man tackling him. It stuck and then slide off the halberd of chain mail. Even so Wash arched his back at the pain of the drumming. With a desperate need, Wash reached up his hand and grabbed Jaxom's jaw in a clench of fingers. With that instant touch, the Deryni Morgan did what he new was morially wrong to do, at least in any other situation, he forced a mental connection and demanded the man  SLEEP! "Sleep! Drop the sword and Sleep!"

((13:44 Washburn Washburn attempts to touch jaxom to put him to sleep
13:44 Washburn !roll 2d6
13:44derynibot 1, 6 == 7))

The heir to Trillshire's eyes rolled back in his head, his whole body went limp, dropped his sword and he slumped down to the ground. Wash would have eased him down, but his focus was now on the bearded man pulling the garderobe curtain back while he carried the lady in his arms

((15:39 Washburn Rolling for Wash to throw his dagger at the back of grey-beard. 15:39 Washburn !roll 2d6
15:39 derynibot3, 3 == 6))


The knight fingered his dagger around. Hethrew it as hard and as accurate as he could. He swore it should have sliced into the heart of the old man, yet the old man had turned and with a weaving of his fingers the dagger flew away, slicing into the spine of large leather bond volume on the library shelf. 

((15:39 Washburn Rolling for Wash to tackle grey beard
15:40 Washburn !roll 2d6
15:40 derynibot5, 1 == 6))

Wash had to stop this man, had to save Aliset at all costs, he dove into Greybeard's abdomen knocking him back. Grabbing the form of the lady Aliset away as they all fell to the stone.

The door behind them opened. Someone had heard the scuffle. A foreign scholar with an arm load of scrolls came into the room. This new man in a scholarly robe gave a gasp at the sight before him. The scrolls dropped from his arms and he raced to Jaxom's side who was the closest to the door and could be seen to be bleeding. Finding him unconscious, the scholar looked up concerned at the others on the floor near the garderobe curtain.

Washburn had no time for this new fellow. The man on the floor before him was Deryni and this Deryni had all his focus on his attacker.

((15:55 greybeard Greybeard attacking Wash with magic spell master spell caster.
15:55 greybeard !roll 3d6
15:55 derynibot 2, 4, 6 == 12))

The mental attack came as the Deryni master slapped his hand over Washburn's wrist. The mind slammed into Washburn's shields like the battering ram against a castle gate.  The gate to Washburn's mind held strong but the pain was there like a hammer on a door. Wash pulled his hand away, strengthening his shields around himself and around lady he now held. For master grey beard had his Washburn's sense now and did not relent even though they no longer touched.

((16:16 greybeard!roll 3d6
16:16 derynibot 4, 6, 1 == 11))

The old Deryni man was strong, the attack held Washburn on the defensive unable to make a physical blow and finish this ordeal. He huddled on the floor holding the lady close to him protecting them both with his shielding.

That is when the scholar at his back added his own shielding to strengthen Washburn's.

((16:20 scholar Scholar shielding Wash and Aliset
16:21 scholar !roll 3d6
16:21 derynibot 6, 5, 2 == 13))

The two separate forces together pushed the old grey-bearded man's mind away. This eased the pain on the knight's shields. He crawled forward. With a swift but dissisive punched, he clotted  the old man in the jaw, ending for good the mental attack.

((16:24 Washburn Does grey-beard get knocked out 5/6 yes.
16:24 Washburn !roll 2d6
16:24 derynibot 3, 4 == 7))

Amazingly the old man stayed conscious, his focus was gone, his aggression was ended. He waited on the floor unmoving, hoping against hope for his moment to escape.  Wash tied the man's hand quickly. Then he scooted over to Lady Aliset. Her eyes were red with tears but she could barely blink or move a muscle to protect herself. Wash touched the lady's head and as he feared her shields were gone, gone, her mind open like a babe. He pulled her into his arms and hugged her to his chest. He cradled her, wanting all the bad things that had happened to this good maiden to be reversed. He had sworn to protect her. How had this come about.

It did not occur to him to worry about the scholar lurking behind him.







Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on May 20, 2018, 12:48:17 PM
With King Kelson locked away with his Council and Washburn distracted by the greybeared man and the Lady Aliset. The scholar moves closer behind him. "Is the Lady alright?" the scholar asks and pulls out a Deryni pricker of old and jabs its squarely into Washburn.

(( scholar's attack with a Deryni pricker on Wash ))
<bynw> !roll 2d6
<derynibot> 5, 1 == 6


(( Wash gets a Disadvantage to react before the drug takes its effect ))
<bynw> !roll 1d6
<derynibot> 3 == 3

The Merasha like drug courses through Washburn's system eroding his Powers before he can even answer the scholars question or is aware of the attack.

To the greybeared man the scholar exclaims. "Get us through to the Portal room or we will surely die here today and the Grand Duke will be most displeased."

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on May 20, 2018, 01:47:47 PM

((washburn hero point disadvantage. With hero point Washburn gets one chance to react to Feyd's attack. by reaching out to choke Feyd. success on 5or 6 due to hero point. Rolled a 5 ,  Yes! Verification Number: 4c43hcp5bl))

With a shock, Washburn felt his limbs turn cold. His head start to pound. The needle in his neck had struck home and the man behind him gave a rueful laugh. An instant warrior's reflex, with every ounce of strength left to him, which was dwindling fast, Washburn struck out with his bare hands upon the man behind him. He reached the man's throat and tightened his grip to squeeze. He squeezed hard, even as his body turned icy cold.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on May 20, 2018, 02:42:06 PM
The scholar gasps abit at the sudden choke hold. And grabs hold of Washburn's arm to pull him off.

(( strength Test roll))
<bynw> !roll 2d6
<derynibot> 4, 5 == 9

The scholar pulls Washburn's hand off of him and breaths easier. "You wont do that again. Now lets see if we can reach the Portal. Even if an alarm is sounded to the King. It wont make any difference where we are going."

The scholar reaches into Washburn's unshielded mind. ((no roll needed as there are no Shields to prevent it)) And goes to set some controls to prevent any further resistance from Washburn. But the scholar leaves the mind

(( setting controls to prevent Wash from attacking him in the future ))
<bynw> !roll 2d6
<derynibot> 5, 2 == 7
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on May 20, 2018, 03:45:38 PM
Darcy's unease had transmitted itself to Columcil and, as they rode as fast as the well-frequented road between Desse and Rhemuth would allow, he extended his senses outwards straining every ounce of his psychic abilities. Suddenly he drew rein, forcing Spean to a brutal stop as he bent gasping over the horse's head.

"Father, what the hell!" Darcy was too shocked to mind his language, for the priest's face was ashen white and sweat ran down his brow.

"Trouble," Columcil moaned. Then taking a grip of himself he repeated more loudly. "Terrible trouble, I don't know what. Somebody shouted out for help." But Darcy was gone, spurring Sigrun with a force that he would never normally have used on his beloved mare, and Columcil, whispering encouragement to Spean made haste to follow as best he could.

              -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dhugal and Richard Kirby had left the King's council chamber, with Kirby less than pleased with the Duke.

"I got through that alright, thanks to the King's grace, but I could have done with a tad more support from you, My Lord. Wherever your mind was at the start of the meeting, I would have been grateful if it had been at my side."

Dhugal expected plain speaking from the seaman, and normally appreciated it, but he really did not want to explain how perplexed he had been by his father's avoidance of him. He muttered a brusque "Sorry" in a tone which made it clear that the subject was closed and went swiftly to open the library door. Any remnants of irritation burnt up in horror at the scene before him.

"Jesus Christ! What in God's name is happening!" Of the five in the room, four were on the floor looking to be in a bad way. Washburn and the Lady Aliset, he knew and they looked bloody awful. One of the other's he did not remember ever having seen, though the man was clearly of the nobility. The other two he vaguely recognised as having seen around court. One was lying bound on the floor, which left the man dressed as a scholar. Wasn't he some sort of foreign noble. Whoever he was, he was standing over Washburn in a way which betokened no good.

Dhugal knew that he must call for help, and the easiest person to reach was his father. Whatever was wrong between them, his father's mental touch had always been the most comfortable right from the days before he knew of their relationship or even that he was Deryni. And he could reach him with the barest of pauses to focus. ((Dhugal shouts out mentally to Duncan 6+5=ghm662w1. This is what Columcil overhears, using a hero point to push his senses outwards 1+5=6 30z187zx22)).

Even that second's pause was too long. Richard pushed past him and lunged for the scholar, ignoring Dhugal's belated shout to stop. Richard was a bonny fighter but he was no Deryni. He drew his sword to overpower the scholar ((Richard overpowers scholar, rolling disadvantage: 2, 7rlqpq74xz :-( )) but before he could do any harm his wrist was seized and his eyes went blank. ((The scholar seizes control of Richard 6+4=10 7qwnk1x3b6))

Seconds later Richard lunged at Dhugal with all the force of his seaman's strength and threw him bodily to the floor. (( Dhugal is overpowered 1,2,3, Richard is overpowered 4,5,6: 3, 1kgsqb7548. It's those Torenthi dice again)). Dhugal felt Richard clawing for his throat and looking up at the scholar he saw a smile of triumph as the latter's hand reach into the breast of his robe to withdraw something. With the last of his concentration he screamed mentally, to his father, to Kelson, to anyone within earshot. Treachery, in the library ((6+2=8, 1fwlq8251r)).


Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on May 20, 2018, 04:05:43 PM
The greybearded has gotten back on his feet. And hands the remains of the decanter to the scholar. "There is enough left for you and your friend." Seeing that the 2 interlopers had been dealt with turned towards the gardrobe with Lady Ailest and steps into the annex of the Royal Library and the Portal beyond.

(( Result of the throw of dice "2d6" :
3 + 5 = 8      4xk6mv58qn ))

Working quickly as there was no barely any time. The scholar splashes the remaining blood on himself and Washburn. And uses the gardrobe towards the annex and Portal.

(( Result of the throw of dice "2d6" :
3 + 5 = 8  59rn5px8gp ))

Once inside the Portal annex of the Royal Library. The 2 pairs make their escape. Washburn and the Scholar going first.

(( Result of the throw of dice "2d6" :
4 + 5 = 9  3h41svj4md ))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on May 20, 2018, 06:02:08 PM
Dhugal watched the intruders disappear through the gardrobe with despair in his heart. He would happily have killed Richard Kirby, though he knew that it was not the man's fault. And in any case it was more likely that he would himself be killed as the ferocity of the other's grip diminished not one whit. Then quite suddenly the fight went out of his assailant, and horror dawning in his face he began to roll away from Dhugal. Dhugal kicked himself free, not waiting to see, nor at this moment caring what became of Richard and flung himself into the gardrobe and through into he portal. There was no sign of the scholar and Washburn but the greybearded man had not yet stepped onto the portal. Encumbered as he was with the prone Aliset in his arms, he was no match for a Dhugal with the battle fury of the clans upon him. Dhugal did not wait to draw his sword, or even the Sgian Dhu from his boot, but drove his fist at the man's head and rejoiced to hear the crash that he made as he hit the wall. ((Dhugal flattens Greybeard 2+6=8, 2n1bqxb75x.)) As the body of the unconscious man hit the wall, Dhugal bent and gently picked up Aliset, wincing as his mind touched the raw vulnerability of her undefended mind.

"Forgive us, My Lady, for our failure to defend you," he murmured, and took her with him through the gardrobe, where instinct took him straight to his father who took his burden from him with the gentleness of a lifetime spent as a priest and a healer.

His desperate message had been heard and the library was thronged. Dhugal thought that he had only once seen Kelson look so grim, and that was when the full extent of Conall's treachery had been revealed. Haldane archers were standing guard over the wounded and semi-conscious nobleman, and Richard Kirby was being dragged sobbing to his feet, his arms twisted viciously behind his back.

Rapidly Dhugal sent to Kelson: Go gently with him, Sire. This is not his doing, his mind has been controlled by that Deryni scholar who has made free with your hospitality - the same filfthy scum that has just taken Washburn through yon portal. God, he kens where tae. There's another yin wi' his heid nigh stove in, but I've kept him man alive for ye."   (( Dhugal mindspeaks Kelson 6+6+2=14 31qf7j1phx))

Kelson nodded to the men holding Kirby, "Release him!", and as Richard collapsed still sobbing to the floor, moved over to him and placed his hand on his shoulder. "Richard! Hear me! As your King and, I believe, your friend, I tell you that you bear no guilt in this."

At the sound of the king's voice, Richard at first stiffened as if awaiting a blow, but then registering the tone managed to raise himself on his knees and reaching for the king's hand brushed it with his lips. Kelson looked down at him with great sadness and turning to Duncan said,

"Duncan, can you arrange for somewhere safe where Richard and the lady Aliset can be cared for?"

Duncan barely noticed that the King had spoken to him without reserve and replied just as unconstrainedly pointing to Lord Jaxom. "And what of him?"

"Until I have some answers, I have no idea whether he is guilty or, as a human, as much a victim as Richard here. Place him under guard in a cell, but his wounds may be treated and he is to be cared for." This last order was to the guards who hastened to remove their prisoner.

Then his attention turned once more to Dhugal who was dragging a greybearded man through the gardrobe, and there was no question this time of the anger in the King's voice.

"Take him to the dungeons. Dhuagal go with them lest he regain consciousness. Chain him to the wall; we'll begin the interrogation once he is full of merasha!"

He drew a deep breath. "I need to speak with Richenda, then we'll reconvene in the council chamber."


((Apologies for the italics - I'll sort them out in the morning. Rescuing Aliset seemed more important -- I think I got these all out modified by Bynw))

((Modified to give Richard more of a response to the king))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on May 21, 2018, 10:09:55 AM
Washburn is drifting in and out of consciousness. Unsure of the passage of time. Vagely aware of his surroundings. He has been bound. His Shields are gone as are his powers. Helpless at the hands of another Deryni as a human would be at this time. Even if he had the strength to act, he knows he cannot since the scholar has already placed controls preventing Washburn from attacking his tormentor.

This place is dark and a bit damp. The only light is an eery silver glow from the Handfire created by the scholar. No windows or even a door can be seen in the dim light as Washburn looks around. Tired, hungry, thirsty, and he his held prisoner.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on May 21, 2018, 12:12:07 PM
The King of Gwynedd strode into the queen's tower like a fierce warrior of old Run. One hand was on his sword hilt and he grey eyes flashing from woman to woman, looking for anything out of place. At the mental calling from His Grace Dhugal, Queen Araxie had quickly summoned all the women back into the tower. Grania had been the last to arrive, having searched the whole garden for the king's new ward, and not having found her. Grania had just been explaining to Her Majesty where Lady Aliset had last been seen and how she was not there now.  She was gone. Grania was holding a small leather-bound book up, a book of Norse poetry, a book Grania knew the lady cherished and would not have dropped willingly.

That was when the king entered, that was when all the ladies bowed low to the king's fierce demeanor.

"I would have a word with Richenda. Where is the Dowager Duchess?" He requested trying to hold his anger in check.

Araxie attempted a mental question to her husband. The tenseness of his reply gave her pause. We have Lady Aliset... I need Richenda... Forgive me... he mentally said to his queen, his beloved, knowing he should contain his anger; it was not aimed at the women.

After mass, Richenda had not joined the younger ladies in the garden. She had retired to her rooms seeking rest, knowing she would need all her strength for her family in the days to come. Knowing in her heart why the king was in the queen's tower, she had wrapped her shawl around her like shield, something had gone wrong, something horrific. When she walked out into the crowded Queen's solar and saw the tension in her King, she knew what it was before he even walked toward her. The king took her elbow and guided her over to a cushioned bench in the sunlit alcove over-looking the garden. He sat her there, he remained standing at first, but seeing her questing blue eyes, he softened his stance. Carefully he sat down at her side, cradled both her hands in his. And whispered "Washburn has been taken."

Her abrupt intake of breath and her hands clinging suddenly to his, said more than her voice could have said, if, indeed, she had had a voice in that moment to speak.

"We believe he is alive. We will find him, my lady! Bishop Arilan has his nephews, Laird Seisyll, Lord Sextus and Lord Jamyl testing the Portal now to see to where he was taken. I have been informed it is to a trapped portal. They are working how to break that trap before they make an attempt to follow."

"You think he is alive? Truly, don't lie to me, please! I sensed my youngest was in trouble. I tried to contact him. I could not!" she explained trying to keep her fear in check, trying to keep her tears from falling down her cheek.

"I will have a full accounting for you, I promise you that. I swear to you that we will find him. What little I know is that Aliset was taken and that Washburn rescued her. She has been taken to the Healer's infirmary. When she is recovered, we will see what more she can tell us." He hugged Richenda then like a brother, nay like a son. When he left her sitting there, he motioned Grania to attend to her mother. Then the King beckoned his queen and his daughter to his side.

"I am ordering the tower secured. The women will be safe here. Beloved daughter, with full escort, please go to the infirmary. I would have a lady's touch there when Aliset awakes from her ordeal."

"Aye, Father, I will."

Then King Kelson beckoned Queen Araxie to his side. The two, arm in arm, left the queen's tower to return to the council chamber to hear reports as they came in of all that had transpired.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on May 21, 2018, 04:19:15 PM
Darcy Cameron hated to rein in Sigrun when they reached the crowded streets of Rhemuth, but in truth Sigrun needed the quieter pace.  He had never ridden her so hard, but Father Columcil's reaction to the cry he had heard had driven Darcy forward with a feeling of dread he had never known before.  The slower pace allowed the priest to catch up to him, though they were still moving faster through the crowds than they should have been.

As they rode up the steep incline to Rhemuth Castle, Darcy was convinced something had gone terribly wrong.  A greater number of armed guards than he had seen the day before moved about, watching everyone carefully.  The guards at the gate into the castle itself questioned them closely; Darcy worried for a moment that they would not let them enter.  Father Columcil's calm responses had gotten them through.

If the greater number of guards outside the castle had been disturbing, within the courtyard they were positively swarming.  Archers stood at the bottom and top of the stairs leading up to the great door with their bows at the ready.

A groom approached to take their horses.  "She's been ridden hard," Darcy said with a nod at Sigrun.  "Pray see she's well cared for and has suffered no injury.  I'll settle any expenses later."  The groom nodded and took both horses away.

For all that Darcy felt a burning need to do something to find out what was amiss, he wasn't sure who could help them.  He could hardly barge in on the king!  He wasn't sure how to reach out Sir Washburn or Lady Aliset with his Deryni powers.  He was sorely in need of some training!

"Can you reach Sir Washburn or Lady Aliset?" Darcy asked the priest.   

Roll to try to contact Washburn or Aliset (failure was guaranteed at this point.)
Jerusha   !roll 2d6
16:06   derynibot   4, 4 == 8


Father Columcil closed his eyes and sent out a mental call.  He shook his head.  "It's like they are no longer here.  But perhaps..."  Columcil paused.  He wasn't sure his contact would be welcome, but they needed to know what had happened.  "Let me try someone else."

Roll to try to contact Archbishop Duncan.  Success!!
   
      
16:07   Jerusha   !roll 2d6
16:07   derynibot   5, 5 == 10

Columcil felt the tension in his grandfather's reply, though his contact had not been unwelcomed.

"We are to go to the infirmary," Columcil said tersely.  Darcy, unsure what to make of the tense reply, followed as Columcil lead the way.

There were guards outside of the infirmary door.  They would not allow them entry, even when Columcil stated the Archbishop had sent for them.  One of the guards called for someone inside to verify that they had permission to enter.  Darcy began to grow impatient and was about to speak, but Columcil laid a restraining hand on his arm. Darcy took a deep breath and remained silent.

The man finally returned, said something to the guard, and they were waived inside.  The man led them down the corridor to a room with another guard at the door.  The man knocked, and the archbishop bade them enter.

Darcy and Columcil entered the small room.  Archbishop Duncan was standing by a bed, his body blocking the view of the person he was administering to.  When he turned, both men bowed.

"What has happened, your Grace?"  Darcy asked. 

"There has been grave trouble.  Sir Washburn has been taken, and we almost lost Lady Aliset as well."

'What?" Darcy exclaimed and strode toward the bed before Columcil could stop him.  Archbishop Duncan held out a hand and stopped his progress.  "It's not as bad as it looks.  She has been given a drug similar to merasha.  It will wear off, but I have made her sleep to ease her recovery."  Duncan removed his hand and allowed Darcy to approach the unmoving form on the bed.

"Sweet Jesu," Darcy said quietly.  "I'll kill whoever did this." 

Lady Aliset lay on the bed, covered with a light blanket, her right arm outside the cover.  There were streaks of something dark red in her hair, along the sides of her face and on the exposed arm.  Darcy knelt beside the bed and reached for her hand, taking it gently in his to verify that she still lived.  Her hand felt cold, and he wrapped his larger hand around it to provide what warmth he could.

"How did this happen?" he asked. 

"I don't know for sure, but one of the assailants and an accomplice have been captured and are being questioned. "

"I'd be willing to help with that," Darcy said and looked up at the archbishop, his pale eyes flashing cold anger.

"I believe King Kelson is handling it personally."  Duncan was careful not to mention the name of the accomplice.   Darcy turned his gaze back to the woman on the bed and his gaze softened. 

"Do you have any idea what she was given?"  Columcil asked.

Duncan shook his head.  "Now that you are here, perhaps you can stay with her while I send someone to see if anything can be found about it at the schola."  Duncan stopped as someone knocked at the door. 

The door opened to admit his niece, Grania.  Duncan embraced her briefly.

'His Majesty wanted me to be here when she awakes.  She has had a difficult time."  She turned her gaze toward Darcy.  "It would be best if you leave now," she said.

Darcy had stood and bowed as she entered.  Now he nodded his understanding.  "I'll be outside the door if she needs anything."

"There is already a guard there, Lord Darcy."

"Aye, your Grace, and there will be one more."  Darcy, who had not released his grip on Aliset's hand even while bowing, lifted it to his lips and kissed in gently before withdrawing from the room.

It was a pity that it would not be the kiss Aliset remembered when she finally awoke.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on May 22, 2018, 02:32:56 PM
All is darkness, but for a faint glaze of light from above. All is cold, all is damp. Wash's body starts with a small shiver in his hands and slowly overtime, his whole body reacts to the reduced effects of the drug on his frozen muscles.  Washburn succeeds in blinking, where before his eyes had been frozen open. He had seen everything. He had known terror when he could not move, could not react. All his training had been about reacting, swift and fast to threats. He had been able to do Nothing in defense. Nothing as he was dragged onto a Portal he could not feel. Nothing to stop the Scholar from placing controls over his mind. Nothing to stop the binding of his hands before him to the binding of his feet. To be tossed into this dark cellar, to be laughed at, and told he was going to make the Scholar a rich man.  The scholar let it be known that he was to be taken to a man he would only name as GDV. A man who hated the Morgans, more than he hated any other thing in this life. That this GDV would likely torture him and cause him to do all sorts of evil, before Wash was ultimately killed. But the Scholar did not care what became of his prisoner. He was just in it for the money, he repeated this several times. And the money was good, really good. Too bad his adversary had not been a better challenge. He had expected so much more out of a Morgan before he was caught.

The unconsciousness after that was a small blessing. But it was always short lived. Each time Wash awoke his eyes would be staring, dry and crusty, at the light above his head.  The pain in his mind kept him from thinking too hard. Then he would fall asleep again.

This time he could blink. An amazing feeling, just to actually blink and clear the crust from his dry eyes.  And to shiver, an uncontrollable shiver. But it was movement, it was something. Over the next hour Wash tried to concentrate on muscles and tried to make them obey his commands.  He finally managed to turn enough to lift up his head to see a plate of cheese and a cup of wine. He savored the thought of quenching his hunger for a long while. But then finally, when he could move enough to sit up, he stalled his own hand from reaching for the wine. Surely it was drugged. The scholar would not want him moving. If he was able to get the wine himself, than he would need to be dowsed again with the drug.  It took conscious effort to not take the cheese or the wine. Yet it nagged at him. Finally he kicked the wine goblet away and let the contents spill to the floor.

Wash hugged his tied hands over his upturned knees and tried to think.  He had his sword still, why he could not guess, it was bound down tightly in its sheath with many tight knots. He had his Camber medal, but he could not sense its power. Briefly he pulled it before him, let it shine in the dull light. He concentrated on the face of Saint Camber. It was nothing but cold silver in his hands. He cupped it between his palms. His palms so cold it did not warm the silver. He whispered a prayer to the saint for a long while. Then he heard a noise behind him and he quickly shoved the Camber medal back into his tunic.

"You don't like my offering of food? You will need your strength where you are going. Can't have you dying of hunger and thirst,"  his captor said as he came around to stand before Wash. Wash could not see his features as the hand-fire came down between them and blinded him tell he looked away.

"I'm such a tease, aren't I. Showing you drink you dare not drink. It doesn't matter, you know. I have this, if you choose not to drink." The scholar opened his palm to show the old styled drug pricker. "Your choice." He then stepped back to the goblet picked it up and poured more wine in it.  Then placed it a foot in front of Wash, before taking a step back. "Go thirsty or not, you are helpless to stop me from drugging you again, either way."

Wash looked at the wine longingly, he leaned forward and picked up the goblet in shaking hands.  He held the wine toward his lips, but then at the last moment, he tossed the wine into the air before him toward the light. The scholar's face was close behind the light, but Wash did not think on that, only on hitting the light.

((Disadvantage 1d6 roll with a hero point
Success on 5,6. splashing the wine in the scholar's face. Rolled a 6, Verification Number: 4tmpjxm9dk  HAHA  and that gives me a new Hero point))

Wine splattered across and through the silver hand fire. Some of it splattered on the scholar's face, even as the man quickly backed away.

Wash then tried to tell his body to leap at the distracted man. But suddenly his muscles froze again. His body would not do such a thing. He could not will it to attack this man. Only the fact he had tried to hit the light and not the man, had allowed him his one success.

edited the name Valarian to GDV.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on May 22, 2018, 03:31:49 PM
The Scholar wiped the splashed wine with a cloth. Careful not to get any of the wine on his lips as he did so. "It doesn't work on contact. It must be either ingested which is less painful than the alternative. We will be leaving soon, helping you earlier and then fending off the others was a bit tiring. But I have rested enough to make our next jump from here."

(( <bynw> see if Feyd got a very mild dose of his own drug (1-4 no, 5-yes powers disrupted for 2 hours, limited mobility. 6-yes powers disrupted for 4 hours, limited mobility)
<bynw> !roll 1d6
<derynibot> 2 == 2 ))

Edited with the roll
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on May 22, 2018, 06:55:23 PM
As Darcy left the room Columcil put his hand into the neck of his cassock to retrieve his crucifix. He felt the need of a tangible symbol of the Lord's victory over the powers of darkness in the desperation of their present struggle against evil. As he did so he had a sudden vivid memory of Washburn reaching for the medallion round his neck, a medallion of St Camber no less! Maybe he could contact him through that (( rolled wasting hero point 4+3+2=9 rr0zlrb2cw ), but he dismissed that thought in favour of a better. His grandfather with his years of Mastery in the Deryni arts, and his knowledge of Washburn would surely be better.

Duncan was already turning to leave when Columcil grabbed him by the sleeve "My Lord,  Your Grace, his medal. Maybe he still has his medal. My Lord, can you find him, Oh please try, at least."

The anxiety and desperation spilling out of Columcil robbed his words and actions of any presumption. Duncan's failure to answer lay not in any resentment at such unceremonious handling but because he too had had a sudden flashback, long long in the past to that terrible time when he and Alaric had believed Kelson and Dhugal dead and they had used... their St Camber medals. Of course!

"Bless you, son!" Now it was Duncan's turn to be unceremonious and he pulled Columcil with him out of the room where Aliset lay,  past the startled guards and an equally startled Darcy and into the little oratory.

"Pray!" was all he said but it was enough and both sank to their knees before the Presence lamp, Duncan cupping his own medallion between his hands ((Duncan can read Wash's thoughts and feelings 4+6+3=13 6lr708vwbx)).  Pain, and fear and hunger and thirst were were all he picked up at first, as he made contact. There were no shields there to protect Wash's mind and he must go gentlly for if he startled Wash his captor might be warned. Sending as much reassurance as he could though he did not know whether Wash could sense his presence he read the other's impressions of his captivity. Suddenly he let the connection break and crossed himself rapidly and fervently. Looking hard at the Presence lamp he prayed out loud,

"Sweet Jesus, have mercy! Grant that we may be in time."

Wash and presumably his captor were in the portal in the hidden room behind his old study, the room where Kelson, and Nigel and the Conall had had their Haldane potential set. And it was because of the last named that the Chapel,  as it had been,, and portal were disused.  Kelson could not bear any memory of his traitorous cousin, neither had there been need any longer to hide the veneration of St Camber. The frescos had been carefully removed and placed in the new chapel to the saint, and the former chapel deconsecrated with due formality.  The portal had been left unused for many years now and was doubtless dank and even foul. How the false scholar had learnt of it he could not guess, but he remembered with a sickening lurch that Denis had admitted revealing its location and signature to the Camberian Council. Well that was irrelevant - what mattered was to rescue Wash.

(( At this point the dice really turned against me. Does Duncan Mind speak Dhugal - 2+2 =41gdq4r63ft - No!  Kelson - 4+2=6 607vns3c8k- No!!.
Will Kelson make the portal jump -, 3+2=5.60ddkbb3bz - no!
Dhugal 4+2=6 3s19jdrlkc
Javan 4+4=8 2689d10c8n
Richenda (desperate  now) 3+3=6 208cķ00ct0))

Duncan found his heart racing - should he call the King or his Dhugal, and let them go through. God, any one of them would surely be willing, Javan or even, Saints preserve them Richenda. No there was no time - he must go himself. Wash's thoughts had resonated with the sneering threat that they would soon move. At the very least he could delay that move, and if necessary he would die in Wash's place.

He was aware that Columcil was staring at him strangely but there was no time to explain. Wrenching off his episcopal ring, precious relic of a martyred Bishop, he thrust it at his grandson.

" Run, burst into the Council if you have to, the guards will know this ring. Threaten them with hell fire if you have to. Tell the King he is in my old study he will know. Send soldiers. I will hold them there as long as I can. Go!"

Columcil thought he was the one in danger of hellfire, or a sound flogging at least for interrupting the king in council unbidden but who was he to disobey his Archbishop.  More than that if there was truly a chance of rescuing Washburn, well he too would take any risk. If an old man like his grandfather would risk his own life, then surely he could risk humiliation and a few inches of skin.

Praying desperately as he ran, and panting "His Grace's business" and thrusting the amethyst under the nose of any who looked questioningly he came to the council chamber. His heart sank aso he saw the archers on guard, he would never get through. He thrust the  ring at them but to no avail.

Weeping with despair and knowing he had nothing to lose he shouted with his mind to Kelson Sire. Of your mercy, Archbishop Duncan has sent me.News of Sir Washburn Grant me leave to enter,

(( At last 5+2+4=11 (hero point) 6216J18fgv))

He was not expecting what happened next as the doors to the chamber burst open and the King strode through, followed closely by many of his Lords.  Columcil fell to his knees clutching at the King's robe with one hand and showing the ring with the other.

"Your Majesty, Archbishop Duncan says, in his old study. You would know where and how to get in.Please take men, and hurry."

"And Duncan?"

But Kelson already knew the answer and he barely waited to hear Columcil say,

"He will be through the library portal by now. He says he"ll delay them as long as he can, Sire.", but was off shouting orders as he went for men to get to horse, waiting only to throw a bridle over their mount's head,  not even to saddle up.

Duncan had indeed headed for the portal in the library waiting only to take a sword from one guard and a bow and arrow from another. He knew what was on the arrow tips and he would use it if he had to.

He stepped onto the portal and felt back in his memory for the shape of the other portal so long disused..  He bent the energies and was gone to reappear into a space smelling of damp and disuse. (( rolled advantage - this was very familiar once to Duncan. 6+6+2=14 5j3nvsjq5s))

((Modified to remove mention of handfire)).





Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on May 22, 2018, 09:14:09 PM
Darcy Cameron stood outside the door of the infirmary room where Lady Aliset rested under the watchful eyes of Duchess Grania and Father Columcil.   Darcy ached to be able to help her in some way, but there seemed to be nothing he could do.

This was the second time he had stood outside her door and waited for others to help her.  The first had been in Droghera.  It was not entirely his fault that the crossbow bolt had found her and not him, but he still felt responsible, even though chance had played the greater role.  Now he waited again.

The day had been a total failure.  He had failed to fulfill his mission in Desse, although that was certainly not his fault.  He had failed to be in Rhemuth to protect her, although who would have guessed she would not be safe within the Queen's Tower?  He felt like a failure; this was an unfamiliar feeling to him, and he didn't like it.

More than once he carefully extended his senses to see if Aliset was returning to normal, with no success.  Once he thought he touched Duchess Grania's mind, and he withdrew in a moment of near panic. He wished he knew better how to use his new-found powers.  His preferred teacher would be Lady Aliset, but perhaps that was an idle fancy. 

Darcy was totally unprepared when Father Columcil and Archbishop Duncan burst through the door.  For a moment he hesitated; should he follow or stay at his self-determined post?  He decided to stay, for Lady Aliset was his primary concern.  But if need be, he would offer what assistance he could, if the priests needed him.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on May 22, 2018, 09:46:03 PM
((Holding space to react to what really is happening))
((Revvane, I truly apperciate the effort and the enthusiasm, I still hope we can make something work that fits within the game parameters. Even if it takes a few more days. I know you are very busy and I thankyou for your time.))


Edited because Feyd and Wash are not in the old study
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on May 22, 2018, 11:41:54 PM
Duncan tensed himself as he arrived at his destination expecting to see silvery handfire and smell damp and decay and at the psychic level pain and fear. The damp and decay were there, but nothing else only empty darkness. What a foolish old man he was, deciding that he could rescue Wash. How Alaric would laugh, maybe was laughing, somewhere up there in heaven. And perhaps Alaric had had the right of it, dying before he descended into folly.

But thought of Alaric served to shake him out of his self-pity. He must at least put a stop to the hunt he had set in motion.  He drew a deep breath willing his heart to calm and focused on reaching Dhugal ((5+6=11 40cjgp5971)) - "He's not here! God help us all! Do not come!". He sensed rather than heard Dhugal's reply in affirmation of the message, then turning towards where the altar would have been he knelt in supplication for Washburn, whereever he might be and for his grandson who he could only pray would suffer no consequences from his grandsire's folly.

Dhugal's senses were strung almost to breaking point, wondering whether the night's work would end in the death of both his cousin and his father, so he hardly knew whether to be sorry or pleased when his father's message came. Using the bellow he had learnt as a young man on the hills of Transha he yelled for all to stop and, when Kelson turned to him with a face between desperation and fury, repeated Duncan's message in a calmer voice, the king finally nodding agreement.

It was as though everything had gone into a slowed-down reverse as they moved back to the council chamber. Dhugal moved to walk besides Kelson, "Give me leave for a short while Sire, I'm not totally happy about this. It could be a trap. Let me go to the library and wait for Da, and if he does not come shortly and I cannot contact him, I beg leave to follow him."

Kelson sighed, at this rate how many more of his nobles would he risk losing, but he really did not have the energy to deal with a passionately enflamed Dhugal. "Do so, then, but, mind me, Dhugal, on your oath as as Duke, do not put yourself at risk. If he does not come return for more strength, and ...Here!", he summarily ordered two archers with their merasha tipped bows to accompany Dhugal.

Dhugal bowed to his king, then turning caught sight of Columcil. "Father, you carried my father's message, maybe you can tell me something more of his thinking. I would be grateful if you would come and wait with me at the library."

Columcil cast one look of agonised appeal at the king, who raised his eyebrows in a not unfriendly, but unhelpful, gesture, and Columcil had no choice but to turn and walk with his father.


Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on May 23, 2018, 11:07:47 AM
"Don't waste my wine again!" came a phrase of power that shook Washburn's soul. Even the momentary satisfaction of attacking back was stolen from him.

"You'll learn. We have plenty of time. You are no longer the son of a hero. Know that now! That day out of Droghera, that must have been a fluke. A Morgan You are Not! You are nothing, nothing but a pawn!"

Bile raised in Washburn's throat as his listened. He wanted to leap at the man, prove him to be so wrong. Yet he could not. His eyes could no longer even reach to the scholar's face. Instead his gaze hovered no higher than the belt that tucked the scholarly robe close the the evil man's body. There in the belt was something leather bond. What was so important that the scholar carried it? He couldn't attack the man but he could grab for the roll.

((attempting to grab leather bond item. Hero point wasted. Rolled 2 Verification Number: 1db4szcqv5.
2nd attemp without hero point rolled 4 Verification Number: tbvgr6vjmc))

Wash made two attempts to lunge toward the leather bond roll at the scholar's waste, hoping against hope that it held a dagger. Both attempts were deftly side stepped.

Scholar looked at him curiously, "What are you after?" He followed Washburn's eyes and laughed. "This? I forgot I still had it." He pulled out the roll from his belt and brandished it before Washburn's eyes. It was nothing but a parchment scroll. "This is what I was going to use to lure you into the Library. It is nothing but a Healer's scroll. I had it copied from a scroll out of some tome found at home. It was supposed to be a scroll of importance. Yet the man who copied it for me, said it was a very poor translation. Half the words are gibberish. If you want it that badly, since it was meant to be yours anyway, I will give it to you. In return you will do as I say and drink your wine." The scholar pointed the scroll toward the goblet. He lifted the pitcher ready to pour. "Do we have a deal or not?" Between both tied, shaking hands Washburn held up the goblet to be filled. He knew he had little choice. The scroll was probably worthless. But something in his mind nagged at him to get it. He could not say what the something was. Without his powers, the suggestion could have come from anywhere or been nothing but delusion. But it was a suggestion of warmth, the only warmth he could feel in this cold, damp cellar of darkness.

"This is me doing you a favor. You'll thank me for it." The man in the scholarly robe poured the remainder of his precious wine from his pitcher into the cup. With a voice of command that Wash could not disobey, he said, "Drink!"

Washburn did. He savored the too sweet flavor of the spiced wine to descend down his throat and to fill his empty stomach. The drug was barely tasted but the effects were almost immediate. Washburn struggled to stay sitting. He looked askance at the scroll that hovered in the hand before him. "Please!" He begged.

"Now, you're begging like a girl? I am disgusted with you!" The scholar flung the Scroll at Wash who managed to clutch it close to his chest, even as he fell sideways. His body once more going stiff and cold.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on May 23, 2018, 11:29:16 AM

With Washburn drugged again and unable to offer any resistance. The Scholar picks him up once more. And huffs him over to the damp corner where the Portal lies waiting. He balances the energies between this place and his destination.

<bynw> portal jump
<bynw> !roll 2d6
<derynibot> 3, 5 == 8

One heart beat. Two heart beats. Three heart beats. The nothingness of the void between jumps clears. And the Scholar sets Washburn down among the stones and debris on a small makeshift rug of furs. Something catches his eyes as he spies the chain to the Camber Medallion.

Removing it from Wash easily enough with the tip of a dagger. Insures that his controls are set. That Washburn cannot move, nor speak above a whispered tone without his expressed permission. He then wraps the medallion in leather and vanishes from the Portal leaving Washburn alone, helpless, and unaware of anything that has passed.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on May 23, 2018, 01:24:00 PM
Aliset de Mariot stirred slightly.  She felt a soft touch on her mind that withdrew quickly.  It was a familiar touch, but her befuddled mind could not be sure.  Slowly, she opened her eyes.

"Darcy?" she asked weakly, her voice sounding cracked and dry.

"Lord Darcy is just outside the door standing watch," a woman's voice said gently.  'You are safe in the infirmary."

Aliset found it difficult to focus her eyes.  The woman sitting beside the cot was Duchess Grania!  Confused, Aliset tried to sit up.  Gentle hands stopped her progress.

"You should rest.  But first, have a drink of this."  Grania reached behind Aliset to support her head and shoulders while holding a goblet to Aliset's lips. 

The goblet contained watered wine, and Aliset realized how thirsty she was.  She drank as carefully as she could, but drips of wine spilled down the sides of her mouth despite her efforts.  Grania patted her face dry with a fine linen handkerchief and laid her head back on the pillow.

It was the touch of the handkerchief that brought the memories flooding back.  Aliset scrubbed her lips with the back of her hand to remove any traces of Lord Jaxom's passionate kisses.  And then she began to cry as she remembered more fully the betrayal, the loss of her powers, the helplessness and exposure to those who would harm her.  And Washburn – that man had taken Washburn!  She cried harder.

Darcy Cameron burst into the room, the sound of her cries forcing him to action.  The guard grabbed him by the shoulder and Darcy stopped, his own distress and concern clear on his face.  Duchess Grania gave him a stern look of disapproval.  Aliset looked up at him and squirmed backwards on the cot.

"Don't touch me!" she shouted in desperation.

"My Lady, I would never..." Darcy began, confused and uncertain as to what he should do.   

"I'm, I'm sorry," Aliset stammered through her tears. 

"No, my Lady, the fault is mine.  I understand; no need to fret about it." 

For the first time, Duchess Grania read a lie in the young man's words.  His compassion was clear, but he did not understand at all.  How could he?  He was the one person in the room who knew nothing about what had happened.  This would have to be rectified, but not now.

"Please step back outside, Lord Darcy," Grania said firmly but with some compassion in her tone.

  "Of course, your Grace.  If Lady Aliset needs anything, pray let me know."  Darcy bowed and withdrew, the guard shutting the door firmly behind him.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on May 25, 2018, 02:55:34 PM
Darcy Cameron leaned on the wall beside the door to Lady Aliset's room in the infirmary, his arms crossed over his chest in an uncharacteristic position.  He was not one to spend too much time withdrawn into his own thoughts, but he needed to know what was happening and what had happened to cause it.  He was having little success.

He straightened as two women accompanied by guards approached; each was carrying a cloth bundle.    From their dress and bearing, Darcy guessed they were from Duchess Grania's household. The guard standing across from him on the other side of the door bowed and reached to open the door to let the women in. Darcy seized the opportunity to open the door himself and managed to look inside the room as the two women entered.

Aliset lay sleeping on the cot, resting on her side and curled up into a tight ball.  Duchess Grania, still sitting on the chair beside the cot, gave him a hard look, but when she realized he did not intend to enter the room, she relaxed. 

Darcy bowed respectfully and closed the door.

Darcy was left once again with his own thoughts. He knew Lady Aliset was receiving the best care possible, but her sleeping position on the cot told him all was not well.  And he could do nothing.

It occurred to him suddenly, that he had not seen Lord Jaxom since he and Father Columcil had returned to Rhemuth.  Admittedly, they had only been in the courtyard and the infirmary, but normally Jaxom continually maneuvered to be at Aliset's side at every opportunity.    If the annoying peacock had been injured or killed, surely Archbishop Duncan would have said something about it. Darcy did not believe Jaxom would have returned to Trillshire this soon.  Where could he be?

"I'll be back in a moment," Darcy said to the guard and made his way back to the infirmary's main door.  He opened it and stepped outside far enough to speak to the guards who still stood at their posts.

"Has anyone come to inquire about Lady Aliset?" Darcy asked.

"No one has come except you and the priest earlier, and the two ladies with guards just now," one of the guards replied.

Darcy thanked the man and walked thoughtfully back resume his own post outside of Aliset's door.  Where was Jaxom?  What the hell had happened?

'You don't need to stay here," the guard at the door suggested.

Darcy shook his head.  "Nay, this is where I need to be."  He paused for a moment.  "Besides, I have no where else to go."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on May 27, 2018, 03:38:54 AM
Lord Jamyl Arilan, son of Laird Seisyll of Tre-Arilan stepped within the library garderobe. He placed his hand against the far wall, then watched his fingers disappear inside the wall, thus proving he was able to penetrate the warding veil which separated the annex room from the main royal library. As he stepped through the veil, his foot kicked a glass vessel which was haphazardly resting on the floor. Jamyl backed up a pace, reached down to the decanter, and was amazed to find it unbroken.  What he saw inside made him hold his breath.

"Lord Almighty, it's blood," Jamyl exclaimed as he walked unhindered through the warded veil into the library annex room, "Haldane blood, if I dare to make a guess."  He held the glass up for the other Arilans to see. "Did you ever imagine that such a rouse would work?" the younger man asked he great, grand uncle, who had been one of the men to create the warding veil all those years ago.

In those early years of King Kelson's reign, the Library Annex had been built as an extension to the Royal Library. For centuries before that, this same room had been a guest room and had held the secret Portal which was known only to a few. Unfortunately, not all of those few had been loyal to the Haldanes. For that reason, the portal room had been changed in such a way that the entrance into the castle could only be obtained by passing through the warded veil, which was only permitted to those high Deryni Lords of complete loyalty to the king. Most Deryni did not have this permission. In truth, most knew nothing of the Portal here, and of those that did, most would not be able to even see the veil, for it would look like nothing more than a bricked in archway to them. The Arilan family were one of the few given such permissions. That is why the Arilan's had been assigned this job. To discover what had happened and to trace down the kidnapped young Morgan. Bishop Denis Arilan just now was standing with his hand on the shoulder of Jamyl's father, who was down on his knees. Siesyll's hands were flat against the square stone in the very center of the room, the Portal stone.  The third man in the room was Jamyl's uncle. Lord Sextus was just then turning over a pouch of cubes into his hand.  "Why is it impossible to do a walking ward while Portaling?" his uncle was asking. "Surely there must be someway to accomplish both acts?"

The Bishop raised his eyes at his impetuous nephew. "Now, Sextus, think about it. You have trouble doing a walking ward while walking let alone talking at the same time. The energy balance would be impossible. Besides, the ward itself would forbid you from using the Portal, you would never be able to sense the portal signature to make the jump.  Much less feel the Portal that you were jumping too."

Laird Seisyll looked up at his brother who was turning the cubes over in his hands. "Don't even consider trying it, Sextus. As much as you are a nuisance to the family name, we have all gotten rather accustomed to your ways. So the answer is, No. There are some magics that just simply contradict each other," Laird Seisyll warned. Then Seisyll look up at his son, noting the glass vessel in his hand. "I would never have thought Haldane blood poured over someone would fool the veil. We will have to rework the spell, Uncle Denis. Whose blood could that be? It would have to be fresh for such a rouse to work."

Bishop Denise, stared at the blood in the vessel. He was calculating where all those of Haldane blood were. "Damn, I got it!. King Liam and Queen Eirian's youngest son, Prince Kalin has been a royal Squire in the castle for three years now. I heard a rumor that he was sick with a fever since yesterday."

"Aye, he was," Seisyll remarked, finally understanding what had occured. "It got so bad that the physicians bleed him this morning to reduce the ill humours.  I heard he was still in bed, recovering, but the fever has abated."

"One more thing that grey-bearded Moor must account for," Sextus claimed. "Do we know who he is?"

"Kelson will find out. That assailant is not our trouble. Our trouble is the one that took Washburn," Denis said turning back to Seisyll. "What can you sense from the Portal?"

Seisyll nearly laughed. "This has been a very active portal in the last 24 hours. I can sense when you came through this morning," he nodded to Denis. "And then I can separate out Earl Brendan with Duke Aurgus and of course Dhugal and Robert used it to get here. They were nearly the last ones.

((Seisyll discovering last portal jump location. If it is checked by a Ritual Magic user, then Disadvantage roll, success on 6 only.  Rolled = 4 Verification Number: 7n3jn6gz4h))
((Seisyll second attempt Discovering last portal jump location. If it is checked by a Ritual Magic Trait roll Disadvantage success on 6 Rolled = 3 Verification Number: 76zhfwz8tg))

"I have been trying for several minutes to discover the last portal jump made but it is confusing me. It's a jumble with all the other coordinates that are so recently made." Laird Seisyll sat back on his knees in frustration.

"I'll see if I can do better," Bishop Denis said. He pulled a cushion off one the benches and put it under his knees before he knelt next to the stone. "I am going to need your help to get up. These old bones aren't as agile as they use to be."So saying, Denis leaned both hands onto the Portal stone. His eyes focused on his amethyst ring.

((Discovering last portal jump location. If it is checked by a  Spell Master Trait roll standard disadvantage. Rolled =6 Verification Number: 2r6n3q4th5 Does Denis get a Hero Point?))

Denis had taken only a few minutes to isolate the coordinates. He invited his nephews to learn of it from him. All three men joined their hands with his and Denis shared the unique signature that he found.

((Anyone can check for a Trapped Portal before making a jump. It's a Standard Test (2d6) vs the skill of the person who set the trap.
Denis skill test  Rolled 2+2+3 = 7 Verification Number: 6xh76vmkh1 edited because it should have been a 3d6 roll
   12:18   Portaltrap   Oh and by the way, Dinis should have gotten a 3d6 roll instead of a 2d6 roll. so let me roll one more time for him.  it won't make any difference on what is already written. I am not rewriting that. LOL.
12:18   Portaltrap   !roll 1d6
12:18   derynibot   3 == 3

Scholar's skill test Rolled 1+6=7 Verification Number: 5pxln7m5b4))

"I don't think the portal is trapped," Denis says.

"I don't trust that." Seisyll said placing both hands on the portal stone. Now that he knew which coordinates to look for, it was easier to test for a Trap.

((Seisyll's Skill test Rolled 3+2=5 Verification Number: 4smldfw1pd
Scholar's skill test  Rolled 6+2=8 Verification Number: 19s3xfmw70))

"I believe your right, I don't feel any traps. I am going through." Seisyll started to stand up pulling out his sword and stepping onto the Portal stone. Both Jemyl and Sextus protested.

"Father, that is far to dangerous. This foreign scholar could be waiting there in ambush. I won't let you go."

"Someone has to go," Seisyll returned.

"We will need to set Rapport, so we instantly know what you know," bishop Denis was saying, agreeing with Seisyll.

((Sextus skill test Rolled 2+3=5 Verification Number: 3zd6f70c9t
Scholar's Skill test  Rolled 1+4=5 Verification Number: 78cx0qxczn
"In a tie, defender (the person who set the trap always wins.)"))

Sextus leaned back on his haunches after giving the Portal his own perusal.

"I agree it appears to be clear. I will go first." He pulled out his sword and then he pulled his Camber Medal from the inside of his tunic. He touched the Medal to his lips and then to that of both his brothers and his uncle's similar Camber Medals. They had done this before, a strong Rapport was developed between the three of them. "Only follow if I tell you too." Sextus told them.

Everyone cleared the stone and Sextus stepped to the Portal's center. He put the coordinates he had garnered from his uncle into his mind. He didn't like jumping to Portals he had never been to, but the Coordinates seemed clear enough in his mind. He made the jump counting less than a fraction of a heart beat of time as he appeared in the corner of a dark space with a pale glow of handfire.

(( Per Bynw, "Yes the Portal is trapped... Feyd is skilled but his not a Master. I'm going to go with it causing unconsciousness in anyone not properly attuned to it. They would get a Save Test (2d6 to avoid being unconscious but they would be highly disoriented.)" ))

((Sextus Save test for the Trapped Portal Standard 2d6  Rolled 1+1=2 Verification Number: 3krgllzc62))

Sextus has but an instant to look at the dimly lit room before a bolt of energy lashes out at him. He falls instantly unconscious crumbling to the floor.

Both Denis and Seisyll exclaim as the Rapport abruptly ceased. A list of Curses filled the room.
"It was trapped?" Jamyl asked having not been in the Rapport.

"Yes...!" The bishop hissed. "I saw Wash on the floor hugging his knees." Denis cupped his medal in his hands and concentrated on Sextus's inactive Medal. "I think they are really close somewhere in town. We dare not follow this way. We have to ride out and do a door to door search. I think I can follow Sextus's medal, but it is going to take time. Let us go!"

The three Arilan men ran out of the library. They gathered four guards with them as they saddled horses in the stable and rode out through the gates. Seisyll did give orders to tell Kelson where they had gone. But in some way that information took far too much time to reach the king's ears. A long time after Duncan had made his attempt to contact Washburn and to use the Portal to jump to a different location. A long time after the foreign scholar had discovered his trapped portal had been activated. 

Feyd knew he didn't have much time. He needed to move his captured package a little sooner than he liked. Washburn never knew about the attempted rescue. He never saw the unconscious body of Sextus on the corner of the floor of the cellar. The body that the Scholar simply pushed aside, then strengthened the trapped portal to be doubly strong. Only then did Feyd pull the newly drugged Morgan to the Portal to make their escape.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on May 29, 2018, 01:18:48 PM
His Grace Bishop Denis Arilan, followed by family and a handful of guards, sat his horse in the midst of Rhemuth's market square, seeking around him to get his bearings. From what he had sensed in the Castle Library from his momentary Rapport from Sextus, before the Rapport had been lost, was that Sextus was in a position somewhere North. And from the jump time Denis knew it was a very close distance; less than a mile or two away. He stared at his Amethyst ring centering to find the Camber Medal that Sextus had with him. 

((09:51 Denis Scrying for Sextus's Camber Medal
09:51 Denis !roll 3d6
09:51 derynibot 5, 2, 4 == 11))

A scrying spell whispered anxiously by the bishop gave the results of a tug from his crucifix in his hand. Still further North. How far North? By the Rivergate or further still. There would be no means of triangulating the position without using up a great deal of time. And already time had been lost. Precious time that could mean the lives of not just Lord Sextus but what of the Young Morgan. The Arilans had made a blunder to use the portal jump without more preparation.  This was not a simple kidnapping by the criminal element of the city to earn a ransom. This was a well-thought out conspiracy to gain and control the weakest link in Kelson's close knit circle. Not that Bishop Denis didn't admire the youngest Morgan's prowess and proficiency in weapon's play. Washburn had won the Rhemuth Tournament three years running; no one could touch him in that skill. But the boy had a lot of growing up to do. Duncan and Richenda had let him slide too long in other aspects of his training and this was the results. The boy-- though Washburn was now a man taller by a full hand than Denis and outweighed him by twice, the Spell Master part of the Bishop of Dhassa could not think of Washburn as anything but Alaric's youngest child-- this youngest child was Kelson's weakest link, and indeed some enemy had finally discovered it.

Angry, Denis spurred his horse through the thinning market square crowd. The sun was lengthening to the west, Washburn had been taken at mid morning. A good six hours had passed since then. Of the daylight remaining there was maybe four more hours, then darkness would prevail and it would not be safe for anyone to be searching buildings one by one. They would have to call the search off until the next day. Not a good prospect for the two missing men.

Through the Rivergate, Denis stopped his mount and made another scrying.

((10:36 Denis Another scrying spell
10:36 Denis !roll 3d6
10:36 derynibot 3, 4, 1 == 8))

This time Denis was befuddled. He wasn't able to get even a general direction. Between the Rivergate and the Ferry 100 buildings mostly brick warehouses and stockyards stood outside the city walls. Here goods poured into the city from the barges that came both upriver and down, and from the main road coming down from the Northern provinces.  The buildings along the city walls were the oldest, some having survived centuries. The buildings along the main road leading to the ferry were the best kept up, many had been rebuilt in the prosperity of the last decades. The buildings east and west, gradually decayed to almost shacks at the ends of the way where the poorest of the dock workers kept their homes.  To find a portal, it was either very old near the city walls or it was very new on the street between the gate and the ferry.  Just to be certain it wasn't the other side of the Ferry, Denis ran his horse to the ferry dock, pulling him up sharp, he made another attempt to scry.

((10:49 Denis Another attempt
10:49 Denis !roll 3d6
10:49 derynibot 5, 6, 5 == 16
10:49 Denis Wow))

This time Denis felt the direction with assureity, as his crucifix tugged at him back south in the direction toward the Rivergate. And it went only the tiniest of bits east. What he searched for had to be on the main road between the ferry and the gate very likely on the east side. This reduced their search down to twenty buildings or so. The trouble was without Sextus's Rapport, Denis could not pinpoint the location any closer than that.

"We will start here and work our way back." Denis yelled to Lord Seisyll and Jamyl.

Seisyll ordered Jamyl to stay on the streets with the Bishop. He then pointed the Guards to enter the first building. He followed the guards yelling out as he entered the Warehouse, "By Order of the King, I am to search these premises!"

Rumors had already filtered through the city that treachery had had its play in the castle. The majority of the citizens and the workers in the warehouse scuttled forward to stand in protection of the building's owner, knowing that they had done no wrong.

Seisyll ordered the guards to fan out. He followed them, his senses wide open seeking the Camber Medal that his brother wore.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on May 29, 2018, 04:49:54 PM
Dhugal knew next to nothing about this priest from the Borders who had arrived with Washburn and the others, but he was clearly trusted by his father or he would not have been sent to carry such a vital message, erroneous though it had been proved to be. He had asked for his company almost on a whim, feeling that he could perhaps learn something of what had been going through his father's mind and why he had been so certain he knew where Washburn was being held captive. His father had been behaving strangely, even before this latest incident, and any insight would be welcome.

But, now he came to think of it, there was something just a little strange about the priest too, or perhaps it was just that everyone now seemed a little off kilter, under the strain of this appalling threat which had apparently appeared from nowhere, yet had infiltrated right into the heart of the King's very castle and after so many years of peace.

He was clearly a man of courage, he would not have dared to interrupt the king's council else - just how was it that he had been able to Speak so directly into the king's mind?- yet he was walking alongside him with his head bowed, the very image of the humble submissive priest. A humble priest, who was the confidant of an Archbishop and known well enough by the King for the latter to be apparently certain that he was not another traitor in their midst.

Dhugal risked sending a tentative probe into the other's mind, and found, as he had expected, that there were shields preventing his mental touch. There was something familar, though, about the touch of his mind against those shields, something that he could not quite put his finger on.

Dhugal chided himself for puzzling over such an insignificant mystery when so much else was now at stake. Then he mentally corrected himelf. Who knew what was significant or otherwise? How many "insignificant" questions had been left unprobed and brought them to this pass, with so many dead in Ratharkin, and Washburn undergoing God knew what horrors. A new and horrifying thought struck him. Had his father been sent into danger and possible capture by the machinations of this seemingly innocuous priest? Well God help him, priest or no, if he were responsible for his father's danger! The man might be Deryni but even were he well-trained enough to be proof against Truth-Reading if he had to use compulsion, then so be it.

The priest continued to look uncomfortable but went compliantly into the library, obedient to Dhugal's gesture. Dhugal turned to the two archers accompanying them and ordered,

"Stay out here!"

The older of the two bowed low but said,

"Begging your pardon, Your Grace, but 'is Majesty ordered as 'ow we was to keep you safe, and we can't do that from out 'ere."

Dhugal's anger at being questioned battled with his sense of justice for a brief instant but the latter won. The man wasn't being insolent, just doing his duty.

"Very well, stay in the doorway and we'll stay where you can see us. Will that do?"

His tone was sharp, but the friendly clout to the man's arm was not, and as Dhugal followed Columcil into the library, the archers took up position in the doorway with a relieved glance at each other.

Columcil sensed that the Duke's mood had darkened but he could think of no reason for that. He had been careful to watch his demeanour, perhaps over careful. Blessed Mother of us all! Surely he was not suspected of any part in Sir Washburn's capture, of being an accomplice like that cursed Jaxom? And this man was a friend and protector of the younger Morgans, whom Washburn had spoken off with affection as a guide and help after their father died. Maybe the talk of asking him about the Archbishop's train of thought was just a pretext to bring him here for interrogation, an interrogation that the Duke would have preferred to remain unwitnessed. Panic began to run through him and he could feel that he was beginning to sweat. He took a deep breath to calm hinself then reached into the breast of his Cassock for his crucifix.

"What's that you are reaching for? Keep your hands where I can see them. I dinna ken whae ye are but if ye've done hairm to ma da or to Sair Washburn ye'll pay for it."

The voice came like a whiplash, and Columcil
removed his hands from his Cassock, dislodging his grandfather's precious prayerbook, which slid out onto the floor.

He bent to pick it up but again the Duke spoke with a voice like a whiplash.

"Leave it!"

He obeyed and trembling fell to his knees.

A hand grasped his chin and forced his head up to meet amber eyes flashing anger, eyes  the exact match of his own, though his were clouded now with fear.

"Who are ye, and whose will d'ye serve? I warn ye I'll ha'e an answer if I've tae rip it frae yer mind. So ye best answer me true, priest! If priest ye are!

"Leave him be, Dhugal."

The quiet tired voice came from the figure who had come unnoticed through the veil.

"Da! Thank God you are alright."

"Well I'm not so sure of that, but yes I am unharmed. There was nothing there, and I was so sure so sure..."

His voice trailed off sadly, then he seemed to pull himself together and speaking in a stronger voice he repeated,

"Leave him be.He has done nothing wrong."

Dhugal felt his temper rising, a mixture of anger at the implication he heard in his father's voice, frustration that his anger with Columcil  was to be denied an outlet and sheer perplexity.

"Meaning that I have?"

Columcil winced at the dangerous edge to the Duke's voice, but Duncan smiled sadly.

"That is for you to judge, though he says not, I know that I have, though it was with the best of intentions. Of such is the road to hell made."

Even to Columcil's untrained senses the Duke's anger was palpable,  and whether it was that or the penitent sorrow on the face of the man who had been so good to him, Columcil was not entirely sure but suddenly something in him snapped and he was no longer a fearful commoner kneeling at the feet of one of the most powerful men in the realm but a priest faced with a painful pastoral situation which he must help to resolve.

Reaching out he took up the prayer book and touched it to his lips then got to his feet. Bowing low to both men he said calmly.

"It's no ma place to speak sae to yer Graces but I dinna think this is the time ta be greetin o'er our sins," this with a glance at Duncan, " nor fashin' oursen neither," said with a somewhat apologetic glance at Dhugal.

Dhugal was too dumbfounded to speak, dumbfounded and perplexed by the sense that the other's demeanour and speech should somehow be familiar.

Duncan was already too emotionally drained to even contemplate interrupting. Let God sort it all. Glancing at the stolid figures of the Haldane archers he wondered if he should use his powers to prevent them hearing what was surely about to be revealed but Columcil gave him no time (( Duncan controls guards 2+1+4=7 3bk453cn1q)).

"As far as I ken it there's nae wrong been done by ony nor ta ony here. If ony ha'e done wrong 'twas my ma and she has lang syne answered ta God. But she wished harm ta none and I canna see that harm was done."

Under his bronzed complexion Dhugal had turned completely white and Duncan, though outwardly composed, was clearly feeling the strain.

Columcil realised that he did not want this conversation, certainly not now when every energy should be focused on finding Washburn. He did not want to deal with any of the emotions raised or see the man who had sired him shamed or angered. But if they must have such a conversation at least let them sit down, out of earshot, if not out of sight, of the watchful archers. If the Duke lost his temper he didn't want an over hasty archer to stick him full of arrows. But even in this strange mood of his he was not sure he quite dared to suggest to an Archbishop and a Duke that they should sit down together. He cast an inploring look towards his grandfather, then towards the bench along the far wall.

Duncan saw Columcil's look and was grateful for the suggestion. He really did not know how much more of this he could take, the last thing that he needed was an estrangement from Dhugal when their whole world was collapsing around them. He discretely enacted the words and gestures which would delay the effects of fatigue for a while longer, and then moved to seat himself. ((4+5+6=15 737gp1qknb))

"Please, Dhugal, Columcil, let's be seated at least."

Dhugal obeyed almost blindly, his eyes never leaving the figure of the priest whose familiarity now seemed to make an all too much sense, watching as he brought up a stool and waited for a nod of permission from Duncan before seating himself. Where had he got the nerve to take charge of the conversation like this, in defiance of protocol? Even as he asked himself the question Dhugal was horribly afraid that he knew the answer. Forcing himself to speak calmly, and taking equal care to avoid lapsing into a border brogue he asked,

"Columcil, would I be right in thinking that you were born in Transha?"

"Aye yer Grace, just a few months after th'old Earl died, God rest his soul."

Columcil crossed himself then brought the prayer book he was holding up to his lips for a long moment before bursting out.

"Ach, I'm no a courtier, an' I dinna ken wha's the reet way ta do this, but let's be dun wi' it. Me ma tellit the whole of it ta me once his Grace th'Archbishop had said that it was a man's reet ta ken who had sired him. Ye were a bonny lad, yer Grace an' she set her cap at ye, I dinna suppose ye had much o' a chance. But she'd no shame ye, not once it was kenned that ye were no just the Laird's son but high in the King's favour and then when I was naught but a wee bairn, the Duke O' Cassan himself. And I'm no wantin' ta shame ye neither, nor want any ta speir that I have wanted for aught nor havna had all a man could ask for."

Dhugal had no idea what he should think. Now he forced his memory back he could remember the lass, but it had been little more than a casual tumble in the hay so brief that he had truly thought himself a virgin knight alongside Kelson on that long ago quest. And he hardly knew whether to be offended or relieved to be absolved from guilt or shame in the matter by the man who he supposed he must begin to think of as his son.
All he could think of to ask was,

"Your mother, was she looked after?

"Aye, and loved. My grandda warmed her bum for her when he found she was wi' child, but nae worse and she was marrit when I was a bairn o' two or three. A man whose wife had borne him but sickly bairns who never thrived and died bearing the last. He was glad to wed a lass who could bear a healthy bairn, and they were as happy togither as ony I've wed. She died a few years syne, wi' her bairns and grandbairns about her. All she ever had to fret her was that I couldn'a be a priest being born the wrong side o' the blanket. That's why she confessed ta one o' they wandering bishops and made him promise to tell His Grace the Archbishop. An' he bent the rules for me and has been ay guid ta me. But she didn'a want yer Grace ever ta kenn, an nae dout she'd threaten to skelp me for tellin' ye."

Columcil came to an end of his speech, and coloured violently for his presumption. He dare not look at either of the two men who sat silently opposite him though he could sense the murmuring of prayers from his grandfather. Finally his father broke the silence, again speaking carefully.

"I think you are generous in your judgement of me, as was she, and I doubt that I deserve either. I don't know whether to be shamed, or grieved or angered," - here he looked hard at his father, but if this new strangely discovered son felt that the man who was both his Archbishop and grandfather had done right by him, did not his own act of casual lust debarr him from any right to disagree? "I wonder, perhaps, though I alone here am no priest, whether God has brought you here, but what we make of this, I do not know?" Dhugal could not help but think back to the joy of discovery that he and Duncan had shared, this seemed so very different and uncomfortable in its difference.

Finally Duncan spoke. "If I have done you wrong, Dhugal, I ask your pardon. Other than us only Kelric and the King know and I think it should remain so at least for the present. I think you may be right about God's will in this, but what His purpose is is still unclear and we do not have the time for you to work out who you are to each other. But you are both brave and honourable men and the kingdom has sore need of such now."

He sighed and sat for a moment or two in thought before adding, "Perhaps we had better go before a search party is sent for me or those attentive archers think we are plotting something. The King doubtless has work for all of us. I fear that there will be need of all the healers we have before we are out of this."

Columcil rose quickly to his feet, but Dhugal stayed him with a hand,

"You are a healer?"

"Aye, My Lord."

Dhugal spoke with an unaccustomed hesitation, almost a deference, as he continued,

"Would you come with me? I need to go and see how Richard does, I think he will need a priest as well as a healer and perhaps together we can bring wholeness and peace to his mind?"

Columcil bowed his acquiescence, moved by the unexpected humility, and they left the room, the two archers falling in behind.














Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on May 29, 2018, 06:48:16 PM
The old tinker sat in the tavern near the city walls, cradling a tankard of ale between his hands.  The tavern was buzzing with talk about rebellion, and the talk was no longer in hushed tones.  The soldiers that frequented the tavern supported the Mearan Pretender; those that did not had perished.  Yet the talk was not completely carefree.  The Haldane rule in Ratharkin, once established, had not been harsh.  The city prospered, and the more realistic inhabitants of the city realized that prosperity would suffer if King Kelson laid siege to the city.  That outcome was likely; surely no one believed the King of Gwynedd would leave Ratharkin to the men of the rebellion.

An excited young soldier burst into the tavern.  "She's coming!" he shouted.  "The Queen of Meara is approaching Ratharkin!"

The tinker realized that, if he were a heavier drinker, he could have drained the contents of many of the abandoned tankards as customers and servers rushed to the door.  He contented himself with his own.

"Open the gates!"  Soldiers and guards were attempting to clear people away from the street and the gate.  The tinker wondered if it was wise to open the gates so soon, but he doubted Duke Kelric would attempt so bold a ruse until he had sufficient reinforcements, and it was too early for that.

Baron Oswald approached from the castle on horseback, followed by a small group of trusted men that would form an honour guard to escort the queen to the castle.  The tinker saw that the archers on the wall had drawn their bows to add additional protection. More guards pushed the people farther back from the street.  It would take more men than this to hold Ratharkin once the king made his move.  The tinker wondered how many men the queen had brought with her.  Like the rest of Ratharkin, he looked forward for his first sight of the Pretender of Meara, but not for the same reasons.

Four knights came through the gate first, the lead rider holding the royal banner of Meara.  Next came a well-dressed, older man riding beside a young woman.  This must be the pretender queen.  She resembled the young girl that King Kelson had taken as his bride so many years before.  She was indeed pretty, with curling chestnut hair cascading down her back.  She did not wave but did look throughout the crowd. The tinker noticed her eyes were brown as she glanced in his direction.  A light travel cloak had been draped carefully to extend from her shoulders and cover the rump of her horse.

It was the man riding behind her, slightly off to one side, that caught the tinker's attention. He was darkly foreign, and most women would call him handsome.  The pretender queen looked back at him, and the tinker saw the man shake his head slightly.  Quickly, the young woman turned her head back to the front.  The tinker had suspected Torenthi involvement, and this man looked the part.  The tinker committed the man's features and demeanor to memory.  Bishop Arilan, long serving as Kelson's emissary to Torenth, should able to put a name, and history, to the face. 

Two women rode behind the suspected Torenthi, probably to ensure propriety and to assist the queen.  Six solders completed the group, and one baggage horse.  Either they had not travelled far, or they were not staying long.  Or both.

As the party approached the stairs leading up to the castle doors, the doors swung open.  The tinker edged his way through the back of the crowd toward a side door of the castle. This door was used by tradesmen to bring in goods.  Once inside, he would be able to make his way to the gallery to view what would transpire below. A simple cloaking spell would avoid curiosity about how a visiting tinker had secured such a good vantage point. 

Roll for successful cloaking spell. 2d6 because Sir Iain is a trained Deryni
Jerusha   !roll 2d6
15:04   derynibot   2, 1 == 3
(Bah humbug)

Before attempting the cloaking spell, the tinker felt the touch of a Deryni mind.  Not a direct contact, but a scan of the crowd.  His immediately made his shields as translucent as possible, and the contact did not return.  With all the activity below, hopefully no one would notice an old tinker standing in the back of the gallery.  He wondered how many of the queen's escort were Deryni. The man riding behind the queen would surely be.

Baron Oswald had been confident enough in his success to bring the symbols of Mearan royalty with him.  At the end of the great hall, behind the ornate chair Duke Rory had used when holding court, a large Mearan banner hung from the rafters.  The sable dancing bear and crimson etoilles on chequey of silver and gold.  A cheer went up from the people outside and inside the hall as the young woman dismounted and entered.  Those inside the hall kneeled or curtseyed as she approached her throne, accompanied by the two men who had ridden nearest to her.  When she reached the chair, she turned to face her people, head held high, smiling slightly.

"People of Ratharkin," announced the older man beside her,  "I present to you my daughter, Sidana Caitrin Annalind Ithelianne (Quinnell) de Paor, Prince Ithel Quinnell's granddaughter and rightful Queen of Meara!"

Queen Sidana nodded to those before her and assumed her place on the throne.  Her father stood on one side of the chair, the darker man on the other side. "You may rise," she said in a clear voice.  "I will now accept the homage of those selected to represent Ratharkin." 

The tinker acknowledged that she played her part well.  She surveyed the men carefully as they were brought in.  The tinker noted that they had been cleaned up after their stay in the dungeons.  He wondered if Queen Sidana knew the true price in human lives of this victory. He didn't think so, at least not yet.

Sidana stood as each man was led forward, a guard beside each to prevent treachery.  As the traditional pledges were made, the tinker was sure each was being truth read. All went as planned until old Lord Dunstan was brought forward.  His heir and a second son were with Duke Rory, safe in Laas.

Lord Dunstan did not kneel.  "I will pledge no faith to the cause of the Pretender Queen.  My loyalty and that of my house remain with the Haldane."  The guard beside him cuffed him cruelly across the face.

"Kneel or die," said the darker man.

"I will not!"

"Take him."  The Torenthi's eyes held a look of calculating triumph.  Had he been hoping for this display of power?

Lord Dunstan held his head high as two guards hustled him from the great hall into the courtyard.  Queen Sidana looked dismayed; the darker man laid a hand on her shoulder; whether it was to comfort her or control her, the tinker could not discern.

It was time for him to leave the gallery.  As he slid out the side door, the tinker was aware of the eerie quiet in the courtyard.  Lord Dunstan had been a popular man in Ratharkin, his family known for their loyalty and generosity.  There was a murmuring among the people, but the guards kept close watch. 

Sir Iain Cameron was sickened by the site of Lord Dunstan's severed head on the pike above the city's gate.  He would make sure this man's loyalty and sacrifice were noted the next time he made his report to King Kelson.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on June 05, 2018, 11:24:44 AM
Darcy Cameron sensed Father Columcil approaching before he came into view.  He was hurrying down the corridor beside a copper-haired nobleman that Darcy could not identify.  Not surprising, since the course of Darcy's life had not provided him with proper training at court.   Darcy bowed, and the guard came to attention as the two men passed.  Columcil gave Darcy the briefest of nods and kept going.  They entered a room farther down without knocking.

For the first time since starting the journey with Lord Alister, Darcy felt slightly alone, abandoned and very frustrated.  Despite the mishaps, injuries, and a few misunderstandings along the way, they had been a team and had come to know that they could depend on each other.  Now they were fragmented and set in different directions, not to mention being a man down and almost losing Lady Aliset!  He should have been prepared for the former, once they arrived in Rhemuth, but nothing had prepared him for the latter.  How had things gone so terribly wrong?

A servant approached carrying a covered tray.  "I have food for the lady within," he said.

The guard nodded and opened the door, this time blocking Darcy as he attempted to see inside.  Darcy had surprised him the first time, but not this time.  Good man, Darcy thought and nodded. 

***
Lady Aliset looked up as the servant entered the room with his tray.  Wearing fresh clothes and with the remnants of the blood washed away, she was sitting up on the cot, supported by the pillow plumped up behind her.  The servant laid the tray on the nearby table, bowed deeply to Duchess Grania and withdrew. 

"Some food should be welcome by now," the duchess said. 

"Yes, thank you, your Grace," Aliset replied.  Since the two women who had provided the clean clothes and helped Aliset tidy up had left with her old garments shortly before, Grania herself moved the table closer and uncovered the tray.  On the tray was a bowl of good thick broth and a cup of ale.  Aliset had to admit the savoury smell made her realize that she was indeed hungry.  As she reached for the spoon, she felt a tiny whisper at the edge of her mind.  Her shields were not yet recovered enough to block out the touch, but though she tensed slightly, she was not alarmed.

Duchess Grania saw the slight wince.  "Is something wrong?

Aliset managed a slight smile.  "No, your Grace.  Just Lord Darcy checking on me."

"I shall send him away," Grania said firmly as she started to rise.

'Oh no, your Grace, he is not intrusive at all.  And it is comforting to know he is outside the door."

'Very well, if you are sure."  Grania resumed her seat and watched as the young woman carefully tasted what had been placed before her.  Grania was pleased to see her colour begin to return to normal as both broth and ale were consumed. 

"Aliset," Grania said gently when Aliset had finished and settled back against the pillow once more.  "I know this will be difficult for you, but I need for you to tell me what happened.  I won't ask for you to let me into your mind; I realize that could be very difficult for you right now, but I need to know what happened to you. 

Aliset sighed.  "I understand, and although I would prefer it never happened, I will do whatever is necessary to help rescue Sir Washburn."

"First," Grania said gently, "tell me what happened in the garden."

***
Sometime later, Aliset dried her tears with a very soggy handkerchief.  Duchess Grania sat beside her on the cot, holding her close, comforting her as if she were her own daughter.  Aliset was grateful for the support; reliving what had happened through the telling of it had been harder than she expected.  There was some relief in spilling it all out, but she knew the memory would remain with her for a long time.

"What has happened to Lord Jaxom?" Aliset finally asked. 

"He is under guard and his injuries are being treated.  The king will question him, though he may wait until I can share with him all that you have told me." Grania paused for a moment.  "I do not wish to pry too deeply into your personal feelings, but did you welcome Lord Jaxom's presence at the garden?"

"I did not!"  Aliset said with a flash of anger in her eyes.  "He is arrogant and annoying; he was disrespectful of Lord Darcy and slow to come to his aid when needed."  She paused and then continued, concern clouding her features.  "Lord Darcy will have to be told what has happened.  I – I don't think I can do that, your Grace."

"We shall leave that to his Majesty, and that will likely not be until after he has finished with Lord Jaxom."  Grania squeezed Aliset's hand gently.  "His Majesty will also know the best way to keep Lord Darcy from taking matters into his own hands."

Aliset nodded.  She had little hope of Jaxom's chances if Darcy could not be restrained, and although she knew it would be wrong, she would not regret it.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on June 07, 2018, 04:05:11 AM
Duncan felt an unaccustomed trepidation as he approached the royal council chamber, Dhugal and Columcil having gone together to the room where Richard Kirby was being cared for. He had never had to endure royal displeasure before, although Alaric had more than once, when his long habit of protectiveness towards his once vulnerable sovereign had clashed with Kelson's growing confidence as king. Already out of favour, now he had failed in his attempt to rescue Washburn - what a display of overweening arrogance that had been- and started the king off on a wild goose chase.

The guards on the door greeted him with warm respect, though they were there in deadly earnest now, their ceremonial demeanour of the long years of peace swallowed up in menace. The senior amongst them pushed open the door and, preceding Duncan, announced,

"His Grace the Archbishop, your Majesty."

He drew his sword to the salute then withdrew. Duncan moved forward intending to kneel before the king; Archbishop or no, he knew himself to be in dire need of mercy but was forestalled when Kelson got to his feet, exasperatedly waving an end to the hurried shuffling of feet around the table, and held him in a warm embrace.

"Thank God you are safe! I could not have borne to have lost you too. You have seen Dhugal?"

"Yes, Sire."

(( Duncan Mindspeaks Kelson 4+3+2=9 6ll1lckgbq))

Duncan wanted to say more of that meeting but Kelson's eyes forbade him, though the warning they held was no longer glacial.He wondered if Dhugal had already Spoken to his blood brother, but no was not the time to ask. Instead he simply said,

"Dhugal has taken Father Columcil to visit Richard Kirby. As both priest and healer he may be able to offer spiritual solace as well as healing."

The King's face hardened. "All these years of working to convince my human subjects that Deryni mean no harm, and one of the most loyal amongst them is treated as a tool to be used and kicked aside. Poor Richard. I cannot begrudge the time that Dhugal must take to convince him that the wrong was done to him, not by him but I sorely need them both to return to Ballymar."

Kelson thought, though he did not voice his fear, that Richard's trust in Deryni having been so betrayed, Dhugal might be forced to further betray that trust simply to get his liege man and friend back through the portal to Ballymar. His nod invited Duncan to be seated and he returned to his own chair at the head of the table, naked anger in his face as he addressed the council.

"Richard will receive nothing but mercy from us, though in truth it is we Deryni who should ask his pardon, but those others we have as captives need look for none unless they too can show good reason why they should not suffer the full weight of our wrath. Though I should be sorry indeed were it to be proved that Baron Trillick's boy is guilty of treason. His father would be heart-broken, though such things alas happen."

He looked around measuringly then spoke with decision,

"Angus, will you consider how best we can avenge the wrong done to Ratharkin, the reports from Kelric and Duncan Michael as to their latest positions are there on the table. Javan will you come with me to the cells, though this will not be pleasant I fear."

Javan nodded grimly, thinking of what his young brother-in-law was even now enduring.

The king and his heir rose and went to the door. All rose with them, the depth of their obeisances showing the love the royal council had for their monarch.






Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on June 07, 2018, 05:07:54 AM
Lord Sextus dreamt of the pounding even before he regained consciousness. Like the days of his youth, when stout ale and aged mead had been favorite pastimes, he groaned while trying to wake from what felt like the worst of all hangovers. This time he could not accuse over indulgence, no, this time had been a far worse folly. He had been impetus to make that portal jump. With some humility, he felt eternally grateful that he could feel his head at all. Whatever that energy bolt was that had hit him, he was just grateful to still be alive. But damn the devil that hammered on his skull; where in hell's kingdom had he jumped to, anyway?

It was dark, so dark he could not see his own hands that rubbed his forehead. Damp too, smelling like ancient moss from a cavern. He sat up regretting the motion. But finally he remembered that he was quite capable of adding light to the scene. A huge hand fire of violet erupted from his open palm.  He had to quell the light just a bit to keep from being blinded.  Gathering better control, he sent the light upward, until it rested against the ceiling a good two mens' height above him. Wooden beams of ancient timbers crossed the roof line. The walls and floor looked to be chiseled straight out of the rock-bed of the earth, cracks in one wall let in a trickle of moisture that seemed to be drunk up by the fungus and mosses that covered that side of the room. Where as the side he lay on was dry, The portal stone in the corner was a small step up, and was free of the floor's debris.

Yelling a few choice curses, Sextus sensed his voice did not penetrate the thickness of the ceiling above.  There seemed to be no obvious way in or out of this space except by the Portal stone. Still on his knees, he reached out to touch the raised stone. His hand stopped with a hesitation before he actually touched it. After, raising his shields in a strong defense, he let his fingertips briefly touch the stone before he pulled away. When it didn't instantly try to kill him, he touched the stone again. This time l his fingers sense the energies stored here but his touch didn't activate it. A trapped portal indeed. 

Sextus let that be for a moment while he reevaluated his situation. He recalled seeing Morgan tied up in the center of the room. All that remained was a wool woven blanket, the kind found on any commoner's bed. There was a plate of dried meats and cheese beside it untouched. And the pilling of what looked like spilled wine. As to Morgan himself, he had long since been taken away. By who, for what cause? There was no clue left in the room to tell. Only the portal would tell them. If he could somehow find a way to defeat that trap.

((00:42 Laurna Sextus attempts to deactivate the trap by himself must beat an 8
00:42 Laurna !roll 2d6
00:42 derynibot 1, 5 == 6))

His hands reached out again for the Portal's signature, seeking a way to deactivate the trap. Energy surged within the portal stone. He could tell that the it had been used several times in the last 24 hours. He searched for the trapping mechanism, the spell which triggered when a person not attuned to the Portal tried to use it. He thought he could sense it.  Could he counter it with a spell of deactivation? He murmured the words of a counter-spell reaching deep into the stone. The Portal itself was very old, yet the trap upon it had been only recently placed. Did that do it? He thought maybe it did. Dare he give it a try? There seemed no other way out of here. What did he have to lose?

He  stood up, stepped onto the portal stone feeling the normal tingle through the souls of his shoes. He targeted the library portal and gave into the pull to make the jump. Two things happened at once. The Portal surged with a pulse of static that threatened to zap him like a bolt of lightning.

((00:43 Laurna Sextus is not sure if his deactivation worked and steps onto the portal. Needs a save test.
00:43 Laurna !roll 2d6
00:43 derynibot 2, 6 == 8
00:43 Laurna Well at least this time he does not get stunned.))

Lord Sextus Arilan's shields flared to match the energies attacking him. They defended him against the shock sending the zap back into the earth.

Sextus staggered off the Portal Stone, humbled by the increased throb in his head. He wasn't going to be able to get out of this alone. His fingers encircled the silver medal that rested against his chest on a chain.  It took a long minute before he could center. "Seisyll, you out there?"

"God's teeth, brother! Where are you?"

"Trapped!" he exclaimed. "Don't even try to get to me by Portal."

"Yah! Guessed that!" came Seisyll's concerned Rapport. "I know we are very near to you, but we can not seem to find where you're at.  Keep the contact with me, and that should help."

"Not breaking this Rapport, that is for certain. Though you may have to break the floor away to get into this room.  Above me is a wood beamed ceiling, I don't see any openings."

((Sextus roll to see if he can see a opening in the ceiling
15:48 Sextus !roll 2d6
15:48 derynibot 3, 5 == 8))

"Wait there is a break." Sextus moved his handfire over to an spot where there was a faintest of slits in the wood slats over head. "Yes, I see it. A trap door above me. I am most definitely in an old cellar of some ancient building.  There will be a door in the floor that should lead down to here."

"Good, keep talking. Denis and Jamyl are now in the link too. I think we can find you. You appear to be closer to the riverfront in a building I already searched.  Damn, I could have sworn I was closer to you an two hours ago and that we were getting farther away as we got nearer to the city gates.

"Two hours ago? How long have I been out?"

((00:38 Laurna Time in hours since Washburn was taken.  So I decided to roll for time spent.
00:38 Laurna !roll 2d6
00:38 derynibot 6+3 == 9
So I got, 6 hours from the time Wash was taken to when Sextus made the jump to the first portal, and 3 hours until Sextus is finally rescued.))

"Three full hours my brother, three!."

"Damn!" Sextus cursed. "Get me out of here."

The three Arilan's had nearly exhausted all the buildings along the road from the ferry docks to the Rivergate when Sextus's Rapport had finally been reestablished.  Bishop Denis had repeatedly said that he was sure his nephew was closer to the river than the building they had search most recently. Laird Seisyll had been certain that his searches had been thorough. He should not have missed a Portal room. But apparently he had.

Pulling the dozen guards who had joined them in their afternoon scavenger hunt back out onto the street, the whole contingent of king's men invaded the second building from the docks. The owner had yelled about abuse and that he would make a formal complaint to the king about this second intrusion. Laird Seisyll and the Captain of the guard were both too angry to pay any attention to the merchant's complaints.

"Where is your cellar?" the guard captain demanded.

"He was already in it," the heavy set merchant blustered. "And he didn't find anything. Because there is nothing there to find!"

"I now think otherwise," Seisyll growled, pushing past the owner, daring him to try and stop him.

The merchant's self-preservation kicked in then. He stepped aside motioning his workers to do the same. Seisyll took the steps down into the cellar, three at a time. He and his son Jamyl didn't bother with torches this time. They both lit handfires and filled the room with bright violet light. Crates were stacked along the walls, canvas sacs filled the floor's center. It was a big space, most of it old stone. Unlike the building from ground level up, which was new. Most of these warehouse buildings had been rebuilt in the new fashion ten years ago.

Moodily, Seisyll kicked his boot heels against the floor every few feet. Casting out with his mind to find some clue.

((01:50 Seisyll !roll 2d6
01:50 derynibot 2, 2 == 4))

((01:47 Jamyl Jamyl searching for trapdoor in the floor.
01:49 Jamyl !roll 2d6
01:49 derynibot 5, 2 == 7))

The floor sounded off with only solid thunks. Seisyll was getting more angry the longer the opening evaded him. Jamyl followed his father's lead on the opposite side of the room.  He kept a cool head, using the open Rapport with his uncle to help pinpoint when he thought he stood above where Sextus was.  A stomp on the floor near, revealed a sound more hollow than any other. "Dad, over here."

With  a wave of his hand, the guards shifted crates aside, crates that had not been moved in a very long time. Fitted tight in the floor was a hatch, it took two guards to lift it.  When it opened, they were all awarded by a light of handfire rising up to greet them.

"Took you long enough!" Exclaimed the Arilan in the pit room below the cellar floor. A second search through the cellar found the ladder well hidden in a wall niche. The ladder when set down into the pit was a perfect length to fit into brackets seen in the beam at the bass to the trap door.

Jamyl the youngest was the first to go down. He and Sextus gave each other a reassuring hug.  Seisyll went down too. But Bishop Arilan was not about to test his old knees on that rickety old ladder.  He satisfied himself with watching the other's from above.

"What is this place?" Jamyl asked concentrating on the Portal stone but not yet going near it.

Bishop Denise was the one to answer him, by calling down from above. "There are stories of two sister Portals in Rhemuth that were used two and a half centuries ago by the underground movement to relocate Deryni out of the city when the reagents took over Rhemuth. The legend has one inside the city and one outside the city. They were very closely tied together, where anyone with even the slightest training in Portaling could use them to escape. Their locations were never written down. And no one has ever been able to find them. Looks like we found the one outside the gate. I'll bet we will find the one inside the city pretty easily now. But I will doubt that Sir Washburn will be there. He will be far, far from the city by now. The sun is setting and we are all exhausted. This investigation will have to wait for tomorrow."

The three Arilan's in the pit below, gave simultaneous growls of dissatisfaction. Seisyll ignored his uncle. Taking what Sextus has told him about the Portal Trap, he put his hands down on the stone.
((02:23 Seisyll !roll 2d6
02:23 derynibot 5, 1 == 6
02:24 Seisyll !roll 2d6
02:24 derynibot 3, 2 == 5))

The frustration of this long day did nothing to help his focus. Not being able to sense out the trap in this place, the ritual trained Deryni didn't dare to try the Portal himself.  He was forced to concede that at the moment he was beaten. He motioned his brother and son to climb back up the ladder. With one last look around, he climbed the ladder last. "Captain, post guards on the trap door and guards on the stairs. No one is to come or go through here without me knowing of it. We have a report to make to the king, then we will be back in the morning to see if we can tackle this task with more sanity than any of us have right now."

Edited: Seisyll is Ritual trained and not yet a Spell Master.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on June 07, 2018, 07:32:26 PM
Feyd returns after being gone for several hours watches Washburn, who is unable to move or speak above a whispering tone. "Time for you to wake up, we have things to take care of you and I." He sets down the provisions he brought back with him on the stone floor. Then he takes out a small silk pouch and dumps out the contents before him 8 small cubes, like dice but without markings, 4 black and 4 white.

Working quietly and swiftly he takes the 4 white cubes and places them in a tight square just shy of touching one an other.  He then places the 4 black cubes, one at each corner of the larger white square.

He gathers his concentration for a moment before proceeding.

Feyd touches the first white cube in the upper left and names it: "Prime". He then touches the 2nd white cube in the upper right and names it: "Seconde". In quick succession he names the 2 remaining white cubes. All 4 glow with an inner light as they are named "Tierce" for the 3rd cube and "Quarte" for the 4th.

He shifts his energies for the black cubes and follows the same pattern as before, each black cube glows with an eery dark light when named.

"Quinte. Sixte. Septime. Octave"

Feyd picks up Prime and places it atop Quinte with an audible clicking sound the 2 cubes become one silver-grey rectoid or tower.  He quickly follows suite with Seconde to Sixte, Tierce to Septime and Quarte to Octave.

Once created he takes the 4 silver-grey towers and places them at each of the compass points about the Portal square. Pointing to them in turn and naming and binding the energies together.

"Primus, Secondus, Tertius, et Quartus -- Fiat lux!"

Immediately a silver Light springs forth surrounding the Portal square outlined by the placement of the towers. The simmering dome is but a few inches above the stone that marks the Portal.

He goes over to Washburn and sits beside him. Reaching out Feyd touches Wash's arm. Using the physical link to reinforce the mental one that was already established. "If you attempt to disrupt the Wards Major around this Portal. You will be attacked by it. I do not wish to see you become injured." Feyd says to Wash.

Feyd then starts actively looking into the recesses of Washburn's mind. Pulling up old memories and thoughts that were Washburn's alone. After a few minutes Feyd withdraws from Wash's mind. "You are very loyal to your King and family. That is an honorable trait in a man so young. I salute you for it."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on June 07, 2018, 08:44:20 PM
Before Wash can even answer his captor. Feyd continues with his probes of Wash's memories. "These feelings will be your undoing if GDV finds them. He might not do a deep scan on you though. He may simply use my controls. I am going to alter them and blur them out for you. That will keep you alive longer. And maybe he will use you against your King and brother if your loyalties do not seem to be as strong. You are after all just a second son. The spare."

((roll to successfully blur Wash's loyalties to the King and his Brother, the Duke of Corwyn))
<bynw> !roll 2d6
<derynibot> 5, 5 == 10

"And now. Because I like you. I am going to set a trigger to undo the damage that I have just done. But you will remember none of this of course. It will trigger at the approriate time and place."

((roll to set the trigger))
<bynw> !roll 2d6
<derynibot> 5, 6 == 11

"I apologize for being gone so long. I have food and drink for you. You know that you must drink and eat to conserve your strength. We have some time to rest here. Far away from the prying eyes of those who would like to see you returned. I warn you though, do not have another fit. I will not tolerate your disobedience. Save that for later. Eat the food, drink the wine and water that I give you. Some of it as you guess maybe drugged. If I feel you are not cooperating, I will simply use the pricker on you again. And I will exert much stronger controls on your every move. I must see you delivered to GDV. Then I get paid. Then I take my leave of the Mearan Rebellion. And start my next contract, the one I have waited my entire life to complete."


Edit: I thought about doing this as one post but decided to split it up for a bit of drama.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on June 08, 2018, 05:27:51 AM

"What is that long pouty face for? Have you lost something dear to you?"

"Noooo..." slurred a child's quivering voice.

"Son, don't let your mama's emotions frighten you. Just because I have to go away for awhile, doesn't mean you'll ever lose me. I will always be your papa, and you will always be my son. Your maman knows this, as do your sisters. And because Brendan and Kelric are coming with me, I will need you to stay here and take care of the women-folk. Can you do that for me?"

"I am afraid, papa!" The little boy could not stop the tears from coming to his eyes as he watched his father dress for war.

Alaric Morgan, General of Gwynedd's army, King's Champion, and Duke of Corwyn set aside his riding gloves and with a strong arm swept his youngest up into his arms. He hugged his son in a caring embrace. "I won't lie to you, Wash, I am a little afraid, too."

That brought the young boy's head up, shaking in disagreement. "No, no, papa, you are not afraid. You are not crying."

"I am afraid," the tall duke claimed. The soft white tones of his papa's hair illuminated the silver of his eyes. "The difference between you and me is that I won't cry when I'm afraid. I hold my fear in here." His papa pointed to his chest. "I use my fear to make certain that I have considered every possibility. Fear keeps me from becoming complacent..."

"Comp play ent...?"

"Aye, son, that is a big word. Complacent... it means to become self-satisfied, to be prideful, to think you are better than everyone else. If you think that, then someone will try to prove you wrong. You must be the best that you can be, promise me that, but don't ever be prideful. And don't ever become complacent, son. Always know that there is more to learn, no matter how good you are, and that there are bad people out there who will try to beat you down.  Use fear to keep your edge sharp, to stay alert." Alaric's finger touched the child's nose. "Now, the thing with fear is that there is a balance, too much fear will stop you, it will blind you. How can you stay alert If you eyes are full of tears?" The warrior's eye's softened with empathy for his frightened son. Washburn remembered his papa 's fingers then moving over both cheeks to wipe his tears away.

"There is a time for crying, and yes men do cry, but we do not cry when we are afraid. We cry when we mourn something lost that is dear to us. Until such time, keep your chin up." A finger lifted the boy's chin, and then his papa kissed his cheek. "That's my boy. You are a Morgan, Morgan's face their fears. We don't let fear blind us. When I come home, I will help you be the very best that you can be."


"When I come home..." the promise echoed in Washburn's soul. The only promise his papa ever broke. Alaric Morgan did not come home. Only his older sons did, the two young men sadly escorting the shell of the man who had loved them all. Only then, knowing he was allowed because his papa had told him so, had the very young Washburn Morgan cried. He cried for the loss of the man who had been most dear to him. 

Trying desperately not to shed tears over this memory, the now adult Washburn, twitched fingers barely moving to touch his neck. His fingers searched in vain for the links of chain that held his Camber Medal. The chain was not found.  He tried to roll then, to move, to look at where he was. But it was like hands holding him down, holding him on his back. His muscles refused to obey his command.

This set Washburn's fear to rising. He had trained all his life to battle the enemy that had taken his Papa from him. Yet for all his training and for all his skill, he had been taken down, oh so easily, with a quick jab in the neck from a man he had not even imagined to be an enemy. 

As he thought back, Washburn realized he had made the same ultimate error that his father had. In a moment of victory, he had become complacent. He had not been alert to the fact that evil is not solitary; that there would always be another foe.

Hold your fear in here... he whispered Use your fear to consider every possibility.

The knight's eyes shot open, searching the dimly lit stone walls that surrounded him. He was in what appeared to be an alcove of some ruined castle or Cathedral. The archway into the space he lay in was thoroughly blocked by many tumbled stones which had come down from the ceiling. Most of the roof was gone resulting from some massive destruction; a fire most likely, as the few timbers sticking out of the wall directly overhead looked blackened or at least darkened from the weathering of time. Except for this small protrusion of what was once the roof, the rest of the ceiling at the top of the tall walls opened on to the dark colors of the night sky. The dim light that gave the stone a pale grey glow seemed to come from the waning moon, which had been in its full three nights back. The moon, as yet, was unseen, indicating it was either just rising or just setting, which Washburn did not know as he knew not the direction he lay, nor the time of night, nor even if it really was the same night after he had been captured. Had it been only a day or was it now two or three. The shape of the moon would give him a better guess if it ever came into view.

He watched the sky... waiting. "I have nowhere else to go," he whispered with ill-humour; trying to pinpoint which stars were overhead. The evening star of Orin seemed to shine the brightest in the sky overhead. There were clues that the night was still young. The sounds of crickets and of frogs in the near distance. The occasional splash of something hitting water, a mote, a lake, or a river, perhaps. Even once, Wash swore he heard the clip-clop of a horse. At that sound he yelled out. Then yelled again with more force. Both times the sound his voice made was no more like a croak in his throat, a sound that didn't penetrate beyond the stone walls.

He tried several times many different sounds. Yelling, whistling, chanting, even humming, yet no sound that he made was louder than a whisper. It wasn't that his voice couldn't make the sounds, it was that his mind would not let his body draw attention to himself. Then he recalled the Scholar's last command: No movement and no sounds louder than a whisper.

What had the scholar done to him? How did this man have this much power over him? Only the devil in disguise could make a command such as that be so imperative.  Washburn, suddenly hated the powers of controllment. Never in his life had he witnessed this utter disregard of morality in the misuse of magic. It was of no wonder why his race was so feared among the human population. Those without shields were defenseless against this type of magic. Thus, he came to fully understand and appreciate why Kelson had implemented such a strong foundation of ethics and morality in the Deryni schola's teachings, well before the actual training of magic began. And Healer training, as Uncle Duncan had often told him, was doubly strict about attending to a patient's free will of the mind even as you healed and cared for the body. Trained as a warrior,  even Washburn knew these teaching as the structure on which his morality stemmed.

Whatever drug the scholar used, it was an evil drug, far more so than that of the dreaded Merasha. Wash had learned about Meresha in his youth. Heck, he even had been doused with it and had survived it merely a few days before. Whatever this different drug was, it not only disabled his Deryni Energies and his shields, but it paralyzed muscles incapacitating him nearly completely. Worse still, it left him susceptible to any Deryni's power. At least Meresha kept other Deryni at bay. With this drug, he was completely at the mercy of the man who had captured him. A man who could read his mind without him knowing of it. The thought gave him a shudder, It was a good thing he had not been in on Kelson's council meeting. He knew nothing of the plans to move forward, only the bass plans of Prince Javan to take the army north to join up with the forces of the Duke of Corwyn and the Earl of Kierney.  Was there some way he could burry that information deep in his mind. He doubted it, that was too forefront in his thoughts of late and had not been a consideration to be buried far down behind many shields. Washburn's greatest fear was that his thoughts would betray the brother he honored and loved. 

Dwelling on the test he seemed unable to turn  aside from, Washburn watched the lone star of Orin move across the heavens. Death for himself did not frighten him. But the possible death of the Lady Aliset wounded his heart.

"My Lord! Prey tell me, where is Aliset!"  Washburn asked of that bright star. As if to answer, the star slowly faded in the sky as the gleam of moonlight washed across it.

The last he had seen of the courageous lady, she had been in the arms of her assailant being carried toward the Portal. She had not been brought to the same place as he. He clenched his teeth in anger as he imagined her being placed in the grips of that evil Oswald. Oswald would make Aliset his wife and he would lock her away from the world. If she fought him, as Wash was certain she would try, she might die for her insolence. Her life may already be on his hands. "Dear God! Have mercy upon her soul," he prayed feeling helpless that such horror might already come to pass.  If Wash ever saw that lordling Jaxom again, he will kill him.

The knowledge that greybeard had made Lord Jaxom do what he did to Lady Aliset was not a comfort.  Wash was sure Jaxom in his own right mind would never have stolen Aliset away; the pumpus lordling was not evil, he was just arrogant; the very thing Washburn's father had warned to never become. Jaxom had been forced to do what he did, even as Wash would be forced to do so much worse. If he could not forgive Jaxom, than he knew he would never accept forgiveness for himself if he was forced to become a betrayer. The thought paralyzed his thinking.  He recalled the secret story of how Lord Sean Derry, whom his brother Brendan had told to him once , how Sean had been coerced to kidnap Brendan when he was but a child. If Sean, a man most loyal indeed, could be turned, then there was no hope of resistance. Would Washburn Morgan become their puppet, their pawn.

The question then came, who was the man paying this contractual fee. For certain, it was a man of greed, of power, and of no morality. This man would use a Morgan to further his plans. Likely as hostage to force the King's hand, or even worse to compel the youngest Morgan to betray the ones he loved. Wash shivered, "I will NEVER do that!" he howled hoarsely. "I will not be a pawn."  With a horrifying sense of reality, Wash knew that just maybe, with the right Deryni mind control, someone with evil intentions could force him to do just that.

Whether it was just at that moment or whether Wash had actually fallen back asleep for a time, Washburn was suddenly aware of the Scholar standing over him. With morbid curiosity he saw the man work the wards major and he was confused when the foreigner seemed to place the the charged columns around the flat square of stone beside him. He could not sense the power that was raised Nor even see the aura of the ward as the man finished. He knew the aura was there and the scholar warned him of great harm if he were to touch it. And then the man was grabbing his arm, and a barrage of controls overwhelmed his ability to think. Memories flashed like a raging bonfire. Memories of love and honor which were revealed and then tossed in the flames to be seared to ash and to not be recalled again. As the memories ebbd away from him, he fought back to hide the few favored memories of his father. They were from long long ago and did not seem to come to the Scholars attention. When the hand left Washburn's side he felt a lonely husk of being. Something, nay Everything that mattered was missing. But what that was  he be Damned that he could not recall. There was only one thing he remembered and it had to do with the word Complacent. He had become the very thing his father had told him not to be. "Don't ever become complacent, son." He had failed his father's last lesson.

"I apologize for being gone so long." said the man who sat at Washburn's side.  "I have food and drink for you. You know that you must drink and eat to conserve your strength." the man made a friendly gesture toward a tray of food.  Seeming to free the invisible bound that had held Washburn's arms to his chest. "We have some time to rest here. Far away from the prying eyes of those who would like to see you returned. I warn you though, do not have another fit. I will not tolerate your disobedience. Save that for later. Eat the food, drink the wine and water that I give you." With every strength of well left to him. Washburn refused to sample the culinary delights that seemed just a hand spann away. The Scholar's friendly gestures slip away as he witnessed Washburn's hesitations.  "Some of it as you guess maybe drugged. If I feel you are not cooperating, I will simply use the pricker on you again. And I will exert much stronger controls on your every move." it was not an empty threat, not when the device suddenly appeared in the man's hand. "I must see you delivered to GDV. Then I get paid. Then I take my leave of the Mearan Rebellion. And start my next contract, the one I have waited my entire life to complete."

A curiosity crossed Washburn's dead/blurred mind wondering what victim the man had next in mind. "You care nothing about life, nothing except for money." he whispered harshly.

"I care about your life... for now... eat up." Compulsion followed the scholar's words.

Complacent Washburn berated himself as his hands reached for a meat roll and a slice of cheese.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on June 08, 2018, 02:48:50 PM
Darcy Cameron and the guard turned to look as the infirmary door behind them opened.  Both bowed respectfully toward the duchess who stood there.

"Lady Aliset feels recovered enough to return to the Queen's Tower," she announced and looked at the guard.  "Please advise the guards at the front door they will be returning with us.  Lord Darcy, you will accompany us as well."

'Of course, your Grace."  Darcy bowed a second time.  "Does Lady Aliset need assistance?"

"She will be fine, Lord Darcy.  We'll set a moderate pace.  We will be ready to leave shortly." Duchess Grania smiled slightly and withdrew back into the room, closing the door once again.  The young man did not lack attentiveness.

The guard left to advise the others and Darcy assumed his post.  When the guard returned, Darcy took the time to straighten his tunic and adjust his sword belt.  The guard looked amused and Darcy scowled back at him. 

The door opened once again and Duchess Grania entered the corridor followed by Aliset.  Darcy thought Aliset looked pale and tired, but she managed a slight smile at him.  He nodded and fell in step beside her, adjusting his pace to hers. 

The two guards at the front door joined them and proceeded first, followed by Duchess Grania, Aliset with Darcy at her side, and the last guard following them.  The men kept a wary watch as they moved forward.  Darcy judged it was early evening; the long hours of summer daylight meant that there were still many people out in the streets. 

Darcy noticed that Aliset was not as sure-footed as normal on the cobbles.  He was prepared when she stumbled slightly, gently taking hold of her arm to steady her.  He was not prepared when she pulled sharply away, losing her balance even more.  Darcy had no choice but to grab her around the waist to keep her upright.  She froze, frightened eyes turned in his direction.

"I'm sorry, my Lady," Darcy said, startled and unsure.  "I only mean to keep you from falling and hurting yourself."

For a moment, Aliset closed her eyes and breathed deeply.  When she opened them, she saw the hurt look in her man-at-arm's eyes.  "I'm fine now," was all she could bring herself to say.

Duchess Grania had stepped back to Aliset's other side and took her arm gently.  "She will be fine," she said, and Darcy withdrew his arm from Aliset's waist and stepped a little farther back.  "We are almost there," she said to Aliset.

They reached the entry to the Queen's Tower.  Guards stationed at the door began to open it. 

'My lady," Darcy said quietly to Aliset, who turned to look at him.  "I will withdraw now.  If you need me, I will come at once."  He bowed to her and to the duchess and moved farther back, watching while the ladies entered.

"My Lord."

Darcy was so lost in thought he did not realize the voice was addressing him.  He turned and saw a squire in Haldane livery standing beside him.  Darcy judged him to be about 15 or 16, several inches taller with a lanky frame that would fill out more as he grew older.  His curly brown hair was moderately short and his eyes green.

'Lord Darcy," the squire bowed and continued.  "I am Robert O'Malley.  I serve as Sir Iain's squire when he is in Rhemuth.  His Majesty thought I should assist you while you are here."

"I'm not a knight," Darcy replied cautiously.

"His Majesty seems willing to overlook that detail."  There was an amused twinkle in the squire's eyes.  "His Majesty also suggested you use your brother's quarters while you are here."

"That would be appreciated, but first, is there a practice yard here?"

"Of course," the squire replied.

"Is there any reason I can't use it?"

"Certainly not."

"Then take me there first. If you please," Darcy hastily added.

"This way, my Lord," Robert said and guided Darcy away from the Queen's Tower.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on June 09, 2018, 10:43:11 AM
"I am not motivated by coin alone. My family is wealthy enough. Some of us have spent generations perfecting our craft at hunting down wayward Deryni. Using the same tools that the Haldane Regents used against our kind so long ago. It is quite effective." The Scholar says with a smirk across his face.

"We are contracted by Deryni and Human alike to bring to justice those Deryni who slip away thinking they have nothing to fear. Sometimes, they are wanted alive. Other times the contract makes it easier for us."

He leans in closer to Washburn. "It is not money, it is only a necessary evil to make my task easier. I am after two hundred years of revenge and hatred." Feyd sits back up smiling. "After I deliver you alive per my contract. I am paid handsomely. That will in turn fund the ultimate contract that was just negotiated with my next patrons. Revenge, after generations of planting the seeds, has finally come."

The Scholar sits looking up at the sky. A true smile of happiness forms on his face and tears of joy at the corner of his eyes. As he thinks about the future contract. Washburn could swear he can hear the sound of a distant heavenly choir of soft voices singing hymns of praise.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on June 09, 2018, 01:13:21 PM
Columcil and Dhugal walked together in awkward silence, neither having the slightest idea what to say to the other. Dhugal felt that it was for him to speak, and it would be helpful to know how well-trained and experienced the other was as a healer, but he could hardly address as "Father" one who had just been revealed as his son.

Those they passed bowed low, or came to stiff attention before Dhugal and, with each obeisance and salute, Columcil became ever more conscious of the presumption of his outburst, necessary though it might have seemed. Finally he stopped and bowing low himself, began

"Your Grace, I maun beg your pardon fer th' manner o' my speakin' ..." but was interrupted by Dhugal's rough grasp on his arm.

"Please, no!  I have no idea how to work out what I owe to you but I am very sure that you owe nothing to me, least of all any apology."

Columcil felt the grasp on his arm tighten as he was swung round to face the Duke and he was startled to see that the amber eyes shone with tears.

"I'm very sure too that you have far more right to have grace attributed to you than I have ever deserved but I suppose it's best we keep to the formalities or people will start to wonder."

"I'm affeared they'll be aye blethering, my Lord, after the way I blabbed afore yon guards."

To Columcil's surprise a wide grin appeared on the Duke's face as he replied in a  border accent almost to match his own.

"Ach, dinna fasch yersen. They'd no a' kenned
one word in twa.!"

Then more seriously and reverting to his  normal manner of speech Dhugal added in reassurance,

"Supposing they could hear and understand, which I doubt, their controls would not allow them to speak of anything they hear while on royal duty."

Columcil hoped that his face did not show his disquiet at this information. The idea that Deryni powers would be so used was outside his experience and here was one of the highest in the land speaking matter of factly of the corruption of the God's gift of free will. Perhaps his thoughts had shown or perhaps the Duke understood anyway for he  continued gently,

"No-one is forced to enter royal service. I don't know how it was in times past but the King is so well loved that there is fierce competition for the honour of serving in his household. They trust him with their minds and would trust him with their souls. As in other ways he trusts his to them. This is why this has hit him so hard and is so unfair after the years he has given to all his people. He feels the loss of each one in his service as a stab to his heart and I fear it is beginning to eat away at his soul."
 
Dhugal realised that for a moment he had almost thought that he was speaking to his father and feared he had said too much but a glance at Columcil's face reassured him that the other had the look of a priest hearing confession. With a sudden change of mood he grinned again and said,

"Leastways I'll no be feared fer ma soul wi' me Da an' me son pittin' up prayers fer me!".

A startlingly fair-haired man, who still walked with a suspicion of a seaman's roll, was coming the other way and Columcil gave him a nod of acknowledgement, not feeling that he could do more whilst in the exalted company of the Duke, however surprisingly affable the other was proving to be.

As their paths crossed and they drew out of earshot Dhugal asked,

"That can only be Baron Isle's brother. You travelled with him. How do you judge him?"

The question was asked as equal to equal and  Columcil answered equally directly.

"Darcy? Brave, utterly honest and would die for the Lady Aliset."

" Does he love her?"

"I mayna' answer that Your Grace."

The return to fomality warned Dhugal that he was treadng on what Columcil regarded as forbidden ground, even if the information had not been explicitly shared in formal confession,  and he felt absurdly proud that this hitherto unknown son was a man of such honour - absurd for what credit could he claim in any of this?

"I understand and you must have formed quite a brotherhood as you travelled.  You must have become close to Lord Jaxom too. Tell me, did he seem a man to act for His Majesty's enemies? "

To Dhugal's surprise and Columcil's consternation the latter coloured bright red at this.

"You had some problem with the man?"

"Ach, I'm no but a country priest and I canna be doin' wi' lords and their pretensions."

Too late Columcil heard the gross impertinence as his words left his mouth and bowed his head he waited for retribution to fall. Instead he heard a sound which could best be described as a barely stiffled snort and the Duke laughed.

"Aye, Kelric told Kelson Jaxom was a pompous pr...But  maybe I'd best stop there. I hope you'll change your mind about some Lords, not least because your friend Darcy has proved to be one. I think Washburn won your loyalty and I'd like to hope I could be worthy of your good opinion."

Again the almost wistful humility disarmed Columcil and he dared to smile as Dhugal continued,

"But being a fool doesn't make a man a traitor so look beyond your prejudices and tell me, is there any reason you saw to suspect that he was acting of his free will and with malice against the King's subjects?"

There was no rebuke in the other's voice but Columcil knew that he was hearing a Duke of the realm and he must answer as fairly as he could, setting aside, as he had been bidden, his dislike of Jaxom.

"Nae, your Grace. I would ha'e ta say, nae. Ta be fair to him he was aye helpful an' I dinna think he's the wits ta pull the wool o'er all our eyes. He aye thought he would be God's gift ta her leddyship, but I'd no ha'e speired he'd turn traitor."

Fighting his own baser instincts which were arguing for the hope that Jaxom would get his just deserts, Columcil asked,

"What will happen to him, your Grace?"

"He'll be interrogated and I'll not say it will be pleasant, his foolishness has partly led to Sir Washburn's capture and the King will not easily forgive that. Nor his invasion of the Queen's private garden, which even in more peaceful times would have earned him a flogging. But if he co-operates and is penitent for his errors and if it is found that he too was under another's control then he may smart but he will live to be a wiser man."

"Until Darcy gets hold of him!"

Columcil had only muttered but Dhugal looked seriously at him and replied.

"That has already been understood and although the King has a certain
sympathy he will not tolerate the law being taken into any man's own hand. As his friend I would advise a word to the wise."

(( I had intended to include the scene of Richard's healing but it has taken me the train journey from Interlaken in Switzerland to the channel tunnel to write this including several lost paragraphs as the signal dropped out as I was saving it so am going to post as it is))




Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on June 09, 2018, 03:18:59 PM
The monastic hymns echoed over the old ruins in cascades of reverence. The pleasure on the upturned face of the scholar sent a pins-and-needles reaction of fear down Washburn's spine. The veneration of revenge was in discordance with what Washburn thought he believed. But the effects of the psychic fire he had just survived, left huge gaps in his perceptions. Just like this architecture they sat in, sometime in the past it had been whole and functional, yet the aftermath of a fire had destroyed the roof, exposing the interior to the elemental forces of wind and rain. Wash felt akin to the ruins around him: his thoughts were tumbled like the stones, his memories scattered in broken chunks, his aspirations a void like the roof over their head.  Memories lay here and there without reason, without coherence. He didn't understand how or why this had happened to him. He knew that just the acts of living had never been enough to drive him to be the knight that he had become, yet it seemed that this was all he could remember. What he did know was that for the love of his father, he had become the best knight in the realm. Apparently, that was all that compelled him, there seemed nothing else but a good laugh now and then, and a good comradery with a few persons that came and went from his life. It wasn't enough.  Not near enough to live by. Yet, if there was more, it eluded him.

"This contract on my head? Is it part of your revenge, too? Did I escape some Justice in some fashion that now needs retribution?" Wash rubbed his head wishing the blur of ash over his mind to settle. "I can't remember," he sighed in confusion. "Is that it? Something I've done requires this penance." It was no longer a question, rather a statement of subjugation. He dropped the meat-roll back to the platter, the distaste wasn't from the food but rather from the disgust with himself. Could he bargain with this man for his life? "If that is not it, and it is just for money, I know I can find enough gold in the Lendour treasury to pay you double whatever the price is on my head." But then the thought of stealing was distasteful, too. "I would repay the money, even if it takes me a lifetime," he added trying to subdue his own conscious.

He looked at the scholar in a different light, the light of the moon which came over the walls and shown down on them from above. The scholar definitely had a goal that was within his reach, something he had wanted for a very long time. "I am not a man without some talents," Washburn tried again.  "My sword arm is the best in the land. I could beat any foe of yours in fair battle, even two against one like a gladiator of old Rum. As reward, I could win my freedom back." he sighed, "Perhaps, it isn't a fair battle that you seek? I am a dead aim with a long distance bow."

The look the Scholar gave him then, turned Washburn's stomach inside out. He had just succumbed to a new low. Instantly, he hated himself for even thinking to make such an offer. "No, no, I think I would rather die than become the likes of you." Washburn spat out to the side. "I am sure, I am worth a price even if dead. Kill me and be done with this torture. I feel sorry for  your next victim. What is it that he has done to bring such delight to your face when contemplating your vengeance? I hope, at the very least, that he deserves what you do to him! Although, I don't believe anyone deserves to be set in this Hell before they die."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on June 09, 2018, 06:18:04 PM
"200 years ago they murdered two members of my family through their manipulations. Too proud and arrogant to do the dirty work themselves. And they have played their games with us all since the return of the Haldanes. And now there is you. Follow your instinct and survive this hell. We will meet again after all this passes."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on June 10, 2018, 01:01:04 PM
Both men were silent for a long time, both listening to the distant hymns as they cascaded and then softly dissipated into the night.

"Two hundred years is a long time to hold out to serve revenge." Wash said very quietly. In his youth tutors had spent enormous efforts to teach Wash the history of the Eleven Kingdoms and the history of his family lines. His mother had particularly strong interests in the family Ancestry; a reason he had been named after an ancestor of generations past. He should have known his history and his genealogy like he knew the back of his hand. At the moment it all eluded him. He pulled up  a few memories of his family, that of his mother and father when he was but sapling under his father's feet. He had siblings too. He could name his sisters, Briony, married to the crown prince of Andelon and Grania,  married to.... Who?  She had children, his favorite nephews.... Names escaped him.... Wash had brother's too... but... names and faces.... Gone!

He squeezed his eyes shut pushing what memories he did have back. What did it matter anymore, he was alone in this. He had his training and he had his instincts. Did this man before him really just tell him to survive this Hell and that they would meet up again? That seemed like lunacy. An impossibility from where he lay at the moment. Then he remembered "Use your fear" "considered every possibility".

He opened his eyes and from where he lay on the furs in this ruined alcove, he studied the Scholar's features in the moonlight. It was his first chance to really see the man. He didn't see greed, he didn't see anger. He saw cunning and portentous ambitions. A very dangerous man, which had been thoroughly proven. 

"I don't suppose you will let a man relieve himself in the corner so I don't have to soil my clothes." he asked on the off chance that he might actually win the ability to move.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on June 10, 2018, 05:17:40 PM
The Scholar laughs at Washburn's request. "It matters not either way actually. Have your dignity if you must. But I warn you. You will not be able to run. You will not be able to scream. You must becareful in the dark here, some of the steps are rather steep and trecherous in these ruins even in the light. So you if you have ideas of escaping, this is not the place."

He lets Washburn get up to relieve himself but stays within sight of him.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on June 11, 2018, 10:55:21 AM
Robert O'Malley watched as the young lord proceeded to demolish the practice target with his sword.  Chips of wood and straw of varying sizes were rapidly accumulating on the ground around the target.

Lord Darcy, after being introduced to Sir Tomas, the weapons master on duty, had been given access to the target in the far corner of the practice ground.  He had stripped down to his hose, drawn his sword and lost no time getting started.  Robert noted that although Darcy was below average height, he did not lack breadth of shoulder.  The man was well muscled, but the scars that laced his back were disturbing and caught a glance from several of the boys who were finishing up their own training for the day.

His first blows were clearly fueled by anger, but it had not taken long for him to work into a disciplined, accurate style, albeit an unusual one.  After honing the strikes of his right arm, he had switched to his left.  He had changed hands several times, and soon Robert could not have said which arm the man preferred.  By now Lord Darcy's torso was glistening with sweat.

Sir Tomas walked over to stand beside Robert.  He studied Darcy carefully.  "He's not following the traditional forms," he said after a few moments. "That uppercut was either learned from a pirate or a brigand.  Not exactly a clean fighter, but an effective one."  Robert bowed as Sir Tomas drifted away.

There was one final piece left on the cross-arm of the target.  Darcy aimed a punishing blow, sliced it off and then stopped his stoke a mere finger's width short of the centre pole.  His muscles bulged with the effort and then relaxed.  Satisfied with the result, Darcy picked up his shirt and tunic and walked over to Robert.

"If I may ask, Lord Darcy," Robert asked as Darcy began to wipe himself down with his shirt.  "What drove your last move?"

"Ah," Darcy responded while pushing strands of damp hair from his face.  "Sometimes you have to stop a blow when you least expect it.  We were being boarded by pirates in the Northern Sea.  This was a few years ago, mind.  I had two of the miscreants in front of me, and I knew I could take them.  Just as I swung my blade, our 10-year-old cabin boy decided I needed help.  If I hadn't stopped the blow in mid-air, I would have taken his head off.  You never know when circumstances will change, so it's good to practice such a move. Now, which way to my brother's quarters?"

Robert wasn't sure he believed the tale, but it could be true.  "They are on the other side of the main courtyard," he said.

As Darcy started forward, Robert added, "My Lord, you should put your shirt back on."  Darcy gave him a questioning look.  "This is Rhemuth, Lord Darcy.  Some degree of decorum is expected."

Darcy rolled his eyes heavenward.  A man's naked torso had never been at issue at sea.  Nevertheless, Darcy shrugged into the shirt, which clung damply to his skin.  "This is hardly an improvement," he said.

Robert grinned at him.  "It will do, my Lord.  Though you might impress a few ladies on the way."

Darcy sighed.  "The only lady I care to impress won't see me."

Robert wisely remained silent as he led the way to Sir Iain's apartments.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on June 11, 2018, 02:30:02 PM
His captor said barely a murmured word and Wash felt the restraints lift from his mind. For the first time in hours he legs responded to his own command and he could move. He tried not to think about the magic involved, rather instead he stretched his legs and enjoyed the rush of blood back into his feet. The bindings at his ankles stayed taught, his captor showed no sign of willingly loosening them. Wash thought of complaining, but then thought better of it. He did really feel an urgency now that he could move and the humility of losing his chance to save some honor kept him silent. As he used tied hands to roll on to his knees, he realized he still held the healer's scroll, he didn't want to loss that item so expensively gained, so he quickly tucked it inside of his tunic. Then with a push and a jump he was on his feet.

The scholar moved back as he stood, the palmed pricker held firm before him. Why did it seem such an impossible task to beat down this man, even with his wrists tied? Because not one muscle in a hundred would obey him to move toward his captor. With a harsh sigh, Wash knew that any attempt at escape would have to be all or none. He would never get a second chance. The man said this was not a good place to make that attempt. He looked around him from wall to wall. As he had guessed, the only entrance had been blocked by a mound of rubble. The steady glow of moonlight showed breaks in the walls above, one as low as twelve feet up. In normal circumstances he could escape this place easily. Nothing about this night was normal. The Scholar would have to be gone or incapacitated first. Unless his captor made some grievous mistake, his success of him taking down the Deryni Scholar was none.

Wash looked back at the warning scowl on the Scholar's lips. Purposely, Wash eased the tension in his own shoulders, and with a genuine smile he claimed, "I really do have to go." Making small two-footed hops toward the darkest portion of the ruined Portal room, he found a spot littered with stones and there he did what he had to do, much to his own relief.

A few minutes later he re-adjusting clothes and hopped on for another pace or two, careful to not trip on the rubble strewn across the marble floor. "This place looks to be as old as your family's vengeance. Looks to have been destroyed at the time of the Harrowing. I'll say this was a Deryni Establishment since a Portal is here. I am surprised the Portal is still functional." he looked around him contemplatively. "I wonder if the arched opening over there, had been brought down on purpose, possibly to give time enough for the people who lived here to escape."

He had hopped to the place where the lowest break in the wall stood. It called to him, it wouldn't be that difficult to scramble up those stones and to jump catching his hand on that out sticking beam. Then pull himself up and over to safety. That safety was an illusion. Already the the Scholar was stepping forward, his mouth preparing to issue a restraining command. A command Wash knew he could not defeat. Instead, he turned his back on the low wall and took a hop continuing to circle the room.  "I'll make a guess that this may have been one of those outlawed houses of the Michealine Order? Weren't several destroyed in quick succession?" He continued moving around the room hoping to get some answers of where they were and hopping with deliberate small steps too delay the inevitable return to his drugged state on those furs lying in the center of the floor. The scholar's expression eased just enough to give an amused smile at his captive's tactics, yet he offered no answer. "Surely there is no harm in confiding in me where we are at? If I had to make a true guess, I would say we are either in the destroyed Michaeline establishment at Mollingford or the smaller burnt out house at Cuilteine.  If we are near Cuilteine, I know of an evil troll not far from here that likes to seek out a good meal during the darkness of the night."

A winning smile passed Washburn's lips. The tales of the Troll were still clear in his memory, as was the comradery of the man who had been with him in that cave. Just now, what was Lord Darcy doing? He was going after Lady Aliset, that was what he was doing.  And Father Columcil too, would be at Darcy's side. Together, they were a good team. Washburn looked up briefly at the moon. He whisper a prayer that his two friends would succeeded in all their endeavors, including most of all, winning back the freedom of Lady Aliset.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on June 11, 2018, 03:23:47 PM
The Scholar nods at Washburn. "So you are educated at least. It is old and Deryni. But the Portal here is new. The one that the Michealines used is quite dead. We are near Cuilteine, at least 3 days ride from Rhemuth. The singing are the sisters at the Abby nearby. Too far away when you cannot scream and even if you could, it would still be too far away. And the troll and other hauntings keep away the locals. Few come here, and there are Wards to warn us if they do."

He stops and watches Washburn move toward the perceived escape route. "If you miss, tied up as you are, you could hurt yourself or even die. I am not a healer. Don't risk it. This is not the place or time for heroics. But if I must bring your lifeless body to Meara than that is what I will do."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on June 12, 2018, 05:07:22 AM
"Meara? Damn, I just spent a week escaping from that place. What of the lady? Did your accomplice take her back to Meara too? To Oswald?!" Wash spat the name with disgust.                 

"Not my accomplice." The scholar denied. "I wasn't contracted for the girl. His contract nearly screwed up mine. I almost willing killed him for you, because of it. But then...." the Scholar shrugged. "Things worked out. " He stressed the next word, "almost as good as I had originally planned it to be. Sometimes things just happen because they are meant to happen. Like the Moor stealing your lady. And like you turning your back on me to protect her." The scholar gave a wide smile. "Perfect moments like that, just don't happen everyday. Trust me, this is exactly how it is meant to be."

"Trust you? Never!" Wash turned back to the break in the wall. He made two long hops using his hands to push off a taller boulder

((14:52 Laurna Wash jumps to a boulder then leaps to grab the beam up above him. All actions are at a 6 only Disadvantage.
14:52 Laurna !roll 1d6
14:52 derynibot 6 == 6
14:52 Laurna !roll 1d6
14:52 derynibot 5 == 5))

Wash gets both his feet squarely up on the broken stone. With a great double footed kick off, he grabs for the beam over his head. His fingers touch it, but all too suddenly with a Word of Power from the scholar his arms go numb. (No need to roll, the Scholar's controls are well established.)  In that second, his lifeless body fell from the height of the beam. Another yelled Word of Power and Wash felt his muscles return to his command just in time to take the brunt of his weight onto his ankles and knees He broke his fall with a roll on the ground, landing just to the side of the boulder he had leaped from. 

(( I need to see if Wash gets injured. 1d6 disavatage 1 yes, 2-5 mild, 6 no. This will help me decide how to play this.  Rolled = 6 Verification Number: 2h0mq4z3z0))

Furious with himself for even making such a try, the solitary knight, with loyalties to no man but himself, pushed back up onto his own tied up feet. He was utterly amazed he hadn't broken anything.  With out a single word, in abject submission, he hopped back over to the furs and sat his butt down upon them defeated. "You know I had to try, damn you!"

"I told you multiple times, 'not here'!"

"You say this was meant to be. I will tell you what is meant to be-" Washburn growled in the harshest of low tones.  "You get me to Meara, treat me as a beaten slave, that will not matter. What will matter is if something bad has happened to Aliset, then I swear to you heads will roll!"
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on June 13, 2018, 05:32:57 PM
Dhugal stopped by a door in the corridor and without pausing to knock pushed the door open and entered, his eyes telling Columcil to do the same. There was a Haldane archer on the other side of the door with his bow strung at the ready but recognising Dhugal he made no attempt to intercept them. Columcil saw a man lying huddled on the bed, his face turned to the wall, with a healer standing looking frustrated next to him, though he was being careful not to touch him.

"He flinches away every time I even lay a hand on him, though physically he is only bruised, apart from a sprained wrist and an elbow that he has somehow managed to pull out of joint. Andras there said that you would be coming so I thought it best not to force the issue but to wait for you, Your Grace." As he spoke the healer drew away from the bed and bowed to Dhugal, deeply enough to show deference to Dhugal's ducal rank but also conveying the respect of one healer to another. Columcil he favoured with an interested stare and a courteous nod of the head.

Dhugal approached the bed and said in a low voice, "Richard?", but the huddled figure made no sign that he had heard. Dhugal spoke louder, but again there was no response. Torn by his exasperated compassion which left him unsure whether or not to shake a response out of his long-time friend, Dhugal was about to put out a tentative hand to take Richard by the shoulder when the latter heaved himself over and sat up. His face was drawn and white and there were marks of tears on his face but his voice was quite calm as he asked,

"Am I under arrest?" Then catching sight of Columcil he added in a much more strained voice, "Have you come to give me the last rites, Father, before I must meet my executioner?"

The pent up tension of the last few days and most especially the hours since Wash's capture sudenly found an outlet for Dhugal and he all but shouted,

"Yon archer is there for yer protection and we'll no be wastin' oor time healin' ye for a hangman's noose, so shut yer bletherin'."

Columcil and the healer exchanged shocked glances but perversly the outburst seemed to have had a better effect than the healer's more gentle attempts at persuasion, as Richard managed a shaky smile. Dhugal, aware of both the glances and the unnerving realisation of how much he sounded like his son when he allowed the long buried but still present Transha lad to surface in moments of emotion, swallowed hard and spoke more peaceably,

"There is no blame to you in any of this. You heard the King?"

"I thought I heard him, and felt the warmth of his touch, like the blessing of a saint. But lying here, with an armed guard over there and going over everything in my head, I can't make sense of any of it. Only that I saw Lord Morgan's youngest in need of help and I went to give it, only to find myself with my hands around your Grace's throat. As God is my witness I do not know how they got there. I would have torn my arms off before I did such a thing to you, My Lord,  and I cannot find it in me to blame the King's men for all but having my arms out of joint before they dropped me back to the floor. I had begun to wonder if I had dreamed the king's pardon. Please, my Lord, will you tell me what is going on?"

To hear such a proud man with pleading in his voice was almost too much for Dhugal but best see if they could heal him before distressing him further with the appalling details of what had been done to him. Allowing only calm authority to enter his voice he replied,

"I will tell you, you have my word, but first Father Columcil and I will heal those wounds. The King needs both of us back in Ballymar, and you're no use to him with no grip to your wrists."

Richard looked unsure, but as a man whose word at sea was law he recognised the authority in Dhugal's voice and responded to it, and besides if there was any man he trusted it was Dhugal.

"I'll not say I'll not be glad to be rid of this pain. Aye, I'll be grateful Your Grace, and to you too Father."

Dhugal noticed that the healer who had been with Richard was slipping out of the room, obviously feeling that he was not needed here, and Dhugal nodded to the archer to take up guard outside the door, feeling relieved when this man obeyed without question and shut the door behind him.

To Dhugal's surprise, though perhaps it should not have been, Columcil seemed totally at ease. He could sense no trepidation at the thought of healing with another and Dhugal realised that the complications of their relationship and the traumas that surrounded them had been swallowed up for him by his experience as a priestly healer and it was he that asked,

"Will you initiate the rapport, my Lord?" and offered his hands for the other to take. Dhugal took them, realising that he was far more nervous, but the other's shields rolled back with an ease that was again eerily reminiscent of working with his father and together they entered into healing trance ((4+1+6=11 6ll1ckgbq)).

Richard's own strength of body was already beginning to deal with the bruises and it was only a matter of encouraging the blood to flow more strongly to repair the injured tissue. The wrenched joints took a little longer but in truth it did not need both of them. Richard had spoken of the warmth of the King's touch bringing blessing and as they came out of trance Dhugal hoped that it was not presumptious of him to have felt the same blessing from his son's touch, both physical and psychic. ((Richard is healed 4+5+5= 14 6ll1ckgbq. Hit points recovered 3 3pf87j3bdr which given the scale of his injuries seems a full recovery to me)).

Richard swung his legs over the side of the bed but made no move to stand up. Taking the hint Dhugal sat down beside him - Columcil standing a little apart - and told him as honestly as he could what had happened. Richard said nothing for a while then spoke hesitently.

"My father used to tell me of the hatred the Deryni were met with, and neither he nor I could ever understand it, having only met with those who used their powers for good. I think I begin to understand a bit more now. Forgive me, Your Grace, Father! For all that I know what you just did for me was good, as is all I've ever seen or heard of what your Grace does, and I'm sure is true of a priest like yourself, Father, I don't know that I'll feel so comfortable around Deryni for a while if they can truly take over a man's mind like that with such ease."

There was nothing to be said to that so nothing was said until Richard continued,

"And far be it from me to speak against the king but I'm not so sure there is no blame to me. If I had not gone hurtling in there as I did without stopping to weigh the danger, if I had given place to your Grace, as I ought, and so not allowed myself to be used against Your Grace, then maybe Lord Washburn could have been saved alongside her ladyship."

Both Columcil and Dhugal did demurr at that and both tried to convince Richard that the King had meant just what he said and that it was not for him to deny the force of the King's pardon given so personally and publically.

Finally, feeling that there was no time for this and that the best cure for self-doubt lay in action, Dhugal got to his feet and pulled Richard to his,

"Enough of this! We have work to do in Ballymar" Going to the door he pulled it open and ordering the archer to follow behind he and Richard made their way back to the library.

Columcil watched them go,  left with the uncomfortable feeling that Richard's full acceptance of forgiveness was in words only and touched neither his mind nor his heart. His own mind and heart, though, were with another patient who had suffered far more than Richard at the hands of the unknown assailant -- as they were with Washburn suffering who knew what torments. Well there was nothing he could do about the young Lord for whom he had gained such an affection, other of course than pray, but in the morning he could perhaps find out how Aliset did. He turned his steps towards his quarters resolving that in the morning he would visit the Queen's tower in the hope that one within might be gracious enough to come out and tell him how she fared.

((Modified to allow for it being night by now)).



Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on June 14, 2018, 09:04:01 AM
King Kelson of Gwynedd and Prince Javan descended the stone stairs down to the Rhemuth Castle dungeon.  The steps had been worn smooth over hundreds of years, so care had to be taken not to slip and fall.  More than one prisoner over time had fallen down the stairs; one could never be sure if it was by accident or design. 

Two guards in Haldane livery proceeded the king and his heir and two more followed.  Water could be heard dripping as they reached the bottom of the stairs.  The air was damp and musty.  It was not healthy to be here; but then, it wasn't supposed to be.  The depressing atmosphere helped to put prisoners in the proper state of mind for questioning.

Lord Jaxom had been put in a cell closer to the stairway where conditions were marginally better.  The Moorish prisoner had been placed in a cell farther down where little light penetrated except for that provided by the torches that were lit beside some of the cells. 

The guard outside the cell door snapped to attention.  "The prisoner has been pretty quiet since he was given the merasha," the guard reported. "Except for the initial cursing and swearing." 

"Did you find anything when you searched him?" Javan asked.

"A fair amount of coin, a crystal amulet on a leather cord, a belt knife; nothing else out of the ordinary.  They are wrapped in that cloth on the floor beside the door.  Duke Dhugal advised us not to touch them with our bare hands.  The guard unlocked the door and swung it open for the king and his party to enter. 

The Moorish tradesman huddled on the floor with shackles secured to his wrists and ankles.  Stout chains further secured him to a central ring in the wall.  He did not look up as one of Kelson's guards entered with a torch; nor did he stir as king and prince entered.

"Look at me," the king commanded.  The man on the floor before him did not move.  At a nod from Kelson, the second guard came forward, grabbed the man by his hair and forced him to look up.

The man was not a pretty sight.  The blood that had gushed from his nose had dried and caked the side of his mouth and jaw.  The eyes had trouble focusing, whether from the merasha or from Dhugal's punch to his head Kelson could not be sure. 

Will Kelson set off a death trigger when he begins to question the prisoner?
Jerusha   !roll 2d6
15:41   derynibot   1, 1 == 2
(Failure can be a friend.  With snake eyes, Kelson may not be able to shut him up.)

Will Kelson be able to force the prisoner to tell him the truth?
Jerusha   !roll 2d6
15:42   derynibot   4, 2 == 6
(I'm reading a 4 as success, since Kelson is ritual trained due to the Haldane Potential.)

"You will answer all my questions with the truth," Kelson said, sending the Truth-Say compulsion to the merasha soaked mind.  He could not read the man's mind directly because of the merasha, but he could send the compulsion with minimal distress.  He drew back from the mental disruption as quickly as possible.

"What is your name?" Kelson asked.

The man glared at the king and spat.  "Jabir Ibn Habib." 

The king noticed that the man had lost both front teeth.  "Where are you from?" he asked.

"Khasifa."  Jabir looked at the king blearily.  "What if I make you a bargain?  What if I tell you what I know, and you release me after?"

Kelson barked a short laugh.  "You know I will not let you go.  But tell me what you know, and I will decide how swift your death will be."

"How do I know you will grant me that consideration, if I tell you all?"

Kelson looked at him coldly.  "You don't.  But you have my word I will at least consider it."

"I will tell you what I know."  The change rattled as Jabir shifted his position on the hard floor.  At a nod from Kelson, the guard released his grip on the prisoner's hair.

"I was contracted to capture your Lady Aliset and move her by Portal to a destination in Meara.  I was not told the destination; I would be told after I captured her successfully.  I discovered two men best able to assist me, whose affections for the lady were plain to see if one looked closely enough.  My first choice turned out to be unavailable, having left Rhemuth in the morning, but the second played right into my hands."

Kelson let him continue, keeping his face expressionless, as did Javan.  When he reached the end, Javan spoke for the first time.  "I have questions I would like to ask."

Kelson nodded and spoke directly to Jabir.  "You will answer Prince Javan's questions as if they were my own."

"What poison was on the ring?" Javan asked, studying the prisoner's face carefully.

"It is an old recipe, carefully guarded by those who know its power."  Jabir's grin displayed his missing teeth.  "I do not know the formula."

"Where did you get it?" Javan asked.

"It came with the ring." 

Javan decided to try a different approach.  "How were you to be told the location to take Lady Aliset?"

"I was to contact the man through mind speech," Jabir responded.  "He would tell me once we made contact, and my possession of the lady was confirmed.

Was Javan imagining it, or was the man becoming nervous?

Will Javan's closer questioning set off a death trigger in the prisoner?
Jerusha   !roll 2d6
15:43   derynibot   5, 5 == 10
Sigh....

"Who gave you the ring?  Who was it who contracted you to kidnap Lady Aliset?" Javan demanded.

"Stop!" Jabir cried out, but it was too late.  He gripped he head with both hands and collapsed, his body jerking in the throes of death until it lay still.

"Damnation!" Javan exclaimed.   

"I expected it," King Kelson replied calmly, laying a hand on his son's shoulder.  "We are dealing with someone too cunning not have covered his tracks with a death trigger.  We should have a careful look at that amulet."

As they left the cell, the guard was staring at the cloth bundle as his feet. "It was the oddest thing, your Majesty," he said.  "All of a sudden the bundle sort of jumped a bit.  I'm sure I didn't imagine it."

Prince Javan looked at his father and then crouched down by the bundle.  He drew his dagger from its sheath and carefully unfolded the cloth with its tip.  The inside of the cloth was blackened.  The coins, belt knife and the leather cord were still there, but small shards of crystal were all that remained of the amulet.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on June 15, 2018, 09:19:31 AM
Dhugal led Richard at a rapid pace through the castle towards the library and the portal which would lead them back to Ballymar and away from the nightmare of the last days. He spared a thought for his blood brother, the king, for whom there could be no such escape but he knew he would be grateful to smell the fresh sea air and rebuild his relationship with the man keeping pace with him as they set in motion the ships which would sail to protect,  or God forbid, relieve Laas.

His first inkling that it would not be so simple came when he went to grasp Richard''s hand to take him through the hidden veil protecting the portal. The seaman pulled his hand away as though burnt , ((Dhugal takes control of Richard to take him through the veil. 4+1=5 d9bsn2692p))

"I'm sorry Dhugal, I don't think I can do this! There's no offence to you, but I cannot stop thinking of what that man did to me."

It was a sign of his deep distress that a man normally so punctilious with the public use of honorifics should use his first name in the presence of three Haldane guards for, in addition to Andras who had accompanied them, there were two archers on guard in the library. Dhugal understood but he had to struggle to keep his own calm. What had Alaric said to him all those years ago?

"It's not the power that is good or evil, Richard, but the man who wields it, and when have you ever seen me use my power for evil?"

"Never, and I'm not sure whether it's you I don't trust or myself. I just know I don't want anyone else controlling me."

"Maybe, if I was to blur what I told you?"

((Dice roll 3+1=4 same verification as above. Nice try Dhugal))

Richard made an obvious attempt to calm himself as he replied more formally,

"I know you mean well, your Grace, but no!"

"Well yer canna ride to Ballymar, an' I canna manage oor ships a'  ba mysen."

"Well knock me out then, and take me through like that!"

Dhugal breathed deeply to calm himself, though he was sorely tempted to take the other at his word.

"Don't be ridiculous! How does assaulting you help?" He snapped. "There must be something we can do."

He beckoned to the guardsman who had accompanied them.

"Andras, isn't it? Fetch us some strong ale!"

Andras bowed but there was obvious hesitation in his manner and Dhugal felt his patience slipping perilously through his fingers.

"Well! The order was obvious enough and I daresay we can just about manage without your protection. Perhaps you would be good enough to explain your failure to obey an order"

Andras flushed at the sarcasm but stood his ground. "I'm not disobeying your Grace but if I go to the buttery and ask for best quality ale  for your Grace there'll be a right kerfuffle as they send down to the cellars and it'll be the best part of an hour before I'm back here. Always supposing I'm not questioned as to what I'm doing in the buttery at this hour when I'm on duty. I was only going to suggest that, if your Grace would so condescend I can fetch you some ale from my quarters."

"Thank you, but I doubt that watery stuff you get as ration would serve the purpose."

Andras reddened even further but replied easily enough,

"It's not exactly what I had in mind Your Grace!"

Neither Dhugal nor Richard could entirely hide a smile, and Dhugal felt a real sense of gratitude to the soldier who was prepared to quibble with a Duke to do what he could to help.

"Do so then, and you have my thanks. And I promise neither of us will have any idea where it came from."

Andras saluted and left. True to his word he was soon back with a leather flask. Dhugal took it and drank, then with an appreciative noise handed it to Richard.

"Here. Drink this, and see if that will help you relax enough to get us through that damned veil and the portal beyond."





Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on June 15, 2018, 12:01:31 PM
The old tinker felt that luck had been with him today, and that made him nervous.  He did not trust luck; that elusive lady was likely to turn her back on you just when you thought all would be well.  He preferred to make his own luck.  He was not inclined to trust his fate to a roll of the dice if he could avoid it.

Nevertheless, when a kitchen servant had arrived at his lodging in the early morning hours with the news that he was needed in the castle kitchens to repair several pots, he had readied his cart and immediately made his way to the castle.  Even the castle kitchens had not escaped damage in the revolt, and pots needed to be repaired in time for the dinner to be held in the pretender queen's honour that night.  As the tinker worked on a large pot with a deep depression in it, he wondered who's head it had collided with.

Fortune had smiled further when Mistress Baker arrived later in the day with fresh white bread and sweetmeats for the dinner.  Although they did not exchange words, she gave him a slightly crooked cherry tart, and the tinker knew that Gelsey fared well.

Last night, when it was late enough he was sure no one would be looking for a tinker, he had moved along the hidden castle passageways to gather what information he could.  Loud voices had caught his attention; Oswald and Brioc were arguing about sending reinforcements to Ratharkin.  Oswald wanted more men as soon as possible; Brioc responded they were needed elsewhere.  They had been silenced by the third man, the man who held the true authority here.  He advised Oswald to be patient, and that when the reinforcements arrived, they would also be bringing the bride he so desired.  For her sake, the tinker hoped not.

He had made full report to King Kelson after he had returned to his lodgings.  He suspected that Ratharkin was to be used as bait to draw the king's forces here while the main force of the rebellion struck elsewhere.  The likely target to him was Laas, though it was not certain.  King Kelson did not advise him of the identity of the Torenthi; perhaps Bishop Arilan had not yet determined who it was.  The more the tinker knew about the man, the better prepared he would be.

Now he sat at a table at the back of Ratharkin Castle's great hall, treated to the leftovers of the earlier removes with some of the other tradesmen in appreciation for their services.  The high table was now being served Mistress Baker's sweetmeats and other tasty treats.  The tinker noted that while Queen Sidana seemed attentive enough to the men and ladies around her, she did not engage in much conversation.  She picked at her food and had not taken more than one cup of the fine wine that was being served.  Her father and Oswald consumed more; the Torenthi was more moderate. 

The tinker could not hear any of high table's conversations; the hall was too noisy.  Still, he studied them carefully without being too obvious; he had learned to read lips long ago.

Most of the conversation revolved around the "Meara-to-be" the rebellion would provide.  True independence from Gwynedd, return of lands forfeited in the last rebellion, prosperity for all. All the standard promises. But several times, in unguarded moments, the Torenthi had been addressed as "your Grace," and once addressed directly by the queen as "Valerian."  Could he be one of the sons of Teymuraz?  That would explain much. 

The dinner was over.  The tinker rose with the rest of the hall as the queen was escorted from the high table.  The tinker would not haunt the castle passageways tonight.  The queen was leaving in the morning, and Sir Iain Cameron needed to prepare.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on June 15, 2018, 05:24:26 PM
"I'm sorry, Sir. I should have left you to do the questioning. There's nothing left in this amulet to give any clues as to whom he was serving, though it was by means of this that he was receiving his orders unless I miss my guess very badly."

Javan straightened and looked apologetically at his father who sighed but clasped his son's shoulder.

"Don't blame yourself, the question had to be asked and it was almost certain that a death trigger would have been set. I would  like to know whether our late friend was working with the fiend who took Washburn but either way it doesn't  help us to find him. I hope Alaric forgives me for not making more effort to find his son but after what happened to Sextus I cannot risk any others."

Kelson looked as grim as his surroundings, there in the dungeon corridor and Javan's next words were a seeking for what comfort there was, as much for his own sake as his father's.

"At least we know now that Jaxom is no traitor."

"I still want to thrash him for his obsession with Aliset. Did the man not realise his open lust for her put us all in danger, and provided enough distraction for Washburn to be captured."

"I don't suppose so" Javan replied reasonably "and you can't thrash people just because it makes you feel better." Then with a sidelong  look at his father he added, " Not that that stopped you when I was growing up."

Kelson growled but his expression lightened as he replied,

"You got far fewer beatings than you deserved, and you know it. Especially once you and Araxandra came up with that scheme for her to always take the blame."

"Until you worked out what we were doing and beat her as you would have me. I have never felt so much of a mean wretch in my life hearing her cry with the pain - it worked, though, I grant you. I watched my step a bit more after that. "

"If it makes you feel any better your mother wouldn't speak to me for a week. I'm not sure why being reminded of my sins as a father should have helped me feel better, but oddly it has. Thank you, Son."

Kelson smiled gratefully at him, feeling grateful for the adult Javan's concern for his father in this pass and recognising his reference to his childhood for what it was, an attempt to lighten the mood."

"Well let's go and see what stuff Jaxom is really made of, and I'll keep my hands to myself."

Father and son moved back towards the stairs and stopped outside another guarded cell.

"No sound at all until a few moments ago, Your Majesty," The guard reported, "and then only a low moaning. The healer came and bandaged his wound but thought it best not to heal him without your Majesty's say so. He said he seemed to be in some sort of a trance."

At a nod from Kelson, the guard unlocked the door and went in. The King waited until he heard him say roughly "On your feet!" Then he and Javan entered the cell, preceded and followed, as before, by the two pairs of archers in Haldane livery.

This cell was somewhat less menacing than the other. There was more light for one thing, from a narrow slit in the corner above a hole in the floor acting as a simple garderobe shaft, far too small to allow a means of escape but allowing for basic dignity. Along the far wall was a stone shelf allowing a prisoner at least to lie above the floor but there were still iron staples along the wall to which chains could be attached, and the rattling which they heard as they entered made it clear that Jaxom was shackled.

Jaxom was being hauled roughly to his feet looking pale and bleary eyed, but when he saw who he had entered he shook the guard's hands off him and fell to his knees, the movement clearly paining him. He looked up first at Kelson and then Javan and begged,

"Your Majesty, your Highness, I beseech you, have mercy and at least tell me for what I am being punished."

Kelson looked at him with hard implacability and replied,

"I suggest that you tell me."

Javan whispered to his father, do you want me to use Truth Say on him ((1+4 = 5 d9bsn2692p)) but the king replied "No, I want to see whether he will tell the truth of his own accord."

"God help me, Sire, I cannot. The last I remember I was walking along towards the Queen's garden and then a few moments ago I woke here, with this wound and these shackles." There was desperation in his eyes and he raised his hands, awkward because of the chains which bound them together, and scrubbed at his head as if trying to force a memory. Finally he continued hesitantly, "There was a man, I think, a foreigner he would be, who spoke to me, but as to what he said...." His voice trailed off and he let his hands fall, his head hanging with them in desperation.

"So far so honest," Kelson commented quietly to Javan, "let's see if he continues."

"What was in your heart as you walked towards the Queen's gardens, which it may interest you to learn are her Majesty's private preserve?"

Jaxom flinched at the ice in the king's voice and did not attempt to raise his head or to say anything for a long moment. Finally he buried his face in his hands and said something, too quiet for any to hear. One of the guards went as if to force his head out of his hands but Javan shook his head and crouching down by Jaxom firmly but gently took Jaxom's hands away from his face and said,

"Only the whole truth can save you. If it shames you, well, better men than you have endured shame and lived. Speak so his Majesty can hear you."

Jaxom looked as though Javan's gentleness would utterly unman him but swallowing his tears he said,

"I intended to use Darcy's",

"Lord Darcy," the king interrupted in no less a glacial tone.

"I intended to use Lord Darcy's absence as a chance to speak to the Lady Aliset. I...I thought that perhaps I could threaten to publically expose her unchaperoned journey to force her to agree to my suit. I acknowledge that I am dishonoured as a knight by that thought, and not worthy of the touch of your Majesty's sword on my shoulders. But I swear that I remember nothing else and I cannot say how I came by this wound," he touched his side and grimaced, "nor earned these shackles nor your Majesty's such extreme displeasure."

He looked around wildly, "I will swear on whatever holy relics there are, that I am telling the truth."

For the first time Kelson's expression softened and he said less coldly, "There will be no need for that. I have been reading the truth of what you say ((5+1+2 =8 6vjm016gt2)). You are absolved of the worst suspicions against you. Nevertheless you have been the tool of great harm. Look at your hands, do you see something you do not recognise?"

Jaxom did as he was bid and gasped. He made as though to remove the ring but Kelson stopped him with an abrupt command.

"No! don't touch it - it may still be dangerous although the man who put it there is dead, and I would guess that it was only then that his spell on you was broken. Guard, take a cloth and remove it without touching it. Gently though, he is no traitor."

The guard did as he was bid, hearing that he had been suspected of being a traitor having shocked Jaxom into utter passivity, and gave the covered ring into Javan's outstretched hand as the King continued,

"That ring has been the instrument of great harm and as your folly and dishonourable intent put you in the way of being used by another's evil it is meet that you should hear what has been wrought. But I do not think that you need any longer to be shackled. Guards see to it."

Jaxom still remained passive as the chains were removed from his wrists and ankles though he rubbed at his wrists once they were free. He made no attempt to rise from his knees though he made a movement as though to reach for the King's hand to kiss it. Kelson knew that the pardon symbolised by the offering of his hand would have to come, though it would be far more grudgingly offered than the pardon freely given to Richard Kirby, but he could not quite manage that yet and kept his hands firmly folded at his waist. Javan wisely said nothing.

As the tale of what he had wrought while he was bespelled was unfolded by the King's unexpressionless voice Jaxom looked more and more horrified. He blenched at the account of his kissing of the helpless Aliset, and his fight with Washburn, touching his wound at that moment as though glad of the pain it caused him. As Kelson began to speak of Aliset in the arms of her would be abductor he was interrupted by Javan's cry,

"He's fainting, Sir." And indeed Jaxom had keeled over, his face now completly grey. Javan beckoned one of the guards to bring the earthenware jug of water over but did nothing to rouse Jaxom while he spoke to his father,

"Maybe go a little more easily on him, Sir. You are utterly terrifying when you are angry" he held his hands up to ward off Kelson's retort, "justified I know but don't leave him without any hope. Dhugal has Sent to me that Columcil spoke well of his loyalty, though Dhugal had to drag it out of him. Give him a chance to prove himself. I think that he will fight all the more eagerly for you now. With your permission, of course, I'll take him and his men under my command."

Kelson reflected that his son would make a good king one day, he just prayed God that Javan would have the chance. He gestured to the guard to help the now rousing Jaxom to sit up and give him some of the water to drink and when the latter would have returned to his knees motioned to him to remain where he was.

Far more gently than he had yet spoken he was beginning his account again, "It is not good hearing I know," but the naked pleading in Jaxom's eyes caused him to stop and silently grant permission for Jaxom to speak.

"Please Sire, is the Lady Aliset safe?"

"Yes, though I cannot say she is well. Lord Washburn, who came to her rescue, was taken and as yet we have no idea where."

Jaxom seemed as though he might faint again and Kelson, even without Javan's look, knew that in mercy he must bring this to a close. Though it cost him an effort of will he held his hand out to Jaxom who scrambled up onto his knees and kissed it, wetting it with his tears.

"You have paid dearly for your folly, as have others, but the treason is not yours to atone for, neither are you to blame for the evil use made of you. Your behaviour towards the Lady Aliset I advise you to take into confession, and accept whatever penance is required from you. The recompense that I demand of you is that you publicly and humbly beg her pardon. I am also going to forbid you to seek healing for your wound, though you may continue to have it dressed, God alone knows what Lord Washburn is suffering in captivity and I think it fitting you should suffer too.  Once you are ordered to prepare to march out from Rhemuth you may have it healed to be fit to serve his royal Highness Prince Javan who is willing to have you and your men in his company. You will now be escorted to your quarters where you will remain until you are summoned to make your apology."

Javan was right, as he so often was, Kelson reflected. Jaxom was at the end of his tether. He knew he was. He allowed Jaxom to kiss his hand again then ordered two of the guards to escort Jaxom to his quarters, while he and Javan followed the two remaining guards back up the stairs. When he would have headed straight back to the council chamber Javan stood in his way.

"I will go and talk to Grania about Aliset, and the apology you have so kindly imposed on her," but his smile took any sting out of his words. "And you, my dearest father, will return to mother and allow her to look after you for at least the next hour. The council have more than enough to keep themselves occupied and you are too precious to wear yourself out."

Javan bowed over his father's hand and turned and went on his way followed by one of the guards. Kelson turned to the other, and said "As his royal highness has commanded." But there was no irony in his tone.






















Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on June 18, 2018, 12:30:55 PM

Four men all sharing the same facial features yet expressing those features in varied shades of decades in age gained admittance into the king's withdrawing room. The council meeting had now been going on and off for the entirety of day and well into the night. At the time that the Arilans entered, the king himself was not in attendance. Neither to was Prince Javan and gone to was Duke Dhugal, who was said to be returning to Ballymar after much delay. The six men who remained were mixed about the room either signally or in pairs. All working on various scrolls and counting sheets, piecing together the details required to move large numbers of men and arms to the northern Province of Meara. The sideboard was laden with trays of food, mostly uneaten. A few small trenchers of hand picked items were scattered about the main table within the reach of councilors to assuage their hunger as they worked. More importantly, half filled goblets of wine were near each councilor's hand. A squire with a decanter was ready to ensure that no goblet went empty.

Upon seeing the casualness of the moment, the four Arilan men collapsed in chairs around the main table, each readily accepting the goblets of wine and plates of food that royal squires scurried to place before them. The six men watched the four with interest and concern. None but one dared to speak, knowing full that the news would not be good. The one was Brendan Earl of Marley who put his quill down and moved three seats over to sit next to Denis, the elderly Bishop of Dhassa.

"Your Grace," the earl bowed his head in reverence, "pray tell me, even if the news is poor, what of my brother?"

Denis sighed, taking a long drink of wine. The bishop's eyes didn't meet Brendan's until he had placed the goblet back on the table.  Every man in the room held their breath to hear what Denis would say. With sympathy the older bishop began to speak.

"We found the Deryni Underground Movement Portal of two centuries ago, down by the river docks. The trap on it is a nasty one. Not lethal, thank the Lord, but not easily broken either. Attempts were made, only to be meet with failure. We left guards at the Portal site and around the building. Brendan, you must hold faith that your brother is still alive. Sextus saw him in that place at mid afternoon. We can only presume that our blundering into there caused him to be moved quickly there after. Not much was left near the Portal to give us clues as to where, or by whom he was taken. The food we did find there has been sent to the apothicaires to see if they could help determine what drug, if any, lay upon it.  As for the signature of where Wash was taken...? We still have have some 20 hours of the 24 hours left to discover it. After that you know as well as I that the coordinate signature for Portal jumps tend to fade beyond recognition. We will try again at dawn, when we have regained our energy."

"Damn it all." Lord Angus cursed before Brendan could protest, "Ye' a man of God's Magic. How it be that this evil has beaten the?" The duke stood up and walked over to stand next to his earl, supporting Brendan in this time of stress. "And what's this about Kelson forbidding anyone from taking that Portal jump until he deems 'tis safe. How you supposed to know it's safe if you don't test it. I don't even pretend to understand this fangled magic of travel. But surely something can be done before dawn. And then I 'ear tell, that damnable Moor up and died before 'e could' answer 'or his crimes."

The bishop's eyebrows went up at the news, but he nodded, knowing full well what Angus meant. A death trigger was not unheard of when dealing with Deryni from the east. "I am sorry, Brendan." The old bishop meant it. "At the moment, your brother is beyond our reach."

Despite Brendan Coris's devastating paternity of a man who had committed treason four decades ago, Brendan, Earl of Marly had become one of the most highly respected men in the kingdom. His strong Deryni training and ferocious loyalties to the Morgans and the Haldanes were proof enough to Denis that some traits did not pass from father to son. Yet the Deryni trait from mother to son was passed on in full. Proved again and again, half-blood Deryni were capable of learning as much as full- blood Deryni. The old prejudices of half-bloods were unfounded. What seemed to matter most was the family blood-lines of at least one parent. Some families were simply stronger in the arcane than others. And Richenda's blood lines were among the highest. As had been Alaric Morgan's mother's blood lines. That was why Alaric and Duncan as half-bloods had surprised the Cambarian Council back in the early days. It was the half of Whose blood that counted which made a men as good as another.

With both Alaric's and Richenda's bloodlines mix together, their children had been a pleasure to teach. Brendan, Kelric and the girls especially. With shame, Denis realized he was as much at fault as anyone else's for thinking Washburn immature and spoiled. He had not offer Alaric's youngest son the lessons of advanced magic and had even discouraged Duncan from wasting his time in that effort. After the first few tries to keep the young page Washburn in his lessons, Denise simple gave up. If the rumors were true, that Washburn had the gift of Healing like his father, so much more guilt did Denis feel for not offering a challenge to the boy to do better. 

But at the moment that was neither here nor there. Denis noted the rebellion in Brendan's eyes. "The first Portal jump was a warning, son. The closer we get, the more likely the next traps will be lethal. Kelson has put a halt on finding your brother in that way for good reason."

Brendan bit his lip than said to the bishop under his breath, "You have certain connections. Can they not find Wash?"

"There has been some Rapport between us," Denis failed to mention who the us was, knowing full well that Brendan knew they were talking about the secretive Camberian Council. "As yet, no one even knows who is behind this rebellion. We need more answers before we can make rash accusations."

This please Branden not at all. He slammed his palm on the table, took a deep breath, murmured "Forgive me." and then stalked over the the side board and the food only staring at the food without really seeing it.

For a long while after the room was quite. The Arilans ate sparingly and the others worked on their scrolls. At length the doors open and the king was announced.  Everyone stood and bowed at his entry. "I was informed of  your return. Your grace, I would have your report and I wish to share an item which I am in hopes you have enlightenment." Kelson waived to the others, "at ease my good men." and then the king step with purpose to a far window embrasure, beckoning the Bishop of Dhassa to join him.

With all attention given to the two men, Brendan took the moment to catch Lord Jamyl's gaze and signal him to join him at the side board. With trencher in hand, Jamyl came over and picked a particularly plump breast of fowl.

"Don't react, but I implore you to take me to that portal," Brendan begged very quietly.

"Against Kelson's orders?" Jamyl mouthed back, a bit shocked.

"This is my brother we are talking about. I swear, I won't make the jump that the king forbids, but I have to know what the portal signature is to where he was next taken. Every hour wasted and that signature fades more. If we wait too long it will be impossible to find it. You have to help me."

Jamyl looked over Brendan's shoulder seeing his father and uncle in heavy conversation with Dukes Angus and Albin. Grand uncle Denis was in deep Rapport with the King in the far corner. No one else was looking their way.

"If it was one of your family, you know you would do it," Brendan encouraged.

The younger Lord Jamyl had to nod with agreement. "Better that we leave separately. Give me twenty minutes after I leave to get the horses ready. Meet me at the gate house when you can get away."

"Thank you," Brendan breathed. "I knew I could count on you."

Jamyl returned to the table to eat what he had picked up. After a few minutes, Brendan slugged down his wine, ate a meat roll and then returned to Duke Angus who was counting up the levees.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on June 18, 2018, 01:09:02 PM
"Rest young Morgan." The statement by the Scholar was more of a command than a suggestion. "In the morning, you will be well rested and famished. You will eat the food and drink the wine I have prepared for you. And come the setting of the sun we will leave these ruins."

He doesn't bother to check on Washburn, knowing full well that the controls are well established that Washburn will have no option except to obey his commands. Although before sleeping himself, the Scholar rechecks the Wards that surround the ruins that will warn him of unwanted guests. And also the Wards Major that are covering the Portal itself. An age old trick to make a Portal hidden and unacessable even if those in Rhemuth managed to get its unique signature. They would not be able to reach out to it. And given the distance as well, few are skilled in long distance jumps as he was. The Scholar has a peaceful rest.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on June 18, 2018, 02:13:13 PM
"Rest young Morgan." Even as the irresistible command caused Washburn's eyes to ease from their stare at his tormentor and for him to find himself easing to his right side, the pain in the cut on his left arm was really beginning to bother him. The jump for the beam and the subsequent tumble to the floor had re-openind the cut Jaxom's sword had made. Wash would not complain about it, yet fresh blood ran down his arm. Under his black tunic, in the darkness of the ruins, Wash doubted the Scholar noticed it. Wash could not reach the gash with his hands tied. and he could not fight the need to sleep long enough to say something about it. If only he had that Healers gift of his activated. But the Healing energy was the furthest of all arcane energy from his use. Healing required such a delicate balance. He wounder then if he would ever be able to heal again. If the wound festered and he sickened what did it matter.   Washburn fell asleep on the furs with a horrid sense of nightmares filling his future.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on June 18, 2018, 05:19:14 PM
The ale was good with a rich malty aroma and a smooth nutty flavour. Dhugal had to remind himself that he had given his word not to question where this had come from. Besides, there was no sign that Andras or his colleagues were anything other than punctilious in the carrying out of their duties and he knew that Kelson, as indeed himself, saw no reason why those who served him should not enjoy the good things of life appropriate to their station.

More to the point it appeared to be serving its purpose with Richard. He was drinking slowly and appreciatively - and Dhugal could not help but be amused that despite all that had happened and his current fear the seaman's taste for a good brew, as for a good vintage, was untainted - and gradually the fear began to fade from his eyes. He stood up, gave a deep belch and handed the skin back to Andras with a nod of thanks, then turned to Dhugal.

"I don't know how long this will last but there is enough good magic in that ale to counter my jitters so let's be done with it."

Dhugal hoped he had not heard a stress on the word "good" but there was no time to waste. Still anxious, he pulled out his St Camber medal from within his tunic and grasping hold of it prayed that the saint who was reputed to be the protector of both humans and Deryni would come to their aid. (( 5 + 3 + 6 = 14, 4l88zvrwf8 - thank you Sanctus Camberus.)) Then he put his hand on Richard's forehead and took control as he led him through the veil into the room beyond and onto the portal square. Grasping the energies with his mind he had rarely been so glad to see the familiar outline of the portal room in Ballymar.

Their feet had barely touched the ground when he released control of Richard's mind though he was careful to keep a hold of the other's arm lest he should still be disorientated.

"Thank you, My Lord, but it will take more than a skinful of ale to put a seafarer off balance." Richard's tone was deliberately jocular, if somewhat forced, and with a smile Dhugal released his grip and replied in kind.

"I'm glad to hear it, else there's few boats would ever come safe to port!"

Richard clearly did not want to speak about his fear, and now was not the time to raise it, though Dhugal did wonder if Mirjana might be the best person to help him. Though she was Deryni she too had suffered unspeakably at the hands of one who abused his power. That was for another day though. Please God they could both make for their beds and at least sleep through what was left of this night in comfort and undisturbed.

The hope was vain. As the two men walked back through the castle, Dhugal being greeted with deferential bows, and both men with warm relief, word spread that "himself" was back and Master Kirby with him. As they entered the Great Hall, Dhugal to go up the solar stair into the ducal appartments and Richard out across the Bailey to his own quarters the Master-at-arms met them. Barely taking time to bow he all but grabbed hold of the Duke and blurted out,

"Ships, Yer Grace. And comin' along at a grand rate. The wind tha's blowin' them, it's no natural. The wind doesn'a blow like that from the East this time o'year, nor just out at sea. There's many o'the men speirin' it's the work o' the de'il himself. And I'd no say they were wrong." He crossed himself fervently as he finished speaking.

((They could well be right at that. Valerian does some weather working to aid ships from Tolan. Only rolled 2d because although Valerian is extremly skilled, he is also preoccupied.  6 + 4 = 10, 6qt2x19d6b))

Dhugal grabbed the man by the shoulders and barked, "How many ships? And where are they, have they passed the castle?"

"I canna just say how many, M'Lord, twice or thrice times ten mebbe. Yon crofters along the coast are canny enow at lighting the signal fires but no so braw at figurin'. But gi'en how they've bin comin' I'd say they'll 'a' dropped anchor in the mouth of yon sea loch ahint yon brae," he pointed to the east, "and if they gan their road wi' first light they'll be here afore Father Aidan has finished sayin' his morning prayers. The ships are gey prepared to sail and the men aboard, but it's fer yer Grace or Master Kirby ta gie the order ta leave port."

"They'll no' be coming here," Dhugal said grimly, "They've other prey in sight."

"Still, treble the guard and tell each man not on duty to sleep with his weapons. No man has ever taken this castle." He stopped for a moment in thought then added, "Late as it is, rouse the villagers, tell them to bring their bairns and their brychans and naught else. Thank God it's warm enough for them to sleep out in the Bailey tonight. We'll rouse the household to care for them at first light. And, well done! You've done a grand job in my absence."

Calmed by his master's presence and happier now he had definite orders to fulfill, he bowed, with more dignity this time and left. As soon as he was out of sight though Dhugal's calm left him.

"Damn him to the pit of hell, whoever he is! I need this, the King needs this, like a hole in the head! If only we could have been here earlier, when it was still light, we could have had them at anchor like rats in a trap." Dhugal was venting his frustration without thought for his listener and only Richard's silence warned him that he had misspoken. Turning he saw rage and shame in the other's face.

"Just say it, Your Grace. If I hadn't been such a bloody fool about the portal we'd have been here an hour since."

"And it would have still been too dark to set sail. This far north there's aye a glimmer on the water until nigh midnight but it's not enough to see by and I'll not risk men or ships without light."

"And if you'd left me be, as I deserved, and not wasted time healing me but come back by your own, you'd have them surrounded by now."

Dhugal grabbed Richard's shoulders as though to shake sense into him, then drew a deep breath and said with forced calm,

"Whoever our enemy is, he'll want nothing better than to have us at each other's throats. Nothing today has gone well, we must just pray that God is on our side for tomorrow. If we can't catch them sleeping, we must try to stop them as they come past. Send word that the men on board ship are to be roused before dawn, which is barely a watch away, and then for God's sake get a couple of hours sleep yourself."

Richard seemed to pull himself together, made as if to bow then clasped Dhugal in a rough embrace instead and made his way briskly out of the hall. Dhugal looked after him for a long moment, then, deciding he was not about to wake Mirjana at this hour went into the withdrawing room behind the dais, pulled one of the bear skin rugs on top of another, wrapped himself in his cloak on top of them and allowed himself to fall into a light trance.

Rousing himself well before there was any glimmer of light in even in the north-eastern sky from where the sun would rise he waited long enough to perform a fatigue banishing spell then moved out into the hall. Men were already rousing themselves, and out in the Bailey there were sounds of bairns greeting with fear and hunger and their mothers doing their best to hush them. Summoning two of the men who seemed most alert despite their disturbed night he ordered them to light torches and come with him down to the quayside, expecting that he would meet Richard already down there. There was, though, no sign of him, although all were following orders and all was being done with an air of calm, if tense efficiency. They would sail at dawn as planned.








Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on June 19, 2018, 02:23:36 PM
Kelson Haldane stood face to face with Denise Arilan. The king's black hair was only speckled with steel gray, while the man of religion, older by some twenty-four years, was completely white on top; neither man balding. Well, unless you counted the bishop's medium tonsure. Perhaps it had gotten a little larger than in his youth to disguise the thinning spot of old age. Few would notice. The two men had four decades of working together to keep dioceses and kingdom on a path of collaboration. Denise had at one time been offered the archbishopric of Valoret but had turned it down. He was a man best working behind the scenes to encourage others to do the right work for the right cause.  Both king and bishop were masters of the Deryni form of sharing. They each held the edges of the bishop's Prayer book in their left hands, and they each had their right hands resting atop the other over the worn leather bound cover. They looked to be in silent prayer, but those who knew better knew the two men were in full Rapport.

In quick bursts of information, the bishop shared all that had happened to find the Portal beyond the Rivergate. Kelson was not unfamiliar with the two-hundred and fifty year old legend of escape routes for Deryni in the years of the Regents. Yet the portal system had never been discovered. Some form of security would need to set in place now that it was found. And that trap would have to be broken with a new trap set by the king's men placed upon it. That would be the first thing on the agenda for the coming day. Following Washburn's captor would take more effort still. Kelson agreed the next Portal after that last one found would likely be more stringently trapped. He would not risk any man jumping into the devil's layer.

When Arilan's report was done. Kelson gave a full accounting of the prisoners. Jabir Ibn Habib from Khasifa, a man known to trade with Rhemuth for several years without ever an incident before this, was the man behind the forced induction of Lord Jaxom to steal Lady Aliset. The connection of this man to the man who'd attacked and took Sir Washburn was uncertain. The images that Dhugal had seen of both men escaping with their targets through the garderobe veil had not been clear enough to identify the one who had ultimately succeeded.  Denis could not Identify him either.

With a sigh, Kelson put those images aside. Perhaps you could offer me better assistance in identifying a more important man from two differing sources. I believe both images to be of the same man. Yet, I can not place the face, though I feel that I should.

I will do what I can, I am ready.

The first images sent were a cullage of the Lady Aliset's scrying of the first amulet that had been found on a pursuer just out of Culdi. Mixed scenes quickly passed from one to the other.
             "Who are you?" had been the question
             The answer came not in words, but in a series of scenes rapidly playing out before their eyes.  A hot clime, a majestic city in the Eastern style.  A palatial mansion that spoke of wealth and elegance. A long journey from faraway lands. A Portal hop from an unfamiliar place to one much more familiar, no more than a day's journey distant. Furtive meetings with a series of others, most unfamiliar to Aliset, although she detected Oswald's despised features among them. And central to one scene, a beautiful young woman seated on what appeared to be a throne.


Denis had stiffened at the sight of the palatial mansion. He knew that residents all too well.  The temple and home of the Byzantyun emperor. The place where Count Teymuraz had fled to after the killijalay of King Liam in the year 1128. Sources through the years had the count married to the daughter of Grand Prince Alexios of Byzantyun. Teymuraz was named Grand Duke and his marriage to the Grand Princess Justiniana produced three sons. First of which were two twin boys born in the year 1129. The eldest twin Grand Duke Iskander, Denis and Kelson had spys keeping track of. The younger twin, Grand Duke Imre was a little harder to follow. And the third son, younger by three years, Grand Duke Valerian, had been out of viewing from the spy network for several years now. The images of this man who ever he may be did have a likeness to one of these three men, but the images were not clear enough to tell which.

Kelson's next sharing was of another scryed image from Lady Aliset of just the face of a man in his prime. That face made Denis's blood run cold. Quickly following, having trouble containing his anger, the king bombarded his bishop with the newest images from his spy in Ratherkin. The Pretender Queen of Meara in the splendor of her subdued subjects with a tall man at her back.  The same man, a man just past the age of thirty, Denis knew the sight of.

Breaking their Rapport, feeling weak-kneed Denis sot-out the bench in the alcove window. "We have been following the wrong son." He said under his breath.

Kelson came to stand before him. "Which one is he!" he demanded in dis-humor.

"That would be the youngest, the unmarried one, Grand Duke Valerian Tiberios Hogan Marek ho Phourstanos/Furstan of Byzantyun. He is a devil that one. There was never proof, as both Imre and Valarian were seen on horse back together near where Alaric and Teymuraz had set their dueling wards, but it is suspect that one or both were the ones who murdered Alaric with that killing bolt, even as the wards died away and he had been proven the victor of that duel. The boys were only 12 and 15 at the time. No one thought them strong enough to perform such an act of violence. But since then, all other suspects have been proven innocent in that one deed.  And Imre has been seen to be a much less vengeful man than his father or his twin brother are. If I were a betting man, I would lay odds that Valarian was the one who struck Alaric down. He has kept a low profile for twenty years. Obviously stewing in his vengeance and planning this rebellion. I am sorry, sire. I missed the clues of this coming."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on June 19, 2018, 06:56:47 PM
Two days before the fleet of ships was spotted off the shores of Cassan, the lookouts of Isles had spotted them on the seas north of Isles.  The senior watchman made haste to Eagle's Keep, the northern tower of Castle Isles.

He knocked smartly on the wooden door.

"Enter," a voice slurred from within.

"Master Gregory, there is an unknown fleet making haste westward."

Gregory MacInnis, who would have styled himself as Lord of Isles, looked up as the man entered.  He was a bitter man.  He had married the Dowager Baroness of Isles and sold her youngest son to sea to secure the barony for himself.  She had contrived madness to deny him her bed and any heirs of his own.  Now after her death, he had no claim to Isles other than his extensive and wealthy merchant holdings.  They would have to be enough.

The watchman gave a curt bow.  "We need to light the watch fires and warn Claibourne," he said urgently.

"There is no need," Gregory said as he gazed at his goblet of port.  "They are likely merchants; we need their trade."

"These are not merchant, Master," the watchman said urgently.  "It is Isle's duty to signal to the mainland."

"Isle's duty is to look after Isles.  There is profit to be had by making the right connections.  I'll hear no more."

The watchman looked to explode in fury, but he bowed curtly and withdrew.  The last senior watchman had died at the base of the Isle's cliffs.  He did not intend to meet the same fate.

The watch fires of Isles lay unlit as the fleet of ships sailed past.  A howl of despair seemed to rise above the wind, as if the long dead Baron Solveig Cameron mourned the loss of Isle's honour.

There would be hell to pay when Baron Iain Cameron returned home.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on June 20, 2018, 05:37:14 AM
The hour was late. Kenric had made a stout effort to be attentive throughout the day's council meeting. He was good at assisting in the counting sheets and at coping letters that would go out in the morning. Uncle Brendan was proud of his half-brother's son. Time had come for the young man to return to family. Brendan was trying to think of the best way to excuse Kenric from the king's council and thereby excuse himself to escort Kenric back to the Corwyn apartments. He would come up with some other reason why he would not himself return to the council this evening. Perhaps he had letters to write to send home. Which he did, so that would not be a lie. Brendan was waiting upon the king and bishop to come forth, so that permission to leave could be granted. Brendan never thought the king would come away from his conversation with the bishop looking so pale. Nor did he expect the king's withheld anger.

"Lord Kenric Morgan, I would excuse you from your father's duty for the rest of this night. Lord Sextus, Lord Jamyl your dismissed as well. Will you please see Kenric to his family's chambers." Summarily dismissed, the three men left the room with bows and questing eyes to the others, but no one had answers to why. "Earl Stephen, Lord Seamus you are released for the night. Ready your packs and get some sleep, you shall both be leaving with Prince Javan when the army has been readied. If we haven't time to speak later, I wish you both success in the days ahead." Both lords came forward to kneel before their king. They touched his ring to their lips before they too left the council room. 

Kelson looked at the remaining five men. He gave a wave for them to come sit at the high end of the table. Prince Albin took his customary seat to Kelson's right.  Duke Angus and Brendan sat further down the table to the right.  Leaving the two chairs on the king's left to be filled by Bishop Arilan and Laird Seisyll.

"What I am about to tell you is for your ears alone. Not even Duncan, nor Kelric are to be told." The king looked squarely at Brendan. "It will be I who will tell them and no one else. Give me your word on this, each of you."

The king looked first to his cousin once removed. "I do swear to hold this information in strict confidence," Albin said with his palm open.

Going around the table each man made the oath with honesty and faith. Brendan was not least among them, though the king gave Brendan the longest appraisal before he moved around the table to receive the Arilans' oaths.

"Very good. I will hold your oaths in troth." The King took a deep breath. He did not sit himself on the throne, instead he rested both palms on the table. "Let me tell you what I have just learned. I know now the name of the man behind this girl-child who claims to be Meara's Queen. This man would marry this girl-child to be her consort, to rule over Meara and to be a constant thorn in our side." Without further hesitation and without emotion nor fluctuation in his voice, the King announced. "Our enemy is Grand Duke Valarian. Third son of Teymuraz." There was an intake of breath around the table. Brendan's fists clenched tight. He had been at that battle twenty years ago. He still vividly remembered the first and last time he had seen this man. 

"Think on it, find me the most successful way to squash this mewling pox-strewn villainous gundygut!" The king spit out the words, his voice rising with each insult. "This Whoreson shall not have that which is Ours!  And We shall make him pay dearly in this life and the next for every life that he costs us to defeat him."

"Gentlemen, I want his head and nothing less!" With that the king slapped the table, he stood tall, nodded to the five stunned men, and then excited the room. His guards in full attendance to see him to his chambers. Brendan did not envy the Queen the next few hours to calm the king's anger.

No one said anything for a long moment. If the others had their concerns, it was Brendan who worried the most about this revelation. Alaric Morgan had slain Teymuraz and very likely one of the sons had the power to slay Alaric in response. In this man's hands, Washburn had not a chance in hell of surviving. He had to get to Washburn before he was given into the hands of Valarain.  And that meant he had to find him tonight. More determined than ever. Brendan excused himself from the council room and made his way directly to the gate house.

As he had promised, Jamyl was waiting there with the horses. The guards let them out the gates with words that they were on the king's business.



((edited the time of Javan and his army leaving to be open ended, because the time is not yet chosen.))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on June 22, 2018, 04:13:16 AM
Dhugal did not at first concern himself about Richard's absence; there was an orderly bustle on the quayside which suggested that he had given the necessary commands and it was not yet dawn. It would be churlish of a Deryni who had just availed himself of a spell to banish fatigue to begrudge a human a little extra sleep, and perhaps that ale had had a rather more potent affect than the seaman had been prepared to admit.

But as the first glimmer of light began to shine along the north-eastern horizon and the sea turned from inky black, through iridescent purple to almost silver, his tolerance turned to irritation. Turning to the soldiers who had escorted him he ordered them to return to the castle and see what was keeping the captain general of the fleet on such a vital morning.

It could not be long before the lookout on the brae, which overlooked Ballymar on one side and the sea loch on the other, lit the beacon warning of the approach of the ships whose journey had been reported. The man had been entrusted with one of Richard's precious spyglasses, gifted to his family from their Morgan patrons, and ordered to give signal as soon as the convoy raised sail. There could be no doubt of hostile intent, even without the news from Meara, and Darcy's tale of cargoes of weapons. Merchant ships did not commonly travel in such numbers, and though anchoring in the mouth of the sea loch was a common enough practice to take advantage of the easily accessible fresh water burns,  ships travelling in any number would as a matter of courtesy send a vessel around to Ballymar to request permission. By all accounts there were at least a score, and maybe a half more, but no attempt to contact the coast had been made. Dhugal knew that he would have no hesitation in attempting to block their passage and if it came to a fight, well so be it. If the truth be told, he would welcome one.

Where the hell was Richard?  He could hardly bawl him out on the quayside in front of his men, but by God he would have words to say in private. As the light grew so did Dhugal's anger,  not helped by his feeling that the signal from the hill should surely have been given by now. And where were the soldiers sent to find Richard? Surely at least one of them should be back? The local clansmen might think that the seawind was bewitched, Dhugal was beginning to think that the whole damned morning was.

Seamus Graham, the captain of the Rose, the flagship of the fleet, watched all the activity with a growing sense of unease. As he realised what he must do, and soon, his bowels griped with fear and the scars on his back stung, though he knew that that, at least, was his imagination. A man of his rank was not going to be flogged when he had been obeying orders, though given the Duke's command of invective many a man under his command would have preferred a cut of the whip to the lash of his tongue. And his fear was making him unfair. The Duke might be fearsome when roused and his wrath to be fled from, but he was never unjust. He was not going to like this news, though, and small blame to him. Ah well, best get it over with.

As he descended from the ship he could see two others hurrying towards the Duke who was standing like a thundercloud on the quayside. One was on foot but the other on a stout mountain pony which looked lathered. He hastened his pace, it was best that he be seen to have freely offered his intelligence rather than wait to be questioned. He stood before the Duke and bowed low, then straightening, told his tale. It took all the courage he could muster, and then some, and all the discipline he had learnt through the years, to stand his ground before the storm that errupted.

"And not one o'yous had the wit to come and wake me?" Dhugal's voice cut like a whiplash. Though the target of his wrath stood stony-faced and rigidly at attention Dhugal thought he could sense resentment amidst the fear and immediately understood why. Seamus was a clansman, and one of those with the mysterious powers which borderers named second sight, in his case to such a degree that Dhugal suspected some Deryni ancestry. As such, he had resented the appointment of an outsider, and a human to the command of the infant fleet, and, with others, had sought to undermine Kirby's authority and curry favour with the Duke by refusing his orders unless confirmed by Dhugal himself. They had soon, and painfully, learnt the error of their ways and Dhugal had made it crystal clear that unless he himself was actually present Kirby's orders had Ducal authority behind them and were not to be questioned. All this was long in the past and Kirby had long since earned the obedience and love of his men for his own sake, Seamus amongst them. But the lesson had been learned, and too well it seemed.

Hoist by my own petard, thought Dhugal, but God, the man had some courage to come and tell a tale like that. And what on earth had been going through Richard's head? But that at least he thought he could understand, if not approve. He had been in too much of a rush yesterday, his father or even Father Col..., his son he corrected himself with a wonder that was a mixture of shame and awe, would have known better how to deal. He clenched his fists until the nails bit into his palms and willed his wrath to subside, then grasped Seamus' arm in a gesture which signified both acceptance and unspoken apology.

"It's alright, I see that you could not disobey such an absolute order.  But what a coil, what a damnable bloody coil! No, stay!", this as Seamus made to bow and withdraw as the soldier and the horseman, who had more or less fallen from his pony such was his haste, both came within speaking distance and stopped to make their reverences, "I have a feeling I shall have immediate need of a man of your courage."

((Modified to correct a couple of errors and to add a pony))


Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on June 23, 2018, 06:31:03 AM

The Earl of Marley was not one to have spent much time along the river quay of Rhemuth.  Sure he had often enough use the ferry boats to cross the Eirian river, and a few times he had awaited on barges bringing goods up from Desse or down from Carthane. It would have been rare indeed for any goods that the earl would be interested in to have them secured in a local warehouse. Usually he would escort those goods straight up into Rhemuth Castle. So Brendan was none to familiar with the riverside district. To be fair, at least the building above his head was new with clean stucco and  wide-rafters, The mud and thatch buildings of ancient times having been replaced in the style of the modern Kelsonian architecture. Down in this ancient cellar, however, which lay under this new warehouse, the sense of newness did not exist. After a while the moisture seemed to clog up the lungs. A few times during the night, Brendan had climbed the ladder back up into the building proper just to get a breath of fresh air.

In the several hours he had been in the Portal cellar, he had made some successes but certainly not the success he was looking for. Lord Jamyl had explained in full detail how Lord Sextus had inadvertently set off the Portal's trap, one which had gone undetected from the Library Portal, and how that trap had been charged the an energy bolt to knock his poor uncle unconscious for more than two hours. Brendan was all too glad to hear the trap had not been lethal.  The fact that Sextus had tried it a second time, only to successfully deflect the second energy bolt was at least showing the man's stubbornness and his strong shields.

On hands and knees, Brendan felt and learned the cellar Portal's signature. This action, at least, did not trigger the trap. Having knowledge of the trap should have led easily into the act of disarming it. Brendan, however, did not jump right away into this task, The spell casting would take a bit of his energy, and it had already been a long day. He would only have one try at this, so he knew he had to give it all he that he had.  Knowing he had done everything he could to prepare, Brendan finally focused his energies deep into the Portal stone. He wrapped his mind around the trap that someone had set there in recent days; he cast a ritual of harmonic words to cause the traps disarming. ((10:47 Brendan- need the sum to be greater than 8. Here goes. 10:47 derynibot 5, 4 == 9))

When the spell was cast, Brendan leaned back with the knowledge that his attempt had not failed, however, to know if it truly succeeded someone would need to use the portal. Not so anxious to follow in Sextus's foot prints neither he nor Jamyl are readily willing to give it a try. Rather instead they decided the next move was to find what other Portals had been used in connection with this one.  The Library signature Portal was easy to detect. Twice this Portal had received users from there. Sensing furthur, Brendan was able to discover other activity of this ancient Portal within the last 24 hours. There were at least a pair of jumps to a Portal other than the library, and another Pair of jumps to a third. Could he discover the signatures to those Portals? and more importantly, could he detect and disarm any further traps?

He put effort into the first Portal location. Yet, came up empty handed. ((10:53 derynibot 4, 2 == 6))

He berated himself on his failure, If he couldn't find the signature, he might need to wait until the next day, and by that time the signature might have faded away. Was the Portal hidden from him? That outcome did not bode well. Concentrating  with even greater focus, Brendan tried for the third Portal Signature.  ((10:53 derynibot 3, 6 == 9))

Ah, now there was a signature he could capture in his mind well enough to jump there blindly. That is if he could check for that trap and disarm it too. ((02:34 derynibot 3, 3 == 6))

He felt certain that attempt was a failure, he could feel no trap at all, and he distrusted that completely.

"Jamyl let me share with you this other portal and see if you can detect a trap." ((11:11 Jamyl helping Brendan with the portal trap. 11:14 derynibot 6, 1 == 7))

Jamyl cast his mind into the stone as he had witnessed everyone else do that day. He came away with a surprised sense of success. "Honestly, I don't feel that there is a trap."

"You sure? Is that not what you said your father and uncle had said right before jumping straight into one?"

Jamyl twisted his lips and looked at the older Earl of Marley. "Maybe I better be the one to try it then."

((01:36 Laurna Which Portal does Brendan detect. 1,2,3 =city Portal, or 4,5,6=Micheline ruins.
01:37 derynibot 1 == 1))

Before we take that risky jump, try one more thing for me. See if you can feel the one Portal that I failed to find.  ((02:54 Jamyl seeking the one portal's signatures. 02:55 derynibot 6, 1 == 7))

With his hands on the stone the youngest Arilan smiled as he could feel the other portal signature.  But he frowned again when he tried to test if for a trap. It wasn't there!

"That is really strange," the young man said. "I sensed the location as it was being used earlier, but I can not feel it now." Jamyl willingly shared Rapport of what he sensed.

Brendan came out of the Rapport equally mystified. "I have no doubt that this is the Portal we seek. Somehow, Washburn's perpetrator has locked it from our detection.  We will never find my brother," the earl said with a feeling of defeat.

"Don't give up yet." The younger man said. "Let me jump to the place that does not feel trapped and perhaps we can find a clue there."

"That would go against Kelson's orders." Brendan said, not wanting anyone else to take the risk. "Look, we will wait here for morning, and report what we have found. Then when Kelson gives the go ahead, we will make an attempt at both portal locations."

"Very well." Jamyl agreed.

((This turned out to be a lot more dice rolling than I expected. I made the best I could out of it, but I am afraid it gets us nowhere.))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on June 23, 2018, 09:48:08 AM
Dhugal spoke first to the soldier, pre-empting what he was going to say.

"Captain General Kirby is not to be found in the castle, yes I know, since someone has finally condescended to tell me what has been going on."

He looked fiercely at Seamus but more in frustration than condemnation before continuing,

"Forgive me, friend, but go back as quickly as you can to the castle and put a stop to the manhunt which I have no doubt is in place. Tell any who argue that they can answer to me if they prefer. If her Grace has risen, tell her that I will be with her before long, I hope, and she will have as much explanation as I can give her. Tell Father Aidan that his Grace asks that he will say Mass as soon as possible for all those in peril on the sea. Have you got all that?"

"Aye, your Grace."

The soldier bowed once again as Dhugal added,

"And then take yourself off to the buttery and tell them that you are to be given a sergeant's rations to break your fast. You've earned them"

As the man went off yet again Dhugal turned to the other new arrival and, as he realised who he was, felt the anger rise in him again. The man hastened forward and fell at Dhugal's feet, still breathless from his haste but clearly desperate to explain himself.

"Forgi'e me Yer Grace, but I didna ken wha else ta do. I couldn'a light yon beacon afore I could spier wha' was afoot but I maun tell yer Grace some o'it."

Once again that morning Dhugal dug his nails into his palms, the pain helping subdue his wrath. He could hardly castigate one man for obeying orders and then bawl another out for having the wit to disobey them when the situation changed. God, if he could just get his hands on Richard, Captain General or no, friend or no he would be sorely tempted to put him on the ground with his bare fists. But O, God, if he could just know he still lived he would do no such thing, and he thought again of that final hurried embrace. Richard must have already known then what he was about to do.

Reaching down he pulled the watchman, for it was he, to his feet.

"No, you did well to come, but tell me what you saw."

"All nicht there were lights doun here on th'quayside. But nae surprise at that nor that there was naught to see in Loch Mhor. The moon was aye bricht but she set an hour or more afore daybreak. Then no' long after it was full dark, after the moon had set and afore there was a glimmer o' the sun's rising, there was fire in the loch. Fiery arrows that caught the sail cloths alight in the boats and spread gey quickly. You ken how the sound carries up in the stillness and there was clammerin' and greetin', though as fer wha' they were sayin' I couldn'a tell ye. Then a great bangin' and a sheet o'flame like hell itself had opened and I knew that I maun tell yer Grace."

The man looked long at Dhugal with the straight look of the borderer and said, "But I'm thinkin' that 'tis nae surprise ta yer Grace and I shouldn'a have left ma post after all."

The man looked fearful again but Dhugal spoke in reassurance,

"I have not long been told of what was afoot, but you could not know that and you have done well. How long did it take you to come down on your brave little pony? You must be some horseman to have done it in the dark on those slopes"

"As fer that, yer Grace, we borderers have aye a way wi' the beasts." The man shook of the compliment as if it was of no account then considered.

"I reckon it took me the best part of twa hours coming down, in the light I could maybes get back up in something o'er one hour."

"It's most likely too late, and certainly too late for the beacon but go back up anyway and be ready to report what you see. Seamus!"

"Aye, your Grace,"

"Can you get him some rations and quickly"

"Aye your Grace, but only seaman's biscuits."

The man bowed his thanks but shook his head,

"Thank ye, yer Grace, and sair, but I've bread wi' me and a slab o' cold parridge. An' nae weevils!"

Neither Dhugal nor Seamus could hide a smile as the watchman mounted his pony with ease and urged the beast into a canter along the track that led back from the quay towards the brae but Dhugal's face was solemn as he turned to Seamus.

"It sounds as though some at least of his plan worked but I dread at what cost. A terrible way to die, and unshriven too, he and those who went with him. They did so of their own choosing you said?"

There was little comfort Seamus could give his master, but that fear at least he could assuage.

"Aye, Yer Grace. And no' unshriven neither. Father Nicholas at the wee chapel ahint the sea wall shrived them all an' gave them the Holy Sacrament afore they set sail. All lads from the Rose, and glad to serve. As were those who loaded the arrows wrapped round wi' cloth and the barrels of pitch into the wee boat. He told us that His Majesty the King is sore beset and we should be glad to gi'e our lives for him. I would ha'e gone wi' him but he said that Yer Grace would ha'e need o'me once ..."

Seamus looked abashed and faltered to a stop.

"Once I had stopped shouting? Richard knows me well." - he hoped, most likely vainly, that the present tense still held - "All he said is true though I doubt the King will be happy to hear of men sacrificing themselves in this way. And yes I have need of you."

Dhugal turned and looked long and appraisingly at Seamus, though there was no compulsion in his gaze. Then he smiled,

"We got off to a bad start, you and I, but I have had no complaints since and I know that Richard has none, or he would not have asked you to captain his beloved Rose. I need someone to take command, will you do so?"

Seamus had spent so much of the early hours in dread of what the Duke might do and say, most of which even at the time he had admitted to himself was nonsense born out of distress, that he was taken totally by surprise. After his early attempts to curry favour had ended in the shame and pain of a flogging before the mast he had had little to do with the Duke, and even as the captain of his flagship their relationship had never developed beyond the formal. He should have known though that the Duke did not bear a grudge.

He dropped to his knees and put out his hands for the Duke to take between his own. Weren't there words that he was supposed to say? He supposed that they did not matter, the ritual of taking service was enough but there were words that he needed to say if it was not impertinent to say them. Before he could speak though Dhugal covered his outstretched hands with his own and put into words the thoughts they both shared.

"I receive your service as Captain General of the fleet, gladly, but I think we both understand and pray that it is only until Captain Kirby returns."

((I considered having Dhugal Mind Speak to Seamus but the dice were having none of it.
1 + 3 + 2 = 6 258xrn7ddm. Hopefully that means there will be some good throws for matters of life and death.))

Seamus bowed his head and kissed the Duke's hands. Dhugal raised him to his feet with a smile then said,

"Go and gather the captains of all the boats at once and assemble them before me here. Some need to sail round to Loch Mhor to see what you will find there" - he resisted the urge to cross himself - "but we cannot leave the sea passage open so some must stay here too."

Seamus bowed again and went leaving Dhugal standing on the quayside, no longer angry but more desolate than he could remember feeling since Alaric had died. In the space of less than twenty-four hours it seemed that he had lost both close kin and friend. Where would this end?"
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on June 23, 2018, 10:42:08 AM
Darcy Cameron swished his razor in the bowl of water and then dried it on his towel.  Robert was rummaging through one of Iain's chests, probably looking for additional clothing for Darcy.  According to Robert, he and his brother were very close to the same size.

The evening before had not been unpleasant.  Robert had unlocked Sir Iain's apartment and handed Darcy the key.  While the squire had gone to arrange for water for a bath, Darcy had conducted a cursory exploration of the accommodation.  It was a single, large room, somewhat austerely furnished.  Darcy wondered how much time his brother spent here.  Across from the door was a single, shuttered window, which Darcy immediately opened to let in more light.  There was a curtained bed along the left wall.  A sturdy table and two chairs was positioned near the window to take advantage of the light; a rack of candles was ready to be used when the natural light faded.  A large, rectangular box was positioned along the back of the desk; an inkwell sat beside it and several quills.  Darcy wondered if his brother was naturally neat, or if he took care to leave nothing out to be seen.  Two large chests were positioned against the other wall on either side of the small hearth, their lids closed and secured with sturdy locks.  A tall wooden cupboard stood against the wall beside the door.  This had no lock and Darcy assumed it contained common items for everyday use.  A tub for bathing rested in the corner on the other side of the door.  There were no tapestries on the walls and no signs of any touches that might have been introduced by a woman.  Had Iain never married, or did his wife never come with him to Rhemuth?

The bath had been soothing, and Darcy emerged from the tub refreshed and very hungry.  Robert assured him there would still be food in the great hall and once dressed, Darcy followed the squire eagerly.  It was late, but during the long daylight hours of summer the evening meal was served later than in the winter months.  The high table was empty; Robert thought that the council meeting was either still in session, or the councillors were about implementing the king's decisions.   They found spots at a table that had a nearly full platter.  At a signal from Robert, a jug of ale was brought and two tankards. 

As they ploughed their way through the food on the platter, Robert discreetly identified the various men around them.  The woman usually ate separately; Darcy thought wistfully of Aliset, but his attention was brought quickly back to the food.  When they had eaten their fill, three tarts remained on the platter.  They each grabbed one and then both hovered over the last one. 

"Help yourself, my Lord," Robert said. 

Darcy grinned and drew his hand back.  "Nay, you've got more growing to do."  Robert snatched up the tart before Darcy could change his mind.  Darcy chuckled and downed the last of his ale.

Upon return to Iain's quarters, Darcy had turned down Robert's offer of assistance in preparing for bed.  "I can manage to get my own boots off," Darcy said.  "You have my word I won't wear them in the bed." Robert tried to hide a smile as he bowed and left, stating he would return in the morning.

The night had not been as kind.  Initially, Darcy slept well.  The bed was soft and comfortable; he could not remember sleeping in one so fine.  But sometime in the early morning hours, vivid dreams of roaring flames disturbed his sleep. Aliset was calling for him!  Aliset was trapped by the flames and was calling desperately for his help, and he could not reach her!  He was too far away in Meara and could not get there in time....

Darcy sat bolt upright, covered in sweat, gasping for breath.  Despite the warm night, he began to shiver.  His rational mind told him it was a dream brought on by the horror he had found in Desse and his guilt for not being in Rhemuth to protect Aliset.  He did feel the guilt; he could not deny it, even though he did not yet know if he could have prevented what had happened.  He needed to know so he could protect her now.  But what if the king commanded him to Meara?  Unable to return to sleep, he tossed restlessly until dawn.

Darcy's thoughts were returned to the present by a knock on the door.  Robert stood, and at Darcy's nod, opened the door to admit another royal squire.

"Lord Darcy," the new squire said after bowing.  "His Majesty, King Kelson, requires your presence in his withdrawing room."

"I'll dress and come at once," Darcy replied.  The squire left, and Darcy reached for his tunic.

"Not that one," Robert said quickly.  He shook out the tunic he had removed from the chest and held it out to Darcy.  The material was dyed a light blue, and the silver sea eagle volant of Isles was embroidered in white thread across the front. A sea green shirt was draped over the squire's arm.

"Isn't that a bit much?"  Darcy asked, recognizing the two colours as part of Isle's tartan.

"My Lord, you have been summoned before the king.  You must dress appropriately."

Darcy did not have the time to argue.  He shrugged into shirt and tunic.  He was relieved to be able to buckle his own sword and its serviceable belt around his waist, giving Robert little chance to pull and tweak before he strode out the door.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on June 23, 2018, 08:03:47 PM
The command to sleep had brought a quick oblivion in the middle of the night. Hours latter, however, pain and light-headedness had woken Sir Washburn, even before the sun chose to lighten the sky overhead. As he woke, he wanted to swear to the world about what an awful nightmare he had. But then he breathed in a mouthful of the fur that he lay on, and he felt the throb in his upper arm; he knew then his circumstances were all too real. He almost moved, but for a warm touch upon his shoulder and a cowled figuar that leaned down over him holding him still. The translusent figure held up a finger to his lips as warning to stay silent.  Wash blinked rapidly in a shock at the new stranger and found himself looking only up at the sky.

This haze over his mind had him hallucinating. How long did this drug's influence last?  Thinking back, the last drugged wine he had partaken was little more than half a day past. Merasha took most of a whole day to get Deryni abilities back in place. Shields would come first. Then the ability to sense the surroundings. Very last would be his Healer's Ability. Yet Healing was the one thing he needed most at the moment. In his pain, he was also experiencing a burning sensation.  He had to Heal that cut in his arm before he came down with a fever. But how? As yet he didn't even have his shields available to control. 

Wash dozed again, awakening this time to the lighting sky blurring out the stars overhead. Dawn was coming.  Again he felt warm hands encircling his left arm. He happened to open his eyes  to again see a profile of a man in a deep grey cowled robe leaning over him. There were no words spoken, but a sense of conversation filled him. You must Heal yourself. Above all other concerns. Heal yourself! spoke the eyes that twinkled like a pair of dawn stars. And again Washburn blinked, the figure was gone and the pair of dawn stars really did light the sky.

Heal? How was he supposed to do that?

With all the focus he could muster, he set himself down deep into trance. Did non-Deryni really have this kind of focus. Well, yes, the priests often meditated and used self-hypnosis, this was not unheard of.  Could he do that? Even without his power, could he convince his body to Heal more quickly just from the will of his mind.  Anything was better than the fever he knew was lingering inside the wound.

Self-hypnosis Healing...
((Washburn disadvantage roll, looking for some human  power-of-suggestion for self-Healing. Rolled = 6  Verification Number: 85kbpzbqnl))

Perhaps he was making it up, but the pain in his arm did subside back to a tolerable level. He once more looked over at his shoulder and the ghost of figure smiled down at him. The smile was one of reassurance; He was not alone in this. Not entirely alone. With some sense of relief Wash fell asleep again.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on June 23, 2018, 08:10:18 PM
The Scholar rises just around dawn and checks the surroundings. Once he is certain things are clear as the Wards did not alert him of any intruders during the night. He gets ready for the day's work. Allowing Washburn to sleep and wake naturally. He dresses more like a warrior than a scholar in the early morning light. Then he prepares and eats his own food before preparing the drugged food for Washburn.

Among the Scholar's provisions are several wineskins, each with a different colored cap. Red, blue, green. He also has a satchel containing powders, herbs, and other apothecary items. By the time Washburn awakes the Scholar is busy with a mortar and pestle. Grinding and crushing a mix of dried and fresh plants along with a powdered substance all mixed with a bit of wine. Making a thick blue syrup within the mortar.

As Washburn awakes, the pain in his left arm is all but gone. The blood loss hasn't been great or life threatening and seems to have stopped again. Fortunately the wound wasn't that deep. 

He can feel that the restrictive controls have been released but most likely able to be tripped with a mere thought from his captor now working on whatever substance is within the mortar. His normal speaking voice is available to him, but still unable to scream. And he can move his limbs.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on June 24, 2018, 03:12:13 PM
The old tinker settled his account for his lodging before retiring for the night.  Well after midnight, he slipped outside with his tinker's garb tucked inside his saddlebag.  He was now dressed as any common soldier with a dark leather cap that completely covered his pale blond hair.  His father's sword hung at his side secured by a plain leather belt.  He stopped by the tinker's cart and hid the clothes inside.  He refilled the bag with several items and removed a sturdy bow and a quiver of arrows from their hiding place.   Satisfied, he made for the soldier's barracks.

It had not been difficult to slip into the soldier's barracks and find a vacant pallet for the night.  With so many old faces missing among the soldiers and new ones who had entered during the attack, he was not worried that one more new face would be noticed. 

At first light the soldiers that made up the queen's guard we up and readying to depart.  The new soldier in the dark cap helped to bring in their morning ration of ale.  No one noticed the powder he slipped into one of the tankards.  He didn't care which one of the queen's guard drank it, so long as one of them did.

The unfortunate fellow that did was taken ill shortly afterward.  He made a mad dash to the garderobe, where he relieved himself from both ends.  When the condition showed no signs of abating, the captain of the queen's guard called for a replacement soldier.

Does Iain successfully use his powers to suggest that Cedric is chosen?
Jerusha   !roll 2d6
14:18   derynibot   2, 5 == 7
Success!

The captain of the queen's guard hardly noticed the touch of the soldier's hand against his own as he took the empty tankard from him.  Nor was he aware of the suggestion that was planted in his head.  He turned at once and noted the man who appeared to be well-seasoned and capable. 

"You there," the captain said.  "What's your name?"

The soldier in the dark cap snapped to attention.  "Cedric Archer," he said crisply.

The captain looked him over, head to foot. "Bowman?"

"Aye sir, and a good one, if I may say so."

The captain gave a disdainful snort.  "That remains to be seen, but you will do.  Grab your things and meet us at the door."

The soldier in the dark cap bowed and hastened to obey.

The soldiers escorted the Queen of Meara through the cheering crowds lined up along the street as she and her party departed from Ratharkin.  Sir Iain Cameron rode at the rear of the procession, holding the lead of the pack horse as befitted the newest recruit. 
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on June 24, 2018, 03:45:40 PM

Kelson, King of Gwynedd, obviously hadn't much sleep, for his curt focused call, seeking out where Brendan had got off too, was received sharply at dawn. If Kelson was angry with Brendan for spending the night at Portal-side than at least he tempered his reprimand when he heard that neither Brendan nor Jamyl had attempted to follow the leads they had managed to discover.  Grudgingly, Kelson could not fault Brendan's loyalty to both family and crown; the earl was doing what he could do under the restrictions given. So saying, after hearing what gains had been made, the king gave his permission for Brendan to continue his search and to make what portal jumps he deemed "Safe". Laird Seisyll had been in the king's presence at the time of the call. Having learned that his son was involved, he begged permission to return to the Portal site to assist. Kelson agreed. 

The Rapport with the king ended; Brendan sighed with some relief. He had expected far worse punishment. 'Course if he messed this up, Kelson would not forgive him. Brendan suspected Seisyll would have a greater reprimand for his son when he arrived. Jamyl seemed well aware of that and perhaps that was why he was willing to take the first portal jump before his father got there. 

"No, I think not." Not willing to take on Siesyll's wrath on himself, Brendan continued. "This time, I think we should go through together. I'll jump us there and jump us back out if we must, your sword will be at the ready to deflect any attack that may come. Even if the portal's not trapped, there is no telling who might be guarding it."

"Agreed," Jamyl said, pulling his sword out of his scabbard in a flourish and then pulling his dagger out to hold in his off- hand.

Brendan smiled, "That is not how Duke Nigel taught you?"

"No, it isn't. This is how uncle Sextus taught me."  The steal whisper in the swirl of air as both weapons swiftly spun in arcs of displayed proficiency.

Brendan shook his head, "Enough. Just make the moves count if we need them." With that Jamyl gave a slight bow, stepped onto the Portal stone and formed a Rapport allowing the older lord to control the jump.  The jump was barely a fraction of a heart beat.  Proof first that Brendan's disarming of the riverside portal was a success and that this new Portal did indeed seem to be free of  traps.

They arrived in a dark place with no window or light. And no sound, at least not, at first. Jamyl cast out for anyone near.

((Jamyl Casting out for anyone in the new portal location. 5 or 6 he can sense if anyone is there.
!roll 2d6  @derynibot  4, 1 == 5))

Just maybe, Jamyl thought, I should have gotten more sleep last night.

We both should have,  Brendan returned in full Rapport. Lets not mess this up.

Jamyl raised a violet colored handfire above the fist that held his dagger. The light, dim at first, grew in brillance to reveal the space they stood in.

They were in a wine cellar. Diagonal racks lined one wall; each niche filled with a sealed, corked bottle.  Feeling at ease that they were alone, Jamyl stepped off the portal and picked up the nearest bottle proving it a quality Finna red. He whistled softly. The opposite wall were stacked with earthen jugs of mead, the markings of Cassan. The Duke's private label. "Didn't think Dhugal sold this to just anyone? "

"He doesn't!" Brendan exclaimed. He looked at a larger wooden barrels labeled as Torenthi ale. Markings he was sure were not for sale anywhere in Gwynedd. Most the other goods in the cellar were of better quality than was generally let out in market. "Black market." Brendan finally announced. "Their using the Portal to bring goods into the city." Brendan turned back to the Portal placing both hands upon it attempting to sense would he could from it. Beside the jumps he had just made there had been several others.  Could he get enough time to work out where from and to. "Go up the steps, be cautious now. Look to see if you can identify which building this is. You know this city better than I."

Jamyl took one step up on wooden stairs, they gave a creak. And then a growl. No the growl came from under the stairs. A growl that intensified with his next step up. Two eyes came around the banister rail; large gold eyes that shown in the hand fire.  Fangs beneath a long nose snarled at the young Arilan.  Four feet leapt to the stair's bass, cutting Jamyl's retreat back to the Portal. Forced upward, Jamyl retreated up the steps.  The huge head of a black colored Norse Dane barred his teeth and growled at Jamyl, even as the huge paws followed the young lord up the steps.

"Could use some beast mastery here." The young Arilan requested, keeping his sword pointed at the huge dog's chest.

"Don't have that." Brendan said, while pulling forth his sword and coming up behind the beast as stealthily as he dared.  The dog was not fooled, he was well aware of both men. When Brendan came too close, his head swung around and gave a warning growl. The dog's head was near the height of Brendan's chest, his head bigger than a man's.  "A big one, this!" he stepped a pace to the side and the dog returned his advance on Jamyl. The Dane's growl turned to a threatening bark. That was when Brendan's off-hand palm against the beast's back. Even as Brendan suggested sleep, the door above them opened.  And a flare of shielding from the newcomer announced the man's heritage and startled both men. "Stay your tricks and your sword's if you wish to leave this room alive!" Ordered the man in the doorway. "Lokil! Come!"

Brendan pulled his hand away fast. Indeed, this God of a dog, Lokil, had not taken the suggestion to sleep. In the second he had touched the canine's mind, he had felt a shielding against such intrusion. 

The dog gave one last warning growl to Jamyl who flattened himself against the wall and allowed the dog to pass him by.  When the huge Dane reached the top steps he turned and stood guard before his owner, teeth again barred.

"Who are you, what business have you here, If you're in with the Black Tigers, I have no more business with you."

"We're King's men, here on the King's business." Brendan shouted up from the cellar floor. "King Kelson, ordered us here to follow a perpetrator. If you know what is good for you, you will answer our questions."

The man at the top of the stairs took a defeated step back. "Show yourselves," he demanded.

The Earl of Marley's blue hand fire burst lit the room like the sun, showing his full height, his scarlet red hair and his heraldry tunic. No one in Gwynedd would mistake him for any other man than the one that he was.

"My lord, forgive me!" came the voice at the top of the stairs. He bowed to his knee. The two lords would have taken advantage of the situation had it not been for the dog that kept his stance taught.

Brendan came half up the stairs. "Let us in to the building proper, we have questions that must be answered."

"Aye, my lord, I am nothing but a boarding house keeper, come in. Lokil!" the man stood and called the dog away. He and the dog stepped back from the door, into the full of a store room and then out the far door into the kitchen.  He pointed the dog to lay down by the kitchen hearth. "I don't normally have Lokil in the cellar, but I didn't want that man coming back.

"What man?" Brendan asked seeing the good-wife kneading the morning dough at the far table, three children scurried about the kitchen. One brought a bowl of raw meat for Lokil to eat. The dog scarfed the food down with jaws that could rip the tough meat with pleasure.

"Tis him you are after, isn't it. Seemed like a worldly fellow at first. Knew of the Portal which you have found. Not many know of it."

"How did this man know of the Portal if you didn't show him. And who are the Black Tigers."

"I don't deal with that sort, not for years!" snapped back the building owner with a hiss. "There an offshoot of the Nosairi out of Constantinople; most people who have heard of them... well they'd be dead." That was not quiet true, as Prince Albin had told stories of his youth as having encountered a faction of the Nosairi. Brendan kept that little bit to himself.

"My lord," pleaded the landlord. "I am a businessman. I run this boarding house the best and most honest way that I can. What I inherited from my grandfather, I did not continue with. Most of the goods you saw in the cellar have been down there for decades. I don't run that kind of business. Not at the risk of my wife and kids."

Brendan was truthreading the Deryni landlord, he was telling the truth as far as it went. "What you have down there is worth a fortune."

"Aye, and most likely to to be thrown in the stocks for it. That is how my pappy died. Hard to move such goods without questions asked." There was some truth in the man's words and some lies as well. Brendan was sure the man did have a buyer for his goods once in a great while.

"We're not here for black market trafficking. You said a man used your Portal. Within the last day, I presume. Tell me about him, who was he?"

"He was a learned man out of Saint-Sasile, an educational establishment in Torenth and he was a patron from the Forcinne states. All he said passed my truth reading."

"I am sure that it did." Brendan said calmly. "His name?"

"Count Los 'Meaux of the Forcinne. He stayed here once before a few months ago. He didn't use the Portal then.

"No? Likely he came having learned it was there and wanted to discover his signature for himself. Why have you not trapped it?"

"Like I said, no one has used it in decades, it wasn't necessary."

"Well it is necessary now!" Brendan bit back. "If you want to keep from the dungeons, you will comply to the king's will in this," Brendan threatened. The landlord cowed as he approached. "Show me this man, i must know what he looks like."

Submissively the landlord bent knee before the earl. The good-wife gathered her children into her skirts and everyone held their breath in answer to Brendan's sharp tone.

Brendan was not too kind to the Landlord as he place his hands on his head and garnered the images of Count Los 'Meaux. He had stayed here for several days waiting. Brendan guest just what he had been waiting for. For his brother to return to Rhemuth.  "Show me his room.'

"Yes, yes, immediately." The man pulled out his keys and lead the way up the stairs.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on June 25, 2018, 01:41:35 PM
The rain was heavy, dampening the sails. Water ran down the canvas in a constant waterfall; sheets of rain splattering against the wooden deck. The wind was high and the captain was ordering the sails to be lowered before the tension drove the little vessel nose down into the sea. The squall had come up fast, it sometimes did that on the Southern Sea. They were half way between Orsalis and Coroth, neither shore closer than the other, and if they didn't get that sail down, they would be driven all the way to Furstanan and on to the rocks that guarded the head of the twin River deltas.

The gaff-rig vessel was a two master. Multiple stanchions held the masts on all sides, ropes and halyards held the boom, the gaff and the sails taught. The Mizzen sail had come down with nary a fuss. The small crew of eight, with hands slick with rain, caught the lowering luff of the sail and then the gaff head pole came down with ease; lashing the canvas up in rolls between boom and gaff, all was away quickly and secured to the deck.

The squall continued on. The chop of the seas grew higher and the little vessel began to swing violently to and fro.

Squire Washburn loved the sea. He was fifteen, taller than the rest of the crew by inches, raised in Coroth where the sea was your love. He had crewed a time or two with Captain Robert Kerby, mostly to learn, always for enjoyment. This little boat, The Dolphinia, was made strictly for running messages across the channel to the isle of Orsal and back. It was a tiny skiff compared to the majesty of the  Raffaela. It didn't leave harbor all the much and didn't have a crew of its own. Just who ever was available to skipper it when it was needed. And this time Captain Kerby was on shore and volunteered for the day task. Washburn had happily volunteered too. The messages they had brought to the Hort of Orsal had not been answered until late in the day. When they left the docks of Orsalis, they could see the dark clouds far to the west. But they were sure the three hour run would get them home before it over took them. This time Kerby had misjudged.

"Get that mainsail down, before it sinks us!" howled the captain in the fierce wind. He and another man were doing all that they could just to hold the tiller and the rudder as the chop wanted to spin the boat around. Halyards where loosened, men held the tailings, barely, in their hands against the pulleys. The head gaff, a long beam longer than the mast was tall, had to be lowered on all ends as one, or a tangle of ropes would commence. And indeed even as the men were ordered to release the peak halyard, the rope jumped off its track.  The low end of the gaff came crashing down, the upper end dropped half, then snarled up, mid-way and would come down no further. The canvas, now a billowing dangerous luff, viciously slapped back and forth threatening to shove an unwary man overboard.

"Cut that damn Halyard!" yelled Kerby. The mast runner was up the mast in short time, his knife in his teeth. Washburn was brace just below him at the base of the mast, feet spread wide on the shifting deck, one hand firm on a rope around the mast and the other holding ropes taught around the free lower edge of the gaff-pole to keep it from twisting away into the stanchions. The other four men were attempting to reef in the sail, which seemed an impossibility in that moment.

The man above sawed at the rope then whistled in warning. The rope cut, the gaff dropped, straight down as best as  Washburn could hold it. Suddenly the ship's keel cried and the vessel floundered in the seas without the drive to go forward. The man nearest Wash slipped on the slick canvass now puddled on the deck, With a skull breaking fall he hit the side rail and teetered there, near overboard. Wash leaped at the man, grabbed an arm, the deck swayed the man's feet slipped further and he tumbled to the water's edge. Everything wet, Washburn leaning hard over the rail to hold the man up. Then suddenly his feet slipped too. Then both men were in the sea.  With a gulp of sea water Washburn and the seaman he still held slipped under the waves.

A calm of body and mind filled the Corwyn squire in that moment.  What he saw then was nothing short of the Sea Goddess of ancient times. A great golden shell opened before his eyes. Within it a lady, as stunningly beautiful as ever he did see, she rose up and moved in a graceful dance.  A glistening white pearl she held up in both hands, teasing him in a seductive way. Indeed he smiled as she smiled.  She tossed the pearl in the air and he kicked upward up to catch it. With his free hand raised high, he felt other hands grabbing his. He and the man he still held were pulled up on the loving deck of the Dolphinia. Racking with  coughs and gulping several breaths his chest ached, but his mind could not help but replayed the sumptuous beauty of the goddess that had saved him.

With a cough matching his dreams, Washburn awoke to the new morning. Strangely, he felt free, even though the tension proved his hands still tied. The visitations of the goddess in his youth and the saint in his dreams this night, he knew to be nothing more than his imagination. But strange how the mind plays when all hope seems lost. Because hope is eternal, just waiting to be grasped. Once you have caught it, you must hold it tight to your heart. Washburn had always been a man to see the good in the world. After a dunking in the sea and saving of the man he never let go of, he knew he could do anything if he believed in it enough.

Stretching limbs out as best he could, the Lendour knight sat up straight and arched his back,  face up to the sky. Then he settled in a sitting position, his tied ankles crossing, his knees out. The rope was taught around his boots. But though he hoped his captor would not  notice it, he felt the rope stretching and loosening just a little with the pull.

The man next to him was watching him on and off. Never stopping the stirring and crushing of a substance that was blue.

"I don't think I dare to ask what that is," Washburn said with a deep breath.  He looked at all the things his captor had brought out. "You seem to know much about herbs and drugs. Though you have changed out of your robes, I suspect you truly are a learned man. Certainly there are better, more honest ways to ply what you know?"
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on June 25, 2018, 02:03:32 PM
"We call it Blue Fyre," he answers Washburn anyway as he continues to work. "Something we came up with just within the last 30 years or so. It took centuries of research. Going over ancient documents scattered across the Eleven Kingdoms and into Byzantyun and beyond. But it was worth it in the end. I follow in the footsteps of my forefathers, just as others do."

He pauses sets down the mortar.

"Merasha and other drugs like it, take away a Deryni's power.  Turns him into a human for a time. Hours, days, even longer if the drugs are constantly given. Useful by the ancient healers to heal certain ailments and of course to prevent our kind from using their powers against others as the need arises."

The Scholar faces Washburn, and weaves his tale. "Blue Fyre on the other hand. It enhances and expands a Deryni's senses and power. The power blossoms and you can See everything and do anything. It is hard to describe it really. The words just don't exist. If the Humans knew that such a substance existed they would hunt us all down."

"I have tasted it myself a few years ago. I was contracted to hunt a very dangerous Deryni in Torenth and needed the power it granted to me. I know how to make it, part of my order's training. And as a young boy I saw it used, in fact the first time it was ever used."  He looks off into the distance, not focusing his eyes on anything as his mind recalls the memory.

"Grand Duke Teymuraz's army was invading Gwynedd in a bid to take back the throne from the accursed Haldane's. They met with strong resistance in the Duchy of Corwyn. The battle was horrific on both sides. Men dying everywhere no matter which master they served. It was a bloody and costly battle. But then he came, the Deryni Duke of Corwyn, puppet of the Haldane, your father Alaric Morgan himself. He challenged Teymuraz to a duel arcane to end the fighting. I was not privy to the terms of the duel itself. I was young, just past my age of majority, in the company of others, nor more than 15 or 16 at the time. We were too far away watching the battle to hear the terms of the duel. But we saw the Wards spring up in the field. And we knew it was time. What I didn't know then, was that Teymuraz's youngest son had been secretly dosed with Blue Fyre. My order knew what it could potentially do, but there was no way to find out without testing it. So they tested it on him, without his, or his father's knowledge or permission. And the Wards faded, and the victor was Morgan and not Teymuraz. His son used his fury with the Blue Fyre running through his mind and veins. And Morgan's victory was short lived as Teymuraz's son took out his vengeance against the Duke of Corwyn. In a powerful blast of magic, well beyond his years and skill. No one has ever suspected him because it would be beyond the abilities of a 12 year old child, even a Deryni one."

He finished his tale and took a drink of wine from one of the wineskins, to quench his thirst and moisten his lips from his long tale. "From that point on we knew that it worked. Unfortunately we later discovered the dangers of using it. Pain, sometimes madness, and the craving for more of it unlike anything else. So we use it very sparingly when we have great need of it."

Without any sort of preamble, he pours the blue syrup from the mortar into a wineskin and caps it with the red top. And then gives it a good shake to mix the Blue Fyre with the wine.

"Eat your food now. We have a lot to do today."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on June 26, 2018, 09:00:02 AM
Seamus showed his efficiency in gathering the captains of the other boats onto the quayside before Dhugal had too long to sink into melancholy. The men had continued to pour into Ballymar while he and Richard had been absent in Rhemuth, and now fully eighteen of the twenty ships that he could boast were ready to go to sea. Only two lacked a full crew, other than the Rose of course, for she was lacking the eight men who had gone to their deaths with Richard, for the more he thought on it, the less it seemed that any could have survived the inferno that had been described.

Dhugal bit his lip, he could not take his frustration out on the boats' captains, much as he would have liked to give them the benefit of all the profanity in his vocabulary. His thoughts went to Kelson and how he was having to subdue the man within the king: he must do the same. Once they stood before him, he called Seamus to stand with him facing the others.

"In the absence of your Captain General, " he paused and raked them all with his glance, his voice tightly controlled, noting that not one of them dared to meet his gaze, "and I do not want to know how many of you knew what was in his mind. He was, in however misguided and stupidly brave a fashion, acting against the enemies of our lord the King. However,  I would take it kindly," and here his voice became dangerously soft, "if you would be so good as to inform your Duke the next time one of you has the urge to become a hero."

He took a grip of his emotions. He had had Seamus summon them to give his commands, not rake them over the coals. Enough time had been wasted and before anything else he needed to find out what had actually happened in Loch Mhor before daybreak. And Seamus needed to be recognised before them all as Captain General. If Richard's actions had had little or no effect, other than to get the boatload of them all killed, then before the day was out Seamus might be commanding a fleet that needed to engage with enemy boats before they could even think of fulfilling the king's order to take vitally needed loyal men to Laas.

"In the absence of your Captain General," he repeated, "Seamus Graham will take on his authority and role, and you are to obey him as you would obey me. With obvious reservations, which I trust that I do not need to belabour. If, by the mercy of God and the prayers of all the saints, Richard Kirby should be returned to us, then he will take up his customary authority and you all, including Seamus, will be subject to him. After I have finished with him, that is."

Dhugal's smile as he said this was grim, but it was at least a smile and some at least of those standing before him dared to relax their own lips a little. With a less strained tone of voice he continued,

"We cannot know what we will find in Loch Mhor, nor how many, if any, of the enemy boats have managed to leave on this morning's tide. There is no  time to tell you why I can so certainly call them enemy boats, but there is no doubt that that is what they are."

He spoke directly to Seamus.

"Take ten of the fastest boats, led by the Rose,  and go to Loch Mhor. If there are enemy boats there that have been damaged, board them and subdue their crews. If the boats are seaworthy take them in tow, otherwise leave them to rot. Any crew that will not immediately submit to being taken prisoner are to be killed. If enemy boats have escaped from the Loch, then pursue them; the crippled boats are going nowhere and can be boarded later. I will leave it to you to give the necessary orders. For the rest, we must wait on what you have to report. See to it."

Seamus drew his sword to the salute and turned away. The gathered captains already knew which were the fastest boats in the fleet. In the long years of peace there had been ample time and a relaxed enough mood for races between the boats on festival days, and they were already tensed for action. There would be little time before they were away.

Dhugal watched Seamus go. It would have been helpful to have established a rapport with him, and with his border heritage and gifts it should have been relatively easy. As seafarers commonly did, Seamus wore a medallion around his neck dedicated to one of the saints who took a special interest in the protection of those at sea, perhaps St Nicolas, or the Stella Maris herself, our Lady, Star of the Sea, and he could without difficulty have attuned it so that they could communicate. But when he went to call Seamus back, he found that he could not. Though his loyalty was beyond question, the man was clearly still in awe of him, verging on outright fear, and the abuse of Deryni power Dhugal had witnessed in Rhemuth had left a sourness in his belly which made him revolt at the idea of using his authority to force the issue. (( 1+4+2=7, 68rbzp25j1. So much for relatively easy :-( ))

There was nothing that Dhugal could do on the quayside and he knew that he should return to the castle to talk to Mirjana. But even the thought of what he had to tell her caused his gut to tighten, and he feared that once he began to confide all the pain and horror to her, the control on his emotions that his status as a Duke and as a Deryni demanded of him would break down. Instead he watched the ships as they prepared to leave and one by one turned into the ebb tide which would draw them out of the harbour. There was little wind on this calm summer morning, the offshore wind of the hours of darkness which must have aided the skiff that Richard had taken had dropped. There was no way of knowing whether the strange easterly wind which the master-at-arms had spoken of was blowing out at sea, but here there was little to aid the ships, though the skill of the captains would use what little there was. It would be a long wait.

He walked to the end of the quayside, and then continued along behind the harbour wall to the little chapel of St. Nicolas. There was enough of his father in him for him to find great comfort in knowing that they had not died unshriven, and he knew that it would matter to Kelson too. He pushed open the door of the little wooden chapel, barely more than a hut, with a roof supported by beams which by the look of them had once been used at sea. If possible, the smell of the sea was stronger inside than out, and as he looked he realised that there were offerings laid in front of the altar, stones worn smooth by the tide,  shells and even pieces of dried sea wrack. All given, he thought, in thanksgiving for lives rescued from the sea. And perhaps too for the lives not saved, in supplication for their souls.

He had been remiss not to have come here before, though it belonged very much to the common sailors. He had been careful to make sure that the families of those lost at sea were cared for, or that those injured were taught another trade. But their loss had never truly touched him. He shook himself mentally; there was a limit to what a man could feel guilty for and he was no priest. His duty lay with men's bodies, not with their souls. But there was real pain for him in Richard's loss, and guilt too,  and as humbly as anyone else who ever entered the chapel he knelt and prayed.

Sanctuary though this was, he could not remain there for long and finally he crossed himself and got to his feet, wishing, perhaps absurdly, that he had brought a tribute to lay in front of the altar. The gold coins, which were the only small things which he had with him, would be a glaring act of presumption in the presence of the other simple gifts,  though he resolved to make sure that a few of them made their way to the priest.  He bowed deeply to the altar, then turned and left, picking up his sword from the porch as he did so.

He walked back along the quayside;  he could put off returning to the castle no longer. Thanks to his failure to establish a rapport with Seamus, and that now seemed to him more like cowardice on his part than consideration, it could be many hours until there was any news. He allowed his eye to idly scan the horizon, though without any conscious thought of what he was looking for. Richard and the small sailing boat which he had used were hardly going to come sailing into the harbour. He was chiding himself for folly when he thought he caught a movement on the hillside. Yes, there it was again. If it was that watchman coming down before the end of his watch again, he really would have something to say to him. Or, given that it was now full morning and long past the time for Prime, perhaps his watch had validly ended and he was coming back down for a well earned rest. His replacement must have gone up while he was in the chapel. He really must stop trying to find people to shout at.

As he looked more closely he realised that the movement was not on the path which led to the watchpoint but on the path which led around the lower shoulder of the brae. It was a rough and difficult path which led around to the rugged slopes surrounding Loch Mhor but by no means impassable, though it would take a local to know the beach in the tiny inlet where it led down to the water of the loch. Watching intently and focusing his gaze he soon saw that there was more than one figure, but for a while he could make out no more, and he wished fervently that he had brought one of the spy glasses with him. Eventually the path wound near enough for him to have a clear view and it was at that point that he became aware that most activity on the quayside had stopped and everyone was looking in the same direction.

"What the...?" Thankfully he realised in time that he had spoken aloud and finished the expletives within his head. Here were Richard and his crew strolling along a hillside path as though on a feast day expedition. (( 123, Richard dies, 456 he survives. 1d6 5! Miracles do happen. Tjzmzpjcq2. )). By now several of the farsighted amongst the sailors had come to the same conclusion and a ragged cheer went up. Dhugal breathed a prayer of immense gratitude but he could not bring himself to join in with the celebrations, his emotions had been too wrung and whatever else they had been - and they had no news yet as to what precisely had been achieved -  Richard's actions had been both foolhardy and a breach of discipline.

An unnatural silence fell as men realised that their Duke was not joining in the celebrations, even the usual low murmur of conversation as the morning's tasks were undertaken was stilled. It would take another half an hour for the walkers to reach the point where the path joined the road to the quayside, just before the road to the castle split off, and Dhugal simply stood and watched, seemingly oblivious as the captains chivied their crews backed to work. Only when they were near the end of the path did he walk towards them and stand a few paces down the path which led to the castle. While he waited he had considered returning to the castle and letting Richard come to him; indeed part of him had wanted to send soldiers to arrest him for insubordination but that would have been sheer folly. No, better to hear what Richard had to say at once and give him his due deserts. The trouble was he could not for the life of him decide whether those should be reward or censure. Perhaps it was possible to combine both?



Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on June 26, 2018, 06:02:01 PM
Kelson Haldane, King of Gwynedd, looked up as the young man was announced.

"Your Majesty, Lord Darcy Cameron," a moment's pause as Robert said something to the guard, "Heir of Isles." Darcy shot a look at his brother's squire, who bowed to the king and remained discreetly by the door. 

Lord Darcy did not look completely at ease as he moved forward and stopped before the long table the king sat behind. The king noted the man's strong likeness to his brother, Sir Iain, especially wearing the Isles tunic.  He was not quite as fastidious as his brother; several strands of pale hair escaped his border braid.  He whisked them away from his face before stopping and bending down on one knee. 

"Your Majesty," Darcy said.  Not knowing quite what should come next, he waited, his pale blue eyes cautious.

"Rise, Lord Darcy, and stand at ease before Us." 

Darcy rose and stood before him; not exactly at ease, but not at attention.  Kelson had the impression that the young man was not quite sure what to do with his hands.  Darcy decided to clasp them behind his back.

"Lord Darcy, it is time you learned what has happened to Lady Aliset and to Sir Washburn."

"Thank you, your Majesty, I have been most eager to know."  Darcy looked at the king squarely, giving him his full attention.

Kelson watched Darcy carefully as he told him what had happened, including the questioning of the prisoners, though he did not go into excruciating detail.  If the man exploded and went charging out to find Lord Jaxom, the guards at the door would stop him.  He watched the tension build first though the young man's shoulders; the hands that had been clasped behind his back moved to his sides, each fist clenched into a tight ball.  He watched the initial hot anger that flashed in his eyes change to cold, penetrating hatred that likely encompassed Oswald as well as Jaxom.  Kelson wondered if he should have posted an additional guard.

"I will kill Jaxom, and Oswald when I find him," Darcy said when the king had finished.

"You will not," Kelson replied firmly.  "Jaxom was foolish, but he was not responsible for what he was forced to do.  Oswald is Ours to deal with as We see fit.

"Lord Jaxom presumed too much with Lady Aliset and put her in grave danger!" 

"We are fully aware of that." Kelson kept his voice firm with regal authority behind it.  He watched Darcy take a deep, steadying breath. 

"It seems to me it would be difficult to bend a man's mind so," Darcy said after a moment, not willing to concede Jaxom's non-complicity.

"It is not that difficult for a Deryni; you can probably do it yourself. But don't try," Kelson added dryly.  "The fault lies in the motive, not the ability.  All my squires' have had controls set so they cannot inadvertently divulge what they should not."

Darcy looked shocked.  "Robert O'Malley too?"

"Most certainly.  And consider the fact that Admiral Kirby was used badly as well, perhaps even worse, being driven to attack a duke he had served faithfully for years.  Yet I gave him my full pardon, knowing he was not to blame."  Grey Haldane eyes looked directly into pale Isles blue. "I don't expect you to pardon Lord Jaxom, but I will have your word that you will not exact revenge on him."

Dice roll.  1,2,3 Darcy will refuse and suffer the consequences.  4,5,6, Darcy will pledge his word.
Jerusha   !roll 2d6
20:20   derynibot   1, 4 == 5
Atta boy, Darcy!

Darcy did not lower his gaze from the king's.  For a moment he stood his ground, a little too long a moment than the king liked, when finally, holding his palm upward to the king, he said, "You have my word, and I shall keep it."

Kelson realized he had been holding his breath; he nodded.  "I accept your pledge, freely given."

Darcy bowed in acknowledgement.  After he straightened, he asked, "What of Lord Jaxom?"

"He will apologize to Lady Aliset in Our presence.  Since I have your oath," Kelson decided he could be a little less formal, "you will escort her and Duchess Grania at the proper time.  He and his men will then join Prince Javan's forces and depart for Meara when all has been readied." Kelson thought it best to deflect Darcy's attention elsewhere, for the moment at least.

"Lady Aliset shared an image of a fortress stronghold with Prince Javan while at Arx Fedei," he said. "Prince Javan passed it on to me in his report.  I think we can safely assume it's somewhere in the Ratharkin Mountains, based on some additional information.  Do you think you can discern at least its approximate location, based on your skills as a navigator?"

"I will do my best, your Majesty," Darcy replied.  "Out of habit I studied the skies as we made our way down from Culdi and through the mountains.  There is a reasonable chance I can get us close."

King Kelson wondered if "I can get us close" might be a bit prophetic.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on June 27, 2018, 11:40:39 AM
Washburn could not help but stare at the red-capped wine-skin in horror. Unable to immediately piece together all that he had just been told from the few memories that were spared to him, he brushed the story aside like it had been told from a court jester spouting off a fanciful tale.  Then he looked into the eyes of his tormentor and he recoiled at the joy seen in their depths.  "There is no chivalry in stories full of lies nor in substances that alter the body or the mind." The knight declared. "I'll have none of your evil tampering." Wash swore under his breath. He looked away from the food near at hand with disgust. He could not even remember the last time he had eaten. Certainly not in the last day, might be even two days the way his stomach ached. He remembered sharing ale with good companions under a warded dome, that had to be days and days ago. He recalled having eaten some since, the long day in the saddle to get from where ever it was they has spent the night before riding. Where had that been? No idea!  Then his party had arrived in Rhemuth... Certainly he would have eaten then...?  Nothing came to mind. There had been those hot meat pies shared with friends, Father Collumcil, Darcy and Lord Jaxom. He stomach turned at the betrayal of that man, just like the betrayal of the food that sat in front of him. No longer hungry, he decided he would rather starve.

Seeking anything else to think on, Wash considered all of the Scholar's tale and how he could denounce it. "Most of what you say, is not right." He looked over at the scholar as he mixed some other batch of herbs. 

"Ah, but it is true, all of it." the man said watching Washburn shake his head in denial.

"No, no, not possible. My father did die in a battle, much like the one you describe, I was just a child then.  But my pa was a lowly knight, aye one of the best with a sword, I grant the, for I aspire to be like him, like Alaric Morgan. Aye a proud simple name that. Not the name of a duke! Bah! You are a spinner of tales and lies. There are no lands in my name and none that I can think of in my father's. He died in that battle, I will grant that, but to be slaughter by a drugged twelve year old? Not possible!"

The scholar started to hum a merry tune, quite pleased with himself as he stirred his herbs. "Tell me of you're family."

"What is to tell, you seem to know more than I. Pa died in battle, Maman..." Wash thought for a long moment. "She is a beautiful woman..." was all he could think to say. "Two sisters both married well one to a prince the other...." again wash shook his head, why could he not remember. "Your drugs are cruel." he finally blurted out.

"Any brothers?" the scholar asked genuinely interested.

Wash hesitated for a long time. Something was wrong, he could not  place his mind around it. The faces of many friends passed his inner eye but no brothers. "I am thinking, Not." he finally said very quietly.

"Why do you lie and tell me my father was a duke? Why do you tell me this man Grand Duke Valarian struck him down with magic.... Grand Duke Valar.... GDV" Revelation dawned and Washburn's eyes went wide. "You are selling me to this man who killed my father! You plan to sell him a sip of your blue fire too, so you can see just how he did it, as he does the same to me!"

Washburn looked wildly around him for any escape.

---------------------------

((Here is how I came up with how to respond to the Sholar/Feyd. I rolled some dice. I don't know if I quite followed my orriginal concept. scenes take on a life of their own once you start to write them.

08:48Washburn   Washburn remembers his father went to war and remembers he did not come home. But does Washburn remember who his father was. Does he remember that he was Alaric Morgan?
08:49Washburn   All memories of the Name Duke of Corwyn have been removed, so when Feyd's story begins about Grand Duke Teymuraz and the Duke of Corwyn, Wash has no reaction to that because he feels he has no connection to these people.
08:50Washburn   However, Feyd then says, "Your father Alaric Morgan." I need to know what reaction Wash has to this. This is complicated.
08:53Washburn   I am going to do this a odd way. I am going to sum up two dice 2d6, with four possible outcomes.
08:55Washburn   the sum equal to-- 2,3,4=Wash does not react, he does not recognize the name Alaric Morgan and he flatly denies that this is his father, Feyd is lying to him.
08:57Washburn   5,6= Wash does not react he does not recognize the name Alaric Morgan, but he considers what Feyd says.
08:59Washburn   7,8,9= Wash does not react but he does recognize the name Alaric Morgan, he wonders if his father really was the Duke of Corwyn, and in his confusion he decides it best to play along with the Scholar.
09:01Washburn   10,11,12= Wash does react to the scholars story, he recognizes his father's name, he still does not remember he was the Duke of Corwyn and he becomes angry because he knows something is wrong and this man before him is playing him for a fool.
09:02Washburn   This should be fun. I am afraid to roll.
09:03Washburn   what do you think Bynw/anlarye?
09:05Washburn  I don't even know which way I want this to play out. I am hoping this will give me an idea of how the next scene should go.
09:05Washburn   And yes I am stalling
09:05Washburn   lol
09:06Washburn   and no one's here to see it.
09:06Washburn   ok Here goes
09:06Washburn   !roll 2d6
09:07derynibot    5, 3 == 8
09:07Washburn   Ok I can deal with that.

OK, so I did take it a little bit from the third option toward the last one, but that is just how writing tends to go where you are last thinking.))

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on June 27, 2018, 12:07:08 PM
"Oh my dear Washburn. I am not selling you to the Grand Duke. I am merely delivering you to him. He already owns you. You are his assurance of victory for his Mearian rebellion." the Scholar tells.

"His Grace doesn't know that Blue Fyre exists and as such I am not going to tell him either. This mixure is not for him. It is for you. Your salvation if you wish to take it."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on June 28, 2018, 04:04:17 PM
Once they drew close Dhugal could see how weary and drawn Richard and his men looked. Far from the casual strolling that his resentment had accused them of, most were limping, one badly and needing to be helped along, and others had hurts which had been roughly bandaged. But they were all there, and all alive, and though the healer in him was insisting that all else except tending to their injuries could wait, there were questions that needed answering first. Not even waiting to acknowledge their bows as they drew level with him and stopped, he threw at Richard,

"How the hell did you get out alive?", and even he could not tell whether there was exaltation or anger in his shout.

Richard took a breath of profound relief, this at least was one question that he could answer easily and provoke neither anger nor hurt in his listener.

"It was none too difficult your Grace, though truly I believe that God and his saints were with us. The hardest part was leaving the harbour against the incoming tide, but after the heat of yesterday the offshore wind just after midnight was strong and once it caught the sails we were away." Dhugal's impatient glance told him that  he could leave off the details of their journey round to Loch Mhor.

"Once we had rounded the point we furled the sails and allowed the flood tide to draw us in. The full moon gave us enough light to see the ships moored there, but as long as we kept in the shadow of the brae with the moon just setting behind us, they would struggle to see us. You mind the shingle bank which juts a furlong or two into the loch? We drew out of the tide just behind it, dipped the arrows in the pitch, and set them alight before firing them into as many sails as could be managed before they gathered their wits and came after us. We maybe should have stayed longer and done more damage but I was fearful of what they would do to us if any of us were caught so we turned her head back into the tide, there's a powerful current there with a spring tide on the flood, and let God and the tide do the rest. She hit at least one boat broadside and ricocheted into maybe a couple more before the barrels of pitch went up in a sheet of flame."

"And St Michael himself came down in the flame and carried you to safety?" The irony in Dhugal's voice could not disguise his admiration -and maybe even envy? - and one of the sailors found courage to step forward with a bow and say,

"Coracles, yer Grace, afore the tide took her and then paddling like he..., very fast," he corrected himself lamely.

It had been well done and less foolishly than Dhugal had feared and the men at least deserved nothing but their Duke's full approbation. One last question before he dismissed them and he and Richard turned to their reckoning.

"I doubt that you were able to see what damage you had done?" Somewhat to Dhugal's surprise Richard could answer him readily enough though he looked downcast.

"Not as much as I had hoped, your Grace. We didn't stop to count them while we were still afloat," Richard dared a smile but when Dhugal merely raised his eyebrows he continued, "but once we were safely a piece up  the path that leads up around the brae, by which time it had begun to get light, we stopped to take tally. Three of them were listing badly and had already begun to take on water, I'll stake my guess that they are already on their way to the bottom. Eleven more will be sailing nowhere for a while yet, but with work they could be seaworthy again. That leaves sixteen that were already making their way out of the loch on the turning tide, the flagship amongst them."

((Now for the complicated bit.
Assuming 30 ships from Tolan
First 2d roll- total equals those damaged beyond repair/sank
Second 2d roll - total equals those unable to sail away but seaworthy after repair.
The difference between both totals and the original number of 30 is those that escaped at least relatively unscathed from Loch Mhor.
    1:  2 + 1 = 3
    2:  6 + 5 = 11         1ml4h0k920))

Dhugal was reckoning in his head, "In which case Seamus may have met with them and either be in pursuit or be giving battle as we speak. He'll be outnumbered nearly two to one but I have no doubt he has no more sense than the rest of you and will not allow that to stop him. We can only wait; with all the watchers we have along the cliffs we will have news, good or bad before long. I've no doubt they took all the folk of any rank off with them and left the ordinary sailors to their fate. Well, if they have no quarrel with us, we've none with them and if they are willing to change their loyalty and have it tested there is room and enough for them here."

And that was why Dhugal was so loved, thought Richard. Even now he was taking thought for ordinary folk, even those whose masters had made enemies of them and then abandoned them. He had no fear that there would be any consequences for those that had followed him. Dhugal was too good a lord to lay blame where it did not lie and indeed was most like to reward their loyalty even though he disapproved their actions. The ducal wrath would be for him alone, and that was as it should be.

Richard looked his Duke full in the face for the first time and said solemnly, "I'd be grateful your Grace that when you carry my report to his Majesty you tender my deepest apologies that I was not able to do more damage to his enemies."

Dhugal knew that they were skirting near the heart of it, that Richard still believed that he had reparation to make, but he had no intention of discussing such a sensitive topic, one that moreover touched the King's own feelings very nearly, while the sailors stood nearby. Addressing them directly he said,

"You have our thanks, and that of his Majesty for your bravery in his service, and for your loyalty to your captain general. You have our leave to go, get your hurts tended to, then you are relieved of any duties for the next four watches or until the order is given to set sail."

The sailors bowed and backed a few respectful paces but there was a marked hesitancy in their movements, and not what might have been expected from men just given leave to spend the rest of the day sleeping in the heather rather than toiling in the hot sun. Dhugal saw that they were torn between the unquestioning obedience to authority bred and beaten into them and their love and respect for Richard which made them unwilling to leave him. Moved rather than angered he dropped his formality and made shooing gestures at them with his hands,

"Off with you. I'm not going to eat him, just roast him a little. Go!"

Hurriedly the men bowed again, turned and went, abashed but reassured. Dhugal knew full well though, that all eyes on the quayside would be upon the two of them.

"Just what did you think you were doing? Och, it's turned out well enough, but I couldn't know know that when I stood on yon quayside at first light this morn, wondering when the hell you had got to! You thought it all through carefully enough, I'll grant you that, but you must know that in deliberating acting behind my back you are guilty of gross insubordination. Things are bad enough without you setting a bad example, not to mention leaving poor Seamus ill with terror at having to confess on your behalf."

That visibly hit home and Richard's voice as he replied sounded cowed,

"I felt bad about that, but what else could I do?"

Dhugal clenched his fists tight by his side and only managed barely to control his voice.

"What else? How about telling your intentions to me, your lord, and I thought your friend? If you knew how close I have come to having you clapped in irons!"

Richard dropped heavily to his knees in the roadway. Dhugal winced at the sound of flesh hitting hard stone and gestured him urgently to rise back to his feet but was ignored.

"Your Grace must do as he sees fit, and I will submit, as I should have submitted myself to the King's justice in Rhemuth. If what I have done can act as some reparation for my treachery , then so be it, but if not I will pay the penalty."

It was just as well that Richard was on his knees, for otherwise Dhugal thought that he might well have hit him.

"You committed no treason in Rhemuth, but you are coming damn near to committing lese-majeste now. Kelson told you himself that you bore no guilt, that the treachery was committed against you and not by you, he touched you in absolution and still you refuse to believe him. And just how did you think that you would have been helping him by getting one of his most trusted servants killed? That's you, if you fail to recognise the description!"

It was Dhugal's use of the king's first name that got through to Richard, for even to a trusted friend Dhugal never made free with the privilege he had. He realised for the first time that his refusal to believe the pardon so freely given, then the ridiculous fuss he had made about allowing Dhugal to take him through the portal must appear as a lack of trust in those to whom he professed to owe allegiance. In the dark of last night he had convinced himself that he and he alone must make this act of reparation, now he saw it for the arrogance it was. No wonder Dhugal was angry with him. And his dramatic act of self-abnegation had not helped any. He was in any case beginning to regret it. The stones were sharp beneath his knees and his legs were beginning to seize with cramp. Unless he stood soon he would face the humiliation of collapsing on the ground.  He made a cautious move as though to stand, but this time Dhugal made no move to extend permission for him to do so, forcing him to ask,

"May I rise, now, Your Grace?" He tried, though he feared he failed, to keep the pleading out of his voice, but the answer he received was a stark,

"No, not yet, I think."

But then Dhugal smiled for the first time, and with a warmth which lit up his eyes and he added,

"Not until your courage and loyalty have received their fitting reward. I've chastised you long enough, probably longer than you deserved, for the shock you gave me. And I will have it understood that though I trust you utterly, you are under my command"

As he spoke he drew his sword and pressed his lips to the cross of the hilt. Exhausted as he was Richard thought for one horrified moment that he was about to be run through and he was scarcely less horrified when he understood Dhugal's real intention. Knighthood was not for such as he, but reserved for the nobility. He started to protest but his words were overridden by Dhugal, sounding exasperated again but this time with an edge of humour in his voice.

"Did no-one ever teach you not to argue with a man with a sword at your throat? It's not normally done like this I grant you, but these are not normal times." His tone wavered for a moment and his throat constricted as he thought of Washburn but with an effort he put that aside and smiled again down at Richard. "And after all you've kept the vigil and had the bath if in rather unorthodox style." A memory surfaced and he laughed, "I would never have thought that anyone could argue more than my father did at his knighting, but you are running him a close second. I thought you had had enough of kneeling. Besides,  I rather think that our less than discreet onlookers have noticed that I have ceased to berate you and I daresay they will want to congratulate the new Sir Richard.  Shall we get on?"

((When Washburn watched Dhugal and Richard enter the royal council chamber his thought generously accorded Richard an honour to which he would never have presumed to aspire. Dhugal is now about to remedy the omission))



Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on June 29, 2018, 11:47:10 AM
"My Salvation?!" Wash blurted out. "A substance that could drive me mad? Are you mad? Not ever!" the knight yelled out, at least the tones of his voice were harsh even if his volume was low.

The man before him merely shrugged his shoulders, "Like I said, you can take it or leave it. After I am paid, I move on to the next business at hand. I care not that you will become the key that changes the world from the prosperity that it once had. When I hand you over, you will be his fully, to control as he choses. You won't even know how many lives will end trying to save you. Or how many friends you will betray. Valarian owns you. Do not make the mistake of thinking otherwise."

"No one owns me!" Washburn said defiantly.

"Raise both hands!" the scholar said in a low commanding voice. Almost instantly both of Washburn's tied hands lifted above his head. The knight's eyes went wide as he tried to bring them down. "Very good" the scholar said with an air of calm, "I control you and I don't even own you. Need more proof?" he smiled broadly as he gave a new order. "Lower your hands down to your throat." Washburn's hands did as requested even as he strained to resist. "With your thumbs sense your pulse. It is strong and fast, isn't it? Let us make those stop, press down hard.., Harder! Your to  press tell you feel no pulse at all. Yes, just like you tried to choke me out yesterday." Washburn's mouth opened trying to breath, he face flushed and his eyes bulged as his head began to swim, his own hands crush the arteries that delivered blood flow to his mind.

"Enough! Relax! You are truly your own man and no one owns you!" came the sarcastic words of his tormentor. He ignored Washburn's wracking cough, flushing face and vile hatred.

"That felt good, yep... to me... it most certainly did. Now we are even." He waited until the knight's coughing eased and the color subsided from his face. "Unlike what we just did, Valarian won't be playing a game, I will assure you of that. Sir Washburn Morgan, I really do like you, so I figured I should give you a chance for revenge for your Father. That is what this is for." He waived the red caped wineskin. "Just before I turn you over to him. You can have this. Then when Valarian touches your mind to take my controls, you can... well..." The scholar reached up and touched Washburn's forehead. A play of images seen at a distance relayed from one mind to the next. Bodies everywhere, gored and bloodied, a battle scene. A green and blue veiled dome in the distance. Two boys on horseback watching to one side. Two other young men a bit older than the boys watching on the opposite side; both pairs waiting anxiously. The blue of the veil dissolved. The younger two boys looked on in anguish. The green veil eased away and a single man, tall and blond, in deep green tunic with a griphon of gold on his chest stood there. Then the youngest of all the boys cursed a word and flicked his hand and something like lightning struck the victorious man. Washburn's father fell to his knees reaching out to touch the two older boys who raced toward him. Suddenly the vision was gone. "You can respond like that..." said the scholar's words as he backed away from the knight. "You can bring your father's killer to an end and you can have your revenge."

The younger Morgan's eyes brimmed with tears, tears for the man who had told him to never be complacent to always be aware. He knew that even with memories missing, he had never been shown this scene before.  Family had kept this from him because he had been so young.

"You will let me do this magic?" he said in disbelief. "To the man who killed my father, the same one you have a contract with?"

"Oh, by then that contract will be done and paid. He and I will have no further ties."

"I will have my revenge and then I will be free?"

"Free is a relative term... you will be free of this torture and this life you are living now," the scholar said with a shrug.

"You mean Valarian's men would kill me! I am not afraid to die for the right cause."

"You might die, but likely not. You would still have the blue fyre running through your veins. With your skills you would most likely get away."

"If it is that easy, than I have no qualms, I will get my revenge for my father!"

"Good, I glad you think that way. Just one more thing. A little thing..." the scholar's lips went wide barring straight white teeth. "Since I don't know how long after I turn you in and I get my pay that you will actually be brought before the Grand Duke Valarian. He is a busy man with his rebellion in full force, you must know. It could be a day maybe even two days before he seeks to touch your mind. You must have enough of the Blue Fyre in you to last long enough to do the deed right. You must drink the whole wineskin at one time. I can set a trigger to keep you from using the power until the time is right."

"And..." Wash felt a shiver run down his spine.

"And Valarian will die. It is simple."

"Nothing is ever that simple." Washburn said, feeling like he was selling his soul down the river stix.

"Because I like you, I won't lie to you. That much dosage and that much power, simply put, it will drive you mad. I have seen it happen many times.  There will be no coming back from that. Not even a Healer will save your mind. You will be locked in your hate of Valarian for what is left of your life. But that life will be short, so it really matters not. What matters is that Valarian will be dead and the rebellion will die with him. You will be a hero. Sung in songs for years to come. Did you just lie to me when you said you were not afraid to die for a good cause?"

The scholar looked so very pleased with himself.  That is until suddenly Wash threw off the rope around his ankles, he had been untying the knot as they spoke. He leaped upward determined to attack the scholar, but found he could not. Instead he yelled,  "My answer is NO! I choose to escape now and find my own way to take my revenge on both of you." He jumped back toward the low point in the wall and the beam that he had missed the night before.

((Washburn disadvantage roll 1d6, Washburn leaps for the low point in the wall, garbing for the beam above. success on 6. Rolled =6 Verification Number: 6ncz22dlv5))

This time Washburn with his feet free had the control to leap high and grab the beam with both hands. Like scaling cliff-sides that he did for the fun of it, he pulled himself up to the top of the wall. He looked down the far side of the wall and saw a short cliff with harsh spiky rocks strewed everywhere at the base of the wall and a moat beyond. Calculating fast could he make that jump to the water.

((Washburn disadvantage roll 1d6. Calculating fast, can Washburn push off and jump to the moat. A 1,2,3,4 he hesitates to try. 5 he jumps the rocks below, 6 he jumps to the moat. rolled= 1 Verification Number: 3z3hf62tt7))

Washburn hesitates, the moat is far and the rocks are precariously dangerous. He poised to jump anyway, when he heard the word of power that froze him in his place atop the wall.

"STOP!"  the scholar said with his full force into that word. "Not again? Don't you ever learn?" He stood and stared at Wash who was froze in a position posed to jump down from the wall. The knight's eyes went wild, trying to calculate his next move. "Get down from there on this side before you fall to your death on the outside.

Body disobeying Washburn's mind he handed himself back down to the inner ruined floor. But not before he saw someone on the road beyond the moat. Did that person see him? Wash tries very hard not to think of anyone, but the scholar who is ordering his every move.

((Standard test 2d6. Did the passer by see Washburn standing on the wall. 5 or 6 yes.rolled= 6 + 6 = 12 Verification Number: 3rj7f1z322. WOW! YES! My first double sixes ever!))

"Your like one of those jungle cats." His captor was saying. "Rich men try to tame them and leash them, but they can't rid them of their need to prowl.  I've seen those cats walk for hours in small spaces. Their owners periodically giving them something to pounce on so that they don't pounce on them."

"You're a bundle of tense muscles aren't you. Very well. Walk, walk around those boulders, pay very close attention to not trip on the debris, do that until I tell you to stop. Maybe that will wear you out some and prove to you that you have No Control over this situation. I decide how this will play out!"
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on June 29, 2018, 12:32:31 PM
The young man walked down the road quickly.  He would catch if for sure from his uncle for being late to the fields, but it would be worth it.  If the rumours were true that there would be war in Meara soon, he would likely be ordered out with the other archers in defense of the kingdom.  He had gone to see Lilith one more time,in case the war came soon.  She had admired his strong arms as he had held her before leaving.  Smiling, he relived the memory again.  He enjoyed her flattery.

A shadow on the road caught his attention.  Looking up, he saw someone standing on the ruined wall far up above the moat.  Sweet Jesu, it the man jumped he would surely die!  The man on the wall froze for a moment and then dropped back inside. 

The young man quickened his pace even more.  He had no need to become involved in such strange goings on.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on June 29, 2018, 01:57:21 PM
Darcy Cameron followed Robert to the king's map room.  He was glad there was something productive he could do to try to take is mind off Lord Jaxom.  His emotions were in a turmoil; the need to honour his pledge to the king warred with his need to beat Jaxom to a pulp.

The room opened off from the main library.  Several large tables were arranged to catch the best light with a few stools scattered around for use.  There was no need to ask for a map of the area Darcy needed to study; several maps of northern Gwynedd and Meara were already laid out on the tables.  Map chests lined the walls.  Calipers, straight edges with distance marks and scraps of parchment were strewn across a smaller table.  They were the only ones in the room now, but Darcy had the impression that others had worked here late the night before. 

Darcy selected items from the table and moved to stand by one of the maps. He adjusted the map to his liking and closed his eyes.  The image of the mountain fortress, but more importantly the stars in the pre-dawn sky, snapped into focus.  Now, if he could compare it to the images in his memory of the sky as they left Culdi....

Will Darcy's eidetic memory allow him to find the position of the fortress.
Jerusha   !roll 2d6
11:52   derynibot   5, 2 == 7
Success on 4,5, or 6.  Yes!

Robert pulled up a stool and watched as Darcy seemed to shift between the drawings on the map and the images in his mind.  Sometimes Darcy used the calipers to measure between points on the map, but often he held them up vertically, as if measuring an angle only he could see and adjusting them accordingly.  He used little markers to plot points on the map, gradually working his way south and west of Culdi.  More angles and measurements were plotted until finally Darcy placed a final marker on the map.  It lay on a norther peak of the Rathark Mountains. 

"Make sure nothing is moved until I do a quick sketch on parchment," Darcy instructed.  He found what he needed on the small table and returned to quickly sketch a copy of the position on the map, adding measures of latitude.  Robert thought it was remarkably accurate.

A few more notations and Darcy was satisfied with his work.  He didn't need the parchment; the position was cemented in his memory, but others might need it.  He looked up as Prince Javan entered the room.  Robert stood quickly and they both bowed to the prince.

"Success, Lord Darcy?" Javan asked.

"I believe so, your Highness," Darcy responded.  "I won't say it is the exact position, but I was fortunate that the image his Majesty shared was recent enough to not skew the star positions too much.  I doubt that there are too many fortresses to choose from at this location."

Prince Javan extended his hand to take the drawing."  I'll give this to his Majesty."  He studied Darcy for a moment.  "King Kelson has sent for Lord Jaxom to be brought to his withdrawing room.  Wait here for a bit and then you and Robert may proceed to the Queen's Tower to escort Duchess Grania and Lady Aliset to the king."

Darcy bowed in acknowledgement.  He needed to have this done and over with, hopefully without ending up spending the night in the king's dungeons himself.  Lady Aliset did not need further trouble.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on June 30, 2018, 09:12:04 AM
"I grant you the freedom to move about, and you repay that kindness by attempting to kill yourself. You would die unshriven on the rocks below. So you will now sit here. You will eat and drink what I have provided. And you will allow me to continue with my work."

With that the Scholar sits back down himself and fumbles through his provisions. Producing a small spool of Corwyn Green thread. Setting that aside, he begins to unravel the red thread around the wineskin containing the Blue Fyre. "Can't have a Morgan with a red capped wineskin now can we."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on June 30, 2018, 11:25:19 AM
Washburn came back to the furs and sat down. His mind was troubled and running in a thousand directions. But one thought kept returning to the forefront. But before he broached that subject, he looked squarely at the scholar. "You seem a man who has many means at your disposal. I don't even know your name. " Wash laughed a little at that. "Not that you would give me your real name, you likely have not used that since you were a child. But I don't even have a name to call you by." He shook his head. "I guess that is neither here nor there." He took a deep breath. "You asked me what I would die for. I will tell you. I have never had a true love nor a soulmate, if I did in the future I would die for her. But since it seems I am never to have that kind of future, that is neither here nor there either. But there is a lady that I would die to be certain that she is safe. To have her delivered from cruelty and from imprisonment, I would do anything. You are a man of contracts.  I have no money, nor land to offer. I only have my sword," he touched the hilt that was securely tied. "And I have my integrity." He looked at the wine-skin of madness and took a deep breath. "'Vengeance is mine saith the Lord.' To see wrath brought down on my father's murderer, I am sorely tempted. I want Justice and Peace above all, but not vengeance. I was not raised that way. I know that, I may not remember it, but I know it. I ask to make a contract with you. If you save the Lady Aliset de Mariot from where ever it is that she is being kept and return her safely, and alive--not mad like I will be-- into the hands of Lord Darcy and Father Columcil, then I will pay any price that is within my means to pay. That includes drinking all of the Blue Fyre and going mad, and taking out any man who is the enemy of the Kingdom of Gwynedd. I don't even know who the king is who sits on the throne. I do hope he is a man of integrity. I just know that I love the kingdom I live in, and my friends deserve every effort that I can give to ensure their safety."

"If we have a deal, I will do what you say and even eat your Goddamn drugged food."

He reached for a most substantial food on the plate, some food that would sustain him for the day to come, a meat pie that was surely tainted.

"One more thing. I won't live a shell of life addicted to substances or full of madness. I have seen that! I won't be that! If I survive this insane quest, then kill me or send an assassin after me when all is done. I don't think you will have any qualms about doing that." He smiled sadly, holding the meat pie, waiting for the Scholar's reply.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on June 30, 2018, 11:42:05 AM
"You can call me Master Feyd if you wish. I have so many names it matters not to me. The madness of Blue Fyre is only present while you feel it burning through your veins and your mind. It rarely lingers after the power fades. The more you use it the greater are the chances of becoming addicted to it. If that were to happen, the madness the follows when you cannot obtain it is too horrific to speak of ..." The scholar, Feyd, closes his eyes for a moment remembering something terrible he has seen once before.

"Vengeance against the one who killed your father is understandable. But what good is vengeance when it will surely lead to your own death. Even with the Blue Fyre fueling your Power beyond your wildest dreams. You could not stop all of the Grand Duke's men. Human or Deryni. There is a time for vengeance, as there is a time for everything. Even scripture agrees." Feyd shakes the now colorless cap wineskin. "This is for escaping, not vengeance."

"I never liked Oswald. And my contract is not with him. He shall not have the Lady."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on June 30, 2018, 06:28:29 PM
Father Columcil was already out of bed when the early morning knock came at his door. He had slept badly, going over and over the events of the last few days in his mind. His heart was wrung with fear for Sir Washburn, the young lord for whom he had developed a real fondness. He seemed so unsure of himself but Columcil had never seen him act in ways contrary to his knightly vows and his very humility made him more attractive, unlike Lord Jaxom and his arrogance. As dawn turned to full daylight Columcil had given up on sleep and knelt at the Prie-Dieu someone had thoughtfully placed by his bed. He said his morning offices, with a pang for the times he had missed them, then, fixing his eyes on the crucifix on the wall, opened his heart in prayer to the One who too had known fear and suffering. As he prayed he could not shake off the thought that his father was in deep distress; they had barely met and yet it seemed that they had already formed a bond. And there was the Lady Aliset too, something was badly wrong there, though as yet no-one seemed prepared to say what had happened the previous day.

He could not imagine why anyone would be knocking on his door at this hour but he was unused to the way of palaces and in any case it was discourteous to leave someone outside. He opened the door to reveal a page in the Haldane livery who bowed and said,

"His grace the Archbishop's compliments, Father. He is celebrating mass in a short while in his private chapel and would be honoured if you would be part of the congregation. If you wish to do so, I am to wait for you to ready yourself and take you there."

Though a little startled Columcil realised that he was grateful. He had no idea what the day would bring or what he was supposed to be doing and to receive the Sacrament would bring a sense of normality for a while, if, he corrected himself, one could call the miracle of the altar in any way normal. God knew, he hoped, that he had meant no disrespect.

As he knelt having received his Lord, he felt the peace that always came, unworthy and unprepared though he was. There was a powerful presence in the chapel which wrapped him round and he lost track of the passage of time, only coming back to the present when there was the smallest of apologetic coughs next to him and he opened his eyes to see his grandfather, unvested and dressed in a plain purple cassock standing at his side.

"I am sorry to keep you waiting, my Lord Archbishop," he began but Duncan smiled and replied gently,

"No I am sorry to interrupt you when you are communing with the One who is Lord to us both, but we may have little chance later and there are things you should know. Come through into my study, we can break our fast and talk as we eat."

Columcil found it hard to continue eating as Duncan briefly told him the events of the previous day and his face hardened as he heard of Jaxom's part in the tragedy. He found it hard to keep disapproval out of his voice as he asked,

"And his Majesty has pardoned him you say?" though he knew that his question bordered on disrespect.

"His folly and arrogance allowed him to be vulnerable to another's evil, but the evil itself was no more his than it was Richard Kirby's, though I grant you that the royal pardon given to him had much more of the King's own personal desire in it. Jaxom must humble himself before Lady Aliset and pray her pardon too, then Prince Javan has agreed that he should be allowed to redeem himself by serving in his company."

Columcil barely managed to prevent himself from saying, "And good riddance," but he had the uncomfortable feeling that his thoughts were only too apparent and, though understood, would not be allowed to pass by his companion, either as his religious superior or his grandfather.

But Duncan made no comment, merely continued,

"Jaxom is to present himself before his Majesty in the king's withdrawing room sometime today at his Majesty's pleasure. Her Royal Highness, Duchess Grania, will bring Lady Aliset there to receive Jaxom's apology and she is also to be attended by Lord Darcy."

This time Columcil could not restrain himself,

"That is asking for trouble!" Then he remembering himself, he bowed his head and murmured,

"Your pardon, your Grace. I am not questioning His Majesty's decision but Darcy will find it hard to keep his hands off Jaxom. And I would not like him to find himself in trouble for it."

Duncan sighed loudly,

"Neither would I, though I understand why the King feels it is better that the two should meet in his own presence. He hopes that Darcy will be sufficiently overawed to restrain himself. I must say, I have my doubts. Which is why I intend you to be there too, to add your influence and if necessary your physical restraint. If the King was forced himself to restrain Darcy, the consequences for the latter could be very serious indeed. I will speak to his Majesty this morning and make sure that you are sent for. It might be best if you stay here in my suite until then. Feel free to avail yourself of any of my books, though I and many others would be grateful indeed for your prayers. Now I must leave you to wait on the King."

Duncan got up from the table and Columcil rose with him, bending his knee in homage and bowing to kiss the archiepiscopal ring. Duncan did not at once withdraw his hand but looked down with both love and concern at Columcil.

"I think Jaxom will need you too. As you need him."

Columcil looked up rebellion and denial in his eyes but said nothing as Duncan continued,

"Not least to remind you, what I am sure you know well, that Christian charity has nothing whatsoever to do with your likes and dislikes."

Rebuked, Columcil bowed his head again and remained on his knee until Duncan had left the room."

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on June 30, 2018, 07:52:46 PM
"He shall not have the Lady." Master Feyd did say this, his gaze locked straight with that of the Lendour Knight's. There was  honest conviction in his voice.

Washburn nodded, watching the man closely, finally satisfied. "At least in this, I find you have some honor. I do trust you at least far enough to keep that honor for the sake of the lady."

The knight's eyes drifted to the meat pie in his hand and the other foods on the plate before him. His stomach ached to gobble it all down, but his hand was shaking, finding it difficult to bring it to his lips. "I think it is easier to be stabbed with your pricker than to eat this. But truth is I am famished. If I can find the courage to do this.... How much can I swallow before the taint you have placed in this takes effect? I guess I had better just do it, and eat it all down as fast as I may. Then swish it all down with your tainted wine. If I eat it so fast it makes me violently sick, then I will be the one with the last laugh," he said in salute to Master Feyd with a brave smile.

With that, he did just as he said he would do. Young men knew how to eat quickly before the chiefs of the kitchens could grab the food away from them. Once the food was eaten, what could a chief do but go to his parents. And Washburn's parents weren't here. He ate the pie, he ate the meat rolls, the cheese, he even ate the fresh fruit leaving only the seed. Then in a half fainting spell, he managed to stay awake long enough to swallow the whole jug of water chasing it down with the cup of wine. Wine not from the  wineskin that had had the red threads removed from the cap. At least he stayed aware long enough to be assured of that. Still sitting up, Washburn Morgan passed out into dreamless mind numbing oblivion. The weak shields that had just been stirring around his mind, beginning to return, faltered and dissolved away, gone.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on July 01, 2018, 02:40:38 PM
Darcy Cameron took the time to straighten his tunic and smooth back stray stands of pale hair while Robert announced them to one of the guards outside the door to the Queen's Tower.  As the door was opened, he took a deep breath.  He was not sure why he felt nervous; perhaps he was not sure how well Lady Aliset would tolerate his presense.

The large hall was cool compared to the warm summer morning.  He and Robert did not have to wait long before Duchess Grania and Lady Aliset arrived.  As he bowed to both women, Darcy noted that Aliset wore the same dress and coif she had worn when they were first presented to the king.  She had the same effect on him now as she had then.  Unfortunately, she noticed the fact.

"I wanted to wear something simpler, but her Grace felt this would be more appropriate," Aliset said.

"Forgive me, my Lady," Darcy said.  "But you would look as lovely no matter how plain a dress you wore."  Duchess Grania gave him a stern look, but Aliset managed a small smile.

Robert gallantly offered the duchess his arm, and she smiled her acceptance.  Darcy did not offer Aliset his arm, thinking it was better not to put her the positon of preferring to refuse it.  Instead he walked beside her on her left side, his sword ready if he needed it.  Her walk was steady now, and she walked with the dignity of a nobley born young woman.  Darcy was suddenly conscious of the fact his own gait still had a slight roll.

They made there way to King Kelson's withdrawing room without incident. Again, Robert announced their arrival to the guard outside the door.  Once inside, the ladies curtseyed and the Darcy and Robert bowed.  Upon rising, Darcy studied the room and its occupents the same way he studied a map, noticing each person't position carefully.

King Kelson was seated at the centre of the table.  Prince Javan sat to his right and Archbishop Duncan on his left.  Lord Jaxom stood at the end of the right side of the table.  He looked pale and stood stiffly.  Darcy remembered that Sir Washburn had stabbed him in his left side.  Perhaps the wound still pained him; Darcy hoped so.

Darcy had not expected to see Father Columcil.  He was a welcome sight, and Darcy nodded in his direction.  The priest nodded in return.  Darcy thought he looked uncomfortable and a bit wary.

"Lady Aliset, We thank you for attending Us," Kelson said gently.  "While We know this may cause you some distress, Lord Jaxom Trillick must apologise for his transgressions.  Please approach; Lord Darcy, I would like you on the lady's right."

Columcil mentally nodded approval.  Darcy now could not easily draw his sword without risking harm to Aliset.

"Lord Jaxom." Jaxom moved forward until he stood before Lady Aliset but not too close.  He went down on one knee and then cleared his throat.  Darcy watched every move he made.

"Lady Aliset," Jaxom began. "I have caused you great harm, though it was never my intention."  Darcy stiffened, but did not move.  "I hope you can find it within your heart to forgive me.  I promise from this moment forward to treat you with honour and respect, and to never again cause you harm.  I pledge this on my honour as a knight."  Jaxom bowed his head and then looked hopefully up into her eyes.

Lady Aliset stood stifly erect, looking at Jaxom without expression.  She was keeping her innermost feelings strictly to herself.  After a moment, she replied.  "I will accept your apology, Lord Jaxom."  She did not trust herself to say anything more.

Lord Jaxom bowed his head again and then looked up and smiled at her.  "You give me hope for a better future, my Lady."  He began to rise; Columcil began to slowly expell the breath he had been holding.  "Perhaps you would do me the honour of escorting you to dinner..."

Darcy moved forward to quickly for anyone to stop him.  He grabbed the front of Jaxom's tunic with both fists, lifted him the rest of the way to his feet, and slammed him against the far wall.  Jaxom gasped with surprise and pain.

"LORD DARCY!" King Kelson belowed.  Father Columcil mored forward quickly to grasp Darcy's left arm.

"Your Majesty," Darcy said calmly while his pale eyes bored into Jaxom's.  "I have not broken my word to you not to exact vengence on Lord Jaxom. But," he continued, his voice becoming hard as northern ice, "you will heed my warning, Jaxom Trillick.  If you ever again lay a hand on Lady Aliset, or approach her without her explicit consent, given of her own free will, you will wish I had killed you now. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Jaxom hissed, his teeth tightly clenched.  Whether it was from pain or anger, Columcil could not tell.

Darcy nodded and released him.  He stepped back just far enough to Jaxom edge along the wall and out of reach.

Jaxom could not let it go.  "You could do far better than this oaf, Lady Aliset," he sneered.  Columcil tightened his grip on Darcy's arm, but Darcy stood calmly.  "Though how many others will be willing to overlook the tarnish to your reputation?"  Jaxom shrugged.

Jaxom had not moved quite far enough away.  Darcy's fist shot out and caught him full in the face.  Jaxom's hand flew up to protect his face and Columcil hauled Darcy backwards. 

'How dare you!" Jaxom cried from behind his hand.  "Your Majesty, I demand he be punished!"  With that declaration, Jaxom pulled his hand down from his face.  Blood was streaming from his broken nose.  He looked at the blood pooled in the palm of his hand and fainted.

"Well bloody hell," Darcy said into the dumbfouned silence that followed.

It did not last long.  King Kelson waived Darcy back and Columcil forward.  Jaxom was already beginning to come to his senses, and Columcil helped him to sit up.  Kelson turned his angry gaze on Darcy.

Darcy had the good sense to kneel.  "Your Majesty," he said quietly.  "I do not believe I have broken my pledge to you.  I have taken no vengence, but I did defend Lady Aliset's honour.  She has done nothing to deserve such disdain."  Darcy paused for a moment, calm and composed.  "But if your Majesty believes otherwise, I will submit to whatever punishment you deem fit willingly, without objection."

King Kelson sat for a long moment.  Lord Jaxom was now on his feet, a cloth held to his nose, supported by Father Columcil.  Prince Javan stood beside the king; Archbishop Duncan sat looking thoughtful.  Duchess Grania had moved forward to stand beside Aliset.  Aliset, after initially looking horrified at what had happened, appeared strangely calm.  Robert stood near Darcy, not sure what he should do.

"Lord Darcy," the king said.  "You will escort Duchess Grania and Lady Alset back to the Queen's Tower.  Then you will proceed to your quarters and remain confined there until I decide whether I agree with you or not.  Father Columcil, please take Lord Jaxom to the infirmary and heal his injuries."

"Your Majesty," Darcy said and rose to his feet.  Robert passed him a handkerchief to wipe Jaxom's blood off his glove.  Darcy approached the two women and bowed. He looked at Lady Aliset, uncertain of what her reaction would be.

Aliset held out her hand to take Darcy's arm.  Surprised, Darcy held his arm out to accept it, gladdened, but suddenly feeling uncharacteristically shy.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on July 01, 2018, 03:40:29 PM
As Father Columcil led Jaxom away, the few in the withdrawing room who had the royal privilege of witnessing this, were quiet. After, as the Lady Aliset took Lord Darcy's arm and the two noble youths backed away from the king, half-way across the room, and then turned to leave, a clapping started from somewhere near the high table. Neither dared to turn around just to see who it had been. That pair of hands was joined by at least 3 pairs of other clapping hands.  It was not until Lord Darcy and Lady Aliset had reached the door and it began to open that the royal cough and clearing of throat ended the show of approval. Even then a voice yelled out, "For bravery and courage!" and then the two women and their escorts were back out in the hall, finding their path back to the Queen's Tower.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on July 03, 2018, 12:37:01 AM
As the door closed there was an awkward silence in the King's withdrawing room as though all of the three who remained within had suddenly been caught in inappropriate behaviour. Finally Kelson said in his driest voice,

"Well, that went well! If I had had the forethought to enter into a wager with you Javan, I could now be the gainer by two forfeits."

Unable to read his father's expression Javan replied warily,

"How so, Sir?"

"Correct me if I misquote, but I believe you said, 'You can't just thrash people because it makes you feel better.' I would say that our young Lord Darcy has rather effectively proved you wrong."

Was he being seriously rebuked? Javan really could not tell. His only reassurance was that Uncle Duncan sat there quite unperturbed but he was still wary as he enquired,

"And the other forfeit I owe?"

"'Go a little more easily on him...allow him to prove himself'. Well he has proved himself: to be the world's biggest fool!"

"I am truly sorry if my words to your Majesty were ill-advised," Javan was beginning apologetically but stopped when he saw his father's smile and realised he was being teased, if a little sourly.

"My pleasure, Sir, to provide a release for your frustration. You're just jealous because you couldn't hit him yourself. But you have the last laugh on me, I have to endure the man in my company and entirely through my own doing. Perhaps once on the road he'll make a better showing?"

As Javan was speaking, Kelson had risen and gone to the chest in the corner of the room on which stood a flagon and goblets. He poured wine for each of them, and when he had served Duncan and Javan, brought his own goblet and sat back down.

"Well, enough of him for the present, although I will have to censure Darcy in some way, much as I will dislike doing it. Violence offered in the King's presence cannot go unpunished, however much I, as Kelson, secretly may applaud the reason. Apart from anything else, I have no desire to be visited by Nigel's ghost reading me a lecture on how discipline has lapsed since his day."

He smiled at Javan. "Forgive my ill-humoured jibe. You were in the right of it in the dungeon, but it always leaves a sour taste in my stomach when mercy is taken as licence."

The King sat brooding for a while, apparently lost in dark thoughts, while Duncan and Javan nursed their own wine in silence. Then, almost visibly shaking himself out of his gloom, Kelson brightened and said,

"Whereas yesterday's other recipient of my royal pardon seems to have taken it as licence to make a hero of himself."

Javan and Duncan both looked puzzled but it was Duncan who spoke his query.

"Richard Kirby? But it can only have been a couple of hours short of midnight, at the most, when he and Dhugal returned to Ballymar, and both of them fit for nothing but sleep."

"So one would have thought," agreed Kelson dryly. "So Dhugal thought. Despite the fact that they returned to the news of thirty ships moored without so much as a "by your leave" in Loch Mhor.  Dhugal resigned himself to the fact that they could do nothing overnight and snatched himself a few hours sleep. Not so our Sir Richard."

Both Javan and Duncan's eyebrows went up at that. Respected though Dhugal's Captain General was, he was not of gentle birth nor was the seaman's code that of the Knight.  As Darcy had just amply proved.

Kelson was smiling properly now.

"Dhugal told me the whole tale when we Spoke an hour or so ago. It's worth the hearing, one of the few bits of good news these past days. Though Richard insisted that Dhugal crave my pardon on his behalf that he only managed to disable half the fleet."

"By himself, in the dark?" Not wishing to contradict his father, Javan could nevertheless not prevent himself from sounding sceptical.

"He and eight of his hand-picked crew. And yes!"

Kelson recounted the tale as Dhugal had told it,  finishing 

"He said that he hardly knew whether to clap him in irons or embrace him. He sent the other eight out of earshot, though every eye on the quay was glued on them, and gave him a tongue lashing that drove poor Richard to his knees. Then Dhugal drew his sword, out there in the roadway and knighted him there and then. He was worried when he spoke to me that he might have overstepped his authority but how else could such a deed be rewarded? I told him to tell Sir Richard that my only regret was that it was not my hand and sword that had the privilege of conveying such a well-deserved  honour. And the man is still half- convinced that he deserves hanging as a traitor."

Kelson looked distressed for a moment then grinned in a most unregal fashion at Duncan.

"Acording to Dhugal, Richard did his best to argue him out of it. He told him that he had never heard anyone protest so much about being knighted apart from his father.."

Duncan smiled but said nothing and it was left to Javan to respond to his father's tale.

"Doubtless Jaxom and his ilk would protest the giving of such an honour to a commoner,  but well-earned indeed. We'll all have to polish our spurs to match such a deed, though I fear there'll be plenty of opportunity."

"I fear so too. And though there has been no time for Dhugal to interrogate those left stranded in the Loch I fear that they can only have been heading for Lass. Their origin can only be bad news for Liam too. I need to reconvene the Council, if you would give the necessary orders, Javan. But first, let's toast our new and well-deserved Knight."

It was perhaps as well that Sir Richard was not there to be embarrassed by the honour, as  King, Prince and  Archbishop all stood and raised their goblets in respect to him.






.









Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on July 05, 2018, 02:03:40 PM
The room was too clean. No clutter on the floor, no rumple in the bed covers, no dust on the desk. The Earl of Marley looked the room over making a cusury sweep for anything that belonged to his brother.

((01:24 Brendan Brendan seeking anything of Washburn's in the sleeping room at the boarding house. Advantage roll success on 5 or 6.
01:24 Brendan !roll 3d6
01:24 derynibot 1, 4, 3 == 8))

Disappointed that he could find no evidence of his brother, the earl turned to the landlord, asking about the perpetrator's stay.  "You say this man used your Portal, when did he arrive?"

The boarding house owner, nervous for his own future with the King's laws, spoke freely and a bit briskly in an attempt to free himself of any crime his tenant must have done. "That would have been four days ago, my lord. Lokil cornered him when he entered the kitchen. I'd been at the front of the house, so I knew he didn't arrive by normal means. I recognized him from staying here previously. He asked for a room for a few nights; said he was waiting for a friend to arrive." The earl's steely gaze told the landlord to continue. "He was a quiet man, my lord, appeared to be a man of learning. He went out each day and would not return until supper. A few times he returned with scrolls and he always carried a bag at his side. I chanced a look once, saw lots of herbs, thought maybe he was an apothecary or even medicine man. Then the day before yesterday he said his friend had arrived and we didn't see him until the next day, that had been yesterday. He arrived by portal just before the mid day meal. He asked if the good-wife would do a little cooking for him."

"What did he want?" The earl asked sternly.

"The count requested enough food to feed he and his friend for three days: sliced meats, cheeses, breads and fruits, that kind of thing. He also asked she cook up some meat pies and tarts. As she was preparing them he added his own special herbs; said his friend liked a certain flavor, one he himself wasn't too fond of, so he only added them to half the baked goods. Marked the crusts with an "M" so he know which ones. When good-wife asked to give it a taste herself, she brought on the count's anger. 'E said the taste was too good for 'er and he would know if she tried it so she better keep her fingers out of his baking goods. She told me letter that he had given her a right good scare. That is why I won't welcome him back. Well that and the fact he stole two my best bottles of Fianna red, he did leave some coin but not near what they were worth. Oddly, he had taken two bottles of sweat Dhessa wine too. If you like either of those you will never like the other. Two completely different palatable tastes." the landlord rambled on.

"It would be a good thing your lady headed her fears and didn't taste the pies. I suspect this count poisoned them."

The man stopped what he was about to say, clutching his hands suddenly across his chest. "Lord have mercy!"

"I pray that He does!" The earl stated as he pulled back bed sheets and looked under the mattress and the bed springs, finding nothing.

"You said this man carried a satchel of herbs, what else did he have with him?"

"He came and went from the schola, carried several scrolls in his belt like other men carry weapons. Had a second bag with clothes. Oh yeah, and when he first arrived he had a long rolled up bed roll. Odd that I never saw that again after the first night.  Seemed stiff and heavy too, what with the way that he carried it across his back. Kind of like a man would carry a staff or a sword." The landlord stopped for a moment thinking.

Brendan looked the man over with shrewd eyes. "You never saw this again? What happened to it."

With that both men started searching the room anxiously. Finding not the bed roll in the obvious places. The Earl of Marley stood tall, focused on his signet ring, and scried the room with a keener eye.

((01:29 Brendan Brendan, Specifically looking for the bed roll. Advantage roll Success on 5,6
01:30 Brendan !roll 3d6
01:30 derynibot 2, 3, 1 == 6))

He couldn't find what he was looking for, but something about it made Brendan's hairs stand at the back of his neck. During that brief meeting between brothers at Sunday mass, there had been little time for discussion. Brendan had not heard the story, not until much later in the king's council after his brother had been pronounced missing. When he had heard it, he felt ashamed that Wash had kept his brush with Merasha from him, also he had been angry at first to hear that his little brother had lost the Lendour Greatsword. Brandon surely would have berated him, if he had learned of it sooner. A question started to nag at Brendan, was this perpetrator the same man who had orchestrated the Merasha attempt? The Lendour greatsword was priceless and not a sword easily mistaken for any other sword. It would have been easily recognized in Rhemuth Castle by guards and nobleman alike.  Therefore, was it possible that the sword was still here? Somewhere in this building?

This room was too clean. It had been given a psychic sweep when the man had left it. Brendan left the room going back down the stairs where the building gave off the normal sensory input of living. He saw that Jamyl was at the entrance, leaning out through the open door.  Outside, Brendan could see the roof-line of St. George's Cathedral just over the next street. They weren't far from the Cathedral square then. Jamyl read off the sign over the door frame. "White Rose Boarding House."

"You changed the name. Didn't this place use to be called the Black Rose?"

"When grandpa died, I changed the name. Told everyone I don't do that business anymore."

Jamyl looked glassy eyed for an instant. "My Pa is coming by portal..." he announced.

"You best go meet him in the cellar and don't go tangling with that giant dog Lokil."

When the landlord left with Jamyl to be sure the dog behaved himself, Brendan was left alone in the entry way. The bed roll story was nagging at him. Making one last try, he cast his mind out, this time scrying not only for the bed roll but for the chance of finding Washburn's missing sword.


(( Brendan making one last psychic search for  Washburn's sword. 6 + 1 + 6 = 13 Verification Number: 3230qzx9wd))

He was nearly stunned by the instant image of the long sword very near to him in a dark recess. Only a stripe of horizontal sunlight seemed to expose the cross hilt. Brendan looked around him. The sunlight pouring in through the open door was laying across the entrance floor and touching the lower steps of the stairs. Being drawn to the stairs, Brendan touched each of the sun bathed steps; they were all firmly in place. But his fingers were nearly burning with desire to pull them up. Staying that destruction, he moved to the side of the staircase and felt his hands brush the paneling. Sure enough one was loose. Before even considering what he was doing, he ripped the paneling off. His hand shook as he reached in to lift up what he had found. In a strip of sunlight coming in from a crack in the risers lay a long great sword, the Lendour great sword. He lifted it up. The hilt was defiled; the two rubies at the cross on either side were pried out and missing, the great plover sized ruby at the pummel was likewise gone. A parchment was tied around the hilt.

Brendon undid the leather throng and unrolled the parchment; his hands going cold as he read. In seconds his long legs carried him down passed the kitchen, the store room and into the Portal room cellar. Laird Seisyll had just arrived taking in a full accounting from his son. When he saw the sword in Brendan's hand, his eyes went wide. Seisyll extended a hand for Brendan to share what he knew. Very briefly Brendan did. Then without words, Brendan took a good bottle of Fianna red from the wine racks and stepped onto the portal, seeking the Royal Library,  and then permission to have an audience with the king.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on July 05, 2018, 07:37:07 PM
Note:  Mor is the Norwegian name for mother.

Darcy Cameron leaned against the window casement as he looked across the courtyard.  There was a bustle of activity, though he could not be sure if there was more activity than normal.  Were preparations underway for Prince Javan to march toward Meara?  How long could the king wait before sending reinforcements to Duke Kelric?  Would sufficient forces already be available in Rhemuth?  Would more be marching south from Cassan and Claibourne?

More important, how long would it take for the king decide what to do about Darcy Cameron?

One time at sea, when he had chanced to complain about having too much to accomplish before setting sail, the Quartermaster had rebuked him.  "Those whom the Gods wish to destroy they first make bored," he had said.  Darcy was certainly bored now.  Why hadn't the king banished him to the practice field, where he could have worn himself out by now?  Or sent him to the map room; he could have spent days there and not gone through half of it?  Which was precisely why he was stuck here.

Darcy turned back toward the table and sat on one of the chairs.  He had no difficulty justifying what he had done to Jaxom, but whether the king agreed personally or not, good order and discipline needed to be maintained.  Darcy had served at sea long enough to understand that, and he had been on one side or the other of that process more than once.  He wasn't overly concerned about the punishment, so long as he wasn't forbidden to see Lady Aliset.  Anything else he could easily endure.

Lady Aliset!  The smile she had bestowed on him when he left her safely inside the Queen's Tower would warm his heart for many days, and probably nights as well.  Don't go there, he said to himself firmly.

He reached for the box on the table.  Something was wrong about it, though he wasn't quite sure what.  As Darcy examined it more closely, he realized what it was; he could see no way to open it.  Surely it wasn't just a block of wood; he shook it gently and heard several things move inside of it.  He twisted it and turned it but saw no sign of a latch or hint of a line that would separate top and bottom.  Nor was there one that would separate it side-to-side.  For a moment he thought about hurling it against the wall.  While that might help relieve some of his current frustration, he doubted his brother would be pleased. 

Darcy sighed, set the box in the middle of the table, and ran his finger completely around the bottom of the box.  Soundlessly, the lid slid upward.  Darcy was not one to take the chance of closing the box to see if he could open it a second time.  He lifted the lid upward and off and then pulled the bottom of the box closer.

Inside the box was a roll of parchment tied with a cord.  There was also a ring.  A pendant seal was attached to the bottom of the parchment.  Darcy saw that it was imprinted with the Sea Eagle of Isles.  Along the side of the parchment two word were written:  Darcy Solveig.  Carefully, Darcy slipped off the cord, unrolled the parchment, and read the contents.

Darcy Solveig:

If you are reading this, you are alive, and I rejoice in that fact.  Although I know it is more likely that you died many years ago, something in the last letter Mor wrote to me made me wonder. She said that you had gone to the safest harbour.   At the time I thought she meant eternity; later, I wondered if she meant something else.  So, now I write this, in case stepfather's message was a lie.

You are Heir of Isles and always will be until my death.  I will never marry.  While I would welcome the comfort of a wife, I cannot sire children.  I would not want to deny a wife that joy.

We both fell ill with the mumps just before I was to be sent to Rhemuth to train as a squire.  You suffered only a mild fever and swollen cheeks; I fared much worse.  In fact, I almost died.  By the time the fever and inflammation abated, it was apparent I would not produce an heir.  When several years later stepfather sent word that you had died of a fever, I was convinced the Camerons of Isles had come to an end.

When King Kelson offered me the opportunity to serve him in a more obscure manner than most, I accepted.  I will not put the details into writing, but I thought at the time it would be safe to leave Isles in stepfather's care.  I have since learned that decision was a bad one.  The king has promised to grant me leave to set things straight once the present troubles are settled.

If that promise cannot be fulfilled, it will be up to you as heir.  I have left the Heir's Ring here for you.  Wear it now by right of privilege.  I trust you to put things right.

And I hope you have finally learned how to stay on a horse.

               Iain Reyvik


In spite of the seriousness of the content, Darcy chuckled at the last line.  It had taken him longer than most to learn to ride.  His father's riding master swore it was because Darcy was too easily distracted by everything else around him and not paying sufficient attention to the horse beneath him.  Nevertheless, Darcy had finally mastered the skill; he had stopped counting the bruises long before.

He picked up the ring from the box and held it to the light.  It was a wide band of beaten Isles' silver.  Etched on the surface was the label and three points of the heir; in this case, each point was a sea eagle.  Darcy reached inside his tunic and pulled forth the ring he still wore on a chain.  Tarnished and worn, if he looked closely he could still see the etchings of the same label and points.  Iain had given it to him before he left for Rhemuth.  Darcy had forgotten its significance, until now.

Darcy slipped the Heir's Ring on his right index finger.  It felt as if it belonged there.  He would look after Isles and right what was wrong, if it fell to him to do so.  He rerolled the parchment, tied the cord around it and replaced it in the box.  He closed the lid and sat back on the chair.  Iain's letter had answered many questions, but left more unanswered.  His mind reviewed all of the information again.  He had time to consider all of it.  More time than he wanted, at the moment.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on July 07, 2018, 02:18:46 PM
The Earl of Marley, knelt on one knee extending his arms with the great sword of his brother's blade bare across his palms. The bastard sword gleamed in the morning sun, shining through the alcove windows. The highly crafted blade tapered smoothly from tip to hilt, a full forty-seven inches of cold steel. The guard at the cross was slightly curved was little ornamentation except for the central thumb sized depressions where a pair of clear faceted rubies once resided, one to each side. The hand and a half handle, allowing the sword to be swung double handed or single handed as the knight desired, was wrapped in black studded leather for ease of grip, the leather ends were encased at both ends by a thin decorative ring of pearl inlay and gold. An engraved ring of steel finishing the pummel giving the sword its perfect balance. Where for centuries before a large round cabochon ruby had shined in the center of the ring, the pummel was now hollow, the gem there gone.

With permission to rise, the Earl of Marley stepped forward to place his brother's sword on the table before Gwynedd's King. With eyes of blue stabbing his anger at a parchment he pulled from his tunic, he lay it open with the scrawl of writing face up, over the sword hilt. "A Foreigner, supposed patron of learning," Brendan began with a hiss,  "stayed three days at the White Rose Boarding House. His name used was Count Los 'Meaux, although from the image the landlord supplied, I could swear I have seen this man before under a different name." Brendan put his hand out on the table palm up inviting the king and the two men at either side to read this image and all that had transpired during the night and the morning.

King Kelson and Prince Javan, nodded agreeing they had seen the foreigner, even recently.  Archbishop Duncan's frown deepened, his brows furrowed and his temper rose. "Lord Collos d'Chameaux of Vezaire." He cursed the name under his breath. "He has freely roamed the schola and the royal library for the last several days. He was working on deciphering a Healing scroll that was discovered in his homeland or so he said. I had no time to give a look at what he was working on. Now I know, his deception was keen, he was not working on that at all... " The archbishop fell silent berating himself for not recognizing the man's betrayal before it had happened.

The king's hand lifted the parchment up before him. His eyes read the neat precise handwriting. He said nothing as he read, but his fingers tensed around the lower corner and crumpled the page. Purposely not handing the paper to the archbishop, the king instead handed it over to his son.

The Prince took in a deep breath and read it, allowing for Duncan to hear.

If you know this sword and you know of it's owner, than I say to you: BEWARE!
Your pursuit is a dangerous game. As you look at this sword, you cannot but think of its former bearer. As the stone has been taken from the pommel, so he has been taken from you. It is safe, and so for the present is he, and both are prized by me for the purpose they will enable me to fulfill. But take heed: that purpose is more valuable to me than either it or he. If you press too close, or threaten to cheat me of his value, I will not flinch from breaking him. YOU ARE FOREWARNED!
Now, think you the gems at the brace of the cross are as the eyes are to this man's soul. For now the soul is blind, and will not see again unless all is restored.  Should you come too close then that will never happen! Just as the gems are gone forever, so shall the soul be forever blind. THE CHOICE IS YOURS!


((Thank you, Revanne, for revising this note to be much improved from its first draft.))

There was a long silence. The archbishop was pale, looking decidedly ill.  Kelson's hand came down on the older mentor's and for a moment there was Rapport between them that seemed to calm the Archbishop enough so that Brendan stayed himself from running over to his Uncle's aid.

Duncan held up a hand, "I will be fine." he said tersely.

"Duncan, we all know better than that. Until all of this is resolved, none of us will be fine." Kelson said in an aside. Then more boldly. "Lord Brendan, I thank you for what you have discovered. I know you too well to know that you will not abandon your brother to his fate. But it appears we can not push this matter by sending out a large search party. I am asking you to join Prince Javan's men. Go unto Meara. Do what quiet searching you can. Know that you will be in the public eye. You are to be my official Huntsman for this Collos d'Chameaux. But between Us, you are under orders NOT to get too close. Keep in contact with Javan and also with your brother Kelric. You will appear to be under neither man, but you are to take your orders from whichever lord you are near and to keep them well informed of your progress. Do not act on that progress unless the outcome is Clearly in your favor. And I mean that!  Let us discover what purpose Washburn is to be used. Don't Get Close! Other plans are being made to cover what you will not be able to do. Just be ready."

Brendan's fists had been clutching at his side, feeling tethered by the king's order. Finally he breathed. "I will be ready!" knowing he had to restrain himself. His loyalty to Kelson was strong and both he and the king knew he would follow the orders to the mark. He would never be his father even under these dire circumstances. "Prince Javan, I am your man, and I will keep my faith between you and Duke Kelric."

"Your presence is welcomed by me and my company." Javan said grasping the earl's extended hand between his own.

"Sir, Are we given the orders to march?" Javan asked his father.

"Aye! You are! At the noon hour. See to your preparations. Brendan, I have further orders for you to pass on to the Arilans. Laird Siesyll is to remain in Rhemuth and he is charged with breaking and re-trapping those two newly found Portals. Also he is to keep his senses on the riverside Portal to learn if and when what can not be felt becomes sensed again."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on July 07, 2018, 02:25:12 PM
Columcil had left the King's withdrawing room still supporting Lord Jaxom. He was glad that this had prevented him from making anything other than the most perfunctory of  bows in the King's direction, given that what he had actually wanted to do was to shout,

"Bletherin' idiots the lot o' ye!" at those seated at the table.

He had not been so gut wrenchingly angry for a very long time. As a youngster he had been prone to fits of temper, driving his mother once, he now remembered, to let slip "just like yer da!" but she had immediately clammed up and the skelping he had received had driven any thought of asking her any questions out of his mind. And the years of training in self-discipline which he had received as a priest had meant that he rarely gave way to his anger.

Now he was quite simply blindingly, burningly furious. Young Washburn, who they all seemed to look down on, or at least the lad thought they did, was in God knew what straits, thanks to this pillock who seemed to have nothing between his groin and the baron's circlet he would one day wear, missing out on a heart or a brain. The man -and even in his thoughts Columcil nearly spat the word - was driven purely by lust and pride and his only punishment was that charade of a staged apology which any fool should have known would end as it had. And now it was poor Darcy likely to face punishment for doing what any decent man would have done. While he, Columcil, was expected to do the Christian thing and heal this, this creature!

Still thinking maledictions against the King and his grandfather -aware but too angry to care that at least in his thoughts he was committing lese-Majeste, clerical insubordination and getting close to blasphemy- Columcil marched Jaxom along the passageway to the infirmary, those they met taking one look at his face and deciding that it was safest to stand aside to let them past.

Jaxom too was angry. He had had time to recover from his fright in the dungeon, his pride already beginning to gloss over the memory of his humiliation. He had done what was asked of him with becoming dignity, and done his duty by the lady by warning her against further tarnishing her already dubious reputation whilst doing her the honour of offering her the protection of his company. He hoped that the presumptuous scoundrel would be properly punished, though he was unlikely to be here to see it. Tomorrow he could put all this behind him, and let Prince Javan see his true worth, as they rode out together.

He had little time for this rough country priest, and could not begin to understand why he seemed to be made much of by his Grace the Archbishop, and might in other circumstances have been disposed to be affronted by his presumption. But he had been witness to his healings, and as long as the man could do his job, he was prepared to be gracious enough to accept his ministry.

At least the man was not trying to talk to him, thought Columcil, or God help him he'd be sore pressed not to punch him too. And he really needed to pull himself together or he would not be able to heal him, and even  angry as he was, he did not want to have that sin on his conscience. As it was, when next he made his confession, he'd likely be wearing out his knees and his rosary in penance.

He knocked softly on the infirmary door and politely nodded to the sister who opened to them, vowing to himself to make a great effort to avoid the border brogue that others seemed to find so hard to understand.

"I've a healing to perform, Sister, would you be so kind as to show us to an available room. "

The young sister nodded, dividing a bobbed curtsey between the priest and the injured man, a lord by the look of him.

"Yes, of course, Father. Come this way please."

Columcil gestured Jaxom to go first and followed slowly behind, praying that he would be given the grace to overcome his own sinful thoughts. As they entered the room to which they were directed, his eyes fell on the wooden crucifix and he felt further humbled. Christ had prayed for his killers to be forgiven; who was he to resent healing for a fellow sinner? "Lord, I am not worthy," he prayed desperately.

Speaking to Jaxom for the first time, Columcil found that he was able to be gentle enough.

"I will need to touch the wounds, so you will need to strip down to your hose. I will try my best not to cause any further pain but please try to relax as much as you can."

As Jaxom took his finery off and revealed a body that was tanned, the marks of the scars and bruises of hard training evidence that there was more to him than the popinjay that was all that Columcil had previously  seen, Columcil found it easier to think of him as any other suffering human being to be healed by the grace of God. The dressing covering the wound at his side had marks of fresh blood on it and Jaxom  winced as Columcil pulled it off, revealing a thrust that was still raw and angry. He nodded to Jaxom to lie down on the pallet and knelt down beside him. He had half expected some sign of disdainful hesitation at following his instructions, but Jaxom had lain down obediently and without a word.

((Columcil  heals Jaxom 5+3=8 3xj8g5vf8v ))

Columcil  bowed his head and prayed for grace, blessed himself then making the sign of the cross on Jaxom's brow allowed himself to slip into healing trance. He felt Jaxom relax beneath his hands and first moved his fingers over Jaxom's face moving the bone and cartilage of his nose back into their proper alignment. He slipped his hands round the back of Jaxom's head and then down his shoulders willing the blood to flow strongly and ease the bruising away. He no longer even remembered that it was Darcy who had inflicted these wounds nor as his hands moved into the wound at Jaxom's side, that this had been inflicted by Washburn in his desperation to save Aliset. He prayed that no infection had got into the wound for though it had been dressed it was a day old and the edges were raw and weeping. The edges closed under his fingers and knitted well together leaving only a slight red line but he could not be entirely sure that the internal wounds had healed so well. He would have probed further but Jaxom had begun to move restlessly under his hands and as he himself came out of trance he found that he had no desire to prolong the contact any longer than was absolutely necessary.

((Hit points recovered "1d6" : 2.   2t9lvfl5jp. Probably full healing given the nature of the injury but leaving open the possibility of complications in the future ;-) ))

"You should have sought healing for this earlier." Columcil chided him, as he helped him to sit up and swing his feet around to the ground. "There is no virtue in unnecessary suffering."

To his surprise rather than take offence at the sharpness of his tone Jaxom went white and the usually proud set of his shoulders slumped as he looked at the ground. Tonelessly he replied,

"I was forbidden to do so by his Majesty, until he bade me do so, that the pain might serve as a penance for me." He looked up, though he would not meet Columcil's gaze.

"He also ordered me to seek a priest for confession. Will you hear my confession, Father?" He laughed angrily. "If I am to be further degraded it might as well be in front of one who has already seen me suffer humilation."

Without waiting for a reply Jaxom slipped off the pallet onto his knees at Columcil's feet giving the priest no option. Columcil had to fight himself not to step away, but he knew he had no choice. He could hardly say,

"No. I find you dispicable and I would as soon lay you flat."

He reached into the breast of his cassock and brought out a thin strip of purple silk which he brought to his lips before slipping around his neck. Well if Jaxom had had his penance, so now did he. As Jaxom began the formulaic words, "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned," Columcil's eyes went to the crucifix and he too repeated them in his heart.











Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on July 08, 2018, 01:21:54 PM
((Laird Seisyll is Ritual trained, he is attempting to set a trap on the City Portal that is in the White Rose Boarding house cellar. 2d6 if a 5 or 6 is rolled then the dice are summed and that is the Portal number. The trap will be made so that it instantly ports the person back to where they came from. Results 6 + 5 = 11 Verification Number: 11rfrk69db.  Kind of a waist of a good roll. Funny how that happens. ))

Laird Seisyll felt the tingle of Power surround his hands and then a  surge over the portal stone. Even his hand fire had dimmed with the amount of power that he managed to summon to trap the stone. It was a good trap. Benign in most circumstances. Unless attuned, it would simply push the jumper back to where they came. Only if the jumper was unable to return to whence they came, then it was set to pushed the jumper on to it's sister portal, the one at riverside. That part was easy, as the two Portals were already attuned to each other as they had been for centuries. What would be tricky was jumping into the Riverside portal trap without feeling for it before hand. Until the trap there was fully dismantled and reset to something less dangerous, the jumper had best beware.  As for jumping out, unless you were attuned to it. Under most circumstances, one could not. ((Roll must be greater than an 11))

Seisyll attuned this portal to all of his blood relatives, that was easy enough. He even could attune it to Earl Brendan as his aura was still present in the stone.  Whether to attune the landlord or not was a difficult question. One that would have to be given by Royal Permission. As to the goods in the Cellar, that to would have to be decided by Royal decree as well. It would take many wagons to empty the full contents of the cellar if the King chose to confiscate all the goods. Best make a tally sheet of what was here. So that he could make full report to Kelson and then the landlord will have to present himself before Kelson's next court to determine the fate of his goods.  At least no arrests would be made, as the landlord was willing to concede to what ever the king decided.

((Oh and PS. During the last night Brendan had tried to dismantle the Riverside Portal trap, but he had failed. I rolled for this several days ago,
03:38 Brendan Brendan attempting to untrap the portal. need a sum of 11.
03:39 Brendan !roll 2d6
03:39 derynibot 5, 2 == 7))
The untrapping of the Riverside portal failed. So unless someone else can roll an 11 before the disarming wears off at midnight, and which point it will need to be disarmed again before it can be untrapped. Small silly details.  :P))

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on July 08, 2018, 04:23:00 PM

During the ride from Ratharkin, the Grand Duke speaks with Lord Brioc de Paor of Trurill. "Master Feyd will be arriving at our mountain fortress soon. And he will have the son of Alaric Morgan with him. Our assurance that the Haldane's will keep their distance during the campaign. The love that Kelson shows to the Morgan's is to be our advantage. See to it that Master Feyd is promtly paid for his task. There is to be no bartering with him, he is to be paid what his contract states."

Brioc de Paor, the father of the Pretender Queen of Meara listens to the great Deryni Lord, the Grand Duke Valerian, his future son-in-law. "My Lord, Master Feyd asked for nearly a King's ransom in payment. And we are getting only a knight of the realm for it. Surely we can lower the coins we must deliver."

Valerian's eyes narrow abit as they ride. "Listen to me carefully Brioc. Pay him want he wants and get him out of our castle as quickly as possible. The Portal will need to be retrapped after he leaves so he cannot return without us knowing." There is a tad bit of fear in the Grand Duke's voice that is noticed by Lord Trurill.

"We do not wish to anger the House of Baordah," the Grand Duke pauses as he remembers another Deryni that had cheated the Torenthi Order of assassins and what was found of him later. "There is no cheating the Black Order of Death without becoming a target yourself. Pay him quickly so he takes his leave quickly. There will be no more discussion of this."

The Grand Duke and his future father-in-law ride in silence the rest of the way.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on July 09, 2018, 01:10:25 PM
The sound of the cheering from the people of Ratharkin followed the Queen's party until the gates of the city closed behind them.  Archer suspected Oswald had kept the crowd stirred up to make a good impression. 

As soon as the road turned east to follow Llyn Tywyson, the lead knight furled the royal banner of Meara.  Archer doubted they wanted to continue to advertise the presence of the pretender queen as they traveled, though a party lead by four knights would hardly go unnoticed in the local area.  The order of the riders changed as they traveled farther from Ratharkin.  Grand Duke Valerian and Brioc de Paor moved ahead to ride together, and Queen Sidana moved back to ride with her two ladies. 

The road along Llyn Tywyson was well maintained, so they set a brisk pace.  The Captain of the guard looked back at Archer, reassessing the new man in the group.  So far, he could find no fault, but time would tell.  "Keep up, Archer," was all he said before turning back around.

"Aye, Captain!" Archer said and touched the bottom edge of his cap in a soldier's salute.  He needed to appear competent enough to remain welcome within the party, but not so competent as to draw unneeded attention.

In general, conversation was minimal; the group were concentrating on reaching whatever destination they were bound for.  Archer did notice an intense conversation between Valerian and Brioc.  The noise of the horses and harness prevented any chance of overhearing what was said, and Archer could not see their lips, but he noted that Brioc seemed annoyed.  Momentarily, Valerian's noble posture did not look quite as confident.  It passed almost immediately, and Archer could not be sure he had seen it. 

Archer was surprised they continued at the current pace without slowing for the ladies to rest.  If he judged their position correctly, they were almost at the spot where the Tharkane River flowed into Llyn Tywyson.  He soon saw that his reckoning was correct.  They continued to follow the road along the river for a short distance until the lead knight signalled for them to slow.  He turned them onto a rutted path that lead to an old gatehouse.  Years before, there had been a small barge here to take travelers across the river.  In summer, when the river was no longer swollen from the spring rains, it was shallow enough to ford easily.  The barge had become unprofitable, and the wood salvaged for other uses long ago. The gatehouse remained, though the walls were sagging, and most of the thatched roof was gone.  A weathered shed behind the gatehouse appeared to be in better condition.  The men began to dismount.  Brioc helped his daughter down from her horse, and two of the knights assisted the other women.  The soldiers dismounted as well; Archer was glad for a chance to stretch his legs.

"Archer! Elwyn!" the Captain called. Archer and another of the soldiers secured their horses to a substantial, nearby bush and came forward.  "Take her Majesty's horse and the others," he indicated the Grand Duke' horse and the others of the royal party, "and water them at the river."

"Aye, Captain," responded Archer.  Two of the knights removed the saddle bags from the horses before the reins were handed to Archer and Elwyn.  The knights moved toward the shed as Archer and Elwyn led the horses to the river.  Archer turned as subtly as he could to watch as the queen, her father, Valerian and the two ladies followed the knights to the shed.  The two horses he was leading were eager for water and now demanded his full attention; he could not watch longer. 

The horses drank thirstily, and Archer casually looked back toward the shed.  There was no sign of movement.  Stopping the horses before they could drink more than was good for them, he and Elwyn guided the horses back to the others.  The two knights returned empty handed from the shed, and there was no sign of Sidana, Brioc, Valerian or the two ladies.  Surely, they were not having a private lunch inside the shed!  Could there be a Portal here?  That would explain much.

The Captain gave the soldiers leave to look to personal matters and partake of the rations that were provided from one of the bags on the pack horse.  Archer sauntered toward the shed, but his senses told him he was being watched closely.  He went no further than the nearby brush and relieved himself.  Any opportunity to edge closer was forestalled by the Captain calling for them to mount up.  Archer hastened back to the others.  No one seemed perturbed that the rest of their party did not rejoin them, and Archer asked no questions. 

The four knights again took the lead, followed by the Captain and the soldiers.  Now each soldier led a second horse, Archer's the same dependable pack horse as before.  They forded the river and followed a path that led toward the Rathark Mountains. 

Elwyn looked over at Archer.  "You're not afraid of heights, are you?" he asked.

"Not so far," Archer answered. 

"Good thing, and best hope it stays that way.  It gets steep where we are going."  He laid his hand across his brow and leaned over as if looking a long way down.

Sir Iain Cameron urged is mount forward.  He hoped it was as sure-footed as the pack horse seemed to be.  The sheer cliffs below Isles' Castle had never bothered him; narrow mountain tracks might be another matter.  Perhaps he was being teased.  Either way, he would soon find out.  The goal was Valerian; he would focus on that above all else.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on July 10, 2018, 12:29:14 PM
For the ladies of Rhemuth Court, the morning was not proving to be any less stressful than the day before. Quite the opposite; eminent war was seen at every instance, including the pendant for His Royal Highness, which several women rushed to finish the last of the edge embroidery. The one moment of reprieve had been that knock-out of a blow from the Heir of Isles, who fiercely defended the Lady de Mariot's reputation from that loot of a worm, even at the wrath of the King. Now that had been solid proof that Chivalry was not dead. Duchess Grania wanted to hug the seaman in thanks, but sadly, it had occurred in the presence of the king in his castle where laws reign. If it had been anywhere else, in a less regal venue, say a smaller castle's great hall or a lively pub room or some other place where lords need not maintain an air of calm and decorum befitting their ranks before the king of the land. Well than, Lord Darcy would have been honored for what he had done. Just now, that young lord was contained in his brother's apartments, not knowing his future. Leaving the poor Lady Aliset to brood over what possible future she might have. If others heard of Lord Jaxom's accusal, whether they believed him or not, the the young maiden's reputation  was in ruins. Her lands stolen her reputation sullied, what did the girl have left? Grania told her for the fifth time, she had the backing of the royal ladies at court. With the support of the Duchess of Southmarch, the Duchess of Corwyn, and the Queen of Gwynedd this small setback would be corrected and her reputation improved upon. Grania gave Aliset her word.

All too quickly, there after, it became known throughout the castle that the Haldane lancers with the collective armsmen called forth from the duchies of Haldane and Cathmoor under Prince Albin would be ready to march at noon. Those two armies  were seen to be camped beyond the north walls of Rhemuth. Even now the camps were seen to be coming down as men prepared to march North.

Aliset's hands had been too shaky to handle a thread and needle with any accuracy. Grania had pulled her to the window bench and returned to her the book of poetry from her chivalrous defender. The words on the opened pages seemed to ease the lady's distress.  There beside her, the duchess found her own needlework in the token she intended to bestow upon her husband at his leaving.

Nerves seemed under control until the moment Grania's eldest brother appeared in the Queen's tower. He requested their mother come apart from the ladies, to join him in another window alcove. Earl Brendan's face was far more tense than Grania had seen him be in decades. He held his mother's hands between his with a firm grasp. Their words were few, their rapport was long. Then his arms surrounded his mother in a tender embrace, his check leaned against her hair as the older Dowager Duchess crumpled into his chest. Brendan held his maman, comforting her with words that he knew were not enough. Giving up, he pulled his mother to her feet and walked her over to his sister. His eyes beseeching that Grania find a way to ease their mother's pain.

"Lil sis, I know you have much on you plate. But know that you, second only to the queen are what the men of this realm go to war for and stand for. With all three of your brothers and your husband in Meara, I need you above all others to believe that our cause is right and just. We will see that this rebellion is squashed and that our kingdom and our family is not compromised. You need to hold our home in your stong heart so that we have what we need to come home to."  Brendan came forward, hugged his youngest sister, sat his mother down in the settee beside her, and bowed deeply to both ladies as he gave his farewell. "I will find Washburn, I will see Kelric and Javan safe and victorious; both our families will be well and whole again. This I do swear!"

After he had turned and left, only then did the Dowager Duchess of Corwin turn to her daughter and lay her head upon her daughter's shoulder. "All my boys," she sobbed. "He took my husband, my love, my happiness. Now he will take my sons, the very men I boor from my own loins. I've tried to be strong. I can't do it anymore, I can't do it!" And with those words the matriarch of their family cried a torrent of tears.

Grania wanted to cry too, for they were her brothers and her husband who were marching to Meara. "Brendan, Kelric and Javan are all strong men, loyal to family and king. They will prevail, maman, you must believe that they will." She said the words not just to convince her mother, but to convince herself, too.

"My youngest, he was loyal and strong too. But now..., his soul blinded... that is what the note said. What does that mean? Is it possible that he could be turned from all that he loved? No one would ever have accused him of disloyalty, not ever. What if brother has turned on brother. What do i do?!  What do I do....?" Her voice faded into the folds of Grania's sleeve.

Queen Araxia came then to sit beside her eldest friend. She gathered Richenda's clinging arms and brought them to surround her own shoulders. In her weeping  Richenda barely noted the change from daughter to friend. "Grania, the love of my son," the queen said in quiet tones. "Go. Go to your husband. Tell him, no show him the love you have for him. Show him what is in your heart. There is precious little time. Know that it is often the man who has love to sustain him, is the man who finds his way home. Show him that there is more than just children between you. He is yours and you are his, that with faith and prayers we will help to guide him. Now go child, go to Javan. I have your mother in my care."

Grania stood, her knees weak as she curtsied. Then finding hidden strength, she rose up, kissed the check of her mother and the check of her mother-in-law and ran for the door. A guard followed as she hurried down the hall to her own apartments.

Araxia guided Richenda away, back to her own rooms. 

Lady Aliset sat silently in the morning sun, which streamed through the latticed window. She consider the fate and expectations of women in hard times like these. There was so little that they were allowed to do, other than give their support and their love to their men. Hold the home front and give the men reason to come home. Certainly there must be something more that women could do. She may not have realized it then, even a week ago, when she was merely trying to escape a woman's fate, but she did realize it now that a woman could hold her own in a group of men if given the chance to do so. She had been one of them, and they had respected her for it. What could she do if she was given that chance to be a man again?
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on July 11, 2018, 07:02:51 AM
Columcil came out of the infirmary wishing that he was in reach of the holy well dedicated to St Winifred that lay only a few miles to the north east of St Melangell's shrine. He wanted nothing more than to wash the taint of the royal court off him. He imagined for a minute being totally immersed in the ice cold pool, then purging himself, body and soul with a draft of the bitter spring water.

Rhemuth might be as beautiful as rumour made her, the King was awesome in his majesty and power, both temporal and magical, but the place was corroding his soul. Nothing had gone right since they arrived. Washburn had been treated like an errant school boy and excluded from the king's council leaving him vulnerable; Aliset had been separated from those who had been her best protection and left open to harm and threatened shame and Darcy, true and loyal to her to the depths of his being, faced royal censure for doing what no-one else had had the courage, or it seemed the will, to do.

And he himself had been fooled into believing that his grandfather thought well of him, when all that he was was a convenient tool. Having to hear Jaxom's confession had been the last straw. Oh, it had been honest enough as far as it went, but the man remained totally oblivious to his real sins of arrogance and selfish desire, and he had all too obviously come to see his coming
service in Prince Javan's company as a sign of royal favour. The penance the man needed was a month shovelling muck from the bottom of garderobe shafts; the hour on his knees which had been the worst that he could impose on him in the limited time left before the army marched out, would probably only serve to impress him with his own piety.

He had had enough. He would seek out his grandfather the Archbishop, ask for the recognition of St Melangell's as a healing shrine that had been the purpose of his journey, fetch Spean from the royal stables and turn their faces to the west.


Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on July 11, 2018, 01:15:54 PM
Darcy Cameron pulled one of the chairs closer to the window in his brother's apartment and opened the window to catch the morning breeze before the day became too warm.  He watched the activity below.  He'd been at sea too long not to recognize the signs of men readying to ship out, or in this case, march out.  There could be no doubt that Prince Javan's forces would be leaving soon.  Carts creaked as they were moved off to be loaded with provisions.  Men stood in small groups for short periods and then dispersed to reform again into new groups.  Riders arrived with messages for the leaders closeted with the king; other riders left with instructions for the leaders outside the gate marshalling the men.   Controlled mayhem created from good order and discipline.  Darcy sighed and then startled at the knock at the door.  He crossed the room in quick strides and opened the door to find Robert standing there.

"King Kelson commands your presence," Robert said.  His face was mostly expressionless, but Darcy thought he saw a hint of sympathy in his eyes. 

"Well, let's get this done with."  Darcy buckled on his sword, closed and locked the door.  He no longer needed to be shown the way to the king's withdrawing room; the path had grown too familiar.  Robert walked at his side, saying nothing.

Robert knocked on the withdrawing room door and stepped inside to announce Darcy. Darcy whisked stray strands of pale hair back from his face and squared his shoulders.  He would not have done anything differently; he would pay the price.

Robert opened the door wider and motioned him forward.  The king sat alone at the table at the end of the room.  Prince Javan was absent; Darcy surmised he was working on the logistics of departure.  Darcy approached halfway to the table, bowed and then went down on one knee.  At a nod from the king, Robert remained just inside the door.

Kelson studied the young noble before him for a long moment.  Pale blond pale hair, icy blue eyes, calm demeanor.  This was not the first time Darcy had faced discipline. 

"Lord Darcy," Kelson said.  Darcy bowed his head briefly in acknowledgement.  "There are some things We can turn a blind eye to but brawling in Our presence is not one of them."

Darcy looked mildly surprised.  "I freely admit to striking Lord Jaxom," he said, "but I would hardly call it a brawl."

Kelson gave him a hard look.  "If We call it a brawl, it is a brawl."

"As you wish, your Majesty."

Kelson thought Darcy was coming a bit too close to impudence; but he had not crossed the line quite yet.

"We cannot send you north with Prince Javan.  You are aware that Lord Jaxom accompanies him; We do not need skirmishes among Our own men."

Darcy nodded and remained silent.

"We are removing you from your employ as Lady Aliset's man-at-arms.  You will instead escort Father Columcil back to Saint Melangell's.  Robert O'Malley will also accompany you."

Kelson saw the young man's jaw clench in anger.  His face, however, became an impenetrable mask.  Sir Iain had the same skill.

"Who will ensure Lady Aliset's safety, if I am not here?" Darcy asked, his voice not betraying the turmoil he felt inside.

"She is under Our protection."

Darcy looked at the king levelly; he did not need to say what he was thinking.

Under other circumstances, Kelson would have been furious at the perceived rebuke.  But the man had reason to be concerned.  What had happened earlier should never had occurred.  "We were complacent; adjustments have been made."

"Has Lady Aliset given her consent?" Darcy asked.

"As We stated, she is under Our protection," the king said firmly.

"I will trust in your judgement, your Majesty," Darcy said, the tone of his voice giving nothing away of his inner thoughts.

"That is the official explanation for your absence," Kelson continued after a moment.

Darcy's face showed a hint of surprise.  "Your Majesty?"

Kelson motioned for Darcy to rise.  "Your official mission is otherwise."  Kelson picked up the parchment on the table before him.  The edges were still crumpled.  "You need to be aware of this."  He held it out for Darcy to read. 

Darcy took the parchment from the king's hand and read what was written.  The carefully controlled mask of his face cracked.  His hand convulsed, and the parchment was crumpled for a second time. "What does this mean, your Majesty?  What does it mean that his soul is blind?"

"I suspect Sir Washburn is under the mental controls of the man who captured him. Just as Lord Jaxom was, but probably far worse. He is in a very precarious situation, and We can make no direct move to rescue him."

'Do you want me to find, him, your Majesty?" Darcy asked.

"No, that task is given to Earl Marley, though officially his looking for the man who captured Sir Washburn.  He rides out today with Prince Javan.  Your task is to find the fortress."

Darcy looked thoughtful.  "I believe I can do that, your Majesty.  But what do I do then?"

"We believe that Washburn will be taken to the fortress, which is likely under the control of Grand Duke Valerian. Your task is to maintain vigilance, watch for any opportunity to assist in setting Washburn free." Kelson paused for a moment.  "If you succeed, or if Washburn leaves on what appears to be his own accord, stay with him and report on his actions."

Darcy gave the king a sharp look.  "Sir Washburn is to be considered a danger, if he is free?"   

The King of Gwynedd nodded, wishing he could deny the fact.  "Valerian is a very powerful and ruthless Deryni.  You need to be aware that if Sir Washburn has fallen into his hands, Sir Washburn can no longer be trusted.  Duke Alaric Morgan defeated Teymuraz in a dual arcane," at Darcy's blank look, Kelson added, "a battle of magic. Valerian will use the son of Alaric Morgan to the worst possible outcome to exact revenge, even against Washburn's own brothers."

"Am I to stop him, if it looks as though he might succeed in any treachery?"  Darcy did not like asking the question.

"Aye, you are.  Can you do that, if it is required?"  Kelson asked solemnly.

Darcy did not answer immediately; finally, he replied.  "I will if I must.  But surely Sir Washburn is not totally lost to us?  There are things we can do?"  The distress in Darcy's voice was clear.

"That is why Father Columcil travels with you.  His Healing talent may be able to unravel, or at least mitigate, whatever has been done to Sir Washburn." 

Darcy considered all of this.  "How will I keep you informed of our progress?"

"You understand rapport?" the king asked.

"Aye, your Majesty, but my success at the skill has been limited."

"I'm sure you will improve with time, but time is a luxury we don't have.  Father Columcil will report your progress to Archbishop Duncan." 

Darcy nodded.  "When do we leave, your Majesty?"

"After Prince Javan has departed; probably not until tomorrow after things have died down a bit."

Darcy asked one final question.  "Your Majesty, does Lady Aliset know I will be leaving?"

"Queen Araxie will inform her."

"Your Majesty," Darcy said carefully.  "By Your leave, I would prefer to tell her myself." At the king's questioning look he continued.  "I would want her to know that I am not abandoning her without cause."

Kelson considered the request and nodded.  "Very well.  You are no longer confined to your brother's quarters, but I want no further trouble.  We have enough to deal with as it is."

"Aye, your Majesty."  Darcy bowed and backed toward the door. 

"Lord Darcy." The king spoke before Darcy reached the door.

"Your Majesty?"

"How many of the stripes on your back were due to impudence?" Kelson asked.

"A few, but then I learned to be more subtle," Darcy responded.

"Keep working on that," Kelson advised.

"As you command, your Majesty."

Robert opened the door and followed Darcy out.  Kelson Haldane watched them leave and hoped he had picked the right man.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on July 13, 2018, 12:43:10 PM
Just sleep, he told himself, don't wake up, please, just don't. Trouble was, he was consciously saying this to himself, so it was too late to continue on in a dream state. Well-aware, he tested his mental senses to see if he could learn where he was before he actually awoke.  The lack of that ability hit him hard. The world beyond his closed eyes was devoid of all perception.  He was blind. The life-energies that he knew permeated from every living thing was just not accessible. This quelching of his Deryniness, a sense he had never lived without before was as horrific to him as was his captivity.

Sir Washburn Morgan opened his eyes in order to discover where he was.  He saw the scattered stones all around him, the noon sun glaring down from the missing roof of this old Michaeline ruins. Recognizing his surrounds brought a sigh of relief to his lips. At least his captivity had not progressed to the next stage. He felt fortunate that the hot sun did not beat down on him; his bed furs lay in the shadow of the small protrusion of what was left of the overhanging roof. Near him also in this shaded area, his captor leaned over a small black leather bound book, his quill marking off a small check list and he scratched additional words on the facing page. That his only companion was Feyd and not the dreaded Grand Duke of Treachery made Wash smile a greeting to his assassin captor.

"I am so happy to see you. I feared I would awake in a far worse place than this."

Feyd just shook his head. "Oh that will come soon enough. Tomorrow morning in fact. I am sure the fortress dungeons will be wonderfully drafty and cool, much better than this heat. Then there is the stank of that place. That will give your senses enough to occupy your mind. You will be grateful then, that you can not feel the misery of the other prisoners, men that have managed to survive in there since the fortress's take over last year. I was amazed to see that some still lived. I assure you, you will be quite happy about having taken the drug that dulls those senses. I almost wish I could have, when I was last there."

"You have a strange way of looking at the positive." Washburn said dryly.

Feyd gave his captive a wide scary grin. "I am so glad we are starting to understand each other."

Despite the heat, Wash shivered. At first he thought it was uncontrollable fear overwhelming him, but then as his stomach revolted, he realized this was a much more physical reaction to the drugs he had awoken from. Muscles barely reacting to his desperate need, Wash rolled away from Feyd, scrambled awkwardly to his feet-- amazed to discover they had not been retied-- and then he stumbled the few steps toward the far corner, a place hot in the glaring sunlight. There he wretched and wretched until his whole body ached and his head pounded.  When he thought there was no more, he wretched again. Shaking all over, Wash was surprised to see Feyd standing next to him, looking concerned. The assassin poured water onto a cloth and handed it over for him to wipe his face and hands. He even offering the water skin for him to drink from and clear his cloying throat. At first Wash pulled his hand away from the skin. Being drugged again made him want to wretch more.

"It is clean water. You are dehydrated. You need to drink this."

"I would like to trust you, but we both know I can not."

"Trust that I need you whole at delivery tomorrow, so that I will not get cheated out of my full payment. I will have my payment, and it will be in full."

Wash nodded at that, took the offered goat's bladder and drank a huge gulp before he could discover if he'd been betrayed or not. Amazed, the water was as Feyd said it was, it was cool and clean. Wash took two more gulps before Feyd took the skin back. "Not so fast, you'll make yourself sick all over again. Your a Healer, you should know this."

The knight wiped his mouth one last time and gave a sarcastic laugh. "Was a potential Healer, you mean. You have taken that away from me."

Feyd gave him a penetrating look for a moment, one that Wash could not decipher. "Oddly, I don't think that I have."

"Have? What?"  The pounding in Washburn's head was easing, but not yet gone. There was much about his captor he could not understand.

"Your Healing ability, there in lies a mystery." Feyd motioned for Wash to return to the shaded furs, his gaze still had a queer look as he watched the knight stumble back.

Briefly Washburn gave a full glance at the sun drenched ruins, looking again at the low spot in the wall, but then remembering the drop that was beyond the wall. Reluctantly, Wash followed Feyd and sank down to the furs on his knees. "Wish I had discovered Healing so much sooner than I did. I could have studied it and learned it. That is something I would like to do before I die. I do not know if it is just because I finally succeeded at it, but the feeling of accomplishing such an act of compassion was --exhilarating. I mean to Heal rather than to wound was simply a Blessing of the Soul." Wash put his face in his hands for a moment. Knowing he might never feel that Blessing again. "You wouldn't understand."

Feyd's sudden grasp on his arm froze Wahburn in fear, but all he felt were fingers rubbing his skin under the cut in his tunic. There was no pain in that moment of harsh abuse and Wash looked down at his own arm remembering the cut that had been there but was there no more.  Yesterday, he must have imagined that he had been cut, Jaxom's sword must have missed him. Only the cut of sleeve fabric remained: that and dried blood. Feyd looked troubled and Wash could not grasp to understand why. 

Feyd sat down in the shade opposite, gathered back up his journal, he began making new notations.

"Is that for this job of yours or the next one?" Wash asked curious to know what was being written.

"The next job, it is complicated. All the pieces have to be fit together perfectly."

"Planning would be key, wouldn't it. So I am sure you must already have this job planned to the "T". Is there nothing I can do to spoil those plans."

The scholar part of Feyd looked up amused. "I am sure you think that you want to spoil my plans. But the truth is, you need to see my plans carried out to their full fruition. Stop trying to best me. It will only lead you to more harm. And I assure you, what I have in mind will be the best outcome for everyone. Well everyone else, anyway."

"That is wonderful," Wash responded dispondantly. "Happy to do my part."

The scholar actually laughed. "I like you, I really do."

"I'm a likable kind of guy, never one to betray a friend or be disloyal to a vow. Of course, I can not recall any vows taken, so how can I be disloyal. As for friends, I remember so few that I am sure I will not be betraying any of them. So what the heck! Are you going to tell me what it is that you want me to do?"

'In do time," Feyd said with a grin. "For now, I have things I need to work out. Why don't you find something quiet to do. Like... like read that scroll I gave you. That way you can say you studied Healing before you die."

Wash raised his eyebrows, not liking one bit of the doom and gloom of his near future. "You said it was poorly translated, impossible to read."

"True. The monk who transcribed it was at least sober through the first half of the writing. The closer he got to the bottom, the more drunk he got, until no word is legible. Look, we only have one afternoon. The first half of the scroll should keep you plenty occupied, you can learn and I can get some of my work completed in peace." He looked at Wash like he was a taskmaster scolding an errant child.

Wash rolled his eyes heavenward. "Whatever you say, Master." He found a more comfortable means of sitting and pulled the scroll out from inside his tunic. A cursory glance through the long roll proved the first half was indeed legible. The lower half was a mix of good and bad words, the bottom was a language all unto its own. Rerolling it back to the top, he began to read.

The opening was a list of physical body parts and organs and what each did to support the function of the body. Skin- the largest body structure to armor and protection against all outside influences. Muscles and tendons-hundreds of individual forces that pulled and relaxed to move the body each with its own fine tuning of the bodies motion. Skeleton-the inner frame that gives form and stability. Intestines-that which digests foods and absorbs the substance need for living and pass out that which is waste. Liver- the largest organ that takes the good humours found in the digested food and lets the body utilize what is needed. Kidneys-that pull the bad humours out of the blood and collect those ills in the urinary bladder to be discarded. Heart and  Blood- the life force that carries good humors and bad humors to every part of the body.

These were all things that Wash knew, yet it was interesting to see it written in this way. Moving down the scroll the subject turned to finding a Healer's balance of energy and in using the hands to guide that energy to the location where it could be used. Centering and focus was the most important: the soul had to be calm to find that balance. Wash had experienced this, too. Father Columcil had showed him how to find that calm. The thought of the good father, made Washburn smile. He really had liked that Healing Priest. He hoped he found what he had sought for in Rhemuth and that the man could return to his home untarnished by the events Washburn had submitted him to. "May blessings go wherever you go, good father," Wash said under his breath. When Feyd looked up from his writing, Wash shook himself and went back to his scroll.

He could not practice what he read, he wished that he could but he remembered all that he had done to learn to Heal. He read on. Healing wounds was the simplest tasks explained first. It was bringing the normal process of the body's repair to  do in moments was would normally take much time. The techniques described were interesting and Wash read this several times.  Next was setting bones. This was more complicated. It took knowing what the proper bone alignment should be before beginning. If a question arose about what that alignment should be, the scroll recommended studying the opposite side of the body injured. Noting that it would be a mirrored image but it would show how to envision in the mind the broken bone whole. Wash had yet to try this. He stored the information in the back of his mind for the day that he could try it.

The afternoon moved on and Wash did not even notice that Feyd had moved from his writing and was again mixing a new recipe of herbs.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on July 15, 2018, 04:11:12 AM
A nosc kake arizicy--ome moc co re accenbceg ok cesceg xicwouc cwe bkesemves op a Nascek op Wealimq xwo was cwe arizicy winsez-- is cwe Weazimq arizicy op Boxek Rzovsimq. Cwe Rzovsimq op Gekymi Boxekf is  am immace arizicy poumg im a  snazz bekvemcaqe op  Weazeks. Ic is a ckaic cwac vam re basseg goxm pkon bakemc co vwizg. Rzovsing is rest zeakmeg pkon a Nascek Weazek; ome xwo vam imsckuvc, amg ip mevvessaky, ketekse ganaqe cwac cwe scugemc nay vause gukimq cwe zeakmimq bweas. Gue co cwe sekious vomseduemve op cwis arizicy, cwe sckivc Weazek's Voge of Ecwivs swouzg re agwekeg co. Rzovsimq swouzg Metek re useg xicwouc suppiviemc vause! Cwe Sxicvwimq "OPP" op a Gekmi's Boxeks is beknamemc amg vam omzy  re ketekseg ry usimq cwe sane arizicy co sxicvw cwe Gekymi  Boxeks ravs "OM"!...


Washburn had skipped down to the first sentences of the last two paragraphs on his scroll.  The misplaced lettering made him feel dizzy and he wanted to be sick all over again. What was this monk who wrote this on; some hallucinatory drug for sure. Not just a mere alcohol. The reminded the Lendour knight that he would welcome a cool ale about this time.

Not trusting anything other than the water skin that Feyd carried with him, Wash at least let himself have a good swallow of the water.  He rubbed his eyes and he looked around him. The afternoon was getting on. He had just spent more time studying one writing than he had ever spent in one sitting before. But it beat the alternatives. Learning this scroll was a thousands times better than being drugged unconscious or thinking on his doomed future. Tomorrow, he would wish that he had killed himself today, there was no denying that he was headed for Hell, in this world and the hereafter. He should have jumped off that wall. Why had he hesitated? That had been his one moment, likely his only moment to escape his future. Yet as bad as he knew his future was to be, the more he had hope that something would change. He did not believe he was worthy of a Miracle, yet he could not give up Hope. Just the word alone was enough.

"Hope!" he said loud, before he took another swallow of water. Not to upset his captor, Wash purposely cowed a little from the man's gaze and went back to studying his scroll.

Back to the middle of the scroll he read a very brief description of medicines. The scroll did not elaborate, as these were covered in other non-Deryni writings. But it did stress one medicine that could only be made by a Deryni Healer.

"Talicil is the mainstay of the Healer's pharmacopeia. It is a fever reducer and it cleans bad humours in places of open wounds in the skin. If ingested in wine, it controls fevers of the body."


A recipe followed: listing several ingredients. Then it explained that the mixture was to be flash boiled by the skill of a Deryni. The layering to be separated, the upper portion discarded and the lower thicker portion to be flash cooled to a paste before the two layers could mix back together again.  Washburn gathered up his courage. "Do you have these five herbs listed here?" he asked the scholar.

The scholar Feyd looked at the recipe. Since it was his scroll, he already knew what it said. "I do, but I don't want to waste my energy making that. We don't need it right now."

"What if we do need it? If I can not heal and something happens, this ointment is the best defense for staying well. You said you wanted me well for tomorrow."

"So what now? You are planning to attempt an escape, again; planning to hurt yourself and fail. Stupid! That is what that is." Feyd glared at Wash with a flash of anger. "Of course I won't make the Talicil. So you had best not injure yourself in any way. Any wound in that dungeon will fester and rout. Better to stay healthy until you can take the Blue Fyre and escape? That is what you should be concentrating on, getting vengeance for your father's murder and escaping with your life."

Wash very much doubted that that opportunity would present itself. "Forgive me, beloved father," he said under his breath and turned his back on his tormentor to continue his study of the scroll.

After the recipe, he started to notice the words began to be misspelled. He did his best to overlook the misspellings at first.  With each new paragraph the misslettering increased. 

"Calicil can be used boch copically and indjesced...."*
[/i]

"Che ocher inporcamc Healing drugs are- sphagnun noss amd pemicia, a bluish powder chac is excracced fron nolds, amd Namdragora for sedaciom...."**

Washburn gave up on that paragraph, he had no experience with medicine. What good would that ever do him. He hoped the rest of the scroll explained more on how to Heal, how to find the proper balance. But all he read were more misspellings.

"Wamd placenemc is crucial to Wealing. 'Cu es namus samacio nea--cwou are ny Wealing wamd upom chis world.' Cwe placenemc of the wands closesc to che sice of Wealimg brimgs che balamce of good Wunours co che area meeded nosc..."***

Wash wanted to scream and throw the scroll away. What good did it do to study gibberish. In his frustration he felt light headed and dizzy.  He would have loved to ask for a slice of bread, but how could he dare it. Better to be sick than to be drugged. If it weren't for the drugs he wouldn't be sick, he corrected himself. He looked down at the scroll once more. An odd sensation of a hand covered his. Letters seemed to highlight on the sentence he was reading and change shape. Like in a dream he could read the words inscribed there.

"Hand placement is crucial to Healing. 'Tu es manus sanatio mea--thou are my Healing hand upon this world.' The placement of the hands closest to the site of Healing brings the balance of good Humours to the area needed most..."

Washburn read the whole paragraph on the using of hands in Healing and he was more than a little awed by the pair of hands that rested upon his own.



((*Does Wash recognize that all the letter "T" are misspelled as "C" in the second half of the scroll. This is disadvantage roll because he is drugged and one less pip than his usual 4,5,6 success, yet he is still intelligent and able to think well, so therefore success with a 5 or 6. Rolled = 4 - he would have figured it out if he had not been drugged - Verification Number: 4zd5kb260s, no luck))

((**Does Wash recognize that all the letter "M" and the letter "N" are swapped in the second half of the scroll. Same reasoning as above. Rolled 4 - again he would have figured this out if he had not been drugged- Verification Number: 2bnr5hr3bk, no luck))

((***Does Wash recognize that all the letter "H" is misspelled as the letter "W" in the second half of the scroll. Same reasoning as above. Honestly some misspelling has to trigger that there is a code. Fingers crossed. Rolled 5 Verification Number: tl753b9m20.  YES!  seen on the 3rd letter change in the second half of the scroll. ))

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on July 15, 2018, 03:19:09 PM
"What now, my Lord?"

Startled, Darcy Cameron looked  at  Robert O'Malley.  He realised that he had been staring blindly at the preparations being made for Prince Javan's departure.  They were standing at the base of the castle steps.  Darcy knew what he needed to do next; he simply didn't want to. 

"I need to speak to Lady Aliset," he said finally.  "There's no point in putting it off."

Robert nodded and they crossed the courtyard to the Queen's Tower, giving way as required to those intently focused on their pieces of the puzzle that would be turned into the formidable force of men marching off to Meara.

The guard gave them permission to enter the hall.  Robert spoke to a young page, who bowed respectively to Darcy and left to deliver the lord's request to speak to the lady.  Darcy tried to gather his thoughts into some sense of order and decide how best he could tell Aliset what the king's verdict had been.

She came too soon, accompanied by the page and an older woman.  Darcy and Robert bowed, and Aliset nodded her acknowledgment.  She was looking intently at Darcy, not understanding the guarded look on his face.  Darcy spotted a padded window seat not too far away.  He motioned toward it and stood until she seated herself.  Robert, the page and the older woman remained a discreet distance away.

"Please sit, Lord Darcy," Aliset said.  "Tell me what the king decided."

Darcy took a deep breath; he wanted to speak carefully, perhaps dispassionately, to make this easier for Aliset.  "The king has removed me from your service," he blurted out, unable to contain his own despair.  "He's sending me away to escort Father Columcil back to Saint Melangell's."

"No!" Aliset exclaimed.  "That's not fair."  She held out her hand, not caring if they were being watched. "Show me."

Darcy hesitated, wondering what he was allowed to share and what he was not.  But Aliset deserved to know at least something of the mission he was leaving on.  He placed the palm of his calloused hand on hers and rolled back his shields.

(No dice roll required; Darcy has gained experience in this basic skill by now.)

Aliset said nothing as the images rolled across their rapport.  At the end, she squeezed his hand and then withdrew from his mind.

Aliset's mind was filled with a whirl of emotions: despair that Darcy would not be at her side, anger that what had happened to her and Jaxom's part in it had caused this, and finally fear for Darcy's safety.  He was no where near trained enough in magic to face someone like Valerian, or even Washburn.  She shuddered.

"My Lady, don't despair," Darcy said quickly.  "Father Columcil  and I will be fine, and Saint Nicholas willing, we'll bring Sir Washburn safely home."

"I know you will do your best, Lord Darcy," Aliset said, "but you are not skilled enough in magic to counter whatever you may face.  When do you leave?"

"Tomorrow, probably as early as possible, though I have not spoken to Father Columcil yet.  I don't know if he has been informed."

"That doesn't give us much time," Aliset's face looked determined.

"My Lady?" Darcy asked, uncertain what she intended.

"I'll need at least several hours with you this afternoon."

Darcy looked alarmed.

Despite the situation, Aliset giggled.  "To give you as much training in magic as possible.  I'll concentrate on what is likely to help you the most.  And I'll probably need to adjust your training controls a bit."

Darcy looked doubtful.  "Will it be allowed?"

"I'll speak to Duchess Grania.  And it's not like we'll be left unsupervised."  Aliset thrust her chin in the direction of the older woman, Robert and the page.  They stood watching the pair on the window seat, maintaining discreet vigilance.

Activity at the entrance to the hall drew everyone's attention.  King Kelson entered;  Darcy and Aliset quickly stood to bow and curtsey as did the rest of the people in the hall.

Kelson spoke to one of several pages who suddenly appeared out of nowhere.  "Please ask the queen and Duchess Richenda to join Us on the steps.  Prince Javan is about to depart."

The pages scurried off to deliver the message.

"We should also go to watch," Aliset said to Darcy.  "It is a most impressive ceremony."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on July 15, 2018, 04:34:08 PM
Columcil drew a deep breath and relaxed as he drew in the familiar aroma, the aroma which spoke to him of peace and simplicity. He supposed that he should have gone to the midday office in the Cathedral but there was always the possibility that the Archbishop would be there and he had no wish to attract his attention. In fact, in his present frame of mind he was not sure that he even wanted to be in the nearer presence of God, or at least not God as he seemed to be worshipped in Rhemuth. Give him the God of the fields and meadows, the God who had granted sanctuary to Saint Melangell as she fled from a forced marriage.

He had thought that he was bringing Aliset to sanctuary but those who had claimed the right of protection had all but allowed her to be abducted while of those who had truly sought to protect her, one had given his freedom and most like his life in her defence, while the other faced royal discipline for daring to protest the sullying of her good name. And the one whose pride and lust had opened the way for her would-be abductor was even now preparing to ride out in company with his Prince, flags proudly flying.

He was sorely tempted to rid himself of this fancy garb, dress himself in his old cassock, travel-stained as it was, and simply ride out though he supposed that, bound by obedience as he was, he really must seek audience with the Archbishop before he left. First, though, he had sought solace here with the pure in heart. Breathing deeply again he savoured the aroma of the hay scented air and buried his face deep in Spean's mane.

"Your father used to do this when he was angry or distressed. That's how I knew how to find you. You have his way with beasts."

Columcil had been aware of another human presence for some time, and who it was, but damning protocol he had chosen to ignore it.

"Your gentle lady here would not begrudge me just a little of your attention, I am sure."

As the voice continued Columcil realised that he was not going to be left alone, but blessed St Melangell!, he would not let down his guard this time. He raised his head and turned towards the Archbishop, who was dressed in the plainest of cassocks, and who appeared quite content to be standing alongside him in Spean's loosebox. Don't let him draw you in, he warned himself, and as formally as though they had been in the King's withdrawing room he sank to one knee and taking the episcopal hand, though Duncan had not extended it to him, kissed the ring.

"I crave your Grace's pardon. Your humble servant, my Lord."

"I would prefer to be greeted rather less formally as your grandfather, I doubt that these beasties will give us away. Please stand."

"As it pleases your Grace." Columcil stood but there was no lessening in his rigid demeanour and Duncan sighed. This was going to be even harder than he had thought.

"I think it is fairer to say that the manner of this conversation is as it pleases you. Give me leave a moment," this as Columcil made to protest, "I understand why you are angry, but please do us all the credit of understanding that the King has no choice but to discipline Darcy much though he would prefer not to."

"The King's grace mun do as he pleases." Still there was no unbending in Columcil's tone and Duncan could no longer contain his exasperation.

"Of course he can't. That's the whole point! Part of the reason why he is so angry with Darcy is that he wanted more than anything else to hit Jaxom too. If he could have acted as a man and not the King he would have thrashed the daylights out of him."

Speaking with difficulty, his brogue slipping back in, Columcil allowed. "I ken well enow tha' Jaxom wasna' ta blame fer tha' some evil yin had control o' him. But ta let him ride oot wi his Highness, his heid swellin' wi' the pride o' it, whiles Darcy, puir loyal Darcy, is na dout bein' hauled o'er the coals doesna sit well in ma gut."

"That is why I have come to speak to you." Duncan looked almost pleadingly at Columcil as he continued, "Can we go somewhere a little more private. There are things you need to know and although there is no-one here at the moment with all the activity around Prince Javan's departure we cannot count on that for much longer."

Columcil still bore his look of ice-cold respect but even as his mouth was opening to speak Duncan's pleading look turned back to exasperation and he snapped,

"If you say, 'As your Graces pleases' one more time, I swear I will punch you as hard as Darcy punched Jaxom. Merciful God, you are as bad as Alaric ever was for getting me riled up. Trying to sort all this out will take a miracle, the King is at his wits' end and you getting on your high horse is the last thing we need."

Spean stamped her front feet hard as though she knew that Columcil was in some sort of trouble and she didn't like it, and, as if in response Washburn's great stallion reared in his own box and neighed angrily.

Duncan smiled sheepishly, "Not my best ever phrasing in the circumstances. Now, please, can we go before your defenders really decide to teach me a lesson."

Columcil knew that it was his own anger that had unsettled the horses and things could only get worse before he was through with what he had to say. He did not want harm to come to either of them; Spean had carried him faithfully and he had come to have a great fondness, too, for Shadow Dancer. Irrational though it might be, he felt that allowing Washburn's beloved mount to injure himself would be a further betrayal of the young lord. Despite himself he could not help but admire his grandfather's courage in coming to speak to him like this, and his refusal to hide behind the authority of his office, What he had said about the lack of privacy was true enough. He still could not bring himself to acknowledge their relationship but he searched for a less provocative form of assent than he had previously used, acknowledging that he had deserved a far more severe reprimand for his mannner of speaking,

"I'd truly no' like that ta happen, m'lord. Och, I ask yer pardon for ma insolence ta ye. I just dinna ken wha' ta mek o' all this."

As Columcil made his apology, to his horror he found that he was on the edge of tears and bowed his head to hide his eyes, hoping that it would be taken for a gesture of submission, though he knew that Duncan was perceptive on too many levels for there to be any chance of that.

Duncan knew better than to offer any comfort but merely said,

"For a number of reasons I should like to take you to the Cathedral sacristy. We can be private there and there are things that I need to show you, as well as the explanation you deserve. I fear we shall all be in need of pardon before this is over. Shall we go?"

Columcil patted Spean one last time, extending calming thoughts to both her and Shadow, and followed Duncan out of the stables feeling that he had just sabobtaged his best chance of escape.











Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on July 21, 2018, 12:07:21 PM
Cedric Archer had never traversed the Rathark Mountains south of Ratharkin.  The wide valley of Llyn Tywyson split the higher ranges off from the gentler slopes to the north that gradually lessened to the rolling hills of Meara.  The southern mountains were steep and heavily forested; there was little land suitable for farming, so most people had settled in the north. 

The small troop of knights and soldiers followed a road that had once been a narrow track.  Over time it had been widened to accommodate wagons. The occasional switchback along the road limited the size of a wagon that could be hauled, and a double team of horses would be out of the question.  It was maintained well enough to indicate to Archer that is was frequently used.  They rode single file so as not to crowd the horses.

Although the air was cooler than in the valley, there was a heaviness to it that told Archer there would be a storm before the day was through.  The light load on the pack horse made it likely they would reach their destination by the end of the day.  Or perhaps some other accommodation.  The forest was thick enough that it was hard to judge the position of the sun in the sky, but Archer thought it must be late in the afternoon.

A flash in the sky above was followed shortly by a loud clap of thunder.  The noise startled the horse of one of the soldiers ahead.  It skittered sideways but was quickly brought under control.  Archer's mount remained placid.  There was another clap of thunder and then the downpour began.  The column paused so the men could extract cloaks from their packs.  Archer threw the shabby cloak he had packed over shoulders that were already close to being soaked. 

As they continued forward, the road became muddy.  There was an advantage to being at the front of the line rather than the rear; Archer and his horse were now splattered with mud to add to their discomfort.  Little rivulets of water flowed down the road, gradually becoming larger as the rain continued.

The riderless horse in front of Archer slipped and almost went down, pulling its wet lead free from the soldier who had been holding it.  Confused and frightened, the horse backed into Archer's mount along the upward slope to Archer's left.  There was just enough room for Archer to move his horse along side, grab the loose lead and urge the horse forward beside his own mount.  The soldier ahead reached back and grabbed the lead as Archer held it forward.  With a nod of his head the soldier moved forward with the horse following, calmer now that control had been re-established.

Archer breathed deeply and moved his horse back toward the centre of the road.  The rain was lessening, and as he looked to his right, he could now see the steep drop just beyond the edge of the road.  He said a fervent prayer of thanks under his breath and crossed himself.

An hour later, the trees began to thin.  They rounded the final switchback, and before them loomed the fortress.  Archer stared; it looked impregnable.  At the cleared summit of the mountain, two concentric walls protected the inner castle, the cleared ground between them a death trap for attacking soldiers.  Along the inner, crenelated wall stood several watchtowers.  Even higher above rose the central castle keep.  The entire valley below would be visible from there. 

Sir Iain Cameron was impressed.  He also realized that getting into the fortress would be easier than getting back out.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on July 21, 2018, 04:35:03 PM
Neither Duncan nor Columcil spoke to each other as they made their way through the crowded baileys towards the Cathedral. Even in the midst of the worry and bustle way was instantly made for Duncan and folk would bend the knee as he passed or, if they were laden to a degree that made that impossible, bow their heads in respect. Despite himself Columcil could not help but be impressed by his sense that this respect was as much for the man as his office and even more so by how many, even the humblest, Duncan would greet by name.

They were nearing the side door of the Cathedral when a squire in crimson Haldane livery stepped in front of them,  deliberately impeding their passage. He bowed his head politely to Columcil,  but his attention was all on the Archbishop. He genuflected, bowing his head humbly before rising to stand to attention and rapidly delivering a message obviously learnt by rote.

"Your Grace's pardon, but his Royal Highness begs that you will do him the honour of blessing his departure. He is all but ready to ride out." He was far too well trained to say or even allow himself to think, "So your Grace will need to get properly attired!" but the unspoken implication hung in the air.

Duncan responded with unperturbed courtesy,

"Please tell his Highness the honour is mine and I will attend him as soon as may be." but after the squire had bowed again, withdrawn a few paces and then turned to hurry away, Duncan allowed a note of frustration to enter his voice.

"I hoped that we would have more time! And I hoped even more to never to do this again."

His voice trailed off as though with remembered pain, then he seemed to gather his thoughts and said with a dry twist to his voice,

"I take it that you would prefer not to accompany me in the circumstances."

Columcil found it impossible to tell whether his grandfather would have liked him to be present but he could not pretend to anything but gratitude to be spared the sight of Jaxom preening himself in Prince Javan's company.

"Aye, I would that. And thank ye,  yer Grace."

Duncan could sense that Columcil was still prickly but at least this time he had not used the honorific like a weapon.

"I must go and robe, perhaps you would do me the honour of assisting me? This should only take a short while once I am vested, but however long I am gone, I beg of you to remain in the sacristy for my return and not take the chance to make good your escape."

Columcil could still feel the anger within him waiting to spill out, not least because his grandfather seemed to be able to read him so well, but he could not but realise that he was being treated with gentleness and courtesy by one who could simply have commanded his obedience so he nodded his acquiescence, and bent again to brush the Archbishop's  ring with his lips in token of his will to obey before following Duncan into the Cathedral.








Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on July 22, 2018, 12:29:11 PM
Lord Jaxom Trillick stood beside his mount and took in all the glory of the pageantry surrounding the departure to Meara.  Clad for the initial march in a quilted jazerant edged in the Trillick colours over deerskin trews, Jaxom looked the picture of young knighthood readying for battle.  And he knew it.

He watched as Prince Javan approached Archbishop McLain, one of his barons beside him holding the new battle standard.  The Haldane lion was displayed proudly next to the hoist, the colours of the prince's duchy displayed on the tails that flapped in the wind.   The Archbishop spoke the traditional words of blessing and triumph; King Kelson then stepped forward, laying his own consecrated hands on the standard, his words ringing true and stirring the troops to beat arms against shields in acknowledgment.

Now Jaxom mounted with the rest, whirling their mounts to parade before the noble spectators standing on the steps and the rest of those thronged in the courtyard.  Many of the ladies waved to the men as they rode past; several of the knights moved their horses out of line to accept a special token from a favoured lady before falling back in line.  Jaxom scanned the ladies looking for one in particular; surely Lady Aliset had a token for him to hold close to his heart.

He saw her standing not too far from the royal ladies.  He was about to start forward when the sun glinted off a bright head of fair hair.  Darcy!  The sorry excuse for a nobleman stood slightly in front of Lady Aliset, balled fists on his hips, looking in Jaxom's direction.  The nerve of the man!  In truth, he was nothing but a common sailor!  Darcy turned his head to one side and appeared to be saying something to her.  Aliset shook her head, and Darcy remained steadfast, his face set and determined.

Jaxom kept his mount in line, merely raising a hand in farewell in Aliset's direction.  He would prove himself the better man in the days to come.  Darcy was left behind, snivelling like a puppy at the lady's heels. He, Jaxom, would prove his worth.  He would earn the respect of the prince, maybe even earn the right for Trilshire to become an earldom!  Then Aliset would be begging for his favour, and Darcy Cameron could slink back to the sea.

Jaxom straightened even more in his saddle, confident in his rightful destiny.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on July 22, 2018, 03:42:07 PM
Kelric Duke of Corwyn had watchers on the gate of Ratherkin which was five miles from where they camped.  These scouts sent word last evening when a party of nobility entered Ratherkin. Trouble was, there was little Duke Kelric could do to intervene. He had not enough men and only a few siege engines. Ratherkin was a heavily defensible walled city. Earl Duncan Michael sent in a man who was willing and quiet capable to enter the city under guise as a Mearan trader. His orders were to gather information, and if the possibility lent itself, to target the man who lead the rebellion. Frustratingly, their spy had not made his second Rapport.  His plight was unknown. The first rapport had the spy in the town awaiting the view of the Mearan Pretender, but what followed, no one knew. If the man survived, of which there were doubts, he was unconscious or in a warded cell. Neither Duncan Michael nor Kelric could touch his mind.

The brigade of men from Truill and from Culdi marched in under Baron Jass's banner that same evening. They increased the Gwynedd arms to a substantial number. With a larger number of siege engines, the plans to retake Ratherkin could be solidified. However, at midnight a halt to preparing those siege engines was called. The King's Rapport to Kelric came through with little good news. The city of Laas was a likely next target, Prince Rory Haldane, Duke of Ratharkin was holding the city with too few men.  The siege of Ratherkin would have to wait until Laas was rescued from the same fate which Prince Rory's home had suffered. Understanding the need, yet frustrated, Kelric agreed to march west to Laas. Only then did the King of Gwynedd add the personal news about the attack on Lady Aliset and Sir Washburn's abduction. King Kelson forced a promise from his Duke of Corwyn that he would do nothing that he might later regret.  Hours passed seeing Kelric pace the war pavilion in anger; he wanted action so fiercely that most were afraid to approach him, and those who did only got the brunt of his anger.

Come the dawn, as much as Kelric desired to, no action against Ratherkin was taken. Soldiers sat moodily in their tents sharpening weapons that were already sharp. Duke Kelric, Earl Duncan Michael, Baron Jass and Baron Sieur II de Vali plotted the most expedient method to move the army to Laas and then they awaited further instruction from their king. Kelric found minimal rest in his long wait on his cot in his secluded corner of the war pavilion. Duncan Michael only came forth to assist in the energy drain when they were certain the King's Rapport was coming through. The orders they received were the ones expected, but not the orders they had hoped for. They were to abandon Ratherkin and march to Laas. There was news from Cassan. Men there had encountered a fleet of ships heading west. By the daring venture of their fleet general, Cassan had burned a large number of the Talon ships. Nevertheless, more than half had escaped and were again sailing westward. Their destination could only be Laas. Kelson reiterated his command to leave Ratherkin. The threat to Lass was a threat that had be stopped on all accounts.

Other news even less welcome than the first came from Kelson concerning Sir Washburn Morgan. Duncan Michael frowned at Kelric as he followed the information passed down from the king. The Duke of Corwyn appeared stony silent as he took in the  further lack of developments to find and free his brother. The Earl of Kierney felt the information fall behind Kelric's tight shields, there was no knowing what the duke was thinking and this worried the earl.  Both men continued the Rapport with their king as he explained how the Earl of Marley had gotten involved and that he would be traveling in the midst of His Royal Highness Prince Javan's army and that his purpose was to discover the man who had captured Washburn. Not to actually rescue Wash until some unknown event had happened first.  This upset Kelric to the point that if it had not been for Duncan Michael holding open their Rapport, the king's last words would have been lost. "Kelric, your my champion, I need you at Laas. Trust Brendan to do what needs to be done. Alaric raised you both to be among the best men Gwynedd offers. I have trust that between you two brothers, your family matter will be resolved. Know that others also offer their assistance. You can count on the two brothers of the Isles, Iain and Darcy Camaron, they will do their part.  Also with Darcy Camaron will be the the priest of Transha origin. Kelric, you know him well. I will trust that you will properly introduce him to you, Duncan Michael. If your acquaintance is made, then Duncan Michael, I have hopes you will like the man. You men of Trensha have a kinship that few others share, I for one was glad to have been accepted in my youth as one of you.

"Now is time for the next generation to show their prowess, I am counting on you all. May the heir of Gwynedd's king and the heir of Cassan join with the son of the legendary Duke of Corwyn. The strength of you three will guide the path and lead to the quelling of Meara's rebellion."

Thus was the effort to retake Ratherkin abandoned. And all was prepared to march west. It wasn't the march that worried Duncan Michael, it was the brooding of the Duke of Corwyn as the war pavilion was pulled down. A word said to the duke's squire was all the Earl of Kierney had time for. Therefore, squire Sieur III was watching his liege lord closely as he held the bridle of Rexxar. The eyes under the duke's helm were as stormy as the young Sieur had ever seen them. He feared Kelric would charge straight into Ratherkin himself. It would not happen, he was certain of it, but the young squire knew this thought was not far from the duke's mind. So far, the young man felt the earl's warning a disloyalty to the man he gave all his honor and respect too. He wouldn't want to betray the duke by spying on him even for the earl. Yet the duke's safety was foremost on his own mind. That moment to test his integrity came just after Kelric had given his last orders and had mounted his blood-sorrel drestrier. 

Most of the army was already on the march, when word came from the gate watchers that the same party of nobility were seen leaving Ratherkin. This time the Duke of Corwyn did not hesitate. He appointed four men to follow him and he spurred down the valley toward the distant walled town. Fear filled the young squire. He had not been appointed among the men to join his liege lord. Worried, he raced up the line of marching men, found his own father and told him of the Duke's anger and action. Baron Sieur II cursed loudly. Pulling half of his Cowryn men out of the lines, they turned their horses on the hunches, and bolted after their duke.

It was five miles before Baron Sieur caught up with Kelric and his chosen few, and that was only because Kelric had stopped just at the edge of the clearing before the gates of Ratherkin.

"My lord, come back please, you are nearly in bow range," Sieur called forth.

"Well, I am not, their arrows have fallen twenty yards shy." Kelric said in disgust pointing to a gathering of arrows that stood up from the dirt ahead of him.

"Good Lord! My liege that is too close!" Sieur said purposely moving his horse between the walls of Ratherkin and his good duke.

That action woke Kelric up to the danger. Only then did he order his men back into the cover of the tree line.

"Guy Talon, you are my tracker, find me which way that large party went; that would have been but an hour ago?" Kelric ordered, with determination sparking in his silver eyes.

"Yes, my lord," said the smallest man in their group. He urged his horse through the treeline, until he came abreast of the east road further away from where the road had branched from the road they were on in the clearing before the Ratherkin walls. This road followed the Llyn Tywyson River. In but a few minutes, in the distance, Kelric heard Guy Talon's wolf howl. The hunt was on.

It was Baron Sieur's suggestion to appear to retreat from the watchers on the wall, before the small group of riders turned east  to travel through the forest to come up upon the east road at a bend that could no longer be seen by those watching on the walls. It wouldn't bode well if they the hunters were in turn hunted by the the guards of Ratherkin. So far they had not heard the gates open and that was good. Once upon this open road, with Guy Talon in front, it was not hard to follow the hoof prints of those who had gone before them. "They are more than a dozen horses, my lord."

"There are more than a dozen of us," was Duke Kelric's reply.

They rode hard, hoping to over take the party of nobility that had women among them. They should have been able to overtake that party at some point. But their quarry did not seem to have taken any time to rest the horses or the lady riders. The Corwyn men took no respite either. They rode on until they came upon the place where the Tharkane River flowed into Llyn Tywyson.  Here Guy Talon lead them a short distance until they came to a rutted path that lead to an old gatehouse and an abandoned ferry crossing.

Guy Talon was off is horse looking at all the footprints in the damp ground. "They stopped here," he yelled over his shoulder to the duke. "They mulled around for some time. See these boot prints mixed with these soft soled prints, they head over to that shed and they do not return. However these here boot prints do return and all the horses are lead off to the water's edge to cross. Several hoof prints are lighter, these horses would be riderless, then."

"How long ago?" Kelric yelled out.

"Less than an hour, my lord."

"Too long," baron Sieur heard Kelric mumble.

The duke sided his drestrier up next to the shed.

"It will be trapped," the baron warned.

"Aye, it will!" Kelric agreed as he kicked in the door with his booted foot. The shed was small, recently re-thatched. The interior dark, but for the light from the door which exposed a clean stone floor.

Even as they looked at the stone, a shadow darkened the floor as clouds moved quickly in over head. Their warning was the feel of the hairs at the back of their necks bristling at the surge of power building in the sky above.  It was warning enough for Baron Sieur to grab Rexxar's reigns and pull his Liege lord away.

((12:30 Laurna Rolling for Valarian to do his weather working and to strike the shed with lightning, Per Bynw this is a 3d6 roll, success on a 5 or 6.
12:30 Laurna !roll 3d6
12:30 derynibot 3, 6, 2 == 11))

A flash of lightning streaked through the sky. It seared the thatched roof of the shed with a soul wrenching "Crack". The sound was so close, everyone swore they heard it before the light blinded them.

((Kelric save test. 2d6 save test saved from the lightning with a 5 or 6. Rolled 6 + 6 = 12. Verification Number: 4h8tpfk44k Yes, good job Kelric!))

Kelric felt deaf and blind for the moments after, only his hard control over his mount kept Rexxar from bolting and kept him alert in the saddle. His shields had flared to their maximum defense and he swore that was all that saved him and his drestrier. He blinked several times to see Baron Sieur still astride as well, although the baron was hunkered down on his horse's neck placating the beast who whinnied and wanted to rear. Sieur's human touch which boarded on second sight seemed to keep the drestrier under control.

((Baron Sieur's save test. 2d6 save test saved from the lightning with a 5 or 6.results= 5 + 3 = 8. Verification Number: 5qjgtmcnbh))

Not so for all the other riders who had been yards further away. Many horses reared and many more kicked as their riders fought to calm them down.  Kelric turned from them to the smell of smoke. The shed roof was ablaze; the stone floor as seen through the smoke coming out of the door was shattered and uplifted. If there had been a Portal there, it was no more.

The sky above began to bristle with energy.

"To the trees!" Kelric commanded. All at once it was a mass charge for the 15 riders to push their steeds into the underbrush of the treeline.

((12:57 Laurna Ok rolling for second lightning strike. Does it hit any of the 15 riders. 3d6 roll of 5 or 6 yes.
12:58 Laurna !roll 3d6
12:58 derynibot 1, 2, 2 == 5
12:58 Laurna hahahahah yes love it!
12:58 DesertRose :) ))

The zigzag streak of a white bolted lightning struck the tips of the tree over their heads. Flame burst from the tree top limbs easily catching fire in the dryness of the summer heat.

Defeated, but alive, Kelric pulled his horse up, making certain that all his men got away. There was no defense for continuing on the trail toward wherever his enemy had gone. He marked the location in his mind. He recalled his king's words to do nothing that he would later regret. The following down pour of rain following the lightning strikes had the effect of calming some of the duke's anger. The Duke of Corwyn whispered a prayer and a plea to Saint Camber to watch over his brother, wherever he was. Then he spurred his horse north to reach his men and then for all of them to return to the army lines marching toward Laas.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on July 26, 2018, 07:51:14 AM
It took all Duncan's years of training and experience as priest and Deryni not to give way to his emotions as he blessed the departing troops and even more as he saw Kelson's hand on the royal standard. The memories were there, beating against the inner walls of his shields, ready to burst through given the slightest chance. Alaric bowing his head to his blessing; the realisation that he and Dhugal had ridden into a trap; the wall of fiery illusion which he had conjured to give Dhugal his chance of escape, knowing that that most likely sealed his own fate; worst of all. the terror of being chained to the stake and feeling the flames licking at his scorched flesh, seeing Dhugal, and the rescue he brought, appearing too late over the horizon. He deliberately made his eyes opaque, not meeting the glance of any. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Aliset standing slightly behind Darcy, his stance, whether he realised it or not, still that of her protector. He hardly knew whether he should be comforted by that or fear what it might mean for the future.

Despite the solemnity of the occasion there was something of a carnival atmosphere as the young noblemen ostentatiously curbed and wheeled their horses, and the ladies waved and gave their tokens. Duncan's heart ached for these youngsters who could not imagine what warfare was like, still less what they would meet in Meara. After years of peace they were eager to prove their manhood, and most, even perhaps Prince Javan, would struggle to see this as more than a more dangerous and therefore more glorious tourney. God assoil them! They would learn better and he could only pray that it would not be at too great a cost.

Finally Javan slipped smoothly from his saddle and came to kneel at his father's feet, laying his forehead against the royal hands before lifting the right hand one to his lips. For a long moment Kelson stood motionless, then he lifted Javan up, almost as he would have done when he was a child, and the two men embraced. Then Javan broke away, mounted his destrier as easily as he had dismounted, wheeled and led his troops off at a canter. Perhaps as a release from such an emotionally charged moment, as they left, a wild cheering broke out.

Duncan knew that he should stay and offer comfort to Kelson, who almost alone amongst those gathered understood the cost of warfare, but he could not. Brusquely he gestured to his acolytes to lead the way, and somberly he followed them back towards the Cathedral. He longed to be able to sink on his knees before the altar but first he had Columcil to deal with. He could only hope that his fiery grandson had done as ordered - though in truth it had been more of an entreaty than an instruction - and spent the intervening time in prayer rather than feeding his anger. Entering the sacristy, he found that Columcil was indeed on his knees, head bowed as in prayer, but he was too tightly shielded for Duncan to tell what was really going on. Mustering his patience, Duncan waited silently while the acolytes reverently laid their burdens in their due places, prayer book, aspergillum and holy water, but when they would have helped him disrobe he thanked and dismissed them.

"I shall have to prevail on you again to assist me, if you would be so good."

At the sound of Duncan's voice, Columcil got immediately to his feet and did as he had been bid. A sign of ready obedience or of a shallow meditation? Again, Duncan could not tell, but once he was clothed again in his plain cassock and invited Columcil to sit with him the other complied readily enough.

Columcil had spent the hour or so of solitude in prayer although it had been one of those times when God resolutely declined to make his presence known. It had not helped that Columcil had no idea what he should be praying for for himself, and his prayers for his other three companions, fervent though they were, had the tendency to bring him back to his burning sense of injustice and helplessness. "Oh that the Lord might slay the wicked!" had been the heart-sick cry of the faithful since the days of the Psalmist but it hardly lent itself to peaceful meditation. He was as angry and frustrated as he had been in the stable and he feared that whatever was said to him he was going to be hard pressed to contain his emotions. In honesty he was forced to admit that, both as his ecclesiastical superior and his grandfather, Archbishop Duncan had been remarkably tolerant of his rudeness but he was nevertheless taken aback when the latter's first words to him were:

"What I am going to require of you may seem strange but I am going to ask you, on the obedience you owe to your Archbishop, that you do not hold back the emotions that you feel in response to what I am about to tell you." As Columcil hesitated, not knowing how to reply, Duncan added with a smile,

"And this time you may say, 'As your Grace pleases', without fear of an inappropriate response from your Archbishop."

Duncan's voice was so warmly humorous that Columcil could not help but smile back although his real emotion was confusion. Was he really being invited to share what he was feeling, or, the thought struck him, had the strain of the last few days finally started to take their toll on what was after all an elderly man. He contented himself with saying neutrally, "If you say so, Your Grace," and waited to see what it was that the Archbishop felt it so important that he be told.

"You are to return to St. Melangell's, leaving here after Prime tomorrow morning."

Columcil's first reaction was incredulous joy at being granted, thus easily, what he had been longing for. It was not hard to obey his Archbishop's instruction and allow his pleasure to flood his being, but although the joy was real it was not long before another emotion crept in, that of disappointment. Was he simply being sent home as of no further use as though his part in the events of the last weeks had been of no significance? He made no attempt to quell the disappointment, indeed it was just beginning to blossom into anger at such a peremptory dismissal when the Archbishop spoke again using the same flat tone which gave Columcil no clue as to what response, if any, was hoped for.

"Darcy has been dismissed from the Lady Aliset's service, by personal command of His Majesty, and he is to escort you back to St. Melangell's."

Columcil's anger was immediate and incandescent. This would break Darcy's heart. Bad enough that he had been denied the privilege of serving under the Prince, but to be considered unworthy to remain in the service of the lady he would die to protect.... And for why? Because he, and he alone, had had the guts to defend her honour. God, there was no' a decent yin among the pack o'them. And yon Archbishop sat there wi' no care for him nor Darcy. Nae wonder his ma hadna wanted him ta ken who had sired him. For fear that he should be tainted wi' shame, it had been, no' her shame, but the shame o' bein' kin ta the nobility. Gi'e him the decent common folk and no' these lords wi' their lies and deceits. Damn waitin' til the morn, he'd find Darcy and let the twae o'them be off the noo.

He made as if to get to his feet but felt a touch on his arm. Had there been any sense of restraint or command in that touch, he would have shaken it off but it was tentative, as though the owner of the hand was unsure of his right to touch him. Forcing back down his desire even so to lash out, for he was sure that archiepiscopal licence would not go that far, he turned towards the Archbishop and was startled to see a look of contrition in his eyes.

Duncan spoke quietly with that same sense of apology. Somewhere in the back of his mind Alaric held his head in his hands in despair muttering "always too clever by half!", but if this would serve to protect his grandson, then so be it. He just hoped that said grandson would himself understand.

"Forgive me, I hope that in a moment you will understand why I have seemed to be playing with your feelings. I want you to keep those feelings in the forefront of your mind so that if anyone should challenge who you are and what you are doing, you can let him read the simple country priest glad to be free of the royal court and all it's doings and torn between joy and anger. Though I doubt in truth whether you have ever been a just a simple country priest." The last sentence was added almost as an afterthought.

Columcil sat and stared blankly at Duncan. The only coherent thought that he could get a hold of was embarrassment that his feelings had been so easy to read, but then he had made no effort to shield them. Otherwise he had absolutely no clue as to what the man was talking about and wondered which one of them it was who was losing his mind, or perhaps it was the both of them. For perhaps the first time he allowed himself to look straight into the other's eyes, and read there both sanity and truth. The Archbishop made no attempt to evade his gaze, indeed he seemed to welcome it as though he were inviting him to test the truth of his words.

Duncan waited for Columcil to speak, but on the whole was relieved when he did not. He paused a moment longer then continued, picking his words with care.

"We have been far too complacent these last years and now we are paying the price of our presumption. There may be more than one spy amongst us and for all our sakes, most especially Washburn's, the longer your and Darcy's true mission can be kept a secret the better."

Duncan waited again for Columcil to speak but still there was silence, although Columcil was watching him intently and Duncan kept his shields down allowing the other to Read the truth of what he was saying. Quite deliberately he made no attempt to Read Columcil. Though, as yet he had shared none of the details of this true mission, he had rather expected another outpouring of emotion like the first which had been of such intensity that only the densest of humans could have failed to pick up some of the overflow, but Columcil sat mute, clearly in thoughtful silence. Finally when Columcil spoke in was in a measured tone which had none of the surprise or protest that Duncan expected, and although it was phrased as a question it had the force of a statement

"I'm no' to go back to St Melangell's?"

It appeared to Duncan that he had, once again, underestimated his grandson and it was his tone that held the surprise,

"You knew!"

"Dinna get me wrong, I was gey made up when I speired tha' I would be on ma way hame. And aye, yer Grace will ha' kenned that I've no been happy about some o' the things that I've seen here - God forgi'e me for ma presumption ta critcise yersen an' e'en himself the King. An' if ye'd no come to find me this morn I'd half a mind to jump on Speans' back and turn ma back on the lot o' yous. But aye, I'm no surprised. When I went to yon shrine in Desse and made ma confession..." Columcil stopped mid sentence and looked shamefacedly at Duncan before continuing, "And mebbe Yer Grace would be good enow ta hear me again afore I leave here, though I'm thinkin' I've nae right ta ask ye after ma insolence ta ye."

Duncan put his hand again on Columcil's arm and said softly, "I'm not sure that it isn't the other way round, but it will be my honour to serve you as your priest. But, please, carry on with what you were saying."

"Aye, at yon shrine, I kenned, I canna tell ye how or why, but I kenned that the Lord was tellin' me that I'd no' be goin' back, that He'd ither work fer me ta do. Och, I've argued and greeted, aye, and told Him nay, but what use is a priest who says nay ta his Lord?" To his horror Columcil found that his eyes were filling with tears and he blurted out in a choked voice,

"But I'm sore grieved for the folk at St Melangell's an' I canna tell ye how much I'll miss that holy wee lass herself."

Duncan longed to take his grandson in his arms but knew that that would be to unleash the floodgates. Instead he spoke calmly, although inside he was uneasy about the confession that he must now make.

"She will be with you wherever you are. Saints are not bound by time and space as we are." There was a strange tone in his voice as he said this which made Columcil look up but Duncan was already continuing, "I told you that it was I that needed to confess to you, and I can only beg you to forgive me for what I have done without asking your leave. You are perhaps right in some of what you think of Rhemuth," Duncan sighed but gestured to the other to remain silent when he would have spoken, "but be that as it may, I have already acted to take care of St Melangell's Parish. When Kelric Told the King of his meeting with you, I realised that something bigger than you could know had set your journey in motion else you would not have met up with your companions, and that at the very least it would be long before you returned. The priest who you left to take care of the sacraments is no doubt a fine man but I doubt that he is a healer."

Duncan stopped for a moment and took hold of his pectoral cross, his lips moving in prayer. When he spoke again his voice was very much that of a man making his confession.

"I do not know, none of us can, how much of the healing that happened was due to your gifts as a healer and what was by the grace of St Melangell. In one sense it does not matter, since all healing comes from God. May she and He grant me pardon me for my presumption, but I feared that with you gone the healings might have ceased. I have already given permission for St Melangell's to be recognised as a healing shrine and two healers, one a priest and another a sister who has trained with the Servants of St Camber, have been given the necessary Archbishop's charter and charged with the care of the parish and shrine. Since they have been travelling by portal, they should be nearing their destination now, if they have not already arrived. And now, will you forgive me?"

To his own surprise what Columcil mainly felt was relief. Relief that his parish was being taken care of; relief that his own secret fear, that with his absence as a healer the healings would cease and St Melangell cease to be honoured, was not just arrogance on his part; relief that he had been wrong to assume that the Archbishop merely regarded others as tools but he did have a real concern for the flock.

He rose and dropped to his knee before Duncan, repeating his action in the stable but without the offence of his earlier feigned humility. With genuine deference and gratitude he reached for the Archbishop's amethyst and kissed it, then looking Duncan fully in the face he said,

"I am truly content for it to be as your Grace has pleased."

Not wanting to prolong the emotion of the moment for both their sakes he rose and regained his seat and said in a determinedly matter of fact voice, shedding much of his brogue along with his emotion.

"But if I am not to return to St Melangell's and therefore Darcy is not to accompany me there, then the rest of what you have to tell me mun concern what we're to do?"

"Indeed. Will you consent to allow me to join in Rapport with you, it will be easier if I show you now, and it will be important for the future."

Duncan held out his hands palm upwards for Columcil to place his over them. Somewhat to his surprise (though surely, he thought, he should have stopped being surprised by his grandson)  Columcil showed no hesitation, but once physical contact had been made rolled back his shields and invited the touch of his mind.

((Duncan establishes rapport with Columcil 5+6+2=13 77721snd0m))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on July 27, 2018, 01:53:21 AM
Having secured the Portal at the White Rose Boarding-house, Laird Seisyll Arilan and his son, Lord Jamyl, returned to the Riverside Portal cellar to finished their obligations to the king. With what remained of the morning, they put their Deryni skills to fully untrap the Portal. They were running out of time, so far the portal was only temporarily disarmed, that trap might snap back to the full force of a near- semi-lethal consequence if they were not successful.  The Portal then would be impossible to be used by any of them, other than by the very man who had set the trap in the first place and that man they meant to catch if he ever did try to come this way again.

((12:07 seisyll Seisyll attempting to untrap the riverside Portal , Ritual magic user need a roll of 11 or greater. Only get one try per person per day.
12:07 seisyll !roll 2d6
12:07 derynibot 3, 3 == 6
12:07 seisyll Nope
12:07 seisyll Jamyl will give it a try. Spell trained 2d6
12:08 seisyll !roll 2d6
12:08 derynibot 5, 5 == 10))

After much angst, neither Deryni lord had shown success at dealing with the Portal disarming. The irritation of it was driving Seisyll to an anger he did not like to show. Especially before his son. It was fortunate that Jamyl was as much his son and he was Seisyll's brother's nephew. Yes, to the father's sometime lament, Jamyl showed the same ease and wit as Lord Sextus could display, although it was fortunate that unlike Sextus, Jamyl's temperament was moderated with Seisyll's honor and responsibility.

"Ack,! Da'd, I swear I nearly had it!" exclaimed the younger Arilin after his attempt and feeling the tingle of his failure with his fingers on the active stone. Sweat had glistened across the younger Arilan's brow, even as he ruefully smiled at failure. Jamyl was in his prime, that being mid-thirties. Trouble with this kind of magic is that it did not require the strength or stamina that the young could put forth, but rather the balancing of energies by a practiced mind to get the levels just right, not unlike shifting a tool just right to pick a lock, a Deryni Lock. "Think maybe it is time I settled in to upping my Spell Training to a higher level," the young man said with a mixed laugh and sigh as he sat back on the heels of his feet, his knees resting at the edge of the Portal stone.

"I think your tone is implying that it is time I too upped my training to the next level," Seisyll agreed accepting that his efforts had failed too. "You are too right. We Arilan's have become complacent in more ways than one." The Laird of Tre-Arilan frowned.  "We have failed our king and our kingdom by not foreseeing this menace. This job was ours, we are led among many, Many who keep their eyes and ears open to discover this kind of trouble long before it becomes a hazard. The few hints of stirring in the far-east had seemed so minor. Now, I wonder how we missed the clues of Valarian's deception and power gain. The events and rumors from the east all start to fit together. Too late to be of any value to Kelson." The shame Laird Seisyll felt was open for his son to read.

A rumble of cheering from the streets above could be heard in the cellar. It shook both father and son out of their inward thoughts. They ascended the ladder and stairs and made their way out onto the street. The whole population of Rhemuth had turned out to see the parade of brightly clad knights of Gwynedd and scarlet clad Haldane Lancers who marched out of the city to put down the rebellion in Meara. Bright colored banners and flags waved over the crowds heads. Flowers were tossed onto the road as Prince Javan proudly led his men forward. The line of knights slowed as they came before the ferry docks. It would take several barges to get this many riders across the river. For in truth the ferries had been shifting soldiers over to the north river bank all the day before and all through the morning, now it was only the noble knights who would cross last.

Lord Jamyl felt a surge of guilt that he was not riding beside His Royal Highness Javan, his closest friend. His orders had been other. He was to stay behind and be prepared to take orders from the king to whatever Portal was necessary when it was required. So he knew he wouldn't be staying behind for too long. But not riding out felt like a betrayal. And when he saw that shinny peacock of a knight of Trillick riding near his prince,it felt like this was the biggest betrayal, ever. That was Jamyl's place, damn him! His father put his hand on his son's shoulder, stilling the younger Arilan from any action. "Come, Lord Brendan is motioning us to meet him when they stop at the ferry docks." Thus the two lords pushed their way through the throng of common folk to meet up with the Earl of Marley.

As Prince and knights began to board the barges, Lord Brendan Coris rode off to the side to await Laird Seisyll. Jamyl was surprised to see the Earl of Marley leading a black war stallion behind his own destrier. The stallion was geared in a knight's black saddle and black bridle, yet no caparison or markings indicated who the stallion belonged to. Brendan passed the reins of the fine animal over to Seisyll who in turn handed them to Jamyl. The black steed nosed Jamyl's hand as he calmed the great horse down with a pat. Damn, he knew this horse and his eyes went up to Brendan's instantly in question.  Brendan was busy handing across to Seisyll a newly sheathed pearl handled dagger with rubies at the hilt. Jamyl recognized that weapon too. But why was Brendan handing across his youngest brother's things? Surely he would be taking them with him, for when he found his brother. Jamyl was confused.

Brendan pulled the gauntlet off his hand and held his hand out for the two Arilan men. Both took his hand and instantly a shallow Rapport for passing orders was made. Per the king's orders, it was easiest for me to get Shadow Dancer along with my brother's gear and weapons out of the castle without questions made. But these things are not for me to take to Meara. I damn wish that they were. But I understand the need and obey the king's will in this. Brendan's withheld anger tinged his mind speech. I ask that one of you follow me across the river and hold Sir Washburn's things there, hold them safe until another comes who can take them into Meara. That other should be leaving in the morning, but if perchance they sneak out tonight, well than the ferryman has orders to detain the seaman Lord Darcy and the priest Father Columcil on the barge until you can present them with these items. This should bring the least attention to them as they leave the city. With God's hand and good will, it is I who am to be the distraction before our enemy and it is they who will actually rescue my brother. "Pray that it happens," he said aloud.

The Arilan men gave the Earl of Marley their good will. Seisyll turned to his son. "We have our orders. Settle Shadow into that barn at north dockside. You're to stay there until the two men we need pass by. Contact me as soon as you have meet with them." With a nod from Siesyll, Jamyl leaped into the black's saddle. With understanding between him and his father, he received the Lendour dagger, slipped it in his belt and then with a prance from Shadow who seemed to sense something was afoot, Jamyl followed Lord Brendan to the ferry barge. They were the last to board the barge with the prince. Thankful to have a few moments with his good friend, Jamyl moved over beside Javan and gave him his undying loyalty and his good will. Then all too soon the barge was at the North shore and they were disembarking.

The crowd continued to cheer and throw flowers into the river as the last of the barges pulled off the dock and made its river crossing. Across on the far bank, five thousand men stood at attention prepared to march north.  At this point, Jamyl separated from the army and slipped into the permanent stables there to await the arrival of the two men who would become protector of Sir Washburn's things.

Unsure of the king's wisdom for leaving the fate of the young Morgan into the hands of these two unknowns, Seisyll made his way back to the Cellar. He needed to finish breaking that damn portal trap and then he had to retrap it. He would sit at portal side himself if necessary, until the portal signature that they knew Washburn had been taken to, became available and then he would use it.  And pray he would follow Sir Washburn in that way.

When he climbed down to the cellar, he was not too surprised to see Uncle Denis standing on the portal stone.

"No success, I see." the bishop said with a grin. "Didn't I tell you, you needed to get your Spell Mastery in order," his uncle said.

"You are right as always." Seisyll ducked his head, knowing he would not hear the end of this anytime soon. "Perhaps you can lend me a blessed hand in this disarming and then we can ward the whole room and make a trap of our own. Kelson wants to trap anyone who jumps here and make it so they can not escape."

"I concur with that," was the bishop's response.

((12:09 seisyll Uncle  Denis Bishop of Dassa is Spell Master 3d6, need an 11 or greater to disarm the Portal trap
12:09 seisyll !roll 3d6
12:09 derynibot 5, 1, 5 == 11
12:09 seisyll Sigh just made it. good.))

And with that said, with intense concentration, the Spell Master succeeded in breaking the Scholar's trap.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on July 30, 2018, 02:42:22 PM
Lady Aliset de Mariot watched as Lord Darcy strode across the courtyard in search of Father Columcil. The slight roll to his gait made her smile; she doubted he would ever lose it, no matter how long he stayed on dry land.

He had promised to return later in the afternoon.  At first, she wondered why he had hesitated; did he still have misgivings about the use of magic?  She would not fault him if he did.  While he had seen and experienced the good it could do, he had also seen the damage and pain it could cause.  Even death.

In a sudden flash of insight, despite how thoroughly he was shielding his thoughts from her, she had realized it was the thought of having to leave her a second time that caused his distress.  Poor Darcy!  She had put him through so much to get her here, and now he was off to face even graver danger. And through no fault of her own, she was responsible for at least some part of it.  It was her concern for his safely that finally convinced him to agree.

Watching him go tugged at Aliset's heart.  Was the dismay she felt at his leaving because she had begun to care deeply for him?  Or was it because he was the last of the people she could depend on to selflessly look after her, and now he would be gone too?  The thought of the king dismissing Darcy as her man-at-arms without any consultation angered her.  She was not the king's possession!  Or was she?  The thought that, in truth, she might have so little say in her own destiny chilled her.

"Lady Aliset?" a voice said behind her.  It was Duchess Grania, and Aliset realized the ladies were beginning to drift back towards the Queen's Tower. "We should return now."  Aliset curtseyed and accompanied the duchess back toward the confines of the Queen's Tower.
 
Though many of the ladies chattered back and forth as they returned, both Grania and Aliset remained silent.  Grania glanced sidelong at the young woman beside her several times; Aliset looked determined in some resolve, and Grania was concerned. Sadness at Lord Darcy's imminent departure she could understand, but what was Aliset so determined to do?

"Aliset," Grania said as they passed into the tower.  "Please come with me a moment.  I have something to give to you." 

"Of course, your Grace," Aliset responded, hiding her impatience.  She had preparations to make for later.

Duchess Grania guided Aliset to a small receiving room that opened into her private quarters.  She picked up a leather script from the table.  "Your brother Sir Alister left this at the Schola.  He had commissioned copies of several scrolls on healing that he intended to pick up next time he was in Rhemuth."  Grania's voice was gentle as she handed Aliset the script.

Aliset realized her hand was shaking slightly as he accepted the script from the duchess.  The top flap had the head of an eagle embossed on it.  Tears stung Aliset's eyes, and she tried to blink them away.

"You may take it back to your room if you would like, to have some privacy."

"Thank you, your Grace," Aliset responded and then added in a rush of resolve, "I also need to prepare items for some training for Lord Darcy later today."  At Grania's startled look, she added, "In magic."

"My dear, is that wise?"

"Your Grace, I assure you it is absolutely necessary. Lord Darcy knows so little about his powers.  At least let me show him basic skills that might aid him in his mission.  I can't let him go so unprepared," Aliset added firmly.

Duchess Grania bit back the reproach she might have spoken.  At least Aliset accepted that Darcy would be leaving; there could be little harm in a few hours spent, well supervised, in teaching him additional skills.  "Very well but take a little time for yourself first.  I will send Lady Analine in a short while.  She is Deryni and progressing well in her own training.  If there are items you need, she will help you secure them. She will also remain with you while you are working with Lord Darcy."

"Thank you, your Grace!" Aliset gave a deep curtsey, relieved that she could proceed as she had hoped.  She retreated to the privacy of her room to examine the contents of her brother's script and plan the afternoon's lessons.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on August 01, 2018, 02:41:59 PM
Lord Darcy Cameron rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand.  "I think I have a headache."

"Excellent!" Lady Aliset replied.

"What?" Darcy gave the lady sitting across the table from him a startled look.

"I can show you how to lessen pain.  Though I am sorry all of this has given you a headache," she added contritely.

Darcy had arrived late for the training session Aliset had planned.  He had run into difficulty with one of the stewards who did not want to provide the amount of supplies Darcy thought he needed.  Darcy had worked with his Quartermaster too long to be swayed in his calculations.  In the end, Lord Seisyll Arilan, returning to the castle after some errand, had set matters straight.  Darcy was still a little prickly when he arrived at the Queen's Tower with Robert.

Lady Analine had joined them a small room overlooking the garden.  She was a pleasant, young woman several years older than Aliset, and she had cheerfully helped Aliset gather the items she needed.  She and Robert sat on a bench near the window; Aliset and Darcy sat across from each other at a small table in the middle of the room.

At first, the training had gone well.  As with any new student to magic, Aliset had started out with creating handfire.  The gleeful look on Darcy's face when the small, silver ball of handfire rose from his palm encouraged her to move on to the next lesson.

Unfortunately, igniting fire had not come as easily.  When Darcy finally succeeded in igniting the small log in the fireplace, the flame leaped upward with such intensity that it scorched the upper bricks.  Robert extinguished it immediately with the bucket of water Lady Analine had suggested they have ready.  Darcy had apologised profusely and Aliset had assured him that such things were expected to happen.

Will Darcy learn to lessen pain successfully?  (One dice at a disadvantage.)
Jerusha   !roll 1d6
13:02   derynibot   6 == 6
Success!

Aliset held out her hand, palm up, and Darcy placed his hand on top of it, easily slipping into rapport with her.  Aliset showed him how it was done and watched as he closed his pale blue eyes to concentrate.  She saw his body relax and felt the dull ache she had detected recede.  Darcy hand remained on hers, inviting another lesson.

"Very good, Lord Darcy," Aliset said aloud, aware of the two that watched them from the bench.  "Next we'll try fatigue banishing."

"Aye, that might be helpful," Darcy said. 

"But, it comes with a price," she cautioned him.  At his puzzled look, she continued.  "Each time you do this, you will feel refreshed and alert.  But the effects are only temporary, and your body will demand time to recover."  Aliset shared the memory of her collapse into Duke Kelric's arms after their arrival at Arc Fedei to illustrate her point.  "Now, think of a phrase, something simple, that will help trigger the process.  It's also useful to use a discreet gesture to help you focus."  She showed him how to do it across the link they continued to share.

Will Darcy be able to successfully banish fatigue?  (Again, one dice at disadvantage.)
Jerusha   !roll 1d6
13:02   derynibot   5 == 5
Success

Darcy thought for a moment, then reached his free hand behind his neck as if to ease knotted muscles.   Aliset felt his alertness return.  She had not realized until now how tired he was.  She withdrew her hand.

"Now we'll move on to something more difficult.  I'm going to show you how to open a lock with your mind."  Aliset rose to retrieve a stout padlock from the supplies she had placed on a nearby chair.

"I've got a lock pick in my sea bag," Darcy said hopefully.

Aliset shook her head and smiled, placing the lock on the table.  "You may never need it again.  Focus your mind on doing the same thing the key would do; move the lock pins in the right direction to allow the locking bar to free the shank."

Will Darcy be able to unlock the lock with his mind? (One dice at a disadvantage)
Jerusha   !roll 1d6
13:02   derynibot   1 == 1
Oops!

Darcy picked up the padlock, examined it for a moment and then placed it in the centre of the table.  He stared at it, his gaze growing more intense.  Aliset could tell, as the muscles in his jaw drew tighter, that it was not going well.  Finally, he reached out, picked up the padlock and shook it.  The pins fell out through the key hole, along with a spring.

"Bloody hell," Darcy murmured. 

"Oh dear," Aliset said.  "Maybe we should try a simpler lock for the first time."  She stood and retrieved a small wooden box from the chair.  "This was my brother's.  I opened the lock with my powers just a short while ago, since I don't have the key."  She moved the padlock and its pieces to one side and set the box on the table.

"My lady, are you sure you want me to try this again?  I don't want to break your brother's box!" 

"You will not break it, Lord Darcy," Aliset said soothingly.  "Take a deep breath and then focus your powers on the lock."

Will Darcy break Aliset's brother's Box? (One dice at a disadvantage)
Jerusha   !roll 1d6
13:03   derynibot   2 == 2
Failure.  Whew.

Darcy took a deep breath and focused on the small lock set in the front of the box.  In a few moments, he felt the locking mechanism free the lid.  With a smile, Aliset opened the box.

"Why couldn't I do the other one?" Darcy mused.  He picked the padlock up and one more pin fell out.  He took a closer look and then drew his dagger from its sheath.  He used it to examine the area where the shank should have come free.

"My lady," Darcy exclaimed.  "This lock is broken!"

Aliset looked down at the scattered pieces of the lock on the table.  "Yes, Lord Darcy, I believe it is."

"No, no, I mean before all that."  He held the lock out to her, pointing at the shank with his dagger.  "Look at how it is rusted together.  The key would not have opened it either.  And I am not a total...." Darcy stopped speaking, his face turning pink as he decided to say something else.  "I'm not totally incompetent," he finished lamely.

Aliset noticed that Lady Analine was looking intently at her embroidery, and Robert was trying no to laugh. 

"Of course, you're not incompetent.  I should have checked the lock first."

"Is there more to be done, Lady Aliset?" Darcy asked.  He was torn between having enough of this and not wanting to leave.

"I have one more exercise I would like you to try."  Aliset looked at him carefully.  "Are you willing?"

"Of course, my lady," came Darcy's quick response.  He returned his dagger to its sheath.

"This time we'll try scrying.  This can be quite useful, especially when trying to find something or someone."  Aliset placed a wide goblet on the table and filled it with red wine.  Darcy looked at the contents and then looked hopefully at Aliset.

Aliset chuckled.  "No, my lord, you may not have a sip first."

Darcy grinned back.  "You can't fault me for trying, my lady." 

"For scrying," Aliset began, "you focus on a surface, such as this wine, or an object, like a flame. But not like the last one you created."  Darcy gave her a wry smile.  At least he hadn't totally lost his sense of humour.  "It also helps if you have something that belonged to the person you seek.  A ring, or perhaps a ribbon of some sort."

Darcy looked at the Heir's Ring on his right index finger and removed it.  "A ring such as this?  It was worn by Iain, until he became Baron Isles."

"Exactly, though we may be too distant from Sir Iain to find him in an initial attempt.  Don't think of it as a failure if this doesn't work," she said firmly.

Darcy nodded, and Aliset explained how he should proceed.

Will Darcy find Sir Iain by scrying?  (One dice at a disadvantage.)
Jerusha   !roll 1d6
13:04   derynibot   3 == 3
Failure.  Drat

Darcy stared at the smooth surface of the wine, holding tightly to the Heir's Ring.  For the briefest of moments, he thought he saw the inside walls of a castle, but the image faded almost at once.  "I almost had something, just for a moment...."

"Take a moment to relax and then try again.  As I said, distance is a factor in success."  Aliset gave him an encouraging smile. 

Will Darcy succeed to find Iain in his second attempt?  (One dice at a disadvantage)
Jerusha   !roll 1d6
13:04   derynibot   1 == 1
Failure.  Sigh....

Darcy sat straighter on his chair, focused again on the surface of the wine and tried again.  Slowly the surface of the wine rippled, gradually building up to small waves.  When one splashed over the side of the goblet, Aliset called for Darcy to stop.

Darcy slumped back in his chair, admitting defeat.  "I suggest it is time to stop.  There are still a few more things I need to do before morning."  His voice sounded glum.

"I think you are right," Aliset said and then had another thought.  "I could still be of some help after you leave."  Darcy gave her a quizzical look.  "We could place a psychic charge on your ring.  You will be able to focus on it and contact me more easily via rapport if you have questions on some of the things we have tried."

Darcy looked interested.  "How do we proceed?" 

"It would help if I had something like your ring to charge.  I could focus on it at the same time to strengthen our rapport.  I'm afraid I have very little jewelry here with me."  Aliset sighed thoughtfully.

Darcy hesitated and then reached inside his shirt, pulling out a small, tarnished silver ring on a brighter silver chain.  "Would this do? Iain gave it to me when he left for Rhemuth, so I wouldn't forget that I was the heir.  I outgrew it not long after, but I have worn it on a chain ever since."

"This will be perfect," Aliset said, reaching out to examine it more closely.  "Are you sure you won't mind being without it?"

"I'll know it is safe with you, my lady," Darcy said, his voice softer than normal.

Aliset blushed.  "Let's see if we can make this work," she said quickly.  "You can learn the technique at the same time."

Will Darcy be able to charge the ring?  (One dice disadvantage, though maybe I could have used two since Aliset is assisting.)
Jerusha   !roll 1d6
13:05   derynibot   5 == 5
Success.  Yea!

Aliset touched the two rings together, entering rapport with Darcy and showing him how it was done.  A satisfying closeness resulted, and Aliset knew they had been successful.

Reluctantly, Darcy broke off the rapport.  Gently, he lifted the chain and rested it around Aliset's neck. 

"I should take my leave, Lady Aliset," he said gruffly.

"Lord Darcy, if I had known you would be leaving, I would have made a token for you to carry with you."  Aliset sounded genuinely distressed.

"Do not fret, my lady.  All will be well."

"God be with you," Aliset said with a catch in her voice.

"And with you, my lady."  Darcy bowed deeply and reached forward gently to grasp her hand and carry it to his lips.  His kiss was firm and gentle; Aliset felt a delightful shiver creep up her arm and surround her shoulders.  She smiled at him.

"My Lady," Darcy said as he straightened and committed her lovely smile to memory.  "Your smile is the only token I need to bring me safely back." 

He turned to leave, and Aliset realized her training had not been enough. "Wait, Lord Darcy," Aliset said suddenly.

"My Lady?" Darcy looked dismayed.

"I do not mean to detain you," Aliset said hastily.  "But I forgot that there is something I wanted to send to Father Columcil. Alister commissioned copies of some scrolls on healing.  I meant to sort through them and give the ones that might be most useful to Father Columcil.  They'll be of more use to him than to me.  Perhaps you could send Robert at the end of the day.  I'll have selected the best ones by then, and he can bring them to you in the morning."

"If it pleases you, Lady Aliset, I will send Robert to you this evening."

"Thank you, Lord Darcy." 

Darcy bowed once more and left with Robert at his side.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on August 03, 2018, 03:16:09 PM
Breaking off a third splinter from a fallen charred roof beam that lay near at hand, Sir Washburn used the burned end to mark the letters "w/x" into the fine white linen of his under tunic sleeve. This added to the jumble of fifteen other similar markings that he had written up and down the sleeve fabric. He looked at them all briefly noting the first letters he had written were starting to smear. Fortunately he knew those letter-switches by heart.  To keep the other letters from smearing further, Wash pulled his long black silk sleeve over the linen. The afternoon was getting on, but at least he was making headway with the scroll.

((Washburn disadvantage roll to decipher the first parts of the code. He understands the code so success on 4,5,6. Rolled=4 Verification Number: 2c4vqgt904))

The paragraphs following his discovery of the scipher had been of interest. And thus he found he could switch the few letters he knew without difficulty. First he decided that the scroll was giving a brief summary of what the skills of a Healer were. He was sure there would be books of knowledge on each subject touched upon in this scroll. Right now, in his learning phase of what it meant to be a Healer, this was exactly what he needed. So why was it coded and scrambled? He had no idea. With nothing else to do on this hot afternoon, and not wanting to think beyond the moment, Washburn put all his effort into reading the long rolled parchment.

A few paragraphs discussed the meat of the body. As a Warrior, Wash was well aware of identifying and moving the individual muscle groups of torso and limbs. The scroll claimed a Deryni Healer had the ability to mentally tighten or relax each muscle or muscle-group if it became cramped or torn, this allowed the healer to pull or move muscles with their mind inorder to repair injuries. Hands resting closest the the area of damage allowed for the easiest manipulations. Using a Heated touch or an Icy touch often supported the healing process.

This made perfect sense to a man who had trained vigorously most his life to move with a warrior's agility and speed. He knew all too well the means of reducing pain and easing muscle strains. He started to wonder it he had been using a form of his Healing powers all along. For often, he had crawled to his bed, sore and abused, rubbing with his hands the area of pain, then awaking in the morning feeling refreshed. When his training-masters would see him thus in the morning hours, they would accuse him a faking his pains the night before and then they would push him harder in the next lesson. He excelled when all other students of the warrior arts had succumbed to injuries and had retired to the Healer's care. It was rare indeed if Wash ever went to a Healer. Only twice in his youth, when he had broken a bone.

Following the brief discussion on muscles, there was a useful treatise on controlling the flow of blood as it traveled through the vessels of the body. Small muscles surrounded the arteries that carried blood which was pumped out of the heart. These tiny muscles, like the stones surrounding an aqueduct, kept the flow strong and pulsatile all the way to the fingers and the toes. What was of interest is that a Healer had the ability to place his hands over these blood vessels and cause these tiny muscles to ease or too contract, which in turn increased or reduced the amount of blood flow to the area 'downstream'. Bleeding from a wound could be control in this way. Internal bleeding could be discovered by monitoring where and how fast blood moved through the vessels. Another use involved the battle with bad humours that often invaded the body. Like sending in an army of warriors, a Healer could increase the blood flow to that area, there the blood would attack the bad humours, defeating them before they had a chance to invade further. That was a revelation. It went against the modern perceived notion that bloodletting removed bad humours. If he was reading the scroll correctly, bloodletting did the opposite of Healing, it reduced the body of it's warriors and weakened its defenses.

(( Washburn, five paragraphs left to  read in the scroll, success on 4,5,6 rolled=1 Verification Number: 6xwbnfj2td))

Wash searched the last few paragraphs of the scroll and his eyes watered and his head throbbed. Whatever the scroll talked about next, it eluded him. He pulled up his sleeve and counted the letters. He had learned fifteen in all. "t/c  m/n  n/m  h/w  k/s  c/v  d/g q/d  g/q  l/z  v/t  x/h  b/r  j/l  w/x".  He had discovered long back that the vowels had not been switched, so why was he having so much trouble with the last five consonants? They should have been easy. The lost letters were Z R P, F S

((10:23washburn Washburn deciphering the code in the scroll, per Evie now that he knows the code, success is on 4 ,5, or 6. Last five letters to be decoded.
10:24 washburn!roll 1d6 10:24 derynibot 3 == 3   Z failed
10:24 washburn!roll 1d6 10:24 derynibot 1 == 1   R failed
10:24 washburn!roll 1d6 10:24 derynibot 3 == 3   P failed
10:24 washburn!roll 1d6 10:24 derynibot 5 == 5   F/P success
10:24 washburn!roll 1d6 10:24 derynibot 3 == 3   S failed))

His troubles were that these letters were often duplicated with previously switched letters and just at a glance it was difficult to tell what was correct and what was switched. Easy if he had had ink and parchment to rewrite it as he read it. But doing it in his head was getting harder and harder.  His headache was no help. With a tentative rub of his fingers over his forehead, he discovered the reason for it. Shields were starting to flicker back into place. His most inner shields, at least, we're building strength. The drug's effects were wearing thin.  How much longer would he keep this secret from his captor. Feyd had been keeping a wary eye on him all day. And though he could not tell if had been mind searched or not. He had the feeling that Feyd was sending out mental quarries about his condition. Purposely, Wash weakened his growing inner shields. If he could wait long enough before gaining Feyd's attention, perhaps he could have all his shields snap up in place before the Scholar tried to command him to do something again. Then he would have a chance of resisting. And that is the chance he needed if he were to attempt another escape.

Trying not to bring attention to himself, he again reviewed the last five paragraphs of the scroll. Oddly, it was the second to last paragraph that had capitalized bolded words that caught his attention.   

Cwe Sxicvwimq "OPP" op a Gekmi's Boxeks is beknamemc amg vam omzy  re ketekseg ry usimq cwe sane arizicy co sxicvw cwe Gekymi  Boxeks ravs "OM"

The words OPP and OM stuck out like they were lit by a candle. If OM was really ON then it seemed to follow that the word OPP was OFF.  Adding the letters F/P to his undersleeve, he tried to decipher that sentence. He had seen the words Gekmi's Boxeks before; they meant Deryni Powers. The words Cwe Sxicvwimq OPP took him a moment  before he realized the S was not yet a switched letter,  that would be in the last paragraph.  So Sxicvwimq meant Switching.  Some how, the scroll was describing the Switching Off  and ON of Deryni Powers. This caught his full attention.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on August 06, 2018, 07:57:50 AM
Columcil felt the gentle touch of his grandfather's mind brush his shields inviting rapport and then, as he rolled them back, an equally gentle presence within his mind enfolding and calming him, as details of the horror of Washburn's ordeal and the challenge of the task awaiting himself and Darcy were revealed, and preventing him from giving way to despair. He felt humbled as he sensed the depth of Duncan's compassion, both as man and Archbishop, and shamed as he recalled his arrogant judgement of him.  Instantly he felt the touch of the other's mind brush his with an absolution which felt like the pouring of cool water over his soul, before the contact was withdrawn.

It was with reluctance that Duncan withdrew from the rapport, easing back his mind as he drew his hand away. One day, please God not too far away, when all this was resolved he hoped to have time to share more deeply with the man who sat beside him, not as his senior nor yet his superior, but on equal terms sharing what was permissible of their common life as priests and healers. Although he had no doubt that Columcil would have been incredulous, in some ways he envied him that he had been able to fulfill his calling without the complications of rank and political life which had inevitably been his lot. But for now there were more urgent matters.

Columcil sat in silence for a moment before he spoke, concerned that what he had to say would seem a return of his previous truculence but knowing that he must speak what was in his heart.

"I kenned well I should'a ta'en ma chance ta gang this morn. I'm no wantin' ta naysay his Majesty but tha's nae a wee bitty task fer me an' Darcy, and neither of us is what you'd call well trained."

"You both think well of Washburn and that matters." Duncan left unanswered the unspoken accusation that if others had thought equally well of Alaric's younger son he might not now be in this pass and continued with barely a pause,

"God has brought you together for a purpose, I am sure of that, although I daresay that doesn't seem much help at the moment, and I can promise you my prayers. There are some other ways in which I can help too, which is why I wanted to meet here. But first I have some gifts for you."

Duncan reached into the neck of his cassock and pulled out a small amber crystal on a fine leather thong.

"Have you seen one of these before?"

"Aye, one o' the Deryni at the Seminary wi' me had one set in the crucifix on his rosary; he said it was called a shiral crystal and helped him wi' his prayers."

"That and other things. It will help you to focus your powers, especially when you seek to enter into rapport with me. It will be important that you keep in touch so that His Majesty can be informed of all that is happening. Any shiral will help you to do that, but this one is special."

Duncan's voice slowed as he spoke as though he were struggling with emotion. He took a deep breath before continuing,

"I am sure that you know something of the story of Dhugal's mother, I rather fear that it has become a favourite tale within the Duchy. You should know that I was neither as handsome nor as brave as popular legend has it, but the true tale is for another time. What matters now is that Maryse gave this to me on our wedding night and I gave it to Dhugal when I recognised and acknowledged him as my son. And now he has left it with me to give to you with the same purpose in mind. He wishes you to know that though you cannot be acknowledged publicly, at least for now, he willingly and proudly recognises you as his son and wishes you to have this as token, and as a help to you in your task."

Numbly Columcil reached out his hand to take the crystal, brought it to his lips and slipped the thong around his neck. For a long moment neither he nor Duncan were able to speak, then Duncan, blushing slightly, added.

"Before I repeat what he also asked me to tell you, I should add that Dhugal has a somewhat misplaced sense of humour and I must beg you not to take offence. He insisted that you should know that he expects you to keep to family tradition and in time to hand it on to the son you have fathered in secret."

To Duncan's relief, the shock on Columcil's face only lasted for a second then he burst out laughing,

"Aye well, yer Grace, it's as well you can tell him from yer own knowledge o' me that I'm a mouthy borderer who doesn'a do as I'm tellit."

Whether or not it had been his intention, Dhugal's words had allowed both men to gain control of their emotions and Columcil was able to keep his composure as he added simply,

"Please gi'e 'im my thanks fer the shiral, and my heartfelt thanks ta ye, too, Sir."

The "Sir" was almost Duncan's undoing, signifying the respect a man might use towards his grandfather, rather than Columcil's previous careful deference but knowing better than to draw attention to it he continued,

"I have two other gifts for you, less personal but of equal use I hope."

Duncan handed over a vial of water, carefully stoppered and sealed. "This is holy water from St Winifred's well. As you will know well it is sovereign against many evils. It will not restore a mind that has been stolen, like poor Wash's, but with God's help it can take away the effects of merasha and similar drugs. I pray that it will help you to undo at least some of the evil you will encounter."

This time Columcil simply sat and stared, thinking of how he had longed to be washed in the pure water of that holy well. Then he managed to get out,

"Are ye some sort o' mind reader?"

before realising how idiotic a remark that was and hoping he did not look as stupid as he felt. It was Duncan's turn to laugh, though it was very affectionate.

"So I have been led to believe! But have no fear, I have not read any further into your mind than you were willing to show me. Your longing for the holy places of your home is very clear, - no do not look ashamed, that longing only gives more credit to your obedience in setting it aside - and will in itself be a protection to you. But speaking of your protection, I also wish to give you this,"

Duncan got up, waving Columcil back down as he would have stood too, and went across to the vestment chest. Opening it he took out a thin white stole made of fine linen and overworked in white silk embroidery. Duncan touched the cross at the centre to his lips, then laid it in Columcil's lap. As he looked more closely he could see many symbols in the thread, including the chi-rho and alpha and omega. There were others he did not recognise but as he ran the stole through his hands, and in his turn kissed the cross in homage, he felt an overwhelming sense of protection and peace. He looked questioningly at Duncan,

"It was made for me some years ago by the Countess of Derry, who is skilled in such things, and I would like you to wear it against your skin. It will give you another layer of protection if anyone should get past your shields."

Columcil sat speechless, overwhelmed by this evidence of care for his safety from his grandfather and wondering whatever words of thanks could possibly be adequate. Duncan did not give him time to ponder, however. He gestured Columcil to rise saying,

"Protection is all well and good, but you also need to be able to get yourself, and please God others, away. It's time you learnt how to use a portal."


Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on August 07, 2018, 12:24:14 PM
A nosc kake arizicy--ome moc co re accenbceg ok cesceg xicwouc cwe bkesemves op a Nascek op Wealimq xwo was cwe arizicy winsez-- is cwe Weazimq arizicy op Boxek Rzovsimq. Cwe Rzovsimq op Gekymi Boxekf is  am immace arizicy poumg im a  snazz bekvemcaqe op  Weazeks. Ic is a ckaic cwac vam re basseg goxm pkon bakemc co vwizg. Rzovsing is rest zeakmeg pkon a Nascek Weazek; ome xwo vam imsckuvc, amg ip mevvessaky, ketekse ganaqe cwac cwe scugemc nay vause gukimq cwe zeakmimq bweas. Gue co cwe sekious vomseduemve op cwis arizicy, cwe sckivc Weazek's Voge of Ecwivs swouzg re agwekeg co. Rzovsimq swouzg Metek re useg xicwouc suppiviemc vause! Cwe Sxicvwimq "OPP" op a Gekmi's Boxeks is beknamemc amg vam omzy  re ketekseg ry usimq cwe sane arizicy co sxicvw cwe Gekymi  Boxeks ravs "OM"....

"Curse these words!' Washburn exclaimed. His head pounded, his eyes whirled with a sense of vertigo as he stared at the last paragraphs on the scroll. How was he supposed to focus on this drunken cursive script. The scribe, who must have been in some bizzare trance in order to make this creation, had written with thin sweeping strokes of his quill; the ink appeared like delicate wisps forming whimsical nonsense words. Like some fairy had come down and taken over the writings. Wash could only thank the heavens that he didn't suffer from poor eye sight, as had the Corwyn preceptor; old Master Tiple required a monocle to see letters on a page. In his early days of study, Wash reasoned that staring at books destroyed the ability to see and therefore he thought it wise not to study for long hours at a time. How was he to shoot a deftly placed arrow if his eyesight turned bad. Wash verbally harrumphed at the silliness of that youthful notion, then again seeing how he felt now, perhaps it wasn't so silly after all.  With his current head aching, he found himself squinting at each word.

Time to make some sense out of this... he told himself. Some words came route, the ones he had read them many times already. Some larger words required a letter to letter correcting; a few times he looked back to his shirt sleeve to be certain of the letter switch. t/c  m/n  n/m  h/w  k/s  c/v  d/g q/d  g/q  l/z  v/t  x/h  b/r  j/l  w/x f/p At every phrasing, he re-read the deciphered words to make sense of the whole that had been hidden within the nonsense.

A most kake ability-- ... one not to be attembted or tested... without the bresences of a Master of Healing... who has the ability himself--... is the Healing ability... of Bower Blocking.

Quickly rationalizing the two letter switches he had missed in the few paragraphs before this, he added r/k and p/b to his sleeve. For the word kake was rare and the word  Bower had to be Power

The Lendour knight sucked in his breath as he grasped the powerful significance of the whimsical writing. Then he froze fearing his gasp had brought attention to himself. Without moving his head, his look flickered across to his captor. Master Feyd seemed absorbed in his own reading and appeared not to have noticed. Washburn was not convinced Feyd was not watching him with his mind. Knowing it possible, Wash guarded his emotions judiciously. With a mask of frustration on his face, Wash pretended he could not make hide-nor-hair out of what he studied. Feyd would never have let him read this scroll if he had known what was written upon it.

The Blocking of Deryni Powers... is an innate ability found... in a small percentage of Healers.

Blocking... Deryni Powers...?! If he hadn't spent the last two days drugged into such a condition of having his own powers blocked, he might not have taken the words as seriously as he did. Knowing exactly how vulnerable a Deryni was in the absence of his powers and shielding, Washburn was shocked to find this ability in a Healing text. As he brushed a hand across his eyes, the same action he used when banishing fatigue, he chided himself for his stupidity, then he stopped and marveled at the faintest improvement over his headache. Was he imagining it or was his food-strike starting to give way to results. He gained hope that soon the drug's influence would ease. Rubbing the back of his neck to hide his sharpening focus, he studied the next scrambled words on the parchment. 

((Washburn spending 6XP to quickly learn the scroll. Normal is 1d6 success on 4,5,6. Adding 6XP makes for 2d6 success on 3,4,5,6. Wash thinks it is really important that he quickly learns this scroll without having to write it down. Failure means he would have to write it where someone could read it.  1x1 would be failure to read the scroll at this time.
rules: You may spend up to six Experience Points thus dropping the Test success threshold by 2 points. *NOTE* the success number cannot be lower than 3. If by spending Experience Points in this manner would lower the threshold to less than 3, then excess becomes extra dice. Example. If your Test would normally succeed on a 4 or higher and you spend 6 Experience Points it would drop it only to 3 and you would get 1 extra die to roll.
Results: 1 + 3 = 4 Verification Number: 5n5hbqb3sd. Man-oh-Man, just squeaked by. Thank you 6XP's and thank you Revanne for agreeing that I needed to spend them.))

For a few minutes Wash felt for sure he was going to fail in this task. Master Tiple would scowl at him, saying "You don't have the intelligence of a bookworm. Get out of my sight." Then there was the furled brow of Bishop Arilin as he tried to get Wash to read some esoteric Deryni Lore. The young Wash had gotten utterly frustrated and had squirmed until the Bishop of Dhassa had slapped the back of his hand with a twitch. "Master Tiple was Right" was all the Bishop had said as he slammed to book shut, removed it from Washburn's desk, and turned away never to attempt to instruct Wash again. Anger, hardened the now Washburn's determination. Damn if he was going to prove them wrong. He was going to read this thing even if it was the last thing he did. Pushing his full focus into the scroll, he began to fully read and comprehend what was hidden here.

A most rare ability-- one not to be attempted or tested without the presences of a Master of Healing who has the ability himself-- is the Healing ability of Power Blocking. The Blocking of Deryni Powers is an innate ability found in a small percentage of Healers. It is a trait that can be passed down from parent to child. Blocking is best learned from a Master Healer; one who can instruct, and if necessary, reverse damage that the student may cause during the learning phase. Due to the serious consequence of this ability, the strict Healer's Code of Ethics should be adhered to. Blocking should Never be used without sufficient cause! The Switching "OFF" of a Deryni's Powers is permanent and can only be reversed by using the same ability to switch the Deryni Powers back "ON".  The drug known as Mandragora is a preferable alternative to blocking when head injuries require treatment. Mandragora causes of immediate cessation of Deryniness. It removes all shields and resistance for the duration of the drug's effects. Mandragora directly administered into the bloodstream has the longest duration of effectiveness, as long as twenty hours. The effectiveness of Mandragora ingested in food can last as little as eight hours.  The contraindication for using the Blocking Ability rather than Mandragora is when patients require their Deryniness returned to them in less than the recovery time necessary for the drug Mandragora to leave the body.

There it was the drug he had been given. Just about eight hours since he last ate. Maybe he wasn't imagining the reawakening of his powers. Wash pushed the thought aside for fear of Master Feyd discovering it. Faster, he needed to read this last part, before that happened.

Blocking of a patient's abilities can be accomplished without broaching the patient's natural shielding. Medicines such as Meresha and Mandragora are not necessary prior to Blocking.  If the patient is violent, it is recommended that a sedative be administered first, to save the Blocking Healer from becoming physically injured during the application. The Blocking of Deryni Powers can be accomplished by entering a steady Healing Trance, reaching into the patient's mind, and using a deft touch on the proper location; place hands on the patient's forehead, move fingers back along the top of the skull until you can sense the proper location within the central portion of the mind. A Healer with the Blocking ability will Know when the correct area is found. Only gentle pressure is required to switch the patient's Deryniness "Off" and then back "On". When the Healer has remove the Deryniness from his patient, the patient will be as a human, subject to suggestion and control for the ease of Healing the injury that made Blocking necessary. A master instructor can show the Healer the proper location where Blocking of Power's occurs. Once learned, the ability can be easily and quickly performed. After training, if a Healer can not envision the proper location, than that Healer will never have the Power Blocking ability.

Stranger and stranger this Healing ability that he had only recently discovered. Washburn wondered if the Healer's schola knew about this. If anyone knew of it, the Mastistra Helana would. Most definitely a secret to be guarded with extreme care. 

((Washburn spending 10XP to learn the New Blocking Trait as described in the rules.))

As unbelievable as it all seemed, Wash had a strange notion that he could do it.  Oh, if he could just give it a test, just to see. Yes, the scroll emphasized the Healer's Code of Ethics, however, his current frame of mind didn't seem to stress any Ethical Morals. If it served a useful purpose, than why not use it. Briefly, he felt a shame that he should not think this way. He covered his face and rubbed his eyes. Through his fingers he looked side long at Master Feyd. Ethics be damned! This would assure his escape, indeed it would. Then he shook his head and rubbed his whole head in frustration. That man was full of vengeance. The consequences with messing with the assassin and his assassin horde would be dire. Imagine two hundred years of seeking restitution from the Morgan family line.

No, Feyd would not be a good subject. Wash would have to wait, holding the new ability deep in his mind behind his returning inner shields, biding his time for when he had 'Sufficient Cause!'

edited out Uncle Duncan's name. Wash does not remember family members clearly enough to recall Duncan is a Healer and his Archbishop.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on August 07, 2018, 02:40:18 PM
Robert O'Malley looked at the young lord sitting across from him at the long table in Rhemuth's Great Hall.  Lord Darcy's mind was not on his food.  He had picked listlessly at the pieces of meat in the thick, savory stew that had been served for the evening meal.  Robert had yet to refill Lord Darcy's tankard of ale.  Robert was sure that the man had not heard a word he had said in between mouthfuls of his own stew.

"Lord Darcy," Robert ventured.  "Do you think King Kelson will give us at least 100 gold pieces for this trip?  100 each, I mean,"' Robert added for more effect.

"Hmmm?"  Darcy looked up from the spot on the table he had been staring at.  "What gold?" he asked absently.

"My lord," Robert said while shaking his head.  "You haven't heard a word I said all through dinner."

"Nay lad, I haven't," Darcy admitted sheepishly.  "Did I miss anything important?"

'Not likely," Robert replied and grinned.  "But you'd best eat up. I guarantee my cooking is not as fine as this fare."

"Well, mine isn't either, if truth be told." Darcy looked at him a moment.  "Robert, why don't you go and spend a bit of time with your mates.  I'm not fit company this evening, and you'll likely be right sick of me by the time we return.  Relax a bit now; you might not have much chance once we leave."

Robert looked at him doubtfully.  "Are you sure you won't need me?"

"I think I can manage just fine," Darcy said dryly and made a shooing gesture with his hand. "Off with you.  Make sure to attend to Lady Aliset and the scrolls before it gets too late. Meet Father Columcil and me at the stable before Lauds; I want to catch the first ferry across the river and be well on our way before dawn."

"Aye, my lord.  You can count on me."  He hesitated a moment. "Have you any message you would like for me to deliver to Lady Aliset?"

Darcy looked thoughtful and then shook his head.  "It would only make leaving harder."  Robert gave him an understanding smile, bowed and withdrew to look for his fellow squires. 

Darcy managed a wistful smile as he watched Robert leave.  He resolutely turned his attention back to his food, topping off his tankard and finishing it before rising to leave. At the end of the table he spotted a small plate of tarts.  He wondered whether Lady Aliset would prefer the raspberry tarts or the gooseberry ones.  He helped himself to one of each as he left the hall.  He still had a few loose ends to tie up and try to get what sleep he could manage before leaving Rhemuth, and Aliset, behind.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on August 07, 2018, 04:51:19 PM
"What do you know about portals?" Duncan continued to Columcil.

"I ken that Deryni can move fra place ta place, but naught else. I ask yer pardon that I'm sae ignorant and wasting yer time in sich a way."

"You have no need to apologise, there is no shame is not having a skill for which you have had no need. And truth to tell, with all else that is happening it is a joy to become a teacher again." Duncan did not add the further truth that he enjoyed being in Columcil's company; he needed Columcil focused and intent, not emotional, for what would follow.

"I must ask that you lay aside any sense of inadequacy or fear of failure. You will need to focus your intent and energies carefully in what we are to do. Portals can have many hidden dangers, so what I am going to teach you is only to be used in an emergency; normally you will have to rely on your own two feet and Spean's broad back."

Columcil had paled under his weather-browned complexion, which had already Ăąbegun to fade in the unaccustomed indoor life which he had led since arriving in Rhemuth, and Duncan hastened to reassure him.

"What I intend to teach you should be safe enough; my warning is simply lest you be tempted to use this without dire need. Remember, too, that if you need to take Darcy with you, he is like to be unsure and nervous and you will need to provide the confidence and reassurance."

Columcil still looked unsure and Duncan was searching his own mind for an analogy which might help when inspiration struck.

"Just imagine you are calming a spooked horse, or enfolding an agitated penitent with your own calmness. I suspect you have been using Deryni powers for a long time with no idea that is what you have been doing. But I have run too far ahead, and started at the wrong end of the lesson. There is nothing at all to fear in what I will now ask you to do."

Duncan moved to a part of the sacristy where the tiles had a particular pattern, though he was careful to stand to one side and beckoned to the still apprehensive Columcil to stand with him.

"Each portal has a particular signature, a feel to the energies which is specific to it alone. There is one here, it is very ancient, going back to the days when the gifts of Deryni as priests aroused no suspicion. By the mercy of God, we no longer need to hide who we are, but it is still best that some of our ways are used with discretion. Kneel and place your hands over it, and sense the shape of the energies, opening your mind to them. Commit them to memory as you would a piece of the liturgy, allowing them to form a pattern in your mind."

Duncan chose not to see that Columcil hastily blessed himself before he did as he was bid, and knelt on the floor with his palms down. He drew a couple of deep calming breaths and almost visibly opened his mind to the pattern he obviously perceived. ((Columcil reads signature of portal using three xps 6+3+2=11 7qbtxcr2d5 )). After a while he stood up and smiled at his grandfather if a little tremuously.

"I've nae dout that there is mair ta it than this, but sae far sae guid."

"The next part should be no more difficult as we have already entered into rapport, you will need to give me a little more control that is all. Can you do that?"

Duncan turned to Columcil to see his father's mischief shining out of his eyes as he replied demurely,

"As it pleases your Grace."

Duncan muttered deliberately loud enough for Columcil to hear, "Don't push me too far!", but it was said good-humouredly and in truth he was delighted that his grandson had relaxed enough around him to tease him. He reached out, inviting the other to relax against him, this time Columcil did not seem to feel the need to invoke the Lord's protection and leant willingly into Duncan's arms. Duncan reached out with his senses to take hold of the energies and took the two of them through the short jump to the library portal. ((3+6+3=12 7k41g9576b )).

Columcil felt the world spin from under him but in little more than a heartbeat they had arrived. He staggered a bit and slipped out from his grandfather's grasp only to find himself in the far less benign grip of an archer in Haldane livery.

"Declare yourself...!" the man was beginning when he recognised Columcil's companion to be his Grace the Archbishop, and after he had made sure that Columcil was steady on his feet, dropped onto one knee and bowed his head.

"Your pardon, your Grace."

Duncan touched the man's shoulder in acknowledgement and extended his ring to be kissed before gesturing the man to stand.

"On the contrary, your vigilance is to be commended."

Duncan breathed a prayer of gratitude for the conventions of respect which had allowed him time to think. With all that had been going on he had simply failed to consider that there would be guards at the library portal, and though he could simply issue his orders it was better to have a reason for their activities. Too many unexplained comings and goings had been allowed to remain unchallenged.

"Father Columcil has permission from his Majesty to consult a healing treatise before he leaves for his parish in Cassan tomorrow, and we are taking it back to the Cathedral Sacristy."

The guard would have no more thought of challenging his Grace the Archbishop than he would have of trying to take himself through the portal but Duncan's customary courtesey to all meant that he was unsurprised at the explanation. Duncan drew Columcil into one of the library carrels and took down a scroll apparently at random, although when Columcil glanced it and saw that it was entitled Fontes Sanctae Guinfredae, he realised that there was probably very little that the man beside him did at random, and from very awe that he was descended from this man, he had to resist the urge to bless himself again.

"St Winifred's Well", he said aloud, "I shall certainly welcome a chance to look at this, your Grace and I am most grateful to his Majesty for allowing me access to his library."

Just remember it is only a pretext. You need to focus on what we are doing. I shall take you back again to the sacristy and this time you must read carefully what I am doing. Then after a decent interval you must make the jump here and back by yourself. I truly regret that there will be no time for you to get lost in that scroll but I do not want you to really lose yourself jumping between portals.

The words in Columcil's mind were spoken gently enough but it was nonetheless somewhere between a rebuke and a warning and colouring slightly he nodded to show he had understood. Holding the scroll carefully, as befitted a privileged visiting priest, he followed Duncan onto the portal square, as Duncan nodded to the guard's bow and said,

"The good father here will be returning the scroll within the hour, so please be ready for his appearance here."

This time you must read the portal signature from my mind, and follow carefully what I am doing. Although I will be leading it is much more that we are jumping together than when we came. Are you ready

Columcil found that his throat had suddenly dried up and it was all that he could do to manage a whispered "Aye, your Grace." As Duncan's mind touched his, however, he again felt a calm and focus from outside of himself and found that he could both grasp and commit to memory the information that was being offered to him.

((Columcil reads signature of library portal using 3xps 2+6+4=12 3v0z2xxrz8))

Let's go then. With that Duncan twisted the energies and, again within a heartbeat they were back in the sacristy.

"Come and sit back down."

As Columcil obeyed, Duncan's next words were far more tentative, more in the nature of a request than an order.

"It will be best if I can read what you have understood, to make sure that it is correct,"

but Columcil had already opened his hand palm up to receive the other's touch and once again they entered into rapport.

((Duncan teaches Columcil to make a portal jump 4+5=9 65bkf15pk2))

Once Duncan was satisfied that Columcil understood what he had to do, he withdrew a little but the two of them remained in silent rapport, taking strength from each other's presence. Finally, reluctantly, Duncan withdrew from the contact and said,

"Normally I would not ask you to do this without far more experience of shared jumps but we do not have the time for that. We must trust in the blessing of God and St Melangell," and so saying he stood and placing his hand on Columcil's head prayed for him, invoking a power beyond that of any Deryni magic.

"Go, my son. Trust in what you have been taught and the gifts God has given to you."

Columcil did not look at him, or speak beyond a barely audible "Amen", but went straight to the portal and within seconds was gone. The next few minutes were amongst the longest in Duncan's recent experience, and he spent them on his knees at the altar rail of the little vesting altar. Finally Columcil reappeared, without the scroll, and although he looked exhausted he was calm and even managed something of a smile. He joined Duncan at the altar rail as they both offered their prayers of thanksgiving.

((Columcil makes portal jump using 3xps 5+5+5=15 7tdhds18c6. I have been rather extravagant with xps but who knows when Columcil might need to make a quick escape and bring others with him))

Duncan smiled at him. I think we both need something to eat, and we can return to my appartments for that where I will have something brought for us. But before we eat, I have not forgotten that I have promised to hear your confession, which we can do in my private chapel, and then may I ask you to do me the honour of celebrating mass for us both.

Columcil bent his head to kiss Duncan's ring, feeling that now he was about to leave Rhemuth - and willingly too, for Washburn needed their help, poor and untrained though it was - he had finally found a reason to make him wish to stay.

(( Modified to increase the number of xps used in accordance with a clearer understanding of the rules governing their use. I still haven't quite got the hang of this as I have also used extra die rather than lowering the threshold . Just as well St Melangell was on the case as it actually works removing the extra die, assuming as seems reasonable that Columcil is skilled enough to read a portal signature on a standard 2d test and only rolls disadvantage 1d  to make the actual jump.))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on August 08, 2018, 10:11:08 AM
The day progresses into the afternoon as Feyd works on his own projects leaving Washburn to read the scroll. Washburn's frustrations at the scroll do not go unnoticed by Feyd. He is trained in the arts of observation.

Even without looking up Feyd speaks, "You will eat food now. Or I will have to use the pricker on you. The food will not be as harsh and your Powers will again just fade away just as they are slowly beginning to bloom again now. " Feyd's words were not a suggestion. They still carry the weight of command.

He looks up at Washburn. "I am taking my own risks in making you look harmless and more valuable to Valerian. So he does not see you as a threat and have you killed at the first opportunity. And if your Shields are present and detecable when he Mind Sees you. You will be a threat. The Blue Fyre that I made for you will remove any trace of the drugs and give you such clearity of mind that you have never had before. But you are needed alive and able to survive your captivity with Valerian."

Feyd goes back to his work.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on August 08, 2018, 12:16:25 PM
Cedric Archer gulped in deep breaths of fresh air.  He had stopped trying to heave his guts up only moments before.  The dungeons of the fortress were the worst he had ever seen. 

Elwyn thumped him on his back.  "The first day is the worst.  It gets more bearable over time.  Next time we get new recruits, you'll move on to better duties. Men will soon be flocking to the queen's banner, so you won't have to wait long."  He moved off to gather a few men for the burial detail.

In general, Archer avoided dungeons whenever possible.  They did not agree with him.  The day after they had arrived with the remaining knights and horses of the queen's escort, the Captain had summoned him.

The Captain eyed him carefully as Archer gave his crisp salute.  "I hope you are not the squeamish type.  It'll be miserable for you if you are."

'Not usually," Archer replied.  "What's afoot?"

"New men start off with guard duty in the dungeons.  Builds respect for good order and discipline."  The Captain's smile was not encouraging.  "Two days on day duty, two on night duty and one off.  On the off day you'll be practicing at the butts."

"Yes, Captain," Archer said.

"Don't make the mistake of sympathising with the prisoners.  Or you'll join them."  The Captain nodded his head in dismissal.  "The guard station is on the entry floor of the keep.  Report there."

It was not unusual for dungeons to be located below the castle keep; it reduced the likelihood of prisoners escaping.  Archer was fairly sure the queen and Valerian were quartered inside the keep; at least he might have a better opportunity from the guard station to note those who entered and departed.  Provided he would not be spending all his duty time underground.

The guards posted at the heavy, fortified wooden door of the keep were not part of the small contingent that guarded the dungeons.  The dungeon guards were in a room in the back corner of the keep.  There was a table, a few stools, and a locked trunk.  Archer surmised it likely held weapons, easily accessed by the guards but not available to a prisoner.  The senior guard Archer reported to stayed in the guard room unless needed.  Archer and another man were expected to walk the corridors outside the underground cells.  They were allowed a few short breaks to come up food and drink, but never together at the same time.   Archer was encouraged to berate and torment the prisoners at will, but never to enter a cell alone. 

The heavy trap door was held open by a stout chain.  There was a gentle incline downward until it ended at a stone landing surrounding a large square hole in the floor. A sturdy wooden ladder protruded from the opening.  Archer's fellow guard, who curtly introduced himself as Piers, descended the ladder.  Archer followed.

The smell as Archer descended was close to overpowering.  The scent of unwashed bodies, excrement, sweat and blood mingled with a perception of dread and despair.  At the bottom, several unlit torches were held in a rack beside a single burning brazier.  Piers selected a torch and lit it; Archer did the same. 

As Piers guided Archer along the corridors to familiarize himself with the cells, he taunted the occupants.  Sometimes he mentioned family members that might soon die, sometimes he took a swig of ale from the flagon at his belt, making sure the thirsty prisoner heard every gulp and the smack of his lips.  And so, it went on, until they reached a large area where two thatched doors were set flat into the bare ground.

"These are the oubliettes," Piers said.  We check 'em occasionally to remove the dead. Otherwise we leave 'em shut."  Archer felt his stomach roil and watched as Piers shook the doors and listened for any sound below.   "Sounds like one of 'em is finished.  We'll send down a gravedigger to fish 'em out.  At least that's one duty that's not ours!"

Archer resisted the urge to cross himself.

Now Archer was back above ground. The gravedigger had retrieved what was left in the oubliette, and Archer had tried hard not to notice.  Of one thing Archer was certain; if he was unsuccessful in his mission, death would be preferable to capture. 

Archer watched as the burial detail gathered.  The corpse had been placed in a hand cart, and one soldier pushed it ahead.  Two diggers and another guard followed.  Surprised, Archer watched them take the body outside the inner wall gate to dispose of it.  Would they go beyond the outer wall as well?

Sir Iain Cameron filed that piece of information away for future reference and then strode off for his evening meal.  He hoped he could keep it down.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on August 08, 2018, 03:33:20 PM
Washburn's hand picked up a roll of meat and cheese and he ate all of it before he even realized he had done so. He swallowed subconsciously and then yelled, "Damn You!" to Master Feyd. He would never escape if he was in a drugged haze. In a panic, Wash rolled up the scroll and stuffed it under the blazon inscribed on his tunic.

Feyd looked back up from what he was doing. "No, I think I will take that back." His hand reached out to accept the scroll.

"No!" Wash exclaimed with a shake of his head. "There is still much here I could read, if just given more time. I'm not finished with it," he truthfully claimed.

"Sir Washburn Morgan, you are a warrior and a knight of Lendour. What good are mixed up words to you. You're no scholar, even I can not read half of that. Waste no more time on something that is so useless and obviously frustrates you so. Hand it to me!" Feyd filled his words with command.

((12:21 washburn Washburn resisting Feyd's commands by using his partial shields. disadvantage Roll success on 6
12:21 washburn! roll 1d6
12:21derynibot 5 == 5))

The partial shields in the back of the knight's mind tried to flare up to resist the triggers that were embedded there. Those triggers were too deeply entrenched. The command seemed to be like sword cuts slashing through the thin canvass that made up his shields. He felt those shields fail on one side, they shredded into puddles of liquid power and then they began to evaporate away. The meat roll must have been marinated in the Mandragora drug.

Unwillingly, Washburn's hand pulled the scroll out from the inside of his tunic; he reached out to hand it across to his captor. Panic filled Washburn then. What if Feyd read the scroll, what if he learned what was written there. This new found talent must remain hidden. He must hide what he learned deep in his mind before all his regained strength was gone. What he used then was a Deryni trick he had learned long ago; it kept him out of trouble from the watchful eyes of his training masters. He could pass a shallow truth say when his companions could not, so long as no one asked the right questions.

((12:34 washbrun hiding the knowledge he had learned down deep in his mind
12:34 washburn !roll 1d6
2:34 derynibot 6 == 6, Ah, yes, thank you dice, very good. Oh, and does that give me an XP? **))

With everything that was left from his budding Deryni strength that was even now withering away, Washburn shifted his newly gained knowledge from his short term memory and placed it in the deepest recesses of his mind. At the moment, that was behind the remaining tatters of his inner shields. In a few more moments those shields would dissolve. He fervently hoped that no one would mind- see him that completely. All he had left were the words of prayer. The prayer he started was interrupted by the sudden flame that caught the rolled edge of the scroll in Feyd's outstretched hand. Feyd had no trouble using his Deryni powers to enhance the flame as it engulfed the parchment. The Scholar grinned widely at Washburn's incredulous look.

"I sense that this disturbed you. So I am removing the temptation to overcome the battle to understand it. This is not a battle you need to concentrate on." Feyd tossed the last of the roll in the air and both men watched the fire consume it to the very end of the roll.  Ashes blow over where the Portal stone lay. For a second the ash seemed to settle against the faintest yellow glow of the ward covering the Portal and then the ash "zapped" out into nothingness. Amazed Wash realized he could see the Ward Major, but even as he watched, the ability to see it faded.  As did the remainder of his inner shields.

"Eat!" Feyd commanded. "While you still have the strength to do so."

Wash gave the man his most hateful look. Grudgingly, with no resistance left in him. He took the largest meat pie, one that had a scrawl on the crust. He ate it fully to the last bite. Fighting off a wave of fatigue, Wash reached over to the newly filled goblet of wine. He so wanted to throw that wine in Feyd's face, just like he had done before. But with a shake of Feyd's finger and the words, "You may not waste my wine, again." Washburn despondently drank the goblet down to its drags. He felt his body go limp; he could not even catch himself as he fell back onto the fur. Stiff like the dead, he felt his body go cold. Only his eyes watched Master Feyd. Perhaps a little unnerved by his stare, the scholar waved a hand at him and said "Sleep."

The tall warrior could do nothing but obey.

((** do to this rule:"not for rolls made to determine random events for the PCs. Like checking to see if character will do something in a specific situation." So the answer looks like No point.))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on August 08, 2018, 07:46:30 PM

While Washburn sleeps Feyd gets ready for the departure that evening. Picking everything up and making sure things are in their right place. Refilling his Deryni Pricker needles with one of the potions he had been brewing during the day.

It has been a long day but soon it will all be over he thinks to himself while quietly going about his work. He has little time to waste. Just a short jump to their next destination where he and Washburn will prepair for their arrival before the Grand Duke Valerian. Once Morgan is turned over, Feyd gets paid. Once he has the coins in hand, then he will leave again. After all he has a rendezvous to keep with others that cannot wait.

Feyd ensures that the controls are set in Washburn. So he will be compelled to obey his verbal commands even if the man's Shields were back in place.

He sets a trigger point that will cause instant unconsiousness with just a verbal command keyword and makes certain it can be done even if Washburn's Shields return.

(( <bynw> !roll 2d6
<derynibot> 6, 5 == 11 ))

Again Feyd goes back to blurring Wash's memories and loyalties. Replacing them with warpped variations. His father, the late Duke of Corwyn, was a harsh and demanding taskmaster to his youngest son. His older brothers, each who would inherit lands and titles, were cruel to the boy who would be nothing more than a knight. A vassel to command and be spent for their amusement. Even the King saw nothing in Washburn of his father, only a disapointment to be sent on menial errands. Not even worthy to be given Deryni training, a waste of good Deryni blood.

But Feyd buries a key to unlock the truth deep in the recesses of Washburn's mind. Far away from his conscious mind. For Feyd wants these memories to be accurate in the future after he is no longer a captive of the Grand Duke.

(( <bynw> !roll 2d6
<derynibot> 3, 6 == 9 ))

(( <bynw> Does Feyd notice the new found ability in Washburn? (since he is not actively looking he is at Disadvantage for this roll)
<bynw> !roll 1d6
<derynibot> 2 == 2 ))

Feyd is satisfied that his handy work will not be seen. Unless one does a very deep reading on the helpless Washburn. He withdraws from Wash's mind. "It is to protect you. I will do and say many things that give you discomfort and even temporary harm. But this is to protect you. So you live in captivity of Valerian. He will not bother with a deep Mind See. He will only do a superficial scan of your mind. And will be satisfied that you are who you believe yourself to be. And I will give him an idea for the future as well. Something that will ensure your life for sometime yet to come. Long enough for you to make your escape. And we will meet again Washburn Morgan if you do manage to survive this trial."

Feyd talks a bit more to himself. Not really saying much at all and knowing that Washburn really can't hear him anyway in his deep dreamless slumber. He finishes up the camp and waits until sunset.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on August 13, 2018, 01:07:05 PM
The bell rang loud through the valley, even before the rider had come close. The farmhands had heard and were working their way toward the road, to hear the words of the town crier. "Gather round and hear ye all!" barked the bellman. A dozen men and boys from both sides of the fields came down to the roadside to hear what he had to announce. The young man, Raft, was one of the first to jog out of the field with his cousin, Todd. Their uncle had sighed in despair when he first heard the bell and spied the rider come up the road. He limped much more slowly than the two young men. "Hear ye, Hear ye!" the rider called again. "All able bodied men of fourteen years or more are to report to the Marcher Lord at Droghera, at the hour before sundown. You're to bring your bows and at least two night's provisions. When we join with the king's army, provisions will be supplied. Two quivers of arrows will be given to every man with a bow at Droghera tonight. If you come late you will get none, but you will still be expected to march out; so do not be late. We march on Meara at first light. Prepare for war!" 

The rider wheeled his horse in a circle, counted the men. "I expect to see eight of you in three hours time. I will know which of you does not come." And then he was off at a gallop to call men from the fields a half mile up the road. 

There was a murmur among the twelve men left on the road.  Two were boys underage, one was an old man who could obviously not make the march, two men were uncle's age. One of them would have to go. Uncle John had a limp, but no wife and only his son Todd. The other man had a wife and eight children, all underage. "I'll be the eighth." declared uncle John "Have to keep my boy out of trouble." He put his hand on Todd's shoulder. The other man protested but it was soon agreed. Uncle John with the his son and nephew retired quickly to their hut. They gathered what provisions they needed and set off for Droghera.

Raft was concerned that, uncle John's limp would make them late. He wanted those arrows to fit to his bow. The common folk were not allowed arrows except on Sundays when they trained at the buts after church service. Raft did have a few arrows secreted away in his bed roll. But he would tell no one about those. Raft was thinking of getting one out as they walked passed the old ruins. Suddenly reminded of the morning, his eyes suspiciously searched the walls on the other side of the moat. No one was seen there. Not this time. Raft said nothing, yet he crossed himself as he walked by.

"What was that about?" Todd asked.

"That place gives me the shivers." Raft said, but said no more as they quicken their pace.

Thankfully, they were not too late when they reached the walled gates of Droghera. They got their arrows and they meshed in with the farmers, herdsmen,and merchants from all up and down the valley. Speculation was rampant among the lot. Everyone had a tale to tell. Believing there be any truth among the wild stories that Raft heard was impossible. Honestly Raft didn't care. All of it was exciting. He figured most was exaggerated, but some reality must be behind it all. Meara had a queen, that much was pervasive enough to be real. The King was outraged and wanted her head. A small party had gleaned the truth of the rebellion to come, and they had raced to escape the Mearan traitors. The locals of  Draghera said they had seen the four men make their escape. A tall Warrior, a priest, a young lord and an arms-man. Though some stories claimed it was a young noble lady instead. Preposterous, Raft thought.  Stories abound about the four; It glorified the people of the highlands to tell their tales they that had seen them and some had even talked to one or more of the four. The people of Droghera were involved in their escape and that was exciting and worthy of a good tell.   

"Don't make too much glory for that tall warrior," said a Sargent coming through the mix of men gathered in the courtyard. "The tell is, he was captured, right under the king's nose.  Meara will be wanting a hefty ransom for that warrior, rumor has it he was great lord's brother if he still lives. Probably not for long, I don't give the man two shakes of a fist. Those ruling Meara are not likely to let him go.  And that has set the capital into a row. At least as I hear tell."

"Who's the warrior's brother?" Cousin Todd asked, always liking to hear that nobles get their just trouble from time to time.

"Said to be the brother of a duke, the Duke of Corwyn it's said." Several men in hearing whistled at that. Not just any lord, but a honored Deryni Lord of the kingdom.

"That'll be a thorn in the king's side." Uncle John whispard.

As others began to talk, Raft turned silent and even worried. The nobles of Corwyn were tall men, golden haired and robust of frame. They were a day and a half's ride from Rhemuth. If the kidnapper and his victim were headed to Meara by horse? That would have put them in the valley between Cuilteine and Droghera this morning, seeing as how they likely rode non- stop.  Something bothered Raft fiercely about what he had seen that morning. He had told nobody yet, but perhaps it was time he did.

"Uncle John, hear me, uncle." The young man leaned into his uncle's ear. "I saw a tall warrior standing high on the walls of the broken tower over at the old abbey ruins this morning. I swear the man was about to jump. The chances of him making the moat would have been nill. He looked desperate to me, until he saw me. Even then, I thought he was looking at the rocks like he could survive that fall. Then, hesitantly, he dropped his head in what looked like despair, and backed down on the inside of the wall. I was relieved he had done so. Twenty-five feet to those rocks would have been devastating."   

"Lord Almighty!" Uncle John grabbed Raft by the shoulder. "Why didn't you tell me about this this morning?" John pulled the two younger men through the crowd until he was standing before the watch captain. "Tell your story again, Raft. Let the watch captain decided its importance."

"Don't waste my time!" the watch captain howled with a glare in his eyes. Frightened, Raft told his tale, trying hard not to embellish the details as others would have.

"You said the warrior was tall, blond even? Could you tell if he was wearing chain mail? What color was his tunic?"

"Dark," Raft answered. "The sun was behind him. Was hard to see, but I swear I some some red color on his chest heraldry."

"God's Teeth, man!" the watch captain exclaimed. He pulled Raft out of the courtyard and hauled him into the keep.   
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on August 13, 2018, 03:39:23 PM
*My thanks to Evie for her insightful edits of this scene.*


Aliset de Mariot stood up from the chair where she had been resting and crossed to the window.  Squire Robert had promised to return by the end of the day for the healing scrolls she wanted to give to Father Columcil.  It was beginning to grow dark; surely he hadn't forgotten? 

She heard a rap on her door.  "Enter!" she said as she turned toward it.

A young page entered her room and bowed.  "Squire Robert O'Malley is here to see you, my lady." 

"Thank you, I'll come at once."  Aliset retrieved her plain leather script from the table.  "Duchess Grania has granted permission for us to use the outer receiving room," Aliset instructed.  Since it was a trusted Haldane squire that was meeting with Aliset, and only briefly, the duchess had decided an additional attendant was not required.

Aliset followed the page to the designated room.  Robert O'Malley stood in the middle of the room, a handsome lad in Haldane livery with a squire's dagger hanging from his belt.  He bowed as she entered.

"I'll be close by if you need me, my lady," the page said as he withdrew.

"Beg pardon for being a bit later than I intended, Lady Aliset," Robert said in his pleasant voice.  "Lord Darcy gave me liberty to spend the evening with friends. I lingered a tad longer than I intended."

Aliset smiled.  That sounded like Darcy; either genuinely thoughtful of his temporary squire or eager to get him out of his hair.  She realized that Robert may have had a little more ale than usual.  He seemed inclined to chat a bit.

"Lord Darcy was a bit preoccupied," Robert continued.  "He didn't even notice when I suggested we should get 100 gold coins each for completing our mission."

"He must have been preoccupied!  Lord Darcy is quite prudent with coin."  It suddenly occurred to Aliset she had not paid him for escorting her to Rhemuth, and he hadn't mentioned it to her.  She was sure that it was not an oversight on his part.  She refocused on what Robert was saying.

"We're to leave before dawn; Lord Darcy wants to get an early start.  Lord Darcy never did manage to find Father Columcil, but he had me leave a message for him at the Cathedral."

"And?" Aliset said encouragingly.  It was hardly needed, Robert showed no reticence in revealing the plan.

"Father Columcil and I are to meet Lord Darcy at the stables before Lauds.  He means to be on the first ferry across the river before dawn. It has something to do with the pre-dawn sky."

Aliset nodded; that made sense.  "You are not staying with him tonight?'

"Nay, my lady.  My lord seemed to think he can look after himself."  Robert smiled.  "He gets a bit testy if I assist him too much."  Robert seemed to be winding down.

Aliset moved forward with the script.  "You can take this with you.  It contains two healing scrolls that I think Father Columcil will find useful.  I also added a few herbs and some medicines in case they are needed."  Aliset handed Robert the script, contriving to brush against his hand in the process.

Will  Aliset be able to plant suggestions in Robert's mind? Advantage roll, 2d6, success on 4, 5, 6

Jerusha   !roll 2d6     
11:38   derynibot   6, 3 == 9   
Success!

"Robert," she said into his mind.  "I would like you to do three things for me, please."

Robert nodded, his eyes focused intently on hers.

"First, don't you think it would be a good idea to take your saddle bags and this script to the stable tonight before retiring?  It would save you some time, and you could get more rest tonight.  Leave it in a safe spot in Lord Darcy's horse's stall."

"That way, maybe you can catch some extra sleep tomorrow morning before you have to head out.  You are so tired; I'm sure you'd love to sleep until noon. You deserve the rest."

"In fact, why don't you go ahead and give me your squire's dagger and sheath for safekeeping, and go ahead and do that now.  You won't need them until tomorrow anyway."  Robert removed the sheath and dagger from his belt and handed it to Aliset, who hid it in a fold of her skirt.

"One more thing."  Aliset carefully planted an apology to the king, ensuring His Majesty that Robert held no responsibility for what had happened.

Gently, Aliset broke contact with the squire.  Robert blinked twice and returned to his normal self.

"I should go, my lady.  Lauds will come earlier than I'll be ready for."  He bowed and then added, "I asked Lord Darcy if he had a message for you, but he was worried it would make parting that much harder."  Aliset nodded, understanding his reasoning.  "Have you a message I may deliver to him, my lady?"

"Yes.  Tell him I pray God goes with him and brings him safely back. And you, too."

"I will, my lady."  Robert bowed once more for good measure and departed.

The page came to the door.   "I'll retire for the night," Aliset told him.  "Thank you for bringing the squire to me."  The page followed her nevertheless to her own door, which Aliset shut firmly behind her. There was still more to do.

***

Aliset woke in the pre-dawn hours at the suggestion she had placed in her own mind. It was a handy little skill Alister had taught her many years before.  She felt the beginning of a wave of grief but pushed it firmly aside.  She wondered if her brother would approve of what she was about to do.  She was sure the king would not.

Carefully, she dressed in her brother's clothes.  Robert would not be travelling in his squire's livery, and her brother's travelling clothes could be anyone's.  She secured Robert's dagger on her belt and donned her own cloak, carefully ensuring that what she wore beneath could not be seen.  She took her pillow, along with another two from the window seat, and arranged them to mimic her sleeping form. She covered them with a blanket, risking handfire briefly to make sure it was convincing enough if someone looked inside.

She opened her door carefully and looked both ways down the corridor.  No one was about.  She entered the corridor and closed the door quietly behind her.

She walked as silently as she could without wanting to look stealthy.  Her excuse for being up and about if she came upon anyone would be that she could no longer sleep and thought to watch the sun come up from the Queen's Garden.  She reached the side door that lead to the garden.  There was a guard at the door, as she had expected.  The king was keeping his word on increased vigilance.  He stood to attention as she approached.

With her heart racing, quietly Aliset explained her purpose.  For a long moment he looked thoughtful, but he finally nodded, unlocked the door, and let her through, informing her to call for him if she needed assistance.  He would leave the door ajar so he could hear her.

Aliset nodded her thanks and proceeded to the low wall at the back of the garden.  She shivered as she approached; her memories of this place were too fresh for her to be comfortable here, but she had decided this was the safest place for what she intended.

Will Aliset be able to shape shift into Robert O'Malley?   Spell-trained, so 2d6, success on 5 or 6.

Jerusha   !roll 2d6     
11:39   derynibot   6, 1 == 7   
Success!

Aliset closed her eyes and moved her finger in a circle before her face.  After a moment, she touched her face and was reassured by the unfamiliar contours she felt.  Quickly, she hid her cloak under a bush, climbed over the wall and headed in the direction of the stables.

The night was just beginning to lighten.  She was nervous travelling the unfamiliar streets by herself.  She fingered the hilt of Robert's dagger; at least she was not defenceless.

"Ahoy, Robert!"  Aliset jumped, but she instantly recognized the voice and turned, though her hand remained on the dagger.

"Lord Darcy."  Aliset bowed.

"Well met," Darcy said as he strode forward.  His pale blond hair was hidden under his dark leather cap, and his sea bag was slung over his left shoulder.  "You appear to be travelling light.  Did you forget something?"

Aliset took a steadying breath and smiled.  "Nay, my lord," she replied.  "We're still a bit shifted around and crowded in the dormitory, due to all of the extra squires that were here before Prince Javan departed.  I brought my saddle bags to the stable before I retired and put them in your horse's stall.  I thought I would avoid banging one of my fellow squires in the head when I left in the dark."

"If you have food in your bags, as I am sure you do, I hope you put them out of Sigrun's reach.  Otherwise you may go hungry."

"I made sure they were out of reach." As they walked, Aliset thought she should deliver her message.  "Lady Aliset said she would pray that God goes with us and brings us safely back," she told him.

"Amen to that," Darcy said.

"Amen," Aliset said fervently.

They had reached the stable.  Aliset stepped back to let Darcy enter first.

"It's about time you showed up," said a voice as familiar as Darcy's.  Father Columcil came forward and gripped Darcy's arm, hand to elbow.  Darcy did the same, pleased and relieved to have the priest at his side again. 

"This is our young squire?" Columcil asked, looking at the young man who stood beside Darcy, an inch or two taller than the seaman but with the slender build of an adolescent.

"Father, this is Haldane squire Robert O'Malley," Darcy said.  "He's stuck with me, and you, for this journey.  He bears up well, though."  Darcy clapped Robert on the back as the squire rose from his bow.  "Now let's cast off and be away.  There's nothing to be gained by lingering."

Relieved that he had raised no suspicions, Robert O'Malley retrieved his saddle bags, safe and secure, from Sigrun's stall and went to saddle the horse that was provided for him.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on August 15, 2018, 02:02:29 PM
Raft told his tale for the third time. The avid stare from Droghera's Mayor who had arrived late to the questioning and who had demanded Raft repeat his story, caused Raft to have a small shiver in this last telling. When Raft's words ran down and no more questions followed, the large number of men packed into the Mayor's office held their breaths and their tongues, waiting to see if the mayor took this with some sort of seriousness. It was impossible to read the mayor's face.

"That was this morning, just before Terce you say? Is there any proof the nobleman is still there?"

All were quite, there was no proof.   

"That is what I thought. I can't afford to waist our efforts on prattle!" The men in the room raised their voices at that. The mayor's hard stare turned from Raft to everyone else. "I have my orders!" the mayor's gruff voice yelled out. "There is war in Meara, gentleman, and I mean to follow the king's will and get this ragged lot of soldiers to Cuiltriene by noon tomorrow. There to meet up with the King's army. Where we will travel over the Cloome mountains then on to Cloome Valley and to Laas. Hear me! I will not disobey the king's orders. Not even for this... this...lordling!"

Shoots of disagreement filled the hall from behind the young man. Raft cowered standing there between their anger and the glare of the mayor. Then a hand was on his shoulders and the Watch Captain stood tall beside him, Captain Stev's voice yelled louder than the others. "Lord Mayor, the man in question is no lordling, he is the brother of the Duke of Corwyn. Do you not see the honor this town would gain by rescuing such a man as he? He is worthy of our time and our lives."

"Phuuff!" the mayor puffed up, then stared at Captain Stev, who did not back down from that stare. Too well, the mayor knew the determination of his watch captain and he reconsidered his next remark.  "I see you're point in this. Very well, Captain. You may take 12 men with you. Guard the ruins; see that no one escapes there. Even attack it if you dare. Though the night is coming on, and we all know the hauntings that come from that place. When you give up this stupidity. Then you are to race your sorry behinds to Laas and rejoin our march to there. Do we understand each other."

"Thank you, Lord Mayor. I understand, completely."

Captain Stev pulled Raft with him as he left the room. He left before the mayor could change his mind. "I am going with you." the young man Raft said to the captain.

"Aye, I need you to show me exactly where you were and what you saw."   Back out in the barracks courtyard, Stev waved his second over. Get me 12 men, men who aren't afraid of those old ruins. We have less than an hour before the sun goes down. Be at the gate in twenty minutes. We need several ropes and ladders. I want to see that ruins before it gets dark."

"Aye sir!" said the man as he dashed off.

Raft hefted his bow back on his shoulders and tightened the belt that held his hand axe. He would be the one to save that Duke's brother. He just knew that he would.


Edited to add the order for ropes and ladders
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on August 16, 2018, 03:55:38 AM
"Very good to see the first volunteer is a guard from my company. Andrew, you have your bow and a fresh quiver of arrows? Good. I will need you to also carry that length of rope, down to the ruins."   The captain of Droghera clapped his fellow guard upon the shoulder. Then he moved down the line to the young man standing before him. "And who do we have here?"

"Herdsman Remy, sir!"

"Good to have you with us, Remy. That axe is sharp?"

"Yes sir!" the young man said with a clip.

"And this next young man?" the captain inquired stepping before the third man.

"Darius, Sir, from the Finlay homestead down the valley. My dagger is sharp, Sir?"

"Good to know," the captain said while turning back to include Remy. "I am entrusting both of you to carry one of our two ladders. This is an important task. Without the ladders we can not gain entrance to where we go. Understand?"     

"Yes, sir," both youths said as one. 

Captain Stev turned to the empty space beyond Darius. "What is the hold up? Where are the rest of my men?"   
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on August 16, 2018, 12:35:36 PM
The Captain watched in disbelief as the next group of men came quickly toward him.

"Cletus, What are you going to do with that pitchfork? We intend to climb ladders and through crumbled stone ruins."

The farmer Cletus looked back at the captain very seriously. "I am go'na spear them ghosts and I am go'na toss them aside the way a woo'd a bale of hay. And in them fallen walls, I'm going to turn me' pitchfork around and use it as a walking cane. That's what!"   

"O...K... "  the captain said shaking his head and moving on to the next man. 

Standing tall next to Cletus was the candle maker's son. "Matt, did your ma' say you could come.  And where's your weapon."

"Of course ma said so. She had nice words with the priest who had been in good company with the missing nobleman. She thought it right proper to help out all we can." Then Matt pulls out his dagger from his boot top. "I sharpened this right plenty." he said as he let the shine of the dagger catch the setting sun.

That reminded the captain they were running out of time. 

"You convinced your friend Willy to join us, didn't you?" the captain said to the next tall young man, here was another son of a merchant from town.  "Willy glad to see you've got your father's sword. Willy now you and Matt are in charge of that second ladder. It is important that we get it to the bass of the ruins, Right?"

"Right, Captain!" both young men said together. 

"Hamish!" The captain nodded to another of his guards.

"I'll stab that evil mercenary right through the heart!" Hamish declared as he stabbed his sword forward into the air.

"Good, now put that away before you stab one of us." Stev ordered. Hamish sheathed his sword proudly and stood tall.

"Hurry up you five," the captain said to the last five men.  "The sun is not going to wait for us. Pick up those ropes and torches. Let's get us moving across the valley to the ruins. March it fast now. Want to get into the shadow of the ruins before Drogh the Troll starts hunting down by the river. Even Drogh stays clear of those ruins, you know, so we will be safe from him there." Captain Stev said with a malicious grin. His guardsmen all laughed at the long standing joke; the town folk didn't think it so funny.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on August 16, 2018, 01:20:25 PM
Darcy Cameron guided Sigrun through the dark, quiet streets of Rhemuth toward the Rivergate.  Father Columcil followed on Spean along with their borrowed Haldane squire on a horse he had been loaned from the stable.  Darcy would have liked to quicken the pace, be he had no desire to trip over a drunken sailor laying in the road.  Reminding himself that this was Rhemuth the Beautiful and not some seedy port town, he picked up the pace.

Even this early in the morning, townspeople were beginning to stir.  A wagon pulled out in front of them from a side street.  The driver waved an apology as he moved along ahead of them.  Darcy slowed back down; he needed no trouble that would delay their departure.

The guards on watch at the Rivergate waved the wagon and its driver through.  Darcy and his companions pulled up as one of the guards approached.  He nodded to the priest, looked questioningly at Darcy and then recognized the squire.

"Ho, Robert!" the man greeted him.  "His Majesty said to expect you.  Hold a moment."  The man entered the small gate room.  Darcy thought Robert stiffened a bit, but the guard soon returned.  He handed a rolled parchment to Darcy.  "I'm to tell you this is your warrant for safe passage through our troops, should you encounter them."

Darcy nodded his thanks and tucked the parchment inside his tunic; he would read it later.  He fingered a second parchment he had placed there but decided this was not the right man to give it to.  The guard waved them through.

The three companions said little as they rode past the warehouses toward the ferry landing.  Each seemed lost in his own thoughts.  Darcy contemplated what could be the futility of this mission from the king, firmly keeping his thoughts from straying to the lady still asleep in the Queen's Tower.  Father Columcil reviewed the conversations he had with his grandfather, the Archbishop of Rhemuth.  Robert hoped he could ride unobtrusively to the ferry and beyond. 

Darcy noted that they were not the only ones making the first crossing of the day on the ferry.  Besides the wagon, there were two others on horseback and four others on foot.  All of them exchanged polite nods of greeting.

One of the men on foot approached Father Columcil, guiding an older man beside him. 

"Excuse me, Father," the man said and bowed slightly.  The older man stood very still.  "This man is my father; he's been ill for some time, and we are on our way to St. Theresa's Hospital.  Would you mind giving him your blessing?  It would ease his mind about what's to come."

"Of course," Columcil said and dismounted.  Darcy could not hear the low words the priest spoke to them, but the younger man looked greatly relieved as Columcil gave them both his blessing.  Columcil remounted Spean as the ferryman opened the gates of the ferry for loading.

The wagon was loaded first, the ferryman taking care to keep it in the middle of the ferry deck.  Next the five horses boarded, followed by those on foot.  Darcy was pleased to see that the ferryman knew his trade well.

They crossed without incident, unloading in reverse order when they reached the other side of the Eirian River.  Darcy took note of a well-dressed man on horseback off to one side, holding the reins of another, larger black horse beside him.  The horse was saddled, is if the man was expecting someone. Startled, Darcy took a closer look at the horse. 

"It can't be," Colmucil muttered beside him.  "But I know that horse!"

The man with the horse approached them.  "Lord Darcy, Father Columcil," he said in greeting. He nodded toward Robert.  "I am Lord Jamyl Arilan.  I am commanded by King Kelson to give you Sir Washburn's horse and dagger to take with you."  He pulled the dagger from his pack; the light from a dockside torch danced off one of the rubies in the hilt.

"Whatever for?" Darcy asked, taken aback and suddenly suspicious.

Jamyl Airlan's voice took on a slight edge; most do not question His Majesty's orders.  "His Majesty did not provide that information."

Darcy considered refusing but doubted his refusal would carry much weight.  "I've provisioned us for only three horses," he finally said.

"I'm to bring yours back.  It will be stabled until you return." 

"Nay, it won't be me riding that fine beast," Darcy said hastily.  "I'll stick to my trusty Sigrun.  What about you, Robert?"

Robert shook his head quickly.  "Much as I would like to oblige, I don't think I am the best choice."

Darcy looked across at Columcil.  "That leaves you, Father.  You have ridden him before."

"I could take Spean," Robert volunteered.  "We can send this horse back with Lord Jamyl."

Father Columcil hesitated for the briefest of moments.  "If I must, I will do my duty."  He scowled when Darcy started to laugh.

"And hate every minute of it, I am sure."  Still chuckling, Darcy watched as Columcil gave Spean an affectionate pat after dismounting and accepted Shadow Dancer's reins from Lord Jamyl.  Spean nuzzled Robert's shoulder before the squire mounted his new horse.   

Lord Jamyl reached across and handed Darcy the dagger.  Darcy studied it a moment before putting it in his sea bag.  "Might I ask a favour?" Darcy asked as he reached for the second scroll inside his tunic.  "Would you give this letter to King Kelson?"

Jamyl accepted the scroll and started to move his mount and Robert's former horse toward the ferry.

"One more question, if I might," Darcy continued.  He looked pointedly at the impressive black war horse that fidgeted slightly under Columcil's control.  "Are we to find Sir Washburn, or is Sir Washburn supposed to find us?"

Lord Jamyl gave Darcy a blank look.

"Never mind," Darcy said with a wave of his hand.  "I was being too subtle."  With a nod to Columcil and Robert, he turned Sigrun and began to ride down the road away from Rhemuth.  Columcil and Robert quickly followed.

Something in the back of his mind nagged at Darcy, but he couldn't think of what is was.  It would come to him later.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on August 17, 2018, 03:05:39 AM
"Deep in the bowels of the earth lives a nasty troll named Drogh." Wiley half sang as they walked down the valley road. "In the dead of night, he will climb up out of his cave deep in that hill on the edge of our town and prowl the forests, snatching unwary travelers or young children if they played outside at twilight."

"Must you tell that tale?" the Captain said sardonically to Wiley. The young man grew silent, thoughtfully carrying the fore-half of a ladder.

Wiley could not contain his snicker as his friend Matt holding the back half of the ladder behind him, pick up the tale where he had left off.  "Drogh would drag the young chillins into his cave, stick them on spits and roast them alive over his fire. He'd use their bones to pick his teeth after they'd been eaten.  Sometimes, wisps of smoke could be seen escaping from the ground and the villagers would know another poor soul had perished."

"Really boys," the captain again interrupted.  "Haven't you noticed, it's nearly twilight, you trying to scare each other? We're trying to rescue a man! We're not after no Troll, nor no ghosts. So Desist!"

The two young men turned sober. It was Cletus who then sang:
"When Drogh's has had his meal
There will be nothing left to heal
Not but a bone and a soul wandering the deep rills, you a ghost."


The two youngest in the party shivered; the older men laughed. The captain decided the only way to combat stupidity was to quicken the pace.

They reached the road that veered to the right, intersecting with the old road on the left that once ran to the fallen Abbey of the Micheline knights.  The height of the ruin walls, atop the small knoll out on the spit of land surrounded by the lake, shinned in the last of the afternoon sunlight.

"Raft, point to where you saw the man standing." Inquired the Captain. Raft did just that. Pointing out the lowest part of the tower wall. "He was there," the young man declared.

((Note: all NPC's have 3 hit points. Any failed dice roll loses a hit point. (A roll success is showing a 5 or a 6) If the town folk reach 1 hit point left, they will run away. If the guards reach one hit point they will stay where they are and hold the spot in guard detail. The captain has 4 hit points, he will not give up.))

"Yep, We go in where the rubble is the least: that entrance there, under that south transept." The men rearranged themselves, the three town guards Andrew, Hamish and Egan going first. The fear of arrows from whoever might be in that tower kept them from lighting their torches to see their way. This proved futile as the land bridge connecting the old abbey to the road had long since gone wild with overgrown thickets and reeds.
((First 1d6 save test to get half way across the causeway.))

Andrew (1d6=1) lead the group of fourteen. And as it would be, he was the first to misstep and fall, disappearing beneath the tips of the reeds. A curse word was all anyone could hear to judge where he was at. All eyes on that happenstance caused not one, but two others to lose their footing, by tripping on roots and various marsh pockets of routing water. The Blacksmith Roy (1d6= 1) gave a "Ufff" falling to his knees, only the thick hide of his leather pants saved him from not breaking his leg. Spitting pissed, he swung his axe at the foot-grabbing root, freeing himself but having a limp thereafter. Not but a moment latter, Dariaus(1d6= 3) tripped in a marshy bog, the ladder in his hand slipped as he caught his balance. Captain Stev (1d6 = 3) dove for the ladder, last thing the captain wanted was to break the long poles that would allow them to scale the short cliff before the south transept. He caught the ladder indeed, with his head. Remy(1d6=5) behind him balanced the long ladder allowing Dariaus to get back to his feet and the captain to rub the bump that would soon rise over his eyebrow giving him one sorry black eye.

Wiley (1d6=3) and Matt (1d6 =3) and Cletus (1d6=2) had a hard time carrying the longest ladder between the three of them. They stumbled and cursed aplenty before they were even half way across the land bridge. Raft (1d6=3) and his cousin Todd (1d6= 2) came last. Both should have been watching their steps, but instead the curse of this place was slowing them down. Even when they tried to encourage each other to be brave, they both tripped up, discovering the meanness of the plants. To them it was a sign of evil. Uncle John(1d6=6) behind them picked both boys up and pushed them on.

((Those not named passed the first test with a roll of 5 or 6.))

Seeing that at this rate they wouldn't even make it down the causeway, Captain Stev ordered the torches to be lit. At least if they could see the plants under their feet, they just might make it to those ruins.  Anxious the group huddled to light the torches. The flames in the darkness offered hope. Although, any possibility of stealth was now gone. They made their way forward with determined purpose.

The group was nearly across, when a freak wind with an evil coldness blow at the flames on the torches. ((Second 1d6 save test)) Nothing short of a typhoon should have blown the flame out on the oil-drenched rags. Yet, half the torches sputtered out. The boys Raft(1d6 =3) and Todd(1d6 =4) were the first to flee in fear. Uncle John (1d6=2) was tripped up as the boys retreated. He would have retreated too, but for the Captain who yelled, "John, I need your cool head, your boys are too young anyway, let them go back to the road."

"Hear that son, nephew? Go back to the road, slow and careful like, and wait for us to return."

Back in the dark again, Darius(1d6= 2) took a second fall. This time he was slow to stand."Your done here," the captain said. "Go back and watch the boys."  Furious with himself, Darius handed his half of the ladder over to Roy. "Get through this for me," he said to the blacksmith.

Prideful Hamish was sure he had the lay of the land figured out. He and the Captain started to disagree on where was the best footing for the ladders to climb up the rocky cliff side. Centuries ago, there had been a bridge over this part, but the bridge had long since been destroyed and sharp cut stones of rubble proved the footing to be unsure.  A rock under Hamish's (1d6= 2) boot shifted and moved. He fell forward grabbing the nearest shoulder, which happened to be the Captain's. Stev(1d6 =1) cursed as he too was pulled to his knees. His left knee gave a small crack, biting his lip he said nothing, but the pain was in his eyes as several men with re-lit torches came to lift him up. Ashamed Hamish stepped aside, rubbing his own hurt. The guard Egon, who remembered being the one to repair the noble knight's rent chain-mail, took the lead at a nod from his Captain.

Soon enough the two ladders found secure placements and men started up the ladder rungs, everyone in silence, realizing this was not to be an easy task as they had first thought it would be.
((Congratulations to everyone not mentioned, you had a successful second test))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on August 17, 2018, 07:48:14 AM
Feyd watches the approaching towns people with a bit of a laugh. "I think you were spotted while you were dangling for your life." He says to Washburn knowing that Wash can't do anything about it. "It is high time to remind them about the troll and this place is haunted."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on August 18, 2018, 04:17:59 PM
Eleven men stood shoulder to shoulder on the outcropping of rock which had long ago supported the bridge to the south transept.  The climb had been easy for most, Remy and Egon going up first; the captain and John taking both ladders last, equally going slow to lift their sore knees up each rundel. When Captain Stev reached the rock ledge, he noted not one of the group ventured close to the ruins wall. The South Transept was the only opening on this side of the ruins.  Even so, there were numerous scattered stones that needed to be traversed to climb through the opening. The light from the flame of their torches did not seem to penetrate the blackness that oozed out of the empty space.

"Why is the moon not up yet," mumble Wiley.

"Won't be up until round midnight," Matt said with a clap to his friend's shoulders. "And I ain't waiting around here that long." Determined Matt and Wiley nodded to each other in silent agreement. They hefted their torches high and took the first steps to wade across the rubble strewn entrance.

"Kind of a creepy feeling wouldn't you say?" Wiley joked to his friend (2d6 = 5, 5).

"You just thinking of the troubadour's stories, that one about the spiders of Derbyshire," Matt teased with a laugh (2d6 = 5, 6). "Come on, we've climbed through these ruins as kids many a year ago."

"In the daylight," Wiley remarked.

The guard Egan moved out with the two friends, "Wait for me to come with you, I have my sword, just in case you stumble on a rats nest-- ah-- or a spiders," he added nervously as he entered the ruins (2d6 = 5, 4). He concentrated on what was ahead and was relieved the anxiousness left him as he joined Matt and Wiley.

The guard Hamish quoted an old king as he hurried after Egan, "Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; Or close the wall up with our Gwynedd dead." Raising his torch high in one hand and hefting his sword up in the other, he conquered the breech(2d6 = 4, 6). Then not willing to claim he felt any uneasiness,  he turned to taunt his fellow guardsman, "Andrew! Come man, what is your hold up?"

Andrew never liked night watch, he was always a man of the rising sun. "This place speaks ill to me with evil intent, I should be sleeping for the march South at first light. Remind me again why I volunteered for this?"

"Didn't you say, you wanted to be a hero." Hamish goaded.

Andrew smirked. "No, I believe you said you wanted to be the hero." Andrew squared his shoulders. "I am here because a man needs our help, matters not to me, he be the duke's brother. He needs help. I intend..." Andrew stepped over a stone finding himself in the middle of the archway(2d6 = 1,1) . A bolt of cold evil zapped through his feet and up his spine. Several screams echoed from the dark space ahead of him, they weren't his. He pushed his torch out waving it left to right. Before him four men struggled in cocoons of webbing.  Their bodies being turned round and round by great hind legs of giant spiders, the men's screams going muffled and quiet as the last spider's webbing encased them fully. Done with the four, the spiders turned their beady red eyes upon the Droghera guard.  This time the scream "No!" was Andrew's as a spider attacked him and he was pushed down against the broken stone to be wrapped up too.

Men from all sides came toward Andrew, none understanding what had seized the guard and taken him down. Hamish on one side and Remy jumped through the archway (2d6= 2,5) to support the other side, both hefted Andrew off the ground. But they could not hold him. "Let me go, let me go! Tis evil, tis not but evil here!" Before anyone could stop him, Andrew bolted back toward the ladder. The captain reached out a restraining hand to stop his guardsman. Andrew's fist went wild, all he saw were spiders at his back. His fist hit the captain square in Stev's good eye (Captain 2d6 = 3,3 ) blinding Stev with all but shooting stars that filed his vision.  Andrew scurried down the rungs of the ladder and was gone.

Wiley, Matt, Egan and Hamish thought they understood what had happened. But none of them was willing to step back through the archway to stop Andrew. The four remaining men at the outer wall: Uncle John, Cletus, Roy and Jeb, assisted the captain to sit against the nearest stone. "Damn! I really can't see much." Stev moaned. "I can't go on just now, give me a minute or two. You men go in find a way to save Sir Washburn. You must find a way!"

"We will do that, Captain," Uncle John said. He took one last look over his shoulder to see that three torches stood back near the road, his boys were safe, and that one more torch was waiving its way through the reeds to get back there too. John then turned back and took Cletus by the arm. The two bravely entered the south transept archway ( 2d6 +6, 4 and 2d6 = 1,5 respectively) they shivered, but they closed their eyes and breathed heavily allowing them to reach the inner first room.

Roy and Jeb held back, each hesitating, each heartbeat building fear, wondering what Andrew had seen. Guards don't normally clobber their captain.  The black smith with his sword and the church deacon with his candlestick took tentative steps forward (Roy  2d6 = 4, 3) (Jeb 2d6 = 3, 3). What ever covered the transept it was like walking into a thick series of webs. It stuck to them and slowed their steps. Sets of Four red eyes set in hairy black bodies on eight spindly legs crawled down from the archway above them.  Roy's sword swung at the creature over his head. It lunged at him and entangled his feet as he fell backwards. He slashed the cobwebs, cut himself loose, and he stabbed at the beast who made another lunge. He caught the beast in an eye, yet more spiders came on.  This was Roy's second injury, it was enough for him. As he freed himself and scrambled away he yelled, "I'm done!" and he charged away, to disappeared down the ladder, too.

Jeb hated spiders! He was always having to sweep them out of the church bell tower. These spiders here who turned on him were the largest he had ever seen, near as large as a man. Only nightmares could make them so big.  Fear filled instinct took over his actions. He lit his candlestick with a wave of his hand: something his grandma had taught him to do long ago.  He raised the flame to the cob-webbing, starting it burning freeing himself of this entrapment. A desperate plunge of the candlestick into his tormentor's evil eyes, and he was able to pulled away. Jeb nearly too ran to the ladders but he saw the captain sitting there, blind and unprotected.  As yet Jeb had no injury, he had made it through the causeway unharmed (had rolled 1d6=6  and 1d6 =6). Knowing he couldn't tolerate what ever it was that lay upon the transect and he could not leave the Captain alone, thus, Jeb took up guard duty before Stev, keeping his candlestick between them and whatever evil lay there.   

((Congratulations to Wiley, Matt, Remy, Hamish, Cletus, John, and Egan for making it through Feyd's first Ward, the Spider Ward. The seven men will continue on.  Please make three new rolls.  2d6 (this one will not lose you hit points if you don't succeed- unless you roll 1,1,(don't roll 1,1) Then roll 2d6 (failure on this roll has consequences). Whether the last was a Fail or a Success, please continue to roll 1d6. Please PM me your results with your character's name. Thank you, I am enjoying what you all roll and adapting those rolls to the story. (Just know, I am following plans given to me by Feyd, so yes they are tough.) So that is: !roll 2d6    !roll 2d6    !roll 1d6.))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on August 23, 2018, 01:32:37 PM
They were seven, a full half of their number had fallen behind.  Egan and Hamish made eye contact across the ruin's open room. Both were of equal rank in the Droghera guard, yet Egan had more years, so Hamish nodded for Egan to take the lead.

"We're here, but we're still not where we need to be." Egan announced. Six faces behind six flickering torches all looked his way. "There is a man being held against his will up in the old bell tower on the west side. We have to find our way through all this rubble, through the nave, and to that tower. The lower half of the tower still stands so he will be somewhere in the middle of it.  On the way in, we saw no evidence that any one rode out from this place, so I am thinking the nobleman is still in there. Sense we have gotten no resistance so fare, I'll bet he was stashed there for hiding until a ransom can be made. Most likely he is injured and he can't climb out himself. So let's find our way out of here and over to that tower."

"In all this rubble? How we gonna even get out of here?" Cletus remarked looking about him. He was standing precariously on an overturned stone, the tines of his pitchfork were balanced into the cracks between the stones.

"It weren't that many years ago that me and Wiley crawled through here. Should be a passage like tunnel out of this room," declared Matt.

Only Wiley was quick to add under his breath. "I recall you wouldn't go into that tunnel, back then."

Matt ignored his friend. "I think it was over here somewhere."

Matt held his torch out before him and climbed over the rubble to the far side where a wall still stood strong and tall. "I swear it was along this wall..." he said moving the flame right, then left.

Egan didn't have much faith in Matt's memory. "Spread out! Find us a passage out of this room."

The backsides of the Droghera men could be seen as the torches all moved in different directions. Several minutes passed before two of their number disappeared together from view in the distant corner.

Egan was about to call out when Hamish ((!roll 2d6   5, 6 == 11)) reappeared. "We found it. And boy is it dark in there."

Matt ((5+6 = 11)) reappeared right behind Hamish looking over at Wiley. "Told you, I knew where it was."

Wiley ((!roll 2d6   6, 4 == 10)) only laughed "Yay, you did, but have you entered into it yet?" he goaded his friend.

"You two are as bad as my boys, " John ((!roll 2d6   1, 5 == 6)) said coming up behind Wiley. The four men ((the four successful rolls go first)) disappeared behind a wall leaving Cletus, Remy and Egan rushing to catch up. ((Tis fortunate that no one rolled 1,1. The trap in the rubble was not activated)).

Matt(( 2d6 5+6 = 11)) being brave, proving he was better than his friend remembered him in their childhood, forged his way into the dark tunnel. It had likely been a hallway to the sacristy and was the only part of the ruins where the stone roof still held over head. A faint dimness of dark sky could be seen in the upper far corner where the wall and roof had crumbled away. It looked like they were gonna have to climb out of this tunnel when they got there.

"What is that smell?" Matt called when he had gotten several steps into the blackness. "Lordy are those human bones?" he waved his torch at the floor. A scatter of long bones, ribs and skulls were crunching under his boots. Wiley(( 2d6   4, 6 == 10)) rushed up to his friend, stopped cold in his tracks. "I swear that Troll's been here. Gad what a smell." The two men hesitant both thinking the worst, thinking that Troll might come back at any instant. Hamish((2d6   6, 3 == 9)) came up behind them and pushed them forward, "Don't stop, you idiots, move on." As the two young men were forced to move up, the smell dissipated and the floor suddenly cleared.

"Those aren't skulls!  We are idiots! It's just a few rocks." Matt said patting his friends back with a laugh. Then the friends both walked out to the collapsed end of the tunnel more confidently. Behind them Hamish followed, shaking off the feeling that the Mayor of Droghera had somehow judged  him of some misbegotten crime and sentenced him to spend time in the dungeon.

Raft's uncle John ((2d6   2, 6 == 8)) stepped through the tunnel next. Half way in, he was engulfed in flame. He screamed and jumped forward banging into Hamish who yelled,  "Watch it, man!"

John leaned up against the wall breathing hard. For a second there he had been back in his burning home, that had been five years ago, when he had lost his wife and daughter. Unbidden tears filled his eyes. "I should be back with my son and nephew," he cried.

Hamish looked over at the farmer, a hand of remorse touched the older man's arm. "Your boys are fine." he said sympathetically.  "Your a good man, John, come ahead." John nodded, he walked down the tunnel, but at a much slower pace.

Remy ((2d6  1, 6 == 7)) hit the middle of the tunnel at a fast pace. His momentum carried him passed a dungeon cell and a Deryni mind entangling that mind into his. Then the oppressive presence was gone and he was himself again, successfully shaking off the dread of that not quite remembered memory.

The clap of a pitchfork handle hit the stone with every step came forward next.  Cletus ((2d6  2, 5 == 7)) stopped square in the middle of the tunnel. "Ma' what in tarnations hell are you doing here!" A big buxom woman stepped out of the darkness a twitch in her hand. His banshee of a mother was yelling at him again to clean the cesspit. "I done did it!" he yelled back. "Why don't you go look in it and see for yourself." Never had he been brave enough to say that to his mama before. When she howled at him again like a true banshee. He shoved his pitchfork forward, knowing it had to be a ghost he be seeing. 

"Hay! Watch who your hitting with that thing!" Remy grabbed the tines of the weapon and pulled it up, pulling Cletus forward with it.

"I'll get that banshee ghost, you mark my words," Cletus announced, moving with Remy down the tunnel.

The Droghera guard came into the tunnel last, determined to see this quest completed. The others were ahead of him and he was thinking of nothing but the glory of saving that fine young knight. Then suddenly lying there at Egan's feet ((!roll 2d6  2, 2 == 4)) was Sir Washburn dying on the stone floor. Blood gushed out of rents in the warrior's chain-mail. "You'll need to repair my armor again," the knight laughed between coughs of blood. "Not your fault you were late.." The man convulsed on the floor and then lay still. With his last dying breath he said,  "Tell the king it was not your fault."

Egan bent down to pull at the dead bloodied body. "No!" he yelled in anguish. "All for not, all for not!" Terrified the failure was all on him, forgetting that anyone else was here. He ran back through the entrance out through the spider maze and down the ladder. To stop there and sob between the cliff side and the causeway. It would take days for him to be convinced it hadn't been real.

((Thus six men got passed Feyd's second ward of greatest fears.))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on August 23, 2018, 05:10:25 PM
Feyd turns his attentions to the sleeping Washburn. "Wake up", he gives him the verbal command that triggers the controls that are well established. "It is past dusk already and we should be going." He makes no mentions of those men climbing through narrow passage way beneth him. Most will either die or flee in panic before they reach this landing. And by that time, he and Washburn will be gone.

Washburn rises, the man is fully aware of what is happening and might even be able to hear the climbers but his body does not respond to his own thoughts. He a puppet of the Scholar. Helpless he follows the commands and signals given to him by Feyd.

Feyd has Washburn stand motionless next to him as the Deryni mage waves the Wards Major guarding the patrol away. The climb is short be dangerous and those pursuers have already breached his 2nd guardian Ward. He curses that he doesn't have the talent to bring his Ward Cubes to his hands as the magic fades away. So he simply kicks the eight little cubes out of the way, scattering them about the rubble. Hard to find in the darkness or even in the light of day. Only a skilled Deryni would be able to locate them now and that is if they were looking for something magical other than the Portal square.

He leads Washburn to stand on the Portal with him. And with Washburn already controlled. He bends the energies between the Portal in the ruins with another. And the 2 men vanish into the darkness.

* * *

(( <bynw> !roll 1d6
<derynibot> 6 == 6 ))


That night back in Rhemuth, another Deryni in service to his King, Lord Jamyl Arlin again tests to see if can discover the Portal that disappeared. It was there for a minute once and then it was gone like it never existed. Warded or destroyed would be its only option. So out of whim the young man reaches out with his Sight and mind to see if he can feel it. And there is a great suprise and joy that he exclaims out loud that he has the Portal again where the Scholar has taken Washburn.

(( <bynw> !roll 2d6
<derynibot> 5, 4 == 9 ))

He probes the destination without making a jump. And can feel that it is indeed Trapped, like the others. He makes sure he doesn't lose Sight of the Portal and has page running to find his father.

* * *

A heartbeat later and Washburn and Feyd are out of the void. A guard is a bit started by his sudden appearance but quickly regains his composure as he recognizes the School. Within a few moments the castle's old Seneschal arrives with more guards. He is Deryni and Feyd can sense his Shields in place at the ready.

"Master Feyd." The Seneschal greets him. "You are a bit earlier that we has expected."

Feyd answers him as he and the controlled Morgan step from the Portal into the room. "A rescue attempt was getting too close for comfort. But they will come up empty handed again. Has Baron du Chantel followed His Grace's instructions to feign loyalty and join the Haldane's?"

"Aye, m'Lord he left just before dusk to join up with the King's army that marches on Laas. It will fail of course. The battle plans will be given to His Grace the moment they are learned. The Haldane usupers shall be driven from Meara forever."

Feyd smiles and pulls out his dagger, cutting any of the bonds that remain on Washburns wrists and legs. "Take him and see to it that he is washed and dressed for his audience with His Grace. Do your best to make certain that he is dress according to his station. He is a Duke's brother after all. We would not want His Grace to become displeased with your  preparations. We shall not stay here long. I too need the niceties of a civilized estate for a few hours."

"Washburn," Feyd commands. "You will follow these men's verbal instructions as if they came from me." Feyd waves the men to take Washburn away.  He turns to the Seneschal. Put more guards on this Portal. Even though it is protected we should add another layer of protection. Archers, a half dozen of them and a few men at arms. Just to be certain."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on August 24, 2018, 01:02:24 PM

Six men hovered together at the collapsed end of the tunnel. A mound of rectangular stones were tumbled one upon the other, most having been from the collapse of the bell tower onto the abbey walls; two centuries ago, all of it must have come down in a great earth shattering crash. Starlight could be seen through a rift in the ceiling between the fallen stones and the tunnel roof line.

"Looks to be the only way out," Hamish said, taking control as the only guard left in the party. "Looks big enough to climb through. I'm the largest of us, so if I can make it all of us can."

"Unless that is bigger than it looks from here, I don't see how you're going to fit." John said shaking his head. He stared at the gap in the ceiling and then at the twelve feet of mounded rocks that needed to be climbed to get there. "The footing will be treacherous from here on out. Looks like you'll need both hands to climb."

"Got to have the light." Matt chimed in, not looking forward to darkness after what he imagined was in this tunnel.

Hamish took the first testing steps onto the tumbled stones.  They seemed solid and unshifting at least here at the base. After a few feet up he found John's words to be true. He stuffed his torch into the highest crevasse that he could reach giving some shadowy light for what lay ahead. Remy gathered his courage and followed two steps behind. Pointing to Hamish that he thought going to the left would be better footing. Hamish took the advice and after a small struggle was close to the roof line crouching down to crawl the last space before his fingers grabbed the edge of the ceiling cleft. Testing it, the stones here were rock steady and unshifting.

"Going through! If I do this I expect you all to follow." Hamish ((!roll 1d6   6 == 6 )) pulled himself up and kicked off a flat stone. With a strong arm press, he was out of the whole and standing under the stars of the night's sky. Just as he suspected, the mound of stone and rubble continued its slope up to the edge of the bell tower. It looked to be about twenty paces or so away and some fifteen feet higher than where he stood.

Looking down Remy's hands were on the edge of the gap. Remy ((1d6  5 == 5)) happily took the hand Hamish lent him and with the guard's strong arm, the herdsman was pulled from the hole. "So glad to be out of there," Remy said brushing off the dust.

"Amen to that," Hamish agreed.

The next to climb up was Wiley ((1d6   6 == 6 )) his wiry frame made the squeeze through the hole look easy. With two hands to pull him the last bit up, he was standing on the rock mound above the hole looking at the stars with a grateful breath. "We never made it this far as kids." he said. "Come on Matt, hurry up, there is no Troll of Draghera up here." He happily snickered at his own childhood fears.

"I would if Cletus would get out of the way," Matt called from down in the tunnel. Matt's face could be seen half up the mound. Also half up the mound was Cletus, he was swinging his pitchfork from one cleft in the stone to the other, determined to use it to help him climb. "Hey! Watch it Cletus! I'm up here too and don't need to be skewered by you. Put that thing down!"

"I'll make it!"  Cletus called. He stuffed the pitchfork into the ceiling cleft causing the three men uptop to step back. No one would get near the farmer with his weapon of terror. Without their help, Cletus ((1d6  1 == 1 )) was determined he could do it on his own. He pulled this way and pulled that way and shimmied into the hole. Trouble was the pitchfork was too long and too straight he could not curve his body around it.

"Cletus, now what you doing? Get out of there, so I can get up." Matt called ((1d6= 2))

After another leg kicking struggle, Cletus finally settled into a half twisted position. "I think I am stuck." Hands from above tried to lift him up, to no avail.

"There is no continuing up. Cletus you have to go back down." Hamish said in exasperation. Then he heard something. Sounded like a voice saying Wake up   "shush!" Hamish said to the others as he turned all his attention to the sound over the tower wall ahead. A deep voice called out two Torenthi curse words.  Then there was a scattering sound of things hitting stones. Someone was in the tower, Hamish was now certain of it and that someone knew a rescue party was near.  "Damn it! Matt! John!" Hamish yelled to those below. "You get Cletus pulled down from blocking this hole. We're going on to see what is up in that tower, before it is too late."

"I messed up, didn't I." Cletus made it a statement more than a question. Dejectedly as he watched the three men tie a rope about each of their waists at a good distance apart from each other. The three move out onto the stony rubble mound to make the last climb; none of them looking back, too intent on what lay ahead were they.

(( OK! I know this may seem pointless, but we need to see this through to the end. So I need some new rolls and I am really looking for some success ahead. Honest. To that end:
Hamish, Remy, and Wiley please roll two more rolls for me:  !roll 1d6   and !roll 2d6. For the climb ahead.
Cletus, Matt ,and John please roll: !roll 1d6  this is to see if you can help Cletus get free. Need at least two of the three to have successful rolls to pull Cletus back down out of the whole.))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on August 25, 2018, 04:13:58 AM

"Your Grace, why am I finding you in here? You should not be here. You should be in the queen's company, with her strength to hold you up." Archbishop Duncan stood before the weeping dowager of Corwyn, his voice compassionate, his caring hands reaching across for the frail hands that encased a small cross that the lady held to her lips as she cried. Richenda could say nothing. Her eyes were puffy, her cheeks wet. She looked up at Duncan beseechingly. Duncan enfolded his hands over hers. "Araxie thought this is where you went, she says you missed dinner."

"I can not eat," Richenda managed to say, her voice breaking with her despair. "My boys, what is going to happen to my boys. Tell God please, I can not lose them. Not any of them! All three are gone from me and I am helpless!"

Duncan sat on the Royal library bench beside the elder lady whom he considered to be as close to him as a sister. She was his cousin's widow and she was family. "On your behalf as well as my own, I have been speaking with God all day. I swear to you that He is listening. He will not let Alaric's children fall. Know that He has Alaric by his side, with a warrior angel such as Alaric, God is not in need of more Morgans. He will want them here in this kingdom to fight on the side of Light. Know that Brendan, Kelric and even Washburn are being watched over."

"I want..." the dowager looked up at Duncan with eyes so sad; eyes he had not seen since the death of his cousin. "I want to have faith, to believe, believe they will come home, but ... I... I'm afraid."

"Know this, my lady, they will come home, all three of them. Lighted candles for your boys are filling chapel steps, chapels all throughout Gwynedd. Prayers are being said on their behalf, everywhere. Hold your faith and your heart my lady, I will not let it break again."

Unable to contain her emotions, she leaned into his shoulder. "I came here hoping that there was a sense of Washburn here. that it would help me contact him. But I.. touch only emptiness. He is lost to me!"

"We will find him," Duncan said firmly, as much for himself as for Washburn's mother. Duncan softly spoke a prayer as he held the Dowager's shoulders. Nearly to the prayer's end, his words were interrupted by the patter of quick footsteps racing out of the Library garderobe. Here came a royal Haldane squire, Prince Kalin.  He was one of few who had privilege to come and go from the library annex. "What is the rush?" Duncan asked. The boy halted for a moment, surprised to find the archbishop in the library. He bowed and quickly announced. "Laird Seisyll says for me to tell his brother Sextus the Portal has reappeared. And then I am to tell the king."

"Indeed?" Duncan questioned standing with more enthusiasm that he had displayed all day. "Go then, find Lord Sextus." Even before the royal squire had left Duncan was pulling Richenda to her feet.  Together they entered the library annex, finding Laird Seisyll on his knees. His hands flat on the central portal stone.

For all of Duncan's age, Duncan was fast to kneel beside the Portal stone himself. In quick rapport, Seisyll shared the signature of the long missing portal with both senior members of Kelson's court. This was the signature of the Portal that had been first felt in the Portal down by the river. The one that was unattainable to anyone for more than a full day. The monitoring for that portal had been transferred from the river warehouse to the library for ease and for comfort of the watcher. "I sense it is trapped." Seisyll said bluntly. "I have not tried yet to untrap it from here. The trap may be far more dangerous than the first one. Perhaps with the skill of both your Graces, we can defeat it."

Clinging to hope, Richenda nodded, "I will do it." But Duncan was instance. "No! It shall be I, you must save your strength!" With those words, he place both palms flat upon the hearth stone and he focused into the gleam in his bishop's ring, centering to breach the spell.     

((Duncan 3d6  Spell Master, Disabling the trap on the portal in the ruins, need a roll of 9 or better. rolled 1+1+1 = 3 Verification Number: 4gcc7cwk0d ))

Almost instantly Duncan's shields flared. Even then, the backwash of energy from the portal rendered his hands numb.  Stunned, he fell backwards. Only Laird Seisyll kept him from hitting the floor. Neither man saw the desperate tears in the dowager's eyes as she slipped to her knees and placed her hands on the portal stone.

((3d6 Richenda Spell Master, Same. Looking for a much better roll. Disabling the trap on the portal in the ruins, need a roll of 9 or better. results=4 + 5 + 6 = 15 Verification Number: 3mb47n59qk))

Too late, Seisyll tried to reach for the lady's arm. Too late, because Richenda Morgan, Dowager Duchess of Corwyn  had used the Portal and was gone.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on August 25, 2018, 12:29:31 PM
Wiley stepped from stone to stone, picking his footing with care. Far to the east, seen over the jagged walls of the ruined abbey, shining on the water of lake surrounding them, was the moon rising like a tilted smile of a Cheshire cat. The light it gave off was half its strength; it eliminated only the very tops of the stones before him leaving all else in an eerie shadow. The placement of each foot was therefore made with care.  The three men climbed the tumbled walls at a pace that seemed like a crawl to them.  The rope between them did not drag, but it was not taught either, allowing each of them to choose their own path. The rope at least gave confidence that a slip or fall would not find them thirty feet down to the footing of the tower base. The guard Hamish was highest in the climb, his footing most precise, his desire to make rescue most keen.  Wiley was second and Remy was behind. Each man concentrated on their next step. Other than watching for the tautness of the rope, they paid little heed to one another.

It was half way up the shambling mound when a skull splitting rock slammed the back of Wiley's head. ((Wiley !roll 1d6  14:18   derynibot 1 == 1)) Never knowing what hit him, the merchant's son slumped to the stone in agony, then the rope tugged at his middle and pulled him off his feet.  He fell then, slipping down the mound of stone at a dizzying rate.

"What!" Hamish yelled as the taught rope nearly pulled him off his feet. He balanced against the stone with one hand and pulled on the rope with the other. Between him and Remy they managed to stop Wiley's precarious fall. Unconscious they pulled him back up to a safe spot on the mound. Blood dripped down the back of the young man's head. He must of hit a corner of the stone when he fell.  Remy only stared on august at the sight of blood. Hamish was faster getting cloth from his pack and holding it firm to Wiley's skull.  The bleeding slowed, Hamish sighed in some relief as he felt Wiley's pulse and still found him breathing. With more cloth he fully wrapped the young man's head, tight enough to hold the pressure against the cut. 

"He'll live, likely with a damnable headache. We'll come back for him, but right now we need to know what is going on in that tower," Hamish said this realizing he had not heard a sound ahead of them for several minutes.

Remy untied the rope from around his own waist and started back up the pile of stones. (( <remy> !roll 1d6 <derynibot> 5 == 5)) Hamish wondered what had happened, why had the herdsman's attitude seemed to have gone so cold. Had he always been like that and he just never noticed it.  Leaving Wiley where he lay, Hamish untied the rope about himself, then slipped a part of it closest to Wiley's waist into a crevasse of rock so that Wiley would not fall further if he rolled or moved.  Grudgingly Hamish followed Remy upwards. ((Hamish !roll   1d6  @derynibot 5 == 5)) His pace determined to catch up with the herdsman.

The tumble of stones ended against the tower wall which still towered a hands height above them. It seemed an impossibility that they could get over it. This was the highest side of the tower, the part that had once been at the center of the church roof. The lowest point of the fallen tower wall was on the far side, overlooking the lake. This mound did not go that far around. In fact the mound fell away into a deep crevasse, like the stone had been cracked and splintered by a bolt of lightening, Looking into the crack it appeared to extend into and through the tower wall. Remy hovered over the opening afraid to let himself down into it. Hamish was leader now. His pride and his courage filled him up. "I'll go first," he declared. Thus he sat on the edge of the broken stone he lowered himself in.

Here the stone was pulverized like gravel, loose under his feet.  He had to use both hands on the side walls to keep himself from slipping down with each step. Ahead he could see the tower floor, unless someone was hiding, he saw no one there. But he did see in the growing moon light a scattering of things that shouldn't have been there. A fur laid out on the stone. Bowls and a pile or red string. A burnt down pile of logs that still seemed to smolder after being doused recently with water.

So intent was Hamish on what lay before him that he did not hear Remy come close from behind. ((Hamish !roll  2d6 @derynibot 1, 3 == 4 ))  A rock smacked his head and he fell forward. "No one will reach the tower!" Remy said in a possessed voice that was not his own. "You're to make certain that no one does!" growled Remy repeating what his orders had been.

Hamish twisted his body and moved forward to turn and catch his attacker. His vision swarmed in a dizzy spell, essences of light circled his head. Faces of ghosts glared at him and danced around him. "Soon you'll be one of us," they cackled in tandem. Stepping on his chest to hold him down, Remy pulled his axe from his belt. He hefted it high, ready to bring it down on his victim's head. Hamish struggled in the gravel and could not find substance to push off from and free himself.

Then there was a wailing, the crying of female anguish. Both men looked up from their struggle to see a women in green at the center of the tower floor.  She looked around her and cried.  The gauze of her veiling being pulled away, her hair, stripped in coppers and silvers, fell over her shoulders and down to her knees.  As they watched, her body caught the moonlight. She shown like a banshee, majestic in her age and in her beauty, the queen of all banshees was she.

"No one will reach the tower," Remy hissed, forgetting Hamish as he stepped on him to get to the one at the center of the tower floor. ((<remy> !roll 2d6 <derynibot> 5, 6 == 11)) Remy flinched only a little as he passed where Hamish's head lay. The third fear ward of Feyd did little to stop the herdsman's intent.

Feeling the ghosts of this place pressuring all around him, Hamish realized the banshee queen's danger. His greatest fear was failure, coming before the mayor telling him how he had failed in this task. Ghosts or no ghosts he would not, could not fail. Hamish pushed himself up ((Hamish !roll 2d6 @derynibot 5, 6 == 11)), he launched himself passed the fear ward, and attacked the man with the axe. ((2d6 rolled 5+1=6 Verification Number: 5pkmct9f2k)) his hand managed to grab the axe and pull it away.

Angered Remy turned back on the guard, his fist drawn back for a punch.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on August 25, 2018, 12:44:14 PM
Seisyll's hands covered Duncan's forehead easing the shock of the bolt of energy Duncan had tripped. Healer to the library, need a Healer now! broadcasted Seisyll to all in Rhemuth Castle. He desperately wanted to follow Richenda, to protect her and to rescue her if she had jumped into the arms of the enemy. But he needed to stay with Duncan to be sure the Archbishop did not slip into shock or worse a coma.

It seemed forever, but reality couldn't have been that long. Two Healers, the castle infirmarians, one who had access though the garderobe veiling arrived by escorting the one who did not. They raced to the Archbishop's side, assessing their patient quickly, after Seisyll's near instant Rapport of what had happened.  Shaking like the laird had not shaken in years, Seisyll stepped to the portal. A quick feel and he knew Richenda had disarmed the trap on the portal that was his destination. But what would he find there? He did not know. He pulled his sword out  and held it to his chest ready to parry an attack if need be.

Then he felt the unique signature of the place he had never been. With a blink he was gone.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on August 26, 2018, 02:56:48 AM
Two men locked in battle fell from an unseen crevasse in the wall. Their hands scrambled to be the owner of a small wicked axe. First one man had it and then it was in the hand of the other. Both men rolled about the floor wanting to be the weapon's owner. Richenda jumped back, she did not know who was who, only that an axe looked sharp and dangerous, whether it belonged to the wiry framed fellow or to the broad shouldered man in the jerkin of leather and mail, she did not care to pursue. Only that these men were here in a place that her youngest son had so recently been. She could feel his unshielded presence in the items that were scattered about the floor. The fur especially held his spirit, Washburn had slept here for some time. Where had he been taken, she desperately wanted to know. The fight between the guard and the commoner disrupted her questing to learn more. They tumbled this way and then that way, they seemed evenly matched. If not for that axe held between them, Richenda might have dared to intervene. She had stopped fights before with just the power of her voice. Few could ignore the Arcane Mastery of her years of study.  First, that axe had to go. Blood-shed didn't recon in with her finding her son.

((Rolling for Richenda to pull the axe out of Hamish's hand with telekinesis. Where do you think Washburn got that skill from, LOL. Our Dowager Duchess is Spell Master Advantage 3d6. Success on 5 or 6  /r 3d6  SidekickBOT Today at 9:54 PM @Laurna: 3d6 = (4+1+5) = 10)).

From Hamish's peripheral view, the Banshee Queen straightened her back and lifted her hands out before her. Wide cornflower blue eyes focused on the movement of the axe held briefly again in his hand. The Banshee Queen grew angry as the men fought over possession of the weapon. The woman chanted words unheard. Her eyes shined with an inner focus. Her fingers seemed to wrap around a thing. One tug, two tugs, than a third, an unyielding pull in that last. The axe spirited itself out of both men's hands. Hamish could not hold it. ((Hamish !roll 2d6 @derynibot 4, 2 == 6)) It flew away from him, just above the tower floor toward the Specter Queen. Then as if throwing it aside, she flicked her fingers and the axe skittered to the far side, into the midst of the rubble there.

The wiry peasant took advantage, his fist completing an uncontrolled swing ((Standard 2d6 roll Remy attacks Hamish = (4+6) = 10)) Hamish lost a tooth as that fist connected with his jaw.

With the last of his breath, only one thing crossed his mind. Rescue! Rescue the lady queen from the madness of his foe. ((Hamish rolled disadvantage one last attack before he passes out. !roll 1d6  @derynibot 6 == 6)) The punch he gave flattened Remy's nose.  ((does Remy have enough in him to attack again at disadvantage 1d6 Remy attacks Hamish = (1) = 1, No! )) With barely a yell between them, both men fall away from each other, unmoving on the floor.(( both are down to 0 hit points))

'What Hell is this!" the lady swore. Richenda flared her aura extending out her protection around herself. She stepped between the men, one hand on each of their heads. Their life energies were spent in their battle. If she could not help them now, they would die where they lay. The  energy she held was filled with undeniable spirit. She knew men's hearts and she knew their souls. She was not a Healer, but she knew what it was to Heal. ((rolling for Richenda to share her energy  /r 3d6 SidekickBOTToday at 12:20 AM @Laurna: 3d6 = (1+5+6) = 12)) Willing these men into stable breathing, she kept them in the here and in the now.

That is how Laird Seisyll found her. Her aura keeping back the darkness and filling two downed men with light. He ran forward checking the pulse of each man. They were both strong, her energy had been enough to stave off the darkness. One with a broken jaw and one with a broken nose, they would hurt when they awoke. Yet awake they would in do time.  Reading both was an easy task. The possession of the one had been a hastily placed command, someone with arcane abilities hadn't taken the time to cover their actions. Someone back in the Mayor of Droghera's office, Someone who was part of the Mearan rebellion.  Seisyll was sure he could find the man if he went looking for him. The other man the Guard Hamish was an honest loyal man. He hopes for rescuing the noble knight who had been imprisoned here was foremost in his thoughts. For indeed Seisyll realized this is where Washburn had been held for more than a day. Could they follow him to the next portal. Seisyll knew they did not dare. They would likely enter the belly of the beast and be slaughtered before their first step. When Richenda gravitated to the portal square to  learn what that next signature might be. Seisyll distracted her.

"I see a white cube, there under that rock. Could that be a ward cube? If it is there will be others. Your Grace could you please find them while I collect the other things that are left here. Gads! Don't touch whatever drug is in that pessel. It could be the poison that Morgan was given. We'll get that back to Rhemuth to see if they can learn what the substance is."

About then, Seisyll's brother appeared with two Haldane lancers. Each posed for battle. "Secure the area, my brother. I think you will find other's scattered about these old ruins. Pray that no one has lost their lives in their attempt to rescue Morgan. I know Morgan well enough to know he would not want men dying on his behalf."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on August 27, 2018, 02:27:21 PM

Sir Washburn Morgan was lead away from Feyd and the Seneschal of this "civilized estate,"  as Feyd called it. Wash caught the name of one Baron du Chantel.  The name had no meaning for him. Chantel wasn't anyone he had meet in opposition at tourney, at least that much he was certain. Other than the knights Sir Washburn competed against in the Grand Tournaments of Gwynedd, Wash was not one to pay much attention to the courtiers of the king's court. What use was it knowing the lesser nobility, especially those from along this barbaric land bordering on Meara. Obviously this man Baron du Chantel didn't have a son old enough or good enough to enter the Grand Tournament at Mollingford Fields nor even the mercenary tournaments at Seerhowy in Howicce. Now those events were where Washburn was his best. He had no equal in the games. Both his brothers grudgingly admitted that at least in this one thing, Wash could uphold the Morgan name high and do something right. Thinking this, Washburn squared his shoulders  and walked with pride behind the guard who lead him down a long corridor and passed a number of doors. Interested, Wash slowed to look at a partially open door, the two guards behind him instantly shoved him forward.

"Hay! Your supposed to treat me according to my station. A Duke's brother, remember?" Washburn said with a scathing rebuke.

"Your nothing but pig's swallow," the guard spat out, "You follow our verbal instructions, and I say you shut up and move on!"

Wash so wanted to reprimand this guard, but he found he could not. Put this stupid guard in a arena with a sword and Washburn would teach him a lesson he'd not soon forget. Washburn gave up on the thought, it was beneath him to chastise a lowly guard. He moved on like it was his own idea, and ignored the two men at his back.

There were only four men that he had to suffer abuse from: his brothers, his uncle, and his king. Only those four had the power to order him about-- there was Master Feyd, but Wash didn't want to stop and think about his current predicament-- instead he dwelled on the life he had lived until now.  His brothers were harsh taskmasters, determined that he would not sully the Morgan name with his lack of schooling and social graces. Little that he did outside the tournament was good enough for them. He grew up being told he was nothing but "The Spare to the Heir" of Corwyn. A Spare just in case some disaster had brought down his brother Kelric. Trouble was Duke Kelric was strong and hale. Kelric had married the Royal Princess, of all ladies, and now he had three sons of his own. What did Wash have? Well he wasn't the "Spare" any longer. Not needed to keep the Morgan name to pass down the next generation, he was just a sideshow, an embarrassment. He had been given nothing, no land and no title. No woman would take him without both. His brothers knew that and they kept him poor on that account. His middle brother, the Duke, didn't seem to think he was worth much for an allowance either; even when he diligently kept the affairs of Lendour in proper order for his nephew. In fact, Wash was certain he had not even received his allowance this past season. Just thinking about it made him resentful and angry.  His anger grew as they marched him down the corridor, likely to his doom.

Sir Washburn considered the pride he held firm for himself. In one aspect, he had gained his own place in the kingdom. With prowess in the arena, he had earned the title Champion of the Grand Tournament for four consecutive years. It was that acclaim and even more importantly, that purse won from the yearly event, and from a few other events around the kingdom, which gave him enough prestige and coin to get him through the winter months. No matter what happened next, he still had his strength of arm, his jousting ability, and his aim with the a bow that was deadly, to keep him alive. 

"Do your best to make certain that he is dress according to his station. He is a Duke's brother after all," Master Feyd had said. Hah! Washburn had nearly laughed at that; if he had been allowed to speak he would have given these men an ear full. He was brother in name only. Why else was it that Wash was dressed in such shabby clothes, like that which he currently wore.  Stains and tares, that was part of his daily attire. He couldn't afford new clothes, at least not the silks necessary to enter the King's council meetings. The king looked at his shabbiness as if he were a mere peasant. And his eldest brother Brendan? What did Brendan do the other day? He took one look at Washburn, brush him aside, and took over the care of their nephew, Kenric. With Kenric of age, Washburn had no purpose left, at least not one that involved the family name of Morgan.

Why these memories were swarming in his mind just now, he couldn't say. He figured it was because he was anticipating even greater abuse, likely physical abuse, in his near future from this Grand Duke fellow. He determined it would be the anger from the abuse already survived that would allow him to suffer through the future. If he had to submit and obey to these people's every command, he would do so with his head held high. He would hate everyone of them and he would get his revenge on each of them in due time. Starting with his brothers and ending with this Grand Duke.

When the three guards and he reached the bathing room, Washburn had worked himself up into a resentful anger. Two days and no attempt at rescue. Two days of abuse by the enemy that was in truth no worse than the abuse he gotten on most days from family who was supposedly cared for him. One thing was certain, he was in this alone. He owed his parents for birthing him, but he owed his family nothing more, for they had given him nothing. He owed these men before him nothing, for they had given him even less.

Full of anger and prepared to protect himself if these guards turned on him to beat him senseless, Washburn stepped into the center of the bathing room, tense and enraged. To his amazement, the three guards said nothing and spread out around the room, simply to guard exits so he could not leave. Expecting brutes to arrive to brutalize his body, he was shocked and surprised to see two women entered through the far door. They stepped up to a large copper tub and poured steaming hot water to top off the bath that was prepared for him. A third lass entered with clothes in her arms. A green silk tunic embroidered in black Celtic knots, a black undershirt that looked of silk as well, and black leggings of fine linen. Taken back, Washburn realized these people really did mean to see him cleaned up. Perhaps these people were not the enemy, as he thought.

"You pretty ladies are going to give me a bath?" he asked.

The three serving girls looked at the tall warrior who flexed an elbow for them and they giggled.  A guard from behind gave him a new verbal order.  "Take your clothes off and get in the tub, and I don't want to hear any mouthing off from you."

Considering that he could not disobey, Washburn decided it best to comply. He might as well enjoy this while he dared. The three pretty fillies helped him disrobe. He said nothing, enjoying their hands undoing his belt, the strings of his tunic, and the leather ties that held his mail-shirt taught around his neck. Fully disrobed, when all pretense of nobility was gone, the strong knight puffed his chest and stepped into the steaming bath. Oh a moment of pleasure in this harsh harsh world was not to be frowned upon. Thinking of nothing more than pure carnal joy, he slowly sank down in the relaxing water. The water surged up to his shoulders; he closed his eyes and dreamt of that which rarely came his way. Content for the first time in months, he let the women scrub the dirt from his skin with soup and soft brushes. They even massaged the knots from his shoulders and his back.

Perhaps, just perhaps, he had been wrong about Master Feyd. Wherever Feyd was taking him, just perhaps, it would not be as awful as he had originally imagined. 
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on August 27, 2018, 03:13:10 PM
As Richenda stood with the sense of her missing son around her,  desolation had seized her the like of which had not felt since the loss of Alaric. O God, how she wished he was there with her now.

Suddenly there he was, standing in the corner of the ruins, with his old mischievous smile. With no idea whether it was his spirit there, or merely a projection of her desperate longing, she nevertheless heard his words encouraging her as she turned to deal with the men fighting around her.

"You are more than a match for such as these, my beautiful Richenda, my Banshee Queen." It was Brendan who had first called her a Ban Side, when one of his more foolish adolescent misdeeds had called the full force of his mother's wrath down upon him. He had paid for his cheek to his mother, of course, Alaric had seen to that, and she had had words to say to Dhugal about the tales he told, but Alaric had taken hold of the name, using it not in anger but in love, to show his pride in her courage and passion.

Feeling his pride and love, she had put forth her powers to disarm the fighting men but had not been quick enough to prevent them from laying each other out. Again, it seemed as though she saw Alaric smiling at her, seemed to hear his voice telling her that even common men such as these were worth saving. She felt his energy flow into her, and, as she stood keeping the two unconscious men in life, she almost thought she could feel the brush of the long gone personality touch her mind.

Then Seisyll was there, with his busy Arilan efficiency, taking over and telling her what to do. As he issued his orders she knew that he was distracting her away from the portal. Her head knew that he was right but her heart rebelled and she turned to where she thought she had seen Alaric for his support. Young and handsome, as in the first days of their courtship, he shook his head at her as his voice laughed into her mind, but with a serious undertone of concern.

"Bloody Arilans, always right. Stay safe, for Washburn's sake, my heart." Then he was gone, leaving her wondering whether the strain were driving her out of her mind and yet strangely comforted.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on August 28, 2018, 01:48:14 PM
Cedric Archer rubbed his face briskly with the rough towel.  It seemed a bit pointless to him to shave before starting his night shift guarding the fortress's dungeon, but according to the Captain, the Grand Duke expected his men to look sharp.  Archer did not expect to meet Grand Duke Valerian in the dungeon, but if he did, he hoped they were standing on the same side, preferably the outside, of a cell gate. 

It had been difficult find a private moment to contact King Kelson, but Archer had finally made contact the night before.  Feigning sleep, he had reached out to the king close enough to the appointed contact time to get a response.  At least His Majesty now knew he was in the fortress, and Valerian and the pretender queen were here.  Archer now knew what had transpired in Rhemuth and the king's suspicions that Sir Washburn Morgan would end up here.  The focus of his mission had not been changed; his goal was Valerian.  Archer was disconcerted to find out that his long-lost little brother had been sent north with a country priest and Robert to find the fortress and be ready to do what they could for Sir Washburn.  He had not needed that additional complication.  Archer's presence here was precarious enough; Darcy would have to look after himself.

Archer donned his dark cap and headed across the courtyard to the keep.  He noted the small group of men and horses waiting near the inner wall gate.  It was dusk; who would be leaving the fortress at this hour?

As he approached closer, three men exited the keep:  Lord Brioc, the new man who had arrived earlier in the week whom he did not know, and Valerian!  Archer quickened his pace as much as he dared to try to catch any of the conversation that passed between them.  The Grand Duke was already motioning the new man toward the waiting horses.  He managed to discern something about battle plans before courtesy demanded he stop and bow before proceeding. 

"I do not accept failure, Baron du Chantel," Valerian said as the man bowed and turned to leave.  He stood watching long enough for the men to mount and ride through the inner wall gate.  He turned back to the keep, Brioc following closely behind him.

In the brief span of time that it took Archer to enter the keep, the Grand Duke was already proceeding up the tower stair.  Lord Brioc, on the other hand, was heading toward the dungeon guard room.  The senior guard stood at the door and saluted as Brioc entered the room.  He motioned to Archer to hurry up.  As Archer entered, Brioc addressed the senior guard.

"We are expecting a special guest to join us soon," Lord Brioc said, his voice loud in the small room.  "I need to make sure suitable accommodations are ready."  The glint in the cold eyes did not bode well for the expected guest.  "Show me what we have available."

Archer was again paired with Piers for the night shift.  The senior guard nodded in Piers' direction.  "Show Lord Brioc our finest," he said.  "Archer, go with them and make sure none of our guests get out of line.  Dispatch anyone who tries."

Sir Iain Cameron touched his finger to his cap in salute and followed Brioc and Piers down into the dungeon.  He feared he knew who the special guest would be.  God have mercy, if he was right.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on August 28, 2018, 03:43:06 PM
Washburn sat on a pallet in the corner of this tiny cell in nothing but clean white brais, his shoulders bare, his feet bare to ensure he did not attempt an escape. The clothes he'd been shown during the bath were for his visit to the Grand Duke; he was to be displayed like stolen treasure to impress His Festilic Highness of Master Feyd's prowess at acquiring special goods; clothes too nice to be soiled by the usual wear of a prisoner.  The cell Washburn sat in was clean, free of vermin, having not been used in years, and recently swept out for his arrival. The straw was fresh: the bedding free of moth holes. Other than the confines and the darkness-- nothing but a narrow slit high in the wall which let in only a small amount of moon light -- Wash felt he was almost a guest in this place. Not quite, with armed guards on the outside of the door and the door bolted with a lock. Wash had not seen Feyd since they had arrived. This was good. Perhaps Feyd would forget that Washburn's shields would revive on their own before the night was done. Or so Washburn hoped, that is until some time in the late night the bolt on his door clanked against the wood, sliding back from its catch and allowing the door to open. A well dressed man, the one whom Feyd called the Seneschal walked through the opening. He was flanked by two guards and a pretty lass at his back.

"Master Feyd insists that I give you some wine to help you sleep. As I see you have not had a wink of sleep yet in the baron's home, we would be poor hosts indeed if we kept you awake all night."   

"I've had plenty of sleep. Feyd can keep his wine," Washburn assured his host. He tested his meager shields against the Seneschal. Unprepared for the backlash, Wash cringed, palms pressed to his head, as the proven Deryni seneschal bombarded his weak defenses and tore them down.

"That is punishment for acting against your betters," the elder man said, letting up when Wash surrender all pretense of defense. "Feyd has taught you, but not taught you well enough, I see. There is no one from here on out that you can best, not any of us. You are puny, against the might of Valarian and those who follow him."

The Seneschal waved the timid girl forward. She held a full goblet in her hand.  "I command you to drink this wine. Do not waste any more of my time."

"Hurry on, Ellia! Give him the cup. Do not spill a drop, either of you, or you will both feel my wrath."

The serving girl was looking at the knight with pity in her eyes. She was not used to seeing a noble man, one of such good looks, unclothed and mistreated. Ellia held the goblet out to the prisoner, not knowing what the wine held. Washburn gave her an apologetic smile "It's alright miss, I'll take the wine from your hand, willingly." Thus their fingers brushed each other, through the touch his meager returning mental powers assured her that he put no blame to her for what was in the wine.  Without a fight, knowing this was not one he could win, Wash drank most of the wine, leaving a shallow puddle at the bottom of the goblet.

"Perfect, you do know how to learn." the old man said. "Come Ellia, Come away." With that the Seneschal left the room in a whirlwind, the girl behind him, followed by the two guards. Washburn could hear the head man of the manor house  giving orders to the guards as the door began to close. Then suddenly the door slipped open a few inches, the girl slipped back in, she stood against the wall, her body giving a slight quiver at what she had just dared to do. Then the guards must have returned, for the door shut with a clunk of finality and the bolt slammed home.

For the longest time both Wash and Ellia did not move. They stared at one another, amazed and unsure. The time slipped by, letting the drug in the wine crumple Washburn's shields away and bringing about a wave a nausea.  For a moment he was sure he was going to be sick. But to be sick before such a pretty lass was not something a noble knight would dare do. So he swallowed his spittal and held his breath feeling light headed and dizzy.

The girl must have recognized his distress at last. She tiptoed across the tiny space and put a hand to his head. "Your so cold!" she whispered in concern.

"Aye, You shouldn't be here." he managed to say. 'That was a stupid thing to do."

She looked around like a caged bird. "Your right of course. But how could I not. Why are they treating you in this way?"

"Ellia, is it,  I am a hostage of war, a man of ransom or worse. Go knock on the door now and tell the guards you got locked in here by accident when you came to retrieve the cup. They will let you out. Do that before worse befalls you."

"One of those guards thinks I'm his," the girl whispered with a small cry.  "I am not, and I've tried to tell him so. Yet, he'll beat me for coming back in here even for that small pretense. I have no doubt of it.  So I think I will wait for the guards to change shifts," She decided, her tone meek.

Washburn wanted to question why she had come back in the first place. His words were stopped as her lips were suddenly kissing his. Sweet as honey, as soft as silk.  Washburn was thinking of her beauty just as the mix of sedatives and Mandragora drugs took him out and down. Down into a pleasant dream of fresh flowers on spring hillsides.                       
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on August 30, 2018, 01:24:15 PM
Kelson Haldane, King of Gwynedd, felt like he had lost all control of the current situation.  Archbishop Duncan McLain was in the castle infirmary under the care of skilled healers, recovering from the psychic blast of a trapped portal.  The Dowager Duchess of Corwyn, without a thought to her own safety, had untrapped the portal and impulsively used it to find her missing son.  Laird Seisyll had followed shortly afterward, at least making sure Duncan was under proper care before following Richenda to who knows where.  They had not yet returned.

It was approaching midnight and Kelson paced the floor of his withdrawing room.  Kelson had left word to be contacted immediately when Richenda or Seisyll returned.  He was tired and considered returning to his quarters to try to get a little sleep.  But before he would get a chance, he would have to explain to Araxie what had happened, and she would tell Grania...Kelson decided to stay in his withdrawing room until he had better news to share.  Assuming there would be better news.  He sat down heavily in his chair and closed his eyes....

***

Duchess Grania Haldane looked out of her window overlooking the Queen's Garden.  It was late morning.  After the commotion of the night before, they had all slept later than normal. Her mother's distraught return without Washburn, knowing she had just missed him, had been hard on all of them.  Queen Araxie had joined them, and they had talked over the events and done their best to comfort her mother for well over an hour.  Finally, Grania had asked Richenda's permission to allow her to help her sleep, and although she resisted at first, she had finally agreed and allowed her daughter to help her into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Someone knocked quietly on her door.  "Your Grace," said Lady Anna, one of the young ladies-in-waiting, as she curtseyed.  "Breakfast has arrived."

"Perhaps we should call it the midday meal, but either way, I confess I'm hungry."  Grania followed Lady Anna into a bright sitting room.  "Has Duchess Richenda awakened yet?" Grania asked as she looked at the array of tempting food arranged on a centre table.

"Not yet, your Grace," Lady Anna replied.  "Shall I wake her?"

"No, let her sleep.  We'll set aside a plate for her for when she wakes."  Grania nodded her thanks to the selection of food set before her by a page.  She munched on a slice of bacon as she looked around the room, noting who was there and who was not.

"Is Lady Aliset already up and about?" Grania asked. "I'm surprised we didn't wake her last night."

"I haven't seen her, your Grace.  Would you like me to check on her?"

"Please.  I have a feeling she may have cried herself to sleep last night."  Grania sympathized with all Aliset had been through, but she would have to begin to adjust. 

Lady Anna returned a short time later.  "She is still asleep," she reported.  "She did not even stir when I knocked and opened the door."

"That's odd," Grania said thoughtfully. Something was not quite right. She finished her food and decided to check on Aliset personally.  She could not imagine how Aliset would sleep so soundly after she had retired early the night before, even if it had taken her some time to finally sleep.

Grania knocked firmly on Aliset's door, not hesitating to open it when no reply was heard.  The window shutter was firmly closed, and in the dim light she could see Aliset curled up under her blankets on the bed.  It was too warm in the room for those blankets.  Suspicious, Grania crossed the room and opened the shutters.  The form under the blankets did not move.

Grania approached the bed and began to gently draw back the blankets.  Suddenly, she threw them back to the foot of the bed, revealing the pillows beneath.

"Sweet Jesu!" Grania exclaimed.  "Where has she gone?  Lord Darcy!  He was to leave early this morning!" She turned to the somewhat frightened looking Lady Anna.  "I want every inch of the tower searched, including the garden!" she commanded.  Lady Anna curtseyed and hastened to obey.

The ensuing turmoil woke the Dowager Duchess of Corwyn.  She thought it best not to disturb Queen Araxie with the news quite yet and accompanied her daughter to begin questioning the guards.  The guard at the door to the Queen's Garden, who had relieved the guard on duty the night before, reported that Lady Aliset had entered the garden early in the morning before dawn.  He had assumed that she had returned before his shift and had not checked on her.  With her teeth clenched and a scowl on her face, Grania entered the garden, followed by Richenda, Lady Anna, and the guard. 

It was Lady Anna who found Aliset's cloak crammed under a bush near the far wall.  Grania was about to send the guard off to search for Lord Darcy Cameron, when Richenda suggested they should talk to Queen Araxie first.  Lord Darcy was off on a mission for the king, and it might be wise not to raise the hue and cry too soon. 

***

King Kelson Haldane sat in his council chamber surrounded by most of his Deryni advisors who were still present in Rhemuth.    Laird Seisyll Arilan, Sir Jamyl Arilan and Archbishop Duncan McLain were again reviewing the events of the night before.  Archbishop Duncan was still a bit pale, but he had insisted on being included.  As he listened, Kelson toyed with the unopened message from Lord Darcy that Sir Jamyl had given him earlier, his eyes on the ward cubes piled in the middle of the table.

There was a sharp knock on the door.  "Enter," Kelson responded.

His squire, Prince Kalin, entered and bowed.  "Your Majesty," he said, looking slightly nervous.  "Her Majesty, Duchess Grania and Dowager Duchess Richenda would like a word with you."

Kelson sighed.  This did not bode well.  "Show them in, Kalin."

Araxie, Grania, and Richenda swept into the room, looking grim.  All three curtseyed and declined his invitation to sit at the table.  They had the attention of all the men in the room.

"Lady Aliset de Mariot is missing, and we believe on her own accord," Queen Araxie said, anger evident in the tone of her words. 

"Pray explain," Kelson said.

The Queen of Gwynedd related what they had discovered.  "We believe she has run off with Lord Darcy."

"Forgive me, your Majesty," Sir Jamyl said.  "I do not believe that is the case.  I spoke with Lord Darcy, Father Columcil and the squire Robert just after they disembarked from the ferry this morning."

"She could be meeting him somewhere," Duchess Grania pointed out.

"I saw no young woman leave the ferry, your Grace, and they rode out immediately after I spoke with them," Sir Jamyl replied.

Kelson suddenly remembered the message from Darcy.  He unrolled it and quickly scanned the contents.  "I don't believe he knows anything about it."  At the questioning look from all in the room, he continued.  "Apparently our young seaman managed to put away a tidy sum of money while he was at sea.  He has asked me to see that it goes to Lady Aliset if he does not return."  Kelson paused to gauge the reaction of his wife.  She did not look convinced.  "When he returns, he intends to pledge it as her dower, if I will entertain his suit for her hand.  I don't believe he would write this if he was running away with her."

Richenda looked thoughtful.  "He certainly wouldn't advise you he had finances to live on if he was taking her away.  But why would she run off?  I see no purpose to it." 

Another knock sounded at the door. "Now what," Kelson muttered under his breath.  "Enter!"

The total silence that fell on the room and the dumbfounded look on the king's face caused the three women to turn to see who had entered. 

Robert O'Malley turned red as he hastily bowed.  He expected to be severely reprimanded by his king for his failure to report to Lord Darcy.

"It can't be him!" Sir Jamyl said.  "I saw him ride off with the others this morning."

"I rode nowhere, Sir Jamyl," Robert responded, confused.  "I overslept and didn't wake until noon.  I beg your forgiveness, your Majesty; I have failed in my assignment."  Robert went down on one knee before his king.

Duchess Grania's eyes widened with disbelief.  "Surely, she didn't do it again!" 

"Robert," Kelson said with a growing suspicion as to what had happened, "rise and come forward.  I need to have a look at your memories."

Robert rose and quickly moved forward to stand at Kelson's side.  As a royal Haldane squire, he was used to having his mind touched by his king.  Seisyll moved a chair forward, and it the king's nod, Robert sat so that Kelson could place his hands on either side of his head.  Robert relaxed and closed his eyes.

Kelson did not linger in the squire's mind for long.  "That is exactly what she did," he said after a moment.  "She even left an apology in Robert's mind for me to find, totally absolving Robert and Darcy of any knowledge of her plan."

"But why?" Araxie asked.

"Although she tried to give Lord Darcy as much training as she could before he left, she knew it was not enough.  She is aware of how skilled a Deryni we are after.  She felt duty-bound to supply the knowledge Lord Darcy and Father Columcil will need, so she shapeshifted into Robert and went off to take his place."

For the first time, Archbishop Duncan spoke.  "They have no idea who they are really travelling with."

"They have to bring her back," Araxie said firmly.

Kelson looked out one of the windows and noted the position of the sun in the afternoon sky.  "They are probably beyond Arx Fedei by now.   They will lose too much time if they return."

"Your Majesty," Grania interjected, "her reputation will be beyond salvaging, if she does not return immediately."

"She made the choice," Kelson responded firmly.

"I think," Duncan said placatingly, "Father Columcil will insist on a betrothal.  In fact, I may suggest it myself when I contact Columcil."  He looked sidelong at the king. "I am assuming you want me to inform Columcil at the earliest opportunity."

Kelson looked thoughtfully at the ward cubes on the table.  "Perhaps we can turn the situation to our advantage."

All in the room looked puzzled and waited for the king to continue.

"These ward cubes were used by the man who took Sir Washburn and has been holding him for several days.  Lord Darcy is not so far away that I can't send them to him by courier, although they are really for Lady Aliset.  She is skilled enough to scry for the man and perhaps determine if he still has Washburn."

"Any of us could do the same," Laird Seisyll objected. 

"True, but they will be closer to act if she does locate Washburn through him.  Having someone close enough may avoid the narrow miss we just had."  He looked at Richenda, who blinked back momentary tears and nodded. 

"I'll let Columcil know to expect the ward cubes and why," Duncan said.

Kelson nodded and looked at the three women before him, who were just barely mollified by the solutions presented.  "Forgive me if I am brusque, but I have a rebellion to put down."

Recognizing dismissal, the women curtseyed and left the council room.  Kelson briefly wondered how Father Columcil and Lord Darcy would react when they received the news.  He decided he would rather not know; they would have to sort it out.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on August 30, 2018, 02:55:34 PM
Aliset shifted uneasily in the saddle of the unfamiliar mount she rode, already missing her beloved Papillon, still housed in the stables at Rhemuth Castle. She could hardly have taken her own horse, after all, while slipping out of Rhemuth disguised as a Haldane squire!  Her conscience was pricking her for her multiple deceptions, not to mention her manipulation of poor Robert's mind. She had stopped short of setting any actual compulsions, and had any genuine emergencies occurred during the previous night, the squire would have had no trouble shaking off her psychic suggestions to do what needed to be done. Still, she fretted inwardly, hoping she would be able to unburden her conscience before too much longer.

Definitely not right now, though, with the walls of the city still not all that far behind them! If Darcy and Columcil were to catch on to her guilty secret so soon, she had no doubt they would turn right around and bring her back to Court, if they had to do so with her trussed and squealing like a pig headed to market!

She thought back to the previous evening, after she had sent Robert off to bed and had made her final preparations for her escape at dawn. She'd lain awake, unable to sleep despite the comfort of her borrowed bed and her need for rest.

***

Restless with anxiety, she had risen, stealing into the ladies' solar in hopes that some light reading might help to make her drowsy. The solar had been empty, of course, for it was well past Compline and perhaps even approaching Matins, and the ladies of the court had retired to their bedchambers over an hour earlier to seek their slumber and prepare for their own busy mornings ahead. Guided by the faint sheen of moonlight shining through the mullioned window panes, Aliset crossed the room, wondering if she dared light handfire at this hour or if some passing guard might notice and send someone to investigate, or perhaps some lightly sleeping lady of the Queen's entourage might be awakened by the light seeping through the crack underneath her bedchamber door. She decided not to take the chance, but while pondering what else she might do to pass the time until her nerves settled enough for her to become sleepy, she spotted a goblet on the nearby window seat, next to what appeared to be an open locket.

Curious, Aliset entered the window niche, wondering who would have left a filled goblet standing untended on the Queen's expensive silk seat cushion. She lifted it carefully, about to take a sip from its contents to keep them from sloshing over the rim of the cup, when her gaze happened to fix upon one of the portraits in the locket. It was Lord Washburn Morgan. Aliset's arm stilled as she realized what she had come upon.

One of the Deryni ladies of the court--the dowager duchess, perhaps, or maybe Wash's sister Grania--had clearly been attempting to scry for the missing lord at some point earlier in the evening. Whether she had succeeded or not, Aliset had no way of knowing, but seeing Washburn's portrait looking up at her gave her the idea to make her own attempt at it also.  Carefully positioning herself so that the moonlight streaming into the window was not blocked by her body's shadow, she studied Wash's painted features, committing them to memory as she cradled the locket loosely in her left hand while holding the goblet on her right side so it caught the pale rays of the moon. The psychic imprint left upon the locket was its owner's, not Wash's, yet it seemed familiar enough for all that, with certain underlying resonances that indicated its owner was clearly a lady of Wash's direct bloodline.

Armed with Wash's portrait, then, to reinforce her own memories of the nobleman's appearance, and with a psychic reminder of how Washburn had "felt" to her own inner senses, Aliset gazed into the depths of the goblet before her.  Falling into a light trance, she began to scry for his presence.

((Spending 2 xp to roll 3d6.  4, 5, 6 == 15))

It took some time for the image of him to form. Aliset pondered whether that might mean he was now some distance away, rather than somewhere close to Rhemuth Castle. That seemed likely. It also took her a few moments to figure out what she was seeing, for the image resolving on the dark reflective surface did not make sense to her at first. How had Lord Washburn managed to sprout an extra set of arms? How ridiculous! Surely her focus must be off.

And then, even as the image grew less clouded, the distant lord stirred in his sleep, shifting slightly to one side, and Aliset saw a decidedly feminine breast peek out from behind one of Washburn's muscular shoulders, and as she stifled a gasp at the unexpected sight, Aliset realized that not all of the long, flowing hair on Washburn's pillow was his own.

The shock nearly caused Aliset to drop the goblet she held. As her hand clutched the stem of the vessel convulsively, the ensuing ripples in the wine erased the faint image of Washburn and the unknown woman. Her focus shattered, Aliset hastily set the goblet down on a nearby table, heat flooding her cheeks as she considered the tableau she had seen. Who was that woman? No, never mind that! What in the blazes was Lord Washburn up to? No, that much was certainly clear! Gadding about the Kingdom engaging in bedsport with disreputable lightskirts while his family and friends were all so worried sick about him!  Wherever he might be, he clearly wasn't hurting!  Aliset shook her head, stifling a disdainful snort. Men!

She gently set the locket next to the goblet, resisting the temptation to simply slam it down onto the table instead. Storming back into her room, she slipped under the covers, although in her anger she despaired of ever getting any sleep the rest of that night. As her initial flare of temper began to cool, though, she realized she was perhaps being somewhat unfair. While it seemed evident enough that Washburn was safe and sound for the moment, he clearly was still taken from Rhemuth against his will, to a location none here knew where, and if he had not sent a message back to the King and his family that he was safe, then in all likelihood he was unable to do so.  Yes, that squared a bit better with the honorable lord she had come to know.

So where was he? With a sinking sense of shame, Aliset realized she had let herself be so distracted by the sight of the clearly naked nobleman entwined with his unknown light-o'-love that she had utterly neglected to notice any other features of the chamber that might help her identify his current location.

***

Still bleary-eyed with lack of sleep and upset with herself for having blown a perfectly good chance to discover any useful information about Lord Washburn's whereabouts, in addition to feeling overwhelmed with guilty thoughts about her treatment of poor Squire Robert, Aliset was hardly in the best frame of mind the following morning, although she did her best to conceal her discomfiture. Hopefully her traveling companions would ascribe her continuing silence as they rode through the green lowland countryside together to the natural weariness any dutiful squire might feel upon being asked to wake up before dawn at the outset of a long journey.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on August 31, 2018, 01:21:53 PM
((Take note I did have to edit Washburn's prior scene to show that he was sent to the cell with only brais to wear (medieval underwear) ))

((warning: this scene is rated PG13 due to suggested sexual content and violence))


Frigid like a glacier, cold and unmoving, Washburn's nightmares were forged in a void of black that could only be likened to the grave. Some senses sharpened like hearing and smell. Most others, like sight and touch, disappearing as if they had never been. It was the fresh scent of flowers that drew him out of the darkness. Every time the flowers wafted near, he felt a warmth over shoulders and arms. Like a warm cloth rubbing him all over. He instinctively snuggled toward the warmth, when doing so a soft hum of pleasure was his reward. Warm palms rubbed his arms, active fingers kneed his shoulders. The void dissipated slowly, filling in its stead were dreams of heaven and light.

It was a gentle progression from cold oblivion to understanding the comfort of a woman gathering him in her arms as she first rubbed warmth back into his being and then she quietly fell asleep at his back, her bare skin pressed firmly against his, allowing her warmth to encase him. Thick waves of ebony curls tickled his neck and fell over his face. The touch of a woman was a heavenly respite from his frozen state. As Wash awoke, he recognized the touch of femininity, the touch of human healing for a man that had nothing to do with magic. Fearing to wake her, as she slept, he listened to her breathing and enjoyed the softness of it. The girl, Ellia had come to him with pity and likely the allurement of his station to say nothing of his unclothed masculinity. She might even be bidding for him to raise her up from her low born servitude.  When her fingers began to brush his arm again, Washburn whispered so she could hear, "I am sorry for your having choosen me. Tis a poor picking, madam. I am not a man who can free you, I can not take you away from here, I can not set you up in a home of your own, I wish that I could, for you deserve more than this cold cell for saving my soul this night."

"I thought you would die, you were so cold," she murmured, her concern evident in her voice. "Your breathing became so shallow, it frightened me. I did what I thought would help you stay alive."

"Against all my warnings that you should have saved yourself and left?" he turned to look at her, at his angel. "I thank you, but you are now locked in here as I am. In another place, in another time, I would reward you for your compassion, but I am a condemned man, my lass. What you see of me is nothing but a rind. Like the rind of a fruit that still looks whole but the inside has fermented and turned to vinegar."

"Not aged into a good wine?" she teased him her lips coming very close to his.

He sighed, doing his best to not take advantage of her closeness. "What would you have of me?" He asked her plainly, "My mind is tainted, my body is not my own, I no longer even have clothes to place on my back."

"A fine back that does not need covering," she whispered. "a body and mind that need to be reminded what it is to be free." Her fingers turned to kneading his shoulder, his chest. "What I would give you is longing to regain the freedom you had before your soul hardened from this captivity. Here and now we two are free of your punishers. Will you chose to regain the will to live? I think you lost that will some time ago."

"I did," he admitted. "I felt hate like I had never felt that emotion before. With the urge to kill what I hate. I do not like myself for it. It shouldn't be who I am, yet it is all that I have."

"You have me!" the woman said, decisively her lips teased his. He took her offer and pulled her body closer to his.

"This is very unwise of us." he said trying to give her one last out.

"You protest too much, sir knight." Protesting for both of them came to an end.

In the darkness of their cell, after the moon light had set and the sunlight had not risen, a man and a woman cuddled into each other's warmth. "You have given me light where there was only darkness," he told her long hours later. "How can I save you. You can not be found with me in here when the morning comes."

"Few are brought to these cells, but of those who are, no one ever escapes." she nestled into his chest feigning that she felt no fear now that the four close walls were beginning to lighten with the new dawn.

"You must tell them that you were beguiled by my powers, those brief powers I had before I was given the wine. If you think on it now, how do you know I did not force you to come here against your own free will?"

She suddenly slapped him across the face, "No one forces me, I make my own choices. If I say what you tell me to say they will hang you."

"You are a woman of your own mind, that much I see," he said rubbing his check. "For me, do this thing, one last favor. You can not fall into Hell with me. Feyd will see that I'm not hanged. He has worse plans for me than death."

Reluctantly she agreed, "Tell me what to do."

"Take the wine goblet. Knock on the cell door. Tell the guard you came in here earlier to retrieve it and then found yourself locked in. You were afraid. You drank what was left of the wine thinking it would ease your nerves. You didn't know the wine was sedated until it was too late. You fell asleep in the corner over there." Wash pointed to the corner by the door. 'I've never moved from this cot, I've remain drugged and unconscious. That should get you out of here with only a small scolding."   

Ellia thought about it for a moment, then nodded. "I would not undo what I did for death or for riches." she whispered, her fingers brushing his lips one last time.

Having nothing on him, the knight looked at his hand and pulled off his two rings. The first was a thick silver band, his tournament ring. "Sell this and get far from Meara." He than handed her the gold ring with an engraved rearing stag. "I don't trust my brothers and I don't trust my king, Lord, I wish that I did. But I do trust my sister, Lady Grania Morgan Haldane. She will understand what this means if ever you are in need. Tell her I was happy for one night." He gave her the rings which she tied into the string of her shift which she then pulled the fabric over her figure, the rings falling in next to her heart.

"No matter the consequences, I am glad it was my warmth that kept you alive. Don't die!" was the last thing she said to him.

Then she stood, picked up her clothes and redress; plaiting her hair back with a ribbon. His eyes never left her until she was done.

She picked the goblet from the floor. She touched a drop of the wine to her lips and then poured what remainder down the front of her gown.  Wash turned away then, curled on his side away from the door and willed himself into a fake slumber. He heard her timid taps on the door and in moments it opened. A guard, not the one she had been afraid of, exclaimed at what in the world was she doing in here. She said just what Wash had told her to say. And she pleaded with the guard to not tell anyone. For a moment, Wash heard the heavy footsteps come close to him, someone watch him in his unmoving form, and then the guard and the lass Ellia left.  The door closing firmly with a lock. Relieved Wash relaxed, wishing he could leave this cell just as easily and join her.   

Dawn light was barely in the window slit when a crash and a curse filled the guard room. Chairs were broken and a man yelled, "Nothing could have happened, Otis. Leave it be." 

"You gonna give me those keys or am I going to break your arm to get them." Another bang and a jingle of keys followed by a thump as the door to Washburn's cell was kicked open. 

"Master Feyd will kill you if you kill him," the guard behind yelled.

"I'm not going to kill him, but he will wish that I had." Otis had a stick in his hand. Looked to be a long piece of a broken chair leg. He rounded on Washburn smacking the wood against his palm. "Devil shit filled Deryni! I saw you touch her hand last night!"  He swung the chair leg before Washburn's face testing it in the air.  The nobleman pulled himself up as it passed wishing the dizziness from his sudden move to go away.  "You made her come to you didn't you?"

"I did!" Washburn lied. "What good did it do me; I fell unconscious before I could force her to come to me." he wanted to be sure no blame befell her. He was glad to see that she was nowhere in sight.

((Otis attacks Wash, 2d6 because Otis is a guard and trained in swinging sticks. 5 or 6 hit.  /r 2d6  @Laurna: 2d6 = (3+6) = 9))

Full of jealous anger, Otis swung the chair leg with the full might of his arm. A good aim at Washburn's neck.

((Wash gets a defense Save Test at disadvantage because he is sitting and still feels the drug. Success on  6. /r 1d6 @Laurna: 1d6 = (6) = 6  Yes! Does that give me a XP, for being in combat?))

Washburn's training and his reflexes served him well. In quick defense, the knight absorbs the blow in a block with his left arm.  The continuation of the move was one trained into the knight's repertoire, Washburn twisted the weapon around to free it from his opponent's grasp. ((Disadvantage to twist the stick away from Otis, success on  6. /r 1d6 @Laurna: 1d6 = (4) = 4)) The maneuver was hindered by the drugs still influencing him, he missed his chance, leaving time for Otis to jump at him, yelling as he came on. "You touched my girl! She says it was her fault, but I saw your fingers touching hers when she gave you the wine. You possessed her, scum! You made her come back to you. You don't even deny that you did it!"

Washburn moved to stand to get in a better defensive position. "I have no free will of my own. You imagine powers I do not posses." Washburn claimed. "Your master has seen to that."

"No powers, now? Too bad for you, no powers, no defense!" braved the second guard. He joined the first, balancing another chair leg in his hand. While his coming distracted the knight  ((Otis striking Wash again with the stick. /r 2d6 @Laurna: 2d6 = (5+2) = 7)) Otis slammed he chair leg hard into the knight's jaw.

((Wash defense save test /r 1d6 @Laurna: 1d6 = (2) = 2)) Wash thought he was prepared, he attempted to block the swing, but his footing on the straw mattress was not as well placed as he thought. He slipped, the jarring force across his jaw, sent him backward against the wall. Otis laughed meanly, his second strike quicker than the first.(( one more roll for Otis /r 2d6 @Laurna: 2d6 = (2+5) = 7)) The strike skimmed across the knight's temple, leaving him dazed and unsteady. The guard stepped back surveying the damage he'd caused, he laughed again as the nobleman staggered forward and tried an attack. ((Wash attempts to attack Ottis /r 1d6 @Laurna: 1d6 = (4) = 4)) between the two hits and the drugs, Wash was no match, Ottis easily sidestepped out of his reach.

Seeing his opportunity to join in the fun, the second guard attacked. ((Second guard attacked  /2d6 @Laurna: 2d6 = (3+3) = 6)) but his strike was clumsy, not having the anger of jealousy in him as Otis had. ((Otis attempts to kick Wash  /r 2d6 @Laurna: 2d6 = (4+2) = 6)). What the second guard did do was mess up Otis's next attack. The miss allowed Washburn to stagger out of reach of either  man to brace himself in cell's farthest corner. There he tried to clear his head for the next bout.

((Does someone come to break up the fight? /r 2d6 @Laurna: 2d6 = (5+4) = 9, Yes))
The seneschal of Baron du Chentel's estate had heard the commotion and now marched into the dungeon angered by what he perceived. His aura flared his power. His control of his men complete. The two guards backed off of the prisoner. Otis stayed his attack, turning to verbal accusations to give credence to his abuse: the prisoner had possessed the serving girl, Ellia. He was devil spawn and deserved to die.

Exasperated, the seneschal determined he would clear the matter, to which Washburn quickly learned the man favored his own men over the truth. The Deryni turned his Truth Say on the weakened prisoner, Wash had no resistance, no more than any abused human. But unlike a human he knew what was being done to him and he hated the lie of the ability that was supposed to determine truth not enhance the lie. Eyes of earth brown locked Washburn in his stance against the wall. "Did you touch my servant Ellia when she gave you the wine to drink?"

"I touched her," Washburn answered unable to say falsely.

"Did you speak to her in your mind during that touch?"
"I told her, im sorry..." he started to explain.

"A Yes, or a No! Nothing more! Did you speak to her with your mind?"

"Yes,"  the prisoner answered under compulsion. Desperately, he  wished he could say more in his defense.

"Did you take her against her will?''

"No! I did not!" Wash managed to force out. In the corner of the room Washburn could see the seething eyes of the guard. A hand touched his head and a deryni mind read what he had done this night.

"The girls honor is upheld," the seneschal lied to Otis.

"They were locked in this room together, for hours." Otis retorted.

"Yes, but they were hours where both were drugged and unconsciousness, " the seneschal said,  resolving the matter with a known lie.

"He defiled her, and I want restitution." the guard yelled. Grudgingly, the Deryni turned his Truth Say back on Wash, posing his question in a way he thought would clear Feyd's prisoner. "Did you posses Ellia and force her in any way."

Wash could not help the smile that came across his swelling lips and blackening jaw. "I kissed her hard as she fell asleep."  he dreamily said, wishing a second later that he hadn't admitted even that much pleasure.

((Does Otis get one last hit in? /r 2d6 @Laurna: 2d6 = (5+2) = 7))

Otis howled in a jealous rage. He firmed his grip on the chair leg, grasping it like a two handed sword. His charge at the prisoner was swift. His thrust of the blunt ended wood into Washburn's lower ribs gained him the satisfaction of the sound of ribs cracking under the blow. The prisoner barely yelled, his breath stolen from him. The guard was pulled away as Washburn clutched his side and slump to the floor, the pain taking him to unconsciousness.

The last thing he saw was the arrival of Master Feyd. The assassin announced himself with an angry command to desist. The Guard was pushed back with Feyd's powers, the seneschal was shoved to his knees with the same power unleashed.  Under Feyd's orders everyone was forced to submission. An infermian was called. This put a serious dent in Feyd's well constructed plans.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on August 31, 2018, 05:10:51 PM

Master Feyd kneels down and looks over the damage done to Washburn. Seeing that most of the damage will heal itself with rest he stand back up and picks up one of the broken chair legs, fidgeting with it. He first speaks to the Baron's seneschal and learns from him what has transpired. He grants permission to the seneschal to rise and stand.

Without a word or preamble Feyd goes over to the guard who jumped into the fray for a bit of fun. Feyd takes the broken chair leg and strikes it hard against the man's skull sending teeth flying.

(( <bynw> !roll 2d6
<@derynibot> 4, 6 == 10 ))

"Fun is dice and love play. Not beating a helpless prisoner who has been left under your charge for one night." His anger rising, "Get out of my sight. If I ever see you again, I will kill you. GO!"

The guard holding his jaw and bleeding and hoping he is not hit again runs from the dungeon room. Tripping and falling once on his way out the door. Feyd tosses the broken chair leg to the floor and goes and gets directly in the face of Otis. "And you. "Your task was to bath him and dress him. He was under compulsion to obey every command that you asked. Force was not necessary nor was it permitted under any circumstance." Feyd quietly pulls out his dagger as the man in just inches from him and thrusts it upward just under his ribs. (1 Hit Point of damage)

With a grin on his face, Feyd gives the blade a good twist (another point of damage) before pulling it out and placing it back in its sheath. "Do not cross me. The role of a servant is to serve his masters. Failure has but one recourse to take."

The guard drops to the floor and starts to having convulsions. The blade obviously poisoned. The man bleeds, not only from the wound but also from his eyes and is in intense pain. For the next few heartbeats no one moves or says a word. Seconds seem like minutes.

((<bynw> !roll 2d6
<derynibot> 1, 1 == 2
<bynw> !roll 2d6
<derynibot> 1, 3 == 4
That's a total of 4 hit points and he probably only has 3))

After just a short period Otis stops moving. "No one is to harm Washburn. See to it seneschal that his wounds are properly bound. Have him cleaned up and dressed and brought to the Portal within the hour. And I will speak favorably of you to His Grace, the Arch Duke and future King of Meara." Feyd walks from the dungeons at that to begin his own final preparations before going to see the Arch Duke Valerian.

***

An hour later, Washburn who is washed, dressed and bandaged the best that could be done. He is awake but in obvious pain. Labored breathing and unsightly bruised. Feyd himself is dressed well, clean shaven and has even dyed his hair with lighter tones, not blond and no longer black. But a muddy brown color.

Feyd himself makes sure that Washburn's sword belt is fastened around his waist. Ensuring that the blade is still securely tied into its scabbard. He places the wine skin with the green cap under Washburn's shirt gently and carefully not to further bruise or aggravate the wounds hidden there. "A man must always have a drink when the time is right." Feyd says to him while placing the small wine skin. Washburn knows it is the Blue Fyre concoction.

Feyd inspects his work and the work of the others. "Now you look like a Duke's brother. And in proper Corwyn green I might add. Very well done." 

Washburn says little as even the slightest bit of moving causes him pain currently. Feyd has a goblet of wine brought over. "I did prepare this for you. It will help ease the pain and yes it will do more than that. But you need to conserve your strength and get past these unjust injuries. The man responsible was executed. And the girl has apparently fled in the night. Perhaps she went home where she will be safe. There was no sign that he did anything to her. He would have suffered greatly if he had."

Feyd helps Washburn drink the contents of the cup. And gently escorts him to the Portal square. And then Feyd balances the energies between the Baron's chateau and the Mountain Fortress of Brioc, and Grand Duke Valerian.


Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on September 02, 2018, 01:25:12 PM
Darcy Cameron studied the sky as they rode toward Arx Fidei.  The faintest hint of dawn was along the horizon.  This was the time he had been waiting for.  He signaled for a stop and reined in Sigrun.

"Is there a problem? Father Columcil asked as he slowed the big stallion he was riding to a stop.

"Nay," Darcy replied.  "this is the same time of morning as the sky in the image of the fortress we seek.  I want to check our position now to use for comparison later."  Darcy dismounted and secured Sigrun's reins to a sturdy bush at the side of the road.  He looked around for the best view of the horizon and finally decided the middle of the road was best.

"Try to make sure no one runs me down while I do this," he said.

"We'll think on it," Columcil replied.

With no worries that his companions did indeed have his back, Darcy quickly found the star he was looking for above the horizon.  Carefully, he extended his arm, holding his fist upright at the horizon.  He extended his left arm with his left fist on top of the first and then moved his right fist until it was above the left.  He moved the left back on top of the right and nodded, sure of their position.  He started to turn back to the others.

"Lord Darcy," Robert asked, a puzzled look on his face.  "What did you just do?"

"I confirmed our latitude," Darcy responded.  "We're just above 40 degrees North.  Rhemuth lies at 40 degrees. Do you understand latitude?"

Robert nodded.

"Come down a minute and I'll show you."  Curious, Robert dismounted and joined Darcy in the middle of the road.  Although he continued to watch the road, Father Columcil followed the conversation.

"That is the North Star," Darcy began, pointing above the horizon to a star.  "How far it is above the horizon tells you your latitude.  Or at least give you a good estimation."  He seemed to warm to his topic as he continued.  "The length of an average man's fist, not that I am the average man, of course," Darcy said with a wink at the squire, and the priest snorted, " represents approximately ten degrees at the horizon. So if you start there and stack you fists until you are even with the North Star, that's the degrees of latitude you are at.  Try it."

Robert followed Darcy's directions, finding it a little difficult not to drop his arm a bit with each change of fist.

"It takes a bit of practice," Darcy said encouragingly. "If I had the Captain's sextant, I could be more precise."

"You don't has your own?" Robert asked.

Darcy stared at him in disbelief.  "Have you any idea how much coin a sextant costs?"

Robert shook his head.

"A lot more coin than I have readily available," Darcy said, a touch of wistfulness in his voice.  "The captain kept his under lock and key, and he had the only key."

"But he trusted you?" Robert asked.

"Aye, he did.  But the crew all knew that if I fell overboard while using it, they were to save the sextant!"

The sky was getting brighter, and Darcy could see father Columcil roll his eyes heavenward. 

"I don't think we'll stop again before Arx Fidei," Darcy said.  "Best take a moment to look after any personal needs."  Following his own advice, Darcy moved to the side of the road and began to adjust his clothes.  Robert hesitated a moment and moved farther down among some bushes that offered a bit of privacy.  As Father Columcil dismounted from Shadow, he wondered briefly at the lad's sudden shyness.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on September 03, 2018, 12:46:44 PM
Feyd surveyed the room's surroundings as he stepped off the Portal stone with his captive. The Grand Duke Valerian was known to him and instantly recognizable. Next to him, wearing garments that ostentatiously showed off his rank and wealth, if not any measure of good taste, was a man Feyd surmised must be Lord Brioc. There was the expected contingent of guards standing around the periphery of the room, and he could sense the presence of more men--probably archers--peering down at them from an upper level. Feyd smiled inwardly at their precautions.

One guard standing behind Valerian caught Feyd's eye almost immediately, despite his efforts to remain inconspicuous. Oh yes, Feyd had seen that man before. They were hardly allies--far from it!--but he knew and respected the man's abilities nonetheless. He was a man to keep an eye on, a more worthy foe than most. Feyd wondered whether Valerian and Brioc were aware they harbored an enemy in their midst. Ah well, not his concern. No need to share that knowledge with them, unless of course they wished to pay him for the additional information.

The prisoner stood resplendent at the center of everyone else's attention, in fine raiments of emerald green and black. Green and black were the bruises beginning to form all over his person also, and one of his eyes showed fair promise of acquiring a similar palette as well. Valerian raised a dark eyebrow at Master Feyd. "Gave you a bit of trouble, did he? Or how did our young lordling here acquire such spectacular injuries?"

"Unfortunately one of the Baron's guards proved to be...overly zealous, shall we say? But the Seneschal brought the situation to a swift enough end, and I did the same to the guard." Master Feyd flashed a smile of grim satisfaction at the memory. "The captive should still prove sufficiently whole for your purposes. I don't imagine you'd get any less ransom for a somewhat banged-up Morgan than you'd get for a completely healthy and hale one. Unless you were planning on sending him home piece by piece?"

Valerian chuckled. "Tempting though the thought is, no. Not while he is still useful, anyway."

"And now," Feyd said, steering the prisoner towards Valerian without quite releasing him just yet, "I must take my leave of you. But before that, we have business to settle."

"So we do." Valerian angled his head towards his would-be father-in-law. "Brioc?"

Lord Brioc took a hesitant step forward, studying the subdued prisoner with a growing scowl. "He's damaged goods, though, isn't he? Hardly worth the exorbitant price you're asking for him. But here is your payment nonetheless. Take it and be gone."

Brioc was becoming most tiresome. Valerian might have simply allowed Brioc's stupidity to run its course, if it were not for the fact that having Feyd, and indeed his entire Order, become their lifelong enemies was a complication that neither of them could afford. He shot Brioc a warning glare.Brioc...'tis a dangerous game you play. Enough!

Brioc's greed overcame what little sense he had, apparently. The purse he handed over to the trained assassin was smaller than it ought to be to hold the amount of gold that Feyd had specified as his ransom price for Wash. Valerian could tell the difference at a glance, and what's more, he could see in Feyd's frozen features that he could also, even without opening the pouch or using his powers to assess its contents. Bloody hell, Brioc! You never intended to pay him in full, did you? Do you have any idea who you are toying with, you fool?! Only a brief, annoyed glance in Valerian's direction gave any indication that Brioc had heard and taken note of Valerian's mental warning.

The brief stoniness in Feyd's demeanor dissolved into a charming smile as he stepped forward to accept the payment. "This is the first part of the payment for services rendered?" he inquired, his voice deceptively mild.

"You've brought me a mere duke's spare son, not a Haldane, and a damaged one at that, haven't you? I think we both know that's fair enough payment for your services, Master Feyd." Brioc gave the man a supercilious smile.

Valerian had worried this might happen, though he'd hoped Brioc would not be quite this idiotic. "I beg to differ, Brioc." Reaching into his sleeve lining, he pulled out a leather pouch. "Hopefully this will be enough to make up the difference, Master Feyd. If not, it will take but a few minutes for me to pull together the full amount."

Feyd's smile widened. "Ah. How very kind of you. For a moment I had feared I would need to bring Lord Washburn back with me and secure his full ransom from elsewhere."

"No hard feelings, I hope?" Valerian asked. "As you can see, Brioc and I have had some differences of opinion as to the matter of what is owed to you, but I trust the matter is now settled satisfactorily?"

With a small wave of his hand, Feyd summoned the additional pouch into it, using its weight as well as a psychic assessment of  its contents to determine the full value of the combined payment. "Most satisfactorily indeed." Releasing Washburn from his grip at last, he sent him with a gentle psychic shove into Valerian's arms. "It has been a pleasure doing business with you." Feyd glanced towards Washburn. "I hope you find him useful, Your Grace. He should serve well as bait for the rest of his kindred. Once he becomes the "duke in exile" by means of attrition, you can always marry him off until he breeds, then dispose of him once he's outlived his usefulness. A young, malleable heir of Morgan blood would be a strong asset to your royal Mearan line. For that matter, you can see for yourself how Lord Washburn has been mistreated by his kin. Consider how you might use that to your advantage. You might not even need to wait a full generation to have a loyal Morgan by your side, if you can win the man over. Think about it." 

As Valerian briefly placed his hands on Washburn's head to Mind-See for himself the extent of the familial rift Feyd had alluded to, clearly intrigued by the prospect the assassin had presented, Feyd took advantage of his momentary distraction. Making a small show of pouring the paltry amount of gold from Brioc's purse into the larger pouch that Valerian had offered him, he fastened the leather pouch to his belt, then bowed towards Brioc as he took a step back onto the Portal stone. "And my lord, I should think a man so sparing with his expenses might wish to have this back. It's quite nice, isn't it?" He held up Brioc's empty pouch.

Brioc's frown deepened as he tried to work out whether the mercenary was being deliberately insulting or not. He took a step forward to reach for his pouch.

Like a striking snake, Feyd's hand shot up to grab the front of Brioc's tunic even as a wrist stiletto suddenly appeared in his other hand. The point of the weapon impaled Brioc's torso just below his ribs. The action happened so quickly, Brioc's household guard were slow to react and were stopped altogether by the commanding wave of Valerian's hand ordering them to stand down and not escalate matters further. A lone arrow loosed in Feyd's direction was magically deflected into the mortar of a nearby wall.

"A point of advice, if I may, Lord Brioc. It is generally not considered good form to attempt to cheat a member of the Black Order of Death. Advice you might do well to heed in future. Should you have a future, that is."  Feyd straightened, meeting Valerian's eyes. "I trust we understand each other?"

"We do indeed." Valerian gave the assassin a respectful nod.

"Then let us hope that if we meet again, it will be under more congenial circumstances." With that parting advice, he balanced the energies between Portals and vanished from sight.

The moment Feyd disappeared from view, all chaos broke loose. Brioc began to convulse, writhing in agony as blood began to leak from his eye sockets and other orifices.

Valerian cursed under his breath. Deftly taking mental control of the prisoner, he hastily implanted a compulsion in Lord Washburn's mind. You are mine now, do not disobey me. You are to follow the commands of this guard until I say otherwise. Shoving the prisoner into the keeping of a nearby guard, Valerian turned away, taking a hasty assessment of Brioc's condition.

((1d6 + 1. Rolled a 3.  3+1=4. This is how many turns the poison will last. For each turn, Brioc needs to make a 2d6 test. Failure results in 1 pt of damage each time. First test roll: 2d6= 2, 1. Not looking good for Brioc so far. How many hit points does Brioc have in total?))

Bloody hell! We don't have time for this! Valerian thought to himself as he tore off a swatch of Brioc's tunic and held it over the bleeding stab wound to stanch the flow, careful not to let any of the man's blood touch his own skin, for he suspected it was poisoned. "Summon a physician at once," he yelled. As one of Brioc's men, a soldier with some knowledge of field surgery, dropped to his knees beside the fallen lord, Valerian handed him the wadded rag with a quick word of caution about his suspicions that the wound was almost certainly poisoned. "See to Lord Brioc; I need to secure the Portal so our visitor can't return the way he came in." Glancing around the room, he caught sight of Washburn and grimaced. "You had better be worth all this!" he muttered. Directing his attention to the man holding him, he shouted, "You! Archer, is it? Take the prisoner to his "guest room" and secure him there until I have time for him!"  As the guard bowed, taking the captive in hand and leading him from the room, Valerian fixed his steely gaze on two other retainers. "And you two. I shall have need of you. There is hard work to be done here."  Drawing upon their not-altogether-willing energies, he focused his will upon trapping the Portal Feyd had used to gain entry.
((roll 3d6.  2, 6, 5.  Portal successfully Trapped.))

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on September 04, 2018, 12:44:39 PM
Cedric Archer stood with the other guards behind Grand Duke Valerian and Lord Brioc, waiting for the arrival of the "special guest."  How thoughtful of the grand duke to show him the location of the fortress Portal. Perhaps he would thank him one day.

Archer was not surprised when Sir Washburn Morgan materialized on the Portal stone, but the man who brought him through shocked Archer to the core.  It took all his years of training with the cleverest of King Kelson's spies to maintain his composure. Master Feyd!

He had no doubt that Feyd recognized him, just as he recognized his former adversary.  There had been no need to take another form on that long-ago mission in Andelon.  Archer's pale hair was now covered by his cap, but Feyd had not lived this long without knowing to commit the face of a former enemy to memory.  It was a perfectly natural reaction for a guard's hand to grip the hilt of his sword at the sudden arrival of others, and Archer was no exception.  But if Feyd sounded the alarm, it would be nearly impossible to fight his way out.

Master Feyd give no sign of recognition and turned his attention to his host. Archer relaxed slightly.  One never relaxed completely in the presence of Feyd; not unless one had no desire to live until tomorrow.

Archer studied Sir Washburn.  His injuries were evident, and he showed some signs of pain, though not as much as Archer would have expected given the prominent bruising.  He moved passively beside Feyd as they stepped off the Portal and then stood unmoving beside him.  Probably drugged as well as under tight control.  He showed no signs of having been given merasha, but Feyd carried a wide arsenal of Deryni drugs he could use to his advantage. 

"Mistreated by his kin?" He knew he had heard correctly, but what was Feyd up to?  Sir Washburn might not have turned out exactly as his family had hoped, but he was certainly not mistreated, at least not that Archer was aware of.

Archer was not surprised when Feyd planted Washburn in Valerian's arms, nor was he surprised at Feyd's attack on Brioc.  Feyd could never resist settling a score.  A fact Archer would do well to remember.

Archer grabbed Washburn's arm as the man was propelled toward him.  With a bow to the grand duke, he led Washburn from the room.  He guided him down the two flights of stairs to the ground floor of the keep.  Washburn said nothing, but he appeared to be alert.   Archer risked a slight probe for shields and found none. 

The senior guard was standing beside the open door to the guard room.  "Take his lordship on down to the guest suite," he said with a sneer.  He stuck out a foot to trip Washburn, who would have tumbled through the open trap door if Archer had not still had a firm grip on his arm.  "You should have let go, Archer!  You need to learn how to have fun!" 

Washburn turned slightly to glare at the senior guard, aware of what had almost happened.  Archer shoved him roughly through the opening and guided him down the slope to the landing.  Piers stood waiting for them.

"I'll go down first," Piers said to them.  "You try anything," he said with a sneer to Washburn, "and your friend 'ere will kick you down the shaft.  It's a long drop."

Archer hoped he would not have to do that.  Fortunately, Washburn, perhaps with some command in place not to harm himself, descended the ladder without mishap.  Once at the bottom, Washburn lifted a hand to his face as if to ward off the smells.  Archer grabbed his arm and propelled him toward the cell that was "reserved" for him.  Once there, Piers unlocked the door and Archer shoved Washburn inside, following behind him.  Piers remained in the doorway, ensuring Archer was not left alone with the prisoner.

The fetid smell inside the cell was only slightly improved by the open door.  The cell was narrow, no wider than a man's outstretched arms.  The only light came from the doorway. 

"Sit against the wall!" Archer commanded.  Washburn hesitated a moment and then obeyed.  Archer reached for the first of the iron cuffs that would secure Washburn's hands to the chains hanging from the wall, intentionally shielding Washburn from Pier's direct sight. 

Can Archer read what's been done to Washburn's memories?
Jerusha   !roll 2d6
10:33   derynibot   4, 6 == 10
Success!

As he fitted the cuff to the right wrist, Archer made direct contact with his hand and reached into Washburn's unshielded mind.  Hatred, resentment and anger for family and king surged across the link.  Washburn held nothing back.

"What's taking so long?" Piers asked, sounding annoyed.

"Damn lock is stiff," Archer said over his shoulder, disengaging himself from Washburn's mind.  "There, that's got it now."  Quickly he secured the other cuff.  "Try not to get your clothes dirty," he said as he joined Piers at the door.  "They may have to last you for a while."

Piers chuckled as he closed the door and locked it.  Now the only light that penetrated the cell was through the small window in the door.  As he turned to go, Archer could just dimly make out the prisoner's expressionless face.

"Your turn to be down; I'm going up for some air.  Rattle a few cages while you're 'ere," Piers said.

Sir Iain Cameron nodded and watched him go.  What had been done to Washburn's mind was as deadly as any of Feyd's other poisons.  He would need to report to King Kelson as soon as he was able; the king would not like what he had to tell.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on September 04, 2018, 01:32:13 PM
Feyd rested from his travels of the last week. He had gone to Meara through Gwynedd and back Meara. All the time while at first hunting a target for Grand Duke Valerian. One Washburn Morgan, son of the late Alaric Morgan and the brother to the current Duke of Corywn.

Since having Washburn in his captivity, Feyd learned a good deal about the young knight. He would be a worthy addition to his Order if he could be persuaded to join. Of course he would have to go through an initiation. Unlike members of Feyd's family where membership is hereditary, Washburn would have to earn his place among them.

The spark was there is all that Feyd knew about. So he took the opportunity to make it possible that Washburn would survive his captivity with the Grand Duke Valerian and have the tools to make good his escape. But Washburn himself, even drugged and controlled would have to break free to make that escape. A testament to his abilities and potential.

And there was Baron Iain Cameron, pretending to be a guard and working in Valerian's fortress. Feyd laughs at the thought that Valerian hasn't a clue that his guard is a loyal Gwynedd King's man. Feyd remembered well the man Iain. His order wanted him. His skills as a spy were very good. He would have been a great agent. Even though he refused to join. His loyalty to his King was too great to overcome or abandon for a higher calling. The Order let him go with full knowledge of the existence of the Order. Promises were made, he would keep his as long as the Order kept there's. Kelson Haldane and his family would be immune from being a target of the Order. And Iain would never let the knowledge of the Order known to anyone. A truce that was paid on both sides with blood.

But of course Feyd had other things to do during his rest. He must concentration on other contacts. He had 2 at this time. He fiddled with the large ruby plucked from the Lendor sword. The rubies would be his payment to keep Aliset safe from Oswald as he promised Washburn. A contract is a contract and he would see it to its end.

A few inquires would be made to his agents in Ratharkin at the appropriate hour. He would know soon enough if the Lady Aliset was there or not. If she was, he would prepair to go there next and insure there would be no wedding between the lady and Oswald. Besides Feyd didn't like Oswald anyway. He was a buffoon and ill mannered. He was also quite Human.

Of course if the Lady Aliset was not there, he would attempt to find her location through other agents. But then there is the problem of his Ward Cubes, scattered about the old Michaeline ruins when he and Wash left in a hurry. Recovering those would have to be a priority especially after insuring the Lady was safe from Oswald. During the 2nd contract he would needs those Ward Cubes.

But in the stillness of the morning, Feyd sets pen to paper and drafts a lengthy letter that would be sent before nightfall.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on September 04, 2018, 11:46:33 PM

((Brioc's poison effect test--2nd of 4 test rolls: 2d6, 2,5=7. Success--no HP lost))

Her father lay still, his chest barely rising and falling with irregular breaths, but thus far his physician had managed to keep him on the mortal side of death's door. Sidana sat in a nearby window seat, rosary in hand, damp tendrils of hair plastered to her cheek, although for the moment she had no tears left to shed. Before her stood Valerian, as handsome as always, although slightly rumpled garments and disheveled hair betrayed some disruption hidden beneath his outwardly calm demeanor. Though from what reports had been brought back to Sidana about the events earlier that morning which had brought her father and her proposed bridegroom to this pass, there was little wonder that the Grand Duke stood before her with somewhat less than his usual composure.

"This...Portal stone?...it is locked now, I assume? Or destroyed?" Sidana asked.

"It is Trapped, Your Majesty, yes." Valerian answered. "We would not wish to destroy it outright except at greatest need, because it takes a great deal of energy to create one in the first place, and once destroyed, they can generally not be restored. And while the war is going in our favor--and I have no reason to believe we will have any reversal in fortunes--having a functioning Portal would make it easier for us to escape to a safer location quickly, should the Haldanes turn up unexpectedly at our gates."

"I see." Or did she? Sidana was not certain she followed what he had just told her, but it would not do for the Queen of Meara to betray her ignorance of the situation. But then again, surely he did not expect for her to be privy to every nuance of unfamiliar Deryni jargon, did he? "So, what does being 'Trapped' entail, exactly?"

"It means that should Feyd attempt to re-enter our stronghold by that means, he would be stuck on the Portal stone, unable to enter any further into our fortress without our leave. Which, of course, we would fail to grant. And he would also be unable to leave in the same manner in which he came, so he would eventually die there, I suppose."

"And this Order of Assassins he belongs to, they would not take exception to this?" Sidana raised a skeptical eyebrow.

Valerian smiled. "Ah, well, I suppose they might, were we actually in residence at the time to see him Trapped there but refused to lend him aid. But it's unlikely Feyd will attempt to return, and should he try, it's equally unlikely that he would try to do so while we remain in residence here. He has been paid in full, after all, and as for his attack on your father, he doubtless considers that lesson learned. However, I felt it best to ensure the Portal is secured against his return just on the off chance that he does try again. It's better to show undue caution than be careless. Once our forces overcome the Haldane's attempts to roust us from Ratharkin, we will focus our attentions on their remaining forces in Laas. You will be crowned in due splendor and ceremony in one of your ancestral palaces soon enough, Your Majesty. At which point, who would be left here to discover some hapless intruder lying cold upon the Portal stone, should Feyd decide to return? Even his own Order would chalk his death up to his own lack of caution, I should think. Hardly our fault, that."

Sidana turned away briefly, gazing out the window towards Ratharkin in the valley below. "If he does try to return, I want him eliminated. He should pay for what he did to my father."

Valerian raised a dusky eyebrow. "That would hardly be wise, my lady, given his colleagues in the Order in question. Besides, his attack on Brioc, while regrettable, was hardly unprovoked. Or have you not heard the entire story yet?"

The young pretender Queen turned her face back up to him with an annoyed scowl. "I have heard. And I agree Father ought not to have tried to cheat him. But that hardly warrants...this!" She flung a hand outward towards Brioc, caught in the grip of another convulsive spasm. "It would have been more merciful just to kill him outright!"

Valerian shrugged. "As you say, my lady, but on the other hand, outright death does have the downside of generally not being survivable. At least Brioc seems to have received a fairly light dose of the poison, and his physician bled him promptly. He is a strong man, he might yet survive."

"But you cannot guarantee that. And neither can his physician."

"No. Only time will tell."

Sidana sat back, still fuming. At last she muttered, "Exile, then. If that...that scurvy piece of noisome offal dares set foot in my Kingdom again, he shall be banished for life!"

"Banished for life." Valerian nodded, managing somehow to keep a straight face. "Should I happen to encounter him again, I shall be certain to inform him of your decree. Although I should warn you, he might not choose to heed it."

The Queen's eyes flashed. "Then his life shall be forfeit, if I have to lead the armies myself! Don't think me such a fool as to think I would send only one man or even two after a trained assassin. But can he fight off an entire force of loyal Mearans singlehandedly, I ask you? Is his Order so numerous that they can subdue an entire army? I think not!"

"I think not also, my Queen," Valerian placated her, squeezing her hand gently. "Yet it would be difficult to mount a siege against an entire Order if you don't even know where they hide, now wouldn't it?"

Sidana's shoulders slumped, and the tears she had managed to hold at bay began to flow once more. Valerian pulled her close, cradling her face against his chest. "There, there, my lady. You are angry and upset, and most understandably so. But don't worry yourself about Master Feyd. Your father is still alive, and you are both safe. And even if the worst were to happen--if we were to lose your dear father--you still have me. And we have Meara."

She sniffed, straightened proudly. "Yes." Sidana favored her suitor with a watery smile. "Indeed, I am most fortunate to have you by my side through all this."

Valerian kissed his lady's hand, the picture of solicitude, and sent her spiralling into deep slumber. "And I am most fortunate indeed to have you, my dear little Mearan Queen," he murmured. "Brioc is expendable; you are not. At least not until the Kingdom is ours at last, and you've given me the heirs I need to hold it."  Gently, he tucked a light shawl around her sleeping form and went to check on her father.

((Third test roll of four, 2d6.  6, 6=12. Outstanding success, darn it!))

Brioc's breathing was steadier now, a healthier flush beginning to replace his earlier pallor. Valerian briefly toyed with the idea of smothering him with a pillow, but thought better of it. Tiresome or not, the man had not yet completely outlived his usefulness to Valerian's cause.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on September 05, 2018, 04:58:01 AM

((Did Richenda find all 8 of the Ward cubes? I am going to propose that she had 8 tries to find the 8 cubes. Every success is a cube found. Any cube not found might be so well hidden that only Feyd would be able to find them because he can feel his own set of wards cubes.
/r 3d6 @Laurna: 3d6 = (5+3+4) = 12
/r 3d6 @Laurna: 3d6 = (6+4+3) = 13
/r 3d6 @Laurna: 3d6 = (3+6+2) = 11
/r 3d6 @Laurna: 3d6 = (3+5+5) = 13
/r 3d6 @Laurna: 3d6 = (6+1+2) = 9
/r 3d6 @Laurna: 3d6 = (6+2+1) = 9
/r 3d6 @Laurna: 3d6 = (5+5+5) = 15
/r 3d6 @Laurna: 3d6 = (3+5+2) = 10
That is eight successes in a row, amazing))

It had not taken the dowager duchess as long to find the eight ward cubes as Seisyll had imagined it would. She found all eight of them by sensing their locations and fairly quickly too. She hadn't even used her hand-fire much to find the pesky ones that had slide into cracks of stone.  Seisyll had to admit he was impressed.  And a little distracted by her. He wanted the  portal trap to be completely disarmed before she came back. ((Seisyll to remove the portal trap while Richenda looks for the cubes. Need a 9 or better. /r 2d6 @Laurna: 2d6 = (2+4) = 6)). But sadly his need for speed distorted the quality of his magic and he found himself failing miserably at the task.

Richenda had returned with all eight cubes and she knelt down beside him at the portal. "May I offer assistance. I promise I will not use the portal to follow my son. I shouldn't have even come here. But I just, just, had hope." She brushed her eyes to the sleeve of her gown.

"I know, my lady. We all did. But there is more to be found out. Like what were those men doing here and why." He looked up at the two unconscious men on the tower floor. "Let's do this quickly before the man who dropped those cubes comes back for them."

Richenda put her hands on the portal and pushed her energy to remove the trap that was there.  ((Richenda to remove the trap /r 3d6 @Laurna: 3d6 = (3+5+1) = 9)) She feels the resistance and then feels a snap as the resistance releases. "I think that did it," She said sitting back the strain of it showing on her face. She had felt the naked fear in her son as he had been taken through to somewhere else without his permission. Fear mixed with Hate. that shook her up. Washburn wasn't a man to show his fear and he had hate for no one.  This taste of raw emotions was unnerving for his mother.

Putting Richenda's distress to the back of his mind, Laird Seisyll leaned over the Portal stone and set a new trap of his own. Not one as good as he had hoped, but at least it was one that would keep anyone from portaling out through here once they had portaled in; An Arilan or a blood relation of Richenda's were the exceptions. ((/r 2d6 @Laurna: 2d6 = (2+6) = 8 New portal trap of the ruins set at 8))

Almost instantly proving it, Lord Sextus Arilan portaled in with two guards. "We'll secure the tower," Sextus stated. "Know that the king is beside himself with worry for you two. You need to return soon to placate him or he will send an entire army here. We should gather up the assailant's leavings too." Sextus pointed to the items left behind.  Then he moved to the two men lying on the floor. Studying their positions, Sextus deduced the narrow crack in the wall that could barely be seen. He entered it to see where it lead, only to find himself clutching his chest feeling a sense of Terror that he knew could not be real.((Sextus save test of the 3rd fear ward /r 2d6 @Laurna: 2d6 = (1+4) = 5)) He returned to his brother looking wide eyed. "This place is haunted!" he exclaimed.

"No! It is magiced, not haunted, dear brother." Sextus gave his brother a disgusted look. Knowing the fear ward is there in the crack. Seisyll used his advantage to take the fear ward down. ((Seisyll taking fear ward down. /r 3d6 @Laurna: 3d6 = (5+1+4) = 10)). Seisyll crawled up the crack in the stone, hands firm on both sides to allow him the climb. At the top of the rubble, he found a third young man unconscious, one with blood on the back of his head. He put the youth over his shoulder and climbed back down to the tower. He laid him beside the other two men.   "I'm taking the dowager home. Secure the area. I'll be back with a healer for the three of them."

____

In another part of the ruins, a farmer struggled to free himself from the tight space he had squeezed into. It was John who succeeded in pulling the pitchfork down out of the way. Which ultimately freed up its owner. (( John 1d6= 6 and Cletus 1d6= 5). Cletus squirmed back down into the tunnel, breathless. The three men: John, Cletus and Matt, sat themselves in the dark, afraid to go forward up through the hole, and afraid to go back, through the 2nd fear ward.  They decided they would wait until daylight.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on September 05, 2018, 12:12:10 PM
Litany of curses crossed Washburn's mind. He swore at his brothers, he swore at his king, he swore at the men who dumped him here in this malodorous, fetid, moldering cell. Don't vomit! he yelled at himself. Don't! The instinct to gag at the smell of this place hurt his ribs almost to the point where the pain overwhelmed this horrid sense of smell! Almost! The jarring of that trip caused by the gate guard on the floor above had set his ribs to screaming. If not for the escorting guard who held him firm, he would have fallen with a harsh tumble down the ramp and possibly even though the trap door. Not able to see the bottom of the shaft in the darkness, put Washburn on full alert. In his current state of total compliance, he could have done little to prevent that fall. The guard who held him from the fall must have been thinking of the Grand Duke's payment amount and the cost to himself if he let the prisoner die. One guard had already died on Washburn's account and a noble man was just wounded. At least a Morgan was worth more alive than dead, at the moment. Soon enough he would see just how much more alive was his value. "Returned to Rhemuth piece by piece," was foreboding and possibly eminent if and when the King of Gywynedd shrugged off Valarian's demands. Pain or no, he was alive. You should be thankful for the little things, Wash teased himself.  He used to be an optimist, he wondered when and how he had lost the ability to find good in the world. Somewhere in the last three days his world had slide into the cesspit of the Devil's anus. There is no climbing out of a world this low, not in one piece, he thought.

He pulled at the shackles surrounding his wrists.  He was bound to the wall by three feet of chain that went through a large ring in the wall at shoulder height, at least while he was sitting here. If he straightened one arm, the other was pulled to the ring. If he stood, one hand would have to be against the ring if he wanted to touch his face with the other. So this is the destiny of the Morgan Spare! A fitting destiny for a miserable life to rot way in a place worse than Hell.

"Optimism, " he snickered under his breath. "I used to have that. Thought if I trained hard enough and became the best, I would have a chance in life. Father, is this really what you meant for your youngest son to become?" He refused to shed a tear, his father said men don't cry, unless they had lost something dear to them. What had he lost? Freedom, but had he ever really had it to loss it? Remembering all the tortures he endured from his brothers and his king, he decided, "No" he had never really had any freedom, so losing it now was not enough for him to shed tears over.

Wash slide one hand under his tunic to rub his aching side. His fingers touched the wine skin there, a pain pierced his mind. "Not yet!" Feyd's voice echoed between his ears. That madness was for some other time, a time fitting into Feyd's pleasure. At least so Wash surmised, a pleasure not necessarily for his success at escaping. Wash still did not know what the master assassins motives were. The sight of Feyd stabbing that high nobleman had been shocking for everyone looking on. Even more shocking was that he had gotten away with it. Proving how strongly everyone in that room had feared the assassin. This gave Washburn a new respect for his abductor. Master Feyd was clearly not in this for anyone but himself. So what were his intentions? What did he plan to gain by putting the green caped wine skin under Washburn's tunic? Was Washburn to escape or was he to kill the grand duke? He supposed he would find out when the voice in his mind told him to drink the blue fyre. A time Washburn intended to refuse. Feyd had intimated that there were three maybe even four gulps in wine skin. Wash could certainly take it all at once to insure his success and happily go mad in the doing of it, or he could drink the tainted wine in separate gulps, improving his odds with one gulp and dramatically improving them with each successive dossing of the blue fyre there after. If all was all drunk by one person?... That is when Feyd had just smiled and said no more to elaborate on what Washburn knew would be the descent into madness.

His hand shaking at the thought, Wash pressed on his broken ribs, the pain was bearable, but only just.  Remembering well, how he had willed most of his pains away throughout his life, he concentrated on dulling the pain. Focused on the touch of his fingers over his broken ribs. ((rolling disadvantage for Washburn to reduce the pain of his ribs. /r 1d6 success on 6. @Laurna: 1d6 = (5) = 5)). No reduction of his pains occurred. He didn't hold the balance of energies he once had, heck he couldn't even feel the energy. There was also no recognition of the heavenly hand that used to rest atop his own. The hand that had knowledge and compassion, that assisted him in the few times he Healed.  Either angels of heaven did not come down into Satan's domain in this dungeon or he had in some way angered the Saint who had helped him in the past.

"Well, I don't blame you in the lest!" he called out to the hand that had not appeared. "I've fallen beneath even your assistance. I am on my own and I am not certain that I even care enough to help myself." Wash sat in the dark moldy cell. He could take just one sip of the green caped wine, just one sip to alight his powers of Healing. Would one sip drive him mad? Surprisingly, he found himself not that desperate in his current condition to tempt it. He had no desire to go mad, not even in this place.

"Desire!" he whispered.

"Don't die!" said this pretty girl who had stood before him.  Her dark hair in a mussed plaiting falling over her shoulder. Her smell as sweet as a spring rain. Her touch... caring... compassion... full of desire. If there was any optimism left in the world it was in her fingers, in her eyes. With a deep breath, Washburn pushed all his other thoughts aside. He would concentrate on what she gave him. What she freely offered to him, love and compassion, something no one asked her to offer, something she gave to him freely of her own choice. This optimism actually brought a small smile to his swollen lips, he put his hands over his sore jaw and again tried to will the pain there to subside. ((disadvantage roll for wash /r 1d  @Laurna: 1d6 = (6) = 6)) To his awe and his amazement another's hand brushed the top of his hand. An essence seemed to whisper to him then. Without truly hearing, he knew the words that were told to him. "If you hold to the light, I will be there." There was a surge of joy as small powers that he could not wild himself were guided through the essence and returned through his fingers to heal the deep bruised bone of jaw and temple.  The saint left him almost immediately after. Left him in a state of peace and joy, with a smell of flowers overpowering the stinky blackness surrounding his chained confinement. 
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on September 06, 2018, 09:29:05 AM
*My thanks to revanne for adding Columcil's dialect and Evie for guiding me to the correct abbey!*


Darcy Cameron, Father Columcil and Robert O'Malley rode through the double gates of Arx Fidei just before noon.  Unlike the previous time when they had arrived in the dead of night, the gates were open, and the courtyard of the abbey was bustling with activity.  One of the brothers recognized Columcil and came forward to greet them.  The three travelers dismounted as he approached, and Darcy left it to Columcil to explain their presence. 

"I'm headed back to Saint Melangell's, wi' Lord Darcy and Robert sent wi' me as escort in these troublous times," Columcil told Brother Augustus after they had exchanged greetings.  "I'll be gey glad ta be back hame tending to the needs of my own wee bit parish, but I had a mind ta tek the opportunity to visit Saint Jorian again on the way."

"You are always welcome to visit Saint Jorian's shrine, though we sincerely hope any trouble stays north of Arx Fidei," replied Brother Augustus.  "That's a fine mount you've acquired," he added, glancing appreciatively at the black horse behind the priest. 

"Och nay, he's no for the likes o'  a country priest like myself," Columcil said hastily.  "I'm just carrying oot a request to drop him off at a manor along the way.   Some nobleman wi' more money than sense fancied him for stud to his mares.  The price he paid would've kept my parish eating through the winter."  Columcil shook his head in wonder.

"Speaking of food, bring your companions into the refectory and share our noon meal," Brother Augustus invited.  "If you have any news about what's afoot, we'd be happy to hear it!"

"Father Columcil," Darcy said in a low voice as they followed Brother Augustus to the refectory,  "You never cease to amaze me.  Even I could not spin such an excellent yarn."

"I was worried he might recognize the horse as Sir Washburn's," Columcil admitted, "but wi' so much fine horseflesh here on that night, Shadow probably no' stood oot." 

"We'll stand out with him along with us," Darcy said sourly.

"Let be, son; there's nothing we can do aboot it now."  More loudly, he said to Brother Augustus, "The food smells gey guid. It will be most welcome to us all."

Their small group was invited to sit closer to the abbot than Columcil would have liked, but the abbot, like everyone else at Arx Fidei, was hungry for news.  Columcil could not freely tell much more than the fact that Prince Javan and Prince Albin were riding north, a fact the abbot already knew. 

"What of Sir Washburn Morgan?" the abbot asked at the end of the meal. "He is not with you on this trip?"

"Alas no," Darcy replied.  "He is off on other business.  I don't suppose anyone has seen him pass this way?  We wouldn't mind catching up with him for part of our journey."

The abbot had not.  He asked generally among the brethren, but no one had seen the tall, blond knight.  After that the abbot rose, as did the rest of those in the refectory.  The meal was over, and the brethren returned to their duties.

Father Columcil left Darcy and Robert at the refectory door and made his way to the chapel.  He entered the alcove he had visited before and spent time in prayer to the Deryni saint.  After crossing himself respectfully, he turned his focus to establishing contact with Archbishop Duncan.  He didn't think Saint Jorian would be offended.

***

Darcy and Robert wandered into the courtyard to wait.  Darcy sat on the low step at the base of the abbey's stone well, away from the main activities but able to see Columcil when he returned.  He looked thoughtfully at the Heir's Ring on his finger. 

"If you don't mind, Robert, I think I'll try to have a word with Lady Aliset.  I'm not sure if this will work or not."

"Of course, Lord Darcy," Robert said quickly.  "I'll have a look at the garden."  He waved generally in the direction of the brightly blooming flowers across from the well.

Darcy nodded, watched the lad move on, and turned his concentration to the ring.

"Focus," Aliset had said.  Darcy didn't want to be too obvious, but a quick look around reassured him that everyone was too busy to pay much attention to him.  Darcy focused his mind on the ring and, centering his powers as best he could, fetched an exact likeness of Aliset from his memory.

Focused dice roll;  1d6, success on 4, 5, 6 to successfully establish distant rapport with Aliset
<Jerusha> !roll 1d6
<derynibot> 4 == 4
Success!

Robert felt the ring on the chain beneath his shirt warm his chest.  He glanced at Darcy to see if he was watching, but his attention was focused completely on the ring on his finger.  Lord Darcy did not seem to notice the wisp of pale hair that had escaped his braid and looked like it should be tickling the tip of his nose.  Robert reached inside his shirt and touched the ring.

Aliset entered rapport with practiced ease. "Lord Darcy?"

"Lady Aliset!  Have I caught you at a bad time?"

"No, I'm just admiring the garden." Aliset thought it best to keep as close to the truth as possible. "Where are you?"

"We are at Arx Fidei.  We arrived just before noon and had our midday meal with the abbot."  Darcy was amazed at how clear the rapport seemed, though he did not have much experience to judge by.

"Have you fared well?  No problems along the way?"

"Nothing except having to bring along Sir Washburn's horse.  His Majesty arranged for one of the Arilans to meet us after the ferry crossing and insist we bring it with us.  His dagger was also given to me to bring.  That I can keep concealed, but a war horse!"

Aliset smiled.  Darcy was obviously not a man to let go of things easily.  "And Father Columcil?"

"He is in the church attempting to contact Archbishop Duncan.  Is there any news in Rhemuth?"

Aliset hesitated.  She looked across the courtyard and saw Father Columcil approaching.  Fortunately, perhaps sensing the distraction, Darcy looked up at the same time and also saw him.

"Father Columcil has returned," Darcy sent, feeling the link begin to break. "I'll try to contact you again tomorrow.   Stay safe...." The link was gone.

Robert slipped his hand out from his shirt and turned to rejoin Darcy.  Father Coluncil's face wore a guarded look.

"Lord Darcy," the priest said when he reached the well.  "A private word, if I might."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on September 11, 2018, 01:11:58 AM
Earl Brendan cursed the enemy. Fully understanding, Prince Javan finished forwarding his latest Rapport from his father. For Brendan, part of the news was dire. A spy had reported just an hour ago that the whereabouts of the youngest Morgan had been uncovered; somewhere in the mountainous high country of Meara, deep in the dungeon keep of the Pretender Queen. Also in the keep was the youngest son of the late Grand Duke Teymuraz, the self claimed Grand Duke Valerian Phourstanos -Furstan. Javan almost did not pass on the most confidential portion of this information. "The youngest son of Alaric has been changed. His memories are subverted. It is reported that he hates his family." The pain on Brendan's face hurt Javan's heart. "Brendan, my father has told me to withhold this from you. He decided it would be best if you were not the one to go after your brother. Your position between Prince Albin and I is assured. I will send others to seek Washburn and to bait him out if we can."

"Your Highness, you know I have to go. For my love of my mother, for Kelric, and for Washburn, I have to do this."

"Do you? Are you sure? His Majesty insisted that I refuse to let you go. Just short of making it an order, that is. Lord Brendan, You and the king are really close, We are brothers by marriage. You know right well and trust the instincts of my father. You might not heed my orders if I hold you back, but I think you will do as your father's best friend asks of you."

Brendan was stunned for a momement, then he stammered. "My King, nay my friend, asked me to find my brother, your brother by marriage, just yesterday! Just this little bad news and you expect me to sit back; let other's handle this? What is the fear? That my youngest brother has turned against me, that I would not have the wherewithal to overcome him?" He stopped his pacing and stared at the royal prince for a hard moment. "At least I am motivated to not outright kill him, as others who have been sent out to find him might do. I presume this spy has orders to kill Wash, if it comes to the survival of the Duke of Corwyn vs the Corwyn Spare. Don't look so shocked. Yes, we always called him the Spare, but it was in jest. Wash knew that, he never resented it. I can not believe an assassin could manipulate that jest into a vengeful abhorrence."

It was Javan's turn to bite his lip, not wanting to fully repeat what the spy had said about Washburn's mind. "You have it right, the spy is under that order. The sons of Teymuraz are in no way to ever have influence over Corwyn. The survival of Gwynedd relies on our southeastern duchy. Kelson has already requested of Kelric to renounce Washburn from the line of succession."

"What!" the earl of Marley came closer to Javan. "He won't do that! There is no proof of treason in anything Washburn has done."

"Not as yet. The renunciation is meant to reduce any chance of a future betrayal. Look, Brendan, we are talking here, just you and I, no one else knows of this. If I force you to stay with the army, you will stay? You will get to Kelric's side that much faster."

Brendan chewed his lip, turned and paced the small wooded area beside where the army had chosen to rest for an hour before finishing their march to Cuilteine. The army had moved much faster than anticipated, with only one eight hour break in the last twenty-four hours. All the men seemed anxious to get into Meara. There were no complaints thus far about the walking distance or the speed. The army was fit and that was something to be said for the Kelsonian training centers.  Training centers to which Sir Washburn had been a leading member.

"If Kelric renounces, Wash, our young brother is lost to us. He will have lost his value as ransom. The Mearan resistance will either subvert him to act under their banner, or they will kill him outright. All efforts of rescue will be pointless." Brendan had hit on it, that is why the king had put a halted to his search. "No, I know Kelric better than that. He won't do it. Not without cause. I am going north on the Cuitreine road. I am going to find my brother and I am going to bring him home. We will work out his memory problems after he's back in Rhemuth."

The royal prince of the realm studied the earl for a long minute. In the background his guards were getting anxious about this long solitary conversation. "That is what I told my father that you would say. That is why he left the ultimate decision in my hands. I won't make an order you would be forced to disobey. That should not be on your conscience, too, not with all that you are going to need to deal with." Javan pulled the wine skin off his belt, he took a long swig of the good quality wine. When it was half empty, he took a small blue veil out from his pouch. He poured the contents into the wine skin, capped it, and shook it well. Then he handed it across to his friend. "I think you know what I just put in here. If you do find Wash, and he is deranged, have him drink from this. Meresha may keep you from helping him, but it will keep him from harming you. The orders from my father are that I insist upon this much. If it comes to choosing between you or Washburn, you are the one who must survive."

Brendan angrily took the skin from Javan's hand. "We will both survive! That is my vow!"

"A vow I will hold you too." The prince began walking toward the guards and their horses beyond. "When we reach Cuilteine. I am sending Lord Jaxom north to assess the ruins where Lord Sextus holds guard on the portal. The ruins lie on lands bordering Trillshire. Jaxom knows the people and they respect him." Unlike everyone on this march, Brendan could not help but think. Javan must have been thinking the same, for he gave a smile, the first one since his Rapport with his father. "Use Jaxom to help you find what you need. He is... well you know what he is... but at least he had some respect for your youngest brother. Those memories may not have been tampered with in Washburn, Jaxom may be the connection to finding the real Wash inside."

Brendan shook his head and gave an irritated laugh. "So you found a legitimate means of freeing yourself of that pompous loot."

"Why, yes, I believe I have!" Javan said, clapping the older man on the shoulder as they entered the company of the Haldane lancers.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on September 11, 2018, 10:45:08 AM
*Again, thanks to revanne for Columcil's true words and to Evie for keeping Aliset...um...Aliset!*


"Lord Darcy," the priest said when he reached the well. "A private word wi' ye, if I might."

Darcy Cameron studied the priest's face for a moment; whatever Father Columcil's inner thoughts were, he was hiding them well.  He nodded to Robert, who looked puzzled as he arrived at the well.  What could the good Father have to tell that Robert should not hear?

"Perhaps we should go over by the stable," Darcy said. 

"I'll wait here, Lord Darcy," Robert said quietly.

When they reached the stable, Darcy wasted no time with preambles.  "What has happened?"

Father Columcil took a moment to order the news and instructions relayed by Archbishop McLain.  "Dowager Duchess Richenda just missed finding Sir Washburn when she portaled to the old Michaeline ruins south of Droghera."

"Bloody hell," Darcy said.  "How?"

Columcil explained what had happened in the ruins.  Darcy listened closely, committing every detail to memory.

"You'll have to explain Portals to me at some later time, but I think I get the general idea."  He looked thoughtful.  "Are we to proceed to the ruins?  I admit, I'd like to see them for myself, see if we can find anything useful."

"His Grace didn'a state tha'" Columcil said.  He realized he probably should have asked, but the ruins had been overshadowed by the next information his grandfather had relayed.  Columcil watched Darcy closely.  "There was more news; Lady Aliset had gone missing."

Columcil was accustomed to Darcy's normal pale complexion; he was not prepared for the young man's face to fade to a deathly white.

"Sweet Jesu," Darcy said.  "I have to go back."

Columcil shook his head.  "The king commands us to continue for'ard; you're no' to return ta Rhemuth."

"I will return to Rhemuth," Darcy declared, his face set, his defiance returning his face to a more normal colour.  "You and Robert can continue on, and I'll find you once I know Aliset is safe."  Darcy turned as if to enter the stable for his horse.  "I've faced the king's judgement before for Aliset, and I am willing to do it again."

Columcil laid a restraining hand on the younger man's shoulder.  He could feel the tension there.  "Aliset is safe," he said.

"How can you know that if she is missing?" 

"Squire Robert showed up in th' king's Council Chamber just after noon."  Columcil waited, knowing it would not take Darcy long to figure it out.  It didn't.

"She shifted into Robert, didn't she?"  He didn't wait for Columcil to answer.  "That's what was bothering me, but I set it aside."  He looked up at Columcil.  "She knew the name of your horse, and there was no way Robert would have known.  He only met you for the first time as we left Rhemuth, and you never mentioned Spean by name."  His face darkened as dismay turned to anger.  "How could she endanger herself this way?"

"We'll ask her," Columcil replied with a calm he did not feel.  "Mebbe it's best that I do the asking, rather than ye say words that ye can'ne aye tek back." Darcy said nothing and strode toward the well; Columcil hastened after him.

Aliset saw them coming, and could see by the angry look on Lord Darcy's face that the truth was known.   Aliset squared her shoulders; she did not regret the decision she had made and would stand behind it.

"Lady Aliset," Father Columcil began, "We have...."

Darcy cut him off.  "What in the nine circles of Hell were you thinking, woman?"  he said angrily, standing with balled fists on his hips and sounding dangerous.

"Easy, lad" Columcil admonished.  "And keep yer voice doon," he added firmly.

Aliset's brown eyes flashed and she looked at him squarely, although the ice blue eyes she faced looked as stormy as his northern seas.  "I was thinking," she said coldly, "that you needed my help, magical help only I can provide."

"I've managed without magic before," Darcy said hotly. 

"So, the time I spent training you was a waste?"  Aliset was becoming less calm. 

"Of course not!  But now I have the added duty to keep you safe on top of everything else.  You should have stayed in Rhemuth." Darcy was still angry but managed to drop his voice down a level or two.

"And I was safe there?"  Aliset asked. 

"That's because I wasn't there to...." He stopped and glared at her, unable to avoid the trap her words implied.

Aliset took a deep breath to calm herself.  "You did not object to my help when we travelled before, even after you knew I was a woman.  I held my own," she added, her voice firm.

"That was before I loved you!" Darcy snapped, and Columcil thought he heard a note of desperation in the voice.

"Then you know how I feel, you dolt!"  Aliset snapped back and stopped, startled at her own words.  They stared at each other.

"Peace," Columcil said, placing a hand on each of their shoulders.  "Breathe."

"I couldn't let you go against as skilled a Deryni as Valerian with so little knowledge," Aliset began, visibly making an effort to collect herself and trying to interject reason into the discussion. 

"I'm not going against Valerian," Darcy said, sounding a little calmer.  "I'm to find the fortress.  I'm still not sure what we are to do then; I wish I was."

"Exactly my point; you don't know, and anything could happen.  Look at all the harm he has caused so far."

Darcy sat down on the step he had vacated not that long before.  "Oswald had a part in all this too, as I'm sure you remember.  But he is allied with Valerian."  Darcy nudged a stone with the tip of his boot and looked up at Columcil.  "I'm forbidden to take Lady Aliset back to Rhemuth, that is what you really meant earlier, isn't it?'

"Aye, it is," Columcil admitted.

Darcy sighed and looked at Aliset.  "First I had to bring Washburn's horse; now I have to bring you."  He saw Aliset's eyes flash.  "Beg pardon," he added quickly, "I mean no offense.  But could this mission be made more complicated?"

"Aye, it could," Father Columcil said.

"I'd like to bloody well know how," Darcy said grimly.

"The two on ye are ta be betrothed," Columcil said.  Darcy's jaw dropped and Aliset gasped.  "The queen and the senior ladies of her court are concerned that Lady Aliset's reputation is now tarnished beyond repair."

"Now hold on a minute," Darcy interrupted, immediately protective, as Aliset snapped, "What bloody business is it of theirs?"

Columcil raised a hand to stop them.  "'Tis very much their business, I'm afraid, my Lady; you seem to have forgotten that you are now the king's ward.  Archbishop Duncan suggested that your betrothal was the only option, unless a'course, Lady Aliset, you would prefer the veil."  In truth, his grandfather hadn't mentioned that, but it had occurred to Columcil.

Aliset stole a quick glance at Darcy and shook her head immediately.  "No, Father, I would not."

"King Kelson agreed to the betrothal.  He'd read Darcy's letter wi' 'im stating his intention to put his suit forward for yer hand in marriage when he returned."

Darcy blushed as Aliset stared at him.  "I wanted to make sure I had a chance for it," he said.  "Father Columcil," Darcy said firmly, "God knows I am willing, but I will not agree to a marriage Lady Aliset  does not desire of her own free will."

Aliset hesitated; she had not prepared for this eventuality.  She had been worried that King Kelson would select a husband for her that she barely knew.   Someone years older who would expect a meek, compliant wife.  Someone content to raise children and stay in the background of her husband's life.  She knew now that would be very difficult for her.  She looked at Darcy, who had risen from the step and was regarding her with concern.  At least she knew this man loved her, deeply, and she did care for him, more than she had believed.

"I...well...um...Yes, damn it!"  She looked apologetically at Columcil.  "Sorry, Father, I meant I am willing also."

Columcil nodded.  "I aye believe it be for the best.  Mebbes though" he said, looking back toward the abbey church, "this'll no be the best place for it.  I'm thinking the both of ye'ud prefer fer Lady Aliset ta resume her true form;  I know I'd be more comfortable an she does."

Darcy managed a smile.  "That would be a bit awkward otherwise, now wouldn't it?  And we really should be away and heading north."

"What about the small church with the square tower we stopped at after Droghera?"  Aliset suggested.

"Oh, aye, I remember that place," Columcil said.  "I doubt I'll ever forget it."

"I don't think any of us will forget it, and it's just about where we should be stopping for the night."  Darcy looked at the priest and the squire.  "We're agreed?"

Within a short time they were riding through the gates of Arx Fidei and heading north.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on September 13, 2018, 11:54:48 AM
Dhugal allowed Richard's men their moment of celebration as they crowded around the new knight. Their genuine delight in his honouring warmed his heart as he hoped fervently that Richard's sense of failure and betrayal could at last be put to rest. But true celebrations would have to wait for resolution of the plight in which the realm now stood, and after just a few minutes he sent the men about their business, to work or rest, and chivvied Richard back up to the castle, although in truth, with both exhilaration and fear now past, exhaustion had begun to set in and he came willingly enough. On entering the bailey Dhugal sent a man to bring food and drink to Richard's quarters and, putting aside Richard's protests, walked him there himself and waited until he lay down on his bed.

With a sternness to his voice that was only half in jest and giving his subordinate a long hard look he said:

"If you move from that spot, other than to use the gardrobe, before I send someone to rouse you, I truly will have you clapped in irons and you can explain to Rory in Laas why the captain general of my fleet needs a tether and is clanking like a blacksmith's forge."

The new Sir Richard looked back at him, the shadow brought by his forced treason gone from his eyes, and barely got out between his yawns,

"I'll be explaining to his Highness why I've not moved from my bed the entire voyage more like. I could sleep for a month". He smiled and reached out his hand towards Dhugal's and, when Dhugal responded by enclosing it in both of his, he brushed his lips against the back of Dhugal's upper hand and said simply, "Thank you, your Grace."

Satisfied, Dhugal nonetheless had a guard stand discreetly where he could keep sight of the door to Richard's quarters, and only then did he allow himself to return to the Ducal quarters and Mirjana.

Once again he marvelled at how gracious the fates -or God, as he supposed his father and son would have corrected him - had been in granting him such a wife out of what had been a time of terrible tragedy for them both. He had half thought that Mirjana would lose her calm assurance at the news that Teymuraz' wicked kin were again assailing the land that had become her sanctuary, but, though she paled and crossed herself murmuring a prayer for protection to St Michael, once they came out of their rapport, she at once set about caring for him rather than sapping his already far too deleted energy by seeking his comfort and reassurance, happy though he would have been to give it. She did for him very much as he had done for Richard, then sat on the edge of the bed and allowed the comfort of her caresses to sooth her husband. When his responses became more passionate, however, she kissed him hard on the lips and pulled away telling him to save his energy to fight with the king's enemies. Then she pulled a brychan up around him and left him to sleep.

Judging by the angle of the sun shining through the bedchamber window it must have been many hours past noon when a squire knocked at the door and entered, sent by Mirjana to rouse him and bearing a tray laden with bread, cold meats and ale.

"Her Grace says that all but two of the ships that left this morning with Master Seamus have just returned into the harbour and Master Seamus is even now making his way up to the castle."

Dhugal swung his legs down to the floor and made to rise, but found his way blocked by the squire's deferential but determined bow,

"Begging your Grace's pardon but her Grace says that you are to go nowhere afore you have eaten. Her Grace has sent a guard to intercept Master Seamus and will see him looked after."

Dhugal smiled at the young man and dutifully did as he had been bid, finding that once he began to eat he was indeed hungry and he made short work of both food and drink.

"Thank you, Sean, now please return to her Grace and tell her that I will be up on the battlements with Master Seamus."

Dhugal found Seamus in the buttery, but the food and drink with which he had been supplied sat untouched by his side and he was agitatedly looking at the door. As soon as he saw Dhugal he jumped up and  would have gone to his knee had not Dhugal grasped his hands,

"Seamus! Thank God you are back, and most of the boats with you. I feared you would have had sight of the enemy boats and gone after them. I'm afraid I wasn't thinking straight when I gave you your orders this morning."

"Nay, yer Grace, we saw nothing o' them, not out at sea leastways, an' wi'out a means of speakin' ye, an'  the Cap'n gone, I was thinking it would be small use to ye ta lose ye half yer fleet on what would most like ha' bin nought but a wild goose chase. (( Enemy ships are already out of sight of Seamus, yes 123, no 456. Dice roll 2 so yes. 6104kqwb8w)).

"I can only repeat, 'Thank God' for your common sense, and commend your actions though I fear that I shall still have to relieve you of your command as Captain General."

Seamus looked unsure for a moment then grasped Dhugal's meaning and his somber features lightened for a moment. "The Cap'n's alive! Mary Mother, how? Are all on 'em safe, or just himself? But I dinna understand after what the puir souls at Loch Mhir tellit us." Seamus' mouth twisted as though he was struggling with nausea before he managed to say,

"Ha'e ye seem himself, yer Grace?"

"Yes, and it's quite a tale. But best come from himself, I think, when he has slept. But it would seem that you, too, have a tale to tell which is maybe not as good as I first hoped. Come, let's go to the battlements where we can be undisturbed and look out at the sea. But first, we have time for you to eat."

"Thank ye, sair, but I've nae stummach fer food."

Dhugal looked anxiously at the man stood  before him. He did in truth look as though he wanted to be sick and Dhugal wondered what on earth could have upset him so thoroughly. He was well acquainted with the harsh life at sea, having both received and given out physical punishment, and in recent years, as trade grew and the boats travelled further and further afield, there had been more than one run in with pirates. He could well believe that Richard's fire boat had given rise to casualties, but again the sight of death and injury was part and parcel of life in these tough borderlands, and Seamus would have grown up hardened to such sights. Nor could it be fear of his own reaction. Seamus had faced that down in the hours before dawn when he had brought news of Richard's actions, and he had admitted calmly enough to having taken his own decision not to seek out any of the enemy fleet which might have escaped.

Here was not the place to question further so without further ado he turned and led the way out into the bailey. He noted that the local villagers were already dispersing, Mirjana must have interpreted the various bits of information while he slept and decided that the imminent danger of invasion was past. She had everything well in hand and once the fleet had sailed under the able leadership of Sir Richard, and the increasingly obvious competence of the man before him as second-in-command, he would be able to focus his attention on supporting Kelson in whatever way the king required. Pray God that they would lose no more of those close to Kelson ( for he feared that Washburn was truly lost) but if the worst happened then the king's blood brother would not be found lacking. But first he needed to find out what was ailing Seamus.

He ushered Seamus before him up the steep narrow steps onto the battlement walkway where they could be sure of being private, yet easily within call if he was required. Once they were out of earshot of the nearest guard, he stopped and leant out over the battlements so as not to force eye contact or exert any form of arcane coercion.

"Come on, man, out with it! What can have happened to you today that can possibly be worse than the display of temper you had to endure from me before dawn?"

His attempt at humour raising no response, Dhugal began again in more measured tones,

"I'm supposing that what you found in Loch Mhor was not pretty," but was interrupted by Seamus blazing out vehemently,

"Pretty, ma Lord! Wha' I saw there the day was a glimpse o' hell itself, tho' the de'il had made sairten he was no there ta suffer wi' his victims. They'd gone, all o'them, the captains o' the undamaged boaties, tekin' wi'em the hale from them that 'a' bin burnt oot and leavin' the burnt and broken bodies wi'out food or tendin'."

Still not looking at Seamus, Dhugal interjected gently,

"Sadly such things get overlooked in war."

Seamus muttered something that Dhugal had to strain to hear,

"Ye wouldn'a, ma Lord. Ye would'a tended to the wounded, even if ye had nae choice but to leave them. Ye would'a tended to them afore ye left." Then he spoke more strongly and half-turned towards Dhugal as though this would cost him a deal to say but he had to say it.

"Ye'll mind when ye had me flogged?"

Dhugal turned too at that and put his hand on Seamus' arm,

"That's long gone and set aside by the record of your service since. By me and Richard at least, and I dare now hope by you."

"Och, I'm nae sayin' this richt! I've nae held it against ye, ma lord, leastways no' since I got some sense into ma heid and kenned what danger t' all a young fool who wouldn'a do as he was bid would 'a' bin oot at sea. But I mind well that ye sent a body t' tend t' me, and offered a healer t'  tek away some o' the pain if I'd ask pardon of ye and Master Richard."

Seamus' voice trailed off and Dhugal saw that his pallid face was growing red and he finished gently for him.

"But you refused, enduring every last throb and then, once you had healed, came of your own free will, admitted your fault and sought pardon on your own terms."

Again Dhugal could hardly hear Seamus as he muttered,

"Arrogant wee gomeril that I was."

"If it makes you feel any better, I would have done exactly the same. But why are you saying all this?"

Seamus again seemed to force himself to speak but he lifted his head and looked at Dhugal.

"Because I ken well enow that those that do wrong desairve t' be punished, but no' in the way that was done t' those puir souls in the loch. Their lords had nae time nor thought t' tend t' the wounded, but they'd time t' tek the whip to them that were already burned, for no' being able t' stop flames from burnin' tha' came oot o' nowhere."

Seamus drew a deep breath as though willing the memory and the nausea it aroused back down and laughed bitterly.

"Ye ordered me to kill those that wouldn'a surrender. Aye, we killed a score or more this morn, gie'ing mercy t'them who were beggin' for it. I left twae ships back in the loch, wi' those who could care for those that mebbes ha'e a chance o' life. Guid help us all, ma lord, if these de'ils come t'rule o'er us here. If that's what they do t' those that fecht for them, what'll be done to us that fecht against them."

Dhugal tightened his grip on Seamus' wrist but could offer no comfort. Once many years ago he had seen Mearen brutality at first hand, and he knew, through what Kelson and Mirjana had said, and what Sean Derry had never said, of the unspeakable cruelty that was the dark side of Torenthi customs. Perhaps, if Seamus would be willing to allow him to read what he had seen, he could share it with Kelson, and the images of what their enemy was truly like could spread amongst those with whom they came into contact, especially on the borders of Meara where men might be in doubt who they should be fighting for.

"I will see what can be done for them, and if they will swear to live peaceably here find homes for them. I doubt most of them want more than a quiet life, and a lord to protect them. We could do with more hands to bring in the harvest with our men gone."

Dhugal stood for a moment then looked Seamus full in the face before speaking.

"You are fully free to refuse what I am going to ask of you; this is an asking between the two of us, and not an order from duke to captain. I think that the truth of the cruelty of our enemies, that you have seen today, should be shared with his Majesty and if report is spread by our armies as they go into Meara, might help to make men think twice before they join the rebels. Will you allow me to Read what you have seen direct from your mind."

Somewhat to Dhugal's surprise Seamus nodded his head immediately,

"Aye I'll do that, yer Grace and right willin'. To tell truth, it'd be a sight easier than tellin' ye more o' it. An' I hope I'm no' steppin' above ma'sen but if mebbes we could use ma wee bittie medallion here," he pulled the medallion of Our Lady, Star of the sea, out from under his shirt as he spoke, "t'would be a way for ye t' keep in touch wi' me on the Cap'n's behalf. Beggin' yer pardon if tha's presumptious o' me."

"That's not presumption, just the common sense I'm learning to expect from Richard's second-in-command."  He thought, though did not say, that it would also save him from having to suggest some form of arcane link with Richard which had always been his intention, but after the abuse of Richard's mind and will in Rhemuth would be out of the question.  He had always known that Seamus shared the mysterious "second sight" of the borderer, but the readiness with which Seamus made the suggestion about the medallion made him ask,

"Have you done this before?"

"Aye, or leastways summat like it, as bairns wi' our Jamie. It was one o' the things that Grandda teached us, and then wished he had no' when we used it fer more mischief. No' wi' a Deryni like yer Grace tho', I'm no sure tha' I'll be able fer it."

"Do you trust me?" Dhugal realised that until today, though he had come to trust Seamus, he had been fairly sure it wasn't reciprocated. He had been wrong it seemed, either that or the experiences of the last twenty-four hours had made Seamus see things differently. At any rate Seamus replied, slowly but with certainty,

"Aye, I do that, yer Grace."

((Dhugal creates rapport with Seamus. Advantage rolled, Dhugal is skilled, Seamus is Deryni though with no real training, and both are eager for the rapport 2+3+6=11 4ps8gsk3ct))

"Come and stand in front of me then, here in the corner of the wall. Relax as much as you can, and let me do the rest."

Seamus did as he was bid and leant back against Dhugal who put his hands against the other's temples. As he entered Seamus' mind, it came as no surprise to discover the presence of shields, though they were undeveloped enough that he could have broken through them if need be. He would not have done that though, and there was in any case no need as, after a moment's hesitation, Seamus sank back further against his shoulder and the shields rolled back. The sights that had so distressed Seamus were right at the forefront of his memory and needed no sifting but hit Dhugal with the full force of Seamus' revulsion. Bodies floating in the water, blackened and raw and already beginning to bloat; boats sound enough below the waterline but all bearing witness to the ravages of fire in their rigging and on deck. And on the decks lay the injured moaning desperately for water and for an end to their pain. He saw the open wounds, with flesh hanging from heat flayed skin and gashes and broken bones where men had been hit by falling rigging. It was clear that, as Seamus had said, no attempt whatsoever had been made to dress or treat the wounds but the injured had been left behind like refuse on a midden. Worst of all, and what made Dhugal almost gag even in trance, were the men lashed to stumps of masts, their burnt skin clearly laid open by savage whippings. For his own peace of mind he probed a little further and Saw the men of his own fleet beginning to tend to the injured, giving mercy to those beyond help. This was not war, this was a massacre and, as Seamus had said, this was the treatment meted out to their own men. Any in Meara who saw Valerian and his ilk as a liberation could think again. Please God this could be used to deter at least some.

Although he had asked no leave, he blurred the worst of the memories for Seamus - he might have been able to show him how to shield them off but there was no time - and then taking the medallion in his hands murmured the words that would help to reactivate the link before taking his hands away from Seamus' temples and steadying him as he returned to normal consciousness.

Seamus looked momentarily startled and his eyes began to loose focus again as he obviously probed the edges of his memory and found that they were not so raw. Then he turned to Dhugal and with obvious relief in his voice said,

"Thank ye, yer Grace. I'll mebbes get some sleep noo." Then, recollecting himself, added hastily, "If yer grace has nae mair need o'me that is."

"The state you're in, I wouldn't trust you in charge of a coracle, let alone the pride of my fleet. Off with you, take some food if you can, then, for the love of God man, get some sleep. You need to sail for Laas on the morning tide. I'll have you and Sir Richard" - he smiled at Seamus' start at his use of the title but didn't elaborate -"woken before dawn. I'm no mariner but I've learnt enough to know what orders I need to give to have the fleet ready and waiting for you."

He held out his hand in dismissal and Seamus went to his knee and kissed it before turning and making his way back down the stairs. Dhugal stood for a long time, staring out to sea  wondering what the fleet would meet with in Laas and how Rory was fairing, before turning and making his own way back down.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on September 13, 2018, 01:21:50 PM

Ellia, a runaway girl from the servant quarters of a small barony hanging on the border between Eastern Meara and the Culdi Highlands, ran to escaped certain punishment from those in the walled keep that now lay a league behind her.  Her cheeks were wet, not from fear of what she had done, but for fear of what the future would do to man of ransom, like the one she left behind. He was so strong, yet so misused. If she could have helped him escape, she would have. At the very least, she helped him survive one night and she prayed he would survive into the days to come.  Why had she done it? It had been more than desire. True enough that physique of his was not one seen every day.  After his bath, the girls had laughed and teased each other over just who got to bathe which parts of him, but that really hadn't been the reason. No, Ellia was sensitive to people's needs, she always had been. She hid it well, but she could tell when someone was faking it or if they really were in need. This man needed an escape, of that there was no doubt, but more than this, he needed to remember to survive. His ordeal had brought him to a point where he had lost his will to live. She had seen in him a desire only for death before he caused betrayals to his honor. As she slept with him, she had realized the depths of his fear of becoming a betrayer. Only tight Deryni controls over his mind had kept him from harming himself in desperate efforts of escape. Those controls were unbreachable by her own small talents.

Ellia was not Deryni. She knew about those people and their ways. Not always God given ways as they would like to portend. Her grandmama had been the village seer, a woman who could  find water underground when droughts set in; who could warm her hands producing sparks to light a flame. She could sense people's emotions and know when they lied. Ellia had learned much from her grandmama. Some called it second sight but her grandmama called it the blessings of mother nature.

Ellia had not planned to slip into the prisoner's cell this last night. She had planned to spend the night gossiping with the other girls about the warrior in their midst. Then to dream about holding such a man as he. It was only supposed to be dreams, no more. But then she'd drawn the short straw that night to go to the kitchens to bring everyone back a pitcher of warmed mead, one that the chief allowed the girls every night. She never got that far. The seneschal had seen her in the corridor, he had called her over. Fear filled her mind only to find the seneschal placing a full goblet of wine in her hands and ordering her to follow him down to the cells in the dungeon. Was it really the Deryni prisoner's touch that had made her moments later slip back into the cell to see him? Yes it was. But not in the way everyone thought. He had not possessed her with that touch, rather he had provoked her need to help him. His sad melancholy words of forgiveness for her bringing such devastating drugs to his mouth had set her heart to pounding. How could she not have come back to him? How could she not.

The dawn was lighting the road ahead of her, she would have to be mindful of riders. Someone might send a search party after her. That brute Otis would for sure. He had been sulking around the female servant's room when she had tried to return in the predawn hours. He had been drinking and was full on jealous of the prisoner and the bath the girls had given him. When Otis  caught Ellia out of her room, he went into a rage. He didn't believe Ellia's story about fallen asleep in the prisoner's cell. Ellia's save came from the other girls who pulled her in their room, slammed their door in Otis's face, and bolted the door tight. Theirs was the one key not on the guards key ring, for obvious reasons. The girls had gathered around Ellia then to protect her. They heard her tale of going back in the retrieve the goblet, getting locked the prisoner's cell, and then drinking some of the wine only to fall asleep to the drugs with in it.

The girls had oohed and awed over that for a minute, just like they had after giving that warrior his bath. Not so gullible, the senior girl looked Ellia straight in the eye and asked, "Amaryllia Aldan, tell us what really happened!"

Ellia shied, but then she whispered. "I kept the him alive by keeping him warm, for I swear to you, he was on the brink of a cold death after what the Seneschal had given him."

The girls went mad with speculation then, Ellia said no more, but her blush was enough to give her away. "You're  getting out of here, before day break!. Before Ottis returns! He will kill you and you know he will. That warrior is a prisoner for ransom. He is a high nobleman, but he is in no position to lie for you, nor to protect you. And neither can we."

Quick as they could, the girls had bundled up Ellia's things in a blanket. They tied the bundle to her waist and threw a cloak over her shoulders. The senior servant girl and one other took her down the the pastern door. While the other girl distracted the guard on duty the senior girl stole the keys of the post and opened the heavy set door just a crack. The moment Ellia had slipped out the door, it shut hard behind her, the lock turned to its home. After which Ellia had no way of turning back.

She had two hours of running down the road,before the forest ways began warming to the light of the new day. Amaryllia slipped off the road and into the trees. It was rough country, but she had grown up here. She knew once she reached the creek, she could follow it down to the stream; this would wind its way to Droghera. That is where her sister lived with her husband. She could seek refuge with them. The cheese-maker had an attic room, they would surely let her stay in. A cheesery would not be as harsh a task master as the baron's estate had been.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on September 15, 2018, 03:15:44 AM
Columcil mused that it was as well that he was comfortable with his own company for it was clear that neither of his companions was likely to be making easy conversation. Aliset as Robert had taken her usual deferential place at the rear as befitted a squire, but that had not been at all to Darcy's liking.

"How can I protect you riding back there, woman!" He had snapped.

"I'm not yours to protect !" Had come the equally barbed reply. "You've been dismissed from my service and we're not yet wed."

"Leave her be, lad.I doubt we're in any danger here." Columcil had advised and got a glare for his pains as Darcy swept by to take the lead. They had ridden in stony silence since, leaving Columcil praying fervently that once these two were wed the emotion which now could find its only outlet in anger would find its expression in mutual passion. Though he was celibate, he was neither naively innocent nor a prude, and he much preferred the thought of bedding down with the horses by night and ignoring what other sounds might come his way than riding by day in this icy silence.

After a while Darcy reined Sigrun in and came to ride beside Colcumcil on Shadow, slowing the pace to a walk. By the look on his face, he was looking for a target for his frustration, and it appeared that he had found one in Columcil.  Well better himself than the lady.

"I'm not sure that this is the right thing we are doing." Darcy began. "What if the king has someone else in mind for Lady Aliset. I know what my hopes are but I didn't  expect them to be granted like this. I don't want to get her into more trouble than she's got for herself. I can live with royal disapproval  for myself, but I'm not prepared for her to live under its shadow. I'm beginning to wonder if this is not all your idea and nothing to do with Archbishop Duncan or the King."

"I can assure ye tha' his Majesty..." Columcil was beginning reassuringly, but Darcy interrupted,

"No offence Father, but maybe our stay in Rhemuth has turned your head just a little? You're a country priest after all, and though his Grace the Archbishop has been kind to you, I doubt that you are as close in the King's counsel as you maybe think. I'm prepared to believe his Grace told you about Aliset but I'm beginning to have my doubts about the rest."

Darcy 's tone had moderated to a kindly condescension which Columcil found far more annoying than his anger. Why was it people only said "no offence" when they were intending  to be offensive. Darcy had a fair point though, and it spoke well of him that he was determined to do right by Aliset. There was really only one way to reassure him, it would mean breaking confidence but so much had happened that he hardly thought it would matter.

"Yer concern fer yer lady does ye credit lad, and it's no a bad thing t' be a wee bit wary - mebbes if we'd aul bin mair canny puir Washburn wad be wi' us noo. An' ye've nae dout the reet o' it tha' th' Archbishop would'na be sae open wi' me wi'oot good reason."

Columcil stopped to draw breath and realised that Darcy was staring at him. just stop  blethering and oot wi'it! he told himself.

"Look, lad, yer a Deryni, so read the truth o'this. I cannae prove it ta ye, but I swear 'tis God's own truth. Archbishop Duncan is ma grandsire and he's kennt o' me since afore I was ordained. His Grace o'Cassan sired me tho' he'd nae mair idea o'it than ye til these few days gone. So aye, y're in the reet o' it, I'm a wee priest from the country, but it's no ma swellit heid that's talkin' when I'm tellin' ye wha' ma grandda's orders for ye are."

With that Columcil let his pride and irritation with Darcy get the better of him. He whispered to Shadow and the stallion sprang with ease into a canter leaving Darcy staring with his mouth open.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on September 17, 2018, 03:50:59 PM
*My thanks to revanne for getting this started on a better path after setting the stage with her previous scene, and to Evie for skillful editing, insights into Aliset, and for knowing how to spell "braies." *

Darcy Cameron sat astride his horse, his mouth still agape, watching Father Columcil ride on ahead of them when Aliset reined in Spean beside him.

"You'll catch a fly soon if you sit like that," she quipped.  Darcy's mouth snapped shut.  "What did you say to annoy him so?"

"I told him what I thought was the truth, but nothing is what it seems to be...."  His sentence drifted off.

"And that was?"  Aliset prompted, uncomfortable with the confused look on Darcy's face.

"It's not my right to tell,"  he said firmly.  "We'd best not let him get too far ahead, but we'll give him some space for now."   He fought down a momentary urge to turn Sigrun around, head for Desse, and sign up on the first ship that would take him.

They rode that way until Columcil slowed Shadow as they approached the valley.  Darcy drew alongside and said simply, "Beg pardon, Father, for my presumption."

"Nay," Columcil said.  "I'll fault no man for speaking his mind."  Darcy nodded and urged Sigrun forward, resuming his place in the lead.  Aliset looked at the priest questioningly, but when he said nothing more, slipped in behind him in her proper place as squire.

The sun was grazing the tops of the trees as they approached the church with its square tower.  The valley seemed peaceful, washed clean of the mayhem that had occurred on their last visit.  Much quieter than the current turmoil in Darcy's mind as he tried to make sense of everything and finally gave up.  His life would be what it would be.

Darcy could not stop himself from scanning the grounds for man-traps and trip wires as they dismounted.  He detected nothing amiss, to his heartfelt relief.   They tended to the horses' needs first, and Aliset retrieved the script she had brought from Rhemuth.  She then walked toward the church with the others.

"You're still minded to become formally betrothed?" Father Columcil asked as they reached the steps leading into the church.

"Aye, Father," Darcy said and looked sidelong at Aliset, feeling a pang of guilt for his earlier temptation to flee.

"I believe we have already stated so, Father," Aliset said formally.  "I would like a few moments to prepare myself and make some...adjustments, if you don't mind?"

"You can slip around the corner near the tower.  I've a few things to tend to myself," the priest replied.

"I'll keep watch," Darcy said.  "From here," he added quickly, in case he had given offense again.

Aliset nodded and moved off toward the tower, caught up in her own thoughts.  Suddenly she turned and said, "I promise not to run off."

"Nay," Darcy said.  "You run towards trouble; I've never seen you run away."

Aliset's eyes lit with unexpected humour.  "And you are trouble?"

"Usually," Darcy admitted.  For the first time in that long afternoon, Aliset smiled at him.

Columcil reflected that they deserved each other, but kept that thought to himself.  He opened the church door and entered to make his own preparations, including a moment of prayer if he had the chance.

Darcy looked in the direction of the tower, but Aliset had already disappeared around the corner.  He stood quietly for a bit, gazing across the valley to quiet his thoughts.  After partial success, he removed his cap and laid it to one side.  He used both hands to sweep the numerous strands of pale hair away from his face and then slapped hose and tunic vigorously to remove as much travel dust as possible.  The noise prompted the priest to come to the door to see what was amiss.

"Beg pardon, Father," Darcy said for the second time that day.  "I was just trying to make myself a bit more presentable."  He straightened his plain brown tunic.

"You look better than the last time we were here," Columcil suggested.

"Aye, not so torn and bloodied, for sure.  Still," Darcy added wistfully, "I should be wearing an Isles' kilt and doublet. Of course, it would help if I actually owned both.  When all this is over and Sir Washburn safely rescued, I may have to make a few adjustments of my own." 

"There is something to be said for adjustments," the priest said, looking beyond the younger man.

Darcy turned and looked at the woman who approached them.  Aliset wore a blue linen gown, still wrinkled in places from being crammed into her script.  Around her slender waist she had tied a simple girdle.   She had released her hair from her border braid and it cascaded in brown waves to reach below her waist.

"Breathe," Columcil said softly.

"I'm not sure I dare."   Darcy bowed deeply as Aliset joined them before the door.  She nodded and held her hands loosely clasped before her.

"Shall we proceed?" Columcil asked.

"Wait," Darcy said suddenly.

"Lord Darcy?" Columcil asked, the incredulity clear in his voice.  Aliset looked startled.

Darcy turned to face her, took both of her hands in his own and went down on one knee before her.  Aliset's eyes widened as Darcy took a deep, steadying breath.

"Aliset de Mariot," he said.  "I can only offer you what I am.  But I pledge to you to do my best to make you happy, even if we don't always agree.   And I pledge to do my best to keep you safe from harm, even if at times you make it a bit difficult."  He paused for breath.  "Most of all I pledge to love you with all of my heart, for the rest of my days and beyond, if you will consent to walk beside me as my wife."

Aliset looked at the man kneeling before her, his face serious, his sincerity clear to be seen in his pale blue eyes, and felt a sudden surge of tenderness.  She had not anticipated this moment when she'd left Rhemuth, but now that it was upon her, she realized she wanted nothing more than to be this man's wife.

"I will," she said.  "I freely give my consent to walk beside you as your wife."

Darcy lifted her hands to his lips and kissed each one.  He rose to his feet.  "Let us proceed, good Father."

Father Columcil studied them both for a long moment.  "I've a mind to just go ahead and marry you and be done with it.  You've both declared your intentions clearly enough.  I see no good reason to drag it out, and God alone knows what the next days will bring."

Darcy and Aliset looked at each other, both hesitating to answer first.  This was unexpected, and neither of them were prepared for it.  Shields snapped into place to hide their innermost thoughts.  Aliset took a deep breath and answered first, lowering her shields as she did so.

"I am willing," she said. 

Darcy lowered his shields as well, not realizing at first that he had raised them.  "Aye, I am willing."

Father Columcil opened his cherished prayer book and began, hoping God would grant this couple contentment in the lifelong commitment they now made.

It all proceeded smoothly, until Columcil asked for the ring.

Darcy looked startled.  "Ring!  I need a ring."  He looked down at the Heir's ring on his right hand and started to remove it.

"No," Aliset said.  "You need to keep your ring, in case we are separated."  She pulled the small ring on its chain that he had given her out from the front of her tunic. "This one will do."

"But it's so small; it won't fit you."

"It will fit well enough."  She slipped the ring off the chain and placed it on Columcil's prayer book. 

At the priest's nod, Darcy took the ring and slid in on the little finger of her left hand.  It made it as far as the second knuckle and lodged firmly. "We never do anything quite the normal way," he said.

Aliset laughed.  "I doubt we ever will," she replied.

Amen, thought Columcil.

Then it was done; they were rightfully married before God.  Darcy hesitated a moment to kiss his bride once he was given leave to, not sure how she would react.  His kiss was gentle, and if it lasted a little longer than he intended, Aliset did not object.  Father Columcil led them inside the church to the altar which he had already prepared for the wedding mass.

"Father Columcil," Darcy said as they left the church.  The day had passed into twilight.  "Will you join us for our wedding feast?"

"You brought us a feast?"  Columcil asked.

"Well, not exactly.  I did not manage to find us a fine wine, or any wine, for that matter. I did manage to convince one of the kitchen staff that we needed a meat pie for our travels."  Darcy looked at Columcil.  "I might have mentioned that I was travelling with an aging priest."

Columcil looked heavenward and then asked, "I don't suppose you brought ale as well?'

"I might have a drop or two somewhere."  Darcy retrieved his sea bag and carefully withdrew a large, cloth-wrapped meat pie. 

"How do you do it?" Aliset asked.

"The Quartermaster taught me well."  Darcy grinned at her.

They sat comfortably on the grass before the church.  Darcy served them large portions of meat pie and cups of ale.  At first the conversation was awkward, but Columcil told them some amusing and slightly scandalous tales of his childhood in Transha, resulting in giggles from Aliset and chuckles from Darcy.  As the conversation began to fade, Aliset noticed Darcy staring beyond them into the darkness.

"Do you see someone?" Aliset asked quietly.

"No one here," Darcy replied.  "I was just imagining that Sir Washburn was here and wondering what he would say to all of this."

"He would congratulate you both," Father Columcil said, "And give you his best wishes."

"Maybe," Darcy said.  "Or be telling tales not fit for a bride."  At the look on Aliset's face, he added contritely, "Or maybe not."  After a moment he said quietly, "Aliset, if you would prefer, we could wait until we find an inn with a private room...."

"Nay, Darcy," Columcil said into the silence that followed. "'Tis better not to wait.  An unconsummated marriage can be challenged.  Best not to take the chance that Oswald turns up to make a claim to her."

"I'd kill him," Darcy said.

"You still might, when all is done, but not tonight.  There's nothing wrong with a soft bed of heather, and I'll bed down out of the way with the horses."

Aliset realized that what Columcil said was true, and she wanted Oswald to have no claim to her!  She wished she had more time to prepare, to calm the nerves that almost had her shaking.

"I will never force you, Aliset," Darcy said softly.  "You have my word."

"I know you would not," Aliset said.  "I must agree with Father Columcil; we should...um...proceed."

Darcy found a secluded spot near the square tower and spread a blanket over the heather.  Father Columcil blessed the simple marriage bed and then withdrew as he had promised.  Darcy produced a second blanket to lay over the first. 

"I'll be over there until you are ready."  He pointed generally at some trees and walked quietly away.

Aliset's hands were shaking as she removed her clothes and slipped between the blankets.  She was beginning to wonder if Darcy was going to return when he reappeared wearing only his braies, the rest of his clothes draped over his arm.  With his pale colouring, he could have been a ghost, but his muscular chest and arms, scarred in several places, reminded her that he was not.

He deposited clothes and braies not far from the blanket and slid in beside her.  She felt the warmth of his body as he lay there.  Quietly, he slipped his arm under her shoulders and moved to pillow her head on his arm.

"Do you remember how to find the North Star?" he asked her.

"Yes," she replied, her voice puzzled at the question.

"Tonight, I'll show you how to find south," Darcy said.

Aliset stared at him, wondering if he had gone mad!  A lesson on the stars on their wedding night?

Darcy was undeterred.  Soon, the quiet assuredness of his voice encouraged Aliset to relax, and by the time he completed the lesson, and it had been a short one, Alset was feeling much more comfortable.

Darcy shifted his position to look into her eyes.  "Precious Aliset," he said as he gently kissed her left eyebrow.  "You are the only star in the night sky I will ever need," he kissed her right eyebrow,  "To always guide me safely home."  He kissed the tip of her nose and then kissed her lips.

The night unfolded as it should.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on September 20, 2018, 04:12:38 PM
Columcil slipped away, quite content to make his bed among the horses. What he had not altogether counted on was that Shadow Dancer, sensitive and feisty stallion that he was, should have apparently decided that the night was propitious for a closer acquaintance with Sigrun, though the lady herself appeared unimpressed by his attentions. Whether it was that Shadow was unsettled by the absence of his master, or the proximity of untoward activity a short distance away,  or it was simply co-incidence, Columcil had no means of knowing, but it took all his skill as a beast handler, and a fair amount of physical restraint too, before Shadow finally settled.

Finally able to relax, Columcil found that his mind was now too active to sleep. His grandfather would doubtless say that it was fitting penance for his flash of angry pride to Darcy. He would have to apologise, at an appropriate moment, and reveal his parentage to Aliset while he was at it.  It was not fitting that he should be the cause of husband and wife beginning married life with his secret between them. At least he would not be burdening Aliset with the need to share her magical training between him and Darcy,  for his grandfather had taken the oppurtunity of their last hours together in Rhemuth to give him some intensive training to enable him to better use his powers as a Deryni.  He offered a prayer of true gratitude for the Archbishop's forbearance and generosity towards him, and he blushed again in the dark as he thought of the insolence he had too often shown. He prayed fervently for the grace to amend his manners, and then, less selfishly, for the two he had just joined in wedlock, and, most fervently of all, for Washburn, before at last he fell asleep.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on September 21, 2018, 03:10:48 PM
Dhugal forced himself to turn away from the sea and made his way down the narrow stone steps spiralling back to the castle Bailey.  It had been borne in on him, as he had stared out towards the hidden waters of Loch Mhor that others, as well as Seamus, would have been distressed by the sights they had been forced to witness and he must do what he could to assuage some of that, though God alone knew how he could possibly hope to comfort so many. Especially where there was no true comfort to be had in the face of such savagery.  And God help poor Washburn in such bloodstained hands.

He forced his head up and his shoulders back as he walked down yet again to the harbour,  acknowledging the reverences of those he met with a smile. He could show neither fear nor distress, for his men would take their tone from his demeanour, and the last thing he needed was to spread panic. As he neared the harbour, he was at first inclined to be angered that he could see no signs of the busyness that should surely have been evident, but then he heard the murmur of voices speaking in a familiar pattern though the words were too indistinct to make out. A little further on and he could see hundreds of men kneeling in the heather behind the little church where he had prayed earlier, and Father Nicholas, vested behind a portable altar, in the midst of saying Mass. Moved almost to tears, and recognising that in the holy magic of the Mass there was to be found a comfort beyond anything he could offer, he slipped to his knees beside a startled seaman, and bowed before the Lord who had taken all pain and horror upon Himself.

When the time came to receive Communion he refused the privilege of precedence which those around would have offered, and humbly awaited his turn, a clansman among his brothers. As a Duke, with absolute power over the lives of others, he had tried to rule with both justice and mercy, and Seamus' words, spoken at no little effort to himself, suggested that he had not entirely failed, but, although he abhorred the cruelty he had witnessed, neverthless he could not but wonder how many of these men amongst whom he knelt he was sending to injury and painful death. He was grateful for this brief chance to lay aside both privilege and the responsibility that came with it. Once the Mass was ended though, he must again be the Duke.

The short time he could spare to speak with Father Nicholas reassured him that the pastoral and spiritual care of his men was being well taken care of, and the needs of the injured enemy too. At some point he would need to interrogate those who lived to ensure that christian charity did not lead to them harbouring spies, but for now he could concentrate on making sure that all was ready for the morn's departure. Here again, thanks to the calibre of those who served him, he found that there was little for him to actually oversee, but it was good to be able to spend time with the captains and men who would treasure even the most casual of his words in the days ahead. All would be ready for the morning ebb tide, which would be on the turn shortly before Terce.

By the time Dhugal was again on the quayside, in the bright light of a midsummer morning, all was busy with the bustle of impending departure. Men stood ready to unfurl the sails, to weigh the anchors, and to cast off the ropes. The captains had paid their individual respects to their Duke and were now on board, with the exception of Seamus and Sir Richard whom Dhugal had held back for a final private word. When Dhugal had arrived he had found the two deep in conversation, very much at ease with each other. He supected that Seamus had in fact sought out his Captain General before seeking his own bed the day before, but though technically he supposed it was a breach of discipline, he was hardly going to cavill at this further sign of Seamus loyalty to Richard, the more so since Richard first word's to him had been to signal his approval of the link which Seamus' medallion would provide.

Father Nicholas had been making his way down the line of boats, asperging each one with holy water and he now stood ready to pronounce the parting blessing, only waiting for Seamus and Sir Richard to board. Dhugal found that he was choked by emotion and took refuge in a jest that was nevertheless half-serious, and try as he might he could not quite keep the border brogue out of his voice.

"Seamus, I should be reminding ye t' mind that ye obey Richard here, but t' tell truth I'm thinking it should be t'other way aboot. Dinna be lettin' him get inta any more trouble than ye can help."

He would have like to have embraced the pair of them but protocol demanded that they should go to a knee and take formal farewell. But after all, he was about to say farewell, perhaps for the last time, to a man who had been a good friend for the best part of two decades, and another who he would now want to claim as friend, so protocol be damned.

So thinking, he embraced both Richard and Seamus in turn with a hug made clumsy by emotion and then stood back as the two men, Captain General of the fleet, and Captain of the Rose, boarded the flagship to the resounding cheers of those both on board and the considerable number of bystanders who had now gathered. Then Father Nicholas raised his hand in blessing, and one by one the ships turned and, unfurling sail, slipped out of the harbour on the receding tide.


Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on September 22, 2018, 04:43:13 AM
"Afternoon yet?" Washburn asked into the darkness.  His voice didn't travel far with the thick stone all around him. Even the sound of the bells did not penetrate this deep into the rock palisade. There was certainly no light to suggest the passage of time. The only means of counting were the passages of the guards before his cell. Eight times he had seen a torch pass the door grill, eight times a pair of eyes lit by the torch had stopped to stare at him. The ninth time, Washburn missed it. He had dozed off; exhausted from all manner of abuse. A great bang on the grill startled him to wakefulness. "No sleeping! Hear me! I'm supposed to be off duty, in my bed right now, but NO! That assassin fellow stabbed the Baron, and until he lives or dies, I'm not allowed off duty. See here, if I don't sleep, you don't sleep!" The anger in the guard's tone gave Washburn a shiver. The darkness was exhausting. Then there were the drugs, the lack of good food, and the pain in his ribs, which had subsided for a while--Feyd must have added a pain reducer to whatever other mystery substances he had added to his prisoner's morning drink. The pain reducer was warring off; the anti-magic drug seemed to be working overtime. Nothing unusual about that, Washburn thought.  Desciding to think of more positive reasons for his exhaustion, Wash considered the energy he'd used to Heal his and face and his jaw... and... this thought brought on a faint smile...the lack of sleep while in the hands of a loving, warm woman.

The guard must have missed it; his torchlight moved on.  Back in full darkness, Washburn found himself dreaming pleasant dreams of the girl who had touched his soul. Her hands were both delicate and strong, her kisses, angelic. She was back in the circle of his arms, kissing his lips, when the startling sound of metal banged against his door, tore him away from his dream-filled bliss.  "I told you, no sleep!" It was obvious this angry guard needed his own bed. Again the guard moved away, bashing other's doors and yelling at other prisoners.  Washburn wasn't sure if he found solace in the fact that he was not alone down here. Far down the cells, the noise echoed through the place. Apparently no one was going to be sleeping this day.

Being watched so frequently, Wash was fearful that his partial recovery would be discovered. Purposely he sat with his left side against the wall. He hid the Healing of his face from the door by resting his left cheek against the shackle around his wrist. As to the bruises on his face, he had no idea if they remained. For certain the pain had gone. But did Healing clear up bruising too? He didn't have enough experience to know. Best to hide his face when the torchlight came near.  Also this position availed him to wrestling with the ring in an attempt to loosen it from the wall, but even after hours of pitting his strength against it, the ring was as tight as the stone it was embedded in.  Considering the heft of these iron shackles and the thickness of this chain, Washburn wondered if they were meant to hold a bear. When it physically could not be budged, angry bouts had Wash searching for magic to free himself from the shackles. Master Feyd had done his job too well. His magic was non-existent. Fingers sore from scratching at the stone and mind numb from the lack of sensory that he had been trained to use all his life, Washburn finally gave it all up and turned to sleep. He shifted his legs out on the floor and tilted his head against the wall in attempt to sleep and perchance to dream of her.

The echo of bars rattling beyond his cell kept sleep at bay. The oppressive small space and the surrounding dense rock filled him with increasing doom. He was cut off from everything he had ever known. The world that existed above ground was untouchable down here. He was trapped between the world of the living and the world of the dead. How do you keep from going mad? he thought. Hold memories of life close, was his first answer. Trouble was, all the memories in the forefront of his mind were memories of resentment for being ill-used by his family and his king. Those memories seemed detestable to him, even alien in their nature. Yet even though the memories felt contrived, they still raised his ire and overwhelmed him with resentment for the abuse they showed he had suffered. Memories of estranged family will only put you closer to the grave, he thought in resistance.

The lesson the saint had taught him was that he would gain no ethereal help if he relied on hate. His memories of resentment weren't the key. The key was his faith. Believe in the light, he told himself. Yet, hate and resentment were ever present in his mind. How can I believe in Light when i'm buried underground? Did he dare plead for help from the saint when he surely had already been given his quota of miracles? He wanted to scream that he didn't deserve what was happening to him, that God owed him, but then he ducked his head in shame. One did not expect to merit miracles from heaven or from saints. They gave only to the worthy and the devout. In his bitter mind, he had become neither. Seek the light should be his new mantra. In this total darkness it was hard to envision Light: Light of the heart, light of the soul. On a whim, he wondered if he could manage the light of hand fire.

Wash could not see his hands as he brought them together before his face. He cupped them upward like in the days his maman had first taught him to spell-craft Handfire. His test surprised him! ((Washburn handfire testing to see if he can do it. /r 2d6 @Laurna: 2d6 = (5+6) = 11)) The flare was instant, and as instantly he extinguished it, suddenly fearful the light had been seen. Washburn waited in the black silence, anxious for a repercussion. ((Guard at the other end of the dungeon, could he have seen the flash? Disadvantage roll /r 1d6 @Laurna: 1d6 = (1) = 1)) The sound of the guard harassing other prisoners did not change. Washburn sucked in his breath, letting it out slowly. Idiot, do you really want to get dosed with drugs again or something worse! he scolded himself.

Now that he thought on it, he didn't remember Feyd passing across any vial of drugs to his new captors. Maybe...now that he was securely chained... they wouldn't waste effort on such exclusive drugs. Merasha would hold him powerless just as easily, with longer duration times. That gave him a chill of what to expect in the near future. But then it occurred to him, they might be thinking of duration effects in terms of merasha, something like a full day, not the drug that eased off after eight hours.  What had Feyd given him just before arriving here, anyway? He just used his powers to create handfire, so the drug could not have been the same.  Knowing he should hide his gradually reforming powers, Wash tried to raise his shields; previously they had been the first of his powers to returned. This time, he could not find any shields. Washburn panicked. They weren't just dampened by Feyd's insistent orders. No! He just did not have them. "Khadasa!" he exclaimed under his breath.  What was Feyd playing at this time? No shields left him helpless to mind control. Why? Who needed to control him now and in this place?

Deep breath. Think this through. Bide your time, Washburn encouraged himself, If fledgling powers are returning; stronger energies will soon be mine. I can find a way out of here before they drug me again.

No need to fight for wakefulness anymore, his mind was racing.  Optimism! Think of the best way out of here! You've beat many an opponent just by planning ahead and knowing you were the better man. Wash considered his successes of the past. Of course it helped that his reputation preceded him. Wash didn't have that here. Yet, put a sword in his hand and he was the best in the land. Trouble was Washburn's sword had been taken by the guard who had shackled him up in this cell. That guard would have considered it justifiable loot. The knight of Lendour frowned. That was the last time he would see any of the three pieces of the Lendour weapon set. Why had Master Feyd even bothered with securing the sword to him? He had some devious plan; what would it be?. Think best case scenario. I get my powers back, I use my powers to unlock the shackles, then I unlock the cell door.  Up the ladder, into the guard room. I find a sword to win my freedom. Pretend to be a noble of the household and escape out the gate, or better, climb down unseen over the wall.

Washburn laughed at the joke of it. Even I am not that optimistic. If it happened that way, it wouldn't be just the saints on his side but the devil would be there too. That would not bode well. Think this through realistically. He would have to overpower the guards quickly so that they could not call the alarm.  He would need to have his hands free to do that.  Washburn tested his mind on the shackles about his wrist. His magical senses were starting to emerge. He could see the pins in the lock, but could he move them? ((13:56 Washburn Washburn first attempt at Telekinesis with his emerging powers. Still at disadvantage. 13:57 Washburn !roll 1d6 13:57 derynibot 2 == 2)) Sweat covered his brow, his powers were coming back, but they were far from full strength just yet  Hold on a little longer, he told himself. Perhaps a little prayer to the powers that be would not go amiss here.

Think of the light of heaven, not of the light of Handfire, he jested to himself. Ironically the darkness around him was complete. Again he put his hands before him, clasping them in prayer. What prayer would Uncle Duncan offer at a time like this? He considered for a moment, then began a prayer in a minute whisper, gaining strength as his faith filled each word.

A torch thrust through the grill in the door, giving light to the darkness. There was a great clang on the grill behind the torch. "No sleep, and no groveling to God!" growled the angry guard. "Heaven doesn't have time for men who are already condemned to Hell." Washburn did not pause his words, rather instead, he rushed them, wanting to get to the "Amen." The Guard rattled the door disruptively, "Do I have to teach you who's boss? You're new, so I guess I do! Archer!" the guard called down the dungeon corridors, "Help me teach a lesson to this buffoon."

The torch withdrew, the lock clicked open,and the door swung wide. A pair of torches, almost blinding to Washburn, filled the tiny cell with light. Wash had to squint hard to sense the two guards entering behind the light; one was mindful, one was angry, both held clubs. Washburn's prayer fell silent with a hesitant "Amen". Had he just condemned himself to more abuse. Tensing at their dominating postures, Wash recognized one guard as the one who had brought him down here hours ago. That man looked none too pleased to be following his partner's whim. Both guards appeared strained in the flickering torchlight, both looked like they had not seen sleep in days. That made both of them a danger. Wash chastised himself for having drawn their attention, he had just wanted to say a simple prayer before he attempted greater magic. Now he did not dare to show that magic for fear they would drug him before he had a chance to make an escape attempt.

"Archer, I'll show you how ta handle these pretentious king's men. They think themselves better than us. No way! They ain't nothing but worn out flesh by the time they get down here. Grab that arm firm. Guid'! Now stretch it hard, like so. See the chain stretches his chin up, forces his head back. Ya, just like that. Hold him tight!" The two guards wrestled Washburn's right hand tell it was stretched as far the the chain allowed. His left hand pulled painfully into the ring. Their paired strength was greater than the knight could fend off. His right hand smacked against the wall. The chain between them pulled taut across his larynx.

"I got 'em, Piers." Archer claimed, holding Washburn's hand outstretched.

"You don't get to bother God any more!" Piers hissed. He dangled a leather strap before him. ((Rolling for guard /r 2d6 @Laurna: 2d6 = (6+3) = 9)) "This will not only keep you from bothering God, but it will keep you awake until I tell you otherwise."  ((Rolling for Washburn disadvantage save test. /r 1d6 @Laurna: 1d6 = (4) = 4)) Wash held his jaw closed until the guard purposely kicked him in the ribs. The intake of breath was all the guard needed to stuff the strap into Washburn's mouth. "Ha, you can't best me!" the guard laughed. The strap was pulled tight to the back of the knight's head and buckled to the ring. "That will take care of you. Should have done it when you first came in."

Washburn had squirmed but to no avail.  His upper torso was trapped.  His assailants were too close for him to kick. But then the angry guard stupidly backed off a pace. Washburn timed his kick well, his boot hit the man's inside thigh.((Washburn Kicking, standard attack with his boot toe /r 2d6 @Laurna: 2d6 = (5+4) = 9)) The kick made a clean connect and the guard fell back, cursing. With adrenaline rushing, Washburn tensed every muscle in his shoulder to thrust his hand against the short guard who held him. ((Washburn thrusting his arm out against the guard named Archer /r 2d6 @Laurna: 2d6 = (3+5) = 8)) Archer may have been short but he was fast, unable to hold the arm by himself, he danced away before being bruised.

"Damn you, Archer! See that spike there? Why didn't you put the chain over the spike, that would have spread his arms taut. Didn't they teach you anything?"

Belatedly the short guard pulled the torch over to see the spike in the wall. "You didn't tell me that before!" he sneered. Now that Washburn had the motion of three full feet of chain, neither guard wanted to get near to him.  Piers hefted his club and swung it into the knight's pained side. ((The pissed guard attacks with a club at the prisoner's wounded side. /r 2d6 @Laurna: 2d6 = (4+4) = 8)) Quicker than the guards thought he could respond, Wash blocked the blow with the shackles and chain on his left wrist. ((Can Washburn twist the club out of the guards hand. /r 2d6 @Laurna: 2d6 = (1+6) = 7)) Attempting the trick he had missed that morning with Otis, Wash twisted the chain around the club and pulled if from Piers's hand. Pulling the chain through the rings quickly, he managed to get enough slack for his right hand to grab at the falling club. Suddenly, the knight had the weapon well balanced in his right hand.

((Can Archer retrieve the club from Washburn's hand using hidden magic /r 3d6 @Laurna: 3d6 = (5+4+1) = 10)) Archer wasn't about to make a grab for the club, he knew better than that. "Wait. Valerian gave me something better than a weapon." With a devious smile, Archer stepped into the reach of the club. Wash began the weapon's swing.

Piers yelled, "Are you mad?"

Archer yelled out a forceful, "Hold!" Without Piers knowing it, Archer put magic into the compulsion, just in case he was wrong. He wasn't wrong. Washburn's every muscle froze unmoving. Piers tapped the prisoner's feet, then he poked at the strap over the cheek bone.  Other than glaring eyes, the prisoner made no move. "Our grand duke gave me his voice controls, Hah!" the guard claimed.

"You didn't tell me this before," Piers accused his partner.

"You didn't tell me about the spike in the wall!" Archer countered. "Not like I can see a black spike against black stone." Without further fighting, Archer retrieved the club from the knight's clenched fist, then he hefted the chain and jammed a link over the spike on the wall. Washburn swore he saw pity in the guard's eyes as a mind brushed his mind. Finding no shields, Archer turned away from the prisoner to return the club to its owner. Piers would not have guessed there had been magic in Archer's words, but Washburn knew it for what it was. "Look Piers, he's a trained warrior, how do you think I got him down here so easily?"

"No food. No water for you, warrior. That is the last fight you will ever have," Piers snapped at the chained nobleman with a triumphant smile.

The Deryni guard watched his partner go. When he was sure he was gone, his hand touched Washburn's forehead, covering his eyes.  Your controls will help me immensely for what is to come. Feyd is indeed a Master at what he does. Impressive to me that he could set your controls so absolute. Must be frustrating for you, if you're in there somewhere. Are you? We'll figure that out later. I have a mission; I need your body, your warrior skills, not your mind. Afraid you won't like me much in the hours ahead, not until your shields return. Until then, we will make a good team. Free the world, we will, of injustice. I'll go now and take care of Piers. Get yourself prepared. The time is soon when we have a job to complete. As Archer pulled away, Washburn's eyes followed his every move. Archer nodded assuredly, then left the cell, locking the door shut behind him after he left.

A Deryni! Was he Valerian's? No! Was he Feyd's family? Oh! Perhaps a family member looking out for that 200 year old revenge? Hidden in Valerian's nest?  A coup was underway, and Feyd wasn't going to take the blame for this murder. No! Washburn Morgan got to do the deed, under the guise of revenge for his father's murder.  Wash considered his next moves. It didn't take much to know this Archer could force him to do the deed. That is why Feyd had made sure he had no shields, so Master Feyd's accomplice could control Morgan's every move. Valerian had it coming to him, Washburn was sure of that. It would even put an end to the rebellion, and save Gwynedd's king no end of trouble. Not that Washburn cared about that. But what was Feyd's real motivations? Wash wouldn't live long enough to find out. Archer would be here to see to that.  Very well, best take Archer down before he was compelled to do Feyd's dirty work. 

Washburn realized the guard Archer had probably only tested for his shields and not for his returning powers. The adrenaline rush had been enough to clear the cobwebs from the magic of his family's race. While Archer was stopping Piers, Washburn needed to get out of his confinement before the assassin guard returned. ((Washburn uses telekinesis to unlock one shackel. /r 2d6 @Laurna: 2d6 = (6+2) = 8)) A mind trick more precious than any he had ever learned, opening locks, came to him with practiced ease. The pin in the lock turned the shaft. It slid opened just like someone had turned a key. One hand came free.  Washburn turned his mind to the second shackle. The lock was just in his peripheral range. ((Second shackle unlocked. /r 2d6 @Laurna: 2d6 = (6+2) = 8)) With the same ease, the second shackle fell away. Both hands free, it was a matter of fumbling with the strap holding his head firm in one place. ((Unbuckling strap with telekinesis. faster than if he used his hands. /r 2d6 @Laurna: 2d6 = (4+3) = 7 Ok not faster.)) Unable to visualize the buckle behind him, Washburn spent precious long minutes fumbling with tense fingers to release the buckle.

Could he get free before Archer returned?
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on September 23, 2018, 03:57:04 PM
Iain's feet were racing, as was his mind-- could he pull this off? It would take all the experiences of a lifetime to reach his end goal. His orders from his King were to spy on Valerian and to disable him by any means possible. That means was locked up in a cell behind him. And that was one big angry man he just left there. He needed more time to gain Sir Washburn's trust, even if he had that time, he had doubts he could get passed the facade of hate that Master Feyd had overwhelmed the Lendour knight with. There certainly was no time to deal with that now, It would take considerable time and energy to undo what had been done, and that would have to be after they escaped. 

Iain ran up the corridor. He jammed his torch in the bracket opposite the torch that Piers had just placed there. Then he ran around the last bend, which put him at the base of the ladder. The only other light came down from the shaft opening above.  Silhouetted against that light, Iain could see Piers climbing; he was a third of the way up. He had to be stopped before he got the attention of the senior guard in the entrance guard room. Iain started his ascent, faster than his partner. Piers felt him on the ladder, slowed his climb, and called down. "Only one of us is allowed up top at once. It is my turn and you know it."

"Haven't we both been down here long enough?" Archer said disgustedly. "I could really use some grog."

"You and me both," Piers replied. "You go back down and I'll bring you some. In about an hour. I need a break."

"Dang man! An Hour?" Archer exclaimed as he reached the rung just below Pier's feet, "Not good enough by half."

Piers put a hand down and pointed below. "Get back down there and do your job, or I will report you." He was reaching for the club at his belt to enforce his command. That's when the Deryni Baron Iain Cameron, known here as the guard Archer lunged upward and grabbed Piers's hand. ((Jerusha> !roll 2d6 roll for Iain. 12:35 PM <•derynibot> I'm back! 1, 6 == 7)) That was the contact Iain needed. In a flash of thoughts, the baron had control of his guard-duty partner. You left your club in the prisoner's cell, remember?. You need to go return for it. Don't want the senior guard to find out what happened down there, Iain insinuated the idea into Piers's mind. The guard made an exasperated sound like he had just remembered something, he reversed his climb and started heading back down. Iain hung off the edge of the ladder to let him pass. As he came to eye level, Iain's hand touched Piers's forehead. You don't see me. Follow my orders. Climb back down and retrieve your weapon. Then he pulled the club from the guard's belt and let him descend. Archer descended when Piers reached the floor. Then he followed behind his partner, hefting his own torch from the bracket after Piers had his. One behind the other, they entered the cell block and walked back to Valerian's special guest's suite. Not paying any attention to Archer behind him, Piers had his keys in hand. Under mind controlled he found the correct one, placed it in the lock, and turned it.

As the bolt came free, Iain gave a small smile and slid his hand back over his partner's forehead. He checked his manipulations. If time came when Piers was Truth Read, the guard  would admit to returning to Washburn's cell to get his club. In the confrontations of before, Archer had pulled the club from Washburn's hand, but had put it down on the floor where it had been forgotten. Piers would freely admit this is why he returned. The thought of retribution for giving the prisoner the same injurious kick he had received was already in Piers's mind. Iain didn't have to contrive that retaliation, he just removed any restraint Piers might have had for causing Brioc's prisoner more injury. Brioc was nearly dead anyway, he wasn't going to come down here and find out anytime soon.  This let Piers's blood boil with anticipation of retribution. Of course, Archer would come in and stop him from it hopefully winning him some trust in the prisoner's mind. A small plus he hoped. A Truth Say would find Piers at fault for Washburn's escape and not Archer's. Of course, a full mind reading of his partner would discover the truth. But who would honestly want to mind read a guard. That might happen, but long after Iain and Washburn had escaped.

Certain that his controls were set, Iain let Piers enter the prisoner's cell.

------------------
Washburn turned frantic as he saw torch-light nearing the grill. Damn, he had to get that buckle loose. (( 12:52 PM<•Washburn> !roll 2d6  12:52 PM  <•derynibot> I'm back! 5, 2 == 7)) It came free just as he heard the fumbling of keys. Still in the dark, he jerked the strap off his head. And pulled it from his teeth. Now was his chance, Move or die! he yelled at himself.

((•washburn>  washburn standing and getting to the door before it opened  3:25 PM !roll 2d6  3:25 PM <•derynibot> 6, 3 == 9))

He was far less agile than he should have been. Pain ripped through his ribs. He repressed a grunt and stood, pushing off the wall to run at the opening door. A guard walked in and Washburn tackled him. ((3:31 PM  <•washburn>  tackling guard to the ground, if failed guard does not fall. 3:31 PM !roll 2d6  3:31 PM <•derynibot> 6, 3 == 9))

The guard Piers took the assault full in the stomach. Both men tumbled to the stone floor of the cell doorway. Washburn tensed for a fight. The guard kicked at him but otherwise did not respond in the way a normal man would by rolling aside or striking back; Piers did nothing in his defense.  Even when Washburn raised his fist, intent to knock the guard's teeth out, there was no recognition from the guard that he was in danger. That is when Washburn realized there was a second torch over them both.  He held his fist and looked up from the floor at Archer who was smiling mischievously over them.

Angered by the assassin Deryni's cleverness for evading his first attack, Wash jumped up to attack his  intended target.
((Washburn's initiative roll vs Archer. 1:18 PM !roll 2d6 1:18 PM <•derynibot> 4, 1 == 5))
((Iain's initiative roll vs Washburn 4:49 PM <Jerusha> !roll 2d6 4:49 PM  <•derynibot> 3, 4 == 7))

Archer was quick to sidestep and to call out "Morgan, Hold!" and that was all it took to stop the mountain of anger from crashing down on the shorter man. Watching the blood throbbing in the knight's neck, Iain breathed out "Thank you, grand duke," knowing Washburn would pulverize him if had not been for the use of those voice controls. He walked over to Piers, "Get up you fool!''  Piers stood awkwardly, he shook from the blow, but it wasn't he that Iain kept his eye on. No, it was those pulsing blue eyes that were a full head higher than his own. Eyes that ragged in anger. Washburn was a big man. That Morgan blood was telling and hard not to respect. Iain did respect the Morgan's, yet that was not what was going to win this Morgan over, nor calm him down, not at this moment.

"Look, Sir Washburn, I'm on your side! I want to get you out of here. You have to trust me in this. If you want freedom, don't fight with me. This will be a lot easier on both of us if you willingly follow my lead." Showing good faith, Iain eased up on his mind control, letting Washburn move and settle from his attacking stance.

Tense as a bear, Washburn straightened his back and squared his shoulders. "Your Feyd's man, Yes?" The tall knight accused, certain in his mind that Archer was.  "I don't willing follow anything Feyd asks of me." Morgan flexed his arms in defiance. He stood even taller than Iain remembered see him in Rhemuth.  Remembering well that day the knight had won the Elven Kingdom's Tournament, he'd out fought every foe who had entered the arena with a sword that day. Including some men of Norse who stood as tall as ancient evergreen trees. As they had been taller than Washburn by a head, the Baron of Isles felt Wash towering over him by equal amount. Size wasn't everything, the Lendour knight had gained victory over both Norsemen, just as Iain knew he could win if he and Wash came to a fist fight. Not a prospect he looked forward to. Talk first, win him over with words.

"I'm not an accomplice of Master Feyd," Iain asserted. "You rest easy on that account.  Let us just say, my employer wants to take Grand Duke Valerian down, even more so than you do." Iain used his own council deciding not to mention Kelson; he did not know just how much hate for Kelson, Feyd had instilled in Morgan.

"You don't know what I want," the prisoner hissed.

"You want freedom, and you want revenge for those who put you here. It was not I. I swear on my mother's grave. With me you can get free. Without me you don't stand a chance." Iain stared at the blue eyes, recognition of truth seemed to show through. How Washburn could truth read without his powers, Iain didn't have time to contemplate.  "Piers," Iain called using his magic as persuasion. "Sit yourself where the prisoner sat." Archer pointed to the back wall. Giving one last assuring look at Washburn, he stepped passed the knight into the cell. He found his own key ring at his belt, then knelled over his old partner. One wrist he shoved into the shackles and gave the key a twist, the second wrist he did the same, locking it down. The fact that the shackles had simply been unlocked and not broken was a fact that Iain did not miss. It forced him to keep a wary eye on the knight by the cell door. But there was one thing he could not resist. "Ah yes, I have not forgotten about the spike on the wall." He lifted the guard's right shackle and slapped the chain over the spike. "No harsh feelings about this, but I think you deserve a taste of your own medicine." Iain put his hand over his old partner's eyes, "Sir Washburn attacked you and took your keys and locked you in his place. Be thankful he didn't kill you. Well, on second thought, you might not see the sun again, so you might wish he had. You've wanted sleep for hours, here is your chance, Sleep!" Iain commanded.

Washburn's thoughts were rampant. He did not trust this Archer, who ever he was. It was truth enough that it would take both of them to escape this place. Never was Washburn one to take orders from a man not his superior. The best way to assure his escape was to switch their rolls. Washburn needed to be in control, not let this Archer fellow control him. Archer's momentary concentration had turned to the chained guard. Washburn took the few paces very slowly to approach Archer from behind. He had never tried what he had read he could do. Could he find the spot? Would it truly work? Only one way to find out. If he failed, it was his freedom on the line. ((Does Washburn succeed in blocking Iain. 2d6 standard test,  results = 4 + 4 = 8 Verification Number: 1xfvdrst6z Nope))

His hand missed the assassin's head, for Archer was not so trusting as to have turned a blind eye to the angry knight.

Archer ducked down, jumping up squarely in the cell's corner with both feet facing his opponent, his balance was well trained. Iain didn't know what the knight had just attempted, but his gut feeling was that it was no good. He could wrestle this huge man down if he needed to. He had the advantage even if it wasn't size. The knight was a warrior, his strengths were with swords, there were no swords here. Only two clubs in the room and Iain had both of them on his belt. Iain wanted to negotiate Washburn's compliance, else-wise this was going to be a hard escape.  "You attacked me, why? You know I could make you kill yourself with just a few words. I don't need you to do the job I was employed to do. It just makes it easier for both of us if you're the one. Perhaps then you'll earn the trust from your brother. Become a hero in your family's eyes. Then the Duke of Corwyn will reinstate you back into the line of inheritance."

"What? reinstate?...I was never disinherited." Washburn's anger peaked.

"As of this morning, you were." Wrong thing to say to a man who was six foot three inches and as broad as a horse, iain chided himself.

Washburn lunged.
((Bynw" Fist fight is 1d6"
6:37 PM  <•washburn> Laurnarose ok thanks
6:38 PM Fist fight Washburn against Iain Add three XP for 1d6 success 4,5,6.
6:38 PM !roll 1d6
6:38 PM  <•derynibot> 3 == 3))

The lunge wasn't precise, even fully angered, the knight protected his right side. Fast with a sword wasn't the same as fast with his fists. The space was small, yet the guard Archer rolled decisively out of the knight's reach. He jumped up to his feet at the cell door. The two had just switched places. To Washburn's own horror, he realized Archer could so easily just slam the door and lock him in. His anger might have just cost him everything.

Iain desperately racked his brains for something that would stop the angry man in front of him from exploding and bringing the wrath of God, or more accurately the Devil down upon them. Any more disturbances and they were likely to incite the other prisoners who were surely listening. Piers had made it quite apparent that no one had been allowed to sleep. Having the upper hand standing at the door, gave Iain a chance to again scan through Washburn's unshielded thoughts. Damn, did the man trust no-one. Feyd had done his job too well. Strands of loose pale hair fell over Iain's face. Distractedly, he dashed them aside, realizing in the roll that his cap had come off. When he looked back at Morgan there was the strangest look in the man's eyes. A recognition of a friend that seemed to calm the bear inside.

"Darcy?" Wash stammered, knowing it couldn't be, yet in the torchlight this man could have been his friend's twin.

Continuing his scan of the warrior before him, Iain saw an eerily familiar face jump out at him. Darcy! It had to be. His little brother grown to be a man, in company with a rugged country priest and a slender figure that blurred between that of a man and a woman in Washburn's memory. In all the hate and anger, they were the only three who filled Washburn's memory with trust, them and a servant girl; Iain didn't explore those memories. Well, he wasn't any sort of priest, nor yet a woman, but Iain looked as like to his grown up younger brother Darcy as two peas. That then was the key.

"I'm Iain, Baron 'o Isles, Darcy's brother." Iain brushed his hair back again. It wasn't going to stay back without his cap. "Darcy and his companions are in route to here, if we can get you free, we will meet up with them. I can feel your powers returning. So, read the truth and trust what I say. I'm not Feyd's man. I am here to spy on the leaders of the rebellion and to thwart them if possible. We work together on this, we can do the job I need to to. That will get us both out of this hell hole, and into the company of my brother and your friends."

Washburn's stance eased considerably. "I read your truth and I trust that your blood 'o Isles be as honorable as the blood in your younger brother. Darcy is a good man." Washburn took a step forward, then cringed, holding his right side. His ribs had become aggravated by all the motion. He held out a hand when Iain would come closer.  "I need a moment or I will never get back up that ladder." He unknotted his belt and loosened his tunic, pulling the green silk and the black linen shirt up, exposing his ribs that looked angrily black in the torch light. He flattened both hands over his ribs. His eyes unfocussing into a trance state.

(( Washburn healing self healing test 1d6. 11:20 AM !roll 1d6  11:20 AM  <•derynibot> 6 == 6. Hit points healed self healing =1d6/2 (round up)!roll 1d6 11:22 AM  <•derynibot> 5 == 5. That is 3 hit point healed.That puts Wash back to full health. I must thank our GM for using non-torenthi dice for these rolls.))

Words come to Washburn as he performs the skill that had passed down to him from his father. A hand not unknown to him warmed the top of his own hands as power and health restore what was broken and abused.
We go out in the world and take our chances
Fate is just the weight of circumstances
That's the way that lady luck dances
Roll the bones

Why are we here?
Because we're here
Roll the bones
Why does it happen?
Because it happens
Roll the bones"


Camber smiles at him as he says the last words almost in song. Washburn's tension eases, feeling better than he had in days.

Iain watches, amazed. As the big man's hands fall away, the flesh had returned to whole, no markings of injury left to be seen.  Just before Washburn settled his shirt, Iain saw a flask hanging from the knight's neck. 'What is that?" he asks.

Washburn's hand moves his shirt up again exposing a green caped flask. But his hand will not touch it and as quickly he pulls his shirt down and then his tunic, hiding the flask. "That is a gift from Feyd. A gift of power and of madness, one that only a madman would dare to take." Washburn retrieves his belt and knots it back on. "Let's get out of here."


Thank you muchly goes out to Revanne and Jerusha for helping me with Iain's thoughts and words.
*Roll the bones lyrics by Rush. Sung in honor of Bynw's rolls for me.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on September 25, 2018, 09:12:29 AM
Valerian checked in briefly with the lone guard left standing watch in the Portal room. "I am going to Ratharkin to get the latest reports from Baron Oswald. I shall not be gone for very long."

"Aye, Your Grace," the guard replied. After a moment's pause, as Valerian strode past him to stand upon the Portal stone, the guard dared to ask, "And how is Lord Brioc faring, Your Grace?"

"Still alive," came the brusque reply as Valerian prepared to balance the energies between the portal he stood on and the one in Ratharkin. "But should that change, assure Her Majesty I shall return shortly." With that, the Grand Duke disappeared.
#
Not very long thereafter, Grand Duke Valerian took a few sips of a fine Vezairi port from Prince Rory Haldane's special collection. He smiled sardonically at Baron Oswald. "Didn't waste any time locating the Haldane usurper's stash, did you?"

Oswald shrugged philosophically. "His loss is our gain." He grinned. "I doubt he'll miss it much, given his much greater loss of Ratharkin!"

"True." Valerian savored another sip of the ruby red wine. "And now on to the business at hand. How soon will we be ready to march on Laas?"
#

((In the meantime, Brioc has already rolled 3 of his 4 rolls to see if he gets any more damage from Feyd's poisoned dagger.
<Brioc> !roll 2d6
<derynibot> 6, 5 == 11 This is his fourth roll, so I guess he is past the worst and will make a full recovery.))

Sidana lifted her weary head from her arms as she sensed a subtle shift in her father's breathing. Lifting a shaky hand to his brow, she was relieved to discover his fever had broken. His brow was slightly moist with perspiration, but it was cool to the touch now, and as her hand rested upon it, she was relieved to see his chest rise and fall in the deep, rhythmic breaths of normal sleep. She sensed that he was over the worst of it now.

Relief flooded through her, lending her a brief surge of energy to replace that depleted by the traumatic events of the day. Rising, she opened the door. Peering out at the guard, she informed him in the most commanding, self-assured voice she could muster, "Our Lord Father seems to be through the worst of things, but We would like his physician's opinion on that."

The guard hesitated, unwilling to leave his royal charge unguarded for even a moment, for he'd been given orders never to leave the vulnerable young Queen unescorted, but as she raised an imperious eyebrow at his hesitation, he had second thoughts about the wisdom of disobeying his Queen and scurried down the corridor, glancing back towards her to assure himself of her safety as he knocked on a nearby door. Sidana, guessing the reason for his protective backwards glance, rolled her eyes and stamped a dainty foot in exasperation. "For heaven's sake, would you stop imagining demons under every doily?!" she exclaimed. "Just do as I say!"

Blushing, the guard turned towards the opening door, and after a hasty whispered conference with the physician within, both men returned to the bedchamber in which Lord Brioc lay. The physician slipped past the young Queen to assess his patient's condition, the guard starting to follow in curiosity.

"His Grace will want to hear the wonderful news at once!" Sidana exclaimed happily. The guard turned, starting to offer her an escort to the Grand Duke's chambers, but she waved him off. "We will certainly be safe enough with the Grand Duke. Your place is with Our lord father. Do you think Us so helpless that We cannot manage a single flight of stairs unescorted? We have not relieved you from your post!"  His cheeks stinging with shame at the second dressing-down, the guard resumed his position by the door as his Queen joyfully struck off down the corridor and took the stairs two at a time down the stairs. He told himself he was being overly cautious--after all, with all the entrances well guarded, what could possibly happen to Her Majesty in her own home?

Sidana, free at last of the encumbrance of her constant, annoying escort, went straight to the chamber that Grand Duke Valerian had set up as his private study and ritual chamber. To her consternation, he was not there when she arrived. But after a moment's thought, she realized that mattered little. What mattered was that he was certain to return there soon, and when he did, she would be there to tell him the wonderful news.  With that happy thought, she sank down onto the comfortable cushions of his window seat, her weariness returning, and fell asleep with a happy smile on her face.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on September 25, 2018, 04:44:14 PM
After the day he had had, and then the tussle with Shadow, a man surely deserved that what little sleep he could get should be undisturbed? That at least was Columcil's grumpy thought as he woke in the early morning light. He could not immediately remember what had woken him, but then he realised that his sleep had been disturbed by insistent dreams of his grandfather. Oh merciful heavens! He supposed that he would have been expected to contact him to report back on Darcy's reaction to Aliset's deception. God above! Did the man never sleep. Somewhat sheepishly, Columcil reminded himself that it was not unreasonable to suppose that the Archbishop of Rhemuth would be punctilious about his early morning devotions and neither was it unreasonable to suppose that he might expect the same of one of his priests.

His reasoning did not, however, make him feel any more good natured with himself or the world and it was with an ill grace that he reached into the neck of his cassock for the shiral crystal which lay against his chest, and sitting up focused his eyes as best he could on it, muttering the words which would enable him to enter into rapport with the Archbishop ((5+5+4 = 14 68006d4cpw)).

And a good morning to you.

If ye say, so yer Grace.

Is all not well?

Aye, if ye dinna count bein' kept awake half th' neet by that bloody randy stallion we're tekin wi' us whae doesn'a ken why he's no gettin' his share o' the action!

With utter horror Columcil woke up properly just too late to realise the thoughts he had just shared and with whom. Had the Archbishop been present in the flesh he would have fallen on his knees, even prostrated himself, the better to hide from the look of shocked disapproval that must surely being directed at him. As it was, all he could do was to mentally send a gabbled apology. He was relieved, if somewhat disconcerted, to sense nothing but laughter in return. And indeed Duncan, sitting in his study, was laughing so much that it was as well that, this early, none of his chaplains were yet present. Finally he got enough of a grip on himself to Send,

It's as well you have your father's way with beasts.  Though I've no doubt you're not finding it funny, especially since I then woke you at the crack of dawn. Forgive me for finding it so, there has been little to laugh at of late.

There was gentle sympathy in Duncan's tone, but his next question was sharper, though no means accusatory.

Am I to take it, then, that things have moved rapidly beyond a betrothal?

Being careful this time to censor his thoughts, or he would have replied, If I'd no wed them I'm no sure which o' them I'd 'a' bin buryin', Columcil replied,

Aye, ma lord, gi'en as they were both willin', and seein' as we dinna ken whae's ta happen ta ony o' us. I hope that I've no done wrong and tha' his Majesty will no' be angered wi' Darcy,

This time it was Duncan's turn to guard his thoughts, given that Kelson's decision to grant Darcy's request for her hand had been accompanied by a snort and the words, "I'm only grateful that it will be Javan who will have to deal with any children those two will produce."

They need have no fear of that, his Majesty will simply be grateful that Lady Aliset is being taken care of.

There was a short silence in which the words, "And no longer his responsibility," hung between them before Duncan continued.

Is there any thing else, or shall I leave you to continue your much interrupted sleep? I'll absolve you from saying any of the offices until Sext.

Best get it over with. Maybe one day he could converse with his grandfather without having to beg pardon.

There is one other thing, your Grace.

What have you done?

Duncan's mental tone was caught between amusement and exasperation. Columcil was downright alarmed at the thought that his Archbishop could Read beyond what he had offered in rapport, and his alarm gave an edge of anger to his thought.

"How did yer Grace ken tha' 'twas aught t' do wi'me when I didn'a say so?"

Now Duncan was simply amused.

Because you only call me, "your Grace", outside of formal occasions, if you are feeling angry or guilty.

Columcil had long respected the man who was both his Archbishop and his grandfather and was coming to love him, but did the man always have to be right?

Aye, well this time I'm askin' yer pardon agen. Darcy was worrit that he was no doin' th' reet thing in weddin' wi' Aliset. No for himself but in case his Majesty would be angered wi' Aliset and he didn'a want tha'. He douted tha' a wee country priest like ma'sen would ken as well as I claimed what the King's mind was in the matter. An' well I'm sorry ta say it but he got ma dander up and I up and tellit him that his Grace o' Cassan is me Da and ye me Grandsire. I'm sorry I lost ma temper wi' him, and I confess t'a lettin ma pride get the better o' me, but t' tell truth I'm no sorry tha' I was honest wi' him. He's a guid friend ta me.

There was a silence which no doubt seemed longer than it actually was, but when Duncan's reply came it sounded resigned rather than angry.

It's a pity you and your father both are not as good at calming your own tempers as you are at soothing fractious beasts, but I think that I and your mother were wrong and it is for you to tell who you chose. But Lady Aliset should be told too, either by you or Darcy, I would not have you be the cause of a secret that cuts between husband and wife. Ego te absolvo.

Columcil crossed himself at the words of absolution as his grandfather continued

I rather think I gave you your penance already by waking you at such an hour. before breaking the contact.

Columcil tucked the shiral slowly back into the neck of his cassock then wrapped himself back in his cloak and lay back down. They could not afford to linger on this journey but he was not about to be the one who woke a newly married couple after their wedding night. Soon he was sleeping again.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on September 26, 2018, 11:50:27 AM



Brendan was glad to be away from the main Gwynedd army. Not that he was happy about being in the company of Lord Jaxom. Be that as it may, the man at least knew this area like the back of his hand.

They had left Prince Javan and Prince Alban at mid afternoon. The army had reach Cuiltriene. They had inserted the locals who had meet them there into their numbers. The plan was for the army to continue West to Pardiac through the Cloome Mountains and down the valley toward the coast line to the city of Cloome.  They would then turn north toward Laas. Some might even take ship to Laas if the weather held. The army would be skirting across the north of the Connait, which required permission of those principalities. The emissaries of Pardiac  and Travelga meet with Javan in Cuiltriene and assured him that the roads were clear. For a small fee of course. Information also came that some of the smaller Principalities of the Connait had hired out to the Mearan rebellion and were already joined North with the forces in Ratherkin. This news was disheartening, but not surprising. The independence of those men who ruled the small principalities, fiefs, and baronies that made of this western part of the continent could never agree on anything. Even Kelson could not combine them into a single treaty with a single overlord to deal with. He had given up the cause years ago and had tried to keep their loyalties through trade agreements and good faith. Apparently the Grand Dukes coin meant more to some than Kelson's forty years of faithful treatment.

Lord Brendan, Lord Jaxom and fifteen men road out north on the Cuitriene road. Their first stop was to be the old Micheline ruins that lay in a valley along the river, halfway between Cuiltreine and Droghera. They should reach it in about an hour.  The team that had struck out to rescue a knight seen in those ruins the day before had still not been heard from. Despite orders that they were supposed to join the Javan's forces when their efforts were complete. Brendan knew from news from Laird Arilan that that team had meet with failure. Just how much failure, Brendan and Jaxom were about to find out.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on September 26, 2018, 01:03:32 PM
Darcy Cameron felt the warm sunlight on his face and stretched, feeling the warmth of his wife's body beside his.  His wife!  Feelings of pride fought with awe at the thought of it.  He opened his eyes and pushed his pale hair back from his face.  He couldn't quite remember when his border braid had come undone, but his attention had been directed elsewhere at the time. 

He saw the position of the sun in the morning sky and sat upright.  He had overslept!  He should have had them on the road by now.

"Up," he said aloud.  "I must get up...."

"Darcy!" said the woman beside him.  "That wasn't a concern I remember you having earlier."

"What?"  Confused, Darcy looked over and saw Aliset's eyes dancing with mirth.  "That's not what I meant, woman!"  He leaned over and silenced the laughter that was about to surface with a resounding kiss.  "Careful," he said after a moment.  "Or we might not leave for days, maybe weeks.  And good morning to you, too, my love."  He kissed the tip of her nose and rose, gathered his clothes over one arm and walked unabashedly to the nearby trees to look after his morning needs.

Aliset rolled to her side and watched him go, his pale hair reaching below his shoulders and swinging gently with his slightly rolling walk.  She saw clearly the many scars on his back that she had felt the night before.  Darcy has assured her they caused him no discomfort, and they were no worse than any other man's who had served at sea.  She realized how glad she was that he would not be returning to that former life.  With a tad more decorum than her husband, Aliset quickly donned her own clothes to prepare for the day.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on September 27, 2018, 12:24:14 PM
Sir Iain Cameron managed to retrieve his cap and secure it over his pale hair while Washburn Morgan settled his own clothes back into somewhat respectable order.  Iain knew the Healing trait ran in the Morgan family, but he had not known Washburn was a Healer.  Good to know that now.  Iain curbed his curiosity about whatever Master Feyd had given to Washburn.  He continued to wear the flask on its cord around his neck but spoke as if he would never touch it.  No gift from Feyd would come without dire consequences, and Iain had no desire to play with fire.  At least not right now.

Iain picked up one of the torches wedged into the holder; he hesitated for a moment and then handed the second torch to Washburn.  He did not know how far, or even if, he could trust Washburn, but on the other hand a torch remaining by the cell would cause someone to investigate if they came this way.

"Follow me and remember I can still control you."  Iain led the way down the narrow corridor and stopped when they reached the ladder.  "I'll go first.  The senior guard will be expecting Piers or me to show up soon.  With luck, I can immobilize him without any commotion.  Stay in the shadows and try not to draw attention to yourself. I'll tell you when to come up."  Iain stuck his torch in the holder near the foot of the ladder and started climbing up.

Washburn was still not pleased to be taking orders from this man, but he withdrew to one side and placed his torch in the holder beside Iain's.

Iain ascended the ladder without trying to hide his approach.  As he had told Washburn, the senior guard would be expecting one of them to appear soon.  As Iain's head appeared in the opening above, he saw that the senior guard was mixing something in a goblet.

"I expected you sooner," the senior guard said. 

"Piers was having too much fun with our respected guest," Iain replied as he climbed up the rest of the ladder and entered the guard room.

"You'll need to go back down and give our guest his special treat."

"Nay, I need some air, and sleep would be even better," Iain protested.  "Let Piers do it later."

"You'll do as you are told or regret it," said the senior guard with a sneer.  "This will keep our guest quite uncomfortable for a while.  Be glad you are not one of that race."

Iain shrugged.  "Piers best not think I've given up my turn up here," he said as he reached for the goblet.

"Not my problem."  The senior guard held the goblet out toward Iain.

((Will Iain be able to take control of the senior guard's mind?
Jerusha
!roll 3d6  (focused attempt to take control of the guard's mind)
8:58:00 PM
@derynibot
2, 6, 3 == 11
Yes!  (Oops, I rolled one dice too many, but Bynw said to drop the last dice and Iain still succeeds.  Bless you, GM) ))

Iain touched the guard's hand as he passed the goblet to him.  With practiced ease, Iain took control of the man's mind. Make no sound. Sit quietly and see nothing. He laid a hand across the guard's brow, reinforced the controls and then moved to the open hatch.

"Come up now quietly, Sir Washburn," Iain said into the gloom below.

Washburn lost no time climbing up the ladder and out of the dank dungeon.  Iain repositioned the chair with the unresponsive guard to one end of the table where the guard could only be partially seen if someone opened the door.  If a senior guard was accidently seen napping, most would hesitate to disturb him.  For a moment he looked at the goblet and made a decision. 

Drink this; all of it," he instructed the senior guard.

Washburn, whose throat was parched from lack of any drink, raised a hand in protest.  "You would waste that drink on him?"

"The wine was meant for you and is likely laced with merasha.  Unless you desire that hell, let's allow the guard to sleep it off.  All the more convincing."  Iain placed the now empty goblet beside the guard's limp hand.

Washburn shuddered. He had had enough of drugged drinks and food.

Iain paused to listen carefully for any sign they had been noticed.  There was none.  "Now we'll leave here as we entered before, with you as my prisoner.  Valerian's study is likely above on the next floor, near the portal room.  Be watchful, but give no sign that anything is not what it appears to be."

Before they moved to the door, Iain glanced at the wooden weapons chest.  "Wait," he said and opened the lid.  Inside was Washburn's sword.  Iain hesitated and then retrieved it from the chest.  He handed it across to Washburn, hilt first.  "I am putting a fair amount of trust in this," he said quietly.

Washburn looked at the sword, part of the Lendour set he thought was lost to him.  "Thank you.  I will not run it through your back."

"One must be content with small gifts," Iain said dryly.  He moved to the door and listened closely.  "There is no better time for this."

Washburn secured his sword to his side and moved forward to stand beside Iain.  Iain grasped his arm and led him through the doorway.

They did not have to go far to reach the stairs leading to the upper levels.  Iain paused at the foot to let another guard descend.  Unlike King Kelson's court, there was no sense of camaraderie here.  Each man kept his nose to the ground to complete his appointed task.  No one wanted to draw the attention of Lord Brioc or the grand duke.  All the better.

Iain and Washburn ascended the stairs, Washburn playing his part of the docile prisoner.  Iain judged that  Valerian's study would not be far from the portal room.  There were only two doors that opened off  the corridor and both doors were closed. 

((Will Iain detect anyone in the first room.
Jerusha
!roll 2d6
7:53:40 PM
@derynibot
3, 4 == 7
Failure, no.))

He scanned the first room with his senses as they approached the door; it was empty.  The second door was more sturdily built.  He tried again.

((Will Iain detect someone in the second room
7:53:52 PM
Jerusha
!roll 2d6
7:53:53 PM
@derynibot
3, 5 == 8
Yes))

Iain detected a presence inside this room, but it was very still.  It might be Valerian, or it might not.  He would have to take the chance. He opened the door slightly; whoever was inside did not seem to notice.  He opened the door wider and slipped inside, Washburn behind him.

The room was empty except for an exquisite young woman dozing on the window seat cushions.  He recognized her at once - Sidana!  He moved across the distance to her as swiftly and quietly as he could.  He touched his finger barely against her forehead to take control.

((Will Iain be able to establish control over Sidana.
Jerusha
!roll 2d6
7:54:07 PM
@derynibot
2, 2 == 4
Oops!))

Iain gasped as his powers bounced off Sidana's unexpected shields.  Sidana's eyes flew open and she instinctively tried to rise from the window seat.  Iain clapped his hand over her mouth, and with limited options available to him, threw himself over her body to hold her down.

"Washburn," he hissed.  "She has shields...ouch!"  He fought the impulse to withdraw the hand over her mouth as her teeth sunk into his palm.  "A little help here!"

For just a moment Washburn was torn in his decision, but Iain Cameron was his best hope of escape.  "Let me try this," he responded.

((Can Washburn block Sidana's powers
10:17 AM Washburn Rolls for Jerusha to use in her writing.
10:17 AM Washburn !roll 2d6
10:17 AM <•derynibot> I'm back! 6, 6 == 12
Oh yeah!))

Washburn extended his fingertips to the woman's forehead, searching for the trigger point.  To his innermost joy, he sensed the proper location, as described in the scroll.  With gentle pressure, Washburn blocked whatever Deryni potentials she possessed, including her shields.  As Iain's powers suddenly overwhelmed her, her cry of pain was muffled behind Iain's hand.

"Sweet Jesu," Iain said.   "What did you just do?"  Not waiting for an answer, he reduced the focus of his own powers to ease her distress. "You will relax now and do whatever I say. You will not call for help.  I will not hurt you,"  he added, noting the alarm in her eyes.  "Nor will I compromise you in any way." Iain laid his hand across her brow to reinforce his controls.

"I blocked her powers," Washburn responded.

Iain froze momentarily as he disentangled himself from the woman on the window seat, helping her to sit upright again, uncomfortably aware of Sidana's attractiveness as well as her vulnerability under his controls.  "I have heard of such a skill but thought it lost."  He turned to look at Washburn.  "Don't even think it.  You need me to get us to a safe portal; you can't do it on your own."

Washburn considered the possibility of turning the tables but knew Darcy's brother spoke the truth.  "Do you know who she is?"

"Oh aye, that I do," Iain said.  "She's a greater prize than you and may ensure our escape.  May I present Sidana de Paor, Pretender Queen of Meara."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on September 29, 2018, 02:37:44 PM
Lord Jaxom, heir of Trillshire, proudly lead the Earl of Marley along with their combined force of men down a fork off the main Cuiltriene road which was a far less traveled path.  Three or four miles of rugged country passed by before they saw the broken tower of the ruins in the distance. They galloped the last way, watching for glimpses of the lake that filled this end of the valley and seeing the central island upon which once stood a grand cathedral and cloister for the House of Michaeline Knights. As they rode nearer, Brendan saw it really wasn't an island. A verdant causeway connected the shattered ruins to the road. From their direction the causeway was  straight ahead and the road turned right just before the lake. In its time, there had been a great bridge to go over the expanse of water to the island. When the bridge was felled, sediment must have filled in around the stone and filled up with vegetation to bring about this swampy wilds that made a barely walkable passage to the roofless ruins.

Where the road turned, the Gwynedd soldiers slowed before four men who bravely approached them.  Two youths garnered the most attention, calling and pointing to the ruins. Behind the boys, two men who had been sitting off the road climbed to their feet, using each other for assistance. One was in a uniformed of a guard from a local town, his clothes were stained and torn. The second man in plain clothes limped forward, his calf splinted, his booted foot at an off angle. Jaxom showed his irritation as he shush the boys, for they were jabbering on incoherently about a father or uncle; Brendan figured it had to be the same man. The uniform guard was the one to succeed in quieting the boys. Jaxom address the guard asking what had happened here.

"T'is not but evil in these ruins. I say beware, my lords," replied the guard who had introduced himself as Andrew. "Even so, we daren't leave here, as there are men in there who need help. I have heard their voices periodically through the day, begging to be rescued from whatever hell they be caught in. I fear I am no use for doing the rescuing myself," his gaze over his shoulder had a haunted look, his disability wasn't from the abrasions up and down his legs. No his injury was more internal than physical. Brendan realized this as he could feel the man's fear ten feet away. "Farmer Darius can vouch for the evilness there. He has an ankle swelled up tight in his boot, may like be broken. The boys are cousins, Raft and Todd. If they were but two years older, I'd have ordered them back to that evil place. I dared not, however, as Todd's father is a respected man, he told them to get to the road and stay here. So I'm respecting his last wishes, if that is what they were.  Please, I'm baggin', can you go to the ruins and find the nine other men who went in there."

As Jaxom got more details out the four, Brendan stood in his stirrups and scanned the tall stone walls of the ruins. He sensed a number of men scattered about the site. As he looked to the half fallen tower he felt a familiar presence within. So this was indeed the right place. Anxious to get to its center, Brendan mentally hailed Lord Sextus Arilan knowing he would answer. Took you long enough to arrive, the brash Arilan answered. I was hoping someone would come along and take care of the town's folk stuck out here. We can't get passed that hole in the tunnel roof, not without bringing more rubble down upon the men stuck in that tunnel. They refuse to come toward us and they refuse to go back.  Some horror that has them trapped in there. We dare not abandon the Portal long enough to make that rescue. Although, we did toss food and wine down the hole so they won't be starving.  Perhaps you can get to them from the main ruins' floor.

We shall endeavor to try. Brendan responded noting the brush infested land bridge that had to be crossed even before getting to the ruins at the center of the lake. He briefly looked up at the sun. They had about three hours of light before it set behind the hills. Much to do in that time. Brendan waved for his men to dismount. He set six men to setting a camp on the road, to settle the horses for the night, and to care for the injured men. He then clapped his hand on Jaxom's shoulder. "Feel up to leading the way?" he suggested with a gesture toward the causeway. Up until this moment, Jaxom had been so pleased to be leader. One look at the waist high brush and he back down. Brendan pretended he did not hear him. "Lead on and show us a good path through that swamp."

Shaking his head in disbelief, Brendan watched Lord Jaxom maneuver three of his Tellik men out in front of him. One guardsman, who Brendan was beginning to respect over the others took the lead, finding the least offensive path for the young lord to not soil his quality clothes. The Earl of Marley snickered under his breath as he followed. Behind him, four guards came carrying supplies.

With no more than getting their boots wet, they reached the foot of the cliff-side, found the two ladders that scaled up to the ruins' entrance, and made the climb. Again the Earl of Marley let Lord Jaxom and his man go up first. He breasted the cliff top to stand firmly on the island before the old Cathedral side entrance to find Jaxom confronting two men who spoke in harried voices explaining what had happened.  These men were just as anxious about entering the ruins as Andrew had been on the road. "There be a nest of spiders in there!" one man was gesturing, he had a candlestick in his hand that he looked poised to smash some spider with; the candle had burnt down to a numb. "Huge spiders!" the other man agreed. Both men pointed to the only opening in the ruins' wall, they shook their fists at it, and talked crazy about spiders the size of men. Brendan walked behind them to a third man leaning up against the wall. His face was black from bruises, both eyes near swollen shut. One leg was splint with a stick.

"What happened here," Brendan asked the man.

"Captain Stev, at your service," the guardsman introduced himself. "Never had so much bad luck in all my days!" he exclaimed. "T'is a fear ward over the entrance there.  Half my team could not get pasted it. Andrew went mad and gave me this shiner," he added pointing to one of his swollen eyes. "Six men passed through and none of them have come out. I fear far worse than imagined spiders has captured them.  Last night there was yelling like a fight broke out. A few have answer my calls, but some have not. I ask you to find them.  Before it goes dark again and the evil returns."

"Agreed Captain, that is what we are here for. I am Deryni, do you mind if I read your memories. It will help me identify your men."

"Aye, you may, Lord Marley. It is said you are a leader of men, and a trusted vassal of the kingdom. I freely let you read whatever it is that can help you rescue my men and your brother. Though, I fear he whom we came here to rescue, is here no longer in this place."

Brendan knelt next to the captain and placed his hand over the man's swollen eyes.  He read the memories of the teams creation to rescue the knight the boy Raft had seen standing on the tower wall. Then all that had transpired after. Brendan wasn't a healer like his brothers, but he did know how to lessen pain, which he did for the captain. When he stood, he waved over two of his men. "See that these men are taken safely back to the road. Captain Stev, I will endeavor to find the rest of your team. On behalf of my brother, I thank you for your efforts." Brendan would not say that those efforts likely moved his brother to a new location sooner than otherwise might have happened or that all this had been the catalyst to causing his mother so much pain.  Back in Cuiltrein, he had made contact with his mother, whom he knew was lying about her bolstered strength. He was hoping he could bring this split of his family back into quick oneness. Not an easy task with such a adversary in control.

At the ruins' entrance Brendan came shoulder to shoulder with Jaxom who looked a bit peaked about stepping across the rubble to enter. When Jaxom would have braved it, Brendan put his hand up and halted him. "Let me go first in this, if you don't mind."  Jaxom didn't outwardly show it, but he his mind was an open book expressing his fear, and his relief at not lead the way. When Brendan approached the ward, he knew it for what it was. It gave off the slightest shimmer even in the sunlight. How to break it down. He considered the energy output and decided he needed to save his own for what else lay ahead. "Jaxom would you be willing to lend me a hand in a little play of magic. Nothing will hurt you, I promise."

Jaxom shuddered but dared not back down, not before his men. Uneasily, he stepped closer to the Deryni lord. "I will help if I can." he replied, his uncertainty was not too well hidden. Brendan momentarily touched the back of the man's neck, gaining a touch of control and sealing a connection that would keep the young lord from retreating.

(( Brendan to break the first fear ward in the ruins..
3:35 AM !roll 3d6
3:35 AM  <•derynibot> I'm back! 3, 4, 6 == 13
3:35 AM  <Brendan> Laurnarose I believe that will work ))

His right hand moved around in a circle, his palm flattening just a breadth before the shimmer of ward energy. A flash of a horde of spiders with beady eyes staring down at him from web covered stone walls filled his mind. Knowing it for what it was, Brendan ignored the creatures. In his connection with Jaxom, he realized he had not completely shuttered the human from the experience. If that had been on purpose, Brendan would never tell.

((Jaxom gets a save test from the spider ward.
10:25 AM !roll 2d6
10:25 AM  <•derynibot> I'm back! 5, 5 == 10))

To Brendan's surprise the young lordling did not falter in his courage or pride. "Very good, let us take this thing down."

Brendan's hands searched for the controls of the ward. It wasn't a strong ward. It was set with low energy draining off the land. It was meant to last for weeks, if not months at time, especially if bolstered once in a great while by a Deryni touch. Who knows how long it had already been here. Brendan spread his fingers wide, slowly bringing them into his palm, and then he tore the shimmer from the stone and pushed the energy back into the earth.  The ward was gone, perhaps not permanently but at least until someone came along to reset it. He released Jaxom and stepped forward into a large open space surrounded by four tall walls with sunlit grass across the floor and warm baked rocks scattered here and there. Brendan was quick to single out the haunted heart beats of three men down a side tunnel. They were unmoving and shivering in the dark.

You could have got these three out,  Brendan sent across to Sextus who had stayed in mild Rapport with the Earl.

Tried, the baron claimed. They wouldn't come up out of the hole to join us. I think they thought we were more ghosts. Something is keeping them from going back, too. You will have to see what that is. Something like the ward you just released is my guessing. I hope they ate the food we sent them, otherwise they will be right hungry men. Like I said, they think we were banshees or worse. Sextus's tone was not too forgiving of folk who didn't accept help when it was given. Brendan sighed, he himself was more forgiving of men's fears than most. Sextus had not caught the Earl's discontent, as he continued his Rapport. I'm sending the three men I have here, down to you at the tunnel hole. They will have to shimmy back down through it. I don't think a man of your stature would want to climb up it. The opening is narrow. Maybe you could blast the hole bigger, if you feel the need to get up here to the portal. No worries, I'm keeping the Portal well guarded.

I'll see what I can do, Brendan replied. He did want to see first hand where his brother had been held, just in case his mother had missed some clue. Though he doubted that she had, not from what she had shared with him.

Brendan found the side tunnel and spotted the shimmer of the yellow glow from a ward halfway down the darkened tunnel. Just as the last ward, this one too was using mother-earth as it's power source, recently augmented by the Deryni who had held his brother here. Three men stood beyond the ward, fearful to come near. They might not see the physical glow as a Deryni would, but they could feel that it was there.

((Brendan> Laurnarose Rolling to release second fear ward in the ruins.
1:22 PM !roll 3d6
1:22 PM <•derynibot> I'm back! 5, 6, 2 == 13))

Brendan again asked Jaxom to assist him in the energy drain to release the ward. Having success in the last ward had bolstered Jaxom's pride. He would be unbearable after this success.  With one hand on Jaxom and one hand casting outward to the shimmering field, the earl grasped the ward energy and cast it back into the earth. As he did so he felt the unease of ghostly presence surrounding him in this darkened passageway. He had not thought it neccessary to shield the younger lord from the experience until it was too late.

(( Second ward for Jaxom
11:14 AM !roll 2d6
11:14 AM <•derynibot> I'm back! 1, 4 == 5))

Jaxom gave a shudder and would have bolted if not for Brendan's tightening controls. Brendan scolded himself for his neglect. Shamed filled him, this was not a noble Deryni way of treating humans under his command. Brusquely, he quelled Jaxom's fear and rebuilt the man up with courage. Jaxom was certainly a man of posturing. The lordling brushed off the incident like it had never happened, and beckoned the three men to come out of the tunnel.

"Come out now, you three, come out into the light were it is safe."  Jaxom called. Brendan noticed Jaxom was the first of them to reach the safety back in the sunlight.

A man with a pitchfork was first to move out. Practically at a run, yelling "I'm Free, I'm free." A young man came next guiding an older man who had a limp. "I'm Matt. Couldn't leave John behind. But my friend is up there somewhere, I have not heard his voice all day."  Matt pointed up the hole at the far end, up in the ceiling.

Brendan put a hand on the older man. "I take it you are John? Yes! Good to meet you. Your son and nephew are well, back at our camp on the road. Let Lord Jaxom get you back to them."

"Thank you, my lord." The older man said. "I'm sorry we could not do better for the knight we came to rescue."

"Under the circumstances you did well enough."

Before the men from above came too near to the hole, Brendan studied the opening. He decided if he broke off just one portion of the stone ceiling it would make the hole considerable larger.

((!roll 3d6 11:38 AM <•derynibot> I'm back! 2, 4, 6 == 12))

Brendan gave three tugs of his power, a skill that all three brothers had gained from their mother; to move objects with just the mind. A piece of  weathered stone came apart from the rest. With care Brendan let it fall the floor making an echoing "clunk!", but not shattering apart as it might have without magic.

Soon enough a guard handed three wounded men down into the tunnel. One wiry fellow named Remy had a slight haze over his mind. Was that from Sextus's attempt to blur the man's compulsion to thwart the rescue attempt?  Brendan would have to teach Sextus how to do that right. But for now, Remy was harmless enough. Back at camp. Brendan would see the herdsman's mind cleared correctly. He let his guards take the last of the three man out. He put a thankful hand on the shoulder of the guard Hamish. "I thank you for all your efforts," he said it with sincerity.

Hamish looked up realizing who he was talking too. "I pray that your brother will be found and returned home soon. I wish we had done more."

"Thanks to you, we know where he has been and we now know where he is currently imprisoned. I promise you that we will get him out."

Brendan didn't watch them go. Instead he quickly climbed the rubble to the enlarged ceiling hole and followed the Rhemuth armsman up the rock debris field to come to the break in the tower wall and the Portal there where he hopped to learn more.


Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Evie on October 01, 2018, 01:53:35 PM
Aliset smoothed the creases out of her blue gown before folding it and packing it away in her rucksack. She had put on Robert's form and clothing again. Part of her wished to remain in her own form, but there was no telling what they might encounter on the road ahead, and she did not wish to cause any undue distractions for Darcy. Hopefully retaining the squire's appearance would serve as an unspoken reminder that she was quite capable of holding her own in a fight and need not be treated like some sheltered Court maiden likely to fall into a swoon at the first hint of danger and require rescue.

Thoughts of Darcy brought back thoughts of the previous night. She might not have set forth from Rhemuth intending to become a bride, but now that the unexpected had happened, she thought she could quickly warm up to the notion! A blush heated her cheeks as her lips softened into a dreamy smile, which she hid behind a curtain of her hair as she inspected the contacts of her sack more closely to ensure everything was packed away securely. Nothing seemed out of place, aside from the thin strip of leather which she'd set aside to bind her hair back with. Deftly braiding the loose strands back into a Border braid, she secured it with the leather lacing and stood, hefting the sack onto her back.

As she straightened, she heard the familiar sound of a horse's hooves cantering up the road towards them. The horse and rider were still hidden from sight by a curve in the road and a low hill, but the misadventures of her recent journey to Rhemuth had left Aliset wary, and she stepped back, hiding herself behind one corner of the stone chapel's wall, one hand going to her belt dagger hilt. She wished she had some longer range weapon on hand. She had her new throwing daggers, only recently purchased in Droghera, but she did not wish to risk losing either unless the need was desperate.

A glance down at the ground near her feet reminded her of another possible means of defence, and she stooped down, quickly gathering up a few stones roughly the size of hens' eggs to put in her belt pouch. Rising, she loosened the narrow scarf she wore around her neck. She had intended to use it later in the day to help wipe the sweat from her brow during the midday summer heat and keep her vision clear, but it would also serve nicely as a makeshift sling. Later, she might make a proper one from a scrap of leather and some braided cord.  Aliset was no stranger to using a sling; many were the evenings her family had dined on coney stew at Caer Mariot after she'd used one to take down unwary prey venturing too deeply into her mother's herb and vegetable garden. And stones were much easier to replace than throwing knives if one were to find oneself in need of a weapon while traveling between towns and villages.

The approaching rider came into sight, and Aliset breathed a sigh of relief, for he wore Haldane livery. Father Columcil stepped out of the chapel to greet him. After a few more moments of wary observation, just in case all was not as it seemed, Aliset moved forward to join them. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Darcy emerge from the woods and head in their direction.

"Lord Darcy," the courier said and dismounted. He bowed as the young man approached.

Darcy had not yet donned his leather cap, and the morning sun glistened on his pale, fair hair.  Who he was likely to be was unfortunately obvious.  He glanced at Columcil, whose slight shrug indicated he had learned nothing yet from the courier.

"Good day to you," said Darcy.  "What brings you this way?"

"His Majesty sent me to find you, my Lord."  The courier reached into his saddlebag and pulled out a small leather pouch, similar to the one Darcy carried in the hidden pocket of his sea bag.  Darcy accepted the pouch and opened it to reveal a set of ward cubes.  He quickly closed it back up.

"Did His Majesty send any instructions with this?"

"Nothing more than you would know who could make the best use of the contents," the courier replied.

"He sent no other news or news from any others?" Columcil asked.

The courier shook his head and then nodded to acknowledge Robert, who stood quietly beside Darcy.  "His instructions were to intercept you as fast as possible and give Lord Darcy the pouch. The items it contains were discovered in Lord Washburn's last known location. The Dowager Duchess of Corwyn was unable to use them to locate her son's current whereabouts, but His Majesty hopes that perhaps you might have greater success, since presumably you will be closer to him in Meara than in Rhemuth."

The courier stayed only long enough to rest and water his horse, gratefully accepting Father Columcil's blessing before heading back the way he had come.

Aliset glanced at her new husband with a thoughtful expression on her face once the courier was out of sight. "How very curious!  I wonder what that was all about?" Holding her palm up, she asked, "Might I have a look?"

Darcy handed her the bag. "You can keep them, if you like. I already have a set, and besides, I suspect you have a better idea of what ought to be done with them than I do."

Aliset nodded as she studied the ward cubes, pulling one out and sensing its energies. "I had hoped maybe these had belonged to Lord Washburn and we might find him with them, but they don't have the right feel. They may have belonged to his captor, though. I could try to use them to scry for him, but perhaps not here. Maybe tonight, when we're somewhere less likely to be interrupted."

"And once we're warded," Columcil added.

"Aye, we'd certainly want that also," Aliset agreed, slipping the ward cube back into the pouch and tying it to her belt.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on October 01, 2018, 02:28:37 PM
It was the only day Feyd would get to relax for a bit. But truly this day had been full of work. With 2 contracts to fulfill he had been busy with various preparations.

After the early morning drafting of his letter, he had set it aside. To review or amend later if needed. Then he reached out to his agents in Ratharkin to have them report back on Lord Oswald and the fate of Lady Aliset. Likewise he had reached out to his agents in Rhemuth as well. Since the abduction attempt on Lady Aliset almost botched his own abduction of Washburn. He knew there was a chance that the King's men had prevented her escape through the Portal. That is why he went first after all. If caught, it would have cost the Moors life.

Feyd knew he would not hear back from his agents until the evening hours. Thus giving him time to work on other preparations and plans. His primary objective was to get his Ward Cubes back. Left behind in the hasty escape from the Michaeline ruined tower. Perhaps he would have a bit of luck and the Ward Cubes would be left undisturbed.

He had made his way across town, back to the Portal that was constructed here by his Order long ago. Funny how in the dark of night his Order managed to construct several ports across the 11 Kingdoms that they could use. Undetected and unknown by anyone else. Although now Feyd had begin to wonder just how long his Order would remain completely hidden from the eyes of Gwynedd and it's Haldane King. In the East and the south, his Order is whispered about. Some call it legend and others know it to be fact.

Once inside the protected chamber. Feyd slipped to his knees and placed his hands on the Portal square. Seeking out the Portal at the Michaline ruins. His mind recoiled in fear the moment he touched the Portal there. The trap placed by his Order had been removed. It could very well be re-trapped at this point. And possibly the cubes themselves discovered and moved. It was too great a risk to attempt to jump through at this point. Perhaps another day. Another Portal lost in the previous contract. That made at least 2 of them that he was currently aware of being compromised. But the great work is almost done and the time is finally at hand after 2 centuries of waiting and training. Vengeance will be had and the Deryni set free.

While Feyd enjoyed his midday meal in safety he redrafted the letter he had written earlier in the day. Signed it. And stamped it with two seals. His personal on the left and the seal of his Order on the right. Setting both with a spell. He had carefully rolled up the parchment and placed it into a scroll case which was then sealed as well.

He had thought about Washburn, with a smile too. The fools at Brioc's castle had no idea about the Gwynedd spy among them. And the Grand Duke had handed Washburn over to the spy as well. He knew that at this moment back far to the north in Meara. Washburn was discovering his powers had returned but lacked the protection of his Shields, they would not return until later.

Through the streets he went about his day. Sending the scroll case off with a handsomely paid courier. He would see that the instructions were carried out on it's delivery.

Safely in for the rest of the day. Feyd makes his final preparations for the coming contracts. He made certain his hair was died the proper color. He made certain to acquire the proper clothing he would need. He maintains his look. Without the ability to shapechange, appearing as someone else is a bit more work but also not discoverable as quickly. He knew he would return to Gwynedd. So he must blend in. A foreign scholar would not due now. That is fine for appearing at Court. But now must in other places more. He would blend in well. Even as another foreigner. No one would take notice of him really. And that was the way Feyd wanted it. Blend in, vanish in a crowd, able to go to the places that were frequented by his next target.

All dressed he admires the reflection in the mirror. He adjusts a bit of his attire that was out of place. His hair was put to the right color. And he could feel that the tonsure at his crown was the proper size and shape for a travelling priest of Torenth. A final addition was the simple wooden crucifix he added to his priestly vestments. And here Feyd was no more. Only Paulos, a priest on a pilgrimage across the 11 Kingdoms to bridge an understanding through Faith.

Just after his evening meal Paulos had heard from his agents in both Ratharkin and Rhemuth. The Lady Aliset's abduction had failed. She was safely cloistered in the Queen's Tower at Rhemuth. With that knowledge Paulos relaxes a bit. And spends the evening scrying for his Ward Cubes.

<bynw> !roll 2d6
<@derynibot> 3, 5 == 8
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on October 03, 2018, 01:18:49 PM

"Now that you've got her, how do you plan to get her and us out of here?" Wash asked in a very low, determined whisper. His eyes returned often to the door; so far, the door remained closed. The all too recent prisoner was certain that at any moment Grand Duke Valerian's study would be overflowing with guardsmen, or worse, the grand duke himself. "It might be hours before they find Piers or even try to wake that senior guard, But her? They will be missing her like a half-hour ago, around the time she fell asleep in here. We have to go. You just tell me where and how." He fingered his sword and moved toward the door impatiently.

Iain ignored the knight at his back while he finished establishing controls over his now human lady abductee. When he was certain he had established a mind set for her, he stood away from her. He gave her a deep respected bow. "My Queen, Guard Archer at your service," he acknowledged her. In the next instance, he pushed the palm of his hand against Washburn's advancing chest. The knight had rushed toward the girl with intentions of picking her up bodily and swinging her over his shoulder. When Washburn was stopped, Iain looked imploringly at the aristocratic lady. "Your Majesty, I am so sorry to interrupt your nap. The grand duke has asked me to find you. He requests that you join him in the audience room, there to meet with a guest of his. He promises to explain. Something about backing of funds from the east."

"Does this guest offer my crown homage? I will meet him in my throne room," the queen replied, nonplussed.

"Very well, Your Majesty, I am to escort you there." Iain did not challenge her. Valerian's audience room and her throne room were one and the same, also known as Brioc's grand hall before the rebellion began. What was key about the room was the Portal stone situated in the center back half of the ornate floor.

"For appearances, I will allow your escort." She said as she stood from the window seat. There was a moment where she gave both men a disquieted look, like they weren't who she thought they should be, then the moment passed and she settled into her normal ways. "In my home, guards walk behind me. Three paces, if you will."

"Yes, your Majesty," Iain said with another bow. As she straightened her dress,  Iain pulled Washburn aside. "You're still my prisoner as we follow her to the throne room." Iain could not resist a lopsided smile for the room's audacious title. "The corridor we came up leads along the length of the north wall. Turn the corner and you'll be in the west wall passageway. There will be only one door off that hall, the door to our throne room. Beyond it will be the keep's main stairs. Those ascend from the entrance on the first floor to all floors above us. Whatever happens, we won't want to go up. Unless you know a way to fly off the roof, going up would get us trapped."

"I do remember the details of the portal room. It was just this morning when you marched me from there as your prisoner," Washburn responded with a low growl. He looked up to be sure Sidana could not hear him. She was busy pinning the edge of her veil in place, not noticing the two men nearby.

Iain appeased the taller man with a touch on his shoulder. "I will escort Sidana into the audience room.  She will be my decoy. When I have discovered how many guards are there, I will take care of them. If there are too many, I will signal you to enter. Make a big entrance, one that is distracting, and I will clear any guards remaining.

"What about the archers who were on the balcony?" Washburn asked. "Do we need to worry about them? I distinctly recall several up there when I arrived. One even loosed an arrow."

"The senior guard told me those men were released back to the walls after Feyd's departure. They should not be there." Iain gave Wash an assuring look. "One more thing. Don't use your mind speech. Your ability to tightly focus your powers is still returning. There is a risk you might broadcast your speech to far more than me. A sensitive Deryni somewhere in the keep might hear you."

"Devil's craw!" Washburn whispered. "Anything else? Have I already given us away? What of the power I used to block her?"

"I don't think so. You're not broadcasting when using trance-like powers, so long as it is only internal. But arcane attacks? Let's not risk it. Use your sword, make quick, quiet kills if you must. Leave the arcane to me."

Washburn nodded, liking this less and less. Freedom was so close, maybe seventy feet and one bend in the corridor away, yet it could have been miles. He fingered the knot over his sword hilt, assuring himself of it's quick release.  Then he submitted himself once more to play the prisoner with Iain's hand around his arm. Iain made a cursory search of the hallway before he opened the door for the queen.

((Is the hallway clear of patrol guards. 5 ,6 the way is clear.
2:04 AM !roll 2d6
2:04 AM  <•derynibot> I'm back! 1, 2 == 3))

His mental controls stopped both persons under his touch from moving forward. The girl didn't notice it, but that control irritated Washburn, who knew it for what it was and was hating every minute of someone else controlling his actions.

((2:05 AM<LaurnaAFK> Laurnarose Waiting for the patrol to move on. Do they move on?
2:05 AM !roll 2d6
2:05 AM <•derynibot> I'm back! 5, 4 == 9))

After a long count of foot falls coming near and then moving away, both men found they could breathe again, for they had held their breaths during those many long seconds.

"Clear," Iain whispered at last. He let the Pretender Queen march her pretty, majestic self out into the hall.  She turned decisively left along this north facing hall, away from the back corner stairwell Iain had used to come up from the dungeon. The three turned the bend in the hall to walk the west side of the keep. Here the afternoon sun spilled through several narrow windows. Across from one window was a single large door into the audience room, or to Sidana, her throne room. Currently the door was closed. A little beyond that door, the hall ended at the main stairs. This being the public portion of the keep, the archway at the head of the stairs was held up by ornate fluted columns, ones imported from the ruins of old RĂ»m. These columns signified status and wealth, a display of extravagance made by Lord Brioc de Paor.  As a recent addition they stood out from the wall in such a way that they did not meet the outer walls. Rather, instead they left perfect small indentations for a man to lean into. Apparently the architect never consider the blinding glare of the afternoon sunlight making wells of bright light and wells of shadow all down the hallway.  The space between the outer wall and that column was the darkest of them all. It was here Iain released his prisoner and bid Washburn to hide and remain vigilant. Iain knew better than to make a command like Wait here. For under Washburn's current condition, the knight would have followed him to the word, no matter the circumstances. Instead he said, "Do what you need to do to not be seen. And If you are seen, take care of it promptly. I will call you when it is clear to come in."

Washburn understood. He released the knot securing his sword, pulling the blade free from its scabbard, and held it low at his hip to hide the shine of the blade. Deep into the recess, he disappeared in the shadow.  If someone came straight toward him, the afternoon sunlight would blind them to his presence in the dark. As Wash settled there, he studied the profile of the Pretender Queen. She waited stoically for Iain to give her permission to enter her throne room. She stood in the well of light like an angel blessed by Heaven, her honey hair tinged with red streaks and her complexion as fair as a babe's. As she straightened to her full height, Washburn mused that she and Iain were of matched height. That petite stature outwardly projected calm authority; inwardly, however, she was anything but calm. Sidana had the mental squeamishness of one whose normal sensitivities had gone strangely absent. Washburn knew that feeling all too well. He had been living it for three days. Iain just took it as unease from his controls. Now that Washburn's powers were returning, he understood that discomfort he felt within her. The lack of extrasensory perception was as disquieting as losing a sense like touch or smell.

The Blocking trait had its uses. Indeed it did. But didn't that scroll make several warnings about the moral and ethical necessity of using it? Taking someone who was Deryni, even someone untrained, and making them human was a cruelty nearly as much as putting someone in prison. It might not be a total blindness for someone untrained, but it was a loss of sensitivity for anyone who had the essence of power since birth, similar to the silencing of all background sounds from birds, and the wind, and the flow of water down rivers. Like the dulling of the vibrant colors of summer to that of bleak winter. A total disturbance in how the world is perceived. Warring with himself over the ethics of harming someone in this way, even the enemy, Washburn sank deeper into the blackness of the corner. The door to the portal room opened. The guard on duty had his full surprised attention on the queen. He greeted her with a bow and questioned her reason for being there. "The duke is away," he said.  Iain must have mentally controlled her to walk inside, and he moved with her, closing the door behind him. Just before the door closed, Sidana was heard to say, "I have need of his company. My father is recovering and I want him to know of it."

Wash eased his stance, yet stayed tightly in the corner. Was it really going to be this easy to escape? Wash considered his optimism. He hadn't escaped yet. Those earlier pessimistic escape plans of his had been from a man with no hope, a prisoner who was looking at becoming a merasha-induced living corpse with no hope of survival beyond his ransom. Now, he had a sword in his hand and at least a fighting chance. He kept a wary eye on the hallway. He dared not even use his powers to scan if anyone was coming. His lack of shielding would certainly alert someone to his presence here. Again he wondered just what Feyd had been playing at. The time between his returning powers and the senior guard's orders to dowse him with merasha had been minute. If not for Piers, he might have missed this opportunity. Was it truly an opportunity for escape, or merely a tease before being captured again? He watched the portal room door and wanted desperately to enter. However, he could not override Iain's orders. I will call you when it is clear to come in. Damn that.

((<Laurna> Laurnarose  Does Iain call him before another patrol comes near. Success is yes.
2:45 AM !roll 2d6
2:45 AM  <•derynibot> I'm back! 1, 3 == 4))

Silent as a mouse was Washburn, then he heard a new set of foot falls on stone coming up the stairs behind the wall at his back.  He pushed his body deep into the corner recess, muscles tense, prepared to fight if he must. A guard entered the hall way within swords reach it was fortunate for him that he looked toward the audience room door highlighted by the light from the window.

((2:45 AM Laurna> Laurnarose Does Washburn stay hidden in the shadow. success is yes.
2:46 AM !roll 2d6
2:46 AM  <•derynibot> I'm back! 6, 4 == 10
2:46 AM <Laurna> Laurnarose cool.))

For a heart pounding minute Washburn watched him. The guard passed him up then continued on around the corner.

Come in! came the clear command of Iain's mental voice. Thank the Lord it had not come a moment sooner.  Washburn would have followed those orders, possibly giving himself away to the last patrolling guard. With the way clear, Wash quickly stepped to the audience room door, opened it, and slipped inside. The queen was standing pale and forlorn in the center of the room. Iain was easing the body of the guard before him down to the ground. One last twist of a dagger through the guard's back, then Iain pulled his dagger from the man's heart, letting him fall dead at the queen's feet. Stunned, Sidana gasped and readied to scream. Washburn jumped to her side and clasped a hand over her mouth.  Unperturbed, Iain wiped his bloodied blade on the dead guard's clothes.  He looked up at the knight, "Release her. She won't scream, will you, my Queen of Meara?" Washburn did as he was told; whether he agreed or not, it was not his decision to make.  "My Queen," Iain continued, "I just saved you from this man. He was a traitor. Wanted you for himself, he did. I made sure he didn't touch you. Remember how he tried to touch you?"

Washburn watched the girl's face change as her memories changed. She was filled with confusion. She knew what Iain said was untrue but could not refute the image he had planted in her mind. This gave the Lendour knight pause. Could he honestly believe anything that he thought he remembered to be true? Three men had been in his mind, and who knew what notions they had planted there. Was any of this even real? Or was it all contrived? Perhaps he was already in a merasha-induced coma and just making up this escape in his dreams. How realistic was it that they had actually captured the pretender queen? Wash didn't know, all he could do was carry on. The ending would be the telling of it all.

"We are clear here. There was only the one guard. Lock the door."  Iain tossed Wash the dead guard's keys, then he took Sidana by the hand and together they walked over to a gold and black inlay set of cut stone.  The center was black only three feet square. Other similar squares were scatter about the pattern on the floor. But this square had an aura of a Portal recently used. Wash secured the door, then quickly returned to the proper square. His own palms itched to touch it and discover it's signature. He stood opposite Iain, who had knelt beside the pattern of black stone. "Sure enough, Valerian has trapped the Portal, as he said he would. We can not call reinforcements to jump to here, that is a certainty. I do not have the skill to break such a trap. There is a chance it is not trapped for those leaving. Be watchful, this will take a moment to see if we can use it without triggering Valerian's trap."

That anxious moment was the longest in Washburn's memory.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on October 06, 2018, 05:26:10 AM
The Baron of Isles had his full focus on the Portal stone under his palms for several minutes. Shaken by what he learned, he sat back on his haunches, his hands brushing his knees as if to wipe the filth of the stone off his hands. The trap Valerian had placed here had a bitterness in its essence. The grand duke had had cause; his future father-in-law had just been stabbed and poisoned by a man Valerian feared. It was a telling moment during the prisoner's exchange and payment, where Valerian's overt respect for the master assassin became clear. Iain wondered if the grand duke knew about the Black Order of Death. So very few did. Perhaps it was mere happenstance that the Order had picked up the contract for kidnapping a Morgan. He supposed that if another assassins' guild had picked up that deal first, they would have backed out the moment the Order became involved. Most likely, Valerian had put out the word with his discreet underworld contact. It was a simple deal, a large payment for the kidnapping of a high noble, the target being the youngest son of Alaric Morgan. Upon successful delivery of this man, he would pay. No Morgan, no deal. Most likely Valerian experienced dismay over Master Feyd's first response that he would complete the deal. At which point the deal was in play, impossible to stop. To Iain's viewpoint, Brioc's double-cross on the payment and Valerian's quick responding over-payment proved to Iain just how unsettled Valerian had been by Feyd's close proximity. At that point it had nothing to do with Morgan and everything to do with ridding themselves of Feyd. The strength in the trap on the portal stone was further proof of it.

Iain took in a steadying breath. What all this meant was that even with every effort he could muster, he would not be capable of breaking this trap. It would take a master of the arcane and several subordinates supplying energy to succeed.  Iain avoided Sir Washburn's stare as he spelled out the problem. "Valerian has trapped the Portal in such a way that only himself and a few of his trusted advisors can leave here. I don't think we can leave this way."

"What!?" Washburn exclaimed, just remembering to keep his voice down. "This is madness! We need to be out of here before someone finds us!" Wash scanned the upper gallery. There would be an entrance up there from the third floor; a guard could patrol the gallery at any moment.

"Actually, we need someone who is attuned to this thing to find us," Iain corrected Wash. "What our lives will depend on is just how few we can attract as we bait the hook for the right man."

"What about him?" Washburn asked, pointing to the felled guard.

"He's a bit too dead and a bit too human. What we need is a Deryni, one who's been granted permission to come and go from here. We will need some part of him anyway: a hand, a finger, or a cup of blood should be an activating trigger to the portal. Just like what was used in the library annex when you were abducted."

"A hand, you say." The knight raised in a chivalrous court winced at the prospect. Killing in battle was one thing. Taking off a hand was punishment meted out by prison guards, not knights of the realm. "If it means our escape, then I can get that if there is no other way." Washburn considered the methodology. "Who will our target be? How do we get them in range of being abused?"

"We use her," Iain nodded toward SIdana. She was standing silent and still, outwardly as pretty as a doll, inwardly as ferocious as a caged lion. "Let's pray we can handle those who come when we have her make the call. We can't afford to waste too much time either. We need to escape before Valerian returns and finds us. I don't relish an arcane battle with him."

"He murdered my father," came the dangerous clear tone of Washburn's low voice. He would take up that battle in an instant. Yet after a moment, he brushed aside that vengeance. "We are better off making our escape with her than taking the risk of battle with Valerian." He settled on agreeing to Iain's plan. "Could we kidnap the girl's father? Lord Brioc might not be as human as he claims. His daughter surely is not."

"Wouldn't want to attempt kidnapping him. When the girl left her father's side, he was protected by a guard detail and a physician. Like I told you, we don't want to go up the stairs. We need the right person to come to us."

"You're certain we can't break the portal trap with our combined efforts?" Washburn knelt down with his knees at the edge of the stone. He placed his sword on the floor beside him and then set both palms flat against the cold black granite. Using every effort that he had, he focused on the stone and searched for the portal's signature.

He got nothing, other than knowing a portal was there; the signature itself evaded him.

"That is a waste of your energy," Iain chimed in. "We don't have the stamina to break down this portal trap. There are two knights with the grand duke and a lady or two close to Sidana. I am betting they are Deryni and they each can use this portal."

The thought of harming a woman did not set well in Washburn's mind. "Two Deryni knights, you say? I can best two at once. Would be better if you can manage to get the attention of only one of the two. If they bring the guard detail with them, that could be our downfall. Would it be easier to escape out the window?" Washburn sighed.

Iain considered that option for a moment. There were windows along the length of the south wall.  Windows that faced the courtyard and the gate house of the fortress. No one was scaling that wall without being seen. Iain could see Washburn making the calculations of escaping by foot. Both men came to the same conclusion at the same time. That was impossible. The portal was their only means of escape.

The Lendour knight took in a deep breath and let it out. "There is one other solution we have not considered. I swear to you that I will never be a prisoner again. Death first, or Madness!" He hissed the last word under his breath. His left hand reached into his tunic and fished out a leather cord. At the end of the cord was a smallish green-capped wine skin. "I don't think this is the right time in which Feyd meant for me to use this. I think he wanted me to use it against the Grand Duke Valerian. Yet, I can think of no greater need than escape. One drink...." He caught his breath as he said it, then bolstered his determination. "One drink might give me the power to diffuse the portal trap. Two drinks would for sure. I could take on both knights at once if I had to after drinking two gulps of Blue Fyre." He backed off a little from that thought. "Two is madness for sure. I'll drink one gulp then and take my chances.  If it were just me, I would not take the risk at all. Easier to fall on my sword and be done with all this." His sense of chivalry kicked in; he looked up at the pretender queen. What he saw was a beautiful woman in need. Not the enemy, but a pawn of the enemy.   "We have her, a great prize, indeed. If I do this, you can get her away, yes?"

"Wait, I'll take the drink." Iain held his hand out for Washburn to give it to him. Even under Iain's compulsion to follow his orders, Wash hesitated. Something in the back of his mind kept him from handing across the wine skin. "Damn Feyd! Unless you want to fight me for it, I don't think I can let you have it. I am not even sure I am supposed to have it just now; again something tells me 'No'." Almost fighting with himself, Washburn brought the flask to eye level. He closed his eyes, concentrated on steadying his racing heart beat and put his fingers over the cap, willing his fingers to pull out the stopper.  The madness that Feyd had described could not be worse than his last day spent back in that dungeon. He wouldn't live long in anyway, he had made a deal with the assassin to kill him if madness was to be his fate.

His fingers never pulled the cap free, for in that second a current of air stirred above the stone. Where there had been no one a heart beat before, now a man was standing there-- a dangerous man that both Iain and Washburn instantly identified. The arriving Deryni was a few heart beats behind the other men to realize what was happening. It took those few seconds for him to recovered his equilibrium from the portal jump he had just made. Those seconds cost him much. The man before him was leaping forward; a man he knew as one of his guards. Still sharp from the necessary focus of making the jump, Valerian's perception bounced off the guard's shields. This guard had not declared himself as Deryni to the captain. An enemy hidden in his ranks? There was another man kneeling behind Valerian, apparently human and harmless for he felt no shields there. In time that man could be handled. But not the charging spy, Valerian could not pull his sword before the guard crashed into him. ((-1-))

Iain was sharp and fast, taking advantage of the confusion in the grand duke's arrival. Before anyone could pull weapons into play, Iain tackled Valerian's knees and knocked him to the floor. ((-2-))

The son of Teymuraz slammed his back against the polished stone. His landing put him within arms reach of the kneeling Lendour knight. It was then to his chagrin that Valerian recognized Morgan. Fury was in Morgan's eyes. The sight of his father's murderer sent Washburn's heart to pounding. His mind screamed, Take the blue Fyre, take it now! Only he knew right well it was too late for that. The drug didn't act instantaneously. This second was all he had to correct the horrors of the many days just past. The element of surprise would be lost if he didn't attempt that which he could do. If the man recovered his wits before he tried, he may not get that chance again.

Washburn dropped the wine-skin back on its cord. His sword beside him wasn't what he sought. His bare hand grabbed what he needed, the back of the enemy's collar. With a fist full of fabric, Morgan hauled his father's murderer closer to him. Knowing his new talent well enough, he touched the top of Valerian's head and searched for the trigger point. ((-3-))

He was too anxious, he needed his Healer's calm. A man unconscious would have been easier to work with, or so had said that deciphered scroll. Calm was evasive, and so too was this man whom he was holding. Washburn clenched his fist to stop Valarian's struggle to get away. Valerian didn't make it, Iain pounced on the duke with determination and agility. ((-4-))
__________________
Rolls for round one of the fight:
((-1- Initiative test between Iain and Valerian. Rolled during second writing. First rolls were a tie. Second rolls in play
Iain   12:19 PM !roll 2d6
12:19 PM <•derynibot> I'm back! 6, 1 == 7 gains initiative
Valerian  12:20 PM !roll 2d6
12:20 PM <•derynibot> I'm back! 5, 1 == 6))

((-2- Iain's attack Rolled during first writing
12:52 AM !roll 2d6
12:52 AM  <•derynibot> I'm back! 3, 5 == 8, successful hit))

((-3- Washburn's attack from behind with 6XP success on 3,4,5,6
12:52 AM !roll 2d6
12:52 AM  <•derynibot> I'm back! 2, 2 == 4 failed blocking attempt, darn))

((-4- Valerian struggles to get in an attack on either man
12:25 PM !roll 2d6
12:25 PM <•derynibot> I'm back! 1, 3 == 4 failed hit))
______________________

Iain was fastest again. His palm slammed over the grand duke's eyes.  The full might of his mind slammed against Valerian's shields. ((-5-))

Valerian's body tensed as he strengthened those shields against this new attack. ((-6-))

Iain's bombardment was as insistent as a battering ram against the gates of the mind. Valerian cowed by the pain. But the pain itself was not debilitating. Valerian reestablished his focus. He stilled his body, gathered his strength, and struck back like a cobra with a single shock wave that scorched the hand of the man who had been touching him. ((-7-))

The Deryni guard was thrust away, his bombardment had come to an end. Paces away, he staggered to keep his feet under him. His hand cradled to his chest his head pounding from the blast.

A break in the violence prevailed for a second.  Valerian strengthened his shields and recovered from the full energy outlay of his attack.  In that second, Washburn's nemesis was distracted. That was all that Washburn needed. Focusing down with every ounce of calm he could muster, Washburn touched the side of Grand Duke Valerian's head and released the blocking trigger. ((-8-))
____________________________

Rolls for round two of the fight:
((-5- Iain still has initiative. He is ritual trained. If he uses arcane power to attack Valerian, 2d6 roll success on 4,5, 6
12:28 PM !roll 2d6
12:28 PM <•derynibot> I'm back! 3, 6 == 9 success hit))

((-6- Valerian save test from Iain's attack
12:29 PM !roll 3d6
12:29 PM <•derynibot> I'm back! 2, 1, 4 == 7 failed save test))

((-7- Valerian is spell master 3d6 arcane attack
12:30 PM !roll 3d6
12:30 PM <•derynibot> I'm back! 5, 5, 3 == 13 success hit))

((-8- Washburn;s attack from behind. Rolled during first writing. 6XP to block Valerian success on 3,4,5,6
2:05 AM !roll 2d6
2:05 AM <•derynibot> I'm back! 4, 6 == 10 successful blocking))

_______________________________

For a moment in time, all three men froze. Iain assessed his injury and began to stand, bringing the girl over to stand behind him. Valerian lay still as a dead man in that moment.  He could not comprehend the sudden lack of shields and magic that prevailed through his body. And Washburn pulled himself back out of his Healer's trance.

Iain was the first to move. His dagger was pulled from his boot and held firm in his hand as he once more used his lean agility to leapt at his enemy. He would take Valerian out, here and now and complete the job Kelson had paid him for. ((-9-))

Unsteadily the duke clawed his way back to his knees and braced himself to stand. His mind was filled with confusion; what had just happened to him? The dagger plunged into the duke's side, then was pulled out, dripping in blood before Valerian could react. Staggering away, he tripped into Morgan. Horror filled his eyes, and he realized it was the son of his old enemy, who had done this to him. Morgan by some ancient mythical power had stripped him of his magic. ((-10-))

Valerian's need to recapture Morgan and make him reverse what he had done gave him berserkers' strength. ((-11-))

The clout of his fist caught Morgan hard in his ribs. Ribs barely Healed splintered anew. Morgan fell back in a breathless huff. Knowing he still carried Morgan's voice commands, Valerian leapt at the man's throat and yelled, "Return to me my magic."

Washburn struggled for breath, as hands clasped his throat. The fortunate thing was he couldn't center into his Healer's trance to comply to the command of the Grand Duke. That calm was an impossibility. "Get free of him!" was a second command from Iain. Neither command had president over the other, yet only one could be achieved in that instant. Washburn rolled to the side to free himself of man's hold. Iain stood at the Portal Square, he kicked Washburn's sword within reach of the knights outstretched hand. His fingers grasped the hilt, thrusting it up between himself and his attacker. ((-12-))

The blade missed its mark but it forced Valerian to jump away. 

The return swing of the blade was fast as lightning. Even before Wash had found his feet to stand, the sharp point pierced silk and chainmail and slipped through the ribs of his father's murderer. "For you, papa," Washburn yelled, pulling the blood-covered blade free of the man who staggered back to escape the sword's reach. ((-13-))

_________________________

Rolls for round three of the fight:
((-9- Iain still has initiative. Dagger mastery 3d6 roll.
12:44 PM !roll 3d6
12:44 PM <•derynibot> I'm back! 5, 4, 4 == 13 successful hit))

((-10- Initiative tests between Washburn and Valerian
Washburn first 12:41 PM !roll 2d6
12:41 PM  <•derynibot> I'm back! 6, 1 == 7
Valerian 12:42 PM !roll 2d6
12:42 PM  <•derynibot> I'm back! 5, 4 == 9 wins initiative))

((-11- Valerain only has his fist to fight with so disadvantage 1d6 roll
12:47 PM !roll 1d6
12:47 PM <•derynibot> I'm back! 6 == 6 Great successful hit))

((-12- Washburn attack with his sword 3d6 mastery
12:53 PM !roll 3d6
12:53 PM <•derynibot> I'm back! 1, 2, 2 == 5 Failed hit,  really?))

((-13- Washburn  Sword Mastery gets second attack with 6XP success on 3,4,5,or 6
12:55 PM !roll 3d6
12:55 PM <•derynibot> I'm back! 6, 5, 3 == 14  successful hit))

_________________________________

Fists on the door were pounding with a horrible racket.  Above in the gallery, feet were heard to be coming across the floor, faces were seen to  look down upon the chaos. There was no time to make a grab for the retreating enemy. For a moment, Washburn feared he had failed. He had not managed to sever the man's hand, nor even a finger. Had he failed in supplying their escape? He would have chased after Valerian, if not for Iain's yell. 

"I have the portal signature, come away NOW!"

Wash jumped up from the floor, grunting as he did so. No time for the pain, no time! A quick glance at the gallery showed men moving into place, a short bow or two were being fitted with arrows. With great effort, Washburn leapt the few feet to land on his knees within the square of the Portal stone, falling against Darcy's brother. The girl was already braced against Iain's chest, his left hand firmly placed over her eyes. Blood of the trap's maker was smeared across the faces of both of them. Washburn got the idea instantly. He rubbed his fingers along flat edge of his bloodied blade, then smearing the redness over his face. He had no shields to worry about, which reduced the timing of their escape. In the instant Iain's hand touched him, the spy balanced the energy of the portal stone and wrapped it around all three of them. The trap was misled into accepting the three as the one attuned to it.  In that instant, vertigo swarmed Washburn's mind. The jump was made. One heart beat, two heart beats, and suddenly they were standing somewhere else.

Iain collapsed as they reached the new place. Washburn already on his knees fell forward, both hands grasping at the reed carpet which hid this new portal's edge. He daren't waste time, not if he wanted his escape to succeed.  In a rush of what seemed like madness he pushed everyone away and then tugged at the reed matting until if was free of a chair's feet that had held a corner down. He pulled the mat to the side, and then dropped back to his knees, desperately pulling a small bag from his belt. From it he spilled out four white and four black cubes. A deep breath and then another, and he willed himself to an inner calm. They had a minute, maybe two, before Valerian would find one of his Deryni knights and have the portal scryed for their escape route.

Calm, he told himself, calm. The Healer's training from Father Columcil had taught him how to center even when emotions were high.

The thought of the good father did wonders for his nerves. Think of each cube and give them their name. Place them just so, then touch the corner to its opposite. What mattered here were opposites. The positive and negative of power. Nothing was good or bad on its own, all things could be brought into balance with the effort of the mind. The blocking power was the same as this. It was bad to have blocked the girl, and he knew he would reverse that soon. Blocking Valerian, that had been the greatest achievement of his life. Building confidence in himself, he placed the four shining ovoids onto the corners of the portal stone. With the powers of his ancestors, he called out the words, "Primus, Secundus, Tertius et Quartus, Fiat Lux!"

The shimmer of red glowed over the portal stone in the center of the room.

"What have you done?" Iain asked, having used the time of the making of the Ward Major to recover his own strength.

"A trick I learned from Feyd,"  Washburn replied. "I am giving us a chance to keep our new found freedom."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on October 08, 2018, 12:12:05 PM

"What have you done?" Iain asked, having used the time of the making of the Ward Major to regain his feet and his hold on Sidana.


"A trick I learned from Feyd,"  Washburn replied. "I am giving us a chance to keep our new found freedom."


Sir Iain Cameron stood slightly to one side of the portal stone, gripping Sidana by the shoulders..  Actually, he was using her to keep himself upright; a wave a vertigo that threatened to turn into nausea almost overwhelmed him.  This would not do. 


"I'll remember this trick," Iain said to the Lendour knight still on his knees on the other side of the Portal, which now shimmered under a red protective dome.   


Washburn nodded and began to rise to his feet, almost tripping on an edge of the reed mat.  The quick turn to recover his balance caused a sharp pain in his ribs. The room they stood in was a small storeroom. The reed mat covered the center of the dirt floor.  There were storage barrels and two chests along the back wall. A barred window with an open shutter let in the afternoon light. The only furniture was the chair.


Iain changed his grip to Sidana's arm and moved forward to open the door.  He did not pause to listen first or check for another's presence.  He walked boldly through.


The smell of hay and horses was a blessing after the stink of the dungeon.  Washburn looked around to see that they were in the back corner of a large shed.  Two horses were stabled in simple stalls; both looked to be of good breeding.  There was another large space that held several barrels, and tack that needed mending hung on pegs. 


"Hold where you are!" a man's voice commanded as the large wooden door at what must be the front of the shed swung open.  Washburn reached for his sword.


"Hold," Iain said quietly to Washburn, and Washburn stopped with his hand hovering above the hilt.


Damnation! Washburn cursed inwardly.  Will I never be free of another's control?


"Roland, it's Iain, and I have brought guests.  Well, one former prisoner and one hostage," he amended. 


A man came forward with a sword held confidently in his hand.  He was of middle height, clothed in a plain brown tunic and hose.  His face showed the wrinkles of a man just past his prime, but he walked with the confidence and carriage of a fighting man.


Roland stopped and stared at the three in front of him.  Sir Iain looked to be hovering on the edge of exhaustion, favouring one hand and with blood smeared across his forehead; a beautiful young woman with a similar blood smear was standing silent and watchful beside him, and a tall, well-built man watched him warily.  This man's clothes were dirty, and he smelled of the grave.


"Sir Roland," Iain said.  "We are in need of food and sleep."


"And perhaps a bath," Roland added.  "You'll bring them to the house?"


"Aye,"  Iain answered.  "Hopefully we will not need to stay for long.  Be watchful; if anyone approaches by any means, I need to know at once."


"Of course, my Lord."  Roland turned and led them toward the doorway.  He noted that Iain maintained his grip on the woman's arm; she walked quietly beside him, and he recognized the signs of someone under another's control.  Sir Iain had no need to be subtle about it here.  The other man followed behind, his manner restrained, looking like the movement caused pain.  Did Iain control them both?


They left the shed and headed toward the back of a sturdy home typical of a country craftsman, though more isolated than most.  The yard was well maintained; there was a woven pen to keep a few chickens from roaming freely through a sizable vegetable garden.  A well-stocked herb garden was planted on the other side of the worn path that led to the door.


Washburn thought he saw a face glance at them from the side of the rear window.  It drew back quickly.


"All's well, Maev," Roland called as they approached the door. 


The door was opened by a stout woman of a similar age to Roland.  Her face looked kindly, but her eyes were sharp.  Her grey gown was covered by a large linen apron and her hair covered by a matching kerchief. 


"It's good to see you again, Lord Iain," she said as she greeted him with a slight curtsey.  "Though I have seen you looking better."


"You have no idea how glad I am to be here," Iain replied.  Sidana, still in Iain's grip, gave the woman a haughty stare.  Washburn nodded in acknowledgement as they passed through the doorway.


Inside the house was neat and tidy.  There was the main living area with a stone fireplace and hearth against the outside wall.  A sturdy wooden table was flanked by benches and two chairs.  A second room was walled off for privacy, although the door stood open.  A ladder gave access to the upper loft.  Not quite as simple a dwelling as it seemed from the outside.


The woman looked at Washburn and picked up a wooden bucket. "I'll start heating the water," she said in a pleasant voice.  Washburn looked abashed and Iain managed a tired chuckle.


"If it makes you feel better, I probably smell just as bad," he said.


Sidana looked at him with disdain.  "You do."


Iain shrugged and considered his options.  Should he tell Roland and Maev the identity of his "guests"?  Roland had served him faithfully as his steward for years, and no woman was more capable than his wife, Maev.  Or cunning, if she needed to be.  Both Washburn and Sidana were a danger; Washburn because he was a danger as long as his memories were still distorted, and Sidana, pawn or not, because she was the Pretender Queen of Meara.  He made his choice; the more they knew, the better they could ensure his safety and theirs.


"A moment," Iain said, and Maev halted just inside the door.  "Lady Sidana, may I present Sir Roland Althorp and his wife, Lady Maev Althorp. Sir Roland is my steward here.  Sir Roland, Lady Maev, may I present Sir Washburn Morgan, former prisoner held under duress in the fortress of this lady, Sidana de Paor, Pretender Queen of Meara...."


"My proper form is address is 'Majesty.' and I am no pretender!" Sidana hissed, unable to raise her voice to the level she wanted due to her captor's controls.  "You forget yourself!"


"I forget very little,"  Iain said dryly.  "Including the fact that Sir Roland served nobly with the forces of Gwynedd in the last Mearan Rebellion and was knighted for it in the field.  Do not mistake him or his wife for an ally." 


With little ceremony, Maev returned to her task, not reacting to the message sent to her from Iain.  I will pass some control over both of them, especially Lady Sidana, to you shortly.


Iain guided Sidana to one of the chairs, and she sat obediently, although her eyes continued to glare.  He then approached Washburn.


"Lady Maev is Deryni," he told Washburn.  "I will give her enough control over you, and more over Sidana, to ensure you can do nothing to harm any of us here or lead others to us.  I know how much this chafes, but I owe it to...." He paused, almost referring to the king and then deciding on a better approach.  "I owe it to Darcy to get you both safely delivered to Rhemuth or to someone who will get you there."  It occurred to him that Lords Seisyll or Jamyl might be good choices for the latter.


Sir Washburn started to bristle with resentment when Roland exclaimed, "Your brother Darcy?  Is he alive?"


"Apparently so," Iain replied. 


Washburn saw the smile that almost split Roland's face in two. If the man was so pleased that Darcy still lived, perhaps he should trust them, at least for now. He could not really fault Iain for his caution. 


Iain looked thoughtful.  "I will, however, ease up a bit, if you will give me your word to keep within these rules I have set.  I want you capable of acting with me, if events slip beyond our control.  I have no idea how much your mind has been altered, but I will trust your word if you give it freely."  As much as I dare, Iain added to himself.


Washburn looked down at the smaller man that stood before him, so much like Darcy.  There was a good chance he could block his powers if the right moment presented itself, but to what purpose?  Again, he was left with no idea where he was, and what would happen if he attempted to contact any of his brothers?  Would they even bother to rescue him?


"You have my word, freely given."  Washburn reached out and gripped Iain's hand.  Iain winced; he had almost forgotten the scorched skin.  He remembered it now.  "I can Heal that," Washburn offered.


Iain shook his head.  "We both need to rest, and I would suggest you Heal your ribs first.  You will want to be recovered enough to enjoy Maev's stew."


Washburn touched his ribs gingerly.  "Good clean food will be welcome."


Iain nodded and waved Maev toward them after she had stirred the wood below the pot of water that hung on the iron hook above it.  When she reached them, Washburn felt the lady's touch against his still unshielded mind; she was skilled, but gentle.  More gentle than Iain, at least.  Iain and Maev went next to Sidana, who looked resentful.  The pretender queen's face did not relax as the new controls were added, but she remained compliant, her defiance still apparent in her eyes.


Iain noted the movement as Roland went out the back door.  Soon he heard the familiar sound of his bathing tub being dragged to its accustomed spot.  By rights he should bathe first, but he was too tired and had no desire to drown.  Maev was stirring something in a second pot that hung over the fire, and the scent of her meat stew became tantalizingly evident.  But he desperately needed sleep first.


"Maev," he said.  "I need some sleep.  Pray wake me before dinner.  Just before," he added.


Maev shook her head.  "Not until I see to that hand."  She ignored his protest, and ladling out some of the water into a bowl before it became too hot, bade him to sit at the table.  Iain might have protested, but he knew the woman too well.  Washburn looked amused as Iain meekly sat and allowed her to clean the hand and apply ointment from a small jar. She bandaged his hand, but not so tightly that he could not grip sword or dagger if needed.  Iain mumbled his thanks and then headed to the adjoining room.


The room was furnished with a simple bed and several chests.  Sir Iain Cameron, Baron o' Isles, managed only to remove his boots before he fell back across the bed, asleep before he could raise his feet from the floor.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on October 09, 2018, 01:52:54 PM
The water turning hot over the hearth and the bath tub set a few feet away looked so inviting. It was not near as palatial as the bath Washburn had recently taken, but this one was clean and did not come with evil eyes upon him. In fact, Wash felt no restraint about stripping out of his clothes and kneeling into the tub, of course keeping his back to the ladies. If the pretender queen was offended, he honestly did not care. With lye on a sponge, he happily rubbed himself down.  And let the soapy water fall into the tub. Sir Roland came over to pour clean water down his back to rinse the soap and the dirt away.

"Why, may I ask, do you have a short spot of hair at the top of your head?  Some nefarious magic that they needed a clump of your hair for?" the old knight asked.

Wash let out a frustrated sigh, but then in a bright change of moods, he laughed and turned back to Roland with a genuine wide smile. "Tis my own folly, that." Wash replied. "I thought impersonating a priest would do us some good. Turns out it didn't. Just made me look funny. Someday, I will have to find Father Columcil and apologize for my audacious behavior of impersonating one of his brethren. He may set my penance for 50 Hail Marys or worse. At the time, he was very forgiving about it. Father Columcil is the best of men. As is Iain's brother, Darcy. I miss them. I hope Rhemuth is treating them well." Then Washburn's smile faded. "Aliset!" he whispered under his breath. "No, what I hope is that they have left Rhemuth and have found that vivacious young lady. There are not many women like that one."

Happily ducking under that last ladle of rinse water, Washburn stood from the tub and excepted a blanket over his shoulders that he wrapped fully around his body. He made one small attempt to find his Healing ability to remove the pain and bruising over his ribs. But the exhaustion of the day was unforgiving, Healing was untouchable at the moment.

Lady Maev tossed his pile of clothes in the bath water and added more lye to give the clothes a goodly soak. When she picked up the green tunic, her nose twitched at the smell. "This is the finest heavy silk I've ever seen, putting this to launder may shrink the weave."

"Good!" Wash said with a hint of disgust in his voice. "Shrink it, so I can not wear it again. I hate green!" he added with true venom.

Roland bristled at that. "Green is your family colors, is it not?"

"Exactly!" Washburn confirmed. With out his shields, his hate spilled out to those who could sense it.

"I will see that the tunic is well-shrunk. You be easy on that subject," Maev said softly with a hint of controlled power in her last words.

Abashed, Washburn  hung his head low, "My apologies to you, Lady Maev, and to you, Sir Roland. I forget myself, sometimes."

Roland went over to the stew pot and ladled out a fresh bowl then handed it across to the tall knight. With merely a wrap for clothing, it would be inappropriate for him to sit at the table, near the young pretender queen. Washburn sank down on the fur rug before the hearth and accepted the bowl of stew. "Smells wonderful," he said, while staring at it, yet he did not dare to pick up the spoon.

"Tastes as good as it smells, I assure you," Maev said as she washed his clothes. But still Wash did not eat it. Misinterpreting his hesitation, Maev commented, "Sorry, I do not have the spices that you courtly folk are used to."

Wash held the bowl up to his nose, it did smell so good. "Plain and simple is best. Spices hide all manor of evils. Like merasha or mandragoria. I ask you for truth. Are there any drugs in here?"

His hosts looked at him horrified. "Truth read, what I say," Maev finally responded. "There is nothing in there but mutton, carrots, onions and green beans, I added a dash of salt and pepper for flavoring. I've not else to add. And I would most certainly never drug you."

"Thank you, Lady Maev, I sense your honesty. I am so very, very hungry." With that he spooned up a mouthful and made pleasant humming sounds as he tasted it and ate it down. He had a second helping before he was done. Maev hung his clothes before the hearth to dry. The green tunic looking sufficiently smaller. "Sell that and make yourself a gold coin or two,"  He said nodding with approval "I'll wear the black shirt and trousers when they are dry." Then he curled to his side on the rug and was happily asleep in a non-drugged sleep before he had even found a pillow for his head. Maev rolled up a second blanket and placed it under his head. She touched his unshielded mind and reinforced his sleep. Unless someone woke him, the freed prisoner would not awake until dawn the next morning.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on October 10, 2018, 06:50:21 PM

Sidana de Paor, Pretender Queen of Meara, looked with disdain at the sleeping man stretched out near the hearth, wrapped only in a blanket.  She watched the even breathing for a moment and then looked up as Lady Maev placed a bowl of steaming stew before her and set a spoon beside it.  Next she placed a round of fresh, brown bread in the centre of the table. Sidana wrinkled her nose in disfavour. 


"There is nothing wrong with simple, wholesome food," Maev said calmly.


"I suppose you will force me to eat it.  I seem to have no choice in anything, now," Sidana responded. 


"Only if I have to make that choice," Maev said evenly. 


Sidana reached rebelliously for her belt knife to cut off a piece of bread.  "Hold," Maev said firmly and reached over to remove the knife from her hand.  Even after establishing his controls, Sir Iain must have been totally exhausted not to have checked for anything Sidana could use as a weapon!  She cut a slice of bread and placed it before Sidana but kept the knife. She would search for any other items that could be dangerous before her guest retired for the night. Sidana cautiously tried the stew and after the first taste, decided she was hungry and ate steadily.


Iain Cameron stepped out of the adjoining room and looked at Lady Maev with mock reproof.  "You were to wake me for dinner."


"You were next on my list, my Lord," she replied and smiled.


Iain looked down at the sleeping form of Washburn.  "Did he leave me any?"


"I think there might be an onion or bean left," she said as she took a clean bowl down from the shelf and filled it with hot stew.


Iain accepted the bowl and sat it down at the far end of the table.  "I shall endeavor to sit downwind, if it please you," he said to Sidana. 


"Little pleases me at the moment," Sidana replied. Delicately she soaked the end of her piece of bread in what was left of the broth in the bottom of her bowl.


Iain made short work of his first bowl of stew, broke off a chunk of the bread and wiped his bowl clean with it.  Sidana frowned.


Are you deliberately trying to annoy her?  Maev sent as she filled the bowl again.


Iain grinned.  I may have misplaced my manners back in her dungeon.


Maev shook her head at him indulgently and turned to Sidana to remove the empty bowl before her.


"Would you care for some more, my Lady?" Maev asked.


"No, I think not," Sidana replied coolly.


"'No, I think not, my Lady,'" is perhaps what you meant to say?"  Iain suggested.


Sidana said nothing, but her eyes shot daggers as she looked in his direction.


"I think perhaps it would be best if our guest retires for the night," Maev said, forestalling further debate..  "I'll put her on the spare pallet in the loft.  I'll sleep as usual up there and Roland will sleep down here tonight." 


"Pallet?" Sidana exclaimed, clearly aghast at the idea.


"It will be clean and comfortable compared to your dungeon floor," Iain said mildly.  Maev gave him a look as she shepherded the younger woman toward the ladder. 


Roland entered from the back door.  "She's prickly enough, Sir Iain, without stirring her up more," he said, comfortable enough in his lord's service to reproach mildly.


"Aye, you are right, but I've seen too much death already in her Mearan rebellion, and there will be more before it's over.  She blithely sits and preens while those behind her manipulate her into more than I think she bargained for.  But enough talk of rebellion.  I want a refreshing bath to wash more from me than dirt.  And I'll need your help, if you don't mind, to contact the king  afterwards.  He needs to know what has transpired."


"Of course, my Lord.  I am at your disposal, as always."

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on October 22, 2018, 12:54:24 PM
Kelric Morgan, Duke of Corwyn, dipped the quill in the ink bottle and then hastily added his signature for the dozenth time to another parchment giving out orders for the following day. This last order doled out provisions for the troops. These were the orders that kept their small army of men, six hundred strong, in disciplined ranks toward the city of Laas. In the current climate of the Province of Meara it was a task not as simple as it should be. Duke Kelric was the highest ranking noble, thusly he lead this army. Although his own men were few, making up but one small battalion under Baron Sieur II de Vali. Nearly all the men came under the rule of Earl Duncan Michael McLain of Kierney or Baron Jass MacArdry of Truill and Culdi.  Kelric sprinkled sand across his inked signature, than he shuffled the parchment to the stack of signed orders for Baron de Vali to attend to. His attention turned back to the center of the camp table; another parchment glared at him under the candle light. Requests from Munroe's battalion to join under Korben's men. This gave Kelric pause, he had thought to move the men to Baron de Vali's leadership to give strength to his own men, but perhaps Korben would be a better choice, given that Korben was a boarderman and knew this land like the back of his hand. Lord de Vali was a Corwyn man, a good one, but not as well known by Munroe's battalion.

Kelric frowned as he considered Captain Munroe's death, the first loss of one of his men in this rebellion. At mid afternoon, their front men had come upon an ambush. These Mearan rebels were more widespread than had first been told. Kelric's, Duncan Michael's and Jass's men had been harassed in half the small bergs and villages along the road out of Ratherkin, mostly by obstacles meant to slow them down. Carts and plows abandoned on narrow parts in the road. Caltrops and spikes scattered in river crossings where they could not be seen under the water. Kelric's scoots were good, they reported these findings well ahead of the army's arrival. However, the clearing of this things took time, time that was not affordable.  After two days they had only marched one-third the distance to Laas; a courier could have gotten there and back again in the same time. Ambush had been a concern at every obstacle, at first the rebels had remained distant and unseen, that is until late on this day when arrows had been lobbied at them from a crest of a hillside. Most arrows were deflected, few did damage. Only one had been fatel and that wasn't even from the initial surprise attack. Kelric had given the first warning of enemy on the hill sides. Captain Munroe vigorously lead a cavalry charge up the hill, successfully scattering the rebels. Monroe took that one fatal arrow as he crest the hillside. Hours later, the loss was felt by many as camp was set. Kelric considered the request on the parchment before him. Sir Korben was a good leader, one of Kierney's best. He had proved himself today charging down the pair of men who had taken Munroe's life. Making the decision, Kelric put his signature to the request and placed it atop the finished pile. One last parchment before him and he blindly signed it, tired of it all and ready to be done with this necessary but unwelcome part of his duties. Kelric's lips turned upward as he recalled how much his father had hated this part of his duties as well.

Duncan Michael McLain strode over to the duke with a pint of Cassan ale in his hand. "If your done we should call it an early night. We need to get these men to Laas, and that means a hard march tomorrow."

"Agreed," Kelric said absently picking up the last page, glancing at it quickly before moving it to the finished pile. When he read the ending paragraph above his signature his hand froze, his eyes bulged and he forced himself to read the paragraph in full. 

Kelric Alain Morgan Duke of Corwyn, by request of King Kelson of Gwynedd, do I hereby revoke the hereditary rights of succession to the second son of Alaric Morgan, for reasons listed above. One Sir Washburn Alaric Cynfyn Morgan is removed from the rights of inheritance from the Morgan family line. His rights of succession  for himself and for any progeny of his loins for the Duchy of Corwyn and for the Earldom of Lendour are hereby revoked as of this day the eighth and twentieth day of July, in the year of our lord 1064...

"God's Blood!" Kelric exclaimed.  "I thought I ordered this to NOT be scribed. Who wrote this?"

Baron Sieur II de Vali stepped from his own work by the tent entrance. "Your Grace, I heard you give the orders for this to be written out for your approval after your contact with his majesty, I do not recall you rescinding that order."

Kelric sighed, remembering too well the poor timing. "I had second thoughts at noon. I gave the order to Monroe to have you informed. That would have been before the attack."

The duke frowned at his signature upon the parchment. Here was legal rights to remove his brother from the line of succession and thusly relinquish his brother's noble standing from all but his knighthood. Washburn was fourth in line to the Morgan claims, Kelric's three sons had presidents. His king had reminded him of the danger Washburn's captivity posed to his sons, the king's grandsons. They would be targets for the enemy for so long as Washburn remained in the enemy's hands. If, as the spy Iain had reported, Washburn was to be subjected to reconditioning to become the enemy's hand, and to produce progeny that were loyal to the sons of Teymuraz than he became a threat to all his blood relatives. The enemy planed to use him to gain control of the Duchy of Corwyn.  Removing his brother from the succession legally, by order of the king, removed the threat. It made sense from a dynastic point of view. But this was his baby brother. The boy he had to raise up as his own son when their father had been killed. What the king had not said but what was known by both men was this order also reduced the value of his brother in ransom which in turn would likely get him killed. In no way did Kelric wish for such a thing. Yet, his signature glared up at him from the parchment he had just signed.

Duncan Michael looked over his shoulder, "I understand your sorrow in this, your grace. Think on it,  sometimes, it is a higher hand watching out for us. There may be good reason that you have put your signature to this.  I know you had cancelled the order to have this written, I heard you then. But here it is anyway. You're distraction was not my intention just now, but I am glad you have put your name to it. When Washburn is returned to us, you can reverse what is written here," the earl said solemnly offering the pint of ale. Both Baron Jass and Baron Sieur gave small nodes of agreement. 

"Can I?" Kelric asked rebellious and perplexed. He shook his finger in frustration at all three men, refusing both their offered advice and the offered ale. "Some things you can not take back once they are done. This damage might be reversible legally, but the damage to my brother and our relationship would be irrevocable. I can not and will not do this to the man, he deserves better than this from me. If he proves himself to be a betrayer, than that would be cause to sign this. I don't have that proof!"

"It is already signed by your grace's hand," Duncan Michael dared to state.

Kelric's fingers turned white knuckled as he grasped the edge of the parchment. He lifted the signed order up before him. Three men stood watching him, each feeling his pain, but each believing this was the best course of action.  Just then, the silver eyes of the duke flashed, the the center of the parchment with the order upon it burst to flame, as the flame grew the duke's hand tossed what was left into the brazier at the table's side.

"No ale for me tonight." Kelric was determined that he was in the right. "I need a clear head to make contact with the king. I will explain my actions to him and to no one else."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on October 24, 2018, 02:01:38 PM
The tableau on the Portal stone - a guard standing with Sidana de Paor hugged to his chest, the prisoner on his knees, all three smeared with Valerian's blood - seemed frozen in time. And then it was gone.  The lone arrow released from a bow in the gallery above struck the empty stone dead centre, danced across it and slid to the wall.

Guards poured through the door.  Two grasped Grand Duke Valerian by the arms as he started to collapse.  Desperately, Valerian struggled to remain upright, reeling more from the loss of his powers than his physical injuries.

"Find them," he bellowed.  "Find where they have gone; I must have them back!"

The captain of the guards, realizing what was needed, sent for one of Valerian's Deryni knights.  Valerian, pale and shaking, refused to be moved to his quarters, the need to know where the man who had taken his magic had gone greater than his need for his wounds to be treated.  He did allow himself to be seated and have the wounds in his sides quickly bound to stop the blood flowing down his sides.  He took a deep breath; he could not centre without his powers, but he could at least try to regain some control of the situation.

The Deryni knight entered, closely followed by Lord Brioc's physician.  He bowed briefly to the Grand Duke.

"Find the signature of the Portal this one was last used to reach," Valerian commanded, his voice sounding weaker with each spoken word.

The knight nodded and kneeled at the edge of the Portal stone.   He spread his hands flat on the surface and concentrated deeply.  "The only destination signature here is for the Portal at Ratharkin," the knight said.  "There is no other." 

"Follow immediately.  Have Lord Oswald turn Ratharkin upside down until they are found."

The knight nodded and motioned another man to join him.  They drew their swords and held them ready as the knight took them both to Ratharkin.  Only then did Valerian allow himself to be assisted to his study.  He focused on the pain to keep his panic at bay.  Washburn must be found and forced to undo what he had done.  That was the first priority.  Sidana must be returned to him before she could become Kelson's pawn rather than his.  As for the traitor guard, if he could be returned as well, Valerian would make sure he killed him slowly and painfully.

***

"How does he fare?" asked Brioc de Paor. He had hastily pulled on a robe when summoned to the grand duke's study, his hair still plastered to the sides of his face from the fever he had barely survived.   He stood with the physician before the pallet on which Valerian rested.  The physician had not deemed it wise to move Valerian to his sleeping quarters quite yet.  The grand duke had lost a lot of blood and was in pain, but he had refused the sleeping draught he had been offered, much to the dismay of the physician. 

"He will live, but he suffered two deep wounds.  It will take time, unless we can find a Healer to help him."

"If I had one handy, I would have used him myself," Brioc stated flatly.  "What has happened here?"

"Too much," Valerian said weakly from the pallet.  Brioc leaned closer to hear him better.

"We had a traitor guard in our midst.  He has taken Washburn Morgan and your daughter." 

"Sidana? No!  Where have they gone?"  Brioc's face flushed dark with anger, and he clenched the hilt of the dagger on his belt.

"The last use was to Ratharkin, and men are searching there now, but I fear it is a false lead.  It makes no sense to go from one trap into another.  Queen Sidana is now known to her people there.  Her captors would not get far with her."  Valerian paused for breath. 

"You will question the dungeon guards," he continued after a moment. "Find out as much as you can of the traitor guard and how he managed the escape.  Feel free to encourage any who hesitate to talk in whatever way provides information."  He motioned weakly for the physician to approach.  He sorely missed his Deryni ability to lessen his own pain.  Perhaps the loss was temporary, and his powers would return once he was sufficiently rested and recovered.  "I will take your potion now."

***

Lord Brioc delayed following the grand duke's orders only long enough for a quick wash, a change into proper clothing and the questioning of the guard who had been posted outside his door.    The man sweated profusely as he stammered the details of Sidana's decision to find Valerian and tell him the happy news of her father's recovery.  Headstrong child!  She would find her freedom sharply curtailed once this was over.  The guard he would deal with later, and he left the man sweating outside his door.

Lord Brioc descended the stairs and strode across the first floor of the keep toward the closed door of the guard room.  One of Valerian's Deryni retainers accompanied him, along with two additional guards. Brioc did not knock before pushing the guard room door wide open.  The senior guard dozing in his seat at the end of the table did not move.  A goblet lay on its side near his limp hand; there was no indication the contents had been spilled.

After a nod from Brioc, one of the guards moved forward and slapped the sleeping guard hard across his face.  The man awoke with a start, saw Brioc, and leaped to his feet, stumbling a bit as he did so. 

"My Lord, forgive me; I have no idea why I slept.  It has never happened before.  I had just finished fixing the drink for the prisoner...." His voice wandered off as he looked at the empty goblet on the table. 

'You drank it yourself?" Brioc demanded.

"I must have, but I have no idea why."  The senior guard looked increasingly nervous as Valerian's retainer came closer.

"He speaks the truth as he knows it," the man said. "Shall I look more closely?"

"Do it," Brioc replied as the senior guard tried to move backwards but was prevented by the table.

Calmly the Deryni retainer placed a hand on either side of the senior guard's head and held it still.  "His memories have been altered," he said.  "Shall I delve deeper?"

"No, we already have a good idea who has done this."  Brioc looked toward the trap door in the floor, still open to the dungeon below.  "Lead us to the prisoner's cell."

"Of course, my Lord."  The senior guard squared his shoulders and led them down the ladder.  Showing cowardice now, or hesitating to do his duty, would do him no good.  At the bottom, he took up one of the torches, and one of the guards took up another one.  He led them down the corridor to the cell that had held their special guest and unlocked the door with his key.

Piers did not stir as the door opened, but as the senior guard had done, slept undisturbed until Brioc kicked him in the groin.  He came awake with a startled gasp, his reaction causing more pain from the chain tight against his throat and his arm stretched to the wall.  It took a moment for him to recognize the angry man standing before him in the flickering torchlight.

"My Lord," he managed to say through his discomfort and the dryness of this throat.  "The prisoner took me by surprise; I had no idea he had freed himself."

"What were you doing in his cell?" Brioc said, his voice harsh and his boot ready to land another kick.

"I had left my club in this cell after I taught him a good lesson on the folly of prayer," Piers said earnestly, though realizing he damned himself with every word.  "We fought hard; I don't understand how this happened."

The Deryni retainer stepped forward, and Piers tried to move his head away, but was prevented by the chains.  The retainer was not gentle as he forced his way into Piers' mind.

"The same as before," the retainer reported.  "And it feels like it was done by the same Deryni."

"Then you know it was not my fault, my Lord.  It was done by an evil Deryni!" Piers said desperately.  "I beg you to release me!  You must!  I have done no wrong!"

"Other than being a complete fool?" Lord Brioc sneered.  He looked at the senior guard, who was doing his best to remain unnoticed.  "Do we have an empty oubliette?" he asked.

"I believe we do, my Lord," the senior guard answered.

"Then put him in it," Brioc said, pointed at Piers.

"No, no, have mercy, my Lord."  Piers pleaded desperately.  "I will die in there!"

"As you should," Lord Brioc replied.  "You."  He looked at the senior guard, who paled but stood stoically.  "You will assume this idiot's duties.  You are relieved from you position as senior guard."

The former senior guard bowed.  "Thank you, my Lord," he said, relieved to know he was not to take Piers' place in the cell.

Lord Brioc turned and left the cell.  He paused in the corridor and then called down the line, "Any of you that can tell me more of what happened here, speak up!  It may well get you your freedom."

The only response was the sound of the shifting of chains.  Lord Brioc de Paor was not known for being a man of his word. 

Lord Brioc shook his head in disgust and beckoned the guard with the torch to proceed him down the corridor to the ladder that led up to daylight and freedom. 

Piers struggled desperately, but to no avail, as he was unchained and dragged to the waiting oubliette.  The sound of chains being rattled vigorously in the cells could be heard above the man's cries, signaling the approval of his fellow prisoners. 
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on October 25, 2018, 01:38:12 PM
How... The King of Gwynedd let the word dangle with heavy tension before continuing. ...do you propose... Another break of silence, presumably the king keeping control in his mental tone.  ... I protect your sons and your daughters from a determined enemy and from a potentially traitorous uncle? I trust my spy when he tells me your brother has been turned against the crown and against his family. I know that it is not of his own doing, but I also know the strengths of the sons of Teymuraz. Now that the youngest son of Alaric Morgan is in their hands, they will have the ability to turn him into a very dangerous man.

Washburn won't turn on me, there is too much between us for that.

You are champion of the crown of Gwynedd, yet perhaps you are too naive to be so. Think you! You still have not told me how I am to protect your six children. My grandchildren! If you think for one instant that I can lock up six of the Morgan-Haldane bloodline in a tower until all this is resolved, than you do not know your own children very well. Kenric is already chafing at the double guard tailing him, and your eldest daughter is downright rebellious with her mother for the restrictions of not being allowed to attend the schola. I know this is trivial and they will do as they must, but do you want your children to live the rest of their lives in fear of an assassin at their back? Lives that when lost, will place Corwyn in the hands of men who will, by then, be strong enough to destroy the peace and equality of this kingdom. What I have spent a lifetime to build can be torn apart so easily in war and greed.  Washburn in the hands of the enemy is the catalyst. I am told they will marry him, have him produce a son, one who will be the rightful heir of Corwyn when all your children are dead. Do not fool yourself that I can protect all of them from assassins, even if I lock them up in the tower.  So long as Washburn is in the hands of the son of Teymuraz, it matters not whether your brother is complicit in this or a tortured captive. Think of the Washburn whom you and I both love; would that man willingly live a traitor's life. You and I both know the answer is No!

There was a very long silence in their rapport. Kelric dared not to say anything-- his mind was reeling-- while the King remained silent, he dared not show his full anger with a man he loved like a brother and was his father by marriage.

We will discuss this in the morning at our next Rapport, when both our heads are more clear.

The rapport ended abruptly. Kelric knew the anger of his king. He squeezed his eyes tight and took a deep breath, then opened them, looking down at the young man on the pallet beside him. His squire had helped with the energy drain to reach Rhemuth Castle. His finger touched the youth's forehead. Wake now. Know that I am grateful for your assistance.

"Arnaud," the duke asked of his squire as the boy opened his eyes and sat up. "Please bring your father to me, I have need of his services." The boy was through the canvas partition readily enough. Kelric sat up at the side of his cot, his face briefly crushed into the palms of his hands.

Baron Sieur De Vali entered quickly with a bow. "Your grace, I am at your service."

"Thank you." Kelric didn't know how to say it, nevertheless he forged forward. "I will ask you to redraft that page which you drafted earlier today, the one I burnt. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes, your grace. The disinheritance of your brother is the one you request, your grace?" the baron's voice nearly shook as he asked this.

"That one, yes. Do it, before I change my mind."

Kelric watched the father and son bow out to leave him alone in his small corner of the pavilion. The baron's son would be knighted in the coming year. The Duke of Corwyn would be his sponsor, just as his grandfather of the same given name of Arnaud had been knighted in the same year as Sean Lord Derry. At least that is how the story was told. A much more pleasant duty than the one that tortured the duke this night. To give promise of a good future to one man and yet to cheat another from any future at all. Kelric's consternation grew. He hoped the baron's hand was fast before he lost nerve to put his signature upon it. 

In the midst of his torment the canvas partition was swept back, admitting the Earl of Kierney. "I presume your Rapport with the king did not go well."

"No," Kelric said quietly. They were not the only men bedded down in the duke's pavilion. Duncan Michael thusly turned to mind speech.

Did he order you to sign the disinheritance?

No, he did not! Far worse! He reminded me of my loyalty to Gwynedd. It isn't individual lives that matter. What matters is the loyalties of the lives that survive. I have one life vs six lives in the balance, seven if you include my own. What I must do,  I do not do for myself.  If the fates take me, then I will be with my father in God's hands. It isn't even for the lives of my children that has me broken, they are Morgans and they are both tough and resilient and they know their loyalties as do all Morgans from generations back. They will survive this. Which reminds me that we all live by our oaths and our honor.  And that my brother, when he was in his right mind, lived by that honor as well.  He would have rather died than be the hand which harms this kingdom. My needs are to do what must be done to see this this rebellion brought to an end.  I can not put Corwyn in jeopardy for that which could cause the downfall of Gwynedd. No matter how much my love is for this one man. The king is angered because he is caught in the same vicious circle and he feels responsible for it coming to this point. I am on reprieve until morning to think on it and give him my response.

He will order you to sign it, then?

No, he won't force that upon me. He will trust that I will force it upon myself. If I don't, all trust between us is lost. Everything I and my father before me stood for is gone. I must sign it before I speak with Kelson again, it is the only answer.

Kelric took a deep breath before looking up at the ceiling. Lord protect my brother, for I do not see how I can. Kelric's face fell back into his hands. "Father, forgive me," he said under his breath.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on October 26, 2018, 12:09:27 PM
Sir Iain Cameron, Baron o' Isles, felt the warm morning sunshine on his face as he woke.  He stretched comfortably in his bed, content to breathe in fresh air and be clean.  He clasped his hands behind his head and stared up at the thatched roof of his room.  He indulged himself in the opportunity to review his rapport with King Kelson the night before.  Iain was glad he had been able to draw additional energy from Roland; the rapport had lasted longer than usual.

The king had seemed both shocked and pleased at his news; Valerian injured and his Deryni powers blocked, Washburn rescued and the pretender queen hostage.  Not bad for an afternoon's work!  Nonetheless, it was not a perfect outcome, and Kelson had asked many questions.  Valerian was partially neutralized, but not out of the picture.  Kelson did not fault Iain's decision to escape rather than complete the kill.  Either Brioc or Oswald, or perhaps some other powerful noble whose identity they did not know, would step up to fill the void.  Valerian's death would not have stopped the rebellion, though it would have lost much of its momentum.  Sidana de Paor as a hostage was a different matter, and her value was unquestionable.  The king and his council would decide the best way to use this unexpected advantage.

Washburn was a different matter.  Although Kelson was genuinely pleased that the youngest son of Alaric Morgan had been freed, he still considered him a danger, now on two fronts.  His altered memories were a problem for both his family and the king, and his ability to block Deryni powers made him even more of a threat.  Without the altered memories, Kelson would not have questioned that Washburn would use his new ability with restraint and responsibility. But what if he turned it against those Deryni loyal to Gwynedd?  Or the king himself?  Iain was to keep both Washburn and Sidana with him here and await further orders. 

"I WILL NOT!" shrieked a high-pitched, female voice.

"Oh, bloody hell," Iain muttered as he rose from his bed and threw on clean clothes. 

He left his room do find Sidana standing at the foot of the ladder to the loft with her fists on her hips, glaring at Maev.  Maev was patiently holding one of her own fresh gowns and a plain chemise while water heated in the pot above the hearth.  Roland and Washburn stood at the back door.  Iain wasn't sure whether they had just returned from the outside or were trying to find a place to hide.

Sidana turned her glare upon Iain.  "She says I must bathe outside, rather than up in the loft in private!  And I'm to wear her cast-off clothes!"

"Well, unless you are willing to carry the tub up the ladder yourself and haul up your own water, that's the way it will be," Iain said with forced calm.  "And I doubt Lady Maev owns any cast-off clothing, though pray forgive me for not giving you time to pack before we left."

"I am the Queen of Meara and I am not amused!" Sidana snapped.  "I will be afforded the dignity my position demands!"

"Your position may be across my knee if you don't behave yourself," Iain replied and was aware of Maev's mental gasp.  Washburn stared at him, but Roland had begun to smile.

"You wouldn't dare!  Don't you dare lay a hand on me!"

"I gave you my word I would not harm you, and I will keep it, though you are beginning to try my patience sorely.  You will treat Lady Maev, Sir Roland and Sir Washburn with respect, and there will be no more shouting."  Iain's controls would ensure his instructions were followed and restore some resemblance of tranquility.

"You will treat me with equal respect!" Sidana commanded, but her statement lost most of its effect with the gentler tone of voice Iain's controls enforced.  "That's not fair!" she said and burst into tears.

"Perhaps we should check on the animals," Roland suggested from the doorway.

"An excellent idea," Iain said with undisguised enthusiasm.  "Washburn, you may come as well."

Coward! Lady Maev sent as Iain hastened from the room, quickly followed by Roland and Washburn.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on October 27, 2018, 09:16:44 PM
The three men walked the open yard through the garden. Sir Roland stepped off the path, to a long trellis of leafy vines. With a small knife he cut down two bunches of burgundy grapes. He popped one in his mouth for tasting. Satisfied, he handed one bunch each across to Lord Iain and to Sir Washburn. "Hope you like em tart, and not too sweet, these make a decent wine for next year. Maev and I should get enough out of the pressings for two casks, sometimes more."

Fresh fruit off the vine seemed safe in Washburn's eyes. He hoped his host didn't notice his hesitation. He plucked a plump grape from the stem and enjoyed the bitter/sweet flavor. Almost as good as wine itself. The men heard a cry from in the house and a ripping of fabric, then came Maev's voice taking command of the situation. Roland went back to the house, then after a word, came back, "All is well," he commented with a nod of his head. He hastened his lord and his guest into the barn. Once inside, he hefted up a sack and poured grain into two buckets, one to the half mark, the other a little higher. Lifting both buckets, he started toward the horses to feed them.

Washburn intercepted, "May I do the honors for feeding one of your horses?"

A little surprised, Roland handed the heavier bucket over. "This would be for Azim, he gets antsy around feeding time." The older knight nodded to the blood bay destrier whose rump could be seen sticking out into the isle, his black tail swishing at the flies.

"I'll check on the ward over the portal," Iain said as he walked to the store room at the back.

"Don't touch it," Wash warned. "I wasn't very lenient when I set it yesterday. It might zap you from a hand span away."

Iain smiled. "You had cause. And I want fault you, infact, I will even thank you for it." Iain disappeared into the back room. Washburn had no desire to follow. Instead, he patted the rump of the horse named after a prince of R'Kassi; he recognized the horse as a R'Kassi stallion and was impressed.  The bay's head perked up and he whinnied in expectation of his oats. Wash happily held the bucked for the big roman nose to lean into it. In a short time, with lots of vigorous head-butting within the bucket, the animal had licked up every last grain.  Since it seemed they were at ease this morning, Washburn took a deep breath, sensing that his shields were in place and his powers where whole and with them he could enjoying the calm aura and smells of animals and hay. In an inspiration, he found a brush hanging from a peg and started brushing the animal down. After the last four days this was a true pleasure. A simple task that some noblemen would find beneath them, but one that a simple knight often used to relish privacy. 

"A good man makes for a good horse," Wash remarked. "I see you care for your animals."

"Aye, I do. What is a knight without a good horse? I know you would agree. Old Azim was a good steed in his prime, still has something to give before he's put out to pasture. Though I dare say he was never anything like that which you ride. That great black stallion of yours is something else. Saw you ride him in the tournament last season."

"Oh, eye, that one is a God among horses, to be sure. He is not mine," The younger knight said curtly. When he got a queer look from Roland, he tried to explain as best he could place it from his memories. "He is owned by my brother, the one that rules over a huge corner of Gwynedd. The black is his, and he often reminds me of that fact. Those tournaments. It is all for show, you know. Too prove Morgans are better than everyone else. I get to ride the black so I can win. Brother makes bets and gains money from my winning. Shares it with me, in public." The tall blond man said with disdain. Raising his shoulders from their sudden tension, he stopping his brushing. The man all in black cocked his head as if seeing images of memories as they played out before him. Whatever he saw made him testy and anxious. "Phah, in public! Then when we are alone, he charged me for using his beast, a King's ransom no less,  which took all the money back, even took the winning purse. H' said he gave me everything I needed. What else did I need the money for? Then, when I want to ride outside of the tourneys or outside the practice yard, which always seems to be before those courtly nobles, I am told the black is out for standing stud to some filly. I'm pointed to a flea bitten grey plow horse, whose claim is to be strong enough to hold my weight. Funny... I don't recall either horses names. I'm usually pretty good with animal names. It's the people I don't care to remember their names much." Wash grit his teeth, clenched his fist around both ends of the brush. When the wood shaft broke in half, the knight looked up startled. "I'm sorry, I don't know what has gotten into me."

He tossed the brush ends to the ground and walked over to the stack of grain and sat down with a pout, looking at anything but the two men watching him. Sir Roland was looking on with a grimace and Iain had returned giving the older man a node that he would see what he could do to ease the freed prisoner's tensions and obvious altered memories. For even Iain knew of the reputation and love that was often remarked upon between the Morgan brothers. This reaction from the younger Morgan was not what it should be.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on October 28, 2018, 07:52:29 AM
Fiona McIntyre was worried. She is 17 years old, first cousin to Iain and Darcy Cameron, and for the last six years has been living with Baron Mackenzie Stuart and his wife,  Lady Olivia. They had been very kind to her, treating her almost as a daughter after both her parents died and her aunt became too ill to care for her. She was devoted to her cousin Iain, who was her guardian, but she seldom saw him as he was frequently away on missions for King Kelson. She had been happy here until the last few months. Michael Stuart, the baron's son and heir, had become a major problem. He was arrogant and heedless of the concerns of others. Since the Mearan rebellion had begun, he had become increasingly fired up, wanting to join the rebellion with an eye to earning lands and titles from the rebels. His father remained loyal to Kelson, as was Fiona herself.

There had been increasingly violent arguments between the baron and his son as Michael tried to push his father into joining the rebellion  so he could satisfy his own ambitions. The tension in the manor was palpable and everyone was affected by it. Lady Olivia had tried to talk to her son and convince him to give up his idea of joining the rebellion but without success. Fiona said little to Michael and was avoiding him as much as possible.

This evening she was walking quietly through the corridor behind the small withdrawing room. There was no one around as the baron and his wife had gone to their quarters after supper and the servants were in the kitchen having their own suppers. Drawing near to the door to the room, she heard voices, not the loud, harsh voices she had heard so often lately as the baron and his son argued, but quiet male voices, pitched low to avoid being heard. One of the voices belonged to Michael, a second to his closest friend Martin, and a third voice she did not recognize. She decided to get closer to hear what was being said. She eased closer to the door, hiding behind a curtain that partially concealed the doorway

The first voice she heard was Michael's. "If we could find a way to join the rebellion, taking with us men and committing the manor resources, I know we would be welcomed and perhaps even given a command. We could then set about earning lands and perhaps titles as rewards for our service."

This was followed by Martin's voice. "But your father is dead set against it. Have you had any luck persuading him that it is to his advantage as well as yours to join the rebellion?"

"No, he is Kelson's man and not open to change. He would regard such an action as treason. He has even threatened to disinherit me if I do not give up this idea and give my allegiance to Kelson as he has. I have argued until I'm hoarse to no avail. So I have another plan to enable us to turn the manor over to the rebels and to join them."
"What else can you do to persuade him?"

"I will lure him to one of the remote attic rooms by telling him that I have discovered a leak in the roof that needs attention. Once he is inside, I will lock the door and keep him confined there. I will then give out that he has become ill, had a seizure and must be confined to prevent him from harming himself or anyone else. As he is incapable of managing the estate, I will take over."

"What about your mother?"

"I'll tell her that he has become ill, and I have sent for a physician. There is a man sympathetic to the rebellion, and I will summon him to examine my father. He will not actually see my father, but he will be able to tell my mother that he is indeed gravely ill and must be allowed to rest. Any upsets could cause a worsening of his problems and might even kill him"

Fiona listened in horror to this diabolical plan. She had to do something to thwart Michael's plan, but  what? She silently and quickly snuck to her own quarters. She was frightened. It was vital that she inform someone of what she had heard, but who and how could it be accomplished? She considered sending a message, but who could carry it? She didn't want to get any of the servants in trouble, and Michael was aware of her own loyalty to the king and to Gwynedd. He watched her closely, and any written message would be intercepted. And  who would be the best person to trust with what she knew?

    After much thought, she decided that her guardian Iain was the person she needed to try to reach. However, it seemed impossible. She had no one to send that she could trust, and she did not know where to find him. Then she had an idea. She remembered Sir Roland Althorpe, who was Iain's steward and highly trusted by him. He would know how to reach Iain. He would help her. He and his wife, Lady Maev, had been so kind the last time she had visited with Iain. Although it had been quite some time since she had seen them, she was certain that they would remember her and be able to help her to reach Iain.

The only way she could think of to deliver her message was to do it herself. She would have to run away from the manor and make her way to where Sir Roland and his wife lived in the country, on the plain to the east of Ratharkan not far from the border with Gwynedd.  It shouldn't be more than two or three days' ride from the manor. She was an excellent rider, better than most of the young men she knew, including Michael, and she was sure she could do it. She could disguise herself as a  boy to avoid being stopped and questioned. She would have to lay her plans carefully if she was to succeed, but she felt that this was her only chance to reach the king and inform him of what was happening.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on November 02, 2018, 04:09:47 PM
Duncan rose from his knees, more stiffly than he would have liked, and went into the tiny vesting room at the side of the altar in his private chapel where a young priest trainee waited to robe him and then serve mass for him. Although there were a few to whom he had granted the privilege of attending this early service, the King amongst them, in practise there were few who ever appeared, preferring to wait for the mass in the royal chapel an hour later.

On this occasion, however, when Duncan returned to the chapel another was present, kneeling with his head in his hands. Duncan was immediately aware that something was wrong when Kelson did not raise his head but, it being neither the time nor the place to probe further, he genuflected to the altar and began the mass as on any other day. Despite being warned that the King might one day appear, the young server was inclined at first to clumsiness, but Duncan's calm focus on the holy mysteries they were celebrating enabled him to contain his fears and the mass proceeded without incident.

Inwardly Duncan was far from calm, what terrible news might Kelson have received that brought him here and in a state which rendered unable to lift his head, let alone make the responses which would normally have come as automatically as breathing? His anxiety deepened when the King made no move to come forward to receive communion, and Duncan's tentative probe rebounded against tightly closed shields, but he made no sign, continuing as normal until the last words of the mass had been exchanged and he and the server had returned to the vesting room. Only then did he depart from routine, refusing to allow himself to be disrobed and dismissing the young man to his breakfast, abjuring him sternly that he was to speak to no-one of the king's presence under pain of severe penance. The young man left rapidly, only too glad to be out of the strained atmosphere, and having no need whatsoever of Duncan's reminder, the sooner the whole excruciating experience faded from his memory the better, as far as he was concerned.

Once he was sure that they were alone Duncan returned to the chapel, and going to the tabernacle reverently removed the ciborium with its sacred hosts, before moving to stand in front of the kneeling King.

"If you need to make confession before receiving then why did you not come earlier?"

"How can I confess that which I do not repent. I have betrayed my oldest and most loyal friend, bullied one of his sons into acting against his conscience and broken my oath to the other. Even Judas regretted his betrayal but I cannot."

Kelson's voice broke as he spoke and he wept into his hand. Duncan felt a shudder run through him, it could only be Alaric's sons of whom he was speaking. He longed to question, to know what could have happened but his first duty was to the tormented soul whose confessor he had been so many years ago.

"And you think to make this better by refusing the gift of your Lord and turning your back on the strength He offers?"

At this Kelson looked up, startled by the stern accusation in Duncan's voice. Denis might have so spoken to him, but never Duncan.

"How can I be worthy enough, how can I ever be worthy again?" Kelson's head went back down into his hands and his shoulders shook as he wept.

Duncan stepped away only long enough to put the veiled ciborium onto the altar, offering a genuflection which was both respect and a plea for divine wisdom, before he returned to his King and kneeling beside him took him into his arms. He could not maintain his sternness, not when despite the maturity and majesty of the man before him he could hear all too clearly the echo of the young boy who had asked him on the eve of his coronation whether he would make a good king.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on November 04, 2018, 11:28:25 AM
Fiona paced restlessly around her chamber, thinking about what she had heard and what she needed to do about it. Should she try to warn the baron about his son's plot? How would he react? If he confronted Michael, he would surely reveal how he had learned about Michael's plans, and that would put her in a bad position. It was possible that it would cause Michael to move sooner, and she thought he had support, not just from his friends but also from manor staff. She had noticed a number of new faces among the servants, men she did not know and who might be rebel allies.

The baron's long time steward had retired during the summer after long and faithful service. She did not care for the new man, Maclin, a withdrawn and secretive man who carried out his duties efficiently enough but who rarely spoke and who seemed to be watching them. She had recently surprised him in a remote part of the manor house where he had no reason to be. When she asked him what he was doing, he had replied that he was exploring as he needed to be familiar with all parts of the manor to be able to manage it efficiently. But she did not trust him.

In addition, she had been worried about the baron's health. He had aged during the summer, tiring more easily and looking more frail. Uncle Mac, her name for him since she had joined his household six years before, had always appeared vigorous and capable despite is age, but the constant arguments with his heir and worries about the growing rebellion had taken their toll. She was afraid that they might restrain both the baron and her, keeping her from being able to get word to anyone of the situation at the manor.  No, her choice to slip away from the manor and try to reach Sir Roland and through him, Iain, was the best decision.

Having confirmed her decision in her own mind, she had to focus on her preparations and move forward. She needed a way to disguise herself, to look like a young man. She thought she could use some of Michael's discarded clothing which he had outgrown. She needed hose and a tunic and a cloak and a cap to cover her hair.  She would need food, a means of protecting herself on her trip, and a horse.

She needed to have her route mapped out in her mind. Fortunately, she loved riding and had been allowed to explore the lands surrounding the manor widely and knew the area well. The manor was not far from the Mearan border, between Culdi and Trillick. She would need to head west along the Cuilteine road  toward Ratharkan. She knew that Iain's retreat was in the mountains east of Ratharkan, in an isolated area near the Gwynedd border. She was sure she could find it. However, the Cuilteine Road was a main route into Meara and she would need to avoid bands of travellers, particularly soldiers, official looking parties, or neighbors who would recognize her. She could make use of several smaller roads and paths that branched off the main road but roughly paralleled it. It should not take her more than a day or possibly a day and a half to reach her destination.

She needed to find suitable clothing. She carefully opened her chamber door and listened. All was quiet so she hoped everyone was asleep. She slipped quietly through the halls to the back stairs used by the servants to reach the kitchen and scullery. Through the scullery was a door leading outside to the nearby washhouse. Carefully shielding her candle, she entered the washhouse and looked around. To one side, on a shelf, she saw clothing that appeared to be removed from regular wear. She found two pair of hose and a plain tunic that Michael had used when going hunting. She took them and retraced her steps. In the kitchen, she provided herself with two small loaves of bread, some cheese and a few apples. Then she returned to her chamber, carefully securing the door and placing her candle in a corner where its light would not be readily seen from outside.
She removed her own clothing and put it away so when the room was searched, it would look like she had prepared for bed as usual. She then put on the hose and tunic which fitted well enough to pass as her own. She braided her hair in one braid and pinned it on top of her head, she would take a cap from the main hall to hide the braid. She packed the food in her bag and took her water skin to fill it as she left.  She wanted to be away at dawn, to be as far away as possible before her absence was discovered. If all went well, she should have several hours before she was missed, and no one would have any idea where she had gone. She secured her knife in the belt of her tunic, picked up her bag and waterskin and snuck out of her chamber, securing the door. At the bottom of the stairs, she turned briefly to add her bow and quiver of arrows to her equipment. As she passed through the main hall, she took one of the caps hanging there and put it on, hiding her hair. She also took an old cloak of the baron's that was plain but warm.

She crept silently out of the manor heading for the stable. The darkness was just beginning to lighten, enabling her to find her way. When she reached the stable, she quickly filled her waterskin and then moved down the row of stalls to stop by a sturdy bay horse named Edric, who was steady and reliable. She would take him  instead of her own Arondel, who was too high bred to be a squire's horse. She quickly saddled him and led him from the stable toward the approach road to the manor. As soon as she felt safe, she mounted and walked him down toward the main road. She looked back at the sleeping manor but there were no signs of life. She had accomplished the first  part of her plan. She reached the main road and turned toward the hills and Ratharkan.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on November 14, 2018, 01:21:11 PM
Lady Aliset Cameron tried not to be distracted by the shifting patches of late afternoon sunlight that pierced the trees and danced across Father Columcil's back and Shadow's massive rump.  While the path was wide enough for them to ride comfortably single file, they still had to dodge low branches and watch out for obstacles on the path.  Aliset could not see much of anything forward beyond the priest, thought she knew Darcy was in the lead moving them forward. 

They had started out along the open path that wound through the valley shortly after the courier left the valley church.  The day had grown warmer as the sun rose higher in the clear sky, and they were all uncomfortable when they paused at midday to allow the horses to drink from a cool stream not far from the path.  Darcy had kneeled by the stream, pulled off his dark cap and plunged his head into the stream up to his shoulders.  He rose dripping, but looking refreshed.  Aliset had resisted doing the same and used her scarf to wash her face and neck, but Father Columcil  had followed Darcy's lead.  They had allowed the horses to rest while they ate a simple meal of bread and cheese washed down with the clear water from the stream.  Although they had not tarried long, they were not as far along as Darcy would have liked.

When they came upon an old farmer working in a nearby field who waved at them as they passed, it was Father Columcil who took the time to ride over and exchange greetings.  Darcy remained stubbornly on the path, impatient at the delay.  Aliset reined in beside him but quickly turned to ride over to the two men when Columcil signaled.  Darcy muttered something under his breath that Aliset chose not to hear as he followed her.

"Good day to ye," the old man said as they drew up beside Columcil.  "The good Father here says you be heading toward the old ruins just this side 'o Droghera." 

"Aye, we are," Darcy responded, not sure of the wisdom of telling someone where they were headed.

"If ye want to get yerselves out 'o the heat, there's a shady path to the right that'll take a good hour off yer journey.  It's just beyond that low rise."  The man pointed forward along the path.  "We use it in the fall to get our vegetables to the Cuilteine road and markets a bit quicker."

"Our thanks," Darcy said with a nod. "We'll watch for it."  Father Columcil gave the old farmer his blessing and then they were on their way again.

They had indeed found the path where the old farmer had indicated.  It entered the trees that grew along the edge of the mountain on their left.  It was the promise of an hour to be saved that finally convinced Darcy they should follow it, though they had lost just short of a quarter hour convincing him.

Now Aliset swatted at another fly that buzzed just above her head.  It was cooler among the trees, but apparently the flies liked the cooler air as well. She drew rein quickly when Columcil stopped in front of her.  Darcy maneuvered Sigrun so he could look back at them both.  The patchy sunlight glittered in his pale hair; he had given up on the cap due to the heat.

"It looks like we come out of the trees just ahead," he said as he flicked a fly away from his nose.  "Although we have a couple of hours of light left, I'd rather stop sooner and get a fresh start on the ruins in the morning."

"You're no worried about trolls scampering about in the night, are you?" Columcil asked.

"Trolls?"  Aliset asked, giving Darcy a curious look.

"There are no trolls," Darcy stated firmly as he scowled at the priest.

"Not that we've found so far," Columcil replied and winked at Aliset.

"I've missed something, haven't I?"  Aliset looked from priest to husband.

"Nothing of importance," Darcy said hurriedly and turned his horse forward again.  "Let's move on."

The trees began to thin and soon they were moving through the valley grasses again. Now that there was more room, they spread out to ride three abreast; Aliset in the middle with Darcy and Columcil on either side.  Darcy pointed ahead.

"The Cuilteine Road and the cutoff to the ruins should not be much farther."  He looked around and spotted a copse of trees set off to one side that would shelter them, at least partially, from anyone coming down the valley.  "I propose we camp by the trees.  Once we are settled, we can discuss how best to proceed with Aliset's scrying."

When they reached the trees, Darcy rode his horse to the tallest, stood in his stirrups and hauled himself up on the lowest branch.  He climbed a bit higher and stopped to survey their surroundings.  Columcil took Sigrun's reins and moved her away.

"Are you looking for trouble?" the priest asked.

"I'd prefer not to find trouble, but I'd rather find it before it finds us."  Darcy looked in all directions, found nothing amiss, and confirmed the location of the Cuilteine Road.

"There's a better way, Darcy," Aliset said as she moved to one side.  She extended her senses to detect any presence of others.

((Aliset 2d6 roll to see if there is anyone near.))
jerusha> Jerusha !roll 2d6
4:26 PM D<@•derynibot> 1, 3 == 4
((Failure to detect anyone near))

Relieved to discover no others nearby, she dismounted and began to unsaddle Spean. Darcy descended back to the lower branch, swung by his arms for a moment and then dropped lightly to the ground.  Aliset took a moment to shift back into her own form, since there was no one else to see her but her husband and the man she was now beginning to consider her own priest.

It did not take them long to set up their small camp.  They arranged bedrolls and saddles in a makeshift circle with a good view of the valley stretching toward the Cuilteine Road.  Darcy handed Aliset his sea bag so she could retrieve the remains of the meat pie from the night before, while he filled cups with ale. 

"What do you need from us, love, to help you with your scying?" Darcy asked Aliset a short while later as he dusted the last remaining crumbs of crust from his tunic. 

Aliset felt her cheeks turning pink and Darcy grinned at her.  "We'll need to set the wards first," she replied. 

"You'll need the Quartermaster's ward cubes," Darcy said and reached for his sea bag.  He still could not think of them as his own ward cubes now.  He handed them to Aliset.

"Do you want to try to set the wards?"  Aliset asked before she accepted the ward cubes from his hand.

"Nay," Darcy said with a shake of his head.  "But I'll be watching you closely and remembering all."

"Do you always remember everything?" Aliset asked as she took the ward cubes from him.

"Aye, usually," Darcy replied.  "Except for little things like your birthday, if you ever tell me when it is."  His ice blue eyes took on that mischievous look that was becoming very familiar to her. 

Aliset smiled and began to place the cubes where she wanted them.  Father Columcil realized just how little the two newlyweds knew about each other.  Hopefully their discoveries would be pleasant ones and not disconcerting.

Aliset began the ritual, closely watched by both of her companions.

((2d6 roll for Aliset to successfully set the wards))
jerusha> Jerusha !roll 2d6
4:27 PM D<@•derynibot> I'm back! 1, 6 == 7
((Success!))

"Fiat lux!"  The air shimmered where the dome rose around them.  Aliset pushed the cubes a little farther back to increase the protected area.  The horses remained outside the dome, safely tethered and contentedly grazing.

Aliset untied the small pouch with the foreign ward cubes and spilled the cubes into her left hand.

"I need a cup full of ale," she instructed Darcy.  "Red wine would be better, but we'll have to make do with what we have."  She sat in the centre of their protected space.

Darcy filled the cup and handed it to her.  "Try not to slosh it like I did," he said.  "We don't want to waste good ale."  He sat down beside her.

Aliset gave him a withering look and suddenly realized that he was nervous.  "I don't think we need to worry about that," she said reassuringly.  "I have done this many times."

Columcil sat across from her.  "I hope you don't mind one more student," he said.

"Not at all, Father.  The first step is to enter a light trance. I'll use the cubes as a conduit to the owner, focusing on the depths of the cup to find him."  She took a deep breath and began.

((Aliset roll for success at scrying))
jerusha> Jerusha !roll 2d6
4:28 PM D<@•derynibot> I'm back! 3, 2 == 5
((Failure!))

Aliset increased her concentration, but nothing appeared before her eyes but the smooth surface of the ale in the cup.  She stopped and took a deep breath and then let it back out in frustration.

"What's wrong?" Darcy asked.  "Does the ward prevent you from seeing beyond it?"

"No, I have set it to allow us to reach out but allow nothing in.  Perhaps I am more tired than I thought from today's ride."  Aliset sat a little straighter as if to deny that this might be true.

"Do you want to try again?" Columcil asked.  "Darcy or I can give you additional support."  Despite the situation, he almost smiled at how quickly Darcy's hand moved to gently grasp her right wrist. 

"Yes," Aliset replied and once again centred into a trance, aware of the additional strength available now from Darcy. Her left hand tightened around the ward cubes she held, her mind willing the owner to make his presence known.

((Aliset tries again to discover the owner of the ward cubes))
<jerusha> Jerusha !roll 2d6
4:28 PM D<@•derynibot> I'm back! 5, 4 == 9
((Success!))

Slowly, a face began to appear on the surface of the ale.  There was nothing remarkable about it, other than the odd tonsure barely visible along the crown of his head.  He wore a priest's robe and a simple wooden crucifix hung from a leather cord around his neck. He sat at a table, gazing intently at something.  Suddenly his eyes opened wider, and she thought she felt his piercing stare concentrating on her own face!

With a startled cry, Aliset broke free from her trance.  If it had not been for Darcy's steadying hand, she would have dropped the cup of ale.

"What is it, Aliset?  What has happened?"  he asked urgently, taking the cup from her hand and pulling her closer to him, his arm around her shoulders.

For a moment, Aliset closed her eyes.  She knew it was impossible for someone to have reached her through the wards, but she could not shake the feeling that the man had made some type of contact.  She took a deep breath and opened her eyes, though she remained safe in Darcy's embrace for a few moments more.

"Let me show you what I saw."  She extended her hands palm up to both of her companions.  They laid their own hands on hers and she shared the likeness of the man she had seen and the eerie feeling of contact.

"He looks to be a foreign priest," Columcil said thoughtfully when she had finished.  "Though I've not been about the world enough to know where he's from."

"His surroundings tell us nothing," Darcy said. "He could be anywhere, but I'll know him for sure if I see him.  I don't like the possibility that he might have seen you.  I wish you had stayed as Robert."  He paused to look at her and added, "Well, almost."

The day had passed into twilight by the time they finished discussing what Aliset had seen.  Once he was reassured that it would be no strain on Aliset, Darcy decided they should remain under the protection of the wards for the night; there were no objections.  Father Columcil decided he would try to contact Archbishop Duncan in the morning, hoping to catch him after his early devotions.  Tonight Columcil did not need to bed down with the horses, as the scrying had left them all wary of potential trouble, no matter how unlikely that was.  Darcy slept next to his wife nonetheless, his sword ready at his side and his arm protectively around her.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on November 16, 2018, 05:01:29 PM
It took Duncan many minutes to calm his distraught king, and more still to help him sift through his self-accusation in the confession that followed, before Kelson would finally accept the words of absolution.

"You are sure that I will not be sinning even more by daring to receive the sacrament." The look of pain in Kelson's eyes, red and bloodshot with weeping, tore at Duncan's heart but he put the sternness of his archiepiscopal authority into his voice as he replied,

"I am sure that you will be sinning in refusing to accept His forgiveness." So speaking he turned again to the altar and genuflecting deeply, remained on his knee for a long moment before retrieving the ciborium and once more offering the King one of the sacred hosts which, at last, was not refused.

Kelson remained on his knees for a long time with his head bowed but eventually he looked up and smiled at Duncan.

"Forgive me, I didn't mean to impose such a tantrum on you, especially this early in the morning."

"You are welcome, my Prince, and believe me I've dealt with enough tantrum throwing in my time to know the difference between that and your genuine distress."

Duncan's tone was full of gentle reassurance although he could not quite suppress a grin as in his mind's eye he saw Alaric grimace at him and say Meaning me I suppose! He allowed his grin to broaden as he added to the king,

"I told you that I was not assigning you any penance, more than the one that you will impose on yourself in your dealings with Alaric's sons, but I think that I will place one imposition on you."

Kelson looked up warily, not sure how to take this change in Duncan's manner, but, emotionally raw and vulnerable though he still felt, risked a little gentle teasing of his own.

"And what does my Lord Archbishop require of his humble penitent?"

"Only that you make amends for terrifying the wits out of poor young Samuel, who was serving mass for me, by acting as my acolyte and assisting me to disrobe. And then, spending an hour with me having a leisurely breakfast in my quarters here."

"The first willingly, I'm not yet so proud, I hope, that it is not an honour to serve my oldest friend. But the second... I have a war to conduct, and more men to send to their deaths...."

For a moment, Kelson struggled hard not to break down again, then he swallowed deeply and got to his feet, though he avoided looking at Duncan. He would have made his way into the vestry but Duncan put his hand out to detain him, circling his wrist with his fingers.

"If you are needed then you will be found readily enough. And Javan does not need to come home victorious only to find that his father has fretted and starved himself into the grave. You are too thin, this once at least I will make sure that you eat. Please let me serve my oldest friend, too."

"Alaric used to tell me that what most annoyed him about you was that not only did you always have the last word, but you were usually right!"

Kelson choked a little on Alaric's name but he smiled as he looked at Duncan and bowed his head in submission.

An hour later Kelson was again in tears as he sat in Duncan's private chamber, but this time his tears were those of mirth.

"Oh, I can just hear his brogue as he complained about 'Yon randy stallion, no gettin' his share o'the action' and then being horror struck as he woke up enough to realise who he was speaking to. Not words you would want to share with your grandfather or your archbishop, even worse if they are one and the same person."

Duncan wiped the tears from his own eyes, though he looked a little sheepish as he did so.

"I hope that he'll forgive me for telling you when next we speak, which reminds me, I felt his mind touch mine earlier there in the chapel but he did not press when there was no response. I'll try to contact him later when we are finished... and you can swallow that apology right back down, and do him the credit of knowing him for the good priest that he is. He will ask no questions."

"Yes he's a good man, and no doubt right to go ahead and get Darcy and his lady wedded and bedded. I wish I could tell Dhugal about Washburn's stallion though, he could do with a laugh too, after the horrors that Seamus shared with him."

Though his eyes were still wet with mirth Kelson looked sombre again.

"Tell me Duncan, in what have I sinned that this horror should be visited on me and my people? Why does God allow such suffering?"

Duncan was gathering his thoughts to answer the question that so many asked and to which there was no answer, at least not this side of eternity, when there was a deferential knock on the door and one of the royal squires put his head around the jamb.

"Forgive me your Grace, your Majesty, but there is a letter here."

"The squire came fully into the room and bent his knee respectfully to both, before tendering the parchment he held to the King, who however made no immediate move to take it, but instead eyed it warily. He turned to Duncan,

"Who is it from, I wonder and why has it not been presented by a courier in person?"

Whoever had instructed the squire had obviously expected some reaction of the kind because the young man spoke as though repeating something by rote.

"Begging your Majesty's pardon. My Lord Arilan gave it to me and ordered me to seek out your Majesty. He told me that the courier was being detained under guard, though not as yet under duress, and that the letter had been carefully examined for any poison or traps. I am to tell you, your Majesty, that My Lord considers that it is safe for you to read it. He will attend your Majesty in person, if your Majesty so requires. By your Majesty's leave..."

The squire bowed and withdrew, obviously relieved he had managed to convey such an important message.

Duncan looked at the obviously important letter with the same wariness as Kelson, but managed to keep enough of his previous mood to quip,

"Maybe you should ask Seisyll to stop putting the fear of God into your squires. At least there is no fear of "your Majesty" forgetting who you are."

Kelson smiled vaguely but was already unrolling the scroll. He read rapidly, as years of reading letters full of platitudes had taught him to do, but there was nothing platitudinous about this letter. With a cry of anger he threw it from him and clenched his fists together, clearly only with difficulty restraining himself from giving physical vent to his anger. Finally he managed to get out,

"How dare he? How the **** dare he? After what he has done to Washburn. God, if I could only get him here, I will make him suffer the tortures of the damned until he reverses what he has done and then send him to know them for real in hell!"

After a pause he said more restrainedly, looking at Duncan,

"Forgive me, Father. But if you read this you will understand." Bending, he picked up the parchment and handed it to Duncan, before once more clenching his fists as though he wished they were grasping the hilt of his sword, which in his mood of penitence he had left off before leaving the royal apartments for mass that morning.

Duncan read the letter, and as he did he understood all too clearly what was driving the King's anger.

((Quoted word for word as written by Bynw)).
Your Gracious Majesty, Kelson, King of Gwynedd and Meara

I bid you greetings and pray this finds you in good health. I am known as Feyd and like your Lord Iain, I am high born and a master spy. Sir Washburn Morgan was alive the last I saw him. And his jailor is well known to you. He is in good hands. I have given him the means to escape and the means to keep him alive while he is in the captivity of Grand Duke Valerian and Lord Brioc, if he still lives, the father of the Mearan Pretender Queen.

I believe that your subjects may have acquired some or all of my Ward Cubes. Although I have not confirmed this and it may send you running back to the ruins of that Michaeline tower. The Portal there has been changed by someone other than myself. So I dare not risk going there myself.

The purpose of this letter Your Majesty, is to strike a bargain. The return of the Ward Cubes in exchange for valuable information. Some of which you may already have given your spy in the mountains. But I shall give you what I know.

The following Lords are in league with Grand Duke Valerian and the Pretender Queen:

(( list of lords known to Feyd having been working with Valerian prior to the abduction of Washburn, seeing the coming and goings at the mountain fortress ))

You will find that some of these Lords are feigning Loyalty to your person and even marching in your Royal Armies towards Laas.

As a token of faith and goodwill. In the seal below I have embedded a message. I tell you truthfully that this is not a trap or trick to harm you. The seal contains a Portal location to the estate of Baron du Chantal. And how to bypass it's trap. There will be archers guarding the Portal but there are very small in number as the Baron and his forces are with your army heading to Laas.

"Well!" Demanded Kelson, "Am I not right to be angry! That Washburn has escaped owes nothing to this man.That his mind is still twisted against me and his family, or so Iain tells me, is owed solely to him, and God knows if it can be put right. He has caused me to play Judas and he would strike a bargain with my "Gracious Majesty", would he?"

The honeyed sarcasm on his tongue sounded more deadly than his anger and Duncan knew that even he would have to tread carefully with the King in this mood, justified though it was.

"I would suggest Sire, that before all else you should speak to Lord Iain. He is named by this Feyd. No, I believe no ill of Darcy's brother," - this swiftly, as Kelson's brows drew together in a frown-  "but we are dealing with a Deryni beyond the skill of most of us, judging by what we have seen thus far. He is clearly deeply dangerous as foe and possibly even more as would be friend. Iain may be able to help you see more clearly. And I will seek to speak to Columcil and hear what it was he had to report to me."

Kelson slowly unclenched his fists and gave a bark of sardonic laughter.

"See, right again, Father Duncan. My instinct is to tell him to go to hell, he and his information with him. I do not strike bargains with such as he." Centuries of Haldane pride surfaced in Kelson as he spoke these last words but then he bent his head towards Duncan almost in supplication,

"But I do not only have myself to think of. Or even Washburn. God forgive me, I have sent the ward cubes by courier with instruction to give them to Darcy. And he will give them to his lady wife to see what she can discover.  Wayward chit that she is, I would not have her fall into the hands of this man. And Darcy and your grandson would, I have no doubt, throw their own lives away to protect her. Let us both do as you suggest".

Kelson turned fully towards Duncan and dropped to his knees before him,

"Of your Grace, another blessing before I go?"
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on November 16, 2018, 07:30:45 PM
As her horse continued along the Cuilteine Road, the sky gradually brightened and the landscape on either side emerged more clearly. Fiona noted thick trees to her right and the Cloome Mountains gradually giving way to rolling foothills as she rode toward St. Brigid's Abbey, where she would seek shelter for the night. She planned to continue toward Trurill,where she would turn off to the south to reach Sir Roland's holding. She hoped to arrive there by around noon of the following day. There had been few people on the road so far, but as the morning advanced and the day grew lighter, the number of people she passed had increased. Twice, she had been forced to leave the road, once to avoid a patrol and once to avoid a small party of neighbors who would surely recognize her.

As the day advanced, there were more people on the road,  and the possibility of being recognized increased. She considered leaving the main road and taking a less used road that roughly paralleled it. However, that would definitely slow her down, and she wanted to reach St. Brigids before dark. She planned to ask for shelter for the night there. The next morning she would have only a half day's ride to reach Roland and Maev's holding.

About an hour past noon, she decided to find a place to rest and water her horse and eat some of the food she had brought. She had already covered a respectable distance toward her goal, and she began to look for a suitable place to rest. After a short while she noticed the sound of running water to her right. She turned her horse's head toward the sound, and forcing her way through some thick bushes, she entered a small clearing where a creek tumbled over stones between banks lined with ferns and more bushes. There was an area of thicker green grass which would provide grazing for her horse. She dismounted and led him to the creek to drink his fill, then tethered him loosely to allow him to graze. She made herself comfortable on the grass, leaning against a rock warm from the sun, and ate some of her bread and cheese and an apple. She then drank water from her waterskin. She relaxed for a brief time, reviewing her plans. She then refilled her waterskin, packed away the remainder of her food, remounted and rejoined the main road.

The road narrowed ahead, and thick trees and brush crowded the edges. As she approached that part of the road, the bushes rustled, alerting her to possible threat. As a precaution, she slowed Edric and unslung her bow, taking an arrow from her quiver. Three rough looking men appeared. Two were mounted, and the other one was on foot. There were no other travellers in sight, and they moved quickly to block her passage. None seemed to have swords, but she could see knives in their belts. One of the mounted men had his hand on his knife.

In a rough voice he addressed her: "Now why would a young sprout like you need a good horse? As you can see, we need another horse. If you get off and back away, we will take this horse, and you will come to no harm".

Fiona backed Edric away a few steps and quickly nocked an arrow to her bow. "Stay away from me or I will shoot. My friends are not that far away and I will soon have help."

The ruffian drew his knife, laughed harshly, and gestured threatenly toward her." I don't believe you have any friends near. We have been watching this road, and no one else has passed." The one on foot moved toward her, reaching his hand toward her reins.
((Fiona Initiative Test:
06:49 <derynifank> !roll 2d6 for Fiona
06:49 <*derynibot> 4,3==7
Ruffians initiative test:
06:50 <Derynifank> !roll 2d6 for ruffian leader
06:50 <*derynibot> 2,2==4))*
Fiona makes her move

Fiona quickly hauled Edric's head around and spurred him toward a narrow side road she had  just passed.  As she galloped down the road, the two mounted attackers spurred their horses after her. She hoped Edric was fast enough to outrun the thieves, but he was bred for endurance, not speed.

The road went down a slope toward a valley, widening as it descended. The ruffians pounded after her, beginning to narrow the gap between them. She looked for any alternative that would help her pull ahead and escape. A short distance ahead she saw what looked like the end of a  lake with ruins rising out of the water. She recognised the Michaeline ruins,  having been here once in the past with Uncle Mac. The road appeared to skirt the lake, and between the road and the lake, she saw a camp of what appeared to be soldiers or guards. As she galloped toward them, she cried out, "Help, help, these men are trying to rob me!"

A tall man who appeared to be a leader gestured toward several of the men and shouted a command, "Pursue those thieves and capture them. Bring them to me!' The men quickly mounted and galloped toward her. The thieves had already seen the guards and were riding away, back up the track toward the main road in an effort to escape. If they regained the main road they could quickly turn off and melt into the dense forest and rough terrain that bordered this part of the road. The soldiers passed her as Fiona continued toward the camp. Although she would have preferred to avoid them, she owed them thanks for their help. If she tried to avoid them, it would only arouse the very suspicions she hoped to avoid. She didn't want their leader asking too many questions. She was quickly among them and reined in her horse. The leader, who was clearly a member of the nobility, reached up to grip her horse's bridle. The young squire lit down and held onto the horse's reins.

"What is a young squire like you doing alone on the Cuilteine Road? Are you by chance acting as a courier although you seem young for such responsibility?" He studied her closely while waiting for her answer.

"No, I am not a courier. Actually I was hurrying to join a group of friends for an afternoon of hunting. I was late as I had some extra duties to complete. I had sent word to them to go ahead and I would soon catch them up. But I was later than I thought to be and have not caught up with them."

"Where are my manners?" The young man nodded to her, "Lord Jaxom Trillick.. And you are..."

Fiona inclined her head, "Ben Andrews, squire to the Baron of Dumbarton. I thank you again for your assistance. I still hope to join my friends."

Jaxom frowned and  held himself stiffly, appearing offended. "Do you not doff your cap in the presence of your betters?" Suddenly he reached up and grabbed off the offending cap. Fiona's braid tumbled down her back. Looking astonished, Jaxom blurted, "But you're not a squire, you're a woman!  What on earth are you doing riding alone disguised as a young man? Whatever your reputation, you will certainly be ruined. What can have induced you to engage in such a venture? You need to explain yourself."

Realizing she had no choice, Fiona told him of overhearing a treasonous plan by the baron's  son to seize the manor where she resided, confine the elderly baron, and hand the manor and all its assets to the rebellion as he turned his coat and joined his fortunes with the Mearan rebels. "I have to get word to King Kelson about what is happening and the planned treason. I was riding to the holding of a trusted friend who could help me find a way to reach the king."

His attention was briefly diverted as the men he had sent after the thieves reappeared, entering the camp and reining in. The guard, Hamish, who had ridden with them, reported to Jaxom; "Sorry, my Lord, they had too big a start and disappeared into the dense forest on the other side of the road. We did try beating the bushes, but fortune was against us and we did not raise them. At least we have driven them off."

Jaxom returned his attention to the young woman,"You cannot continue on this crazy venture. I cannot allow it. You will have to remain here with us. We will need to return you to the manor and find out what is happening there."

Fiona confronted him angrily, "You have no right to detain me! I am grateful for your help with the attackers, but that does not mean you can tell me what to do or order my actions. I need to continue my journey to find a way to reach the king."

Jaxom gripped her arm tightly, repeating his assertion that he could not allow her to continue alone on an unsafe route. Their voices got louder as they argued. Suddenly another voice interrupted the continuing wrangle. "What is happening here!"

All parties turned toward the voice. They saw a  lord, accompanied by a squire and a priest. "You, cursed seaman!  What are you doing here? You are not part of this mission. You were left behind in Rhemuth when Prince Javan's army marched out! How did you get to this place?"  demanded Jaxom in an angry voice.

"Father Columcil and I are on a mission for King Kelson. Young Robert is serving as my squire. You left Rhemuth with the Prince's army. Why are you and your men here separated from the army? You should be marching to Laas with them. And why have you seized this young woman?"

".Prince Javan sent us, along with Earl Brendan, to assess the ruins, the last place he was known  to be, and look for clues to what happened to Sir Washburn. We rescued her as she was being pursued by ruffians trying to steal her horse. As you can see, she was disguised as a young man, riding alone. She says she learned of treason planned by  the son of the baron at whose manor she was living, and she  was trying to reach a trusted friend who could help her reach King Kelson and inform him of the plot."

Darcy turned to the young woman and asked, "Is this true?" The young woman was staring at him in amazement." But you're Iain, and you are the person I need. Don't you recognize me, Fiona, your cousin? And why is this man calling you Darcy?"

Darcy studied the young woman who was claiming to be a cousin, unknown to him but apparently known to his brother. She obviously knew enough about Iain's activities on behalf of the King to expect that he would be able to help her to reach Kelson and inform him of the planned treason.  As Darcy exchanged looks with his companions, he heard Aliset's voice in his mind; "We should help her."  He then turned to Jaxom, "It seems that we have a situation here. We need to hear everything that this young woman heard and communicate with the King. We also need to determine how best to provide her  protection until we receive Kelson's orders."

Darcy again addressed Fiona, "Where were you headed when you encountered the thieves, and what was your plan?"

Fiona studied Darcy and his companions as well as Jaxom, whom she certainly did not trust. She still could not understand why Iain didn't appear to recognize her, nor did he correct Jaxom who addressed him as Darcy. She was feeling confused. He certainly looked like Iain, but he didn't behave as she would have expected Iain to behave. However, she felt that she had to trust him. " I was trying to reach the holding of Sir Roland Althorpe. As you know, I had stayed there before, and I was sure he would remember me and help me reach you. I was certain you would know what to do with the information I have and how best to share it with the king."

"Perhaps it would be best if we made camp here and discussed this further after we are settled," suggested the priest.

Darcy smiled, "I think the good father has the right idea."  He turned to Jaxom, "I think it might be best if the young lady joins our party. It will relieve you of responsibility for her, and the presence of a priest in our party will help alleviate concerns about her reputation. We will be able to get in touch with Kelson and share her information with him more quickly than you could"

Jaxom was silent, considering his mission here, to assess the ruins and help find clues to what might have happened to Sir Washburn. That was his main responsibility and if he succeeded, it was more likely to lead to favor with the king and advancement.  That was more important than dealing with another young woman whose reputation was doubtful. He nodded shortly to Darcy, indicating his assent to his proposal. "I agree, it is more important that I complete my mission, and the good father is better equipped to deal with the young woman and her situation."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on November 19, 2018, 05:03:18 PM
Columcil busied himself taking care of their horses, taking particular care to check over Edric, murmuring to the horse as he checked his hooves,

"Ye'll be awright here, ma laddie. Dinna fret yersen that ye're no a fancy beast, ye'll be in guid company wi' ma Spean here."

No doubt that his high and mighty lordship would look down at him even more if he could hear him, not to mention that it would normally be a squire's role to do such menial tasks but he really could not have cared less for Lord Jaxom's opinion. It was odd though, how their paths kept crossing, maybe the Good Lord was trying to teach him humility and charity. Sad to say the lesson was failing to take! The thought had barely left his head when he heard the high imperious voice calling,

"Father ..."

There was a pause as though Jaxom was trying and failing to recall his name before he continued,

"A word with you if I might."

Think o' th'deil an' he appears was Columcil's thought and the words he spoke aloud were scarcely more conciliatory.

"Aye, if ye wish, but it'll ha' ta wait till ah've finished wi' these beasties."

Jaxom's expression showed his outrage and he would have liked nothing more than to pay the man back for his insolence save that he would not so demean himself. One day though, when he had received the proper reward for his services, there would be more than one score to settle. As it was, swallowing his anger, he made his way over to where Columcil was.

"A word to the wise, Father."

"An' that'ud be?"

"The use of the correct form of address to your betters for one thing."

Columcil turned and gave a low bow, saying as he straightened,

"I crave your Lordship's pardon, an' it please your Lordship."

His grandfather would have recognised this immediately for the contempt it was, but Jaxom merely took it as his due and nodded a condescending acknowledgment before continuing,

"I am uneasy about this arrangement, although I cannot take time from the vital commission that His Royal Highness has given into my hands to pursue the doubtless foolish fancy of a silly girl. However I advise you to keep a close watch on that Darcy. He has already ruined the reputation of one young woman and, undeserving though this chit is, I would not have the same happen to her. Once these hostilities are happily concluded, I am prepared to give the Lady Aliset the benefit of my good name, and I doubt not that His Gracious Majesty will allow me to give her the favour of accepting her hand in marriage. I can hardly offer the same to every foolish maiden who crosses my path."

Jaxom gave an affected bark of laughter and puffed out his chest.

All desire to provoke the man left Columcil, and it took every ounce of his spiritual and emotional strength to restrain himself from slamming him into the ground. Thank God, truly he thanked God, for the niceties of protocol. Bowing low again he managed to get out through his teeth,

"As your Lordship says."

"Well see that you do. I am not without influence with His Royal Highness and I am sure that you would not want His Grace the Archbishop to hear of any dereliction of duty on your part."

Columcil heard Jaxom's retreating footsteps but he did not dare to straighten up until he was sure that the man was out of arm's reach. Barely able to think straight he needed to find a way of calming himself.

Giving one last pat to Edric and murmuring, "Ye're a guid lad, but no' wha ah need the noo," he slipped his hand along Shadow's crest and gentled the stallion to his knees.

"Just a minute ma beauty then ye can run yer heart oot. But I'm no' so young as I was an' I canna climb up ye wi'oot saddle or bridle wi'oot a wee bittie help. Tha's it. Up naw ma lad."

Columcil tightened his legs around the stallion's flanks and took a firm hold of the flowing mane, then feeling the longing and frustration in the horse's mind he send thoughts of encouragement and release. Within seconds they were off, flying back down the road as though demons from hell were after them. In truth Columcil knew that the demons of anger were in his own heart, but perhaps even this short gallop, which was all that he could allow himself and Shadow, would shake them off for long enough for them to part company with Jaxom.

The look of shock on Jaxom's face as he sped past was some consolation.



















Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on November 19, 2018, 06:41:38 PM

The tip of the Sword of Lendour whirled from left to right, then in multiple flying figure eights. The hilt passed from right hand to left hand in a fashion that did not inhibit the speed of the blade. The steel's sharp edge always leading to cut the air with a soft whistling sound.  The feet of the man wielding the broadsword never stood still. Always stepping forward, backward, left to right, then right to back, and forward again. Imaginary foes fell away from the blade in fast successions as new imaginary foes entered the field. The man was fast; the blade faster; faster than the eye could follow. Having striped down to breeches and boots and not much more, the afternoon sun glistening off the sweat of well turned muscles of the knight's upper torso.

Sir Washburn had been practicing for an hour and than for another hour more. He had needed this exertion more for his mind than for his body. After four days of confinement, this was a blessed release. To be free, to move with a sword in hand, to contemplate victory over his captors. His concentration was keen. To those who watched, his moves were percise. But not to him. From time to time, his old masters would call to him from the heavens. Step left, not right! Balance boy, balance! Foe at your back. Now at your left. Two before you. Balance if everything! They steal your balance, they steal your soul.   His balance had been stolen from him by a man named Feyd, and he fought until utter exhaustion to get it back.

"Enough!" called a man's voice. Sir Iain Cameron was sitting on a short stone wall near the house. He stood as he made the call.  The blade slowed to a stop and turned to face the baron.

The pretty honey-colored haired girl sat near his rescuer. She watched wide eyed, wearing a simple straw-colored gown with a mended rip along the front side of the gown. Lady Maev had suggested that morning that Sidana either mend the gown herself, or she could wear it torn, which would lower her status even further than the simple home spun wool fabric did. Washburn actually thought it most becoming on the girl as it was the same color as her hair, which currently lay loose about her shoulders. Lady Maev was standing behind the girl trying to comb it out in the sun, her hair had been washed that morning and was finally dry enough to put a comb through it. Although Sidana didn't think so, as she whispered curses under her breath at every tangle that needed to be combed out. "My ladies in waiting don't pull my hair," the girl would say.

"Your ladies in waiting must have been very bad at their job, because you couldn't have gotten this many tangles in one night's sleep."

"Sleep?!" this girl questioned. "There was no sleep to be had in this hovel. I tossed and turned all night, fretting on that rock of a cot you call a bed."

"Surely your mother taught you to braid your hair before going to bed." Maev replied, refusing to acknowledge the jabs of this pretentious child.

"My mother died when I was young,"  the girl said grimacing at another tangle.

"I am sorry," Maev responded. "That explains a lot," she said under her breath.

Sidana shot her a harsh look over her shoulder. Which caused her hair to be pulled and she yelped.

Washburn's  eyebrows went up as he looked from the girl over at his rescuer. "She is going to be no end of trouble. We can not keep her here long, before she is found."

"Just waiting for orders. We should be safe here for at least one more day," Iain claimed. He had been keeping his eye on the road that lead past the home throughout the day. Wash had learned that Truill would be found if they followed the north-leading road through the woodlands and down the hills. Baron Jass was one of  the only men who knew of Baron Iain's hideaway. No one else but the king would think to look for the Lord of Isles here on the border to Meara. 

Sir Roland came and went, in and out of the barn and the fields doing his chores and he too kept an eye on the landscape all round. The day was quiet. In this secluded place, one would not know that the kingdom was being ripped apart and that men were turning the land all around them toward rebellion and war.

Washburn walked over the water barrel and dunked his head in it. In a swift immersion, bristling at the shock of the cool water, he swung his head up and whisked his hair back with his hand. "I won't go back to Rhemuth. Not even if the king order's it." He said this with a determined gaze at Iain. "I want answers. And I want to finish what I did not finish yesterday." The knight held up his sword before him, making it a promise to catch the man who had paid for his capture. Then he decisively sheathed the blade. That the others all relaxed as the weapon was homed was not lost on the knight. But he was never a man to turn on his friends nor his family. Even family who had treated him poorly over the years. He had loyalties and training enough to know one did not turn against blood relations. Though he was forced to wondered just what had caused them to turn against him. Years of bad treatment were accumulating in his mind and only his sword practice had kept those thoughts at bay. He needed to keep doing things to stop his memories from playing images that were old, yet he swore he had never seen them before.

That was the trouble. What was real and what was false. So many images conflicted with one another. It was driving him mad. The only way to avoid it was to keep busy, to do things with his hands, to keep physically occupied. This sitting still was a torture. "We need to find Lady Aliset." he said with a glare at Iain. "I feel she is in danger. Whether it is from Oswald, or Valerian, or even Feyd, I can not tell. But I feel it in my bones. We shouldn't be sitting here.  We need to find her." And to find Darcy and Columcil. he thought to himself.  How he missed the few people that he knew he could trust.

"Those people you just named who are searching for Aliset. Those are the people who are spending an exorbitant amount of time and energy looking for you and for her..." he looked across at the pretender queen. "Lady Aliset has other watchers. You are the one at greatest risk and you are my responsibility. Until I am told otherwise, we sit tight, and we wait for further orders."

"Damn your orders." Washburn said, knowing full well that Iain could not be budged and that there was nothing for it but to wait.

Sir Roland was whistling to a black and tan colored dog calling a small herd of sheep to be herded out of the lower field and to be brought into the barn. "Let me help you with them." Wash called out. He tossed his black tunic over his head as he turned from Iain. Resetting his sword belt over it,  he then headed to the gate to pull it open and to let the first of the sheep run through.

Busy, he just had to keep busy. Working the farm was good wholesome work. That, at least, kept his tortured thoughts at bay.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on November 21, 2018, 08:42:35 AM
"I wonder what upset Father Columcil,"  Lord Darcy Cameron said to Aliset as he watched the country priest, without benefit of a saddle and with both hands gripping the flying mane, charge down the road on the big black horse.  "Oh nevermind, there's Jaxom, walking away from the horses.  Answer enough." 

"I don't understand how the man can be so consistently annoying," Aliset replied as she set her bedroll and pack on the ground. 

"It disguises his lack of any redeeming qualities," Darcy said dryly, earning him a smile from his wife.  Although she still appeared to be Robert the squire, the smile he saw was hers.

Darcy had selected a spot slightly away from the makeshift camp set up by Jaxom's men. Rather the Earl of Marley's men, though Darcy had not seen the Earl since they arrived.  He was likely still up in the tower in the ruins.  Darcy would have liked to be up there himself, but he suspected that any clues to Washburn's whereabouts were either already discovered, or obliterated.  He would need a chance to speak to Earl Brendan to find out what had been discovered.

His immediate concern was what to do about Lady Fiona.  He glanced toward the young woman who sat on the ground by her bedroll, looking up at him expectantly.  For a moment he closed his eyes, searching back through memories he had only recently regained, searching for anything to do with a cousin named Fiona.

((Darcy eidetic memory, success on 4, 5, or 6.))

Jerusha!roll 2d6
@derynibot1, 3 == 4
((Failure. Sigh....))

Try as he might, no memory of her surfaced.  He opened his eyes and studied her for a moment.  She was several years younger than he was.  Perhaps he had been too young to have ever heard her mentioned.

"You should go talk to her," Aliset said as she nudged his arm.  "Imagine how she feels after her encounter with those ruffians and then Jaxom."

"You should come with me," Darcy said hopefully. 

Aliset shook her head.  "At least she thinks she knows you; she'll be more comfortable with you."  This time she shoved gently against his back, prodding him forward.  Darcy wondered if he might have more success with the ruffians, or even Jaxom.

With a barely audible sigh, Darcy walked over to Fiona and sat on the ground beside her, resting his arms on his upraised knees.  Jaxom's less than gentle removal of her cap had loosened some of her pale hair from her braid; the wind blew the strands across her face.  She pushed them back impatiently with her hand. 

Darcy recognized the gesture; they might be related after all.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on November 24, 2018, 06:05:55 PM
Fiona watched as Darcy selected a campsite some distance from that of Jaxom and his men, not too far from Earl Brendan's men. He, Columcil and Robert unsaddled their horses, and Columcil took charge of them, leading them a short distance away to the lake to allow them to drink their fill. He then prepared to tether them so they could graze while he groomed them and checked for any problems. Fiona had also unsaddled Edric and allowed Columcil to lead him away with the other three horses. She watched, thinking it a little odd that the priest not the squire was tending to the horses. However she had more pressing concerns.  Like Darcy and his squire, she placed her bedroll on the ground near theirs. She seated herself on the ground, wrapped her arms around her knees, and waited.

She saw Jaxom walk over to where Columcil was caring for the horses and speak to him. Jaxom appeared  irritated but then he seemed to be in a constant state of irritation. After a short interchange he walked away. Suddenly. Columcil  bolted down the road on the big black horse without benefit of saddle or bridle. Whatever Jaxom had said had certainly upset him.

She was still very confused about the man before her who looked like Iain but didn't act like him and didn't seem to know her. As he walked over and sat beside her, she turned her head to study him.  Physically, he certainly looked like Iain, but she didn't really feel certain about him.  Although she had not seen Iain much recently, she didn't feel that his reactions and responses to her would have changed that much. She certainly hadn't changed so much that he would not recognize her!

Darcy spoke, "I realize that this is all very confusing. I need to start with an explanation. Do you remember that Iain had a younger brother named Darcy who was supposed to have died at a young age?"

Fiona was quiet but then said: "I do remember hearing a story several years ago about a younger brother who died in a fall from a horse at a young age. However, you never mentioned him nor did my aunt when I lived with her. Of course, she was already in failing health when I went there and your stepfather kept her apart from the household saying she was unable to manage the household or care for me as her niece and ward. As her health worsened, I rarely saw her.

He smiled at her. " I am not Iain, I am actually that lost younger brother. I am Darcy, and I have only recently returned to Gwynedd after twelve years at sea."

Fiona stared at him with wide eyes; "I don't understand. How could you be that long lost brother?  How could you have been a seaman, and why did everyone think you had died? I don't see how that could happen."

Darcy answered her,"Our stepfather is a greedy and evil man. He wanted the title and land for himself. He lied to anyone who asked, saying that I was wilful and disobedient and required punishment. I was often locked in my room under the pretense that I was stubborn and refused to change my behavior. I saw few people. My stepfather had replaced my father's steward with a man of his own choice. I don't know what happened to Roland, who was our steward for years. He also replaced many of the old servants with his own people. They fear him because he is cruel and ready to punish, withholding rations and using the whip freely."

Darcy continued, "My mother, your aunt, was very much under the thumb of my stepfather. She knew he was ambitious, but she did not know when she married him how ruthless and cruel he could be in pursuit of what he wanted. She was terrified of what he might do to her sons. She kept Iain away in Rhemuth, but she couldn't protect me. He kept her isolated, read any messages she tried to send, and replaced her servant with one who spied on her. He tried to force her into bearing him a child . He desperately wanted a son who would replace us and become baron. Her only defense was to feign illness. As you know she did become really ill and she died."

"When I was ten, a merchant ship put in at Isles. My stepfather sent for the ship's captain and asked if he had need of a cabin boy or another seaman in training. He offered the captain a large sum of money to take me on. His only condition was that he never allow me to return to Isles. The captain accepted the money and took me to the ship. I started a very rough  apprenticeship without understanding why I was sent away or why no one came to get me." Darcy looked at her a little sadly as he paused in his tale. "Six months later, my stepfather sent word to Rhemuth that I had been killed in a fall from a horse. No one, including Iain,  knew I still lived."

Darcy continued, "I spent twelve years at sea. It was rough life but not a bad one. I worked my way up to chief navigator on the ship, a responsible and well- paid position.  However, on my last voyage, the captain became ill and died. A new captain assumed command of the ship, and he preferred his own navigator. I decided it was time to seek my fortune elsewhere. I sought employment as a man-at-arms, and that is how I met Father Columcil, in completing my first mission, escorting to Rhemuth a young lord who was in danger. While in Rhemuth, I was involved in events that led to my being noticed by the king. Columcil and I were given the mission that led us here to the ruins,  trying to help find Sir Washburn Morgan who was abducted by enemies of the king to be used in advancing the rebellion. I hope you will tell me what you have learned and what happened at the manor where you were living. The more information we can give the king the better for his successful suppression of the rebellion."

Fiona was silent as she considered his words., Father Columcil came nearer where they were sitting. He and Robert had stayed apart to allow them privacy for their conversation. Darcy turned to Columcil looking a little desperate with an appeal in his eyes;. "Perhaps you can reassure this young lady of my honesty and fealty to the king."  Columcil hastened to assure Fiona of both his and the kings trust in Darcy.

Fiona took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and looked Darcy in the eye, " I am going to trust you. Things at the manor have gotten steadily worse over the last several months, ever since the rebellion began to gain ground. The baron's son, Michael, has become more and more eager to join them. He and the baron have had increasingly loud and violent arguments, until the baron threatened to disinherit him if he did not give up the idea of joining the rebellion. I overheard Michael talking with two men, one of whom is his best friend. I did not recognize the other voice. He was complaining that he had argued until he was hoarse with no success. He told them that he intended to lure his father to a distant part of the manor on the pretense of inspecting a problem with the roof.  He would then lock him in and keep him confined while he assumed control of the manor. He would give out that the baron was ill and unable to manage the estate. He even had a physician sympathetic to the rebels who would support his claim. He would then join the rebellion, pledging the resources of men and property to them. He expects to gain titles and additional lands through service to the rebels without waiting to inherit from his father."

"I didn't know what to do," she continued.  "I thought about trying to warn the baron, but Michael had infiltrated the servants with men of his choosing, and I suspect that anyone trying to support Uncle Mac would soon be overcome. Michael doesn't trust me as he knows I am loyal to the king, and he has been watching me. I couldn't see any way to get a message out. After careful thought, I decided that my best option was to try to reach Iain.  Sir Roland, the knight you remember in service to your father, is steward of  Iain's holding in Meara, and I was sure he would know how to reach Iain who would know how best to reach the king. I decided to slip away and ride for Iain's estate in Meara which Roland manages for him. I was on my way there when I encountered the thieves, then the guards here at the ruins and finally your party.  Will you help me reach Sir Roland?"

Darcy looked at Columcil who had been listening to Fiona's story. "We will certainly do our best to assure that your information reaches the king as soon as possible. There are those here who can reach advisors close to the king without having to ride further. Give me time to confer with the good father and see what can be done."  Darcy and the priest moved aside to confer, beckoning the squire to join them. Fiona thought this a little odd, but she was too anxious to give it much thought. After  several minutes of quiet talk which seemed to take forever, Darcy returned to Fiona; "Father Columcil has a contact in Rhemuth who is close to the king. He will be contacting him tonight and will share your information with him. It will then reach the king as soon as possible. We will also let him know your present situation and that, for now, you are with us. We will be awaiting his orders as to how we should proceed with our mission. I think you should remain with my party until we receive the king's orders. We will see that you are safe."  Fiona looked at the three of them, then nodded her acceptance of Darcy's proposal, at least for the time being.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on November 27, 2018, 02:59:59 PM
Sir Iain Cameron woke as the first rays of sunlight peeked through the edges of the window shutters in his small room.  He opened the door quietly so as not to startle the two men sleeping on pallets before the hearth.  He was not sure how deeply Sir Washburn slept, but he knew his passage to the outside door would not go unnoticed by Sir Roland.

Iain stepped outside into the new morning and paused to appreciate the scene around him.  He was Isles born and bred; it's rugged, rocky coasts were home to him.  Yet he appreciated the simple beauty of this holding with its pastures just beyond the wooden gate.  The black and tan dog padded over to him and nuzzled his hand, eager to get to work herding the sheep out to pasture. 

"Roland will be up soon," Iain said as he stroked the soft head.  "But you can come with me while I look around."  The dog happily walked beside him as Iain circled the house and scanned the road approaching it, glad to see that it showed no signs of recent human passage.  By the time they made their way back to the shed, Sir Roland was up and whistled to the dog to help him with the sheep.  Iain had to smile at how quickly the dog abandoned him to get on with the day's business.  With a cheerful wave to Sir Roland, Iain turned and entered the shed.

He made his way to the back of the shed to the storeroom.  He was inside checking that the ward cubes still protected the Portal when he felt the call come.  Quickly he sat on the room's only chair and reached inside his shirt to withdraw the medallion.

"Your Majesty, how may I be of service?" Iain sent to the familiar touch of the king's mind.

"I have received a most disturbing letter from a man called Feyd.  He states you and he are both master spies.  What can you tell me of him?"

"If Your Majesty would be willing to share at least a part of the letter, I would be better able to make sure I have the information you need," Iain asked cautiously.

"Never one to pass on an opportunity to gain a little more information," Kelson responded dryly. 

"I have always thought that is one reason I am of value to you, Your Majesty."  Iain clearly heard the king's mental snort, which he took as a good sign.

Kelson of Gwynedd quickly shared the contents of the letter and shared a mental image of the two seals.  Iain was surprised that Feyd had used the seal of his order, but that fact gave Iain more leeway in what he could share.

"Master Feyd is a very skilled and dangerous man," Iain sent after a moment's thought.  "I would call him more assassin than spy, but he is master of both.  He is neither a man to trust or a man to cross, but his word has worth up to a point."

"And that point would be?" Kelson asked.

"Don't get between him and a mission he intends to complete.  And don't cheat him."  Iain shared the images of Feyd's attack on Lord Brioc.

"Lord Brioc lives?" Kelson asked.

"Surprisingly yes; the odds of his surviving were not good.  Feyd is not adverse to playing with his prey.  Did you receive Feyd's ward cubes?"

"Aye," Kelson responded. "And I sent them back north to your brother and Lady Aliset.  I thought she might have more success scrying for Sir Washburn and his captor since they were closer to him."

"They were closer?"

"I sent Lord Darcy and Father Columcil north to find the fortress."

"They brought Lady Aliset with them?"  Iain asked, a trace of disbelief in his question.

"In a manner of speaking, yes."

Iain mentally brought himself back the his king's original question.  "You can trust Feyd to keep his word unless circumstances change, and they put him at a significant disadvantage.  Master Feyd kills for a living, but he takes no particular joy in it other than the fact it pays very well. I also think he enjoys the game.  What concerns me is why he is willing to give up valuable information to get his ward cubes back.  I understand the value in ward cubes attuned to their owner," Iain added hastily.  "But no dealing with Feyd is ever as straightforward as it might appear.  I also have concerns for Darcy and his companions for as long as they have the ward cubes in their possession."

"So you might agree to Feyd's proposal?"  Kelson asked.

"I might," Iain responded cautiously.

"Thank you, Sir Iain.  I will have further orders for you by nightfall.  You and your party will likely be moving out."

"We shall be ready," Iain said.

"Oh, and by the way, I should probably inform you that your brother and Lady Aliset are now married."

"Sire?" Iain asked, clearly taken aback by this revelation.

"He made a good choice," Kelson said enigmatically and broke contact.

Sir Iain Cameron sat staring at the medal in his hand.  Finally, he tucked the medal back into his shirt and briskly rose from the chair.  A conversation with Sir Washburn about the Lady Aliset de Mariot was definitely in order.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on November 30, 2018, 02:42:19 PM
Lord Darcy Cameron watched as Aliset skillfully turned the patch of leather he had found in the bottom of his sea bag and a good length of braided cord into a creditable sling.  After the look she had given him when he made his second suggestion as to how she should proceed, he quickly decided to offer his advice only if she asked for it.  She hadn't asked.

"Let's walk away a safe distance, and I'll try it out," Aliset suggested after a last tug to assure herself that it would hold together.

"Should I stand in back of you or in front of you?" Darcy asked innocently.

Aliset gave him a withering look.  "Another question like that and you'll be my target!"  Her look softened as he grinned back at her.  "And do give me enough space; I'd really like to avoid cracking that thick skull of yours."

"That would suit me as well," Darcy assured her.  "A coney for the dinner pot would be welcome."

"Maybe I'll try a larger target for my first shot." 

"Ah, back to my skull, then!"

"Stop!" Aliset admonished while trying not to laugh.  "Must you always carry on so?"

Darcy smiled, deciding that was the safest answer.

Aliset selected a stout stump at the edge of the trees for her target.  Darcy moved back to what he judged would be a safe distance, and Aliset loaded the slingshot with one of the stones from her belt pouch.  The first swing was a little shaky, but the third swing was solid, and Aliset loosed the stone.  The stone hit the stump a little higher than she had planned, but it was a solid hit.

Darcy's intended congratulations were cut short by an all too familiar voice.

"Can't you make better use of a squire than this?" Lord Jaxom Trillick asked, the disdain in his voice evident.

Aliset turned and bowed; Darcy did not.   

"A skilled shot can bring down a man when needed," Darcy replied curtly.  "The sling needed repairs, and Robert has seen to it."  Darcy nodded to Aliset as if in dismissal, and she started to return to their camp.

"Hold on," Jaxom said.  "Robert, I need you to assist my squire in setting up my pavilion.  It appears we will be spending the night here, although I can't imagine why."

"You've brought a bloody pavilion?" Darcy burst out.  Aliset gave him a warning look.

"Come with me, Robert," Jaxom said, ignoring Darcy.

"My lord?" Aliset asked, pointedly asking Darcy's permission to accompany Jaxom.

"Will you be alright?"  Darcy sent to her. 

"I will be fine," she answered, though she felt a sudden knot in her stomach.

"Aye, go on," Darcy said aloud. "But call if you need me and I'll be there at once."  The possibility of his wife being alone in a pavilion with Jaxom, even though she was well disguised, did not sit well with Darcy. But he could think of no good reason to refuse Jaxom his squire's assistance.

Aliset bowed to Darcy and took a deep, steadying breath as she followed Jaxom.  She would finish this task and be away as soon as possible.

***
Darcy watched as the two squires raised the pavilion.  At first, Jaxom left them alone to accomplish the task, but when he realised they had neglected to attach the pennant to the centre pole, he made them haul it back down and fix the issue.  At one point he thought he saw Aliset heft one of the side poles like Father Columcil might raise his stout staff, but perhaps it was his imagination.  He hated to admit it, but once Jaxom took charge, the pavilion was completed quickly.

Darcy was not pleased when he saw Jaxom motion for Aliset to accompany him inside. The front flaps were open, so Darcy could see them both clearly.  Nevertheless, he stood, ready to intervene at the slightest provocation.  He saw Aliset stiffen, give Jaxom a curt bow, and stride angrily back toward him. 

"What has he done?" Darcy asked when Aliset reached him.  He was aware that Fiona was watching them intently.  Father Columcil had withdrawn to an area nearer the lake, presumably to make contact with Archbishop Duncan.

Aliset's brown eyes flashed with anger.  She waited a moment before speaking, not wanting her voice to carry farther than her husband.  "Lord Jaxom drew me aside to advise me to look out for Fiona, since you could not be trusted to conduct yourself properly!  He even referred to you as 'that Darcy!'"

"Did he now?" Darcy asked quietly. 

The calmness of Darcy's response caused Aliset to pause again before continuing.  Maybe she should not share the rest of the conversation, but she could not hold it inside.  "He said you completely ruined my reputation, but he would do his duty and consent to marry me to salvage it. And," Aliset stopped to draw breath.  "He is sure he can tame my willful ways!"

Darcy's eyes took on a dangerous, icy hue, and his hand moved to the hilt of  his sword. He turned his gaze to the pavillion, where Jaxom sat at a low table.  "Not if he's dead."

"No, Darcy," Aliset said urgently and grasped his arm.  She looked for Father Columcil, but he had not yet returned.

Darcy heeded her plea.  "I know," he said, though his hand stayed on the hilt of his sword. "It would not do, and I'll do you no good swinging from a tree for murder with you far from safety."  He moved his hand to lay it on top of hers.  "Still, it seems that's a lot of information to pass to a squire he barely knows.  He seems more concerned with trashing my reputation than protecting yours!"

Suddenly Darcy and Aliset remembered Fiona, who was staring at them both.

"Is something wrong?" Fiona asked.

"Actually, something needs to be put right," Darcy said.  "I think I should pay Lord Jaxom a visit."

"No," Aliset replied quickly.  "We need to pay him a visit, and you can make the proper introductions."

Darcy looked at her for a long moment, considering what she implied.  "Are you sure?"

"I am," she said firmly.  "This has gone on long enough."

"Poor man," Darcy said and smiled.  "I doubt he'll ever realize all that he has lost."

***

Darcy paused for a moment outside Lord Jaxom's pavilion, shielding Aliset from view as she shifted back to her true form.  Robert's clothes fitted her a bit differently after the transition.  Darcy had hesitated to leave Fiona behind, but when he saw Father Columcil in the distance returning to their campsite, he was able to reassure her that she would not be alone for long.  He held out his arm to Aliset, who laid her hand upon it, and they both stepped inside the pavilion.

"Lord Jaxom, a word, if you please," Darcy announced. 

"It does not please me," Jaxom replied, not looking up from the parchment that lay before him on the table.  "As even you can see, I am busy."

"But I have been remiss in proper decorum," Darcy said.

"It's what I, and everyone else, have come to expect."  Jaxom looked up and suddenly stared.

"Lord Jaxom, may I present my wife, Lady Aliset Cameron." 

Jaxom's stool fell backwards as he rose to his feet, his anger clearly evident.  "How dare you!  This is absurd; King Kelson would never permit such a travesty!"

"We have His Majesty's blessing; we were married properly by a priest and are fully wed."  Darcy's voice remained even, but his tone had an edge to it now.

Jaxom turned his fury on Aliset.  "You have put yourself beyond redemption, marrying this poor excuse for a nobleman, if he is who he claims to be!"

"You forget yourself, Lord Jaxom, and you grow tiresome,"  Aliset responded, her voice cool and controlled.

"You had no claim to her, and your actions proved you unworthy to even consider such a notion," Darcy said.  "You will now stop sullying my wife's good name and mine as well."

"Over my dead body!" Jaxom said hotly.

"Aye, I can arrange that," Darcy returned.  Aliset's hand tightened on his arm.

"There will be no bodies here," said a voice from the pavilion's entrance. 

Still keeping a wary eye on Jaxom, Darcy turned with Aliset to see who had entered.  He had never seen the man in the lead, but the red hair and noble bearing suggested it was the Earl of Marley.  Behind him stood Father Columcil, with Fiona in tow.

"My lord," Darcy said and bowed.  Aliset hesitated, aware of the awkwardness of attempting a curtsey in Robert's clothes.  She settled for a slightly abbreviated bow.

"Earl Brendan," Jaxom said and bowed, confirming Darcy's guess. "These two claim to be husband and wife; I question the truth of the claim."

"I can vouch for the truth of it," Father Columcil interjected.  "I'm the priest that married them proper."

Brendan Coris, Earl of Marley, studied the men and lady standing before him.  He had no liking for Jaxom, but he needed the man and his knowledge of the people they were moving among.  Darcy Cameron had his own mission to fulfill, and Brendan fervently hoped for his success.  As for the lady....

"This will now stop,"  Brendan announced. "I'll not tolerate bad blood among my own men.  I want your word, from all of you, that this goes no farther; it will not be discussed or referred to again. Lady Aliset, I think it wise for you to continue in your guise as Robert until such time as it is no longer necessary, and you can take your place properly beside your husband, Lord Darcy. Your word, all of you."

All went down on one knee, including Fiona, before the Earl of Marley, pledging their honour to make their peace and maintain it.  As they turned to leave, Aliset shifted back into Robert's form, shielded from view by the canvas of the pavilion and Darcy's back.  Darcy quietly asked her to go with Columcil and Fiona, before he turned and bowed again to Earl Brendan.

"My lord," he said.  "If I might have a word?  I should like to know what you have discovered in the ruins above."  Earl Brendan nodded his assent, and Darcy followed him to a spot they could speak privately.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on December 02, 2018, 11:46:01 PM
"Tell me what you know about Lady Aliset de Mariot."

Washburn perked up as Lord Iain Cameron spoke the lady's name; the baron had just entered the manor from outside. Anxious to know if Iain had learned something new, the knight bristled with concern. "Has she been found? Do you know if she is safe?" The spoon Washburn was holding was forgotten and absently placed back into his bowl of morning stew.  His full attention turned toward the owner of this manor as Iain took the seat across the table from him.

"She is safe," Iain assured.

Yet there was a hint of caution in the baron's voice, which put Washburn on edge rather than easing his mind. "Where is she? Is she in Rhemuth?"

"No...."

"No...? Then how can she be safe? We must go to her! When I last saw her, she was in the arms of her assailant, being carried away! I must know she is alright!"

"Sir Washburn...."

"If Oswald has touched her, I will kill him!"

"Washburn, she is safe."

"Your words don't lie, but you're not telling me the truth, either. I hear tension in your voice. You can not know how much I have worried over her! Even more so than for myself. You must...."

"She is with my brother Darcy, alright? Calm down!" Iain was leaning forward against the table, trying to judge Washburn's reaction.

Wash sucked in a breath, realizing the baron had been very close to forcing his will to settle his rescued prisoner's anxiety. Wash had to know what was going on, yet he realized losing control would only deny him those answers. Deliberately, pushing the bowl of stew away, Washburn spread both hands out over the table's surface and then leaned back in his chair, straightening his back. As calmly as his voice could sound, he asked, "Darcy has her under his protection? I know if she is with him, she is in the best of hands. Are they heading back to Rhemuth?"

"Sir Washburn, I see from your reaction that you care very much for this lady. Are you in love with her?" Again Iain's voice was hiding something in his tense tone.  And too, the directness of the question was a bit startling. What was happening?

Wash tilted his head and looked across at Iain. He saw the close resemblance of the two brothers, yet he was keenly aware of their differences in their mannerisms. "It is your brother who is desperately in love with her. But to answer you, yes, I love her, but like that of a brother for his sister. Lord Alister was a close friend. In his good memory, I have vowed to protect his sister as I would my own sisters. That I last saw her in distress has weighed heavily upon my mind."

"Aye, a damsel in distress brings out the gallantry in all of us. She was in distress when you joined up with her in Culdi, was she not? She was already in Darcy's company then. Yes? Did my brother fall in love with her because she was a damsel in distress?"

Washburn could not stop the laugh that came out. "Damsel-in-distress? Not Lady Aliset. In those first days, your brother thought he was escorting Lord Alister, a young man who had lost his family to ambitious men who would not stop at murder.  Darcy knew he protected this young man from assassins, yet he knew nothing of the lady hidden beneath the guise of her brother. She had been very strong to hold that visage.  When I met up with them, Lord Alister was in full control of the situation. I did not even learn of Lady Aliset playing her twin until much later. Darcy was very surprised to learn of it himself, after which he vowed himself to stay steadfastly her protector. A lady In need? Yes, but not in distress. Why are you so concerned about your brother's choice?"

Iain avoided a direct answer. Instead he asked, "Would it distress you to learn that Darcy was given a royal commission to find you? Lady Aliset was to remain safe in Rhemuth after her abduction was thwarted. I realize now that you have not heard that she had been rescued by His Grace, Duke Dhugal in the library." To hear this was such immense relief to the recent prisoner that he barely heard Iain's next words. "You should know that the duke was heart-sick that he was seconds too late from halting Master Feyd from taking you. The tension in Rhemuth since that moment has been palatable. I have been told the Lady Aliset was as equally upset. Perhaps even more so, because she felt some responsibility for your capture. From a letter she left behind in the queen's tower, she confirmed how she felt the need to help in the best way she knew. She took it upon herself to join Lord Darcy and Father Columcil on the royal commission they had been given. I am told Lady Aliset took on the form of my squire, Robert, and rode out with my brother and the priest. They were not aware of her disguise." Iain's eyes were open wide, watching the man before him carefully, looking for the Lendour knight's response. The baron obviously could not understand why a lady would do that. 

At first the news brought a smile to Washburn's face. "That is so like her," he replied, remembering all too well the bravery of the de Mariot lady. "Aliset is a strong lass, very capable of achieving her goals. She also has a caring heart and is deeply loyal; she would not let someone she loves go into harm's way if she could be of help in any way." But then his smile faded and he could not hide the anger rising in his voice. "King Kelson gave your brother and the good father the mission to find me? When I was held in an impossible place like Valerian's dungeon? Is the king mad? Don't I have brothers who should have shouldered that responsibility? But no. One brother has disowned me and the other brother is, God knows where, probably gone back home. Thusly, leaving Darcy, Columcil, and Lady Aliset, my only true friends, to enter the dangers of the dragon's lair to rescue me? That is insanity!"

Lord Iain leaned forward as he tried to explain. His voice remained calm, though Wash could sense that he, too, had not been happy to hear of Darcy's orders. "Their mission was to find the fortress. Darcy had the coordinates by charting the stars. His job was to find it and report back-- understand, at first we did not know that you were there. It was something of a long shot. I was following Lady Sidana to her place of residence. I was undercover there when I discovered you were the anticipated prisoner and that I was in the same fortress to which my brother was seeking. Then orders came from the king that Darcy was to stand by and assist me if you could be freed."

The youngest son of Alaric leaned forward, muscles tense. "We need to find them before they become fodder in this rebellion. We have sat here too long!" Washburn stood up, pushing the chair back hard. Only his quick hand kept it from tipping over.

Iain was holding both hands out as he, too, stood. "It is alright, I have an idea where they are. We can use the portal to get to them as soon as I can get the Portal Signature from Lord Sextus."

"What are we waiting for?"

"... We await the king's orders; we should be receiving them soon. I am certain that my brother is capable of looking after his wife until we arrive."

"Wife? Darcy and Aliset are married? Has something finally gone right in all of this?" Washburn saw the nod and smile as Iain confirmed the news.

Lady Maev was the first to come forward. She had come down the ladder with Sidana while the men were talking. "Your brother is married? That is wonderful news," she said, giving Iain a curtsey.

Lord Roland moved to a locked cabinet. "This calls for a toast," he said, bringing forth a special bottle of port. The label of Vezaire gave everyone a moment of appreciation. Using the distraction, the pretender Queen of Meara side-stepped to the door. With freedom her goal, out the door she ran.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on December 03, 2018, 02:04:15 PM
Sir Iain Cameron sensed Sidana's movement as he raised his glass of port to toast the marriage of his brother and Lady Aliset.  He allowed himself the pleasure of downing the excellent beverage before striding out the door after her.  He could stop her instantly with the controls he had placed in her mind, but he hesitated to demonstrate how completely under his control she was.  Especially in front of Sir Washburn.

"Let me go!  Let go of me!"  he heard Sidana cry as he reached the yard.  Sidana looked in his direction and tried to kick the captor that held her fast.

Iain grinned; bless Roland's dependable dog!  The black and tan dog held a portion of Sidana's gown firmly in his teeth and was attempting to pull her back toward the house.  Sidana gripped the gown in both hands and was trying to pull it away from the dog.  The dog, skilled at herding sheep, easily avoided her kick.  Good thing Maev had provided a sturdy, homespun gown to withstand this type of punishment!

Iain was no longer grinning as he moved forward and took hold of her arm, his grip tight but not tight enough to bruise.  Roland whistled to the dog, and the dog let go of the dress and ran back to his master.

"Just what do you think you are doing?" Iain demanded.

"Are you so addled you can't figure it out?" Sidana spat back at him.

Iain turned her towards him, changed his grip and heaved her over his shoulder.  He turned abruptly and marched her back to the house, ignoring the flailing fists beating against his buttocks and her demands to be released.  Washburn, Maev and Roland, standing just outside the door, quickly moved aside to give him room to enter.

Sir Iain dumped her unceremoniously on the table.  Maev followed and removed Washburn's forgotten bowl so Sidana could not use it as a weapon.  Iain grasped both of the young girl's arms to hold her firmly in place; there was anger in his ice-blue eyes. He resisted the impulse to shake her.

"You are a fool," he said, forcing her to look at him and not turn away.  "This is not some town dwelling where you could run to find the watch.  How far do you think you would have gotten before some man, or group of men, found you on the road?"  His eyes held hers.  "If they were brigands like some of those I have met here, I'd be finding you body in the bushes beside the road after they finished with such a pretty little prize." Iain's words were harsh, as he intended them to be.

"I am the Queen of Meara!  No one would dare harm me!" she replied defiantly.

"Who would believe that you are?  Your father and the Grand Duke have kept you hidden, a rumour of hope dangled in front of those willing to be tempted.  A promise of reward sparking the slaughter of innocents in Ratharkin!" 

"Sir Iain," Maev cautioned. 

"How many more will die for your cause, Lady Sidana?  How much death does it take to make a queen?" Iain's voice was hard.

"That's not my fault!" Sidana screamed at him.

"Then whose is it, my Lady?"  Iain's voice was suddenly calm.  "Think on that as you spend the rest of this day confined to the loft.  Lady Maev, if you would please escort her up."

Iain removed his hands from Sidana's arms and then placed one hand on her forehead. Sidana winced, although there was no pain.  When Iain had finished, Meav gently took hold of Sidana's arm and helped her slide off the table. 

"There will be no more escape attempts, Lady Sidana," he said.

Sidana preceded Maev up the ladder, not quite meek, but unresistant.  Sir Iain Cameron picked up his glass, filled it with port, drained it and strode out the back door.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on December 08, 2018, 08:56:00 PM
Fiona continued to sit near the area where she had put her bedroll and supplies. She stared ahead, chewing her lip and thinking intently. She considered the consequences of her flight from the manor to try to reach the King  with her information about the intention of the baron's heir to join the rebels and to pledge all the assets of the manor to their cause. She was very concerned about what might be happening to the baron and his wife. Michael intended to confine his father in a distant part of the manor while he assumed his father's position and duties as baron.

But what if the baron resisted, not only verbally but physically? Would Michael actually harm his father? She was afraid that he had become so deeply involved with the rebels that he might have less control than he thought, and that he might be forced to cooperate with them if they decided to physically occupy the manor. The rebels were known to be violent and power-hungry.

When her absence was discovered, what would they do? They would not know where she had gone, but they would suspect she had ridden for help. She was afraid that they would implement their plans more quickly to avoid interference. She was also afraid that this might lead to physical injury or even death for the baron.

She needed to return to find out what was happening and to help Uncle Mac and Aunt Olivia. But she needed help. She wouldn't be much use alone, but who could she approach to assist her? She was still confused as to what exactly was happening here at the ruins, and she had no idea which of those present she should approach. Even though she had decided to trust Lord Darcy, her cousin, she didn't really know him at all and could not be sure of his reaction to a request from her for a rescue mission to the manor. Also, Darcy had no men-at-arms to support such an effort. Lord Jaxom had men with him, but she did not trust him and felt that his main goal was his own advancement

She had been paying little attention to what was happening around her. She noticed that Darcy and Robert had gone aside and appeared to be testing a sling that the squire had made. Then she saw that arrogant young man, Lord Jaxom, walk over to them and heard him take Lord Darcy to task for his squire's activity.  He then ordered Robert to come with him to help his squire in erecting a pavilion he had brought with him. Lord Darcy nodded permission when Robert appeared to ask his approval.

Fiona continued to watch, distracted by the scene before her. Once the pavilion was erected, Jaxom beckoned Robert to come inside. After a brief exchange, Robert left the pavilion, striding angrily back to Darcy. They spoke together in low tones, appearing very tense. She saw Darcy's hand go to the hilt of his sword and Robert place a hand on his arm as if to restrain him.

Suddenly, both turned to look at her. She returned their look, asking, "Is anything wrong"?.

"We need to speak to Lord Jaxom, but I'm not sure about leaving you here alone while we do so" Darcy replied. 

Fiona glanced over toward the lake where she had seen Father Columcil earlier;  "I'll be fine. See, there is the good father returning. I will remain in his company until you return." Fiona had noticed that the priest was trusted by the others, and that they listened to his advice and counsel. He might be the best person to approach about her problem. She felt that, with his help, she might be able to convince others to ride with her to rescue the baron and free his land from rebel control.

As Fiona continued to gaze intently at Darcy and Robert, she saw what looked like a tremor in the air around Robert and his appearance seemed to change from that of a young man to a young lady. Fiona gasped. She had heard of the ability of some Deryni to shape shift and take on the appearance of another person, but she had never seen it done. Robert must surely be something more than a simple squire. Together the two of them stepped into Jaxom's tent

Father Columcil came near and sat down beside her, beginning to speak and ask her what was happening. They both heard angry voices and saw Jaxom start up from his seat abruptly, turning over his stool. Suddenly, a tall, red haired man stood in front of Fiona and the priest. His approach had been masked by the angry confrontation taking place in front of them. He beckoned to them to follow. Columcil appeared to know him and stood promptly to accompany him, reaching back to help Fiona to her feet. Fiona didn't know who the red haired man was, but he was obviously a person of rank and influence. When they entered the pavilion,  Darcy, Robert, and Jaxom bowed respectfully to him, and she heard Jaxom address him as Earl Brendan.

The Earl demanded a pledge from all of them that they would make peace among themselves, and there would be no more discussion of Darcy's relationship with the young woman or Jaxom's insistence that the young woman should have been under his protection. Fiona went to a knee with the others as they gave the required pledge, although she still did not understand the situation. As they rose and turned to leave the pavilion, she again noticed that tremor in the air as the lady again became the squire, Robert.  Darcy held back and said a quiet word to the Earl. The Earl nodded and Darcy followed him  away from the tent to a more private area.

Fiona returned to her previous seat by her bedroll. Father Columcil again sat down beside her  as he noted that she still looked somewhat distracted. He decided that it was important that she be told the story of what lay behind the discord.

"I'm sure you are findin' all o' this confusin'. I think I need to try to explain things a wee bit. The lady who is posin' as the squire, is the Lady Aliset de Mariot. She first assumed the form o' a young man when she was trying ta escape t' Rhemuth after her kinsfolk were done ta death by a cousin who wanted ta tek their land and title. He speired ta force her to marry him ta strengthen his claim. She was tryin' ta reach the King ta ask his protection and fer justice fer her kin.  Sir Washburn Morgan was escorting her at the request of his brother, the Duke o Corwyn. Darcy was escortin' the young lord as a man-at arms fer protection. I was also traveling to Rhemuth and became the fourth member of the party. We didna find out the young lord was really a lass until we had gone some way on our journey. Lord Jaxom and his men joined us later in the journey at the direction of the Duke."

"It's a gey lang tale  but we did reach Rhemuth, and the lass was able to tell her story to the King who took her under his protection. However, a wee bit o' time after our arrival in Rhemuth, Sir Washburn was kidnapped, we think by an agent for the rebels, and there was a attempt to kidnap the lady which didna work, thanks be ta God. We're here noo ta support the search fer Sir Washburn. Earl Brendan is his brother and is directin' the search here. We know he was held here for a time, and they are searchin' for clues as to where he was maybes taken from here."

Columcil continued, "Lord Darcy and the lass came ta care for each other on the long and hazardous trip ta Rhemuth. Then the king decided ta send the both o' us, along with Darcy's squire Robert, on a mission ta advance the search by findin a hidden fortress in Meara, a stronghold of the rebels.  Because o' his experience as a navigator of ships, Darcy would ken how ta to find its location. However, one o' the men behind the rebellion is a powerful and ruthless Deryni. Our Lady de Mariot was afraid for Lord Darcy when or if he did locate the fortress and had to confront this man. In an act of real courage, she decided to replace the real Robert and accompany us so she would know what was happening.. Of course, as soon as it was known that she was ridin with us, her reputation would be in ruins.. Once it was known what she had done, the king directed that it was best that they be betrothed to protect her. They  were committed to each other, and in view o' all the present uncertainties due to the rebellion, I advised that they should go ahead and marry. They agreed, and I wed them. Jaxom had been insistent that she was ruined because she had traveled with us to Rhemuth. Jaxom was arrogant and condescending and insisted he would marry her to save her reputation, but she refused him. His behavior led to the lass nearly being kidnapped by an agent of her family's murderer. Hence, the the bad blood between the two men."

Fiona was quiet as she considered the story she had heard.  "I do understand what is going on a little better. I do know the danger to all of us as a result of the rebellion. I would do anything to help. But as I told Darcy earlier, I am really worried about what is happening at the manor. Baron Stuart is well respected in the area. Having his heir join  the rebels and try to give them the manor would be a big loss for Gwynedd. The loss of the baron himself would be a big blow to those still loyal to the King."

She looked at Columcil appealingly. "I don't know which of those here I should approach to ask for help. Do you think I should try to approach Earl Brendan?  Do you think he might help?" "Freeing the baron and his manor would prevent the rebels from getting a toehold in Gwynedd itself. "

"Dinna fash yoursel, Lassie," replied Columcil. "Gi me a bit o time to think it over and consider what's best ta do. I'll need to talk it over with Darcy too, once he comes back. "  Fiona nodded and sat quietly beside the priest, trying to be patient while she waited for Darcy to return. But patience is not one of her strong points.

After a short time, Darcy reappeared and walked over to them.  Father Columcil drew him aside and they spoke together quietly.  Darcy glanced over at Fiona then beckoned to her to join them. "I understand your concern for the baron. I do think Earl Brendan is the best person to talk to. However, his focus at this time is finding and freeing Sir Washburn, not only because he cares for his brother, but also of the great concern over what his captor intends to do with him. We are sure that the rebels are behind the kidnapping and they intend to use him in some way against the King and Gwynedd. Finding him has to be a priority. I'm not sure he can spare men to rescue the baron and free the manor of rebels. However, I think you should present your case to him and let him judge. Wait here with Father Columcil and let me see if he will hear you."  With that Darcy turned and retraced his steps toward the Earl's tent.

After several minutes that seemed to last forever, Darcy stepped out of the entrance to the tent and beckoned to Fiona. Fiona walked up to the tent and Darcy ushered her in. The Earl was seated at a table but stood as she entered. Fiona curtsied. The Earl spoke to her: " Mistress McIntyre, I understand from Lord Darcy that you have some important information for the King concerning what has been happening at the manor where you have been living and danger to the Baron whose manor it is. Please take a seat and tell me your concerns."

Fiona took a deep breath and repeated to Earl Brendan  what she had overheard Michael, the baron's heir, say of his intention to confine his father, assume his father's position and join the rebellion, committing the men and resources of the manor to them. She expressed her fears of what would happen if the baron resisted as she was sure he would. She emphasized her belief that losing the baron and his assets to the rebels would be a significant blow to the kingdom, giving the Mearans a toehold in Gwynedd itself.

The Earl heard her out in silence. When she had finished, he sat quietly for a few moments. Then he spoke: "I understand your concern and agree that the situation needs to be addressed. Unfortunately, I cannot turn aside from my current mission to deal with it. I will communicate what you have told me to the King, and consider what is best to do.  It is possible that I can send a small force under the command of one of the other nobles here." Earl Brendan stood. "Mistress McIntyre, I understand your concern and rest assured that I will address it as expeditiously as possible." He glanced past her to Darcy who had been standing quietly beside the tent entrance while Fiona told her story. 'Lord Darcy, will you please escort Mistress McIntyre back to your camp. I will make my decision known as soon as possible."

Not long after Darcy and Fiona had returned to their camp, they saw Lord Jaxom enter the Earl's tent. Earl Brendan had summoned Jaxom to discuss the situation as he had knowledge of the area and its people. Lord Jaxom entered the tent and bowed  deeply. "You sent for me my lord?"

"I did," Brendan replied. "Please take a seat," he indicated the stool across from his own seat. "Tell me what you know of a Baron Stuart whose manor is not far from here. I understand that he is much respected in this part of the kingdom, and that he is known to be fiercely loyal to the King. But I have been told that there is a conflict with his heir who favors the rebels."

"I do know the baron and I have visited his manor with my father. It is true that he is highly respected in this part of the kingdom. I have met Michael, his heir, but I do not know him well. I am appalled to hear that he plans to join the rebels. It would be a disaster if he joins the rebels and invites them to occupy the manor. I am willing to do whatever you need to prevent this, my lord." Jaxom stood, holding himself erect.

Lord Brendan addressed Jaxom: "Thank you,  I want you to prepare your men and be ready to ride to Baron Stuart's manor. I have been told that it is possible that the baron has been confined by his son who is giving out that the baron is ill and he is acting in his stead. I have also heard that there are an unknown number of rebels at the manor hidden among the servants. I will have more precise orders for you when it's time for you to leave, Return to your men and be ready to ride at my order."

Jaxom bowed. Yes, my lord. We will be ready at your command." Jaxom exited the tent and strode back toward his camp
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on December 11, 2018, 03:08:08 PM
Brendan Coris, Earl of Marly might have been out of his jurisdiction so far from home, but he was a man among men in the kingdom and he was welcome wherever he went. Well, not everywhere, not in these hard times, he certainly was not going to attempt the Ratherkin Portal. In the Michaeline ruin's tower, he had found clues to his brother's capture. The site had been hastily abandoned when the men of Droghera had breached the defenses there. Bedrolls had been left. Cups and plates, old food stuffs, some tainted with drugs, some not.  And the leavings of herbal concoctions: bits of leaves and stems of varying plants, likely once piled up and then kicked to be scattered across the stone in a hurry. The most important finding had been something else that had been kicked aside: ward cubes, a full set. His mother had been the one to find them. As Sextus told the story, the cubes had been scattered about the floor and had skittered under the old fallen roof stones. As far as Brendan knew, those ward cubes, his mother in her dismay, had taken those back to Rhemuth and given them to the king. Lord Sextus had assured him of it.

As to the portal itself, Lord Sextus told of the story how Duchess Richenda  had overcome the old trap upon it and how with Lord Seisyll's help they had changed the trapping to a new one. Brendan quickly learned it. Neither he nor Sextus were able to find the portal signature as to where the assassin had taken his brother upon escaping here. That was irksome. Brendan knew that his mother had discovered that signature, yet she had returned to the king before Brendan arrived and she had not shared what she had learned with the younger Arilan brother before she left. Sextus had tried, but had not learned it himself. By the time of Brendan's arrival the residue of that Portal jump had faded away. It was likely a death jump anyway.  So the earl did not waste effort on that.

However, sitting next to a working Portal was too much of a temptation. Gathering the stems and leaves that he had found, the Early of Marly stepped on the portal square. "I will be back in a bit of time. I know an apothecary in Culdi. And I want to assure myself that Culdi has heightened its defenses against Meara."  Thusly, with a nod, he was gone.

Brendan spent several hours in Culdi. His arrival at the castle though unexpected was not unwelcome. Princess Richelle and her husband Earl Brecon Ramsay had not been in attendance this last month, having been a guest of Prince Rory in Laas where both royal couples are currently homed to fortify that city against the Rebellion. In Culdi, Brendan found that the Culdi steward had not been lax. The city arms had been raised, the walls were well maned, and the people had shone their loyalties to King and kingdom. A few handfuls of refugees had come into the city from Ratherkin. They were not many, not as many as Brendan could have wished for. The firsthand stories they told were of the cruelty and devastation of the Ratherkin people. The images of slaughter that Brendan gained made the stomach churn and the heart sick. Brendan made an oath to these survivors that in the king's name, he would put all his efforts into putting the rebellion down and bringing back justice to the land.

Of his missing brother, he found no word, not even a whisper. Washburn's captor had not brought him this way. So where? Brendan had a good clue where, but that was nowhere that he could touch. He hoped that Lord Darcy would be able to navigate the stars well enough to find the Grand Duke's fortress. As to his inquiry, the apothecary had named off the plants pieces that he had brought, however the man had no clue what they had been used for all together. He made the earl a promise to do some research for him.  With that, Brendan took the Culdi Portal to Travelgia. There he enlisted the men of the House of MacGregor to come to Laas's aid. Being man loyal to king Kelson they agreed. The Trevelgia army would join up with Prince Javan's armies in Pardac. Brendan wrote a long letter to be handed to the Crown Prince upon there joining of forces. Well satisfied, Brendan Portaled back to the Ruins. Exhausted, he rested there at the Portal site for a few hours before he suggested that Sextus take a break. The earl took his turn at the guarding the portal stone while the baron slept on the same furs that his brother had slept upon.

When morning came. Sextus resumed his post and the earl found his way out of the ruins to encounter a tiff between Lords Jaxom and Darcy. That he could not have, too much else was going on to have squabbles among his own men. And he needed these men, all of them, for as the young maiden had just told him, the rebellion was blossoming all around the borders of Meara, even into places where they had thought loyalties would be unwavering.

The girl Fiona was right, he would have to send men to secure Baron Stuart's manor. At a time when he had little time and men to spare.

Brendan laughed to himself. Jaxom would have to be the one to go. There was know doubt the heir of Trillshire had the men behind him who knew the area well.  As for Lord Darcy, Brendan would take Darcy under his wing and together they would enter the mountainous highlands and search out that fortress where his brother was held. For as yet, no word had come to him that his youngest half-brother, Sir Washburn, would be found anywhere else. Now, if he could just gather enough energy to contact the king and confirm that these would be his orders.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on December 23, 2018, 12:52:58 PM
Eight children holding hands in a ring danced and sang as they circled the youngest among them who was blindfolded and calling with his hands outward. When the song abruptly stopped the Birthday boy lurched forward to grab whomever he could touch. The children nearest squealed and dodged; three of them falling back to keep away, yet the hands of the circle held firm and no one could escape the ring, even as it bowed outward and away from the reaching young prince, Prince Kenneth's fingers touched on Alain Anthony's forehead. Thusly, causing the cousin to call out, "Highness, your cheating!"

"I am not!" the prince called back.

"You see my shoes under the blindfold. You always pick on me?" 

"Naw, ah!" the boy called back. "Didn't need to see you with my eye," the youngest prince Haldane proclaimed proudly. "I like it when your it, cousin Alain. You make the game the most fun!" He smiled removing the blindfold and handed it over to the youngest Morgan.

"Only because it is your birthday," Alain said as he took the blindfold.  "Just remember, Duncan and I are still older than you," the Morgan twin said as if that was worth a higher status. Both he and Duncan nodded to each other in agreement.

"Naw, ah!" the prince called back, he puffed up with self-pride. "Today, I am the same age as Duncan and you. I am six years old today."

"Yes, your highness," Alain said giving a placating bow. "Same now, but in four months, Duncan and I will be older again." He wrapped the blind fold over his head and signaled that the game should begin again.

The circle of children raised their voices to fill the room with the ancient song. They drowned each other out in their exuberance as they danced around in a circle. Prince Kenneth in the outer ring was the most loud of them all.

Richenda watched the children play, turning a concerned eye to her daughter. "'Didn't need to see you with my eyes'?" She asked. "Grania, my love,  didn't his grandfather take care of that little problem days ago?"

The Lady Grania turned her concern from the hand on her belly, "This little one is kicking me so fiercely, like he wants to play too." Then, she sighed before answering her mother. "His majesty did see to Kenneth's shields and controls. I swear that he did and even checked them myself after. It must be that Alian's voice has the highest pitched, I am sure that must be what clued Kenneth to picking him. Not that other thing. I assure you, it shouldn't be possible."

Richenda drew in a breath. "I am sure you are right." Yet, still with Kelson's distractions, perhaps she should take her grandson aside and be certain the controls were properly set. But not now. Not here in the Queen's Tower Solar. The birthday party was a private affair. Invitations had gone out only to the castle children close to Kenneth's age. The mothers of the eight children were all seated together near the Queen, trying to enjoy their embroideries but finding the children too great a distraction.  The queen's eldest daughter, Princes Araxandra, followed the movements of her twin boys with an eye like that of a mother hen. With her husband in danger's way, she was determined that nothing ill would happen to any of her children. She had even brought all three of her daughters to sit with her. The eldest, Kelsonie, was fidgeting at the seeming confinement. 

Richenda, could not fault the young lady, for indeed Kelsonie was sixteen and of an age where the eldest squires and youngest knights were starting to hold her interest. Only the threat of the young lady's parents had kept the young men at bay. At least for now, those young men were out of reach, in the field's of Meara, marching to an inevitable war. The thought did nothing to ease Richenda's mind. How she longed for a solution that would end the rebellion and bring all the young men back, so that her only worries were who could have the privilege of speaking with the Duke of Corwyn's oldest daughter.

Richenda looked down at her needle and thread and she smiled as she remembered days when the boys were eyeing Lady Briony from afar. How only two men had ever had the courage to come forward to face the lady's father. Alaric had thrown the first boy out of Coroth Castle, calling him a cradle robber and banning him from ever returning.  Briony was eighteen and had screamed at her father that she was not a child and that her pappa had best start treating her like the grown up lady that she had become. For indeed Briony was a woman with her own strong ideals, and though it had upset Richanda to discover the truth of it herself, she was proud of her daughter and told her stubborn husband that the family dynamics were changing. So when the second boy approached Alaric many months later, the Duke of Corwyn had learned his lesson and he stayed his anger and listened to the young man. That young man had been the eldest Prince of Andelon , grandson of her aunt Sofiana. He had been brought to Rhemuth court for just this purpose, though Briony had not known of that. She had fallen for the handsome man of her own free will. They were married the next year with Alaric leading his beloved Poppet down the Saint George's Cathedral center aisle. A glorious memory that Richenda will have in her mind until the day she dies.

Of all her children, only Briony was unaffected by the current political upheaval. That is so long as Gwynedd could contain this civil rebellion. If it could not... then the sons of Count Teymuraz would take the inch gained and move to conquer the rest of the known world. All hinged on stopping the grand duke here and now.  It was the devil himself that her own sons were up against. And she prayed into her embroidery that they had the strength to overcome it.

"A gift for his royal highness, Prince Kenneth, from his uncle Sir Washburn," called the wood carver, who had entered the room and bowed before the prince and his mother. The instant reaction of the giver's name among the ladies caused Richanda to nearly cry.  Fear filled many eyes. The fact was that Washburn's abduction was known by all in the castle. That rumor of his betrayal and disinheritance were being whispered around the halls since last evening was disturbing. How it had come out, Richenda did not know. Yet because of it, it appeared that both Lady Grania and Princess Araxandra were prepared to refuse this birthday gift out of fear for what it could be.

The Dowager Duchess of Corwyn stood up, placing her embroidery on her chair and then stepped before her daughter and her the daughter-in-law giving them a reassuring sad smile, and then she turned to the Queen with a deep curtsy, for it was she who would have last say. "I know of this gift, Your Majesty. It was commissioned by my son months ago. And sponsored by the Duke of Corwyn with his full knowledge of what it is. Please accept the gift as one from an uncle who loves all his nephews and let the boys know that it is from the man's true heart." The dowager curtsied again to the queen and awaited her judgment for she too was grandmother to Kenneth and had final say.

Queen Araxie, nodded her acceptance, "Please present to us what gifts you bring from Sir Washburn."

The wood carver instantly stood tall, clapped his hands, and in ran four pages carrying wooden swords and shields, and helms and breastplates. All with leather and wool padding. Six sets in all, not just for the prince but for the twins and for three of the other close friends of the same age. Three of the shields were plain but three were hand carved and brightly painted. Two with Corwyn's green gryphons and the brightest in royal scarlet with a gold rampant lion in high relief. All three six year olds' eyes were big as they stared at the gifts. Until now, they had all been under their mamas' skirts and had not had practice weapons of their own. Given the current war time atmosphere, the women cringed at the gifts, but the boys grew more excited as each had the breast plates tied on them and the helms placed upon their heads.

Queen Araxie was quick to order the Sword master to join them and she forbid any bouts of play until the old man arrived. He checked the gear with a nod of appreciation and then began instructing the boys in their first early lesson of sword play. The boys were elated as this normally did not happen until they would be seven or eight ready to enter court as pages. This early introduction made them feel important in the castle filled with women, where nearly all the men, young and old, were marching to Meara. Richenda had to admit Washburn had been right about the gift for his nephews. If only she could share with the others what she had just learned that morning from the king. Washburn had been freed of his captors. He was to be detained away from Rhemuth until it was determined that he would not cause betrayal, such as was being whispered about in the halls. But he was free. And that was all that Richenda could wish for in these dire times. 
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on December 25, 2018, 02:01:47 PM

Lord Darcy Cameron looked at what remained of the stick he had been whittling.  There was very little left of it, but he had a fine pile of shavings on his lap.


"Were you trying to make something useful?" a familiar voice asked. The voice was that of a young squire, but Darcy heard his wife.


"It appears not," Darcy replied ruefully.  He stood, brushed the shavings off his tunic, and returned his dagger to its sheath.  "At least standing watch at sea I had things to look after, men to check on."


"You don't feel the need to check on me?" Aliset, still in the guise of Robert, asked innocently.


"There is nothing I would rather do, but privacy is sorely lacking." Darcy replied, and Aliset blushed.  Feeling the need to divert his thoughts in other directions, he asked, "What is cousin Fiona up to?"


"She wanted to check on her horse.  Father Columcil went with her."  Aliset nodded her head in the general direction of the horses, and Darcy could see Father Columcil rubbing Shadow's muzzle.


'Making sure she doesn't decide to go off on her own," Darcy said.  "Though I understand her impatience."


"Darcy, did Father Columcil tell you anything of his contact with the Archbishop?" Aliset asked.


"Nay, but he might not have much to report.  Likely he provided more information than he received.  King Kelson will be gathering all the bits and pieces before deciding how to proceed. If I may be so bold as to think that a king would think like I do," Darcy added.


"I suspect he might."  Aliset looked at him thoughtfully.  "Does something trouble you?" she asked.


"Nay, not really," Darcy replied as he pushed loose strands of pale, blond hair back from his face.  "I have the odd feeling that something has changed; though not necessarily for the worse.  I can't quite put  my finger on it. We're waiting here for too long; what happened to the urgency?"



"Could it be something you learned from  Earl Brendan?"


"There wasn't much.  Sorry, love, I didn't mean to keep it from you," he added contritely.  "Fiona's concerns needed to be dealt with first."


"Of course," Aliset said, and waited.


Darcy looked back toward the horses a moment, collecting his thoughts.  "The local men who challenged the fortress  just missed Sir Washburn.  Whoever held him made a last minute escape with him.  They left in haste; the ward cubes you have were kicked aside to break whatever protective ward they were holding.  They found furs recently laid on by someone and food, some tainted with drugs.  A few pots with herbs and ingredients waiting to be mixed."  Darcy turned to look back to Aliset.  Her eyes were wide with concern.


"Drugs?  Do they know what they were?"


"Nay," Darcy replied.  "But I would guess they were similar to what Jaxom gave to you."


Aliset shuddered, and the memories of helplessness rose once again.  Darcy surreptitiously grasped her hand in comfort.


"He has been with his captor for a long time," Aliset said, dismayed at the thought.


"Aye," Darcy said gently.  He paused, not sure if he should confide the rest of what he knew.  Aliset was not one to hide from the truth; he loved her all the more for it.  "King Kelson has received word that Washburn's memories have been compromised.  Resentment and anger have been substituted to drive him apart from his family, and perhaps even his duty to his king."


Aliset stared at him, aghast at the news.  Slowly, the implications dawned.  "King Kelson has sent you not just to find him, but to keep him from harming those he should love and be loyal to.  You can do what his family cannot."


"Aye," Darcy said.  He looked away toward the ruins, but not focusing on them; he looked deep within himself.  "I will not disobey my king, but I will not compromise my own honour."  He turned back to look at Aliset.  "Perhaps I cannot call Washburn a friend, but he has had my back and I have had his.  I count that as dear as friendship. I will not give up on him as long as there are other choices."


Aliset squeezed the hand that held hers.  "I know you won't, and neither will I.  Nor will Father Columcil."


Darcy managed a slight smile.  "Aye; if anyone can straighten a man out, it will be Father Columcil."


"Even you?" Aliset asked, risking a smile in return.


"Careful, love," Darcy replied.  "Let's not ask the good Father for miracles."  He squeezed her hand once more and then released it; Father Columcil and Fiona were returning from the horses.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on January 06, 2019, 01:18:39 AM
"There, that one fits in nicely."  Wash said as he gave the stone a tap. He turned to the rock pile behind him and chose a long flat stone, one that should be good as a topper to the group of river rock that he had just set in the lengthening waist high wall. Only about one hundred yards to go before the wall could be ended on higher ground. According to stories from Sir Roland and Lord Iain, this wall had been started at the end of the winter thaw and they had been working on it for months. Apparently, that small unobtrusive creek on the back side of the wall was said to have overflowed its banks last Twelfth Night. The flood brought the river up to the barn. Thusly, causing the Portal stone inside to get covered under muck and water. Now that would have been right at the same time Iain learned about the good Priest of Trillshire dying under odd circumstance; an accident with his horse bucking and the priest's rob getting caught in his stirrup. The accident was fatal, and at the time seemed contrived. Even more so, after Washburn told how the new priest of Trillshire had acted so oddly toward his companions when they went through that area several days ago.

"That was the first clue that trouble was ahead. By itself it just wasn't enough to go on. Thing is, I knew something was not right and I needed to inform the Archbishop. Only, I found my Portal drowned under muck and mire and a foot of water." Iain shook his head. "Almost made it impossible to connect with the portal signature.  Well Almost."  Iain laughed as he placed a stone on the wall a few feet from where Washburn was working.

"Lord Almighty! You should have seen the looks on the faces of those priests in the Sacristy of St George's Cathedral. Not only was it bad enough that I arrived just after mass and the good bishops were still divesting, but to arrive by Portal with a swath of mud and river water around my feet, which quickly dispersed across the Keldish Carpet, I might add, well that was a bit too much for one Bishop John Nivard. Oh, he agreed alright to give me an audience with the Archbishop, for the news I carried concerned one of their own. Yet, I tell you, he was a mean taskmaster. He insisted I clean up the mess before I was allowed to go to that meeting."

Wash nodded his head knowingly. "Bishop Nivard is said to be a tolerant man. Although if you made that much mess, I can see him taking you to task for it. Yep!" He placed the top stone in a good spot and then reached down for another flat rock to go next to it. "He certainly never liked it when I was in 'his' Library, like he owned the place. Well maybe he did, as he was the one who put it together. Somewhere along the line, he seemed to have gotten this impression that I could neither read nor write, so what was the likes of me, a warrior, doing in his library." Wash frowned at the stone he had picked up. He turned it this way and that, and then tossed it back in the pile to picked up another one. "Yah, just like that stone there, I didn't fit in with the academia of Rhemuth.  Bishop Arilan saw to that. And the Duke of Corwyn," he followed the name with a sarcastic huff. "My brother never saw fit to rectify the clergy's point of view. Rather instead, he embellished on their notions. Here I am, running accounting books, handling all the correspondence and all the journals of Lendour, an Earldom which is by no means small, and I get thrown out of the King's library because it is said I can not read. Hogwash!" Washburn slapped the stone into place, it fit, but only because he forced it into place.

Both men continued their work in quiet. No matter the subject, something always brought the tall knight's altered memories to the forefront. "Feyd, really did it this time." Iain muttered under his breath to Roland. "Trouble is, I just don't know why."

Even if he wasn't meant to hear it, Washburn did. "All that assassin told me was that he was helping me to escape. Hah! Why would he care if I escaped or not? That is what I want to know. Only worth I was to him was payment. Payment to help him do his next job, Whatever that is? Only hint he gave was that his family was about to get a chance on a revenge they had been seeking for the last two hundred years. What kind of madness is it to hold a two hundred year old grudge, and to risk everything to get revenge,  I ask you? Made him giddy, happy  just thinking about it."

Wash looked up and found Iain staring at him. Iain's pale eyes were squinting with concern as he stepped closer. "Maybe you better show me that."

Wash backed up a step. "I... I don't recall much. And what I do recall, well, truth to tell, I don't want to relive it."

"I can understand that," Iain was saying with a placating hand out. "But this could be really important. There is a lot more to your abduction than for an assassin just making money."

"None of it made any sense to me either. Yet... maybe I don't want to know the truth. It was my brother who sent me on this mission. A mission that tried to kidnap us or kill us, twelve ways past Sunday.  Just maybe he sent me because he knew I was the only one able to pull us all through it. Why do I doubt that? Or, maybe, he did it to get me out of the way for good. I was never a rival to his son for Lendour, I swear it. But I think that Kelric thought that I was, did he want me out of the way to give Kenric a clean uncontested holding of Lendour? Like I would ever have bid for the earldom over my nephew. But I wouldn't put it past the Duke of Corwyn thinking that."

Iain was still advancing. "I am more concerned about Feyd's motives than the Duke of Corwyn. I am asking you to form Rapport with me. And to do no harm to my magic or to my person as we connect." There was authority behind that order and Wash shook his head as his shields were bombarded by the smaller man. Sir Roland had come up behind him, too. But that didn't bother Wash, not so much as the steely blue eyes of Lord Iain.

((22:42 <•laurna> Washburn Save test from Iain's command. Standard 2d6 success 5,and or 6
22:42 <•laurna> !roll 2d6
22:42 <•derynibot> 5, 5 == 10
22:42 <•laurna> Haha))

Washburn's shields flared and shut out the command that he was certain a day ago he would not have been able to resist. The most disturbing was that the compulsion to comply was so strong. It was almost like he was captive again. Few things scared the big man, but this did.

"No one orders me about! No one!" he yelled with his voice quivering.

Sir Roland had stepped in to grab Washburn, yet seeing the folly in that, Iain instantly waved him off. "Wash, I didn't mean any harm." Iain tried with outstretched hands.

"I need to get out of here!" Washburn said as he turned and bolted toward the barn.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on January 07, 2019, 02:54:28 PM
Lord Iain Cameron held out a hand to stop Sir Roland from charging after Sir Washburn. 

"What if he tries to use your Portal to escape, my Lord?"  Roland asked.

"I locked the storeroom door earlier,"  Iain replied.  The lock had no key; Iain's spell would hold it secure, and only he could open it.  "Let's give him a moment or two.  Actually, I'm the one who needs a moment or two."  Iain sat down on the top of the wall, ironically on the top stone Washburn had forced into place, fueled by his resentment of his family.

"What went wrong, Lord Iain?  I thought you had established controls."  Roland sat down beside him on the wall.

"His shields came back, and I didn't expect that.  Typical of Feyd to leave surprises."  Iain's pale blue eyes clouded with frustration. "I could try to force my way through, but I would likely fail and destroy any trust I may have established with him. Precious little though it may be.  We need to know what Feyd is up to, but I'm afraid Washburn will have to provide that information of his own free will.  Pity."   

Iain stood and started toward the shed; Roland hesitated and then followed.

"Wait outside, " Iain instructed when they reached the shed.  "You'll know if I need you."

"Aye, my Lord," Roland replied.

Iain paused at the door and used his senses to ensure Washburn was not waiting inside to ambush him as he walked through.  It was quiet in the shed; at least Washburn was not trying to break down the storeroom door.  With the return of Washburn's shields, Iain had to assume that all of the Lendour knight's powers were restored.  What was Feyd after? Had it been his intent all along for Washburn to be rescued?  To set loose a Deryni whose loyalties to family and king had been turned to distrust and resentment? What was driving a need for revenge that had lasted two hundred years?  And what about the vial that Washburn still wore hidden under his shirt?  Iain needed answers, but they would not come easily, if ever.

Despite his need to know what Master Feyd's plan for revenge entailed, the greater need was to ensure that Washburn would leave with him when the king's orders finally came.  Maev probably had something they could drug him with, but Iain did not want to go there.  Washburn needed to be delivered safely to someone who could untangle the web of lies that had been wound around him.  Iain knew he was not that man.

Iain found Washburn leaning forward with both heads spread out flat on the storeroom door, either lost in thought or trying to find a way to psychically open it.

"If I open the door and let you though,"  Iain said quietly.  "Where will you go?"

"I have nowhere to go," Washburn replied morosely.  "Nowhere I would be welcomed.  My brothers would only treat me with scorn for being made into a pawn.  The king has no use for me in Rhemuth; I doubt even my lady mother would be pleased to see me."  Washburn straightened and turned to face Iain. His handsome face looked bitter.  "I seem to have limited options."

"You should come with me," Iain said.  He resisted the temptation to make it a command, aware Washburn's shields held firm.  He saw Washburn tense and then relax slightly. Very slightly. "It will do you no good to stay here.  Although I can't be certain,  I suspect we will be sent to rendezvous with Darcy, Father Columcil and Lady Aliset. They may be your best option."

Washburn looked thoughtful.  His memories of his companions brought no thoughts of resentment or betrayal to his mind.  Were they the only people he could trust?

"Perhaps,"  Washburn conceded.  "I'll think on it."

"Until then, we can add more to that wall," Iain said as he stepped aside and motioned toward the shed door.  "I fear it may be awhile before I am able to return." 
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on January 08, 2019, 07:35:50 AM
Lord Iain turned away from Wash taking three strides toward the barn door. He hadn't pushed the issue to follow. Wash knew that he could have, and if he had used his power of control, it would have taken all of Washburn's will to resist him. Surprisingly, this hadn't been Iain's game play. This small show of trust went a long way to ease the knight's tension. 

Wash feared this loss of control more than anything else in his life. This first instance where he was able to  resist was a tiny thread of hope. In days that seemed like another life, Washburn had been a free man, a happy man. Like a knight on a game board of Cardounet, he had always thought himself free to move about the playing field. Not as important as the king or Bishops, but certainly more free than the other pieces. He always thought of the Dukes of the Realm like the rooks of the game: holding steadfast the corners of the kingdom with only straight predictable motion. As a knight, he could go anywhere. Freer than all the others. Then he meet Feyd and his freedom became nothing but an illusion.

"I feel as a man would who has been cast as a pawn in a Cardounet game." he said remorsefully.  " I'm no longer a man of my own will, forced to move in one direction, that of someone else's design." Wash removed his hand from the door. He had sensed the spell lock ((03:56 <•Laurna> !roll 2d6 03:56 <•derynibot> 4, 1 == 5)) but had been unable to shift it aside. "Pawns often make one good play in that game, but then they become dispensable. Have I made that one play? Challenged the grand duke with a Check, only to miss out on the Checkmate. I stole the duke's crown and you captured the duke's queen. Why are we suddenly pushed off the game board?  We may be pawns but doesn't that account for something? Yet here we sit in hiding. In the rules of cardounet, you don't run away from your opponent."

"You know this isn't a game. This is real life, filled with the real struggle to survive.  He who fights and runs away lives to fight another day."

"Is that it?  Not exactly a phrase I would have ever dreampt in this lifetime to follow."

"Don't think of it as running away. We have made a major advancement and have gone to ground to protect that advancement. I have orders to protect two very Important pieces: a queen and a knight. The game is still in play. It is the balance that has changed. Wash, go with your gut feelings, they are truer than your memories."

"Are you saying my memories are false?" The knight bristled with tension.

"I can not say that. I can only say that a few things you have relayed do not sound right to what I've seen."

"So, I can trust Nothing? Not even my own thoughts?" the big man shifted uneasily. He looked at the horse in the stall before him. How easy would it be to just jump on his back and ride out.

Iain saw the look and patted the bay's rump. "That isn't the answer. That is only just running away again."

Wash sighed and stepped away from the horses and then with shoulders slumped, he walked out into the sunlight, it was only just past noon. "I am lost." he finally admitted.

"No you're not! We are building a wall. And while we build it, I want you to tell me about my brother. I've not even been able to meet the man. I only know the boy he used to be. Tell me about who he has become?"

The comment was not a command, only a friendly inquiry. The men walked back to the wall. No one said anything for a time. Time to get back into the rhythm of picking up stones and fitting them into place. But then, quietly at first, Washburn started talking.

"My first impression of Darcy was that he was a wayward seaman in love with a barmaid. In short order, the fire changed my opinion of the man."

"Fire?"

"Yep! Kitchen fire that nearly took down the Inn and the stable next door. Would have too, if Darcy had not been quick about organizing the townsfolk into fire brigades. That gained the man my respect. That and the many deeds there after. But you don't want to hear those tales.

" Actually I do. Tell me more about Darcy, Lady Aliset, and Father Columcil."

"Very well, your asking for a long story."

"We got time."

Both Roland and Iain had numerous laughs and sighs as Washburn's story unfolded. More than what was said, it was how it was said. The two men nodded to each other as the prior prisoner brightened with every story and smiled more bringing back a youthfulness to the tall man. For they could tell that these were real memories, memories free of resentment and tampering. And this was the real Washburn coming to the surface. The man who loved life, and loved a challenge, and loved sharing it with others.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on January 12, 2019, 09:38:42 AM
"My Lady." Fiona started at the sound of a young voice addressing her. When she looked up, she saw a young squire standing in front of her.  "Lord Brendan sent me to request that you attend him in his tent."

Fiona stood quickly, brushing off  her clothes and straightening them. "Of course, I will come with you immediately." She had been waiting anxiously for word from Earl Brendan. She was hopeful that this summons meant that he had come to a favorable decision concerning the rescue mission..  She accompanied the squire to the Earl's tent. They stepped through the opening and the squire bowed: "Lady Fiona is here as you requested, my lord." 

The Earl looked up from a map he was studying.  "Thank you, Arthur. You may return to your other duties."  The boy bowed and left the tent.

Earl Brendan turned his attention to Fiona who curtsied and waited expectantly for what he would say. "Lady Fiona, please be seated." Brendan indicated a stool across the table from where he was seated. Fiona quickly seated herself, watching him intently:  "I promised I would inform you when I had reached a decision about a rescue mission to Baron Stuart's manor. I have concluded that such a mission is necessary, though it will be difficult in the present circumstances as I have limited resources and must continue to focus on my primary mission here, finding Sir Washburn. I have decided to send Sir Jaxom Trillick and his men to carry out this operation."

"I am grateful for this decision, my lord," Fiona replied. "If the rebels can be captured and the baron freed to resume control of his manor, it will surely be a setback for the Mearans and encourage others to continue to support the king. I do have one request," she continued. "I think it will be an advantage to Lord Jaxom and his force if I ride with them. I know the manor and its grounds as well as the surrounding countryside very well. I would be able to help guide them. I also know the servants at the manor, and I can point out which persons found there are not our servants but most likely rebels. That would make it easier to capture and detain them."

The Earl responded, "Although I understand your desire to ride with them, I can't allow a young woman to ride as part of a mission that may very well involve some fighting. In addition, it would require a chaperone, and I do not have one readily available to send."

"But my Lord," Fiona began. "I believe I can be a valuable asset to the mission and surely the problem of a chaperone can be overcome. I can travel disguised as a squire as I did until I encountered your party. Even now, only a few of the men know I am really a female. And perhaps Father Columcil could serve as a chaperone."

Brendan studied the young woman before him. "Lord Jaxom assures me that he has visited the manor and knows the baron. He also knows the baron's son, although not well. He is familiar with the manor and its surroundings and should be able to carry out his assignment efficiently. In addition, his attitude toward women disguised as men and riding with them is not  at all favorable. Whether I agree with him or not,  I cannot send out a force with leaders arguing or in discord. That would decrease the likelihood of a successful outcome."

Fiona clasped her hands in front of her and spoke in a pleading voice, "Lord Jaxom has visited the manor but only a few times. I am afraid he is not as familiar with its layout and grounds as he believes. Although the baron does know him, it is his father, Sir Adam Trillick, who is better known to the baron and his people and respected by them.  I am not sure he would command the trust and obedience from our people necessary to a successful outcome. That could certainly be a problem if they are afraid of the Mearans and hesitant to oppose them They trust me as a member of the family well known to them."

Fiona continued, " Lord Jaxom would not be able to readily separate our servants from the rebels and capture them. Also, if Michael has detained his father in some remote part of the property as he intended, I can more readily find him than Jaxom could. I am afraid that my disappearance from the manor might have led to the rebels acting more quickly than they originally intended, and the situation could be more dangerous."

"All the more reason I should not send you with them. Jaxom has been given command of this expedition and he needs his followers to follow his orders, not argue about them."

Fiona felt her opportunity to accompany the rescue mission slipping away. She earnestly believed that including her would increase their chances for success with minimal losses. She again addressed Earl Brendan; "Could we not have him in and explain the situation in more detail? Perhaps, we could persuade him that having my knowledge of the manor and its people would enhance his chances of an impressive result."

Brendan studied her thoughtfully, thinking chances for success would probably be greater if Jaxom could be persuaded to take advantage of her knowledge. But he would have to be persuaded to accept her, and that would not be easy. The earl stepped to the tent entrance and called his squire, "Arthur, find Lord Jaxom and ask him to attend me here. I would have further discussion with him about his assignment." 

"Yes, my Lord." Arthur bowed and left the tent in search of Lord Jaxom.

A short time later, Lord Jaxom entered the tent and bowed to the Earl. "You have further information for me, my Lord?"

"I do," replied the Earl. "Be seated, I have a proposal for you."

Jaxom seated himself on a stool across the table from the Earl. Only then did he notice Fiona sitting on a stool nearby.  He turned to Brendan with a puzzled look, "What is it that you propose, my Lord?"

Brendan studied the young man, "Lady Fiona has proposed that she ride with you." Jaxom started up in protest, but the Earl waved him back to his seat. Brendan continued, "She wishes to put her more complete knowledge of the layout of the manor and its grounds as well as the surrounding countryside at your disposal. She also knows the baron's servants and retainers well and will be able to readily indicate to you which are not known to her and likely to be rebels. The servants know and trust her and will more readily provide you with information if they are not afraid of retaliation. You will then be able to capture and detain the rebels more easily. It will also enable you to find and free the baron more quickly. Her assistance should enhance the success of your mission."

"But my Lord," protested Jaxom, "how can I possibly include a woman in my company, especially one without a chaperone? Her reputation is already compromised by her escapade in running away disguised as a boy and riding alone and unaccompanied. This would only make it worse!"

Fiona started to argue but Brendan waved her to silence. "I know it is an unusual  idea, but I believe that it has merit. We are in an uncommon and perilous situation. We have limited resources, and I was reluctant to detach you and your men from the main mission here which is finding Sir Washburn and his captor. But I feel that freeing the baron and his manor, capturing a number of rebels, and preventing them from gaining a toehold in Gwynedd is critical to the effort to put down the rebellion. Rebel captives could provide important information about their leaders and their plans. I am sure the king would be most pleased to hear that this had been achieved quickly and efficiently with minimal loss of life. He will also look with favor on the leader of such a mission. I think that Fiona could be a great help to you in reaching this goal." 

Jaxom did not immediately protest, instead he appeared thoughtful. "But how could this be achieved without further damage to her reputation?"

Brendan replied, "She has proposed that she continue to disguise herself as a young man as she did previously. She will be accompanied by Father Columcil whose sole duty would be to act as chaperone and to protect her. She will provide you with the information you need making it easier for you and your men to carry out your assignment."

"But, my Lord," Jaxom began, certainly wanting to protest the inclusion of the priest in his company, but Brendan again held up his hand for silence. Jaxom subsided onto his stool.

Brendan continued, "Please remember the oath you swore to me to bury your differences and to focus on putting down the rebellion. I have come to believe that this mission is critical to that aim, and I will expect all of you to do whatever is necessary to complete it. Is that clear?"

Brendan continued, " I will speak with Father Columcil and inform him of why I need him as part of this mission and outline his responsibilities. I will then send him to you to receive your orders. Lord Jaxom, you will remain in command, but I expect you to listen to and follow the advice that you are given by the lady in order to promote its happy conclusion.Your departure will not be long delayed. Please prepare yourselves for departure as soon I give you my final orders.. You may return to your camps."

Both Jaxom and Fiona rose and made their bows to the Earl. They then left the tent.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on January 19, 2019, 03:30:53 PM
Having proven that he was hale, herdsman Remy was given the duty of feeding and brushing down the soldier's horses; most of whom were tied in a string between the trees just off the side of the road. It was easy enough duty for the young herder who knew more than a bit about cows, sheep, and horses. Caring for these fine animals, mainly, got him out from under the watchful eyes of the king's men: this group of men who had come to rescued the first rescue group who had entered into  the ruins. Someone had even healed the wounds that he had received from that hateful Droghera Guard Hamish. Well, he remembered giving as good as he got. It had been a fair fight, and he, Remy, would have won it too, if not for that Banshi woman who came out of nowhere and blasted him unconscious. He recalled laying there angrily on the cold stone in pain for a long while, Hamish beside him, but out of arm's reach. Then he must have slept, for when he awoke the anger was gone and so to was his pain. He no longer felt the need to stop Hamish and was not quite sure where that desire to impede the search for that lost knight of the realm had come from or gone to. With his head clear and his wounds mended, he and the Droghera guard were escorted out of the ruins and given a cot in this makeshift camp along the side of the road.

Remy was a curious fellow. He was never quite content with his lot in life to run his father's farm and the milking of cows that fed off the land. He wanted more. These king's men were city folk, all dressed in their fine dandy clothes and strutting around camp like they owned everyone. At least that was the one noble who appeared to be in charge. Remy had instant hate for that man. On this new day, it seemed other nobles had joined their camp. The red-headed one was more noble than them all and he had taken charge. Remy had no idea who he was, not that it mattered, all them king's men could be cursed in his mind. He, in secret, was a queen's man. The Queen of Meara was his ruler. That was his deep secret, known only to but a few. Happy to keep his secret close to his chest, he freely went about his business, feeding the horses, picking out their feet, and brushing them down. He did respect the animals, if not the men who rode them. Which in all, meant he did a good job. No one watched him closely, this left him free to move about like an unseen servant and to walk about the camp doing what he pleased, so long as it looked like he was working. He may have been unseen by everyone around him, but he saw everything that was going on. He was intrigued by what seemed like some sort of power play between the nobles, and too, there was that blond-haired squire sitting with that priest who was not a boy at all. That much he could tell.

Oh boy! When he gets back to Droghera, he will have a good report to make to his rebel leader.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on January 20, 2019, 04:45:38 PM
The light filtered hazily through the high window. The room was dim and chilly. Baron Stuart paced restlessly around the room considering his situation and what possible options he might have. He was both angry and despairing. How had it come to this? His only son and heir had turned betrayer, turning against his king and even attacking his own father, luring him up here to lock him in and take over the manor in order to turn it over to the rebels. If he carried out his plan, he would be branded as a traitor and, if caught, executed. The boy had always been impatient and impulsive, unwilling to wait for what he wanted. He also often acted without giving adequate consideration to the consequences of his actions. The baron had tried to reason with him, but it had always ended in arguments that accomplished nothing. 

The baron considered his situation. If only he could escape from this room, he might be able to stop this treasonous plan before it went too far and save his son.  He knew that some of his servants had been replaced by men he did not know who were probably rebels. But their numbers were not great, and there were still more faithful retainers among them who would follow his orders. His most immediate problem was how to communicate with anyone who could free him. The sullen man who brought his food was surely one of the rebels. He could not get a note out. Even if he had the means to write one, most of the servants would not be able to read it, and he did not want to put them in danger. He considered the window, but it was high in the wall and difficult to reach. Even if he did manage to reach it, this was a remote and seldom visited part of the manor. The chances that someone would see any signal he sent and act upon it were small.  But there must be some way to attract help.

Mac wondered what story Michael was giving out to explain his sudden disappearance.  He wondered what was happening to Olivia and Fiona, whether they were also confined. If only he could reach Fiona. She was energetic and determined and fiercely loyal to the king. She was also very clever and would certainly be able to help him devise a plan. But how to reach her.

Mac was becoming almost desperate when he heard a faint scratching at the door. Moving close to it, he scratched at his side of the door. He then bent down and put his mouth close to the keyhole  and whispered: "who's there?"  A young voice spoke softly in reply: "It's me, Gavin."
The baron's heart gave a leap. Gavin was a young page, the youngest son of Lord Ross, an old friend. He had entered the baron's service to begin his training several months ago, before the rebellion had reared its ugly head, and the conflicts with Michael had escalated. He was bright and very inquisitive.

The voice spoke again: "Is that you, my Lord? Why are you locked in here?  We were told you were ill, and the doctor advised complete rest and quiet. But I could not understand why we heard nothing from you nor could I locate you in the manor. If you were ill, why were you not in your own quarters, and why was Lady Olivia not with you. I decided to do some exploring to try to find you. I noticed one of the servants carrying food to this part of the manor. Why would he be carrying food to an unused part of the house? I followed him and saw him enter this door, then leave without the dishes he had been carrying, locking the door behind him. I heard no sounds within, but why would he carry food to an empty, locked room? I decided to try to find out who might be confined within. I did not expect that you would be in there."

Mac responded, " I have been confined here by my son who is planning to join the rebellion and give the manor and its assets to them. He is betraying his allegiance to the king in the hope of gaining land and commands. I have to stop him before it is too late. If found out, he will be branded a traitor and subject to execution if captured.  I need to get out of here. Can you take word to Lady Fiona and solicit her help in devising a plan to free me?"

The page replied: "I'm sorry, my Lord. I cannot reach Lady Fiona. She disappeared at about the same time that you did. I heard that she took a horse from the stable and ran away. No one knows where she went. Lord Michael has sent men out to search the surrounding countryside, but to my knowledge no one has seen her. That has made the young lord more irritable and bad tempered. He and Lord Martin have been shut away arguing about what to do.I have been eavesdropping as much as I could without getting caught. They are considering sending word to their rebel contacts to come sooner, before word can reach the king or his representatives. They are afraid that the reason Lady Fiona ran away was that she  somehow discovered their plans and is trying to get word to Rhemuth about what is happening here."

"I could try to sneak away and ride to carry word to my father about the situation here. Surely he would know what to do." Gavin offered.

"I am afraid that would take too long, and I don't want to put you at risk if you are caught." Mac replied. Just then, they heard footsteps coming toward them. "Quick," whispered Mac, "slip away. You must not be found here. Keep watch, and return when it is safe. I will give thought to what other possibilities we have to obtain my escape. At least you have enabled me to establish contact with a source of aid. Try to keep a close watch on those you know or suspect are members of the rebellion. The more information we have, the better our chances for success. Pay particular attention to what is done with the keys to this room. Now go, before you are seen!"

Mac heard soft footsteps rapidly retreat from outside his door as the other footsteps drew closer.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on January 26, 2019, 09:47:14 PM

The smell of iron calcined and quicklime forced Lord Brendan to hold a finger under his nose and to squeeze his eyes shut as his squire, Arthur, rubbed the messy dye through his hair with a cloth. "Arthur, best make sure it covers evenly. You don't want your earl to look like a spotted cat, now would you?"

The youth tried to stop a guffaw, which only made worse the noise that escaped his lips. Abashed the youth managed to reply  "No, my lord," before ducking his head. After which he rubbed the cloth all the harder through the earl's finger length hair.

The young man faltered when an interruption came from a guard as the entrance flap was pulled aside. The guard made his pronouncement: "Father Columcil, as you requested, my Lord." The guard stepped back to allow a priest in a country woven cassock to enter. Arthur took note that the priest brought no eminent danger, even if that staff across his back had a iron-shod head upon it-- which was rather uncommon for a man of the cloth, but not uncommon for these difficult times-- thusly, Arthur returned to his duty of spreading the dark hair-dye through his lord's trusses.

"Come in, Father, come in. I will be just a moment,"  Brendan said, still with his eyes closed. He did not need to see to know that the father entered hesitantly, the smell taking him a minute to accept before entering.

"Ye' asked to see me, m' lord?" the father inquired, a slight reserve in his tone, determined to use his courtly speech before this differential man, the Earl of Marley.

"Yes, indeed. You are more prompt than I. But a moment if you would, father," the Earl replied with his head still down at the level of his squire's hands. "That is good, Arthur. Now pour the water over my hair to rinse it all out." Brendan kept his eyes shut and his head held over a bowl as the squire poured warmed water over the earl's head and rubbed the oily hair dye out of his hair. A second rinse was done with a touch of lime soap to wash away the residual dye. With a third rinse, the warm water was gone and the cold water caused the earl to bristle with an "Owe!" Satisfied at last that the water was rinsing out clear, Arthur handed his lord a towel. Brendan did a frisky rub of his hair before he pulled the towel aside and turned to smile at Father Columcil. "What do you think?"

Columcil looked at him quizzically. Brendan could tell the country priest was hesitating, wondering just how formal his reply should be. "Father, we are not at court here. Give me an honest opinion. Lives may depend upon small deceptions. Do you think this will do?"

"Aye, then, my lord, I take it that it be your intention to 'ide yer copper locks and be brown-'aired instead? If so, then I say ye have succeeded. Yet, I da not understand the why of it, m' lord? Withou' yer red hair, ye are not as discernible as the Earl of Marley."

"Yes! Exactly the point." The earl grinned broadly at Columcil. "For the next while, I need to not be me. Everyone knows the red hair of Marley, I just hope this is better than shaving it all off."

"Aye! Well, indeed, it is better than shaving it off, and..." the priest hesitated remembering back... " it too be better than shaving a tonsure, I can assure ye of that, m' lord." Columcil gave a private snicker and then pursed his lips shut when Earl Brendan shot him an inquiring look. After a hesitation, he decided he better explain. "Yer brother, m' lord, he gave a try at shaving a tonsure when we left Culdi, and not just that, but a full hair cut, as well. He was rather vexed by it for several days, thereafter. Good for a man to lose his vanity once in while, I say. I do believe the tonsure had grown mostly ou' by the time ye saw your brother in Rhemuth. Not sure if he mentioned it to ye."

"No, sadly, Washburn and I had very little time to talk, I wish that I had... " Brendan dropped his head for a moment, "There are a lot of things that I wish... a lot of things I regret." Brendan shook his head, "Before you leave, I would be grateful if you would hear my confession."

"Of course, my lord." Father Columcil, reached for his stole neatly folded with care within his cassock, but Brendan put out a hand to delay him.

"We can do that in a moment, but first, let me tell you of this new mission that I need your loyalty for. Please have a seat, Father." Pointing to a near stool for Columcil, Brendan pulled close his own camp folding chair. "You know of Lady Fiona's desire to free Baron Stuart. I am sending Lord Jaxom and his men on that endeavor. Lady Fiona has made good cause as to why she should go as well. I can not let her go as she wishes, unless she is accompanied by a chaperon and protector. I can not split lady Aliset from her husband for this assignment. As it is, Lord Darcy will need all his attention on his royal commission to find the devil's fortress."

"Am I correct in my understanding that Lady Aliset is well trained in her abilities? And that she has escaped Rhemuth's watchful eyes in order to act as protector for the Heir of Isles?" Brendan saw the faint nod from the good father. The earl returned a smile for the priest's calm composure to say nothing, yet this enlighten Brendan further than words could have. "My mother approved of her actions and her recent marriage, even if she could not say so before the queen. Who, by the way, is non to pleased with both my mother and my king on this particular subject. Let Lady Aliset be warned if she should return to Rhemuth before all here is said and done."

The earl got up from his chair, he gave a pointing for his squire to pour two cups of wine. Then he walked one over to Father Columcil handing across one cup and holding out the other. "A toast to the newly wedded couple." He took a drink, than sat back down looking back across at Columcil who appreciated the fine wine. "After all that has brought man and wife together, it will not be I who will split them apart. Nay! That leaves me with few other options. In truth, I have but one. If I am to approve Lady Fiona returning to the baron's estate with Lord Jaxom and his men, then I must request your presence to be Lady Fiona's chaperon. You have done that for another lady with good outcome, and I would ask that you do the same for Lady Fiona."

Father Collumcil's hand tightened around the cup. "Aye," he answered with hesitation. "I did before what was necessary to do, to protect the reputation of a lady in need. That duty is done. I now have a duty, set forth by the king, to accompany Lord Darcy in finding this place where your brother is held. Does that not have priority?"

"Lord Darcy's orders do have priority. We must find that Fortress, I can not accept failure in this. Therefore, I will be accompanying Lord Darcy and Lady Aliset into the mountains. It is my intention to go in disguise as his guardsman. The king was right in his orders that the Earl of Marley can not be seen getting too close to the Grand Duke. My men will go on to Culdi. No one will know the guard with Lord Darcy is I. My plan had included you with us, but now I have a greater need for you to protect Lady Fiona and to keep her out of harm's way if fighting should break out at Baron Stuart's estate."

"I see, My lord." Father Columcil looked pained. "Is this your orders."

The earl gave a sigh, then took in a sharp disappointed breath. "No. I do not have the right to order you in this, it is a request only. If you decline, I will escort the lady to Droghera, against her wishes and order her to stay safe there until Jaxom has completed his task." Brendan shook his head knowing that would be a battle, but then he smiled, "If you are worried over Darcy and his wife's well being, I swear to you that I will protect the newly married couple and keep them out of harm's way."

"That, my lord, is not as easy a task as you may think," the father said with knowing concern.

"So I have heard," Brendan Coris replied.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on January 27, 2019, 06:59:30 AM
The baron stepped back and turned to face the door. The key rasped in the lock and the door swung open. He was confronted by a man who was a stranger to him. The man was of middle height, stocky and powerfully built with dark hair and cold, black eyes.  He wore black riding leathers of good quality. Mac's eyes shifted and he noticed Michael standing behind the man, shifting his feet nervously.

"Baron, I am here to free you from this confinement. My name is Robert Drago. I am in the service of the Queen of Meara and am come to persuade you to join our cause of a free and independent Meara, no longer under the heel of Gwynedd and its king. Meara has for too long been subservient to outsiders and  seeks to follow its own path under the rule of our queen, descendent of the old, royal House of Quinnell. I hope to convince you that this is the best path for Meara. If you decide to join our cause, I can promise you a position high in the court of the queen where you will be able to help Meara become the respected and influential kingdom it should be.

Mac studied the man silently for a few moments and then replied; "I do not see Meara as subservient. It already enjoys viceregal status, essentially a principality with the restoration of most of Meara's ancient titles, thanks to King Kelson.  I pledged my fealty to him and have seen no reason to change it. Kelson is the rightful king and under his rule we in the borders have enjoyed peace and prosperity, a release from constant clashes of the past.   I see no advantages to joining the rebellion which promises advancement only through war which will again bring death and destruction to our land."

Drago's eyes narrowed as he glared at the Baron. "We do not feel that being ruled by the king's cousin and thus remaining under Kelson's thumb is equal to being an independent kingdom. With independent status, Meara would be able to form its own alliances and be more highly regarded among the other kingdoms. This could lead to even more prosperity for all the Mearans."

For the first time, Michael spoke up, "Think about it, Father, we could be part of restoring Meara to her former glory! We could help ensure that our people would enjoy more prosperity."

Mac looked at his son, "Are you sure that your interest in this is on behalf of the Mearan people and  not for your own advancement? Or is this an effort to seize power by a group of men, led by her father, who are certain they can manipulate the young queen and become the real power behind the throne? Are they planning to use you also?"

"No! That is not true! The purpose of the rebellion is to help the Mearan people, to give Mearans more control of their destiny!" Michael stared at his father defiantly.

Drago interceded, his voice harsh and his stance more threatening. "As the queen is very young, she is guided by her father and her other councilors as you would expect. As she matures, she will be able to act more independently, as she should.  All of those close to her have only her best interests and those of the Mearan people at heart."

The baron raised his voice as he replied, "How was the massacre in Ratharkin in the interest of the Mearan people? Rebels attacked the castle in the absence of the viceroy, murdered many within and even slaughtered men, women and children in the streets. Many prominent men, unless known supporters of the rebellion, were thrown into the dungeons along with their heirs, those heirs to be held hostage to force their fathers to pledge allegiance to the rebels. Anyone who refused to pledge loyalty to the pretender queen was murdered. I knew Lord Dunstan who was beheaded for his refusal to give his loyalty to them. He and his family were much beloved for their generosity to their people. Are these the acts of men pledged to the welfare of the Mearan people? I think not."

While Michael looked on in horror at what he was hearing, Drago struck the baron across the face, causing him to fall to the floor, striking his head on a metal frame. He lay still. "Father!" Michael started toward him, but Drago grabbed his arm, turned him around, and pushed him out of the door. Michael struggled briefly, but was no match for Drago's strength. "Let me go, I need to see to him!" Drago slammed the door and locked it. He then pushed Michael ahead of him down the corridor.

Gavin had been hiding in an alcove outside the Baron's prison and heard the violent exchange. He waited until the men had disappeared, then moved quietly to the door, pressing his ear against the keyhole. He heard a low moan, then nothing. He didn't know what to do or where to turn for help. Inside the room, the baron stirred slightly and moaned, then was silent.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on January 30, 2019, 10:37:51 AM
**Many thanks to revanne for providing Columcil's brogue.  Awesome!**


Darcy Cameron watched as Father Columcil left the Earl of Marley's pavilion and strode back toward their camp.  The priest did not look happy, but as Darcy moved forward to intercept him, Columcil's quick shake of his head forestalled him.  Columcil continued on until he reached the tree stump Aliset had used as the target to test her sling.  He fell heavily to his knees, pulled something out from his cassock and bent his head over it.

"What do you think has happened?"  Aliset, still in her disguise as Robert, asked as Darcy returned to their group.  Fiona stood beside her, looking equally concerned.

"I have no clue," Darcy responded.  "He doesn't seem to want company at the moment, so we'll have to wait to find out." 

"Do you think it could be bad news about Washburn?"  Aliset's brown eyes met Darcy's pale blue ones.

Darcy looked thoughtful.  "Nay, I don't think so.  If it was bad news, I would think the Earl of Marley would have told all of us."    At least I hope so, Darcy thought to himself.

"Lord Darcy," Fiona said, unsure how formal she should be with her cousin.  "Earl Brendan was going to speak to Father Columcil about being my chaperone for the trip back to Uncle Mac's manor."

"What?" Darcy asked, startled.  "Why would he do that?"

"It was the only way he would allow me to accompany Lord Jaxom and his men on their mission to rescue Uncle Mac and keep his lands out of the hands of the rebels.  Earl Brendan insisted I must have a chaperone, and I suggested Father Columcil.  It took a while to get Lord Jaxom to agree to the arrangement, but Earl Brendan finally convinced him."  Fiona was confident that this would meet with Darcy's approval.

"Did you not think to check with me before making such a daft suggestion?" Darcy exploded, struggling to keep his voice level.  At the look he got from Aliset, he hastily added, "Asked all of us, especially Father Columcil."

"Do you not understand how important it is that I go with them?" Fiona responded, her concern for her uncle driving her to stand her ground.  "I know the manor and Uncle Mac's retainers much better than Lord Jaxom, and it will give us the advantage." She looked boldly at her cousin.  "Sir Iain would understand; you are certainly nothing like your brother!"

"I wouldn't know," Darcy shot back and then took a deep breath.  This would not do; losing his temper would accomplish nothing.  Aliset was looking at him, waiting for him to do something next.  And not giving him the slightest hint of what that should be. What was it about these women that made him feel lost at sea?

Darcy was saved the decision by noticing that the priest had risen and was walking toward them.

"I should probably follow my own advice and speak to Father Columcil," he said dryly.  He thought he saw a faint look of approval from Aliset, or maybe it was wishful thinking.  Fiona's look of determination did not change.

"Father Columcil," Darcy said with a respectful nod when he reached the older man. 

"Lady Fiona has told you what the Earl of Marley intends?" Columcil asked. 

"Aye."  Darcy fell in step beside the priest as they moved slowly back toward their camp.  "How well does his order sit with you?"

"He didn'a order me," Columcil responded, a note of exasperation mixed with resignation in his voice.  "He asked me ta gi'e it ma thought."

"He asked you?" Darcy could not keep a note of amazement out of his own voice.

"Aye, he did that."  Columcil gave the smaller man a sidelong glance.  "O'course he didn'a mek it easy fer me ta refuse, gi'en the way he put it.  Elsewise himself'd ha' ta tek Lady Fiona ta Droghera an speir how ta keep her young leddyship there."

"Kicking and screaming all the way, I expect," Darcy replied.  "The nuns would have to lock her up to keep her there."

Columcil managed a smile.  "I dinna ken that'ud be gey fair t' the guid sisters o'St Brigid's."

"I would not envy them the task."  Darcy hesitated for a moment. "What about Jaxom?  I know you can't abide the man any more than I can."

"I gave ma solemn oath ta keep the peace an' I'll no brekkit," Columcil replied. "I'll pray the guid Lord tha' I cun keep ma distance awa."

'Doubtful, with Fiona along," Darcy said.  "He'll want to make a suitable impression, peacock feathers and all."

"Och, for a' she's nobbut a young lassie, ah'm thinking yer wee cousin has mair in her heid than ta be taken in by sich a gormless gowk!"  Columcil sighed; he had not intended to be so blunt. Keeping his oath might be more of a challenge than he had hoped.

"Is your mind made up to go, or do you think it would make a difference if I spoke with the earl?"  Darcy searched the priest's face for some sign of approval.  When  Columcil did not immediately answer, he plowed on. "I honestly think we need you with us.  I have no idea what shape we'll find Sir Washburn in, not only with his altered memories, but also physically.  As Healer and priest, you can help him better than Aliset or I can."

"Ye think mair o'me than ye should," Columcil responded, uncomfortable with the man's confidence. He paused a moment; Darcy should know the rest of the earl's plan.  "Th' Earl has a mind ta gang wi'ye ta find Washburn."

"Oh bloody hell!" Darcy exclaimed and stopped in his tracks.  "Does his lordship think I need a chaperone, too?"

"Easy, son," Columcil admonished, but not without sympathy.  "Th' Earl is worriting himself ta find Washburn nae less than we. It'll be a sight easier road an' ye accept th'help he'll gi'e ye."

"No road we've taken so far has been easy, Father," Darcy returned. "But aye, I get your point.  Still, if you have no objection, I'd like to have a word with Earl Brendan."

Columcil studied the man before him for a moment.  Darcy was as determined as his cousin, whether he recognized it in himself or not.  "I dinna think it'll do ye much good. I've nae dout his mind is made up and he's gi'en his orders ta Jaxom.  But try if ye've a mind to."

"Thank you, Father; I feel I must.  If it all comes to naught, it won't be the first time I've beat my head against a solid wall." Darcy  turned toward the earl's pavilion.

Columcil did not doubt that it was true.

***

Father Columcil, Aliset and Fiona watched as Darcy returned to their camp.  He looked a bit pale and none too happy.  He stopped in front of them, balled fists on his hips.

"I wish someone had told me Washburn was the earl's half-brother," he said.  "When Earl Brendan refused to consider any other options, my suggesting that he  was not showing adequate concern for Washburn's welfare was not the best approach."

"Oh, Darcy!" Aliset exclaimed. 

"You didn't know?" Fiona asked.

"Lass, I've been at sea for 12 years.  The court of Rhemuth was no concern of mine," Darcy responded. 

Columcil realized belatedly that none of them had thought to tell him.

"I've been taken down a peg or two from time to time, but not so thoroughly as just now.  And in so few words."  Darcy shook his head as if to clear the memory from his mind.

'Has he changed your mission to find the fortress?"  Aliset asked.  Darcy might be pig-headed, but he deserved better than that.

"Nay, we are to proceed as planned, except that Earl Brendan is coming along posing as a guard. He even dyed his hair brown to disguise himself!  At least I had the good sense to not suggest a cap would have been easier."  Darcy managed a wry smile.

"There is hope for you yet."  The look in Aliset's eyes softened the sting of her words.

"What's done is done.  Earl Brendan will be passing orders on to Jaxom soon.  Father, you and Fiona are to make ready to leave."

Fiona nodded.  "I'll be ready."

"Let me give you a hand," Aliset offered and moved off with Fiona to help her gather up her things. Now was not the time to ask Darcy more questions.

Father Columcil, sensing much the same, moved off to make his own preparations.

Darcy, frustrated and disheartened, went over to his sea bag.  He withdrew his sling, scooped up a handful of suitable stones, and strode toward the tree stump.  The first stone hit the target, followed by another and another.  He gathered another handful.

He was not pleased with himself.   He had mucked things up quite well.  Alienated his new cousin, interfered where he probably had no right and nearly had his head taken off by the Earl of Marley.  What did Aliset think of him now?  Aliset.... Darcy was certain Earl Brendan would not be inclined to bed down with the horses so he could have a private night with his wife!

The stone that flew from his sling cracked the stump from top to bottom.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on January 30, 2019, 01:58:47 PM
"I've not shown adequate concern for Washburn's welfare?" Brendan repeated as he paced in a circle about his pavilion.

Fortunately he was alone, his squire was out fulfilling his orders. The mock-tone of the seaman stung like that of a jellyfish tentacle. Hadn't he just made confession to the priest on just that same accusation that he felt ashamed that he had not displayed adequate attention to his brother and that is why all of this started in the first place? Half-brother or not, Washburn was still half his blood and there had never been bad blood between the Morgans and he. He may be quite a bit older than his baby half-brother, but he had always cared for the young rapscallion.

Angrily, Brendan swiped the things off his camp desk in his need to whip away his response to the seaman. If that stubborn Lord Darcy had not salted his open wound so thoroughly, he swore he should have been able to give a better response. His mother would be frowning at his loss of decorum. His step-father would have demanded he apologize immediately. And Alaric would be right. It wasn't until after Lord Darcy left the tent, having taken the sound beating that Brendan had lash back at him with the stout bracing of a man used to a storm, that the earl realized the seaman had not had any idea that Brendan Coris was in any way related to Washburn Morgan. That realization was hard to fathom at first. Who in the whole kingdom had not heard the story of his real father, traitor Bran Coris, who died at the hands of the king and the king's champion, who later romanced his mother to become his stepfather. Who did not know of this?

One Heir of Isles, navigation's officer, it seemed.

"How do I make this up," Brendan said to himself as he leaned both hands against the empty table top. He now knew that Lord Darcy truly did had his brother's rescue in the foremost of his mind. Yes, Father Columcil should be there when Washburn was rescued, Darcy was right on that account. But the good father could not be in two places at once.

"Shoo away, you miscreant," came Squire Arthur's voice from just outside the earl's tent. The youth entered just a moment later.

"What was that about?" Brendan asked him.

"One of them townsfolk was standing far too close to the back side of the pavilion. Wouldn't doubt he was looking to hear some gossip."

"Then he got an ear-full for his troubles," Brendan replied, dishearteningly. 
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on January 31, 2019, 10:56:25 AM
Remy scurried away from the back of the pavilion.  That had been close!  Still, in his mind it was worth it.  At first he had not been able to hear exactly what was said, other than some "Lord Darcy Cameron" was requesting to speak to the nobleman inside.  Remy now knew that nobleman was Earl Brendan.  Gradually the voices had risen in volume, and Remy could hear clearly what was said.  Sweet Jesu, he would have preferred his father's strap rather than that tongue lashing!  Whew!  In the end, Lord Darcy Cameron, in a very tight voice, had asked the earl's pardon for his lack of knowledge and requested permission to leave.  That was granted immediately.

The squire who had seen him had entered the tent, so Remy slowed his pace a bit.  He knew which of the new arrivals was Lord Darcy.  The small, startlingly blond young man was camped with his squire, the priest, and the girl dressed as a boy.  Remy made his way in that general direction.  He skirted the camp itself, pretending to be on some errand.  He did not want to be too obvious.

The priest and the girl appeared to be packing up their things, with the squire helping the girl.  It took a moment for Remy to spot Lord Darcy.  He had moved away from the group and was hurling stones from a sling at a stump with alarming force.  Not a happy man at all!

Men who were not happy with their lot were the most likely recruits for the rebellion.  Remy had noted that Lord Darcy was plainly dressed, and he didn't ride one of those big war horses the other lords rode.  He was probably a second or third son, one with no prospect of inheritance.  A man looking for opportunity to better his lot, acquire his own lands and rise in importance. 

The rebel leader in Droghera had encouraged Remy to take note of such men, and if he was able, approach them and get a feel for how they felt toward the Queen of Meara.  If it sounded as if they could be tempted, he was to let the rebel leader know, and he would take it from there.

Remy continued on his way.  He would find a way to approach Lord Darcy, but not right now.   Later, when the man had calmed down a bit and was no longer holding that sling.  You never knew how a man might react when discussing the queen.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on February 03, 2019, 03:31:46 PM

Sir Iain Cameron reflected that the afternoon had passed pleasantly.  The  hard work of selecting and laying the stones under the heat of the afternoon sun had been made much lighter as Sir Washburn relayed the tales of his journey with Darcy, Father Columcil, and Iain's new sister-in-law, Lady Aliset.  That was a woman he wanted to meet!  At the revelation of a pair of merasha-soaked crossbow bolts being shot into his brother's back, Iain had almost dropped one of the rocks on his own foot!  Washburn had stopped his retelling of the adventure with the arrival at Rhemuth.  The look on his face made it evident that he had no desire to relive the events after that.


Daylight was beginning to fade as they laid the last of the rock.  Sir Roland had proclaimed it a job well done and then filled the bathing tub with water so that they could freshen up before the evening meal.  Soaked with sweat and streaked with dirt, they would have driven the women from the house if they had entered as they were!  Fortunately, they had had the good sense to shed tunics and shirts early on; those would not need to be laundered quite yet. 


The pleasantness was not to last.  Once they entered the house, they found Lady Maev clearly vexed and Lady Sidana sitting on a stool in cold, haughty silence.


Sometimes what is NOT said is as insulting as what IS said, Lady Maev sent to Iain.  It took a lot to get under Maev's skin, but the Pretender Queen of Meara had done it.  Iain winced.


"Your cooking smells delicious, as always," Sir Roland said to his wife. 


Washburn glanced cautiously from one woman to the other.  "I look forward to it, Lady Maev.  I, for one, am famished!"  He gave Maev his most charming smile. 


Maev did not exactly smile back, but her face softened.  She served up roasted mutton and vegetables topped with a savoury gravy.  Fresh bread was passed around to go with it.  Sidana frowned at the trencher set before her.  She had no eating knife.


"Allow me, Lady Sidana,"  Iain said, sliding the trencher toward him and deftly slicing her meat with his own knife.  After he placed it back before her, she continued to sit in stony silence, gazing at a spot on the front wall.


"Be a good child," Iain instructed, his calm voice carrying a note of command that Sidana could not ignore.  "Eat your food. With the best of manners," he added.


"I am hardly a child!"  Sidana snapped and began to eat her food, as instructed.


Despite their earlier good spirits, the men ate their meal mostly in silence.  It was at the end of his second helping that Iain felt the call from King Kelson.  He excused himself and withdrew to his bedchamber, closing the door behind him.  He wasn't sure whether he was more relieved to finally receive his orders or to escape the chill that had pervaded the evening meal.  He sat on his bed and pulled the medallion out from inside his shirt.


Your Majesty, he sent.  How may I serve you?


Sir Iain, Kelson acknowledged.  In the morning, you will take Sir Washburn and Lady Sidana through to the Portal in the ruins where Washburn was held captive.  After Washburn is safely delivered, you will receive Master Feyd's ward cubes from Lady Aliset.  Rest briefly in the ruins; I want no one outside of the group that is there to know we have Sidana.  As soon as you are able, bring Sidana and the ward cubes to me in Rhemuth via the library Portal.  Lord Sextus will accompany you and lend energy, if needed.  Kelson paused and then continued.  How fares Sir Washburn?


Iain thought for a moment, certain that there was more behind the king's question than curiosity.  He is not the man he was when you last saw him in Rhemuth, Iain said, choosing his words carefully.  Physically, he is mending well, but his mind remains distorted by false memories.  His resentment of his family is close to explosive. 


Then he has not improved, the king responded.  It was a statement, not a question.


There is more, Iain continued.  Washburn's shields have returned, and I assume the rest of his powers as well.  I established controls over him earlier, both for his safety and mine, but he is capable of blocking me now.  I cannot try to determine what Master Feyd has done, and I doubt that I have the skill to discover it even if I could get around Washburn's shields.


From you, Sir Iain, that's quite an admission.


I know my limits, Your Majesty. It keeps me alive. Or at least helps.  Iain expected some sign of amusement; there was none.  He proceeded cautiously.  This next information is unsubstantiated. According to Washburn, Master Feyd told him he was helping him to escape.  And that Feyd's family was about to get a chance for revenge they had been seeking for the last two hundred years.  When I asked Washburn to show me that memory, he flatly refused, stating he did not want to relive it again. It was at that point I discovered his shields had returned in full force.


Kelson remained silent, considering what he had been told.  Iain was becoming uncomfortable as the silence dragged on.


I did not need this complication, Kelson finally said.  I will contact you in the morning with the signature of the Portal in the ruins.  I have much to consider before then.


We will be ready to leave in the morning, Your Majesty, Iain said just before the king broke contact. He placed the medal back inside his shirt.  He was tempted to stretch out and have a nap instead of returning to the main room. But that would not be fair.  He would offer Maev the chance to escape her charge and enjoy an evening walk with Sir Roland. It was the least he could do.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on February 04, 2019, 06:44:41 PM
 Fiona and Aliset walked quickly back to the spot where she had left her supplies and equipment, with Aliset still in her disguise as Robert.  She began to gather up her things and pack them in her bedroll. Aliset helped by folding and passing things to her so she could stow them away.  As she packed, Fiona checked that everything she would need was in good condition.. She particularly checked her bow and the arrows in her quiver as well as the dagger she carried in the belt pouch at her waist. She needed to go check on Edric, to assure that he was well fed and rested and ready for the ride back to the manor. However, she paused to consider what lay ahead

As they worked, Aliset spoke quietly to her. "I know how anxious you are to return to the manor and release the baron. You must be worried that harm may have been done to him while you have been gone. It's especially hard to have no real control over the mission. The Earl made clear that Jaxom is in command of the company, and you must follow his orders without disputing them. You need to find a way to offer your knowledge and advice in a manner that he will accept. I'm afraid that won't be easy, but demands will only put his back up. You don't want to challenge him. With a young man like Jaxom, I think flattery and admiration will have a better effect. Arguments will negatively affect the success of the mission." Fiona nodded her understanding of the advice she was receiving.

As they were completing their task, Jaxom approached. and spoke to Fiona. "Lady Fiona, we will be leaving almost immediately. Perhaps, you should go attend to your horse so that you will be ready when we ride out."

Fiona addessed Jaxom, "Thank you, I appreciate for your suggestion. I need to go check on Edric to be sure he is ready for the ride back to the manor. I see that Father Columcil is seeing to his horse also, and I will join him. I am sure I can manage things from here."

Fiona smiled at Aliset, "Thank you for your assistance. Be assured I will remember what you said, everything you said." She turned and walked off toward the horses and Father Columcil.

The priest looked up from checking Spean's feet and legs as Fiona approached. Fiona spoke anxiously, "I hope you are not upset with me  for suggesting that you serve as chaperone to me for the mission to free the manor." She continued in an emphatic tone, " I feel it is essential to success that I form part of the group. I am afraid that Lord Jaxom is somewhat overconfident  in his knowledge of the manor and its people, including the baron and his son. I know the manor and the land surrounding it very well and can assist him in planning an approach that will lead to surprising the rebels there and lead to capturing them and freeing Uncle Mac with little or no losses. I also know our retainers well, and they are more likely to follow me and to share information with me as a member of the family. Also, I can easily point out those that I don't recognize who are likely to be rebels. I don't know what actions Michael and his friends may have taken in my absence. I did not feel that I could just wait here to find out the outcome of this mission.  I am aware that you have another mission with Lord Darcy and this will interfere with carrying it out. But Earl Brendan would never have allowed me to join Lord Jaxom and his party without a chaperone.  He and Lord Darcy appear to be very antagonistic, and I was afraid they would waste time in conflict despite their pledges and interfere with the mission. You really were my only choice and I need your help." She looked at Columcil pleadingly.


Columcil gave her a kind look. "Dinnae fash yersel. lassie. I understand yer concern for the baron what is mebbe happenin' tae him and tae yer home. Certainly, ye have convinced the earl that yer inclusion in the rescue party will increase the chances of success and that it's impairtant to puttin' down the rebellion. I canna argue wi his reasonin'. I dinnae find the young lord easy to get along with, but I have promised tae control me temper and to stay focused on what needs tae be done. The earl charged me wi stayin' by you and providin' protection for ye, and I intend tae carry out his orders as best I may. All I ask is that ye remember both our orders and help me by payin' attention to what I say ."

Columcil and Fiona proceeded to saddle their horses, and the priest helped her secure her bedroll. His own was already in place and secured. He also wore his staff on his back.

They heard the bustle and turned to watch as Jaxom's men saddled their horses, checked their weapons, and started forming their lines to ride out. They saw two squires take down the pavillion, pack it up and stow it in the wagon with the supplies. As they watched, Earl Brendan's squire left the earl's tent and delivered a message to Lord Jaxom who followed him, striding briskly, to be ushered into the Earl's presence.

The earl turned as Lord Jaxom entered. "Are your men ready to depart, Jaxom?"

" They are, my lord," the young man replied.

Earl Brendan spoke. "You are to ride to the manor of Baron Stuart, release him if he has been restrained, and determine the state of affairs there. I understand that his heir has been trying to convince him to join the rebellion, but he has refused and remained loyal to the king. Lady Fiona has told me that the young man has managed to replace some of their old retainers with others that she suspects are rebels. She is not sure of the exact number of rebels on the estate so you must be prepared for resistance and possibly a fight. I charge you to confine them until they can be questioned and we receive orders from the king as to their final disposition. At all cost we must prevent a rebel takeover of the manor which would give the Mearans a toehold in Gwynedd, and it is most important that we show the other lords who have holdings in the area that they will have support from the king as long as they remain loyal.'

The Earl continued, "You need to complete this mission with as few losses as possible. I am sending Lady Fiona with you because I believe her knowledge of the manor and its people will help you accomplish this. Take the information and advice she offers and consider it in your plans and actions. I expect you to achieve our necessary goals. .Return to your men, and  I will ask Father Columcil to bless your departure and the fulfillment of your purpose." 

"Thank you, my Lord. We will do our best." Jaxom stood tall, bowed and strode briskly out of the tent to mount his destrier. Preceded by his standard bearer,  he wheeled his horse to face the Earl who was standing before them. Fiona drew up slightly behind and to his right, followed by the men of his company. Father Columcil moved forward, spoke the traditional words of blessing and made the sign of the cross. He then moved beside Fiona. The company moved out, led by Lord Jaxom riding tall. They followed the track to the main Cuilteine Road and turned south toward Baron Stuart's manor.



 



Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on February 06, 2019, 09:43:28 AM
Darcy Cameron used his free hand to push back the damp strands of pale blond hair that clung to his face.  He then gathered up the trailing lengths of leather cord and tucked his sling into his belt pouch.  The sound of jingling harness drew his attention.  Cousin Fiona and Father Columcil had mounted their horses and were readying to move out with Lord Jaxom.  Darcy noted that the priest now rode Spean, leaving Shadow behind with his Sigrun.  Shadow was restless, pulling on the rope that secured him to the line with the other horses. He didn't like being left behind.  Father Columcil looked back at the big warhorse, and Shadow quieted.  Bless the good Father's skill with animals, Darcy thought.  Despite his own orders from the king, Darcy wasn't sure he liked being left behind, either.  On the other hand, there was something to be said for not having to follow Jaxom's orders.  Following Earl Brendan's might be more tolerable.  Or not.

As he watched Columcil give his blessing to the assembled party, one of the would-be rescuers of Washburn approached and stopped beside him.

"Good day to you, m'lord," the  young man said and touched his cap in greeting.  "You seem to have done a fair bit of damage to that stump."

Darcy was still in no mood for company, but that was no reason to be rude.  "Good day," Darcy replied, hoping the man would continue on his way. 

"A good way to take out your frustrations, eh?" The young man seemed determined to engage him in conversation.  "Hoping that was one of them Mearan rebels and wishing you was going with the others to catch 'em?  Maybe get a bit of glory for yourself?" 

"No, not particularly." Darcy studied the young man more closely.  He was the herdsman, Remy.  Darcy had noticed him throughout the camp, doing errands here and there. How would he know Jaxom was out to catch Mearan rebels? Lucky guess?

"You looking for a bit of glory?" Darcy asked, wondering where this conversation might lead.

"I wouldn't mind a bit of reward for myself," Remy said. "Not much opportunity for a herdsman to better himself here in Meara."

"One does need to look sharp for opportunities," Darcy said carefully. 

"There's good opportunity to be found, it you look in the right place," Remy said, giving Darcy a direct look.

"Any place you would look other than the king?" Darcy returned the direct look. 

"Oh, not me!" Remy responded quickly.  "I'm all for King Kelson's just rule over Meara!"  With that, Remy touched his cap again and moved off.

Bloody liar, Darcy thought as he watched Remy's retreating back. Darcy knew those words were false, but what should he do about it?

Darcy walked thoughtfully back to their camp, a camp that was much smaller now with the departure of Columcil and Fiona.  Robert, his squire-on-loan, was busy checking their food supply. Darcy was glad that it was actually Aliset; she would have her own opinion on the conversation, and Darcy would be glad of it.

Aliset stood as he approached and bowed as appropriate for a squire.  "Feel better?" she asked.

"Yes and no," Darcy replied.  Aliset gave him a quizzical look, and he smiled.  "I'd like to share the conversation I just had with the herdsman.  It concerned me, and I'm not sure what should be done about it."  Aliset nodded, and Darcy retrieved his sling from his belt pouch. 

"Could you put this back in my sea bag for me?"  Darcy asked as he handed Aliset the sling, enabling him to touch her hand in the process.

((Will Darcy be able to successfully enter rapport with Aliset. One dice, since he is still learning this skill.
Jerusha !roll 1d6
Derynibot 6==6
Way to go, Darcy!))

Aliset rolled back her shields and was pleased that Darcy established rapport with only the slightest hesitation.  That's much better, Darcy, she sent across the link between them.  You've just about mastered this. She felt his pleasure at her compliment surge across the link, quickly followed by the conversation with Remy.  Darcy's attention to every little detail continued to amaze her.  The conversation complete, Darcy maintained his contact with her hand a moment longer, the depth of his longing causing her to blush as the contact ended.

"Well," Aliset said as she regained her composure.  "He was certainly lying about his loyalty to the king.  I think it would be best if you advise Earl Brendan."

Darcy considered this a moment and then countered her proposal.  "I think you should advise Earl Brendan."  Aliset gave him a surprised look, and he continued.  "I don't think Earl Brendan has any desire to hear from me at the moment, and even if he would speak with me, Remy would think my immediate presence at the earl's pavilion suspicious.  A squire on an errand would be less likely to draw attention."

"Do you think Remy is any danger to you?"

"Nay," Darcy replied.  "It would draw too much attention to him, and he need only claim that I misunderstood.  Besides, I would hurt him, if he tried to sully my fine reputation."

"Of course you would," Aliset said dryly.  "But you are right, Remy would be more likely to quietly disappear if he thought anyone was suspicious."  She looked around and saw that Remy had returned to tending the horses.  He did not seem to be interested in them at the moment.  "Perhaps I should ask Earl Brendan about the availability of more rations."

'An excellent idea.  He'll be kinder to you than me."  Darcy's look was mildly teasing as he waved her on.

"There is a good chance of that," Aliset quipped as she moved off toward the earl's pavilion.  She did not know if Earl Brendan would welcome Darcy's information or not, but at least he should be made aware.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on February 06, 2019, 01:23:36 PM
Squire Arthur had recovered the items from off the floor and had neatly rearranged them back onto the earl's desk; though the inkwell did leave a nice black spot on canvas floor. The desk had been moved over to cover the spot. Brendan was seated on his cot when Squire Robert first arrived within the earl's Pavilion. His focus was not upon the young squire, but upon a silver medallion held up between his fingers.

Aliset instantly wondered why the earl did not ward himself before questing outward. She was sure he would have done so if he had been searching for his missing brother, whom they believed to be in the enemy's hands. It would have been too dangerous not to form a ward first. Therefore, she deduced the earl was seeking Rapport in friendlier circles: his other brother the duke, perhaps, or the prince, or even the king.

Aliset, took in a breath, "Should I return later." She said in a low voice to Arthur.

Brendan answered her instead. "Robert, or should I call you Lady Aliset? Now is fine. I can not seem to find my focus for this." He placed the Camber Medal inside his tunic and then stood and walked over to where the two squires stood. "Do you know if Sir Washburn was wearing his Camber Medal in Rhemuth? I thought he was.  I recall it being said that is how the Arilans first learned of his location after his abduction. But now that medal appears to be far far away, beyond my ability to touch it. Have you tried?"

"Nay, my lord. I was a bit out of sorts for some time after. I had not thought to use the medal as a center point." She hesitated then,  not sure if she should tell him about her failed scrying attempt with the ward cubes, or the man who had returned a looked back at her though them. She should tell him, but stalled briefly, unsure.

The earl mistook her hesitation. "Forgive me, a dreadful experience, one that should never have been. The only thing good from all of this is that you, my lady, are well and safe. Tell me, how can I assist you? I presume you are here on behalf of your husband."

"Yes, he wishes to inform you of a conversation he just had with one of the townsfolk. It is important enough that he believes you should witness it."

"Oh?" Brendan opened his hand toward her and invited her to step closer.

((09:45  Aliset and Brendan share Rapport. <•Laurna> !roll 3d6
09:45  <•derynibot> 6, 1, 6 == 13))

Both were well trained; their first rapport went smoothly. Darcy's conversation was deftly replayed.  Aliset smiled at the simple ease of the rapport. Brendan, however, quickly turned to Arthur, all business. "Is this the man behind the pavilion you shooed away?" he shared the image with his squire with just a touch of his fingers on the youth's wrist.

"Yes it is, my lord."

Brendan sighed. "I knew that man was going to be trouble. My error for not completing a full mind reading of him yesterday. Lord Sextus did not do as well a job as I had counted on him to do." Exasperated, the earl called his guardsman into the pavilion. "Kurt, I want you and Leny to locate the townsman named Remy, he is usually found by the horses, I'm told. Don't make it look obvious. I don't want you to scare him, he might bolt like a rabbit. Bring him to me and we shall get to the bottom of this."

"Yes, my lord." The man at arms bowed and left.

Brendan pointed to a near chair and asked Aliset to have a seat.

Minutes later, there was a ruckus out by the horses and several of the horses whinnied and stomped their feet.

The earl was outside his tent in seconds, cursing that his men were not subtle enough. For indeed, the herdsman had guessed their intentions and he already had one horse untied and was jumping to the horse's bareback. The herdsman obviously knew how to ride and was making good his escape.

((10:46 <•Laurna> Does Remy escape by horseback, 2d6 success on 5, 6.
10:46 <•Laurna> !roll 2d6
10:46 <•derynibot> 4, 4 == 8
10:47 <•Laurna> Nope))

That is until suddenly a rock flew threw through the air and hit the man square in the temple. Knocked into a daze, Herdsman Remy fell from the horse's back. 

Twenty feet away, Lord Darcy was gathering the leather of his sling back into his hands.


Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on February 07, 2019, 03:25:58 AM
The Dowager Duchess of Corwyn studied her reflection in the mirror. When had she become so thin, and when had those circles under her eyes become so prominent? She had always been slender. Even six pregnancies had not increased her girth during her prime years, something she attributed to her personal hands-on care of all her children, and thus her insistence that her daughters continued the same for their young families. This gown had fit her just fine at Twelfth Night: the one with the flowing sleeves and the ermine neckline. Today it did not. She tightened the cinch at the hips, pulling in the lush green velvet.  She would not go so far as to wear the Corwyn coronet over her veil, for that was now her daughter-in-law's, but she did intend to approach the Throne of Gwynedd with the regal air of her birthright as daughter of a Princess of Andelon and her Marriage-rights as both Dowager Countess of Marley and Dowager Duchess of Corwyn. Would her appearance be enough to convince the King that she did not approach him as a distraught mother, but as a noblewoman, concerned for the welfare of her people? Her eyes would betray her, she knew. But she would do her best to put forth her request.

With a quick prayer to The Lady, she hoped the friend who was her king would understand her need and grant her request. Though she knew in her heart that Kelson would have said more to her this day if something had not stayed him from it. What was holding him back? As a mother, she had to know. With long strides that did not betray her age, she walked from the Queen's Tower to the war room, where she knew her king had not yet retired from for the evening. So much responsibility was upon his shoulders. She could see it in his eyes as he looked up at her from his work desk and put his quill carefully in its ink well.  She came within twenty paces and bowed down on both of her knees, her head bent low. Then at his greeting she raised her head high. An unbidden tear touched her cheek, one she refused to acknowledge. She remained there silent as the king pursed his lips, knowing what she would ask, but not knowing how he could respond to her.  With his gesture, the room emptied of everyone else and the door shut quietly upon their leaving. Only the King and  Lady remained. 

Given the lady's long and prosperous marriage to Duke Alaric, the man whom King Kelson considered to be his mentor, even as close as an elder brother figure to him, the king respected Lady Richenda like a sister. He stood tall and came around the table to greet her.  A streak of grey crossed his temples, which glistened in the candlelight, matching the color of his eyes. "I would not ask of you to kneel before me, my lady." He gestured for her to rise.

"Your Majesty, I ask your forbearance in accepting a woman's homage for herself and her family, as my late husband would have asked of it, if he were still here."

Concern crossed his brow. How did she know? Kelson quickly stepped before her and took her hands to lift her up. But she steadfastly remained on her knees, holding her hands tightly in his.

"Sire, will you hear my renewed homage?"

"This is not necessary, your loyalty was never and will never be in question."

"Is it not? Can you tell me that my youngest son will soon be returned home to me?" The cornflower blueness of her eyes searched Kelson's face with some hopefulness. The king's shields were more firm against her than they had ever been."Sire, this morning you told me my youngest boy has been rescued, yet no word further has come. Something is wrong, I feel it. Will you not confide in me?" 

"Your Grace, please, the little We have learned is not as We would wish it. I can not speak of it, as yet."

There was nothing more telling than his refusal to say more. "My King, it is your right to say nothing. But as a mother, I can only think the worst. Whatever has befallen Washburn, I will say to you that my blood will always be loyal, as proven by my eldest, Earl Brendan, and my middle child, Duke Kelric. Please allow me to renew my homage to you and the crown on behalf of my youngest, Sir Washburn."

Kelson took a deep breath. "My Lady Richenda, dear lady, with my heart I will hear your words of homage for yourself. Yet, know that each son has given me their vow of fealty. I count on their loyalties to stay true to the crown and to the law of the land." He looked down at his ring, then looked back at her. "I pray that it will never come to pass, but know that if any one of them should break their oath to the crown, then know that I will look carefully into all the circumstances of that broken oath before I place judgement. I owe this much to their father who was my greatest champion.  I will not be a tyrant, I do have a care for those who have been closest to me for so long. Though I will tell you that I also can not give undue pardon if misdeeds lead to traitorous acts. The laws of the land hold us all or they hold no one. This is as it must be, for the sake of all the Peoples of Gwynedd."

Tears wet the cheeks of the the mother of Corwyn. She accepted Kelson's words, knowing then that all was far worse than she had hoped. With determination in her voice and her head held high, her shields open, and her eyes unblinking, looking at her king's caring eyes, she evoked the words of fealty. "Please hear my request, Kelson Haldane, rightful King of Gwynedd. I, Richenda Morgan, Dowager Duchess of Corwyn, as I have done and do again, renew my pledge to be your vassal of life and limb, and to continue in your fealty, and do homage to Your Majesty, for myself, my  family and for the lands of Corwyn. Faith and truth will I bear unto you, to live and to die, against all manner of folk, so help me God."

King Kelson grasped her hands closely within his and knew that she spoke every word with truth and with devotion. How could he break her heart? He could not. He trusted the man who gave him information; neither falsehoods nor embellishments were Lord Iain's way. That information was for the king, who had no desire to pass it down and wound the lady before him. "This I do hear, Lady Richenda Morgan; I, for my part, pledge the protection of Gwynedd to you and all of our people, to defend you from every creature with all my power, giving loyalty for loyalty and justice for honor. This is the word of Kelson Cinhil  Rhys Anthony Haldane, King of Gwynedd, Overlord of Torenth, Prince of Meara, Duke of Haldane, Lord of the Purple March, and Guardian of Gwernach. So help me God." He spoke the words back to her, all of his compassion pouring out to her.

When he was done and she had kissed his hands, he lifted her up. Then he gave her a hug as he would hug his mother.  So frail she was in his arms!  He determined then that he would not make her trial any worse than he already had.

"Richenda, what I will tell you will be hard for you to bear. Your youngest son is hale, meaning physically, he is well. And that is much for what he has endured. Yet.... " Her face hung on his unsaid words. "I am told he is not the man he once was. He is changed. How much so is not yet certain. I, too, would bring him home to Rhemuth to discover just how much changed. But to do so would cause you great distress, for I fear it might require him to be placed in strict confinement for an unknown amount of time."

"Dear Lord! Has he broken his oath to you already?" she called out, anguish filling her features.

"No!" Kelson was quick to reassure her. "No, he has not. But he has been in the hands of the Devil without any protection of his powers for days. It is impossible to know what damage has been done. I would see him healed before ever he has chance to break his oath."

Richenda took in a deep breath. Her king meant to heal her son of his affliction rather than easily write him off as a possible traitor. That did much to assuage her distress. "You will see him healed, mind and soul? You will, Sire? I, your humble servant,  thank you!" Before she knew it, he embraced her again, holding her while she wept.

"I will make you a promise, We will not hold Sir Washburn in a dungeon or tower so long as he remains true and has not caused harm, especially to his family, who are my greatest concern. I have guardians who will watch over him and who, in time I pray, will see him returned to his former self. To that end, I will not have him returned to Rhemuth, but put him to a task that I believe will help him to heal. This is not as you have requested, my lady, but I do believe it is the best for all."

"Sire, you have my overwhelming loyalty and love!" she replied.

The door at the far end of the room opened. Having been given the nod by their king,  men returned to their duties.

"My love for Corwyn is with you and all your family. We will see a way through this. Hold faith and it will come to pass." Kelson let go the hands of this great lady and allowed her to give him a final curtsy and withdraw.

The king returned to his desk. But could not bring himself to work further. "I am retiring for the evening," he announced to the lords and stewards. More than anything, he needed the soothing soul of his wife and to see the faces of his grandchildren as he kissed their foreheads good night.

As for one Sir Washburn, morning would come soon enough for that decision. He knew he could not bring the knight back to Rhemuth, not with his power to Block magic and his tormented memories. To place a Morgan in the confinement of a cell would bring ruin to his reputation and destroy his mother. Yet to confine him to a guardianship would bring great risk to any Deryni who watched over him. Lord Iain had done well, so far, yet he could not watch the knight forever, as Iain had other responsibilities which concerned his other acquisition. As to that, Kelson would turn to his daughter, Araxandra, to lend her expertise toward this most important hostage.  Kelson stood before the Corwyn apartments. What should he do about the youngest Morgan? Some way must be devised to avoid a confrontation between the man and his brothers. If Lord Iain was correct in his assessment, he dare not add kindling to where a spark smoldered.  To place the knight under either of his brothers' protection would be a dangerous game. A game that needed to be avoided at all costs. King Kelson knew that left but one answer, and he hoped, come morning, the other participants would agree to the task.

He walked into Kelric Morgan's solar and was greeted by happy sounds of the twin boys playing with wooden swords and a granddaughter holding a puppy in her skirts for protection from their shenanigans.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on February 11, 2019, 01:32:00 PM
((In the old language of Isles, Far is father, and Mor is mother.))


Sir Iain Cameron stretched out on his bed and willed the dull pounding behind his eyes to fade.  He had gallantly sent Lady Maev and Sir Roland out for an evening stroll around the farm.  Roland's dog went with them, prancing near their feet, eagerly awaiting the stick that Roland always threw for him.  A happy couple out on a pleasant summer evening.  It wasn't the first time Iain had felt a twinge of envy.

He had honestly thought his suggestion to Lady Sidana that they clean up after the evening meal was a good one.  Keep her busy and out of mischief, sort of like Washburn working on the wall.  What had he been thinking?

"Are you serious?" Sidana had asked with disdain.

"I am quite serious," Iain had responded.  "Unless you would prefer that a variety of local vermin take care of it tonight and mayhap visit your pallet in the loft, I would suggest we get busy."  He felt a guilty satisfaction at seeing her shiver visibly.  Sir Washburn had raised one blond eyebrow and kept to a safe distance at the far end of the table. 

Iain had handed her the wooden platter with the remnants of the vegetables and pointed toward the slop bucket.  "That goes there," he had said.

Crash!  Iain had turned to see that Sidana had dropped the platter and its contents into the bucket, probably from waist height, given the splatter of food on the ground around it.

"Not the platter!" Iain had said, feeling his jaw clench.  "Pick it up and be more careful.  Platters cost coin."

"Really?" Sidana responded, the tone of her voice indicating it was not a concern of hers.

And so it went on.  She had dropped the soft sand on his boot, happily scarring the leather as she attempted to brush off the sand.  She had plopped utensils to be washed into the rinsing water, forcing Iain to draw more.  The cooking ladle now had a dent in the bottom from striking the stone hearth.  Finally, in desperation, he had sent her to the loft with orders to stay there until Maev returned.

Washburn, who had been watching all this with barely concealed amusement, had stood and rolled up his sleeves.  "Let us get this cleaned up before Lady Maev returns. It's been a while since I did a squire's camp chores, but I've not forgotten how."  Washburn lifted the cook pot down from its hook above the hearth.  "You don't seem to fare too well with the ladies."

"I do fine with the ladies, thank you," Iain had returned.  "Pretender Queens tend to be the problem.  But I'll accept your help gladly.  I'll be sleeping in the shed, if Lady Maev returns and sees her kitchen in this state." 

Maev and Roland had returned just as they were rolling down their sleeves.  Graciously, she had not asked for details when she noted the dented ladle.

Now, Iain felt the dull pain recede.  He needed to get a good night's sleep; tomorrow they would leave this quiet homestead and return to the fray.  Instead, his mind insisted on reviewing what Washburn had told him about his brother and trying to reconcile it with the little boy he remembered.  It had been a long time ago.

Headstrong, impetuous Darcy, who had been Iain's miniature shadow from the day Darcy learned to walk.  Most of the time he had been a pain in the arse, always questioning why things were done the way they were, and why couldn't they be done another way.  More than once he had  answered in exasperation, "Because that's the way we do it in Isles!" Darcy would fall silent, but not for long.

Iain suspected that Darcy had come as a surprise to their parents.  Iain had been the only child for 10 years when Darcy was born.  Far was determined he would not be spoiled, though Mor had been a bit indulgent.  Darcy had grown up with a firm belief that he should be able to do anything Iain could do, and Iain had to shoo him away, usually more than once, to pursue his own training.  Iain's Deryni training had been done in private, or so they thought, until the day Mor spotted Darcy perched in the tree outside the window, watching what they were doing very intently.  Mor had made sure Darcy had firm controls established after that.  Iain smiled to himself.  Darcy climbed trees as surely as a squirrel, the higher the better. They had had to accept the fact that if Darcy got himself up a tree, he could get himself safely down, and stop worrying about it.

The man Washburn described was determined and self-sufficient.  After years at sea, he had hired himself out as a man-at-arms to protect a wronged young lord, not knowing he was escorting a young maiden.  He had stumbled across his Deryni heritage along the way and been taken down by merasha and crossbow bolts, all without knowing who he was and where he came from!  An odd thought struck Iain: perhaps you were not defined by the family you were born into.

Iain's sharpest memory of Darcy came from the day Iain had left for Rhemuth.  As Iain mounted up, five-year-old Darcy had stood beside his father, struggling to suppress unmanly tears and desperately clinging to the small Heir's ring Iain had given him.  Would Darcy still remember that parting?  What would they make of each other when they met on the morrow?  Would he regret parting ways again after such a brief reunion, or be relieved?

Iain set his thoughts aside and settled down to sleep.  It would be what it would be.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on February 16, 2019, 03:05:20 PM
The light was fading as the rescue party approached the point at which they would leave the main road and take the narrower road leading to Baron Stuart's manor. Fiona urged her horse forward to move up beside Lord Jaxom. Father Columcil also moved forward, remaining at her side. Jaxom turned his head to study the lady. "May I be of service, Lady Fiona?"

Fiona replied. "Pardon me, my lord, but do you not think we might stop soon to rest the men and horses?  If we bear to the right just ahead there is a smaller track that leads to a stream where we can water our mounts. I am sure the men would also appreciate the chance to refresh themselves."

Jaxom was silent for a moment then spoke brusquely, " I am not ready to call a halt yet, Lady Fiona. I want to get closer to the manor before we stop. We will need time to study the lay of the land and determine our best approach."

Fiona bit her lip then spoke, "Certainly you are wise to plan our course of action rather than to ride blindly up to the manor. But if we pause for rest, I can make you a map of the house and its surroundings including the stable and byres and other buildings where the servants would be found. I know that some of our servants had been replaced with men I didn't know, and I strongly suspect that they are rebels. I do not know how many there are. But most of his retainers remain faithful to the baron.  I can help you determine the best  plan of attack."

Jaxom looked doubtful, not immediately responding to Fiona's proposal. Then he addressed her in his condescending way. "You are not trained in military matters, and I fail to see how you could be of much help in designing our plan for securing the manor and capturing the rebels. I think I need to see the manor house and its surroundings for myself before we proceed."

Fiona responded, some frustration beginning to sound in her voice.  "I can help because I can show you the location of the manor and the various outbuildings as well as the lay of the land." Then Fiona heard Aliset's words of advice as they left. Maybe a little flattery would help smooth things, and he would be more likely to listen.

In a quieter voice, Fiona added, "You are a good leader, and the Earl has confidence in you. He sent me with you to provide you with the knowledge I possess about the manor and its surroundings as well as its people in order to give you an edge in the coming confrontation.  Jaxom preened a little, he would use what she knew and take credit for securing the manor with  the fewest possible losses."

Like any good commander he would make use of all the information he could glean from her, so he listened as she continued. "It is getting late and the light is fading quickly. It will soon be full dark. How much will you be able to see if we arrive in full dark? I am also concerned, as I know you are, that the rebels hold at least two hostages, the baron and his wife, and I am sure that they would not hesitate to use them to secure their escape, even if you seize control of the manor. I know that one of your goals is that no harm come to them and that we do secure their release. We know from the fate of Ratharkin that these rebels are cruel and violent men who will not hesitate to kill if it suits their purpose. I am sure that you wish to seize every opportunity to gain the advantage over them.  Please allow me to assist you ." Fiona studied the young lord anxiously, hoping she had not said too much.

While they were speaking, the party had left the main road and gone a short way along the narrower road that led to the manor. Lord Jaxom held up his hand, signaling  a halt. He turned in his saddle to speak to the men, " I think it wise if we pause here to briefly rest and water our mounts. I am told that just ahead on our right there is a small track that leads to a stream. Let us take that track to the stream that is to be found there and water and rest them. As she is familiar with this track,  Lady Fiona will point the way."

Fiona moved ahead, guiding her horse a short way along the road, then turning right along a faint path that led through several tall trees and descended gradually. They could hear the sound of running water which quickly grew louder. They entered a clearing where the stream tumbled between banks covered with ferns and small bushes. There was also an area of soft, green grass suitable for grazing. At Jaxom's gesture, the men began to dismount and lead their horses to the water. They were also drinking from their waterskins and refilling them.

Jaxom, Fiona, and Columcil moved a little apart  from the men to tend to their own horses. After the horses had drunk their fill, they were tethered loosely while the three sat down in the grass to talk.  Jaxom began, " How much further is it to the manor? Does this path parallel the road to the house, and how difficult a ride is it?"

Fiona replied, "These are manor lands, but the main house sits about eight miles from the Cuilteine road. This path does mostly parallel the road leading to the house. It is rougher terrain than the road, but it also offers more cover. As the road gets near the house, it widens and the trees recede. The house sits on a slight rise, and those inside have an excellent view of any approaching riders. Uncle Mac situated it for protection, to make it difficult to get near without being seen. However, this path gradually bears to the right as  you near the open area, circling around to the rear of the mansion towards the stables and other outbuildings. There the trees and bushes crowd closer, making detection of riders less likely."

Jaxom stood and moved closer to the water where there was a small area of dirt free of grass. He motioned to Fiona to join him. She rose and she and Columcil moved closer. He had found a sturdy stick about 3 feet long that he used to draw a line in the dirt." It will better inform my decisions about the best plan of attack if I have a better picture of the site. You can provide me that information. He pointed to the line he had drawn. "That's the Cuilteine Road and here is the road leading to the manor. Show me where the house is situated, the path and the outbuildings. Include any other features that seem important for us to know." He stood back to watch as she began to fill in the diagram.

Fiona quickly drew lines in the dirt. She continued the line indicating the main road to the house, with a large, rectangular shape at the end representing the manor house. Behind and to the left she drew two somewhat smaller rectangles, the stable and a byre, close to each other.
To the right and a short distance behind the house was a cluster of smaller buildings that included the wash house, bakery, and smithy. As the path curved around the big house, trees drew closer to the buildings. On either side of the house, a short distance away were the kitchen garden and a field for grazing.  Jaxom studied what she had drawn, then asked, "How long will it take us to reach the house using the smaller path?"

"At a steady trot, about an hour." she replied.

Jaxom continued to study the diagram before him.  "If we were to leave now, we might surprise them, arriving just as the light goes. Thus, they would be unsure of our numbers or exact locations."

Fiona started to object but then said, " If I might make a suggestion, my Lord,  We would also be unsure of their numbers and locations and they would have the advantage of knowing the ground somewhat better as only I am really familiar with it. Do you not think it would be better to arrive just before dawn when the light is still uncertain and they are still sluggish with sleep?

Jaxom insisted, "I am the leader here, and I think I know what is best for our success."

Father Columcil spoke up for the first time. "Aye, yere the leader but ye pledged tae listen to the ledy and heed her advice. Earl Brendan believed that her intimate knowledge of the estate would be gey impairtant to our success. Ye don't want us to fail by not gien attention tae what she says."

Jaxom was silent for several minutes. He greatly wanted to succeed in this mission and to gain favor with the king. He was the one giving the orders. The credit for the mission's success would certainly go to him, and he intended to make every effort to secure that outcome. There was no need for the company to know how much advice from Fiona he actually took. He nodded agreement to Fiona and Columcil, then walked over to the men, "After further thought, I have decided that we will rest here for part of the night. Tether your horses to allow them to graze. We are too near the manor to light fires, so eat the cold rations we brought. Check your horses and weapons. We will leave an hour before first light, using the darkness and the foliage along the path to mask our approach. Every man will be told exactly where he is to be when we attack. Our orders are to find and free the baron and his family, secure the manor, and capture the rebels there and that is what I intend to do." 

The company moved to carry out their leader's orders, gradually making themselves as comfortable as possible for the rest of the night.  Sentries were posted to prevent any premature discovery of their presence.

Jaxom did return to the map Fiona had drawn, considering the best disposition of his men when they reached the manor. Fiona  pointed out where most of the retainers slept and where they would most likely be found so early in the morning. One main disadvantage was that they did not know exactly where the baron was being held. Fiona went over again what she had heard Michael and his friends say about their plans. The most likely location for his imprisonment would be the most distant attics, and she described their location and how best to reach them once they were inside. Once Jaxom had determined their disposition and given their assignment to each of his soldiers, he was ready to rest. His squire tended to the young lord's horse, laid out his bedroll and served him the rations they had packed.

Fiona and Columcil carried out their own duties and made themselves as comfortable as possible. They talked quietly together. Fiona gritted her teeth as she referred to Jaxom. "He is the most infuriating man, so cocky and sure of himself. I just hope, in his arrogance, that he doesn't cause the mission to fail!"

"Yere doin' well handlin' him, lass. He'll follow yere advice as long as he can mek it look like his own idea. He's after glory, we're after success. We just need to mek sure we keep our goals in mind." The priest lay down on the soft grass. The camp grew quiet.

In the meantime, Gavin heard no sound from beyond the attic door where the baron lay. Was he badly hurt?  Surely not dead!. The page had managed to remove the key to the attic door from the housekeeper's large bunch of keys which she had left unattended in the kitchen while having a  quick gossip with the cook. The part of the manor where the attcis were situated was rarely visited, and surely she would not miss that one key. But what use was the key now? Even if he unlocked the door, he thought the baron was too badly hurt to be able to get out of the attic unassisted, and Gavin was certainly too small to be of much help.

He considered confiding in a couple of the baron's most faithful retainers to help him carry Mac from the attic room. But with Michael giving the orders now, would they be willing to help? And even if they were, where could they conceal him from the rebels? Also, who could care for whatever injuries he might have after Drago attacked him? The more he thought about it, the more it seemed to Gavin that his best chance was to slip away and ride for help. He certainly could not ride all the way to his father's estate. There was not enough time. But Lord Graham's manor was only a matter of five miles to the east and he was a friend of the baron's. If Gavin could reach Lord Graham, he surely would come to his friend's aid.

It was very late, probably only a few hours until dawn. If he was going, he must leave now. Gavin took a deep breath, listened carefully, and hearing no sound, slipped down the back stairs, through the kitchen and, softly easing the outer door open, tiptoed toward the stables.
In the stable, he quickly saddled one of the ponies and led him out toward the back pathway that would take him to the Cuilteine road. He had to avoid the main track because he might be too easily seen from the house if anyone happened to look out.  When he felt he was far enough away not to be heard, he mounted the pony and trotted down the path..
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on February 18, 2019, 12:08:12 AM
Captain Stev had no qualms about taking a recovery day, now that the men of noble-birth were running the camp. Not that anything they did differed greatly from what he would have ordered. The difference was that the burden of control was off his shoulders and that left time for..., well, for him to ease the pain from his shoulders..., and his leg, and his head. Healing on his own would have seen him up and about soon enough, but then, miraculously, a borderman with a warm country brogue sat beside his sick cot and offered to say a prayer with him. The next thing Stev knew, the hand of a Healer was touching his forehead and his eyes were growing heavy with sleep, a sound healing sleep, apparently. Even through the sounds of half the camp making to depart and moving out. For Stev did not awake until Hamish was yelling in his ear. "Captain! I told you he was no good. Ain't I been saying all along that one is a lying, craven cow-monger. But would anybody listen to me. NO! Well, see! I was right!"

Stev sat up. With ease, he even stood up. Standing tall, he stood face to face with the Droghera guard. "Hamish, what are you yammering on about?" Only then did Stev take note that nothing hurt. In the back of his mind he made a mental note to never forget the name Columcil.  And too, to give his next pay to the church in the good priest's name.

"That Remy fellow," Hamish was saying while pointing at the pavilion.  "Got himself caught trying to steal one of them kings men's steeds. Like no one would notice such a quality stallion among his ruddy herd. Rumor has him doing worse, too. I wanna know what that worse is. So that they will thank me when I skewer that man with my sword. Payback for turning on me in the tower. They're calling for you at the Earl's tent, so you get to go find out. Best hurry, captain."

"The earl is calling for me? Why didn't you say that first off!" Stev pushed the man aside and hurried across the half-empty camp. As he went, he was wondering to himself just how did he manage to sleep through all the goings on around here.

The captain rushed to enter the earl's pavilion. Only he came up short, seeing Remy hunkered down on his knees, hands tied behind his back and a cloth wrapped around his head covering one bloody eye. Standing beside him was a young nobleman with moon-white hair tied back in a border braid.The Captain knew he had seen the man before. A week ago he had been another of Sir Washburn's traveling companions.  He too must be here to find out what happened to the kidnapped knight. This then explained how Father Columcil had been in camp here at the ruins and been able to do his Healing miracle. At this instant, the blond nobleman looked pensive.  He was twisting a leather sling in one hand, while twirling a round pebble between the fingers of his other hand. The noble's squire, a face the captain was certain he had never seen before,  stood behind looking concerned. Before everyone, stood the tall man who had rescued the captain and his failed team. The earl's shoulders were braced in a rigid square and his brows were furled in anger. The Earl of Marley eased his tension only the minutest amount to welcome Captain Stev within.

"Captain of Droghera, yes, good of you to join us. Your man, Remy here, has been caught spying on us for the rebel cause. Lord Darcy did well to stop his escape when the farmer suspected he'd been found out. We have been speaking to Remy and it seems he has been wrongly advised about his prospect with the rebels of Meara over those given by our beloved king. To correct that advise, I've shared a few images with him of the men who would rule Meara, explaining their pretender Queen is naught but a puppet. The man who would marry her is the same man who killed my step-father. The same man who ordered the slaughter of women and children in Ratharkin. The same mentality of men who flogged their own men for losing a battle to our fleet. I shared only the truth, images that turn a sane man's stomach. With this enlightenment, your town's man Remy is rethinking his allegiance to the rebels. It seems being given a choice, he'd rather avoid swinging from an oak tree with a noose around his neck. To avoid this traitor's ending, I have struck a deal with him for the list of Mearan rebels whom he knows. I would have you hear these names and tell me what you think."

"Yes, of course, my lord." Stev said quickly, alarmed that he might be implicated by false testimony. But no, neither the earl nor the blond noble were looking at him, they were both keen on watching the herdsman. Thinking back to last week, Stev had been sure they had caught all the rebels in Droghera. The four who were part of that altercation with the Knight of Lendour. And the one who was caught stalking the knight and his companions after they had left Droghera. Were there others? He braced himself to hear who else was involved.

Remy was pleading for a deal, "I don't want to swing, please, m'lord, I'll give you everyone I know. And you'll let me go back to my farm. I swear I will never say a word or do any act against the king, ever again. Just don't let me swing."

"Remy Bikinow, I said I would make a deal with you, but only if you give me every last name you know who has rebel alliances. I am a man of my word. But know too that if you leave someone off your list and we don't catch them, then I cannot protect you from men whose identity I don't know. Now, can I. So you better be real forthcoming with those names. Or you can choose to give me no names. It has to be all or none. I'd be just as happy fitting that noose nice and snug around your neck the way we would treat any traitor of the crown. Oh, I promise, you won't feel a thing once your neck snaps." One of the earl's guards dangled a rope that was tied perfectly into a hangman's noose before the distraught farmer.

It appeared Remy preferred to have his neck unadorned by rope, for he quickly yelled out, "Karcher, Rayne, Tomas, Phyre, Linwood, Sart and Nolty."

"Who is the leader?"

"Phyre, but he got dead!" The earl looked to the captain who confirmed that with a nod.


"So who now...?"

"Linwood and Karcher were both fighting to make the top. Karcher has family connections in Ratharkin. The orders for us to gear up to take Droghera were coming from him."

Shocked, Captain Stev stepped closer. "Take Droghera! Devil, you say! Over my dead body!" He found the blond lord stopping him with a hand on his chest.

"Aye, that was to happen." Remy made a fearful gulp raising his shoulders wanting to protect his neck as he continued, "Linwood was to take care of you, if you survived the Ruins."

"Linwood? That  no-good gambling drunk. He couldn't take me, not ever."

"Linwood's Deryni," Remy replied seeming to know that from first hand experience. "And he ain't no drunk. Had you fooled, he did. And Karcher too, not Deryni, but he had you fooled, too."

Stev stood speechless.

"You know of these men?" the earl asked him, giving the captain a keen stare with glimmering frost blue eyes that stared into his soul as he asked the question.

"Yes, I do. Both men are under my watch. How can they be rebels?"

The earl didn't answer, he simply inquired. "And the other two; Sart and Nolty?"

"Those two are brothers from the farm neighboring Remy's farm. That is likely how he got involved. Sart was friend of Tomas. Tomas was one of the men who killed Kieran, our senior guard, and he wounded Sir Washburn in that fight a week back. Tomas already paid for his crimes. A has Phyre. Honest, my lord, I didn't know how deep this rot was imbedded."

"Right through the middle of your barracks, it appears," the earl sharply retorted.

Stev was instantly on his knees, "My lord, I swear, I knew nothing of this. I am a king's man, through and through. And I will clean the rebels out of my ranks to the last man if I have to. Droghera will not fall!"

The eyes of the earl pierced right through the captain, but then they blinked away and the captain could breath. The earl was frustrated but he didn't question Stev's loyalty. "You will need help." he said at last.  The earl gave a heartless grimace to the guard with the noose. "You can put that away, for now. Confine our prisoner for the night. We will be needing him in the morning. Just get him out of my sight."

"Yes, my lord."

"Captain be prepared to move at first light back to Droghera. And Lord Darcy," the earl's taut shoulders visibly eased as he spoke to the young blond lord.  "I want to thank you for your quick apprehension of our prisoner. Well done! Know that I will put in a good word when the king hears of this. We also will be leaving at first light. Be ready. Now, everybody out, I need to think."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on February 21, 2019, 12:35:55 PM
Grand Duke Valerian opened his eyes slowly, knowing that the Healer had failed.

His body was healed; all traces of the pain he had endured from the injuries inflicted by the traitor guard and the Morgan whelp were gone.  Without his powers, he could not dampen the pain himself, and he was not willing to ask for assistance and have his greater infirmity known.  Once the Healer arrived from Byzantyun, the damage from the two deep physical wounds was healed, and flesh was now whole.  His Deryni powers, however, could not be restored.

"You have failed," Valerian said to Father Andronikos as the old Healer rose from the side of Valerian's bed where he had been kneeling.

"It is not a failure if one cannot do something in the first place," Father Andronikos replied calmly.  As the personal Healer of Grand Duke Iskander, Valerian's eldest brother, he was one of the few people Valerian could not intimidate.  "I can only surmise that someone has been able to block your powers.  The old scrolls tell us it could only be done by a very few Healers; not all have the talent or can learn it.  I know of no one who possesses this skill."

"Well, I do, and he's gone!"  Valerian sat up abruptly, anger and frustration evident in the movement.  "I want Washburn Morgan back within my grasp!"

"Your Grace," said the only other occupant in Valerian's chambers. "Sir Georgios and I have both tried to discover the signature of the Portal they travelled to.  The signature remained elusive; by now it will have faded completely."

Valerian emitted an explosive sigh as he looked at the speaker.  Baron Vilmos had been one of his primary teachers in Deryni ritual; if Vilmos could not find the signature, it could not be found. "Vilmos, take Father Andronikos back to Byzantyun and then return.  Father, I need you to continue looking, discover whatever you can about this skill.  Find someone who possesses it!  And keep this situation to yourself," he added. Both men bowed deeply and left the room.

Valerian leaned back against the intricately carved headboard of his bed and gazed at the tapestry hanging on the opposite wall.  How had his plan gone so far awry?  He had lost his valuable hostage as well as the Queen of Meara!  A vast amount of coin wasted, and the pretty puppet that would secure his rule over Meara was likely on her way to the Haldane king.  And a traitor guard, a Deryni no less, under his very nose!  Valerian resisted the impulse to rip the tapestry from the wall and shred it to pieces. 

Now he must salvage this mess.  Both Washburn and Sidana were beyond his reach for the moment. Brioc would be demanding that he focus on the return of Sidana, but he would be disappointed.   Valerian knew he must focus on taking Laas before the Haldane's reinforcements could reach the Corwyn Duke and try to cut the rebels off.  The traitor guard knew his location and would report it to the Haldane.  He must make his move immediately.  If the fleet from Torenth was not in position yet, it would be soon.  Laas would get no relief from the sea.

As for the temporary loss of this powers -- this would not be permanent! --  he could trust Vilmos and Georgios to keep the secret.    He had been careful to avoid any blatant display of his powers before the rebels, including Brioc.  With a little cunning, he could keep the loss hidden, using Vilmos and Georgios to subtly do what he could not.  It only had to work until he could regain control of the Morgan whelp.

Valerian rose from his bed.  He would call together the Queen's Council and give the necessary orders.  Once they captured Laas, he could exchange the deposed Viceroy of Meara  for the Mearan Queen.  If the Haldane had already executed her, it would be unfortunate, but a martyr could be useful, too.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on February 23, 2019, 04:03:19 AM
 "Your Majesty, as you can see, from the multiple situations that I have shared with you here on the borders, a quick response is necessary to keep the rebels from escalating their cause. Lord Jaxom should have the manor of Baron Stuart well in hand by tomorrow. As for Droghera, I can not allow Captain Stev to return to his town without a Deryni in his company. It is important that  this Linwood fellow is subdued. I do not know Linwood's strengths, he will likely be more than the captain can handle on his own. Also too, I can not abandon Lord Darcy to his mission alone. I fear he and Lady Aliset may take undue heroic action if they discover the exact location where my brother is being held. I feel it is most important that I go with Lord Darcy, for the fortress is the greatest threat to the kingdom, and its location must be known.  To this end, I request permission to send Lord Sextus to Droghera to assist the captain there. Sextus will also have the majority of my men to help bring the rebels in that town into custody. The guarding of the Michaeline ruin's Portal should become unnecessary as the trap Sextus and my mother set should be substantial enough to stave off anyone from using it." Upon sending such a burst of information across the link to the king, Earl Brendan calmed his mind and bolstered his energy. His Rapport with Kelson was a long one, and when Kelson did not immediately give an affirmative to go ahead with his plans, Brendan knew something more was on the king's mind. Pulling on reserved energy, he kept the link strong. 

"Brendan, I appreciate all your planning. I know the stress you are under with one brother marching on Laas and the other brother in a hostage situation. If I were to allow you to go to the fortress, I am less worried about Darcy taking undue heroic action to save your brother than I am that you would do so." Brendan instantly objected, but his king stopped him short. "Don't deny it. I know you far too well." There was a feeling of deep friendship passed through the Rapport, an understanding from his king which allowed Brendan to withhold his protest and keep his objectivity. He and Kelson had always been close, ever since that assassin's attempt at the Hort of Orsal's winter palace when they were both young. "Let me be blunt," his king said next. "I am cancelling Lord Darcy's orders to find the fortress. Because... hear me... the keep has been found. Located and penetrated by Lord Iain, Baron of Isles. Lord Iain is not one of my usual courtiers, but you know the man and you know his capabilities, yes?"

"Aye, Sire, he was introduced to me by Duke Angus, years back. My prior dealings with him have proven him to be very resourceful. If he has learned the fortress location, I would very much like to know where it is and what he has found there."

"What he found is the youngest son of Count Teymuraz comfortably nestled in with Brioc de Paor.  Valerian is the push behind this false Queen of Meara. He is also the one who hired an assassin to abduct your brother. His goal is to exterminate the Morgan line until only Washburn survives, then raise up his legal progeny to their cause, thereby absconding with Corwyn and tearing Gwynedd apart." Brendan felt Kelson's anger and knew his king paused to take in a calming breath. "I expect you and Kelric will offer Iain great reward when you hear what our resourceful Lord of Isles has accomplished. He has done more than we expected. Iain has liberated Sir Washburn from Valerian's custody. Also, he has captured a hostage for our cause, and he, with Washburn fighting at his side,  wounded Valerian in the process. I do not hold it against Iain that neither he nor Washburn was able to defeat Valerian, given the dire circumstances they were in. What I will tell you is they have made good their escape and are at this moment in safe hiding."

"Your Majesty, is this true? Lord be praised!"

"I know you want to hear the details of this encounter, but I can only share what I have told your mother. Washburn is reported to be in a fair state and is in good spirits." Kelson forwarded a  familiar image from Iain of Washburn at sword practice. That was heartening for Brendan to see. But then a second image over-layed the first; Washburn brooding and angry when family was mentioned. Kelson softened his tone as he explained. "Brendan, your brother was drugged for four days without his shields or powers. We do not know all that he has been subjected to. It is fair to surmise that psychic damage has been done. Given that they wanted him to be the only Morgan survivor, I dare not allow him near family. The Will of others lingers inside him, and that makes him very dangerous. He is a lightning bolt poised to strike. I need him grounded far from family and under protection out of Valerian's reach.  When I consider it safe to bring him home, I will have him assessed by the best practitioners. For now, he is to stay hidden."

Brendan had been holding his breath; he felt his heart racing. The news was so much, yet so little."Your Majesty, I am beholden to Lord Iain. I am not a Morgan, therefore I should be the one to protect Wash. No matter the danger, I would be his best guardian. My step-father would be rolling in his grave if family were to abandon family in such times of need."

"Bren, I understand you in this. In the near future, I may ask this very thing from you. For now, you must trust my orders. I am ordering you and Kelric to stay away from your brother.  I won't fail Alaric's memory and I won't fail his sons. Valerian has found a way to wound Gwynedd, and break those I hold most dear. We need to break him and we need to break this rebellion. First step is to stop this insurgence on the borders. My orders are for you and your men to accompany Captain Stev back to Droghera. At first light, when the town gates open, take the barracks and subdue the rebel leaders. Surprise them before they suspect they have been found out."

"Yes, Sire, It shall be done." Brendan replied, able to direct his anger away from that which he had no control.

"As for Lord Darcy, I am ordering him to rejoin with Father Columcil. If there are Deryni at Baron Stuart's manor, then there may be greater resistance than Jaxom can handle."

"That man is a cocky loot," Brendan mind spoke with a snark. "Nonetheless, he is competent. I believe Lord Jaxom can succeed in the task that I set him."

"I hope you are correct." This was accompanied by a slight huff across the link. An unexpected show of emotion from Kelson who was usually very discreet about his personal opinion of his nobles, yet telling of the king's trust and closeness to Brendan. "Regardless of Jaxom's competence or incompetence, I would have more Deryni on the scene at Baron Stuart's estate. Also, the presence of Lady Aliset should better protect Lady Fiona's reputation. Better than even Father Columcil could. Iain has saved your half-brother, I would not see harm befall his cousin after doing so much for the kingdom."

"Yes, Your Majesty, I will agree with that. This Lady Fiona is a brazen lass, much like the men of Isles. I will inform Darcy and Lady Aliset of their new orders."

"Then it is settled. Inform me of your progress at sunset tomorrow."

The Rapport ended. Earl Brendan had the distinct feeling that his king was pleased with the turn of events. That Wash was rescued was the greatest news Brendan could imagine. That he was not to discover the true condition of his brother, was a colossal frustration.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on March 01, 2019, 03:56:39 PM
Columcil wrapped his cloak more firmly around his shoulders and tried to get comfortable. The reason for his sleeplessness was not really the grass, or even the night air, chill in these hilly regions even in midsummer. He had slept like a log many a time far less comfortably as far as his body was concerned but now it was the discomfort of his head and his heart which were prodding him awake. And best not enquire into the state of his soul. Was it seventy-seven times, or seventy times seven Our Lord had enjoined that offences should be forgiven? No one seemed to know - and when Columcil had asked at Seminary it had earned him an extra fast day for his cheek and the cutting response that he had best hope his own sins were not being tallied. Either way, he was finding it impossible to forgive Jaxom even the smallest suggestion of arrogance - the very way the man breathed was an offence in itself!

The lassie knew how to handle him though, aye she was the one good thing. And she understood his own brogue readily enough - there were maybe a few words for yon empty-heided gowk that she'd be glad to learn. The thought brought a smile to his face but it could not lift the weight from his heart.

He had not wanted to leave Darcy and Aliset behind - they had become as close as kin these last days. Nor was he entirely sure that he trusted either of them not to do anything foolish in his absence. His anger flared at Jaxom, had the man no decency at all that even in the midst of a war the reputation of a brave wee lass like Fiona could not be trusted with him.

Earl Brendan he had wanted to dislike, but could not. There was too much of his half- brother Duke Kelric in him for that. And there had been just that touch of vulnerability, that came in Brendan from being the son of a traitor, that reminded Columcil  so poignantly of the Earl's other half-brother, Washburn. Oh God, what of Washburn? Was he even still alive? He could understand Fiona's need to come to the rescue of her kin. But what of his own kin? Was that kinship with Washburn to be snuffed out before it could even be acknowledged, and Washburn abandoned as the helpless victim of Feyd's malice?

If his heart was sore, his head was even more troubled. Almost despite himself, he had come to feel great respect for his grandfather, Archbishop Duncan, feeling that with a man such as he with the King's ear, the kingdom was in safe hands. He was cognisant, too, of the great privilege that his times of rapport were; that he, who still thought of himself as a rough and ready borderer, should be trusted with the thoughts of one who was a prince of the Church and, but for his calling, would have been a great noble. He had at first been unsure about initiating rapport  but, having been met with kindness and grace and the unmistakable sense that his contact was welcomed personally, he had grown in confidence. Until, that is, the early morning when contacting his grandfather as usual, expecting that early Mass would be done, he had been met with a cloud of anxiety and a hurried forgive me, I can't talk to you now. Perhaps later, wait for me to contact you.

He had had, perforce, to swallow his own worry and continue with the day. The Archbishop's worries were not his to share with any other, nor would it be helpful to spread more alarm by suggesting that all was not well in Rhemuth. But he had not been able to prevent his thoughts from circling like carrion crows over a dead animal. Had news reached Rhemuth of something terrible happening to Washburn? Had there been another attack, another poor soul captured from the heart of what they thought safety?

He had tried his best to put his fears out of mind during the day, for once his irritation with Jaxom had proved a blessing. Finally in the evening as he sat with his precious office book, more fingering his grandfather's dedication than praying, the Archbishop's voice had spoken into his mind, sounding tired and distracted.

Forgive me, it has been a long day.

Is all well? Nothing worse has happened?

No, well maybe, well to be honest, Son, I hardly know.


Duncan had seemed to realise that he was unnerving his grandson and his mental voice became stronger as he said again.

Forgive me. There have been no more attacks here, and to ease what I am sure you most want to hear, Washburn is still alive.

That's aye guid news, but if ye'll forgi'e me fer pressing ye, sair, I canna help speiring that there's aye a "but" in what ye are no sayin'.

Believe me, I would like nothing more than to unburden myself to you. Fool that I was to send you off into the wilds when you could have been such a comfort to me many years since. But that's by the by. Ease your heart concerning Washburn, there is good news though I tell you that under the seal of the confessional as it was told to me.


Ye do me mair honour than I desairve but have ye no orders fer me from His Majesty?

There had been a long silence and Columcil was beginning to wonder how he could have possibly offended in what he said when with hesitation in his mental tone Duncan spoke again.

I'm not sure that I should be saying this, and I only do so because I know that you are utterly honourable as a priest and loyal as a subject and will keep this in your heart. I have never seen the King so troubled in his mind, or not in very many years. He is heartsick and fearful - oh not of what may happen, but of what he has been forced to do and how he may yet betray his deepest heart. Pray for him and me. One day when this is over I shall ask you to hear my confession.

Columcil could only murmur, Yer Grace, but the silence which followed was not uncomfortable and he knew that they were both seeking comfort from the One who knew all hearts. Finally Duncan's voice came strongly.


Amen. Thank you, Son. Just to be able to say that and know it heard safely was a blessing. In the meantime, Brendan's orders are to be followed - he's a good lad. If I can tell you more, trust me I will. And the blessing of God almighty...

Columcil had bowed his head to the blessing, wondering what his grandfather had been hinting at. He had not liked to even try and guess what was troubling the King. There had been no further contact from his grandfather and he had done as instructed. Perhaps the likelihood of action in the coming days would distract his mind from worrying but in the quiet of the night it seemed that sleep had too much to keep it at bay.



Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on March 01, 2019, 07:49:41 PM
Fiona shivered a little in the predawn coolness as the party saddled their horses and mounted preparatory to moving out. Jaxom was in the lead. Fiona and Columcil moved up behind him, with the rest of the party falling in line. Jaxom turned to Fiona, instructing her in a whisper to move to the rear where she would have more protection. She was starting to protest when hoofbeats were heard approaching from further up the trail. Jaxom held his hand up for silence.

The hoofbeats came closer, then a sturdy brown pony burst from among the trees. Mounted on the pony was a small figure wrapped in a cloak. Two of the lancers quickly bracketed the pony, one seizing its bridle, forcing the rider to halt. The cloak fell apart, revealing a young boy about eight years old clad in the Baron's livery.  He looked warily at the men who surrounded him.  Then his eyes fell on Fiona. "Lady Fiona, it's you!" he cried breathlessly.

"Gavin, what are you doing riding away from the manor at this hour? What has happened?" She turned to Lord Jaxom. "This is Gavin, son of Lord Ross, who recently entered my uncle's service as a page to begin his training." She turned back to the young boy. "Gavin, I overheard Michael's plan to seize control of the manor for the rebels. I rode to try to find help. Do not be afraid, these men have been sent to help the Baron. Lord Jaxom is the leader." She indicated the young lord. "Tell us what has happened. Why are you fleeing?"

Gavin's voice trembled as he answered, "My Lady, my Lord, the baron's son did lure him to a distant attic, and he has been confined there ever since the lady disappeared. Late yesterday a new rebel reached the manor, a man named Drago. He tried to convince the baron to throw in his lot with the rebels, but the baron refused. His response angered this man, who struck him. I was hiding outside the room, and I heard him fall. Lord Michael tried to go to him, but this Drago dragged him out of the room, relocked it, and forced him back to the main part of the house. After they had gone, I got up close to the keyhole and listened, but I heard only a moan, then silence. I called to him but got no answer. I had managed to get the key to the room as the baron had asked, but what good would it do to open the door if he was too badly injured to stand or walk? I couldn't carry him. I thought my best course would be to ride to the closest estate  and ask Lord Graham for help."

Fiona spoke, "Lord Jaxom, it is even more imperative that we move quickly. We know the baron is injured, but we don't know how badly. He needs our help."

Jaxom turned to Gavin. "Do you know if this Drago brought any more men with him?"

"I don't think so, my Lord. I only saw one new horse in the stable, and I have not heard any of the other servants mention any other new arrivals."

Jaxom turned to his men to give the order to move out. He directed Fiona and the priest to move to the rear for more protection. Fiona protested, "You need me to show you the way. I will be of no help in the rear."

Jaxom replied impatiently, "This young man will ride with me, and you have already shown me the route on your map which I remember in detail. I don't expect any difficulty in reaching the manor. Once we have secured the manor and rounded up the men we find there, then I will need you to identify which ones you recognize as the baron's retainers and which are most likely rebels. We can then separate them and secure the likely rebels. Gavin can lead us to where the baron is being held, and hopefully the priest can heal him of whatever injuries he sustained in the attack on him."

Fiona was not happy with the idea of trailing along in the rear. She addressed Jaxom. "My Lord, I can provide further help. You have no archers among your men. I am an excellent shot with a bow and have brought both my bow and my quiver with arrows. I can cover you against attacks by the rebels there. We can't afford to lose you."

((!roll 2d6 does Fiona convince Jaxom?
Derynibot 1+1=2.)) Drat, no luck. Hope I did this right.))

Jaxom's expression was stubborn, "I do not feel that is wise. I need you to move to the rear as I ordered. Having you beside me as we attack will cause distraction and make things more difficult."

Columcil placed a hand on Fiona's arm and leaned toward her, "Dinnae fash yersel, lassie. We'd best do as his lordship orders. Remember yer oath to the Earl. We canna be interferin' wi' his plan. It's best that we get movin' now for the baron's sake."

Fiona subsided and followed Columcil to the rear of the group. Jaxom raised his hand and the party moved silently along the path  toward the manor.

The sky lightened as they approached the point where the path split off to the right, away from the main road and the more open area in front of the manor house. They followed the path to the right, moving silently among the crowding trees and bushes. The men began to separate, each moving toward his assigned part of the manor. Jaxom had been careful to ensure that each man knew exactly where to go and how to reach it.  They could see little movement about the stable yard. Most of the men were still inside, preparing for the day.  As Jaxom's men moved into place, two men came out and headed toward the byre. They were quickly confronted by the soldiers, their brief cries of surprise silenced by the sight of mounted men with weapons drawn.

Another three men appeared from the backdoor of the manor and all were quickly herded into the stable enclosure. Two men approached, coming up the path from the nearest pasture. They were added to the first group in the fenced enclosure. There was muttering among the men, not knowing what this invasion meant. A tall, thin man with an air of authority appeared, demanding to know what was going on and why the men had not gone about their duties.

This man  quickly took in the scene before him, including the mounted and armed men surrounding the area and keeping watch on the servants clumped together in the paddock enclosure. He glared at Lord Jaxom, the presumed leader of the raiding party.  "What is the meaning of this? Who are you, and why have you drawn weapons on our servants?  This is the estate of Lord Stuart, and your actions will certainly bring the law down on you. The baron is an influential noble and a friend of the king! You will find yourself in great trouble if you do not release these men and leave immediately!"

Jaxom replied haughtily, "I am Lord Jaxom Trillick, son of Baron Adam Trillick,  a close friend of Lord Stuart. Who are you? I need to know with whom I am speaking. There have been reports of rebels in the neighborhood, and my father was concerned about the baron as he had not heard from him in some time, and he knew of problems between the baron and his son concerning the rebellion. The king was also aware of potential problems here, and I was sent by one of the king's representatives to speak with Lord Stuart and to assess the situation. Please inform the baron that I would speak with him about the situation here."

The man stood stiffly as he answered, "I am James Maclin, the baron's steward. I can assure you there have been no problems with rebels here. However, the baron is not here. He left late yesterday on an important errand, and I do not expect him back until late this evening. When he returns, he will be most displeased with what has happened here."

"What about his son? Call him, that I may speak with him and collect the information I was charged to communicate to my father and to the king's representative." Jaxom eyed the man sternly.

"I am afraid he is not available either. He left at first light to meet a man bringing some newly purchased cattle that his father was anxious to see safely delivered."

"That's a lie!" declared a voice from behind Lord Jaxom. A brown pony was nudged up beside the young lord. "The baron has not left the manor but is being held in confinement in one of the far attics. Not only is he locked in, but he is also injured from a blow from a rebel who tried to force him to join their cause!" Gavin stared at the man, Maclin, defiantly.

Maclin shouted, "He is the liar! He is naught but a new page, and he has been reprimanded already for making up stories to make himself important." He glared angrily at Gavin. "You need to go to your quarters. I will deal with you later."

"He is not lying!" Lady Fiona and Columcil moved up closer to Lord Jaxom, Fiona with her bow in her hands.

Maclin's face turned white when he saw her. "L... l... lady Fiona!" he spluttered.

"There seems to be some disagreement as to the exact situation here." Jaxom moved his horse closer to where the steward stood. "I think we should search the house and grounds to determine exactly what is happening."

As Jaxom moved to dismount to enter the house, one of his men cried out, "Look out, milord!" One of the men standing among the servants had eased to one side and was poised to throw a dagger at Lord Jaxom. The soldier whirled his horse toward the man, intending to seize his arm and prevent him from throwing it. At the same time, Fiona had quickly nocked an arrow and shot at the man with the dagger.

((!roll 3d6  does Fiona hit him before he can throw?
Derynibot 6,3,5=14. Got him!))

Her arrow found its target before the man-at-arms reached him. The man dropped the dagger, grabbing his shoulder where Fiona's arrow pierced his flesh. At Jaxom's command, his men drew closer to the servants, with swords drawn, ready to strike any one of them who drew a weapon or made a threatening move. Most of the servants drew as far as possible from the wounded man, leaving two standing between them. Maclin had quickly turned as if to run into the manor, but Jaxom shouted "Stop him!" One of the soldiers reached down from his saddle and grabbed Maclin's arm, pulling him back from the door.

Instead of dismounting, Jaxom moved his horse toward the enclosure and motioned for Fiona and Columcil to join him. "Thank you for your quick action, Lady Fiona. I am sure my man would have disarmed him in time, but your action was effective. I think that I must ask you to now identify those men among these servants whom you do not recognize and whom you suspect might be rebels. We certainly have identified one of them. Point out to my men any others you are suspicious of."

The men in the enclosure shifted their feet uneasily, eyeing Fiona warily. Fiona studied the men closely and pointed out three more she did not recognize as servants she knew and who were therefore suspect. These three plus the injured man were to be isolated from the baron's retainers.  Fiona addressed Jaxom, "There is a storeroom with a sturdy door that can be locked that should suit your purpose. They can be confined there until we have time to deal with them." Jaxom frowned at Fiona's use of "we" but ordered his men to move the suspects into the room Fiona suggested. He ordered that these men be searched for any more weapons, which the soldiers moved quickly to do. He also ordered that the wounded man be tended to, the arrow removed and a bandage applied.

Columcil offered to look at the injured man's wound to see if he could help.  He moved over to where the man lay on the ground with the arrow still protruding from his shoulder. One of Jaxom's men knelt on the other side to provide help if needed. The wounded man looked up at him apprehensively. "Dinnae be afraid, laddie. We need to get tha' arrow out, stop the bleedin' and bandage up yer wound tae keep out infection. Just keep as still as ye can and this will soon be done." Columcil placed his hand over the man's eyes and he relaxed. Taking out his knife and showing the soldier how to hold the arrow steady, he pushed the arrow through until its barbs were visible. He cut the barbed part away, then quickly pulled the arrow out, inserting two fingers into the wound. As he slowly withdrew the fingers, the wound closed, leaving only a little dried blood where it had been. He applied a small bandage over the point where the arrow had penetrated.  The four men were then taken away to be locked in the storeroom until they could be questioned.

((!roll 2d6. Does Columcil heal the man?
derynibot 3,6=9. Success))
((!roll 1d6. Hit points healed
2==2. 2 hit points healed I think))

Jaxom gestured to two of his men to follow him as they prepared to enter the manor house to begin their search. "You will accompany us," he ordered the steward. He suspected that the steward was also one of the rebels and did not trust him out of his sight. At Jaxom's direction, one of his men moved up directly behind the man. He also indicated that Gavin should accompany them.

Lady Fiona had dismounted and was tethering her horse. Columcil had returned to her side. "We should also accompany you, milord. I know the house well and can help guide you." Jaxom looked doubtful for a moment but then agreed. They set off.

The indoor servants had been confined in the kitchen for the time being. They appeared anxious and afraid, but Fiona reassured them that all would be well and that these men had been sent to help the baron. She asked the housekeeper where the family was. She was told that Lady Olivia was in her rooms, the baron had not been seen for at least two days, and Lord Michael had not been seen since the night before. He had not come down for breakfast and had not left any orders for the day. Nor had anyone seen the stranger who had arrived the day before. Fiona asked that the housekeeper surrender her keys. She complied with Lady Fiona's order and they moved on through the house.

They found nothing unusual on the first floor, but as they mounted the stairs and moved toward the family's wing, they heard someone banging on a door and demanding to be let out. They followed the sounds, and when they reached the door, Fiona said, "That's Michael's room. " She selected the right key and unlocked the door. Michael had moved back into the room a little, not sure who was at the door. He stared in amazement at the people standing outside his door. "Who are you?"  he demanded. His eyes surveyed the group in front of him quickly. He focused on Jaxom.  "Why are you here, Lord Jaxom?" Then his eyes fell on Fiona and then on Maclin. "What is going on?"

Jaxom replied, "It seems to me that you need to explain what has happened here. Lady Fiona overheard your plan to seize control of the manor and hand it to the rebels you planned to join. She sought help and we were sent by the king's representative to assess the situation, secure the estate, and provide the baron whatever assistance he needed. We found men here that we believe to be rebels, and we have locked them up for now.  We are now searching the manor, but have failed to find your father."

Michael answered reluctantly, "I will answer your questions, but first let me take you to my father. I am afraid he is injured and I know he needs help. Yesterday, a rebel named Drago arrived and tried to force my father to join their cause. When he refused, this Drago attacked him, knocking him down, and he hit his head. I tried to go to him, but Drago forced me out of the room where my father lay and locked me in my own room. I have been there since. I don't know where he is, but I know he is dangerous. And I don't know my father's condition."

"Very well," Jaxom agreed, "You still have much explaining to do, and you will remain in my custody until more is known and I receive orders from the king. Conduct us to your father." Michael led the way toward the attics.  Jaxom, Fiona, Columcil and Jaxom's men followed with the steward, Maclin. When they reached a heavy door in the back part of the house, Michael held out a hand to halt them. "This is the room where I last saw my father lying injured. We need someone to go get the key to open it."

"I have the key." Gavin spoke up as he held out the key. Jaxom took it from him and inserted it in the lock. The door swung open. In the dim light, they saw a figure lying on the floor, not moving.

"Father!" Michael cried out, starting toward him.

Jaxom grabbed him by the arm, holding him back. The figure on the floor stirred slightly. "The priest  here is a healer. Let him examine your father first to determine the extent of his injuries and what should be done for him. We should not move him until that is done." Fiona agreed, watching anxiously  as Columcil moved forward and knelt beside the prostrate man.  He spoke to him gently, calling him by name. The baron mumbled a little but did not really arouse. Columcil felt his head, finding blood matting his hair and, on closer examination, a laceration about two inches above the ear, running towards the back of his head. It had bled freely but was clotted now. He felt the skull, pressing gently for any breaks. There was swelling, but the bone seemed to be intact. He reached out with his senses to check the inside for anything pressing on the brain. He checked the eyes and the pupils appeared to be normal in size and equal. "I feel no break, but there is bruising and swelling. Also he is cold from shock and needs to be warmed and given fluids. It is safe to move him if it is done carefully, and he would be better in his own bed."

Jaxom ordered two of his men to devise a stretcher with blankets and two sturdy poles from outside. They placed the baron carefully on it and carried him to his room, Gavin showing the way. There he was placed on his bed, wrapped in blankets, and a basin of warm water was brought at Columcil's order to clean the laceration as well as some mulled wine. Columcil began to tend to the baron, assisted by Gavin while Jaxom turned to the others. He told Fiona, "You should go to the Lady Olivia to inform her of what is taking place and reassure her. She could be brought to her lord as soon as Father Columcil indicates that he is ready." Fiona nodded agreement and walked toward another room near the Baron's.

He then ordered his men to continue the search of the manor. He detailed one man to escort Maclin to the estate office, and hold him there until he could be questioned.  Next he addressed Lord Michael,  "How many rebels are present here, and where will they be found? Lady Fiona identified four men among the servants whom she did not know and who were likely rebels. I need to know the exact number of rebels present and what was planned for the manor. I strongly advise you to answer me honestly and to assist me in putting a stop to any rebel action here. It would benefit you to be seen as reconsidering where your loyalty lies. You have had the opportunity to see what kind of men these are that you aspired to join. It appears that you did attempt to oppose the man Drago and that may help you. Do you know where he is? We have found no sign of him thus far in our search."

Michael studied Lord Jaxom apprehensively. "I will give you all the assistance I can, but I have not seen him since he locked me in my room last night. I believe his mission here was to get my father to join the rebel cause and to support their efforts to gain a presence in Gwynedd. I now believe he was just using me to get to my father, and I regret I ever had any dealings with the rebels. There were four men plus Maclin who are members of the rebellion, but this Drago was the first one of influence that I had met. His behavior makes me think I made a mistake in thinking that they had the interests of Meara at heart. I do not know where he might be hiding or whether he might have escaped when you arrived. I do know that he is very dangerous."

Lady Fiona entered, having escorted Lady Olivia to her husband's side. "Father Columcil is remaining with the baron for now, unless you have need for his services elsewhere. I can now assist you in completing the questioning of the prisoners and securing the manor. What do you plan to do with Michael?"

Jaxom replied, "I have done some preliminary questioning, and he has thus far been cooperative. He will remain confined to his room while we complete our search and secure the manor. You will return to the baron's quarters and remain with Father Columcil. His main task here is to protect you, and for that to be accomplished, you need to stay together. With the information I have obtained, I can complete the mission and do not need further assistance from you. Your safety is an additional concern, and I need you to follow my orders. If I have further need of your help, I will send for you."

Fiona stared at him in disbelief. "So you have decided you have no further need of my help or support. I disagree with you. I know the manor grounds and you do not. This Drago could be anywhere, and we know he is very dangerous. I think you should accept all the help available to you. My bow was not an unwelcome aid in the stable yard."

"I am sure that my man would have disarmed him in time without your help. I need you now to follow my orders and rejoin the good Father." Jaxom gave her a disdainful look. Fiona stared at him a moment, then turned and stormed out of the room.  If he thought she was going to sit tamely by while he pursued his plan, he was greatly mistaken. Perhaps she would find the rebel leader first.










Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on March 06, 2019, 10:05:27 AM
Sir Iain Cameron slipped the medallion that enabled his rapport with King Kelson back inside his shirt. Only the faintest light creeping through the edges of the shutters indicated it would soon be dawn.   He now had the signature of the Portal in the ruins and had been ordered to transport Washburn and Sidana there later this morning.  He would have time before leaving to strengthen his controls over Sidana and lessen the chance she might try something foolish. If she cried out for help, even in that remote location, some noble knight would try to help her first and ask questions later!  As for Washburn, it would be best if he did not know where they were going, but at least revealing that they would be meeting up with Darcy and Aliset should ensure he would go willingly.  Iain would prefer not to challenge Washburn's shields unless he had to.  Lady Maev, on the other hand, had suggested a way she could ease past Washburn's shields, and she would try that in the morning.  He had agreed and wished her luck.

Iain shifted his position on his bed and lifted his right hand to focus on the Ring of Isles he wore on his index finger.  Now he needed to contact Darcy to relay the additional orders from the king.  The medallion would be no help with this, but if Darcy still carried the miniature heir's ring with him, or better yet, had discovered and now wore the ring of the Heir of Isles, he should be able to reach him.

((Iain rolls to establish rapport with Darcy.  Ritual trained, so 3 dice
9:42 Jerusha !roll 3d6
Derynibot  5,5,5, == 15  Success!))

***

Darcy Cameron opened his eyes briefly to ensure his "squire" still slept close by.  Not too close, of course!  Any closer, and Darcy was not sure he could keep himself from drawing his wife into his arms, even if she did still wear the form of Robert.  She'd stick him with her dagger for sure if he tried.  That would be an interesting injury to explain in the morning!  He smiled, noting her deep, even breathing.  At least she was getting some sleep.

He rolled onto his back and stared at the fading stars as sleep continued to evade him.  Washburn was free!  Iain had somehow freed him from the fortress and had taken him to a secure place.  Thank God!  In the privacy of Earl Brendan's pavillion, Aliset had been so happy at the news that she had impulsively hugged Darcy, much to his delight.  With Washburn safe, there was no need to find the fortress; Darcy and Aliset were to leave in the morning to catch up with Father Columcil, Fiona, and Lord Jaxom, providing what assistance they could to secure Baron Stuart and his manor from the rebels.  Thoughts of Jaxom would do nothing to help Darcy get a few moments of sleep, so he firmly put Jaxom out of his mind and closed his eyes. 

Darcy!

Darcy's eyes shot open and he reached for his sword.  Who the hell was in his head?

Easy, little brother. Don't you recognise me?

"Iain?" Darcy didn't realize that he had spoken aloud.  Aliset stirred and looked over at him.

Darcy, if you have the Heir's Ring, use it to focus and hear what I have to say.

((Darcy spends 2 xp for 1 extra die and 3 xp for success on 4, 5, 6
9:44 Jerusha !roll 2d6
Derynibot 4,1 == 5  Success!))

Darcy sat up. Aye, I have it.  I found it in your box.   He rested his hand on his raised knee so he could concentrate on the silver band.  It flashed as it caught the first rays of the rapidly approaching dawn, helping him to focus.  He slipped into a faint rapport with his brother.

Aliset, now fully awake, realized what Darcy was attempting to do and rose to sit beside him, placing her hand which wore the miniature ring on his to strengthen the contact.

((Darcy and Aliset have previously charged their rings for rapport, so no dice roll required for Aliset to join in.))

That's better, Iain sent. I sense another has joined you.

Aliset, Darcy confirmed. 

Excellent.  The orders I received from the king are for both of you.

Aliset's hand grasped Darcy's more firmly.

You are to wait until after Earl Brendan and his men have left for Droghera.  The earl must know nothing of your orders.  Once he is gone, proceed to the ruins and make sure you bring Master Feyd's ward cubes with you.  You still have them?

Yes, Aliset answered.

Lord Sextus Arilan will meet you at the ruins.  He will guide you to the Portal. You will wait there until I arrive with Sir Washburn and another.

Another? Darcy asked.

Washburn and I managed to secure a hostage of our own.  I will transport our hostage and the ward cubes to the king.  You will take charge of Washburn and proceed to join up with Father Columcil.

Take charge of Sir Washburn? Aliset asked.  Is he injured?

Not physically, but he was kept in a totally vulnerable state while a prisoner.  Lady Aliset, you are unfortunately familiar with the drugs used.  Iain hesitated a brief moment and then shared his  images of Washburn that the king had shared with Earl Brendan.  The only people he appears to trust are the two of you and Father Columcil.  Mention of his family sends him into a barely controlled rage.

Aliset shuddered; she understood all too well the vulnerability the drugs induced.  Washburn would have had no defence against any intrusion into his mind.  What are we to do to help Sir Washburn? she asked.

You must keep him away from his family, including Duke Kelric and Earl Brendan in Meara.  He is not to return to Rhemuth until King Kelson grants him permission to do so.  His Majesty hopes that Father Columcil, as both priest and Healer, can help reverse at least enough of what has been done to Washburn to negate him as a threat.

Darcy and Aliset exchanged glances, remembering a previous conversation.  And what if Father Columcil can't help him? Darcy asked, even though he knew what the answer would be.

Those orders from the king have not changed.  You will do what needs to be done, if Washburn becomes an active threat.  Iain's tone was firm, but there was a note of compassion in it.  He harboured no ill feelings against Washburn, having witnessed for himself the damage caused by his imprisonment.  Let us hope it will not come to that.

Aye, Darcy said, equally firm.  We'll find another way. Aliset's grip on his hand tightened in both agreement and reassurance. 

There is more you should know for your own safety.  Washburn has learned how to switch off a Deryni's powers.  I assume he can also switch them back on, though I must admit I have not seen him do it.  I placed controls on him to prevent him from trying it on me, but now that the drugs have worn off and his shields have returned, I don't know that I can extend my controls to protect you.  And I can't blame him for resisting any more tampering! His trust in you may be all the protection you need, but be aware of the danger.

At the edge of his consciousness, Darcy heard the sounds of men rousing and beginning to prepare to depart.  The earl will be leaving soon, he sent.

Aye, and I have my own preparations to make.  I'll see you in the ruins, little brother.  Iain broke the contact.

For several moments, Aliset and Darcy sat quietly, still in rapport, reviewing what Iain had told them.  As the sounds of the camp grew louder, Darcy withdrew both mind and hand.  He stood up and looked around, reassured that no one was paying any attention to them.

"I'll be back in a short bit," he said to Aliset.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"It occurs to me I should find an excuse to negotiate with Earl Brendan for an additional horse.  Sir Washburn will want Shadow back."  Darcy gave her a mischievous grin. "Unless you want to ride double."

"You'd best find another horse," Aliset said as she rose to stand beside him.  "You'd be embarrassed sitting behind your squire."

His grin widened.  "Not if I get to hang on tight."

Aliset looked for something suitable to toss at him, and Darcy hastily departed, still smiling.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on March 07, 2019, 12:26:44 AM
There is something so very reassuring about the heat dancing off a freshly stoked hearth, about the smells of last supper's roast mutton simmering in a kettle of spiced wine, and about the sound of yesterday's bread, sliced and soaked in egg batter, set to sizzle on a griddle over the hearth flames. Breakfast was rarely a full meal, but on this day their hostess planned to feed her guests well. The sounds, the smells, and the warmth soothed the Lendour knight. The addition of a feminine voice softly singing of the heather flowering on the hillsides and the birds whistling among the barley stalks enticed Washburn to stay snug in his blankets on his pallet before the hearth and to let the world go about the start of the day without him. He was content. For the first time in weeks. Content to keep his eyes closed in the rising morning light, content to enjoy the normalcy of activity around him and not be a part of it, content to let his shields ease and to allow the essence of calm from his hostess allay his inner turmoil.

Her song enveloped him. The song of Lady Maev lulled him to breathe easily with the rhythm of her melody. It freed him from the anxiety that followed his fevered dreams. Dreams of captivity, dreams of a black abyss and the fetid smells of death in a cold, hollow tomb. His need to embrace the living world around him, to touch the warmth and the smells with his mind and his heart allowed him to soften his shields; the more he lowered them, the more he received a sense of safety from the caring soul seated beside him. His hostess was on her knees, so close to him that he could feel her with her back to him just beside his shoulders. She had opened her mind to him and was sharing through her eyes as she turned the slices of bread over allowing the raw battered side to sizzle against the griddle anew. The simple joy of cooking lessened his resistances.

When she had completed the task at hand, her song subsided; she sat back on her heels, and her hand reached back and brushed against his forehead. But she did not turn to look at him, she stayed looking at the fire, and she shared with him the light of each flame as it licked the side of the kettle and sizzled under the griddle.  And he was content, content to let her fingers brush over his eyes; to let her mind touch his mind. She sought to see the horrors of the dreams that haunted his dark hours, and at first he resisted to show a woman these things. But like a mother's touch, she was deftly calm and reassuring. If she could see what troubled him, she could help ease these horrors away from him. She did nothing to provoke his defenses and nothing to frighten him. He was falling deftly under her spell of protection. She turned her shoulders and looked down at him. In that moment he saw himself in her eyes. She thought him handsome, yet he was more attentive to the details: the darkness around his eyes, the hollowness of his cheeks, and the bristle of a day's growth of beard marred the appearance of his former affable self.  When he sent a suggestion that he should get up and shave, she forestalled him with a hush; had he opened his own eyes then, he would have seen her smiling. With a lightness of thought she said his scruffiness was appealing. To strengthen their growing Rapport, her off-hand put aside her cooking utensil and in a calm turn, she fully knelt facing him. One hand still over his eyes, her other hand touched the back of his head. Willingly, he let her lull his mind to quietude. So willing was he to be free of the horrors. So willing to let another take these memories away from him....

A shrill scream broke the reverie.

With a warrior's reflex, not knowing the danger, Washburn's shields came down in defense. Startled and unable to react as fast as he, Lady Maev floundered, caught on the bridge she had built between them.

"A rat!" yelled a girl, "A rat as big as a cat!" she screamed, then the girl squealed in a very high pitch. "Over there!" she continued to yell, "There!" Following her scream were the sounds of scooting furniture and the tumble of feet climbing onto the table.

Wash felt a need to be free, to see what was going on for himself. For a few harsh seconds Maev denied him that freedom, using her controls she tried to calm his panic, too rebuild their Rapport. It is nothing, she reassured him. You are safe. Yet with the tightening controls over his mind, Washburn felt fear anew and pain from that small breech she held in his shields.


((13:00 <LaurnaAFK> Washburn Save test- does he free himself of Maev's control? Wash now has the Resolute trait so Save test is at advantage.
13:00 <LaurnaAFK> !roll 3d6
13:00 <•derynibot> 6, 4, 4 == 14
13:02 <LaurnaAFK> Thank you Derynibot, you help alleviate my fear of Torenthi dice.))

With a warrior's strength, defying the sheer pain of it, he pulled himself free. She had not meant to hurt him, and in that second, she realized she had to let him go. Her departure allowed his shields to slam down, like the portcullis closing the gates of a fortress. In panicked defense, he jumped up and ran away from anyone who would dare to control him. In a sudden sweat, he stood with his back against the wall, his hand on his sword hilt, not yet drawn, but tense and ready to do so. He relaxed some when no one came near him. Before him were the four people he expected to see in the room and no one else. The enemy wasn't here, he breathed easier. Lady Sidana was kneeling on the table, wide eyed looking between him and a dark corner by the door. Lady Maev was still on her knees shaking her head, "I am sorry." she whispered. But Wash was not certain if she said it to him or to Lord Iain who looked like a man who had been holding his breath and was suddenly remembering he had to breathe.

"Lady Maev, are you well?" Sir Roland asked concerned for his wife.

"Aye, I am. We were both startled. Neither of us wanted to hurt the other. Lord Iain, I did try; I was so close to succeeding." Then again she said, "I am sorry." Only this time she turned back to Washburn and entreated him to forgive her.

"It is I who should ask for your forgiveness," Wash whispered to his hostess, knowing that his panic had spoiled their Rapport and possibly hurt her as it had him.  Yet, he now suspected that there had been more to it, "I think I must know what you would have done to me, had you succeeded?" The thought of anyone else doing anything else to his mind served to increased his panic. Unnerved, likely not aware of it, his hand still gripped the hilt of his sword.

Maev could say nothing, she could only look down at her hands. Lord Iain bit his lip. With his hand out in a staying gesture, he replied, "There was no harm intended, Sir Washburn. Listen to the truth in my words. I asked Maev if she could help me to see if we could help you. There was no malice in our attempt. We wanted to fix what Feyd has done to you. To reverse it, we need to understand it. You don't want those nightmares forever, do you?"

"Of course I do not want them. You say I should trust you. But how do I really know that I can? I don't want anyone playing in my mind." Even as the tall knight voiced his doubts his hand nonetheless fell away from his sword, and moved up to his head to covered his eyes. "How can I trust anyone, ever again?"

"You are going to have to trust someone if you want to be whole," Iain said pleadingly. Frustrated, Iain feared he was not the one to gain that trust. He came no closer, leaving the tall knight to his inner demons.  Instead, he turned back to his hostage. "Lady Sidana, get down from there. You are very trying on my nerves."

"I am not coming down!" she yelled, "Not with that rat on the floor."

Sir Roland had been looking where she was looking and suddenly he walked across the room, bent down and scooped up a four legged fur-ball with a long fluffy tail. The cat happily purred and brushed her head against Roland's hand. "See here! This is SiSi. You scared her more with your scream, than she scared you. Because of her, we don't have any rats." He petted the cat and then took her to Iain's room. "I will leave her in here for now, until you leave."

"That will do," Iain agreed.

"We are leaving? Where are you taking me?" Sidana called out.

Iain stepped up to her, he reached out to her, and touched her hand. "Never mind that. Come off the table. It is better to eat breakfast if we sit at the benches, rather than on top. That is a good child," he instructed her. Instantly obedient, she dangled a foot down to slide off the table's top. When her foot slipped against the bench and she looked to take a tumble to the floor, Iain entwined his hands about her waist and lifted her up. He held her up for a moment until she had her feet free of the bench, and then using restraint, he sat her down. He was gentle in his handling of her, denying himself the joy of plopping her down, like she deserved. "Please stay there until I tell you otherwise," he commanded of the pretender queen. With a shake of his head and an exasperated breath, Iain turned back to their hostess. "Lady Maev, how can I help serve this hearty breakfast you have prepared for us. I am sure we would all be better people with food in our bellies."

With that reminder, Maev turned to the bread on the griddle and hastily moved the slices onto a platter before they had a chance to burn. She handed the platter to Iain to place it upon the table. Iain did so, bringing him back to scowl at the girl.  "Sidana, would you please apologize to Lady Maev for acting like a spoiled child and disrupting Maev's  conversation with Washburn."

"Lady Maev, I apologize for acting like a spoiled child, " Sidana repeated in a compliant monotone. So very unlike her normal self and obviously at odds to what she truly wanted to say.

"I accept your apology," Maev said with sigh and a side look at Washburn.

Washburn was not pleased to see such controls over the young woman. He knew she was trouble, and would be impossible to handle if not for those controls. Yet the wrongness of it yelled at him. He had been brought up in a strict code to never interfere with another's free will. Standing far from everyone, Wash toyed with the idea of resetting her powers, giving her back her ability to resist such controls. Would she then be better off? Or would it only make matters worse? Just like he had been prisoner, she was a prisoner ,too. And just like his captor had made him defenseless, he had made her defenseless. At least his method did not make her violently ill like Feyd's drugs had made him. At least no one had to prick her with a needle every few hours to enforce her vulnerability. She was hostage and though it was a harsh reality, just like he had been, it was better for her that she remain compliant. He understood this, just like he understood why Feyd did what he did. The understanding did not make it any easier to bear.  Where would he draw the line. He concluded the line would come down if he ever saw Iain attempt to change her memories or her individual thoughts. That would be when he would give her back her shields, so that she could resist being tampered with, as he now was certain that he himself had been.

Tensions calmed in the small manor house, and the host and hostess went back to serving up a hot breakfast. The mutton was put on a platter and sliced. That platter was then placed on the table beside the Bremagne toast. The thickened spice wine was poured into a serving jar to be poured over the meat and the toast alike, making a fine sweet syrup to cover it all. Five trenchers were passed out along with five goblets filled with a good Ale. At the last Sir Roland gestured that Washburn should join them. Sensing no further malice, Washburn complied of his own free will, knowing that none of them controlled him as he did so. The morning prayer was said over the food by Roland, and then everyone filled their trenchers and ate their fill.

The breakfast was hearty and not a crumb was left, even off of Lady Sidana's plate. Only when the trenchers were cleared away,  then did Iain make his announcement. "We shall be leaving by Portal in a short while. I have good coordinates to where we will meet up with my brother."


"With Darcy? We are going to see Darcy and Aliset?" Washburn asked a bit surprise-- surprised in a good way.

"Yes, we are, I am glad that this pleases you. We have an hour or so, in that hour I would ask that you settle your thoughts and calm your mind. You will have to trust me to get us to where Lord Darcy is. I will need to take both you and Sidana through; you will not be able to reach this portal on your own. Do you think you can do that?"

Hesitant at first, Washburn finally replied, "If you don't threaten to drug me, or rip my mind, I will do my best to let you take us through." For he knew what the alternatives for his refusal would be.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on March 11, 2019, 11:26:17 AM
Fiona stormed out of the room and down the corridor, fuming. Of all the arrogant, insufferable men! She would show him! She marched right past the baron's quarters without stopping and on to the rear of the manor house. When she reached the door leading from the kitchen quarters to the barns and stable yard, she started to push the door open but then paused. Where exactly was she going and what did she intend to do?  Her temper had begun to cool and she hesitated. Perhaps charging out of the manor with no real plan was not the best idea. She needed to think this out.

She wanted to find the rebel's hiding place before Jaxom did, but was she even sure that he was still on the grounds? He could have slipped away during the initial confrontation between Jaxom's party and the other rebels. How could she determine whether he was in hiding or gone?

In order to escape, he would have needed a horse. Perhaps she should start by checking the stable to see whether his horse was still there or if one of the other horses was missing. She did not remember Jaxom having his men give more than a perfunctory pass through the stables. Did they even know which horse had belonged to Drago or what other horses should be there? She didn't think so. Jaxom had concentrated his initial search on the manor house. He had not yet widened the search to the surrounding buildings and grounds.

Fiona slipped out of the house and walked softly toward the stables. She did not want to advertise her presence nor give the impression that she was actively searching for someone. She loosened the tethers that held her own and Columcil's mounts and began to lead them toward the stable. She led them inside, looking around as if deciding which stalls were best.  She did note a well bred roan she did not recognize as belonging to her uncle. She suspected that it belonged to the man she was seeking. If the horse was still here, that would indicate that his rider was still somewhere about but where. She unsaddled the horses and led them into adjoining stalls.

Fiona climbed the ladder leading to the hayloft and surveyed the space as if looking for feed for the horses. She did  not see anything suspicious; there was nothing out of place, and she heard  no movements. The only sounds were the horses moving in their stalls and snuffling for feed.
She climbed back down and walked around the stalls but saw nothing. Everything appeared quiet and in order. She gave the horses water and put feed in the trough for them.

((Does Fiona find any signs of Drago? !roll 2d6
Derynibot 5,5==10. Yes!))

As she explored further, she noticed a rough wooden door partially hidden in a dark corner. She remembered a little used storeroom where tack and farm implements needing mending were kept. The door was slightly ajar which was unusual. As she moved a little closer, the door was pushed open and she saw a stocky, rough looking man dressed all in black.

((initiative test for Fiona. !roll 2d6.
Derynibot 2,4==6.
Initiative test for Drago. !roll 2d6
Derynibot 3,4==7. So Drago makes the  first move))

The man reached toward her to grab at her arm with one hand. In his other hand he held a sword. He lunged at her but was off balance and missed.

((Drago attacks !roll 2d6.
Derynibot 2,3==5. He misses.))

Fiona whirled to try to elude him and began to run. She tripped and stumbled, almost falling to the ground.

((Fiona's action, move to try to run away from him.  She has the trait Fleet of foot so her speed in increased to 30 feet.
!roll 3d6
Derynibot 2,1,2==5. I think I got those torenthi dice))

She caught herself on the wooden post of one of the stalls but he was almost upon her. If he could capture her, he could use her as a hostage to enable him to escape. He reached for her again.

((Drago's 2nd action, attack again. !roll 1d6
Derynibot 3==3. Well at least he isn't having any better luck))

Fiona dodged to put the partition of the stall between them, hoping for a chance to put more distance between the rebel and herself. The horses were disturbed by the noise and movements around them and were neighing and shifting restlessly in their stalls..

((second action for Fiona, move again. !roll 1d6
Derynibot 4==4. Oh dear))

Drago was nearly upon her again when voices sounded outside the stable. Two of Jaxom's men had heard the commotion and were coming to discover the cause. Fiona stumbled toward the open stable doors calling out to the soldiers, "Help! Quickly, the rebel leader is here, he is right behind me!"

One of them grabbed Fiona to steady her and thrust her behind him. Both men drew their swords and moved slowly through the stable. The horses were still disturbed and moving about in their stalls. The two soldiers moved cautiously past the stalls, examining each one carefully, looking for any sign of the intruder. As they passed the last stall, Fiona spoke up, "He was in there," she says pointing to the open wooden door. "That's a storeroom where broken implements are kept while awaiting repair. I'm sure he was waiting for the cover of darkness to get to his horse and escape."

"Which horse is his?" one of the men asked. Fiona pointed to the roan, "That one I think. I have never seen him before and he doesn't belong to the baron."

The young man turned to Fiona. "What were you doing out here alone, my Lady?"

"I was caring for the horses Father Columcil and I rode here. They needed water and feed, and I was under the impression that we would not be leaving here anytime soon, so I decided to tend to their needs. Father Columcil is still with the baron tending to his injuries, and Lord Jaxom said he had no need of my services. I certainly did not expect to find a rebel in here or to be attacked. Thank goodness you heard the commotion and came to see what was going on."

The two soldiers, keeping Fiona with them, proceeded to search the rest of the stable but found no further sign of the missing rebel. They did find an open door at the rear of the stable through which he might have escaped. They quieted the horses, searched the storeroom which did reveal signs that someone had been in there recently, secured the open door, then turned to Fiona. One of them addressed her. "Please come with me, my Lady. We need to report this to Lord Jaxom and receive his orders. Patrick will remain on guard here while I escort you to his lordship and make my report."

The young man offered her his arm, and they returned to the manor house. They found Jaxom in the baron's solar where he was again questioning Lord Michael. He interrupted what he was saying and turned as they entered the room. "What is the meaning of this?" he asked. He looked quite displeased at the sight of Fiona, looking somewhat disheveled, accompanying his officer.

"Patrick and I heard a commotion in the stable, milord, and went to determine the cause. The young lady came running toward us saying that she had encountered the missing rebel leader and he was pursuing her.The horses were agitated, neighing and stamping and rearing. Something had disturbed them. Keeping her with us, we searched the stable but did not find the man. We did find signs that someone had been hiding in a rarely used storeroom, and we also found an open door at the rear of the stable where he could have escaped. He might have been trying to get to his horse."

Jaxom glared at Fiona. "What were you doing in the stable? I told you that you were to return to  Father Columcil and remain with him. He cannot protect you unless you stay with him. Instead you go wandering off by yourself  and nearly get yourself caught by a dangerous rebel. Have you forgotten your oath to the Earl to follow my orders?"

Fiona returned his stare defiantly. "And have you forgotten your oath to attend to my information and advice? Why was there no guard in the stable? Surely it occurred to you that the rebel leader would try to get to his horse in order to escape, yet the horses were unguarded.  When I offered my services to assist with the questioning of those we have confined or to help with the search, you brushed me off and said I was no longer needed. Father Columcil was still occupied in caring for the baron. So I decided that I could at least care for our horses."

Jaxom gave her a haughty look. "I intended to post a guard in the stable as soon as we completed our search of the manor where it seemed most likely that he would be found. My men would have found him and most probably captured him. Instead he has escaped us again, temporarily. It was not even certain that he was still on the estate. I do not need you to tell me how to carry out my mission. I do need you to follow the orders I give you which are intended for your protection. Otherwise I will have to detail one of my men to follow you, and that will interfere with other duties I need them to perform. If you have additional information or suggestions, you need to bring them to me, and I will consider them. Do not go wandering off by yourself. You need to now join Father Columcil and remain with him."

Fiona gritted her teeth but saw no advantage in arguing with him at this time. She would figure out a way to pursue her own agenda in dealing with the rebels. "Very well," she said and dropping a curtsy, she left the room to rejoin Father Columcil in the baron's quarters.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on March 13, 2019, 10:04:12 PM

In the early morning hush the monk made his way out of the gates along with, and unnoticed by, the other pilgrims leaving this morning. He would ride with them, for a time, giving blessings along the way. Then he would depart their company and travel alone.

He knew he would have until at least the hour of Terce, the mid-morning prayers, before someone took note  But by then any trace of his passing would be long gone. The monk knew his craft and performed it well. And he mused he wouldn't need hours to reach a Portal that he could use and be half way across the Kingdom in a heartbeats time.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on March 15, 2019, 04:02:37 AM
((This post is moved to it's proper location.  After Jerusha's post.))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on March 15, 2019, 08:31:01 AM

Darcy Cameron watched as the last of the Earl of Marley's soldiers set off on the Cuilteine Road toward Droghera.  Tucked in among them was the traitorous Remy, riding with his hands tied to the pommel of a saddle on a horse led by one of the soldiers.  The additional horse Darcy had persuaded the earl to leave behind with them was tethered with Shadow and Sigrun.  The only excuse Darcy had been able to come up with for asking for the additional horse was the truth; neither Darcy or Aliset wanted to ride the spirited war horse.  Earl Brendan had wondered why Darcy didn't want to have a go at Shadow, and Darcy had replied the he preferred to make it to Baron Stuart's manor in one piece.  That had been the truth, too.

Aliset, who had spent a little time getting acquainted with the new horse, gave her a final pat on the shoulder and walked over to stand beside Darcy.  "We should be going soon; I got the impression Baron Iain would like us to be there when he arrives in the ruins."

"Aye, I thought the same."  For a moment, Darcy studied Aliset thoughtfully.  "I'm wondering if it's the right time to change back to your true form.  Lovely true form, if I may be so bold?"

"I've rarely known you not to be," Aliset returned and then smiled at him.

Darcy smiled back. "It occurs to me that Sir Washburn is expecting the two of us, not squire Robert.  And your presence will be a greater comfort to him than mine, I suspect.  It will prove to him that you are safe."

Aliset nodded.  "I agree; it will also be a relief to be able to stop pretending to be someone else."

"I assure you, I won't mind giving up a squire for a wife," Darcy said with mock solemnity. 

Aliset rolled her eyes.  "I'll stay in Robert's clothes for the journey, and definitely for the climb into the ruins."  She looked away toward the ruins, where one of the ladders had been left behind to climb the cliff. 

Darcy watched as she gathered her thoughts and focused on changing back to Aliset.  She etched a circle in the air in front of her face, and the transformation was complete.

"That's much better," Darcy said. He stepped toward her and quickly kissed the tip of her nose.  "That was for luck," he announced before she could protest.

Instead, she smiled at him, and his heart skipped a beat.  "We'd best get started," she said.

Darcy led the way as they started across the causeway to the ruins.  There was a hint of a path through the thick plant growth, but the way was far from clear.  Several times he looked back to make sure Aliset followed safely, until finally she admonished him to look to the path and not her.

"Don't worry, love," Darcy replied.  "If I can stand the deck in a raging sea, I'm certain I can manage to avoid a puddle or...BLOODY HELL!"  Darcy's right foot slipped sideways on a mossy root and landed in the adjacent water hole, sinking a good inch into the mud.

"Pride goeth...." Aliset began. 

Darcy glared at her and tried to pull his boot free, but couldn't find a solid grip on the mossy ground with his left foot get the leverage he needed.  Any weight he put on his right foot drove his boot deeper into the mud.

"Here," Aliset said, coming up alongside.  "Grab my shoulder."

Darcy placed his hand on her shoulder, and with a little more force than he intended, used her to support himself and lift his boot free.  It dislodged with a loud, watery pop and Aliset steadied him before he moved forward to solid ground.  Darcy muttered words she chose not to hear as he pulled up a good-sized handful of brush and used it to scrape the mud off his boot. Finally satisfied, he wiped his hands on his tunic.

"I don't fancy climbing a ladder with a mud slicked boot,"  Darcy said and paused, looking at her suspiciously. "You aren't going to let me live this down, are you?" he asked and then noted her disapproving look.

"Likely not," she replied, still looking at his now mud streaked tunic.  "You don't stay clean for long."

"It will all brush off when it dries," Darcy said.  "At least it's not blood this time.  Let's press on, and you might not want to follow in my footsteps."

"Have no fear of that, Darcy!"

They made it to the base of the cliff with only one or two minor missteps.  Darcy surveyed the cliff face and checked to make sure the ladder was steady.  "Do you want to go first?" he asked Aliset.

Aliset nodded, checked for herself that the ladder was steady and began to ascend.  Darcy soon followed, but he drew her attention when she heard his deep chuckle. 

Aliset paused in her climb. "Now what?" she asked, turning her head to look down at him.

He was looking up at her, merriment showing in his ice blue eyes.  "I'm thankful you are not wearing a gown; I would lose my grip for sure!"

"Darcy!  I'm going up; follow as best you can!"  She faced forward and climbed the rest of the way quickly.  Darcy was still smiling when he joined her at the top.

Together they looked across to the side entrance of the old cathedral.  A tall, dark haired man leaned against the doorway and straightened as they began to walk towards him.  Darcy immediately noticed the similarity to Lord Seisyll Arilan, who had helped him straighten out his provisioning before the departure from Rhemuth.  Nevertheless, he made sure his hand had an unobstructed path to the hilt of his sword.  The man noted it and nodded.

"Lord Sextus Arilan," he said with a slight bow to Aliset.  He gave no indication of finding it unusual for a woman to be wearing a man's clothing.

"Lord Darcy Cameron," Darcy replied.  "May I present my wife, Lady Aliset Cameron."  He realized as he said it how good it felt to finally be able to say it.  Aliset made a slightly awkward curtsey, and Sextus smiled. 

"Follow me," he said and led them into a roofless space surrounded by four strong walls.  Boulders were strewn across the sunlit grass.  "There is a tunnel through the wall over there," Sextus motioned toward one of the walls. "At the end we'll have to climb up a rock fall and through a hole in the roof. It's a bit of a strenuous climb, but my men and I have been up and down a few times safely enough. He looked at Aliset.  "Are you willing to attempt it?"

"I'll be fine," Aliset replied without hesitation.  "I tagged after my brothers often enough when we were young, and they never shied away from the occasional adventure.  I was never left behind."

Sextus nodded and crossed the open space to the tunnel entrance, Darcy and Aliset following.  Once inside the tunnel, he casually produced violet handfire to light their way.  Darcy caught Aliset's nod in his direction and produced a second sphere of silver handfire. 

He was not quite prepared for the twelve foot rock climb that awaited them at the end of the tunnel.  Sextus moved his handfire upwards to reveal a large hole in the ceiling. 

"I'll go first," he said.  "It's not as difficult as it looks; the next one requires more care."

"Next one?" Darcy asked, but received no answer. 

Sextus started up, familiar with the best route to take.  Aliset followed a short distance behind him. Darcy, unsure how to send his handfire higher to help light their climb, managed to at least make it hover over his head.  Aliset looked back once, amused at the shining blond beacon that was following her.  At the top, Sextus heaved himself through the hole and then extended an arm down to assist Aliset.  Darcy scrambled through on his own.

Bright daylight illuminated the scene before them, and Sextus and Darcy extinguished their handfire.  A short distance away, a mound of stone and rubble continued up the side of the bell tower. 

"The stones are not as solid here, so you will need to take extra care," Sextus announced as he moved toward the mound.  "Once at the top, there is a crevasse in the wall that will take us to the tower floor."  Without further comment, he started to climb.

"I'd feel better if we had a rope," Darcy said quietly to Aliset.  "But there's no help for it.  You go next; I'll be right behind you."

Aliset nodded, trying not to acknowledge the tightening she felt in her stomach.  Resolutely, she reached for the first stone.

Sextus was just about at the top when the stone under Aliset's foot slipped.  Aliset tightened her grip on her hand holds and felt Darcy's hand catch her foot and hold her steady.

"Don't fret," he said gently, his voice sounding calm and assured.  "You won't fall.  Take a deep breath."  Aliset did as she was bid, calming her momentary panic.  "Now, look to your next step.  When you see the one you want, move on up to it.  You will be fine."  Cautiously, Aliset left the safety of Darcy's hand and pushed herself up one more step.

Sextus, once he was sure Aliset was secure, climbed the short distance remaining to the top.  Once Aliset and Darcy were up beside him, he sat on the edge of the wall of the crevasse. "Lower yourself into the space," he instructed.  "There's loose gravel at the bottom, so brace yourselves against the walls to keep from slipping."  He lowered himself into the crevasse. 

Darcy kept a steadying hand at Aliset's side as she moved over to sit on the edge.  She took a deep breath and lowered herself in.  Darcy heard her feet slip as she landed.  He hesitated only long enough to look down, see that she had recovered and then dropped down beside her.

Emerging into the bell tower was a relief after the closeness of the crevasse, yet the relief was short-lived.  The sunlight did little to dispel the bleakness of the place where Washburn had been held captive.  The rumpled sleeping fur was especially disturbing.  Aliset, remembering the helplessness induced by the drug and knowing too well the bleak coldness in mind and body that Washburn had experienced, shivered as if she felt the cold again.

Darcy took her hand in his.  "I owe him much for saving you from this."  He squeezed her hand gently. "We won't fail him."

Aliset nodded, not quite able to speak. She hoped her husband was right.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on March 15, 2019, 02:00:40 PM
((Sorry about jumping ahead, I thought Jerusha's post was already here.  Crazy to find out that it had not been!  So I am moving my post to after Jerusha's. Dear Readers, please go back up a post and read about Aliset and Darcy making their way into the ruins.  I love that chapter. ))

Anticipation was at once both exhilarating and terrifying. This event, most coveted during the last tenuous days, was about to happen. The expectation of meeting friends, of rejoining a life of normalcy, of returning to the trust of fellowship put Sir Washburn in an eager mood, matching the exhilaration of a tournament game. This anticipation also terrified him. Would the people he cared for be disappointed in what they saw in him? Would they find him changed, damaged, not the same man they had welcomed into their comradery the weeks before?  He so wanted to recover his prior self. Yet he knew some things about his personality were indelibly changed. If he could mark all the changes and put them back the way they were, he would have. He knew that Iain, Roland and Maev meant well by him, and given time, he may have willingly submitted to their touch and their administrations. For a moment, just hours before, he had been willing to do so. That moment was torn away by Lady Sidana. He suspected that the child pretender had thrown her fit because she had not been the center of everyone's attention. Only now was Wash beginning to realize what that spoiled girl's tantrum had cost him. Had he submitted fully to Maev, he just might have found a foothold toward recovery. Could he submit so easily again to another's intrusion over his mind? Unwavering trust was a necessity, and that type of trust was hard to accomplish.

Iain was right, he had to trust someone. The trust he had with Iain was enough to allow the Baron of Isle's to take him through the portal to where his friends awaited. He only needed to lower his outer shields to make that portal jump. Still, he questioned whether he could submit even that much. For heaven's sake, he thought Iain saved my life, I owe him so much, I should trust him implicitly. Then it came to him, his fear had nothing to do with Iain, nor the baron's abilities. It had everything to do with the the terror of losing one's self and becoming a pawn of another's will. Feyd's words were indelibly embedded in his mind. "Oh, my dear Washburn. I am not selling you to the Grand Duke. I am merely delivering you to him. He already owns you." 

Washburn fought this proclamation, though even now it seemed inescapable. To himself, he exclaimed, I am a free man! No one owns me!

So why did Feyd's words hold him so firmly? Because Wash knew the man had done something to him, even if he could not pinpoint what it was. Something about him had changed, but did that change redefine who he was? What Washburn Morgan was and had always been, was a knight of the realm. Not a free man, but a man bound of his own free will to greater men giving them his loyalty and honor.  He owed his fealty to his lords, those being two men: his brother and his king. Just as he thought this, a series of memories flooded him with past episodes of abuse and harsh censure from those two very same men. Memories that wanted him to turn on them and become a real free man out from their control.

The center of Washburn's soul had to fight these memories. I am a chivalrous knight, vowed to live and to die in the pursuit of honor and justice. I am the protection for the people of this land from its enemy, as my father was before me. It matters not how harshly life tests me, my values can not be shaken!  As if to fight his conviction, past events of unforgiving treatment played out in his mind. Events that encouraged him to rebel, to throw honor and loyalty to the wind.

Forget what has been! he yelled at himself. I know right from wrong. Live by what is right! This seemed definitive, a straightforward path to walk upon. I swore vows and I promised to never break them. I will make it through this! Denied attention, his memories quieted in temporary defeat.

As the weight of doubt was lifted, Washburn opened his eyes to see where he was and what he was supposed to be doing. He was kneeling on the storeroom floor, looking across at the red glow of the Ward Major which covered the ground where the Portal lay. All this inner turmoil had been triggered by the fact that removing this ward was his first step to returning to the outside world. Was he ready?

Iain watched his hesitation with growing concern. "Sir Washburn, after two days, no one can discover this portal's signature; it is safe to remove the ward. As soon as you do so, we can use the Portal to get to Darcy." When Wash still hesitated, Iain added. "Is there something else worrying you, something you want to discuss?"

Yes, everything, Wash wanted to yell out. But instead he simply said, "No."

"Darcy and Aliset will be waiting for us. Trust me to get us there, I promise you a safe jump," Iain said this with encouragement as he stood at Washburn's side.

"I trust you to get us there," Washburn responded, wishing he could share his concerns.

Pushing aside his fears, Wash put his hands over the corner of the ward. He could feel the pulse of energy and knew the Ward Major had been made well, and that it had done its job for two days without failure. He tuned his mind to the energy and whispered the words recanting the power. The aura of red flickered and faded. In each of the four corners, two cubes reverted to their neutral state: one white and one black. Each set toppled over and settled on the dirt floor.

"Well done," Iain encouraged. Iain stepped to the center of the open space where the portal square could be felt. He reassured himself that the signature extending into the earth was still viable and ready to use. He then beckoned Lady Maev to guide his hostage to him. Washburn tried to look away, busying himself with the collecting of the four pairs of cubes, and securing the pouch that held them inside his tunic. As busy as he tried to be, he could not help but notice that Sidana was completely subdued. She went precisely where they guided her, she did not smile, nor frown, nor say a word against her treatment. Treatment that was gentle but wholly against her personal will. Wash tried very hard to not recall being Portaled through to Valerian's keep in this very same condition. To be handled like an object, a prize, and not a human being at all made his ability to trust all that much harder.

Maev and Sir Roland stepped back, holding each other's hand as they said their goodbyes. Feeling ashamed, Washburn crossed over to the couple and bent down on one knee. "Forgive me! I beg of you..." he stuttered wanting to say more. They both, especially Lady Maev, said they wished him a swift recovery, and he was welcome to return at any time. Wash thanked them, "Someday, I may return. Right now I need to know Lady Aliset is truly well and happy in her new marriage." He left them with a half smile, then stood and turned to face Iain. He was so much taller than the Baron of Isles, there was only one way to make this work. He turned his back to Iain, knelt on one knee besides the man's boot, then took in a deep breath and whispered, "Please take me to where Darcy and Aliset can be found."

With great effort he dropped his outer shields, only the image of his friends kept them from snapping back in place when Iain touched his forehead and encircled him with his silver aura.

Very quickly they were in the void; one second passed, then two. Then they were in the light with the radiant heat of the sun touching them as it bounced off the surrounding stone. As they recovered their balance, Iain's fingers continued to cover Washburn's eyes. "Be still," came Iain's quiet command. "You are safe. Keep your eyes closed just a moment more.  Aliset and Darcy are here. I am giving you over to them."

((01:50 <laurna>  Does Wash resist Iain's control with a successful save test?
01:50 <laurna> Resolute makes this an advantage roll
01:51 <laurna> !roll 3d6
01:51 <•derynibot> 3, 4, 5 == 12
01:51 <laurna> yes, Wash  resists the command to keep still.
01:52 <laurna> Iain makes a second attempt at control for his two turns. Does Wash still resist.
01:52 <laurna> !roll 3d6
01:52 <•derynibot> 6, 2, 6 == 14
01:52 <laurna> yes. Wash resists the command to keep his eyes closed. ))

"I am my own man," Wash responded quietly, denying the restraints that Iain tried to place upon him. "Why should I keep my eyes closed?" he asked as Iain's touch firmed to keep his hand over the knight's eyes.

A little irritated, Wash brushed Iain's hand aside. Directly before him was the one person he most wanted to see. Truly, here was Lady Aliset. "Sir Washburn, you're alive!" she called as she rushed forward and hugged him about the shoulders and head, keeping him in his kneeling position as she crushed him into the folds of the man's tunic she wore; fabric that held the scent of a woman. "We have been so worried about you," she cried not releasing him. "We were sent to rescue you, if we could. And we are here to help you now."

" I have been so worried about you," he returned, barely able to speak because she held him so tight. "I would have sold my soul to the devil to save you, if I could have," he whispered as his throat caught on sudden tears. Lady Aliset was safe! In his moment of need, his shields softened to her, he let her comfort him. In that moment, Iain used the distraction to join with Aliset and transfer his controls to the lady. Wash could have resisted, but he saw no reason to. He accepted it as a necessity. Truth was, he trusted Aliset with his life. Funny how it did not frighten him at all that she now held the controls of his body and mind.

When she released him, Darcy was standing there. "She was rescued from the library and did not fall into evil's hands. Be easy on that account." Darcy said as he clapped the shoulder of his friend. "I too am happy to see you." Darcy followed his words with a seaman's firm hug. Wash then knew their comradery had never been lost. He closed his eyes and felt the warmth of the two people before him, they surrounded him with protection. All was right! Tears blinded him as he finally stood. The sun gleamed through the tears, leaving his surroundings a blur. He could only see the shine on the stone; here were walls but no roof above him. As his eyes cleared, he realized they weren't the only ones here. Men from Rhemuth were here too. Some with swords, one was drawn. Wash recognized Lord Sextus, who gave him a greeting and a pat on the back. The other men wore Rhemuth livery, Haldane Knights. One he recognized from training who gave him a welcome nod. The one with the sword drawn, who looked menacing, he did not know.

"Is Columcil here?" Washburn asked, turning himself around to look for the priest. That is when he saw the sleeping fur on the ground. Recognition set in, he hadn't sensed it because the last time he was here, he had no ability to sense the stones. The warmth of the people had covered up what the coldness of this place had been. He was back in the ruins. Back in Feyd's hidden tower. How could they have known of this place? Feyd had assured him that no one knew of it, and there were protective wards around it. How could his friends have gotten into here? How indeed? Was this all a deception, to get him to open his mind? Like what he had just done?

"Oh, no! No! You liar, you do work for Master Feyd," he claimed as he spun to face Iain."You freed me from Valerian just so you could return me to Feyd. Is he here? Am I nothing but his pawn? I won't be that!" Washburn felt trapped with people all around him. He dropped down to one knee, his hands went flat on the portal stone, and he searched for a signature to let him escape. But the signature was silent to him; not letting him attune to it. Unnerved, he looked up at the low spot on the wall where he had jumped to before, and he considered what it would take to make that jump again.  But Sextus and one guard stood in his way for that; the other guard, the one with the sword, was coming around behind him. Threatening if he made any move. There was no escape.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on March 17, 2019, 02:25:12 AM
My thanks to all my fellow conspirators for their support of Columcil, and especially to Evie for taming those commas for me. The dice shall remain unthanked.

Columcil took a deep breath. Much though he admired Fiona, he was finding it a strain to have to constantly remind her to mind her behaviour towards Jaxom. Not least because although he was urging her to be properly submissive to his lordship's authority, especially given the promises they had all made before Earl Brendan, what he really wanted to say was "Ye gi'e it ta him, lass. And when ye've done, I'll clout his heid fer ye." It was at such times that the wild borderer warred fiercely with the priest in him, and this time he was none so sure that the priest would win out.

He tried to focus on the task before him. Never mind bluidy Jaxom, Baron Mac needed and deserved his attention. The man had done nothing to deserve what had been done to him, and both as a loyal subject of the King and a priest it was his duty to heal him.

(( Does Columcil heal the baron at once. Apparently not. 4+ 1+2 = 7 6c9qpn9892. Glad to see the Torenthi dice have not gone awol in my absence!!))

Despite these pious and dutiful reflections, he knew that he must calm himself before he would be in any fit state to attempt a healing, and the baron, thank God, was in no immediate danger. Once brought here back to his own bedchamber, he had been swathed in a brychan of soft wool, his wounds gently bathed and loosely dressed. He had even managed to swallow a few mouthfuls of a warm clear broth before his eyelids had closed in sleep. It would do no harm for him to rest a while before he was healed.

Columcil did not thereby excuse his own agitation, and he crossed himself and dropped to his knees, bowing his head in acknowledgement of his own unworthiness, and began the words of the morning office - words which should have come to him as naturally as breathing. Unfortunately, rather than focus his mind on worship, they only served to remind him of his grandfather and how unwontedly distressed he had been the last time they had spoken. Columcil pulled out the shiral from the neck of his cassock, that which had been given in love to both his grandfather and father and now to him, and held it tight, tears pricking at the back of his eyes. This really would not do.

He focused his thoughts on the sternest of his superiors at seminary and the penance that such failure in discipline would have earned him. Perhaps it was his imagination, but his knees twinged at the thought of the hours he had spent kneeling penitentially on the stone floor of the cold chapel, so pulling himself together mentally and spiritually,  he prayed the morning office. Much calmer, he remained kneeling for a while after the final versicle and response had been spoken, then crossed himself and got resolutely, if stiffly, to his feet. Time now to attend to his other duties.

He crossed to the baron's side and was relieved to note that the latter was breathing more easily. Columcil was tempted to reach out to the other's mind and send him into a deeper and more restful sleep, ((2d6 3+1 =4 1jt2l4r371)) but though it would have been a kindness, it was a kindness that they could not yet afford. There were things that only the baron could tell them; besides which, Columcil thought that he himself would not trust young Michael any further than he could throw him, and the sooner the baron could pick back up his authority, the better.

He was just reaching out his hand to gently remove the dressing from the wound, and preparing to enter into healing trance, when the door was pushed open and Fiona strode in, speaking in an agitated tone as she entered without looking at the bed or its occupant.

"Uncle Mac! I need your help"

Shocked back into normal consciousness (( 2nd attempt at healing 4+4+4 rk1gng5znp)), all Columcil's pent up emotions erupted into anger and, stepping hastily away from the baron's  side, he chivied Fiona before him into the far corner of the room before hissing angrily, "Has nae yin ne'er told ye ta show mair respect t'yer uncle and him a sick man? Me ma would'a skelped ye for less."

But the blood of the Isles was every bit as fierce as that of the Borders, and Fiona shot back,
"With respect, Father, I understood that you are a healer, and I thought to find him the hale man who has taught me to bring all my troubles to him." She too moderated the volume, if not the tone, of her voice.

"Aye, well. It's none sae easy as a' that. Though had ye no' cum in like the de'il hisself was after ye, I'd mebbes bin able fer ma duty."

But Columcil's shock was ebbing, and with it his anger. He gently put his hand on Fiona's shoulder and eased her down onto the wooden bench which lay along the wall.

"Och lassie. I'd nae call t'be sae fashed wi' ye. It's ma ain lack o' discipline that's hamperin' me. I ask yer pardon."

He tightened the grip of his hand for an instant. He intended to take it away but did not. Fiona had begun to tremble in reaction. The anger came back into Columcil's voice,

"Mayhap I was nae sae far wrong in speiring that the de'il was after ye. If tha' ...tha' has done aught ta ye, he'll ha'e me ta answer ta, Earl Brendan or no."

Columcil could not think of a bad enough word that would fittingly describe Jaxom, if what he feared was right. Sweet Holy Mother!

Fiona was quick to understand what was going through Columcil's mind, and knew that she must be as quick to disabuse him, though she was sure that he would not like what she had to say. Kindly he might be, meek and mild he was not.

She was right at that. Columcil listened in silence to her tale, making no sound, but withdrawing his hand from her shoulder, clasping both of his hands tightly together lest he give way to his impulse to shake her for her folly.

"I'll mebbes tek ma request fer yer pardon back. Ye ken wha' meks me sae sore angered?" His voice was rough with emotion and he neither wanted, nor waited for, an answer to his question. "'Tis tha' yon toom-heided gowk has the recht o' it. Ye canna gan traipsin' all o'er th'manor on yer ain. D'ye no ken wha' manner o'folk we're dealing wi'? And dinna be tellin' me tha' 'tis on account of ye're a lass. If ye were a braw laddie it wouldn'a mek no difference - it didn'a save puir Washburn - and if ye were a laddie, I'd be sore temptit ta tan yer arse fer ye."

Columcil drew breath. The lassie had courage all right, but the last thing they needed was to have regained one captive just  to lose another. And he doubted whether Fiona was worth enough, to any save her kin, to merit decent treatment should she be taken. But, aye, she had courage. She sat straight-backed, her gaze not quite meeting that of his flashing amber eyes, but she had her trembling in hand and there was no sign of tears.

There was a long silence and when Columcil spoke again it was much more gently.

"Well, nae harm's done, praise God. Sit ye there, and dinna move whiles I try ta heal yer uncle. An' I'd be gey thankful if ye'd pit up some prayers fer a cranky old priest."

As he spoke, he smiled at Fiona somewhat sheepishly and moved over to the baron, going to his knees at the bedside and once again extending his hands. (( using an XP this time. 2+5+1 =8 z2b9sl9pfh. Yay!!)) He could sense the healing warmth course through his patient's body, and after a moment, Baron Mac opened his eyes. There was no hint of pain or exhaustion in them, just a not unexpected confusion. ((hit points healed 4 7mxr584t7)).

The Baron's eyes moved in perplexity from the unknown priest kneeling by his bedside and came to rest on Fiona.

"Fiona lass, mebbe you'll tell me what's been going on?"

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on March 19, 2019, 11:55:40 AM
Fiona paced around her room in frustration. Her visit with Columcil had not gone as she had hoped. It was reassuring that he said that Uncle Mac was improving, albeit slowly. He had regained consciousness, although the events of the past few days were still fuzzy. And he still had a bad headache. She had thought to find Mac already healed and could not understand why not. Columcil spoke harshly, "Yon baron needed tae be stabilized physically first. He wasnae in any immediate danger o' his life. Warmin' and feedin' him woulda improved tha chances o' success."

However, Columcil had felt that he was stable enough to attempt to heal the head injury. While she was there, he had proceeded with the healing which, to her delight, had been successful. Uncle Mac was awake and his voice sounded stronger. He also told the priest that his headache was better. He was, however still hazy about what had happened and why he was in his bed with a strange priest at his side, a bandage around his head, and a lingering headache.

Fiona had given him an abbreviated story of what had occurred, explaining why she had run from the manor to find help and how she had met the Earl of Marley and some of the king's men at the Michaeline ruins.  The earl had sent men to secure the manor and capture any rebels found there. She also told him about Drago still being on the loose and the encounter in the stable.

Columcil had listened without comment to the account she was giving.  He noticed that the baron was  looking tired and told Fiona she needed to stop for now. "Yer uncle is nae all the way recovered. He needs tae rest." He turned to the baron, "ye need tae sleep a bit. Th lassie can come back in a bit and tell ya more." Columcil placed his hand over the baron's eyes and willed him to sleep. Mac's eyes closed and his breathing deepened as he relaxed into healing sleep. 

Columcil beckoned her back to the corner of the room. He had studied her face as he asked, "And how was it tha' ya were in th'stable when th man revealed hisel?" 

"It was not planned. Jaxom refused to listen to any of my suggestions and ordered me to stay with you, like a little girl who was being a nuisance! He was focusing his search entirely on the manor house. It wasn't even certain that the man was still here! If he intended escape he would need his mount, so I thought I would look to see if his horse was still in the stable.  I could do that while caring for our mounts, so I led them into the stable and, while feeding and watering them, I looked around.  I certainly didn't expect to actually find him!" Fiona looked at the priest defiantly.

"And did it no occur to ya what might happen if he was there? Ya went in alone, wi nae plan. What were ya thinkin, lass? Ya could hae made things much worse. Can ya no see that havin' a hostage would make his escape easier?."

Fiona had to admit that she had not thought things through. And now Jaxom threatened to detail one of his men to follow her everywhere she went if she could not be trusted to remain with Columcil as she had been instructed. The most galling part was that the priest agreed with him. He had managed to extract a promise from her that she would remain in the manor and would not venture out alone again. So here she was, pacing her room in frustration and unable to help with the mission. There must be something she could do that would not involve breaking her oath.

She sat down to think of some way she could help locate the rebel without putting herself at risk or breaking her oath not to leave the manor house unaccompanied. Was there someone she could trust to help her without giving her away?

She reviewed the men she knew were either in the house or about the grounds carrying out their duties. Though most of them were loyal enough and would follow any orders she gave, she did not feel that they were prepared to participate in a search for such a violent man. They were not trained in fighting or the use of weapons nor did they have access to such things.

She considered trying to reach Michael. She knew he said he regretted his decision to join the rebellion and wanted to redeem himself, both in his father's eyes and the king's. He might be willing to collaborate with her in finding Drago and turning him over to Lord Jaxom as a way to salvage his reputation. But she wasn't sure that she trusted him not to push her aside and take all the credit to himself if they were successful. The good Father did not trust him at all. Michael's  insistence that he had been wrong to try to join the rebellion and he wanted to right the wrong he had done might be true, or it might be just a ploy to get himself out of the jam he was in. No she could not trust him to help her find the rebel or to take actions that would lead to his capture.

Then she thought of Trevor. Trevor Fraser had been her uncle's head huntsman. He had retired several months ago to a cottage on the estate provided by the baron as a reward for many years of faithful service. Trevor was devoted to Uncle Mac, and he knew every inch of the estate like the back of his hand. He was also a fine tracker, having often hunted with the baron and his son.  He would be just the person to help her uncover the hiding place of the rebel if she could reach him and he would agree to help. She left her room and descended the stairs, looking for Gavin. She could send him to ask Trevor to meet her in the old dairy. She found him in the kitchen just finishing his lunch. She signaled him to follow her, telling the housekeeper that the priest had an errand he needed run. Gavin rose from the table and quickly followed her from the room. Once out in the hall, seeing no one near, she gave him his instructions to run to find Trevor and tell him to meet her as soon as possible. He was to return as soon as he had delivered her message to Trevor. Gavin bowed and quickly ran out.

Fiona returned to the baron's quarters to check on him. Lady Olivia had returned to her lord's side and was sitting on a bench near the baron's bed. Columcil was sitting quietly in the corner, his head resting on his arms. She thought he might be sleeping, but as soon as she came near, his eyes popped open. She put a finger to her lips asking for silence and gestured for him to follow her from the room. Once they were out in the hallway, she led him to her own quarters, where she asked for information about Mac's condition.

"Aye, lass, yer uncle is healed and wha he needs most is a bit o' sleep. He'll soon be gey fit to tak control o' his estate again." Columcil looked pleased at the progress of his patient.

Fiona stood and began to pace again. "But what about finding and capturing this rebel? What are we going to do to help?  Jaxom says that if I have ideas or information, I should bring it to him and he will consider it. You know very well he isn't about to listen to me. He is so arrogant and cocky, he is sure he knows everything and doesn't need any help. He wants all the credit for capturing a rebel leader, if we do find the man, for himself."

Columcil studied her as she paced. "An have ye any ideas or information tha might hep?

"I might but I'm not sharing it with him yet. He wouldn't listen to me anyway. Uncle Mac's retired head huntsman still lives in a cottage on the estate. He knows the land around the manor better than anyone and he is an excellent tracker. I'm sure he could help us locate this man."

Columcil looked at her and shook his head. "And if ye should find tha rebel, what da ye plan to do? We have nae weapons tae use tae subdue him. He's more likely tae overcome us. If he can tak ya hostage, he'll greatly increase his chances of escape. And ya will ha put yersel and any tryin' tae hep ya in great danger."

Fiona looked the priest in the eye without flinching. "I have no intention of trying to catch him; I just want to locate him. I will then inform that popinjay where the man he seeks can be found and leave the actual capture to him and his men.  But all will know that we are the ones who found him and made his capture possible. At least listen to what Trevor has to say when he arrives."

Columcil reluctantly agreed, thinking to himself that if he refused, Fiona would go anyway. At least he could restrain her from doing anything too risky, he hoped. And he agreed with her assessment of Jaxom and his likely reaction to her advice. It was all too likely that he would either not take it seriously or that he would try to take credit for any success himself.

After a period of time that seemed to drag on much too slowly, there was a quiet knock at her door. Fiona opened it to admit Gavin. "I found him and told him of your need of his services. He knew of the presence of rebels and the arrival of the king's men to capture them. He was not aware that the worst of them was still loose on the estate. He did ask about the baron and why these orders did not come from him. I told him of the baron's injury.  He said he is at your service and will meet you in the old dairy as you asked."

Fiona thanked Gavin and dismissed him back to his regular duties after instructing him to tell no one of his errand. After the boy had left, she turned to Columcil. "Are you at least willing to come with me and hear what he has to say?" Columcil nodded his agreement and followed her out of the room, along the corridor, and down the back stairs. They tiptoed past the kitchen and out the rear door leading to the byre and its attached dairy. Entering the dairy, they found a stocky, older man dressed in homespun waiting for them. He rose and bowed to Fiona who quickly introduced him to Columcil. "Gavin brought me your message my Lady. I am worried that such a violent man is on our land. In what way can I serve you in delivering him to the king's men? Are they not searching for him? What can we do that they cannot?"

Fiona replied. "The lord who is leading this mission is focusing his search on the manor house. He has not been able so far to extend the search to the grounds. There are many hiding places near but outside the house. The one sighting we had of him was in the stable where  I'm sure he intended to get to his horse. I thought, with your help, we could discover his location and direct the king's men to where he can be found and taken."

The man looked at Fiona and Columcil consideringly. "If he wants to escape, he will still need a horse. I noted that there is a guard in the stable but if he is able to surprise the soldier, he might be able to overcome him and take the horse. He also needs food and will want to stay close to a place where he can steal it.. So I don't think he will be hiding in the more distant parts of the estate. I think he will stay away from the village as there are too many people who would recognize him as a stranger.  There are other places near the house where he might hide until night when darkness would help conceal his movements and make it escape easier."

"Could we not explore these places to see if there are signs of him?" Fiona asked anxiously.

Columcil spoke up for the first time. "Ye ga'e yer word that ye wouldna leave the manor. Should ye nae inform Lord Jaxom of the hep Master Trevor could provide in the search?"

"No!" Fiona stamped her foot. "Lord Jaxom has made it very clear that he is not really interested in my ideas. I am willing to leave the capture of the rebel to him, but I want to find him first. I promised not to leave the manor unescorted but I didn't promise not to go out at all. If you and Trevor are with me, I should certainly be safe enough."

"Nae, lassie." I dinnae think it a good idea fer us tae be looking insted o' the soldiers. They have the trainin' an the weapons to deal wi such a dangerous man. I cannae think we should be takin' chances." Columcil had a stubborn look. Fiona did not think he would be easily persuaded.

Trevor spoke up. "Mebbe I could just have a look around to see if I see any signs of the man. If I go alone he will not be alarmed and we'll have a chance of cornering him."

Fiona was  not pleased, but she could see that Columcil was not leaning toward allowing her to continue to search for the rebel. She agreed to allowing Trevor to do a preliminary search for signs of the man they were seeking. With his knowledge of the grounds and his superior tracking skills, he certainly had the best chance of finding their quarry. As Trevor left the room, Fiona followed him out into the hall. She returned in a few minutes, but Columcil suspected she had given him some additional instructions of which the priest would not approve.

It was some time later when Trevor again presented himself to Fiona and Columcil. "I think I have a good idea of where he is holed up. I have seen definite signs of someone concealed in the small barn that we only use at the height of the harvest. Shall we go report my findings to the Lord leading the mission?"

"No!" Fiona was adamant. She turned  to Columcil with appeal in her eyes. "At least let me see for myself this hiding place that Trevor has found. I promise I will do nothing rash, and I will stay with you and follow your orders. I need to do this."

Columcil looked very doubtful. "I dinnae think ya should put yersel at risk by goin after him agin. If he gets his hands on ya ta use as a hostage he will nae treat ya kindly. I cannae see puttin' ya in danger. Ye thought of callin' on Trevor an it would be ta your credit if he is indeed found there.  We need tae tak our findin's tae Lord Jaxom? " 

Fiona reluctantly agreed to the priest's demands, and they went to seek out Lord Jaxom. They found him in the solar with two of his men. He was giving instructions for extending the search. He turned as they entered and addressed Father Columcil. "What can I do for you, Father?"

Columcil replied, "Ya can listen tae what the lassie has tae tell ya. She had tha idea of askin' the baron's former  head huntsman to scout around tha grounds lookin fer signs o' that rebel. An he has information fer ya."

Jaxom turned to Fiona, "And what has your man found?"

Fiona stood rigidly, "Master Trevor found signs indicating where the man, Drago, is hiding. If you move quickly you will be able to capture him. He will be able to provide much information about the rebellion and its plans."

"Ya need tae listen tae the lassie." Columcil intervened. "Remember yer promise tae the Earl tae listen tae the information she has for ya. If ya miss tha chance tae catch him by not listenin' an he escapes tae return tae the rebels, the Earl will be most displeased. Master Trevor has found signs tae lead ya tae him. Ya need tae tek heed."

Jaxom turned his head to study the stocky man dressed in homespun who stood slightly behind Fiona. "You are one of the baron's retainers?

The man inclined his head as Fiona addressed Jaxom. "This is Master Trevor Fraser, head huntsman to the baron until his retirement several months ago. He knows this estate like the back of his hand. I thought if the man is hiding in the grounds near the house, Trevor might be able to find some signs of it. And he did!"

Jaxom spoke to Trevor. "You have information for me about where the rebel may be found?"

"I do, my Lord. Lady Fiona asked me to search the grounds around the house for any signs that the man was hiding somewhere nearby and try to determine his location. I have found signs that he is concealed in the small barn. It's a good hiding place because it is a short distance from the manor but mostly hidden in a copse of trees. And it is only used at the height of  the harvest so it is not in use now and no one would have cause to go there.  It is close enough to the manor kitchen that he would be able to steal food as needed and to sneak into the stable to get to his horse." Trevor paused, looking at the young lord.

Jaxom studied the three people standing before him and addressed Trevor. "Can you lead my men to the place, hopefully without being seen?"

Trevor bowed, "Yes, my lord".

Jaxom gave instructions to the two men to take their weapons and follow Trevor to the rebel's hiding place. "If he is indeed there, you need to capture and bind him and bring him to me" Turning toward Fiona and Columcil, he spoke. "I need the two of you to remain together in the house. I want no chance that he can get to you or gain a hostage by taking you"

Fiona and Columcil followed Jaxom's men down to the kitchen where the two manor dogs greeted them enthusiastically, wanting to go out with them. Fiona held the dogs while the men exited the door, following Trevor. They remained there with Jaxom, waiting to hear the outcome of the effort to corner the rebel leader.

They heard the men returning. Lord Jaxom also heard them and returned to the kitchen. Fiona approached them anxiously. "Where is he? Did you  find him?"

The men bowed to Lord Jaxom, the taller of the two reporting,  "He managed to slip out of a small door in a back corner of the barn. We caught a glimpse of him as he ran through the thick bushes. Should we continue the pursuit? I am sure we will have him in a short time." Jaxom told them to continue pursuit, turned on his heel and stalked back toward the solar.

Save test for Drago. Does he escape?
!Roll 2d6.
Derynibot  4,5==9
Yes he does. Oh well. Further pursuit indicated.

Fiona turned to Columcil . "Let us return to my quarters. We need to talk." Once they were back in her room, she turned to Columcil. "Well, I tried it your way and that didn't work. I am going back to my way to see if I can at last see him captured before he does more harm.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on March 21, 2019, 08:56:32 AM
"Hold! There is no need for that!" Darcy Cameron commanded and waved back the guard with the drawn sword.  Iain Cameron looked a bit startled but said nothing, watching both his brother and Washburn warily.

"Wait, Sir Washburn," Darcy said in a more calming tone, both hands held away from the hilts of his sword and daggers.  "On my honour, you are not a prisoner here. You know the truth of my words.  These ruins are not as impregnable as your captor led you to believe. Aliset and I climbed the same path that the townspeople followed when they tried to rescue you."

Washburn looked at Darcy suspiciously, wanting to believe him, but belief was warring with the memories of his torment in this place.

"It's true, Wash," Aliset added.  "Someone did see you when you were standing on that wall behind you.  A young man reported it, and a small band of men volunteered to try to rescue you."  She touched his shoulder gently, and Washburn rose to stand cautiously beside her.

"They very nearly managed it," Darcy continued.  "Feyd's wards delayed them long enough that he got you away.  As it was, only two of the fourteen of them managed to make it this far, but they did make it."

Washburn turned an accusing look toward Iain. "How did you discover this Portal's signature?  Feyd had it warded just as I warded yours, plus the Portal was trapped!  How did you get us here, if you are not working with Feyd?"

Lord Sextus responded before Iain had a chance to reply.   "My nephew Jamyl discovered the signature in the brief moment when Feyd kicked the ward cubes away.  Archbishop McLain tried to break the trap, but was injured in the attempt.  It was your lady mother who broke the trap, and before Seisyll could stop her, she made the jump here. She also just missed you, but the two men she surprised said they were visited by a veritable banshee."  Sextus managed a wry smile.

Washburn stared at Sextus, his altered memories of his mother fighting with the truth that she had come to rescue him.  Banshee.  That had been his father's pet name for his beloved wife; Washburn dimly remembered it making her laugh.

"Archbishop Duncan has recovered?" Washburn asked.

"Yes," Sextus replied.  "Seisyll delayed his jump to the ruins long enough to see him safely in the care of a Healer."

Washburn turned his gaze back to Iain.  "Why bring me back to this cursed place?"

"Dowager Duchess Richenda recovered Feyd's ward cubes," Iain answered.  "It was decided to send them back north to Darcy in the hope that Aliset could use them to scry for Feyd's whereabouts and through him locate you.  Unfortunately, you were at the fortress by then, and Feyd was long gone."

Washburn turned a panicked look toward Aliset.  "Do you still have Feyd's ward cubes?  Get rid of them!  It is not safe to have them!"

"And that is why we were sent here to retrieve them from her," Iain countered.  "I'm taking them with me when I leave with our true prisoner."  He nodded in the direction of the silent Sidana, standing like a statue but listening to all that was said.

"Feyd could return at any moment." Washburn looked around the ruins, his body tense with apprehension.

"The Portal has been trapped again so he cannot use it.  Only someone with Morgan or Arilan blood can use it now, and the signature has been obscured.  You were my passport here; Sextus will be my passport when I leave.  And that must be soon."

"Wash,"  Aliset said gently.  "I know what I endured from the drugs; I would never allow  anyone to do that to you again and hold you captive against your will.  You have my word, based on the friendship you shared with Alister and now with me."

Washburn took a deep breath.  Aliset's words were true; all of what had been said was true.  Why was it still so difficult for him to trust them, including Darcy and Aliset, his truest friends?  "I want to be away from here as soon as possible," he finally said and relaxed his tense stance a bit.

"Agreed," Iain said and nodded.  "Lady Aliset, you have the ward cubes?"

"Yes, she does," Darcy answered before Aliset could speak and reached his hand across for her to give him the pouch with the ward cubes.

Iain stepped forward to take the pouch.  "So this is your Aliset," he said and, after he took the pouch from Darcy and secured it to his belt, gave her a slight bow.

"She is not my Aliset, but she is the love of my life and now my wife."

Aliset smiled; reticence was not a part of Darcy's nature! She studied both of them and noted that Darcy was just a tad taller and broader of shoulder than his brother, but otherwise they were nearly identical.  Darcy was a bit rumpled after the climb up to the ruins, with several stray blond hairs escaping from his braid, while his brother, though dressed in equally serviceable clothing, was more carefully groomed.  Iain possessed an air of calm assurance that may have come partly from rank or greater years, but Darcy faced him squarely with no thought for propriety.

Aliset watched as Darcy pushed the strands of pale hair back from his face.  There was no sudden rushing into a brotherly embrace; they had been apart for too long.  One had returned from the dead, and the other had been completely unknown until Aliset had accidently restored her husband's memories.   Aliset reflected that even though she and Alister had drifted apart as their lives followed different paths, they still shared the memories of growing up together and a special closeness.  Would Darcy and Iain ever be able to recover the brief memories they had shared?  Would they now be willing to share some part of their lives?

Iain looked thoughtfully at his brother.  "There is something I should do before I leave."  He turned to Aliset.  "Would you please stand beside Darcy and join hands?"

Darcy gave Iain a questioning look as Aliset moved closer and took his hand.

Iain turned to Sextus and Washburn.  "Will you both stand witness to this?"  Both men nodded.  Iain turned back to Darcy and Aliset and took their hands in both of his.

"I, Iain Reyvik, Baron o' Isles, acknowledge you, Aliset...."  He paused and looked at Darcy.  "She's Aliset...?"

Darcy gave him a blank look.  "Aye, she's Aliset."  Sudden realization struck him and he asked her, "What is your middle name, love?  Isles is funny that way."

"Yvaine," she replied.  "Aliset Yvaine."

"Aliset Yvaine," Darcy repeated, as if making it official.

Iain gave Aliset an amused look.  "He always has to have the last word."

"I have noticed that," Aliset replied. Iain looked up and noticed a brief grin on Washburn's face.

"Let's try this again.  I, Iain Reyvik, Baron o' Isles, acknowledge Aliset Yvaine as the lawful wife of Darcy Solveig and rightful Heiress d' Isles."  Iain released their hands and then kissed Aliset on each cheek. 

"Hear hear!" Washburn said.

"Now I must go," Iain said and started to draw away.  Darcy reached toward him and grasped his elbow.  Iain followed suit, and for a moment they stood united as brothers.  Iain reached up with his other hand and gripped Darcy's shoulder for a moment and then withdrew.  "Lord Sextus, are you ready?"

Sextus nodded and moved toward the Portal.  Iain retrieved Sidana from where she stood, taking her gently by the arm and moving her to the Portal stone.

"Wait, Sir Iain," Washburn said.  The sight of the complacent captive disturbed him, bringing back memories of being helpless in the same state himself. "You won't keep her like this, will you?"

Iain shook his head.  "No, I will not.  Once she is safely delivered, these controls will be removed.  On my word, I will do my best to ensure she is well treated; she will not need to endure this longer than absolutely necessary."

Iain shifted the energies, and they were gone.

For a moment, there was silence.  Darcy looked at the empty stone and said, "There was more I should have said to him, but I did not."

"Perhaps this was not the right place," Aliset replied, laying a hand on his arm.  "There will be another time."

"Aye.  Maybe in some place that serves an excellent tankard of ale."  He sighed.

"Actually, Sir Iain is fond of a good port," Washburn interjected.  "But now, let us get away from here."

"He would be," Darcy said with a snort and turned toward the crevasse.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on March 26, 2019, 08:05:48 AM
Fiona and Columcil talked over what they might do to finally see the rebel leader caught. Jaxom was little help because he continued to fail to take Fiona's ideas or suggestions seriously. Trevor had gone with the two soldiers to continue the search of the grounds near the manor. There were so many possibilities. The man could have doubled back to the stable, thinking that since it had already been searched, it would not be searched again. Only one soldier was on duty in the stable, and it would be easy to slip past him and hide there.  He could have chosen to hide in the main barn which was large, had many dark corners, and was filled with crops that had recently been harvested and were drying. He even could have doubled back to the manor and hidden himself in a distant part of the building. They were guessing as to his next move, but it was important to find him as soon as possible. This was made more difficult by the lack of cooperation from Jaxom and the lack of men to participate in the search.

Columcil called a break in their deliberations saying he needed to go check on the baron. It was getting late in the afternoon, and Mac should be waking up. Columcil would reevaluate his head injury to be sure he continued to improve and that there were no signs of more swelling or pressure inside his head. He would also need to be fed and to have water. They would want to assess his strength and his ability to get up and move around and resume control of his estate.

"While you tend to Mac, I will go get some food and drink both for him and for us. I am quite hungry. I am sure you would also appreciate some refreshments." Fiona turned toward the door of her chamber.

"Wait a bit, Lassie." Columcil placed a hand on her arm. "Come wi me tae see how he is. Then we can decide wha's best to do for him."

Fiona reluctantly agreed, and together they entered the baron's room. His eyes were open and his voice was stronger as he asked what time it was and what had been happening while he slept. Columcil examined his head where the laceration had been and found it fully healed. He pressed gently on the areas of the skull under and around the injury and found it to be intact with no evidence of a break. The baron assured the priest that his headache was completely gone and he felt much better. A gentle Deryni probe revealed no swelling or pressure. Mac was anxious to get up and to resume control of his manor.

The good father restrained him. "Ya need tae hae some food an' water tae build up yer strength. Yer still nae fully recovered from yer injury."

The baron insisted he wanted to get up so Columcil and Lady Olivia assisted him to sit up, then stand and move slowly to a chair. He was weak but reasonably steady on his feet, able to walk with assistance.

"I am going to the kitchen to find some food and drink for you Uncle, as well as some food for us. I will find Gavin and have him help me carry the trays upstairs. I don't think you are ready to try the stairs yet." Fiona again started towards the door.
"Wait, Lassie. I need tae come wi ya." said Columcil. "Gie me a minute tae finish wi yer uncle, then we'll go down tae the kitchen and see wha is there. We still dinnae know where that outlaw is, and I dinnae want ya goin alone, een inside."

Fiona was tapping her foot impatiently, "I am going ahead and you follow as soon as you can. I don't see any reason for delay. I'm not leaving the house, and there are men inside so help is near if I should need it."  She left the room, leaving the door partly open.

Columcil sighed as he had the baron flex his arms and legs and tested his strength. He also checked for any other lingering injuries due to his ordeal. "Tha's one stubborn lassie."

"That she is." replied the baron with a rueful smile.

Fiona descended the stairs toward the back  of the house where the kitchen and storerooms lay. Past the kitchen down a short hallway lay the storeroom where the captured rebels had first been confined. They had been moved to another, little-used room near the estate office where one of Jaxom's men stood guard.  As Fiona came down  the last few steps, she saw the back of a man going toward the storeroom. She started to call to him, thinking it was one of the servants. But she hesitated. Somehow, the figure she had glimpsed did not move like a servant carrying out his duties. There was something furtive about his movements that roused her suspicions. She passed the kitchen door and moved quietly down the hallway toward the storeroom.

Columcil, satisfied that the baron was strong enough to be left while they secured food and drink for him, exited the room after Fiona, telling the baron they would return as soon as they had fixed a tray for him. Columcil was descending the steps when he heard a scuffle and a sudden, sharp cry that was cut off.

As Fiona neared the storeroom, her attention on the door, an arm reached out from a small alcove and seized her, pulling her toward the dark form that stood there. It was him, the rebel! Before she could react, he had turned her around and pulled her against his chest with his arm across her pinning both her arms against her body. She started to resist but a rough voice rasped in her ear; "If you want to live, stop resisting and do as I tell you." She felt the cold touch of steel against her throat. He began to move her toward the kitchen and the door to the outside.

That sharp cry caused Columcil to stop about two thirds of the way down the stairs. From where he stood, he could see the man holding Fiona in front of him with the knife at her throat, forcing her step by step toward the door. He could not reach her without attracting the attention of the man holding her. He heard someone running down the corridor toward the kitchen area. Jaxom appeared with sword drawn.

"Stand back. Don't come any nearer or I will slit her throat!" the rebel snarled. "Put away your sword if you want her back alive."

Jaxom sheathed his sword and remained still, watching the rebel as he forced Fiona toward the door and escape. Columcil, still on the stairs, had a sudden thought. Where were the dogs? They hadn't barked or sounded an alarm when the man seized Fiona. Were they near enough that he could summon them? He hoped they had not been shut away. He stood quietly and reached out with his mind to find the dogs.  He did not sense them. Maybe they were too far away. He edged back up the stairs, careful not to attract Drago's attention. He reached the front stairs and hurried toward the solar.

((Does Coluncil reach the dogs?
! roll 2d6
Derynibot 4,3==7. Darn dice)).

Columcil paused near the solar and reached out again without success

((!roll 2d6
Derynibot  3,1==4  Must be Torenthi dice.))

As Columcil circled silently through the main hall back toward the kitchen to try another attack, he reached out again to try to touch the minds of the dogs. He sensed them quite near. He reached into their minds and summoned them.

Has he found the dogs?  Adding 3 XP to increase chance of success Success on 4,5,or 6.
!roll 2d6
Derynibot 1,4==5 Success at last

He heard scratching and whining behind a closed door just ahead. When he opened the door, the dogs rushed out. He grabbed them quickly, then used his rapport to tell them to attack Drago. The dogs ran silently ahead of the priest toward their target. Drago was focused on Jaxom and did not see them until they attacked, one from the rear, pulling him backward, while the other grabbed the hand holding the knife. Darago staggered backward as the first dog snapped and pulled at him. He dropped the knife as he tried to free his arm which the dog had clamped in his teeth.

As Drago fell back under the dogs' attack, Fiona twisted away from him, staggering toward Jaxom who had drawn his sword and was rushing toward them. Columcil reached them, caught her and gathered her in his arms while Jaxom pointed his sword tip at the rebel's throat. "Call off the dogs!"  The priest recalled the dogs to his side.

((Save test for Fiona. Does she escape Drago?
!roll 3d6
Derynibot 1,6,2==9 Success!))

Gavin had followed Jaxom from the solar and had been watching the confrontation from the corridor. "Go find the two men I sent out with Master Trevor and tell them to return here immediately. Our quarry is found," Jaxom ordered him.

"Yes, my Lord." Gavin ran out the door to find the soldiers.

Columcil felt Fiona trembling in his arms.  "Dinnae fash yersel, Lassie. Yer safe now. Jaxom is holding him at swordpoint. As soon as Gavin returns wi ta soldiers, he will be bound and confined. He cannae hurt ya now."

Fiona's voice shook a little as she replied. " Father, I'm sorry I didn't listen to you. I was in a hurry, and I never thought he would be in the house. Even when I followed the figure I saw to the storeroom, I didn't really think it could be him. Why would he come back to the house? Wouldn't that increase his chance of being caught?"

"Aye, it would but he was hungry an' needed food. Jaxom dinnae have tha many men an they were spread out guardin' tha rebels already caught an searchin' fer him outside. Ta house is big wi lots o' empty rooms an I'm sure he thought he could get away wi it. An he needed food an he could steal it here." Columcil explained.

They heard rapid steps approaching and the door opened to admit Jaxom's two men and Gavin. Trevor trailed behind them.  One soldier stood guard over Drago while the other wrapped a rough bandage around his bitten hand, then bound him.. They raised him roughly from the floor and, at Jaxom's direction, marched him toward the locked room where the others were being held. Jaxom sheathed his sword and approached Fiona and Columcil. "Are you alright, milady? He didn't injure you did he?"

Fiona replied, shaking her head. "I am not injured. I am grateful to you and Father Columcil for coming so quickly to my rescue. I don't know what he would have done to me if he did manage to escape, taking me with him."

Columcil directed her back toward the stairs. "We should return ta the baron an let him know tha yer safe. He will have heard tha fight an will be worried about ya. He also needs tae know tha tae rebel was caught an his manor is now secure."  Jaxom agreed. Columcil and Fiona climbed the stairs and returned to the baron.

The dogs followed the captured rebel and the soldiers to where he was to be confined with the others. All of the rebels at the manor were now captured and under control.. While Fiona reassured the baron as to her welfare and described the capture of the final rebel, Columcil returned to the kitchen and, with Gavin's help, assembled food and drink for both the baron and themselves. Before taking it to the baron's room, he went to the area where the captured rebels were being held and placed the two dogs on guard, telling them to stay and to obey commands from the soldiers. The soldiers guarding the door grinned, a little extra help in holding these rough and dangerous men was very welcome.

After eating, Columcil left Fiona with the baron and Lady Olivia and sought out Jaxom, who had returned to the solar. He had completed his interrogation of Maclin, the steward, and of Michael. Drago, Maclin and the other rebels would be kept locked up until Jaxom received orders as to their disposition. He still needed to question Drago. But he was not certain what should be done with Lord Michael, who insisted that he regretted his intention to join the rebels now that he had seen what kind of men they were. He would do anything required of him that would help him clear his name. He wished to renew his fealty to the king and to make his peace with his father.

Columcil proposed that he contact Earl Brendan to advise him that the manor was now secure and to request orders concerning what should now be done with the rebels who had been captured. He was sure that the Earl would wish to question Drago himself. He would also be the best person to determine what should be done with Lord Michael. The problem was that Lord Jaxom had a limited number of men and would need all of them to convey the prisoners to Earl Brendan. That would mean he could leave no soldiers to ensure that the manor remained secure. The priest did not know how the Earl would decide to handle that. Perhaps, Darcy and Aliset could join him here to help the baron until other arrangements could be made. Jaxom requested that Columcil contact the Earl as soon as he could to secure orders as to their next moves.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on March 27, 2019, 01:03:28 PM
Iain disappeared, as did Sidana, and Sextus. The two Haldane lancers stood opposite the portal, their interested gaze at the three who stayed behind, unwavering. Then Sextus was standing there beckoning the two guards to join him on the portal stone. In a blink he and the two red tunics with swords were gone. Anxious to leave too, Wash stepped up to the portal. To his dismay, Darcy and Aliset turned their backs to him and walked away. Wash looked around him. Other than some debris left from the stay here, he saw nothing of importance that needed to be collected.

"I would really like to be gone from this place," he said trying to hide his growing tension.

"We do, too," Darcy said as he waved Washburn to follow.

Hesitantly, Wash stepped off the Portal.  Where Darcy was heading was nothing but solid stone. "I don't understand...." As he followed, the Lady Aliset stepped up to the tower wall, and then disappeared within it. "What?"

Darcy looked from Aliset to Wash trying to understand the knight's confusion. "This is how we got in here and this is how we shall get out. It is a bit of a climb, but it is quite doable." Again he waved Wash to follow him. "My lady, let me climb up first," he was saying as he rushed forward... into the stone.  "I can pull you up to the lip of the crevasse," came his muffled voice behind the stone. Wash raced forward; he spread his hands across the stone face. His right hand hit firm against the solid tower wall.

((1:44 <laurna> Rolling disadvantage Save Test- can Washburn walk through the veiling over the opening. Even though Wash has Resolute trait, this save test is disadvantage because the veil has been spell cast by Feyd, exclusively to keep Wash from seeing through it. No one else can even detect that the veil is there.
21:44 <laurna> !roll 1d6
21:44 <•derynibot> 2 == 2
21:45 <laurna> Darn it,  poor Wash))

Washburn's left hand pressed against more stone in exactly the place Darcy had disappeared. Wash pushed both hands against the grey wall. It did not budge. He slammed his fist against it. "Don't leave me here!" He beseeched. Panic was starting to catch in his throat. He squelched it and brought his mind down to focus. Magic had to be at play, could he sense it?

((21:51 <laurna> Can Wash at least tell if it is magic before him? disadvantage save test.
21:51 <laurna> !roll 1d6
21:51 <•derynibot> 1 == 1
21:51 <laurna> Nope))

Nothing out of the ordinary. The wall was solid. There was no escape from here! He had not seen a hole in the wall the first time he was here and he did not see one now. Because it didn't exist. This was all Feyd's doing. A trickster playing his tricks. His friends were nothing but illusion to let Lord Iain feel confident that he could leave  Morgan here, and now his supposed friends just up and disappeared. "Feyd!" Wash yelled, "Come out and show yourself!" The knight's hand was on the hilt of his sword. He was drawing the blade when a hand reached out from within the wall and firmed in a grip over his wrist. He was readying to punch whoever belonged to that hand, when the face of Lady Aliset appeared half in the wall.

"Calm," commanded her feminine voice. "It is I, Aliset. We won't leave you behind." She stepped out of the stone, keeping one hand on his wrist and then touched his forehead with her off-hand.

Fearing that this was Feyd in disguise, Wash thought to strengthen his shields to resist, but his need for this person to really be Aliset overrode his resistances. If this was really Feyd and not Aliset, he was doomed no matter what he did; if that were the case there was nothing left to save him. In his new state of calm, elicited by the command Aliset gave, Wash could think of only one save. His hand reached to brush the top of the girl's head.

She had no notion of what he could do. But in that second, she had sent a wave of images of their week long escape from Meara. Images from Aliset's point of view, including moments that he had only glimpsed from afar. Feyd could not have extrapolated those images from his own experience. This was the real lady, the real Aliset.  Both his hands dropped to his sides, even as his shields eased to let more of her images pass to him.  Truly calmed by more than just her command, he asked, "How do I get out of here?"

Keeping her Rapport with him, Aliset looked back at the break in the tower wall and the crevasse beyond it. Her own eyes saw Darcy standing but a step away, his hand re-sheathing his sword. He was her protector, and she knew that, even against Wash, he would do what was necessary to do just that; protect her. As soon as the sword was away, she shifted her gaze to see what Washburn saw. He saw only stone, nothing of Darcy standing there. Surrounding him with her powers, as she would to take another through a portal, she drew him to her and showed him what she saw. "Let us step through together," she answered him.

The space was tight, they each brushed shoulders against the stone, but in three steps they were through and Darcy was giving one hand to Aliset and one hand to pat Wash on the shoulder. "I swear, I would not leave a member of my crew behind," the seaman said.

Wash had to laugh to release his tension. "I am a member of your crew, now?" he asked. It didn't matter that the crevasse they stood within was high and narrow. It wasn't the bell tower and that was all that counted.

"Until I say otherwise, you are my boatswain, first mate."

Washburn relaxed even further. Feyd would have never thought of nautical terms. "That would make you the Captain, then?" the knight asked this with tilt of his head and a half smile.

"Aye!" Darcy nodded, liking the idea. "Captain Darcy Cameron. I always wanted that title. Not quite the way I had planned on getting it, mind you."

Darcy then turned to the crevasse wall. He climbed up the shortest side of it, straddle  the top edge, a leg on each side, then reached down for Aliset. Wash put his hands together so she could step there and rise up to her husband's grasp. When she was seated on Darcy's far side, Wash found his own hand holds and climbed upward; friendly hands pulled him up the last bit of the way.

He looked around at the sight of the ruins, remembering the other time he had stood this high up. It was a spectacular view of the lake and the hills, and the back of the convent walls of St Brigid's far above them. "We are closer than I imagined to the nuns. I heard them singing their offices one night. I thought if only I could yell out they would find me. But alas..." Washburn shook out of his momentary melancholy. This time he was free. Really and truly free. "Point me the way," he said and before Darcy could scramble to his feet, the freed knight was climbing down the tumbled stone toward the ruins' floor.

"This way," Darcy yelled correcting the knight's trajectory. In record time the three were through the ruins and looking at the ladder atop the cliff.

"Do we have horses?" Washburn asked. He looked across the causeway and at the road skirting the lake.

"Aye, we do. We even have your Shadow Dancer with us. Thought you would like that."

"That is not my horse," Washburn said curtly. "That is the duke's horse, lent to me to win prizes. How did you ever pry that horse out of my brother's hands."

"What are you talking about? " Darcy asked.

"He is your pride and joy," Aliset said at the same time.

The couple looked at Wash concerned.  How should they approach this twisted memory?

"Washburn, he is yours. You have been riding him for the full length of time that we have known each other," Darcy was explaining.

Aliset added, "Shadow takes only commands from you. Well, Father Columcil has been able to ride him to get your steed to here; with the aid of a little Deryni Horse Whispering, I should add. But no one else has dared to climb on that warhorse's back."

"Are you sure? Because I see someone else climbing on his back at this very moment."

All three turned and squinted their eyes at the distant road. Two horses were seen to be tied to a tree, but the third horse, a huge black stallion, was being lead away from the other two, toward a pair of riders up the road. As they watched, the man leading the destrier made a jump to scramble up into the saddle.

"Damn! Horse thieves!" Darcy yelled, jumping to the ladder, his feet around the outer poles to slide down fast like a seaman in the rigging. Aliset was quick to climb down after her husband. But she had to use each rung of the ladder. Washburn watched from the cliff side. If he had had a bow and arrow, he thought he could just hit the target from this distance. But he did not. Instinct overran his memories. Putting fingers to the side of his mouth he blew a shrill whistle.

The great warhorse bobbed his head up and down at the recognition of the sound. Wash focused on that head and the shine of the black's eyes that he knew so well and felt rather than saw. Rear! he commanded Toss that horse thief on the ground and kick him clear of you.

The powerful black R'Kassi stallion gave a vicious warhorse scream. He reared up on his hind legs giving a great shake of his head and mane. Whatever grip the thief had on saddle and mane was lost in an instant.  He fell past the warhorse's rump and onto the ground. As the stallion came down, the man was scrambling to get clear of the maddened beast. Kick! Wash commanded. Two back hooves launched back and out. For all his efforts to evade, the thief received a glancing blow to his side.  The pain of it knocked him to the ground.

Guard! Wash commanded of his war mate. Shadow was masterfully trained; he knew his rider and his rider's commands proving their years of teamsmanship. The destrier spun and pranced before the fallen man. The two distant riders came near, but the great black horse nickered, tossed his head up and down, and viciously bit at the other horses. They would have to get past the black if they wanted to try for the other two horses tied to the tree. Neither seemed willing to risk that.  The man on the ground scooted his body away. Barely able to manage to stand, he raised up his hands for his buddy to reach down and lift him up. Enraged to have the other horse so near, Shadow charged toward them.

Wash gave a double whistle and a mental Whoa!, bring Shadow down from his gallop to a quick halt. A second single whistle and the black turned on his hind legs and trotted back to the edge of the verdant causeway. He tossed his head and whinnied at Wash still standing on the ruins cliff-side. Satisfied, Wash gave a triumphant smile, "That's my boy" he said both aloud and in mind-speech to his companion. 

The two men had rescued their hurt companion and they charged away from the ruins. Darcy was most the way across the land bridge. The lady was seen at the halfway point jumping the vines like a slender gazelle. Washburn climbed down the ladder, and strode through the wild growth like a free man; he felt renewed. When he reached the far side, Shadow Dancer nudged his shoulder and bent his head down to meet his rider eye to eye: they were a well worked team. Wash scratched the eye ridge and sunk his face into the black's neck and mane. Nothing ever felt so much like freedom, than his horse did. 
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on April 02, 2019, 11:55:41 AM
Aliset Cameron looked at the scene before her with a welcome sense of relief.  Washburn was caressing the big black warhorse as if greeting his dearest friend.  It might be only a small breakthrough in helping to resolve the damage done to him by Feyd, but at least it was a start.

Darcy, having realized that pursuing the unsuccessful horse thieves would accomplish little, walked up to Aliset and gently rested his hand against hers. I need to show you what Iain sent to me right before he left, he sent, slipping into rapport with her easily.

I don't think we need physical contact anymore for this, she responded, and Darcy could almost feel her smile through their link.

But it makes for such a convenient excuse to touch you.  Yes, he could definitely feel her eye roll through their link!  He relayed to her the quick message his brother had sent when he had grasped his shoulder in farewell.

"Darcy, there is something Aliset must do as soon as possible.  Grand Duke Valerian placed voice controls on Washburn shortly after Master Feyd delivered him. He did only a brief scan of Washburn's mind, and I don't think the controls are deeply set.  For Washburn's own safety, and the safety of you and Aliset, she needs to remove them.  We cannot allow Valerian to take control of Washburn again."

Aliset took a deep breath as Darcy withdrew from rapport.  Sir Iain was right; they could not allow Valerian to be able to control Washburn. She shuddered at the thought of what damage he could be forced to do, and what Darcy could be forced to do if that happened.  Darcy's hand tightened around hers.  Aliset saw that Washburn was beginning to disentangle himself from Shadow's mane; she squeezed Darcy's hand before letting go to approach Washburn.

"Wash," she said, using the calming tone that had worked before.  "There is something I should do for you before we leave."

Washburn turned from his horse, stiffening.  Shadow, sensing the change in Washburn's emotions, jerked his head upwards.  "Easy," Washburn told the horse and patted the glossy black shoulder to reassure him.

"Yes, easy," Aliset repeated.  She chose her next words carefully.  "Wash, you know that Grand Duke Valerian placed controls on you when you reached the fortress.  Sir Iain believes they were not deeply set, and I should be able to remove them, just like I did for Darcy.  Will you trust me to try?  I will not force you; it's against my nature to do so, but I think you understand the necessity of ridding you of these controls."

Washburn read the truth of her words, but he hesitated. He would be no man's pawn again, and freedom from Valerian would be a blessing.  But with his shields now restored, he might be able to resist Valerian's commands on his own, as he had Sir Iain's. But what if he could not? What if he could be forced to harm his friends?  What if Valerian could force him to restore his powers?  No!  He would not allow these things to happen!

((Has Aliset convinced Washburn let her try to try to remove Valerian's controls?
13:27   Aliset   !roll 2d6
13:27   derynibot   1, 6 == 7
Yes!))

"Yes," Washburn said.  "I need you to do this."

"Let's return Shadow to the other horses; it will also give us more privacy." Aliset said.  Washburn nodded and led Shadow toward the other horses.

"Will you need me for this?" Darcy asked Aliset after Shadow was secured with the other horses.  "You know I will do whatever you need, but given our recent visit from the horse thieves, I think it would be better if I stand guard."

"Yes," Aliset replied. "I will be better able to concentrate if I know you have my back."

"I will always have your back, love," Darcy said. And all the rest of you, as well.  Aliset blushed, and Darcy grinned as he moved to a vantage point that gave him a good view of the road and the area around them. He adjusted his sword belt to make sure the weapon was positioned to his liking.

"Shall we sit here?" Aliset motioned to a spot at the base of one of the trees.

Washburn nodded and wiped his palms on his tunic. He was more nervous than he wanted to admit.  He trusted Aliset more than anyone else, yet the thought of allowing her in his mind was causing his heart to pound. 

Aliset looked at him sympathetically.  "I know this will be difficult for you.  Please trust me to be as gentle as I can, and know that I will not access any of your private memories."

"You would not like them," Washburn replied.  "And I do not want to relive them."

"I would not either," Aliset said as she settled herself at the base of the tree.  Washburn sat down cross-legged opposite her and took a deep breath, and then another, willing his shields to roll back. Suddenly unsure as to what to do with his hands, he reached forward and grasped his ankles firmly.  Aliset reached up and placed her hands on the sides of his head, her thumbs resting against his temples.  At first Washburn's shields did not budge, but when he felt Aliset's gentle mental touch, he willed them to recede.

((Will Aliset establish successful rapport with Washburn:
13:27   Aliset   !roll 2d6
13:27   derynibot   5, 5 == 10
Yes!))

Aliset centered her concentration and extended her mind deeper into Washburn's.  The turmoil she felt there was disconcerting, even though she had expected it.  I hold your friendship as deeply as I hold my love for Alister, she comforted.  I will not betray you.

Washburn relaxed a bit more.  Aliset, at least, understood his misgivings.  She knew too well what it was like to be forced to submit to the will of another.

((Will Aliset find Valerian's controls?
13:27   Aliset   !roll 2d6
13:27   derynibot   4, 5 == 9
Yes!))

Carefully Aliset scanned Washburn's mind, looking for the controls Valerian had set.  There!  Valerian had been confident that no one would look for them; from a Deryni point of view, they were in plain sight.

((Will Aliset be able to remove Valerian's controls?
13:27   Aliset   !roll 2d6
13:27   derynibot   5, 6 == 11
Yes!  That's our girl!))

Aliset focused in on the controls.  With a deft twist, she mentally flicked Valerian's controls away. She felt Washburn's sense of relief instantly. Perhaps she could use this moment to share the memories she had of the concern his mother and sister shared for his safety.  Would it help him to accept that some of his memories were false?  Wash, she sent.  Know the truth of the memories I will share with you now. Relax and try to accept what I share.

((Laurna rolls to see if Wash will accept Aliset's memories as true.
Result of the throw of dice "2d6" :
5 + 2 = 7 Verification Number: 23cg4dl25w
Yes!))

Washburn sat very still as the memories Aliset shared entered his mind.  He saw the tears in his mother's eyes and the distress on his sister's face.  He saw them embrace as they tried in vain to comfort one another.  The sincerity of their emotions that Aliset remembered flowed across the link.  His own memories must be false!  I believe you, Washburn sent to Aliset as he blinked back sudden tears.

Encouraged by this success, Aliset extended her senses further, looking for other memories that she might be able to set straight.  She sensed the near hatred of his brother, Duke Kelric.  She reached further....

((Will Aliset reach the false memories of Kelric?
13:28   Aliset   !roll 2d6
13:28   derynibot   3, 1 == 4
Drat!))

NO! she cried out mentally and vocally.  A demon shrieked at her, warning her away, the mental pain mirroring the horrific image!

"Aliset!" Darcy exclaimed, rushing forward with his sword drawn.  When he saw Aliset's ashen face, he fell to his knees beside her, drawing her into his arms as if his physical presence could protect her.

Washburn's shields snapped into place, throwing out Aliset's rapport. His own heart was racing as  the image of Feyd's demon remained in his mind along with his warning:

Don't be a fool!  You risk another's life!  Desist and don't try again!

"No!" Washburn shouted at the demon. "I will find a way to break free from your false memories!"  The apparition faded from his mind. 

"Aliset, are you hurt?"  Darcy asked her, holding her tight within his arms.  "What the hell just happened?" he turned his gaze to Washburn, a hint of belligerence in his tone.

"Aliset set me free from Valerian's controls and proved that my memories of my mother were false. She found a warning from Feyd as she tried to dig deeper."  Washburn grimaced and then stated firmly, the determination to fight back clear in his voice,  "A man who places demons in my head is not to be trusted.  He has proved that I can trust you."

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on April 07, 2019, 01:45:29 PM
Thankful for Lady Aliset's restorative Rapport, Wash reached a hand out to the lady with concern. Quicker than he, Darcy was on his knees embracing Aliset in his arms. He was quick to question Washburn about what had happened. Wash had answered with concern for Aliset and anger toward his continued ordeal. It was fortunate that the lady had not fainted, she was made of sterner stuff than that. Nevertheless, she welcomed the safety of her husband's arms. The beastly warning in the back of Washburn's mind had been unexpected and disturbing. Most of all, it infuriated Washburn that Feyd would dare to harm anyone who would dare to help him. When Wash was assured that Aliset was unharmed, he closed his eyes, leaned his head back against the tree, then resettled his tension and his thoughts. One thing was certain, Lady Aliset had freed him of the Grand Duke's influence.  No matter what that Master Spy-assassin claimed, Washburn Morgan was not owned by Valerian. That bondage was broken, and that was a massive step toward freedom. Yet this assassin, for some inexplicable reason, would not let him be fully free.

Washburn's hand briefly touched on the flask under his tunic. Would the power within the flask bring him complete freedom or would it doom him to forever be afflicted and a slave? Master Feyd had implied that Wash was meant to be free of the Grand Duke's influence, something about vengeance for his father would come after his escape. What was Master Feyd playing at? Was all of this part of the spy's two hundred year vengeance? Washburn was determined more than ever to thwart Feyd at every step. Aliset's sharing the distress of his mother for him was both surprising and heartening and another step toward freedom.When gaining knighthood, the young man who was Wash had thought he had grown beyond a mother's care. Yet he now realized, no matter how old he became, his mother's love would always be a healing bond. Aliset proved to him that the power in that bond could never be severed, what it did do instead, was break his mother's heart. That would need to be remedied, soon.

Finding purpose in the wake of Feyd's Demon, Wash shifted his position and opened his eyes. Before him, two people were lovingly entwined within each other's arms; their eyes only for each other. The lady's eyes closed and she leaned forward to meet her husband's lips. The kiss was passionate and serene. The timid reticences that had once defined their relationship of a week ago had been cast aside.  Their kiss was impassioned, and their arms tightened, increasing their closeness. Wash ducked his head and considered the best path to sneak away. Perhaps if he scooted his butt along the root of the tree, he could get around them without bringing attention to himself. He wasn't successful. His motion brought the couple up for air.  With a slight cough to hide a smile, Washburn managed to say,  "It is wonderful indeed to find that the news of your marriage is true. I am happy for you both." Not knowing quite what else to say, Washburn remarked. "I am of the mind that an appropriate wedding gift would be a bed and a soft down mattress. That would be far preferable than this hard ground." A smile crossed the lady's lips causing her to laugh. Her cheeks flushed red as she tucked her head into her husband's chest.  Darcy kissed her forehead not willing to let her go.

"Best make it a sturdy bed," Darcy replied. "One that will last for decades and hold not just us, but a passel of children, as well." Embarrassed not in the least, Darcy tightened his arms around his wife to encourage another intimate kiss. Then in a quick whisper that Washburn just managed to over-hear, Darcy said to his wife, "The heather is not so bad a mattress."

Aliset gave an uncharacteristic giggle. Her eyes twinkled brightly to her new husband, but her words were the opposite of her thoughts, "Dear heart, now is not a good time." Then she teasingly pushed herself away and was standing all business-like before either man could blink. "We should be riding out, or do you plan to waste the day sitting here."

Washburn was quick to stand too, giving a friendly clap on the seaman's slumped shoulders. "That bed will be made of strong Lendour hardwoods. Not those softwoods of the lowlands. And I will be sure that the pillows are stuffed well with the best of goose down and not just silly duck feathers. And too, there will be sprigs of Heather embroidered upon the coverlet." Wash turned away toward his horse before his jocular smile destroyed the moment. Though he tried not to look, out the corner of his eye, he saw Darcy stand, brush back his hair then bring his wife back into his arms for another reassuring kiss. That they also shared in Rapport, Wash had no doubt. But that was a good thing and Wash would not look to interfere.

Upon Shadow's back, Wash was heartened to see his old saddle and saddlebags. His hands went to release the stirrups and then to adjust their length. Father Columcil was a tad shorter in leg than he, and the stirrups had been set high. That done, his hand brushed past a bedroll, and his unstrung longbow. His quiver of arrows he saw sticking up from the off side. Not really hungry, he skipped the large knapsack which surely contained food and flint, along with rope and other travel necessity supplies. Instead he opened the smaller leather pack to see if any of his belongings remained. To his surprise he found there, neatly packed: extra clothes, a warm cloak, a hair comb, a shaving knife, a small bag of coin, and a leather bound book tied in a green ribbon.

His hand shook as he pulled out the book. This was his father's journal. Where had he left it? He thought back to the night they had arrived in Rhemuth. He had left it on the table in his room. The ribbon was new, and there was a gold coin that dangled from the ribbon. Releasing the ribbon, Wash held it up to watch the coin sway back and forth from the shake of his hand. The coin was not a Saint Camber medal. Wash realized his mother would not know that his had been lost. The coin was a Lendour gold piece. Worth half that of King's gold coin at market, but more valuable to Washburn than a king's coin could ever be. He gathered his courage and clasped the coin within his palm. There was magic here. He opened his mind to read the message within.

The face was his mother's, a tear on her cheek, yet a smile on her lips. "My dearest son. I pray that it is you who are reading this. I pray that it finds you soon and it finds you well. No matter the circumstances, know that I await for you to come home. Your family, I most of all, love you and miss you and want you to return quickly, no matter the condition you find yourself in. 
I will cast out at dusk every night until a time comes when we can touch minds once more. Please, my son, please contact me at the first dusk after your father's journal is returned to you. Know that your father and I have and always will love you dearly. Never believe otherwise."


Wash kissed the coin, he wrapped the ribbon over his neck, and tucked it under his tunic with the coin next to his heart. He then went to place the book back into the pack. That is when Darcy said from behind him, "Don't you normally carry that next to your heart, also?

Wash turned around. The young couple were behind him, each reaching for the reins of their horses. "I am not sure why I would want that man's words that close to my heart. It is my mother who sends a message in the coin and that I will gladly wear near, thanks to what Lady Aliset has shared with me."

"Don't you remember what is written in the journal?" Darcy asked.

"No, not really," was the knight's quiet remark.

"Perhaps if you carry it with you," Aliset ventured with encouragement, "then whenever there is time, you could read a passage or two and see if it sparks any memories."

"I doubt any of those memories will be good ones, my lady." Wash said, but her look was one of mixed sadness and encouragement. "For you, I will do as you ask. Though, I do not know if I will like it."

"Give it a reading, I have faith it will help."

Wash tucked the book between his shirt and his tunic held there by the tightness of his belt. Then he gathered Shadow's reins in his hands. "We have horses and we have roads. Which way do we ride?"


"We ride south, to meet up with Father Colucmil," Darcy answered. "He left our company yesterday to assist my cousin whose uncle was in dire straights from the actions of a rebellious son. The sooner we get there, the sooner we will know how the good father fares."

"Then lead on and let us make a quick ride of it," Wash said bounding up into the saddle with ease. Shadow tossed his head, happy to have his rider upon his back.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on April 10, 2019, 12:17:06 PM
Lord Oswald, the self-styled Baron Mariot, watched from the ramparts of Ratharkin Castle as the scene in the market unfolded below.  The number of stalls and carts in the market square were fewer than one would expect.  The number of beggars, on the other hand, had increased.  They begged for whatever those more fortunate would give them.  That generosity was drying up as food became more scarce within the town, and the townspeople tightened their belts.

Technically, they were not under siege.  Prince Javan had moved his forces toward Laas to prevent or break the siege of Duke Brecon's capital, depending on how quickly Grand Duke Valerian had moved north under the banner of Queen Sidana of Meara.  The problem was that Prince Javan had left just enough men behind to harass the farmsteads that attempted to supply Ratharkin with food.  Some got through, but Oswald did not have enough men to guarantee safe passage for all those that tried to make it to the gates. The garden plots within the walls were gradually becoming depleted. It didn't help that Prince Javan's men paid those outside the city wall well for food and other supplies; many turned their wares over to Prince Javan's men in exchange for a guaranteed sale.  Easy money seemed to overcome loyalty to the queen far too readily.

As Oswald watched from the ramparts, a scuffle broke out at one of the stalls.  A beggar had attempted to steal a sack of food from a woman who was better able to defend herself than the beggar thought.  She kneed him in the groin, and the stall owner grabbed the beggar as he staggered back.  While the stall owner's  attention was thus diverted, another beggar pilfered some of what was left in the stall and hurried away.  Oswald shook his head; if Valerian had provided the reinforcements he had promised....

***

Madon the Beggar watched the fray from the edge of the market square.  He had the good sense to beg as people entered the market, before they spent their coin on their purchases.  Before they realized how much prices were increasing as shortages continued, and they were left with little coin to spare. As he shuffled away, he felt a warmth beneath the rags he wore.  He furtively put the few coins he had collected into a pouch that he wore around his neck and made his way to an alley not too far away.  Halfway down the alley, he pushed aside a large, upright barrel and opened the wooden door hidden behind it.

The undercroft Madon entered was dim.  A ball of blue handfire quickly rose from his upturned palm, and he made his way in the dim light to a simple bed along the wall.  He sat there and pulled a medallion from under his rags.  He focused his mind and gazed at it intently.  Master?

After a brief moment, another mind touched his in rapport.  The mind was familiar; though his last contact with it had been at the beginning of summer. A word was sent across the link that confirmed the contact was a Master of the Order.

I have a contract for you, the Master sent.  You must eliminate Lord Oswald of Mariot.  I care not the method, so long as it is effective.  I will pay you the customary rate.  I will contact you again in three days to confirm your success and arrange the payment.  The contact was broken.

Madon was not surprised at the curt conversation.  Agents of the Order like himself were expected to obey the Masters.  While a Master might negotiate the payment for a contract, agents accepted what was offered.  The Order rewarded their own quite well, so there was no need to haggle.  Madon extinguished his handfire and sat quietly in the dim room.  This contract would take careful planning.

***
Master Feyd slipped the medallion back underneath his cassock, satisfied with his brief conversation with the Order's agent in Ratharkin.  He had promised Sir Washburn that Oswald would never marry the Lady Aliset.  A contract was a contract, and Feyd always fulfilled his contracts. Besides, he had grown fond of Sir Washburn Morgan in their brief time together.

***
The following morning was a bright, sunny Sunday.  Madon the Beggar stood among others at the bottom of the steps that stretched down from the massive double doors of Ratharkin Castle.  His cup was in his left hand, ready to receive any coin Lord Oswald and his party might be willing to part with on their way to mass at the cathedral.  Oswald was not a generous man, but occasionally he would part with a penny or two for appearance's sake on a Sunday.  Madon's right hand was poised and ready; a flick of his wrist would release a fine, slender needle with its deadly poison. 

Madon's skill with poisons was what had originally brought him to the attention of the Black Order of Death.  The poison in the bulb at the needle's base was his masterpiece, and there was no antidote.  The needle itself was so finely crafted that the victim would never notice when it pierced the skin.  The poison did not act immediately,  but within a quarter of an hour the victim would notice a burning sensation as the poison began to destroy muscle tissue.  Loss of muscle control would come quickly after, getting steadily worse as the poison worked its way through the body.  Once the poison reached the heart, death quickly followed. 

The castle doors were flung wide open, and Lord Oswald, accompanied by two guards and a few nobles, began his descent down the stairs. Madon recognised Lord Giles as one of the noblemen at Oswald's side.  Dismissed from Prince Rory's court for cheating on his annual tithe, he had quickly insinuated himself into Oswald's inner circle.  Madon edged his way closer to where they would reach the bottom.

((Will Madon successfully stab Oswald with his poison?
2:30 PM J<jerusha> Jerusha !roll 2d6
2:30 PM D<@•derynibot> I'm back! 2, 2 == 4
Not this time.))

Madon was just about where he wanted to be when Lord Giles shoved him roughly out of the way.  Mordan cursed inwardly and did his best to protect his right arm.  The needle did not move in its sheath, and Madon began to breathe again.

All was not lost.  Lord Oswald was very much a creature of habit.  Most men were, and it made it much easier to successfully plot their demise.  Oswald would leave the church after mass and pause at the top of the steps to survey the town before him.  Typically his retainers stayed back, allowing him to be the centre of attention.  Many beggars would arrange themselve on the steps, hoping to benefit from their overlord's largesse.  Madon would be among them, ready to strike at the right moment.

((Will Madon stab Oswald on his second attempt?
2:31 PM J<jerusha> Jerusha !roll 2d6
2:31 PM D<@•derynibot> I'm back! 2, 6 == 8
Nice roll!))

Madon placed himself strategically among the other beggars, about halfway down the church steps.  As at the market, the number of beggars was growing, and Madon blended in among them.  He did not become impatient as the mass dragged on; he knew how to bide his time and wait until the right moment.  That moment was here at last.

Lord Oswald stopped at the top of the church stairs and surveyed those before him. Oswald reached into his belt pouch and drew forth a small handful of coins.  He tossed them in the direction of the beggars below him, and they immediately scrambled for the coins.  He did not notice the beggar who stooped and drew alongside him as he descended the stairs, his retainers now beginning to follow him.

Madon released the needle from its sheath and drove it into the back of Oswald's knee, just above the top of his boot and through the finely made hose.  He squeezed the bulb and withdrew the needle in one swift motion.  Oswald continued down the steps, oblivious to what had happened.  Madon dropped the needle under the foot of the guard who followed Oswald, pretending to grope for a coin as the needle was crushed under the heavy boot. He moved farther back into the throng of beggars, his gaze following Lord Oswald and his retinue.

Oswald was well on his way back to the castle when he stumbled the first time.  Lord Giles gripped his arm, but Oswald shook it off as if nothing was wrong.  Two steps later, he stumbled again and almost went down.  Now the nobles and guards swarmed around him, concerned for his safety.  Lord Giles grasped Oswald to hold him up, and the guards drew their swords, shouting to the townspeople to stand back and give them room.  A second nobleman grasped Oswald's other arm and they hastened him to the castle.

***

Lord Oswald lay on his bed, his legs trembling beyond his control. His legs felt like they were burning, and the burning sensation continued to creep upward, now as far as his groin. The physicians had found nothing, and now they stood conferring just beyond his hearing. They had poked and prodded, smelled his breath and checked the whites of his eyes.  They had stripped him and searched for any sign of injury.  Only a small swelling behind his left knee was found. 

"You!" Oswald called to one of the Deryni guards Valerian had included in Oswald's contingent of men.  "Contact the Grand Duke and ask for a Healer be sent at once!"  The guard saluted and withdrew from the room. 

Oswald felt a wetness as the muscles that would have prevented him for soiling himself stopped functioning.  He cursed aloud, and one of the physicians sent for the items needed to bleed him.  What could have caused this?  No one had been near him, except for the filthy beggars.

The Deryni guard returned.  "My Lord," he said.  "I could only reach Sir Georgios, who reported that Grand Duke Valerian is marching north and has no Healer he can send at this time."

"Does he not understand I could be dying?" Oswald shouted.

"He is aware of the gravity of your situation, my Lord," the guard responded calmly.

Oswald cursed again.  "Round up those filthy beggars.  One of them must have done this!  The beggar must be found and tell us what he has done!"

"Yes, my Lord."  The guard looked to Lord Giles, who nodded, then saluted Oswald and withdrew.

***

Madon watched as guards swarmed out of the castle.  He drew back into the shadow of a doorway to remain unseen.  The guards grabbed the few beggars that had remained near the castle steps. The beggars were marched away, and the remaining guards continued on, searching for more unfortunates to haul away.  Madon had hoped to wait outside the castle until Oswald's death was announced; now he retreated to the alley beside the nearest tavern. Beggars knew all of the alleys in Ratharkin; this one was little used.  He could bide here for now.  The guards' activity was an unexpected complication, and Madon did not like complications. 

***

Lord Oswald said nothing as the physician passed the bowl of his blood to an assistant. Oswald struggled to draw breath.  The burning sensation had moved up to his ribs, and he could no longer move his body from the waist down. Lord Giles had sent for the Bishop of Meara to perform the last rites, doubting that the bleeding would provide any improvement to Oswald's condition.

The Bishop of Meara entered Oswald's chamber, followed by Lord Giles.  He set the required items on the small table beside Oswald's bed, withdrew his stole from his sleeve, and with proper reverence, placed it around his neck.  He accepted the stool brought forward for his use and sat beside the bed.  The others withdrew to a respectful distance where Oswald's confession could not be heard.  The bishop leaned closer to catch Oswald's words.

((WIll Oswald survive Madon's poison?  This is a Save or Die roll.
2:31 PM J<jerusha> Jerusha !roll 2d6
2:31 PM D<@•derynibot> I'm back! 3, 1 == 4
RIP Oswald))

The Bishop of Meara had only just completed the final anointing when Oswald gasped for breath and lay still.  The bishop motioned for the physician, who tried to find a pulse and found none.  The bishop studied the shell that had been Lord Oswald and sighed.  He had heard many distressing confessions in his time, but few had been as grim as this one.  He was glad to leave the man's judgement to God; mercy might be beyond him in this case.  He pulled the sheet over Oswald's face.

Lord Giles moved toward the bed, took a look at the still form and motioned for the Deryni guard to come forward.  "Inform the grand duke that Lord Oswald has died.  If it please him, I will assume command until other arrangements can be considered."  The guard saluted and left.

He returned a few moments later.  "Sir Georgios relayed Grand Duke's Valerian's orders.  You are to handle the situation as you see fit."

Lord Giles smiled and nodded. "We do not need to spend much effort on this; holding Ratharkin is our primary concern.  Pick one of the beggars and hang him for this offence."

"How will we know we have the right one?" the guard asked.

Lord Giles looked once more at the body of Oswald and shrugged.  "It matters not," he said.  "We just need to make an example of him."

***

Madon heard hurried footsteps along the street in front of the tavern several times.  The local Watch had been recruited to help with the roundup of the beggars.  Madon could not afford to stay in this location much longer.

((Will Madon escape the guards and the Watch?
2:33 PM J<jerusha> Jerusha !roll 2d6
2:33 PM D<@•derynibot> I'm back! 2, 6 == 8
Lucky beggar!))

Madon saw a man leave the tavern, notice the increased activity of guards and the Watch in the street, and turn instead into the alley.  Madon waited in the shadows; the man's eyesight would not have adjusted to the dimness of the alley yet. As the man moved past him, Madon reached out and locked the man's neck in a choke hold, immediately extending his powers to establish control.  Madon pulled him back into the shadows.

Be still and don't struggle.  Remove your tunic, hose and boots and give them to me. Quickly!  Madon released his grip on the man and swifty removed his own rags.  Put these on. He handed the rags to the man and quickly donned the man's clothes.  They smelled a bit of ale, but Madon had no intention of keeping them for long.  The man, now clad in Madon's rags, looked at him blankly.  Your name is Madon, the former beggar told him.  Now run as if you life depends on it!  Madon shoved the man toward the street.  The man shot out from the alley and was greeted by shouts from the Watch.

Madon made his way down several alleys until he reached the barrel hiding the door to his undercroft.  Once inside, he conjured handfire and retrieved a ladder that lay near the bed.  Carefully, he fitted it against a square in the ceiling and climbed upwards. Opening the trap door above his head, he climbed into the tailor's shop above.

Madon the Beggar would now become Donald the Tailor.  He would open his shop and gossip with his customers; news of Oswald's fate would soon reach him.  Here he could safely wait for the Master to contact him and receive the good news, for good news it surely would be.  His poison never failed.  He ran his hand over one of the bolts of cloth at the back of his shop near the trap door.  He was fond of cloth, as he was fond of the many sharp needles he used to sew the simple shirts for the townspeople of Ratharkin.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on April 11, 2019, 01:27:16 PM
All totaled the guards and the Watch had rounded up over 30 beggars. If there were any others in the city, they could not be found and would not be seen for several more days afterwards.

It didn't take long for Lord Giles and his men to announce the passing of Lord Oswald and hold a quick trial for one of the unfortunate beggars of Ratharkin who was the scapegoat in this case.

The whole affair was over within a span of 48 hours. A confused and befuddled beggar named Madon, who the others pointed out, was charged with the crime and hanged for it.

He received no burial. His body was divided and placed on the appropriate city gates in all directions. His head was placed at the in the center of the market square as a reminder to any other beggars who might believe in doing anything more foolish.

And Lord Giles got to the business at hand of protecting his city.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on April 16, 2019, 01:13:19 PM
After Columcil left the solar, promising to contact the Earl as soon as possible, Jaxom paced the room restlessly considering the several problems he needed to deal with while awaiting orders from the Earl.  The rebels had been secured, and he could release the servants to resume their duties.

He was certain that Earl Brendan would want to interrogate Drago and Maclin himself. Maclin had not responded to his questioning as well as Jaxom had hoped. He tried to maintain that he had not joined the rebels voluntarily but been forced to follow their orders. He kept insisting that he knew little of the rebels or their plans.  Jaxom did not find that believable. He thought that Maclin had been ordered to take the retiring steward's place as part of the plan to infiltrate and seize the manor. He had not yet confronted Drago, but he did not expect to get much information from him.

The other three rebels who had been found among the servants were peasants, lured into the rebellion by the promise of rewards for signing on as soldiers in the Mearan queen's cause. Maclin had acted as their superior and had given them their orders. They appeared to know little. They had provided the names of a few possible sympathizers among the  villagers but none who had actually joined the rebellion. News of Ratharkin's fate and the treatment of its people had travelled fast here in the borders, and most people wanted only to avoid them.

Lord Michael, the baron's son was another problem. Jaxom had questioned him at least twice. His answers were consistent. He gave every appearance of being sincere in his assertions that his decision to join the rebellion had been a big mistake, and that he was willing to do anything required of him to salvage his reputation, make peace with his father, and renew his fealty to the king. He had shared several names of young men he  knew who were considering becoming part of the rebellion. Jaxom considered asking Columcil to truth-read the young man to be sure that he was being honest about his intentions. If the priest was willing, that would be of great assistance to Jaxom in his planning.

A bigger problem was how he could ensure that the manor remained secure after he and his men left. He did not have enough soldiers to be able to convey the prisoners to whatever location Earl Brendan ordered as well as allow any to remain for the security of the manor. He needed to speak with the Baron if he was now sufficiently recovered to reassume control of his lands. Jaxom sent Gavin to the Baron's quarters to inquire of Columcil or Lady Fiona whether Lord Stuart was able to take part in discussing how they could protect the manor from future attacks by the rebels.

Gavin returned to the solar and bowed to Lord Jaxom. "Baron Stuart is much recovered and is anxious to talk with you, my lord. As he is still a little weak from his ordeal, the priest asks that you attend him in his room."  Jaxom responded, "Tell the baron and Father Columcil that I will join them as soon as I have checked on the prisoners and seen that the servants have returned to their duties and that things are running smoothly." Gavin bowed and left the room.

When Jaxom arrived in the baron's quarters, he found him sitting up, looking much restored and anxious to resume control of his demesne. Fiona was sitting on a bench along the wall and Father Columcil was standing behind the baron's chair. Jaxom bowed and addressed the baron. "My lord, after learning of the situation here from Lady Fiona, who had left to try to secure help for you, the king's representative, Earl Brendan Coris, sent us to relieve you, prevent the seizure of the manor by the rebels, and to secure it. On our arrival here, we found you confined, lying injured and with a head wound that caused loss of consciousness. We also found several rebels here, including your steward and three of your retainers. All of these the lady Fiona was able to identify as new or unknown to her and probably rebels. They were quickly rounded up and confined. Your young page alerted us to the presence of another rebel, apparently a person of some influence in the insurrection. He is a violent and dangerous man. We were eventually able to also catch him, and he is currently confined here. I am awaiting orders from the Earl as to the disposition of the prisoners. I believe the Earl will want to interrogate them himself and will direct us to deliver them to him. Unfortunately, I do not have enough men to be able to leave any here for your protection. We will need to devise a strategy to keep the manor safe."

The baron considered Jaxom's words, then responded. "I wish to thank you for coming to our aid. I, too, am concerned with preserving my lands from the rebels. I realize that you have a limited number of men, and I have not previously employed men-at-arms. Until this rebellion arose, we did not feel threatened here, and I did not feel the need. However, things have changed, and I will need to reconsider that decision. I have given some thought to our present needs, and I plan to reach out to several of the holders of neighboring estates that I know to be loyal to the king to determine whether we could devise a mutual defense plan for the benefit of all." 

The baron continued. "I am concerned about my son. I know that his actions have made him at risk for a charge of treason as he was supporting the rebellion. He has been impatient to have more responsibility here, and he felt I was holding him back unfairly. He is just turned eighteen and thinks he is more mature than he is. I am afraid he was easy prey for a rebel recruiter promising him land and position. He is impulsive and did not give sufficient thought to the consequences of what he was doing. I also do not believe that he was really aware of the kind of people he was dealing with. He was appalled at the actions of the rebel, Drago, as well as at what happened in Ratharkin, and I believe he bitterly regrets his actions on their behalf."

Jaxom replied, "I understand your concern but he has committed a grave offense, and it will be the decision of Earl Brendan as to what will become of him now. I am sure that the Earl will wish to speak with Lord Michael himself before he makes any decision about his future.  As you know, I am awaiting orders from him as to our next movements."

He turned to Columcil, "Father, I need you to try to contact the Earl as soon as possible. Tell him I have completed my mission here, and I need his directions as to what he wishes me to do now."

Columcil studied the young lord sternly. "I hae agreed to try tae reach the earl as soon as I judged ta time was right. As soon as I hae further orders for ye, I'll let ye know. As ta baron is much improved, I'll gae ta my quarters tae see if I can reach him." Columcil turned on his heel and marched stiffly from the room.

Fiona spoke to her uncle and Lord Jaxom. "I think perhaps some dinner would help all of our nerves. Hungry men tend to be irritable. Shall I go and speak to cook about preparing suitable refreshments? Afterward, I would like to talk with Michael about what has happened and ask if he truly regrets what he has done and what he would be willing to do to redeem himself, if that is truly his goal."

Both men indicated that dinner would be welcome. Jaxom's reply to Fiona's proposed visit to Michael was less agreeable. "I have already questioned him twice and he insists that he wishes to redeem himself and renew his fealty to the king. What do you expect to find out that I do not already know?" he said haughtily.

Fiona stood erect and looked him in the eye. "You had mentioned asking Father Columcil to truth-read Michael as he is questioned again to be sure that he is sincere. The good father is already much occupied in trying to reach Earl Brendan, as well as caring for my uncle. I suggest that I can talk to him and obtain the same knowledge. I can always tell if he or anyone else is lying to me."  The baron was nodding his agreement. Jaxom shrugged his shoulders, "Very well.' he said. Fiona turned and left the room.

Jaxom addressed the baron, "I suggest you rest now while dinner is prepared. You are still recovering from your ordeal, and I'm sure the good father would concur in recommending rest. I will return to the solar to await additional developments I will call your page to assist you back to bed."  With that he also left the room.

After talking with the cook and giving orders for dinner to be prepared for the baron and his family and guests as well as food for Jaxom's men and for the prisoners, Fiona went up to Michael's room. She knocked quietly on the door. "Enter." she heard him moving toward the door. Quickly, she opened the door and slipped in. Michael gave her a slightly hostile look. "What is it now? What does Lord Jaxom want of me now? I have answered all of his questions. What else can I do to convince him of my honest intentions?"

Fiona smiled at him. "Would you be willing to repeat your story to me and allow me to read the truth of what you say? You know that I am Deryni and I can do that. Your willingness to submit to the truth-reading and my assurance of your sincerity would, I believe, go far to support your cause in the eyes of the Earl. Are you willing?"

Michael studied her for a few moments, then seemed to relax and asked her to be seated, indicating a chair by a nearby table. After she took her seat, he seated himself beside her and began his recital of all that had happened. Turning on her truth-reading ability, Fiona listened attentively. She could hear the genuineness in his voice, and her senses told her that he was being truthful. When he was finished, she reassured him. "You know that by your actions you have left yourself open to a charge of treason for helping enemies of the king. However, I am able to assure the Earl that your repentance is sincere, and you are willing to do anything asked of you to restore your reputation. Also, I can support you in your quest to renew your loyalty to the king. I will certainly tell Lord Jaxom that your word can be relied on." With that, she rose and left the room.

Jaxom had returned to the solar where he seated himself in a comfortable chair and considered all that had happened and possible future courses of action. He needed further orders from Earl Brendan. He felt pleased with himself. He had completed his assigned mission successfully and captured several prisoners including at least one high ranking rebel. He was sure that both the Earl and the king would be pleased with him. He was looking forward to praise and advancement.

Afternoon sun was slanting through the tall solar windows when Father Columcil again entered the room, Fiona following him. Jaxom looked up, "Have you news for me.?"

"Aye," Columcil replied. "I hae reached the Earl and reported yer mission outcome. Ta Earl hae gi'en  these orders. Ye are tae convey the prisoners tae Droghera where ta Earl will assume responsibility for them. He says ye should leave early in the morning so ye can reach Droghera afore dark tomorrow. He also asks that ye bring Lord Michael Stuart along wi ye. Ta Earl will decide wha's tae be done wi him. He is pleased wi yer results"

Jaxom preened as he turned to Fiona. She addressed him. "I have spoken with Michael and I can assure you and Earl Brendan that he is sincere in his assertions that he no longer supports the rebels, that he regrets his actions in their support, and that he will do anything asked of him to redeem his reputation. His father has spoken with him and also believes that he wants to restore his place in his father's affection. I need you to convey my findings to the Earl." Jaxom inclined his head to indicate that he would deliver her findings to Brendan.

Fiona addressed both men, "The cook indicates that dinner is ready. If you will join me in the dining hall, we will eat. I will send Gavin to assist my uncle to table and Aunt Olivia will also join us.. If you agree, my Lord, I will also have Michael join us at table. Food has been taken to the prisoners and their guards." Jaxom agreed and the party followed her in to dinner.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on April 18, 2019, 02:43:13 PM
The ride to the estate of Baron Stuart would have been much quicker if the three riders had navigated the forest trails and stayed off the main road. But these lands were not familiar to Darcy, to Aliset, nor to Washburn. The directions they had been given were to travel the Cuilteine Road south until they came upon a west road a mile north of the Cuilteine city gates. Darcy had the image from his cousin of the landscape, so he knew what to look for. As luck would have it, they found the intersecting road easily enough, as too did a patrol of armed men easily find them. The men were a group of locals, lead by a sergeant out of Prince Javan's forces. One who had been enjoined to stay in Cuilteine with responsibilities for holding the roads open against rebels. A task he seemed to attend to with excessive zeal. A lord, a lady, and a knight looked nothing like local farmers. Many questions were asked about where they were going and what they were doing.  If they were loyal to the king, than why was a lord and his knight not in the royal army? To Arms had been called days prior. Immediately suspicious, the sergeant demanded the three dismount and walk into Cuilteine where the lieutenant could question them.

"I am Lord Darcy Cameron, on the king's business. You will let us pass." Darcy produced a letter from inside his tunic with an unmistakable royal seal upon it. The sergeant grilled Darcy as to how he came upon such a letter. He believed not a word that these three people could have gotten such a letter from the king. When the sergeant would take the letter, Darcy was quick to retain it, reading aloud the contents that allowed the one named Lord Darcy Cameron, Heir of Isles, and his company to be free to conduct his business in the king's name.

In all this, Sir Washburn sat very sedate in the saddle. He said not a word, relying on Darcy to handle the situation, yet his eyes fully surveyed and assessed every man that surrounded them. Lady Aliset was silent too. Wash could see that she was considering a little mind bending on the sergeant to get him to accept the letter for what it was.  Darcy had other ideas, and in no way would he let his wife get that close to the man. No, both Darcy and Washburn were diligent in keeping the lady safely between them. Finally, unless they chose a three to ten fight, which they did not, they agreed to ride into the city of Cuilteine to clear up the matter. They were not about to dismount and walk as the sergeant first demanded, so they rode south to the city surrounded by armed men.

Once in the city walls, they was no choice but to dismount; their horses left tied to a rail near the barracks. They were escorted into a cordoned off square where near on fifty farmers and citizens huddled waiting to be questioned and then allowed into the city. It was market day and with eminent war, everyone was securing their provisions.

"We will roast in this damnable sunlight, if we have to wait in this queue," Darcy mumbled under his breath. Irritably, Darcy pushed back a strand of hair and stuffed it under his cap. A drip of sweat was noticeable on his forehead. This stagnate heat inside the city walls was doing Sir Washburn's mode no good, either. His hands never strayed far from the hilt of his sword, yet he did not touch it. Patiently, like a bird of prey, he  bid his time and watched everyone around him, poised for action to any sign of trouble.

"Your name and your business," the officer at the head of the line growled to each person as they came forward.  He looked over each man. Sized them up. The women, the men old and frail, he let pass. Of any young men, he demanded that they state their allegiance. A pair of young men he decided would be better in the army than in the fields and conscripted them, then and there. Another unfortunate fellow got dragged away to the stocks, his offense to the officer could not be discerned.

That stirred Sir Washburn's ire. If that happened again, Washburn was very near to jumping forward and defending any man from such captivity. The tension of the tall black knight was palpable. Those who had been huddled near shrunk away, leaving a full arm and sword distance of clear space around the three. That in itself was inviting trouble. Washburn could draw his sword very easily, without endangering the innocent. And that would not be well for Darcy nor Aliset if they got involved in an ensuing confrontation.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on April 23, 2019, 02:44:57 PM
Darcy Cameron sensed the sudden tension in Sir Washburn as one of the locals was led off to the stocks.  He saw that the lieutenant in charge of the questioning noticed it too. This would not do; they did not need a confrontation here that, despite his letter of safe conduct from the king, could hold them up indefinitely.  The lieutenant turned toward them and studied them carefully.  Darcy thought for a moment, stepped forward and nodded in deference to the officer's authority.

"Lord Darcy Cameron," Darcy said in introduction.  "Might I have a word with you in private?"  The lieutenant gave him a stern look,  and Darcy cleared his throat.  "It's a somewhat delicate matter," he added and cast a look behind him at Aliset.

"Is that so?"  the lieutenant asked.  He looked back toward Aliset, who looked genuinely confused, and motioned Darcy to one side.

What in the world is he up to now? Aliset sent to Washburn.

I have no idea, Washburn sent back.  But I hope he has a plan.

Darcy turned his back to the others and addressed the lieutenant as if he shared information of a most confidential nature.  "The knight and I are tasked by the king to be his eyes and ears behind the lines."  He reached inside his tunic and pulled out the letter from King Kelson.  He did not open it, but he made sure the royal seals were clearly displayed.  "We were proceeding north and stopped for the night in Droghera at the inn. The food was most satisfying, and the ale was excellent.  We were just finishing up when another knight wearing the colours of a border lord entered escorting a young woman. The same woman that stands behind us now."  Darcy did not turn around, but he noted the lieutenant took a long look over his head at Aliset.  Darcy continued on.

"It turned out that our knight was acquainted with the border knight; they had fought in the tournaments together.  The woman turned out to be his sister.  He was escorting her to Saint Brigid's in the hope she would find her vocation there.  The hour was late, and the gates to the nunnery were closed for the night.  They also decided to spend the night at the inn."

"Our two knights spent an hour or two sharing good ale and stories of the tournaments.  The lady soon grew bored, and I escorted her outside to sample the night air. She was much distressed, and I was only too willing to listen to such a lovely young lady.  She explained that she had no desire to take the veil, but if she did, it would save her father pledging a substantial dowry for her.  She had a younger brother who still needed to be financed through his quest for knighthood, and her father cared little for her personal feelings. I sympathized as best I could, but what started as simple comfort progressed father than it should have. She was more than encouraging, and on my honour, I never forced her!"

"How convenient for you," the lieutenant said dryly.  "'And her brother extended his congratulations to you both?"

"I would not put it quite that way," Darcy responded and winced.  "But his sister dissuaded him from attempting to kill me on the spot.   I pledged to marry her, and her reputation and the family finances were saved."

The lieutenant shook his head, and Darcy shrugged his shoulders.  "I am the second son," Darcy said.  "I have no lands of my own and until now, few prospects for a wife. The arrangement suits us both.  She promises to be a good and loyal wife, and I will do my best by her."

The lieutenant snorted.  "A tidy little solution for both of you."

"Aye," Darcy said.  "But she does seem to fancy me."  He made a depreciating gesture.  "Nevertheless, I have my mission for the king to fulfill.  I am therefore taking her to my cousin's household west of Cuilteine.  There she can remain safe until these troubles are over.  They will make her welcome."

"You do not take her to your own household? And she wears the clothes of a lad?" the officer questioned.

"As I said, I am the second son; all the lands belong to my brother."  Darcy gave the officer a rueful look.  "I need to consider the best way to introduce my new wife to him.  I have given him enough surprises lately," he added dryly. " As for her clothes, I am embarrassed to say her gown was not in wearable condition by the end of the night.  Since she did not pack additional gowns to take to the nunnery, between her brother and I, we managed to clothe her discreetly. My cousin will be able to find her more appropriate attire."  Darcy gave the lieutenant a more direct look.  "I ask your permission to be on our way.  I would like to reach my cousin's before nightfall."

"I will consider it," the lieutenant said.  "Step back into line now."

Darcy nodded and turned to return to Aliset and Washburn.  As he approached, he established rapport with Aliset and relayed what had transpired.

You said WHAT? Aliset sent back to him.

It's what came to mind at the time.  It's actually not that far from what could have been the truth.  Darcy's expression gave no clue as to what he meant, and Aliset, realising she had a part to play, entwined her arm around his, gripping him tightly and looking at him dreamily.  Darcy blushed a bright shade of crimson and knew he could not evade her questions for long.  Washburn looked at them both and wondered if the heat had gotten to them.

((Will the lieutenant believe Darcy's story enough to allow them to travel on?
12:22 PM <jerusha> !roll 2d6
12:22 PM <@derynibot> 6, 4 == 10
Thank you, dice!))

The lieutenant shook his head and waived them on.  "Get on with you and try to stay out of further trouble."  At least they would be someone else's trouble and not his.

Darcy, with a nod to Washburn and still gripped by Aliset with enough force to make his fingers  feel numb, moved toward their horses.  He made a bit of a show of helping Aliset to mount and then, as feeling returned to his fingers, quickly mounted Sigrun.  Washburn already had Shadow moving forward.  Without looking back, all three headed back north on the Cuilteine road toward the turnoff to the west.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on April 29, 2019, 11:40:37 PM
 
Lord Darcy, secure in his saddle, led his wife and the knight in single file out of the city at an easy pace. Washburn on his tall warhorse followed at the rear, looking at every face that turned to look at him as he passed them by. A quick glance up at the towers guarding the portico showed the faces of the watchmen, archers to be sure, studying the people who came and went through the open gates. At this slow walk, the black stallion gave a prancing step echoing his rider's need to move out and be gone from this place. "Hold tight," Darcy said over his shoulder, making it an order. So chided, Sir Washburn relaxed his legs at his stallion's flanks, and Shadow Dancer subsided back to a following walk. They reached the apple orchards to either side of the road, and Darcy allowed his group to move out at a slow trot. The number of wagons on the road thinned, allowing his wife to move up beside him. Her back was stiff and her eyes would not meet his. She was angry, to be sure. Washburn made note of it, but did not know why. All he wanted in that moment was to be free of the watchful eyes from the towers behind him.

They passed a cart path to the east that headed to the local farms down the valley. Here was where most of the commoners on the road came and went from. The main Cuilteine road north was clear, only the rise of hills and dense forests to either side gave it a congested feel. It would be miles before the next valley and farmland. Those farms would look to the town of Droghera instead of Cuilteine. Darcy kicked Sigrun to a canter, and Wash came abreast with the other two now that they had the road to themselves. It wasn't a conscious effort, but slowly and gradually Wash let Shadow have his head. The speed of their passing increased until the three abreast were in full gallop towards freedom.

The lady with them had no trouble keeping up with the racing knight. Her thoughts were not on the landscape streaming by them.  Aliset put heels to her horse's sides and gripped her reins tightly. Though the two men would not know of it, she used their flight through this borderland wilderness with a sense of grim pleasure, imagining her fingers twined around her husband's neck and her heels digging into the tenderness of his sides.  What, by all the imps of Hell, had he been thinking, casually sullying her reputation so, even if simply before some unknown guard she would likely never see again?!  At least she certainly hoped not! 

How mortifying would that be?

She took a deep breath and then another, willing herself to calm down if for no reason than for her mount's sake, as her agitation was beginning to communicate itself to the poor beast who was doing his best to keep the pace, even without her desire to kick at his sides. It was, Aliset decided, merely a spontaneous jest on Darcy's part, meant to extricate them from a sticky situation and not meant in any way to hurt her. Part of her knew that. But what idiots men could be sometimes, to not stop and think of how their words and actions might affect a woman living in a world where ladies were all too readily catalogued, contained and dismissed into neat little categories of "doxies" and "saints" rather than seen as men were, as people who might make good decisions or poor ones in the course of their day to day lives, but needn't fear being considered disreputable forever in the eyes of society on the basis of one single tall tale!

She wouldn't kill him, of course. But just now, she needn't speak to him either. An easy enough vow to keep as they bolted up the road at this breakneck gallop that the knight at her side seemed to push, to gain a freedom he already had. Or did he?  Bloody idiots, men are! she inwardly hollered to the heavens, giving way to the satisfaction that at least God had heard her.

"Can we bloody well slow down already?" she yelled, proving her ire was now aimed at both men in her company. Purposely she slowed her poor horse down to a more manageable canter, letting the dark-clad knight race on ahead of her. Despite her anger with Darcy, she found some satisfaction in her husband's need to be at the side of both the knight and her, and finally choosing his wife. Together, they let the distance lengthen between them and the galloping knight.

((Thank you to Evie for her most enjoyable contributions to co-writing Aliset's reaction above. ))

It was only when the stallion reached the intersecting road that led off to the west that the great war horse slowed to a canter. The rider looked back over his shoulder, suddenly concerned that he had far outpaced his companions.  The destrier shared that concern with an arched neck and a deep throated nicker at his slower friends. Why had they not kept up with him? Shadow Dancer cantered a full circle around the road crossing.  His rider held a firm grip on the reins to hold the warhorse to this agitated pace. A second time they circled the cross road, giving the lord and lady a chance to come abreast.

"Is this the road?" Wash yelled out to Lord Darcy. Shadow finally slowed to a trot as the other two came to a full stop at the crossroads' center. Whether it was warhorse or knight, or both, who chose not to stop as the others had, was hard to tell.  Wash looked over his shoulder to see Darcy's response. Instead of a confirmation, Darcy raised his hand to hold up.

"Sir Washburn, please, have a care for my lady. We need to ease up on the pace," Darcy called out. Lady Aliset sat beside her husband, patting the neck of her winded horse, but said not a word. Darcy felt her cold eyes, but had no time for that just now. "We are not outlaws," he exclaimed to the knight, "nor are we being chased by such men. My lady is on a courser of older stock, one not accustomed to such a pace, and my Sigrun is loath to leave the gelding behind." Darcy did not see, although Washburn did, the hard glare from the lady toward her husband as he talked on. "We have our freedom, without threat of capture.  I beg a reprieve from such unnecessary exertion."

So chided, Wash slowed the war stallion to a walk and then with ease came to a full halt before the other two, proving it was not the horse but rather the rider who was agitated by the events in the city they left behind. Abashed, Sir Washburn took up a great breath and then let it out slowly, calming his tension. A long look back at the road proved they were not being followed. "I won't be held captive again, and I won't easily tolerate others being held for no apparent cause. I know not exactly what was said to get us out of there, but I thank you for whatever truth or untruth that you managed to contrive. I realize now how close I was to losing my temper. I was counting the guards and had them all numbered as to whom to take down first. I am not fit for civilization, that much I can feel. Never before have I become so angry, nor so quickly, as I did back there. I would have gotten us all killed if not for your quick wits."

"Aye, I sensed it coming on. You are not subtle in your temper. In this, you have changed. It is understandable," Darcy placated with an upheld hand. "Just hold tight as best you can, and trust that Aliset and I will always see you to the right of it. Sword play is not always the answer. Nor is running like the wind. Trust me, I can bring my crew though any storm."

"About that, we shall see. Later, when it is just you and me," the lady said as an aside to her husband. She ignored the wince from Darcy's features and the bit of his lip. She walked her horse closer to the knight, straightening her back as she did. Both men seemed to notice that she had just taken charge of the situation. "Lord Darcy was right to get us out of there quickly. Let us not jeopardize our health, now that we are free. I shall set the pace, if you don't mind." So saying, she set her gelding down the west road at a good walk. The two men watched her go, noting the swaying of her braid of long hair down her delicate but determined back.

"Why is she mad at you?" Wash commented when he and the seaman shared a glance.

"You finally noticed that, did you?" With a little irritation, Darcy flipped his cap up and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand before resettling the cap over his hair. "Hopefully, tis nothing that an explanation can't cure." The two men kicked their horses to a trot to catch up with the lady and then slowed to a walk on either side of her. 

"I thank you again for getting us gone from both the ruins this morning and from that city just now." Wash could think of no other way to smooth the lady's ire.  "I am in both of your debts, and it has only been a few hours since we have come together again. I know I am changed in ways I have yet to even fathom. For this, I am very sorry. Yet I am still me, and I will do my very best to be the friend you once trusted."

The two both looked at him with accepting eyes. "Yes, you are still you," Aliset tried to say in reassurance.

"Within reason, we do trust you," Darcy said, his eyes looking ahead for a moment before he turned full face back to his companion. "I count on your loyalty and that light-hearted attitude that I still see. These traits are a part of you that remain even after the difficulties that we have endured.  That is what made us friends. All the rest of it can settle to the bottom as this storm starts to pass and these turbulent seas start to calm. When we rejoin with Father Columcil, I am certain he can help you sift through it all." Darcy looked at his wife and her determination to not move faster than this fast walk. He realized they would not be at the Baron's manor until long after the sun set. Washburn had told him of his mother's contact, and Darcy would not be the one to cause Washburn to miss that. "We will rest up at dusk. Have you thought what you will tell your mother when you contact her?"

"Khadasa!" Washburn exclaimed and then let out a great sigh. "No storm will ever be as turbulent as the one where I face my mother."

"Wash, your mother will be desperate just to touch your mind and hear your voice," Lady Aliset said to him with all tenderness. "You can tell her as much or as little as you like. It will not matter. She is desperate just to know you are alive and free."

"I hope you are right," Wash said very quietly.

They rode on through the afternoon and even a little longer until the sun was setting behind the hills before them. The long summer dusk gave enough light to see by, allowing Darcy and Aliset to find a clear spot by the river to water their horses and to rest for a meal. Washburn fingered the Lendour coin on the chain he had around his neck, growing anxious over the promised contact with his mother.  He refused the proffered ale skin, saying only the words, "Later, if I survive this." Then he walked away from his companions and the horses to settle on the river's edge with his back against a tree. He looked out over the rippling water and took in the stillness of this place. There was little light left to play upon the water, yet once, then twice, there was a splash in the river's center as a fish would jump to catch at a bug on the surface.

Everything had to eat. It was always the way that the stronger ate the lesser, and then something even bigger and stronger came along and ate that which thought itself to be strong enough to survive. Washburn had always thought himself strong enough. A man born of a noble family, a man capable of beating his foes in tournament. Yet that was all just show. The real Washburn had become complacent. Complacent! What a word. It stung at his heart and he did not know why. Complacent, Never be complacent! Someone had once said this to him. Who had that been? He knew he should have known, but it would not come to him. Biting his lip, he let that lapse, and looked down at the Lendour coin. What could he possibly say to his mother to make all this right? He could think of nothing. Perhaps just a...Hello, I am here... would suffice.

He cleared his mind and tried to think only of his mother. She was an amazing lady. One he greatly admired and sometimes he remembered even being loved by her, when his father or his brother's were not around, that is.

((12:42 <Laurna> rolling. Does Wash contact his mother?
12:42 <Laurna> !roll 2d6
12:42 <•derynibot> 2, 2 == 4
12:42 <Laurna> thought that would happen))

Was his failure to make contact with his mother, because his thoughts turned to his brothers who often ordered him about in servitude? How could he think of her without thinking of them? Where were his brothers now? He had not wanted to ask, and his companions had not been forthcoming on telling him. Agitated he leaned his head against the tree, he watched the birds, or were those bats, flying over the tops of the trees? The coin still cupped in his palm, he took several deep breaths attempting to reach out with his mind. Finding no contact after a passage of time the son of the great lady gave up the search and instead fell into an exhausted sleep.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on May 03, 2019, 03:08:03 PM
Darcy Cameron looked at the stars overhead as they gradually came into view in the deepening summer dusk.  They had always been a comfort to him, constant in their presence and cheerfully twinkling.  They, at least, never snapped at him.

In truth, Aliset had not snapped at him.  Instead, she maintained the cold silence of a Northern Sea iceberg;  dangerous to approach and with no welcoming harbour.  Darcy sighed and turned back toward where she sat unpacking their provisions.  The ale skin remained available for Washburn, once he returned from trying to make contact with Dowager Duchess Richenda.  Though at the moment, he looked to be asleep, leaning against a tree near the riverbank.

Aliset did not look up at his approach.  So be it.  Darcy sat down just near enough to be beyond her reach, one leg crossed in front of him as he rested his arm against the upraised knee of his other leg  with its foot planted on the ground.  It was an old habit; he had found it easier to be up and quickly away if one foot remained firmly planted on the ground. 

"Will you at least hear what I have to say?" Darcy asked her, keeping his voice as calm as he could.

Aliset gave him a withering look.  "Do you have another tall tale to tell at the expense of my reputation?" she asked coldly.

"We needed to be away before Washburn took matters into his own hands.  There was some truth in it; I just spun it to our advantage."

"OUR advantage?"  Aliset said hotly.  "I hardly call sullying my reputation advantageous to me!"  She glared at him, her lips pursed in a tight line.

"You are my wife, and no one will sully your reputation on my watch." Darcy said firmly.  He held her gaze and did not look away.  "There was truth in the story I told; it just wasn't your story.

'Then whose was it?"  Aliset asked, looking skeptical.

"A novice from a convent in the Kheldish Riding."

"Pray continue, if you must."

"I must," Darcy said simply. "And you can read the truth of it."  He cleared his throat and plunged ahead. " We had laid up in port on the eastern shore of the Kheldish Riding  for some minor repairs and to negotiate our next cargo.  I was fifteen and quite full of myself; a full year into my majority and rising up the ranks faster than most.  Oh yes, I was a bit on the cocky side." 

"Shocking," Aliset said dryly.

Darcy chose not to comment on that.  "There was a convent near the port that included a hospice for injured or ailing seamen.  The Quartermaster tasked me with going there and purchasing the herbs and medicines we normally stocked for a voyage from the sisters.  Not only did he trust me with the coin for the purchase, he included a bit extra for a nice meat pie for my trouble.  In truth, I think he wanted me out of his hair for awhile."

"Imagine that," Aliset said, but Darcy thought he detected the slightest of smiles.  Or was it a smirk?

"By the time I found a suitable meat pie and ate it down to the last crumb, I was running a bit later than I intended.  I was at the rear of the convent, so I cut across the grounds to reach the front gate where I would be granted admittance.  As I hurried along, I ran into a novice running away from a side gate, literally!  I knocked her flat to the ground.  I helped her up and steadied her until she regained her breath.  She asked me to let go of her so she could continue down to the docks."

"Why did she want to go there?" Aliset asked.

"I had no clue, but I knew it was NOT a place she should be.  She seemed to be a year or so older than me, pretty enough from what I could see of her face that was not hidden by her white wimple and veil.  She would not have lasted five minutes on the docks before the dock hands would be all over her.  Then they would have hauled her off to the local brothel to be shared with others."

"Darcy!"  Aliset exclaimed.  "You exaggerate!"

"I do not," Darcy replied firmly.  "I didn't let go of her arm, and I asked her why she wanted to go there.  She replied that she was running away, and I needed to step aside before she was found.  But I had already delayed her too long, and sisters were running toward us to reclaim her.  She was led back to the side door in tears, and I was hustled away to the main gate.  Trust that I was thoroughly questioned by the abbess, a right formidable woman. Fortunately, she was acquainted with the Quartermaster from when he had brought one of our injured crew to the hospice, and I was allowed to purchase what we needed."

Darcy looked thoughtful, as his mind played back what had happened.  "The sister in charge of the hospice was friendlier than most, probably because she was used to dealing with men of the sea.  I asked her about the novice and was told that she had been given to the convent as an oblate at the age of three.  She was to take her final vows in the fall and had been helping with the patients in the hospice.  The stories they told as she saw to their care had opened her eyes to a wider world, and she had begun to question taking final vows.  The sister assured me that this sometimes happened, and all would be well."

Darcy  looked away, thinking of the headstrong novice looking for a way to freedom.  "I wondered afterwards how she fared, wondered if there could have been some other way out for her, or if there was something I could have done.  I had the world opening up before me; her life would be lived forever within the confines of the convent.  I wondered if she ever found peace."

"And so her story became my story," Aliset said.  "But with a different ending."

"Aye, a happier one, I hope," Darcy said.

Aliset refused to take the bait.  "Did you tell the Quartermaster what happened?"

'Oh, aye; there was no reason not to.  He lamented that only I could visit a convent and land in the middle of such a disturbance." 

A smile twitched at the corners of Aliset's lips. "Did you ever find out how the novice fared?" she  asked him.

"Nay, I did not.  It was well over a year before we docked in that port again, and nothing would change from what was, so I let it go."

"You never really let anything go, do you?"

"I expect not."  Darcy took a chance and reached across to grasp her hand.  'Especially you;  I will never let go of you."

Aliset shook her head, but did not withdraw her hand.  "You are so exasperating.  What am I do with you?"

Darcy chanced a smile.  "Whatever you decide will suit me, love, so long as you are by my side."

"My decision is to start our dinner," Aliset announced.  "But you can help me."

Darcy was happy to comply.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on May 04, 2019, 10:19:44 AM
Braced against supporting pillows, the Lady Richenda sat upon her bed; a soft glow of luminescent green curtained her off from the room around her. For this connection, considering the distance and their enemy's resourcefulness, she thought it wise to use the protection of a ward while she cast outward to find her missing son. The appointed time was dusk. Due to the long summer days, dusk was not a precise moment in time. She did not know exactly when or even if her son would make contact with her this night.

Lord Iain had arrived during the morning hours with his surprising guest. The lady hostage had been given into the queen's care and installed in a secure warded room in the queen's tower with all the amenities a noble lady should desire. The girl's harsh words and curses toward her confinement could be heard for some hours down the hall, until she had subsided into a torrent of tears. Richenda's daughter, Grania had gone to her then and listened to her complaints of abduction and ill treatment, to which Grania reflected back to her that Lord Iain, under the circumstances, had treated her well enough. If her temperament improved, Grania assured her she would be treated with even greater care. Richenda gauged that with time, without the rebel men guiding the young Mearan lady, she would come to understand that her pretensions were not legitimate. She was of noble birth, yet no higher than others in the eyes of those in Rhemuth.

Richenda pushed those considerations aside, this was not her concern just now. What she was anxious over was whether her son had found the book she had placed in his saddlebags. She hoped her son's companions had taken him into their protection and had given him back his horse. Had he yet had time to go through those bags? Perhaps he would not find the book until the following morning, and then it would not be until tomorrow evening that he would try to contact her. She didn't think she could wait that long. If her son Washburn was free as Iain had assured her, then she had to find him tonight. She had to know.

She had bound two matching coins of Lendour placing one on her husband's journal which had gone into her son's bags in hopes he would find it. The other she had kept close to her heart. She had chosen these coins because they matched a series of coins that years ago had told her the story of another Washburn from a far distant past. The man she had named her youngest son after. The man who had been steward of the Earldom of Lendour even as her son is the current steward of Lendour. 

Seeking with mind and soul out through the ward which protected her from any enemies interference, Richenda reached out for her son. Just there, she could sense him; his agitation was great. In her scrying, she saw him seated on a river bank, he looked well, unharmed, though she knew that was deceptive. Try as she might, she could not make contact; his heartbeat was too rapid, his mind too occupied. 

"Mother," came the soft feminine sound from the real world. Richenda opened her eyes to see her daughter standing beside her bed on the outside of the ward. "Let me help you, the energy drain is too much for just one," Lady Grania added.

Richenda nodded knowing it to be true.  She arched her hand across the ward leaving an opening for Grania to climb onto the mattress beside her and then settle on the pillows, her head against her mother's shoulder. The ward closed again and the two Morgan woman put both their energies to the task of contacting Washburn.

((12:44 <Laurna> Using her matching Lendour coin Richenda reach out and feel Washburn's presences?
12:44 <Laurna> !roll 3d6
12:44 <•derynibot> 1, 5, 3 == 9
12:44 <Laurna> better.))

Ah good, he has calmed and fallen asleep. We should be able to reach him now. she rapported to her daughter.

My beloved son, hear your mother and your sister, and know that you are loved by us. We want to know you are well, can you hear us?

((12:45 <Laurna> Is Wash able to feel his mother's presence and respond back?
12:45 <Laurna> !roll 2d6
12:45 <•derynibot> 5, 2 == 7
12:45 <Laurna> good. ))

To Richenda's great relief, the dreaming voice of her son returned her contact. Maman, is it really you, or is this but a dream?

Hold our Rapport as you wake and know that it is truly I, your mother, who loves you.

Sir Washburn did wake, conscious now that he still sat beside the river cupping the coin in his hand, but also conscious of the two women who sat so very far away. Your Grace! Forgive me! Forgive me of everything that has happened, to be caught so off guard was my failure. I have paid for that failure, yet I fear I have not yet paid for the hurt I caused you. My brother's are seeing to that, I am told.

That is far from true! Richenda wanted to scream at her youngest that his brothers were doing what they had to do to protect him, but she had been forewarned by Iain and refrained from talking of Brendan and Kelric. I have heard Lord Iain Cameron's accounting and I know some of what you have been through. You have acquitted yourself well. Know that I think you a good man and a capable man. And I would want you home as soon as circumstances allow it.

You mean the king, when he will allow it!  he declared with a cold tone. He regretted it instantly noting his mother's hesitation. I didn't mean that, I am sorry.

His sister's voice and warm touch came through the link then. I want to thank you for my son, Kenneth's birthday present. Kenneth and his cousins played with their wood shields and swords all day.

That took Washburn back. He struggled to remember his nephew and the present he had ordered to be made and delivered on his birthday. There was that memory, hidden behind so many others, and unlike the others this was a happy memory of good times, of the boys telling the woodcarver which shield they favored and which helm shape they each liked. None of the boys were  the wiser that the man was taking notes and sizing them up for the present he would present to them in their uncle's name. It seemed strange that he had no trouble paying for such extravagant gifts, handing over the gold coins and still having some left in his purse. That conflicted with memories more demanding than this one. He pushed that discord away for another time. Grania sent the images of all the boys playing with Kenneth's birthday gift, including a warm cheer when the boys yelled out, "Huzza for my uncle! Huzza for Sir Washburn!" The love from the young boys filtered across the link and warmed Washburn's soul.

Using the calmness that prevailed, Richenda pushed through a mental embrace. That love has not diminished, not from any of your family. Please, my son, show me what you have been through. I know some of the horror of it. Yet, I am willing to have you share it all with me. You need hold nothing back.

No. Wash said almost too quickly.

I am you mother, I would know what my son has withstood.

Maman, I love you, was all Washburn could say. After the silence that followed, he whispered, I can't....

Then it is I who will share with you some of what I know. Flashes of the aftermath of his abduction flowed across the link: the Duke of Cassan's rescue of Lady Aliset, the Arilan men scanning the portal networks to discover the place of his first captivity, the commoners of Droghera finding his hiding place and their determination to rescue him, and then Richenda breaking the portal trap to get to the old Michealine ruins and jumping there, only to have just missed him.

Wash was taken back. That was a very dangerous thing to do.

For my children, I will do anything, returned his mother with intense determination.

Wash cupped the coin tighter in his fist. He had had no notion that so many had taken such effort to find him. It surprised him and made him think. Why would so many risk their lives for him? Thank you! he managed to say as unexpected emotion caught at his throat. 

This contact is draining us both and I suspect you are still in need of what energy you have. Nevertheless, I must ask of you one thing. Richenda hesitated, afraid of what she must ask. This afternoon, Lord Iain told me much of what happened at the Fortress of Grand Duke Valerian. There was something he said that not even he could explain. She passed the image of Iain restraining Lady Sidana in his arms and his surprise to find she had shields. Then Washburn coming forward, touching the woman's head and suddenly Sidana's shields were gone. What did you do? Do I need to worry that her shields will return?

There was a long silence and for a moment Richenda thought the Rapport was broken. When her son did respond, he was very quiet. Her shields will not return, unless I am there to return them... or someone like me, he added as an after-thought.

Can you tell me, please? She was not being aggressive in her asking. She wanted an answer, but was trying not to push him. Wash realized if he was going to trust anyone it would have to be the Dowager Duchess of Corwyn.

A scroll I read... called it Power Blocking. Do you know of it? Do you know anyone who can do it?

Richenda had guessed as much, but she was still shocked to hear it said. Azim sent me a scroll that told of the use if that ability to hide Deryni during the time of the Regents. It does not describe how it was done; it did state that less than a handful of Healers had this ability, and that was back in a time when Healers were far more plentiful than they are today. I know of no one in the eleven kingdoms in our time, who has this ability.

You know someone, now, Washburn said very quietly.

Richenda was crying, this is why the king would not allow her son to come home.

Know that I love you and know that I trust you to do what is right. That has always been your guide. It matters not to me that you have learned to do this thing.

Apparently, it does matter to some. I promise to do my best to do what is right.

In that moment he felt the hug from his mother and his sister over the long distance between them, and then the contact was broken. For a long time, Wash listened to the movement of the water along the river's shore. He was tired beyond measure. Too tired to go any further this day. It would disappoint his friends, he was sure. They were hoping to sleep in a private bed, in a private room this night. Being in a manor surrounded by people was the last thing Wash wanted for himself. Determined to make his case, he walked back to the campsite where a fire was blazing. The newlyweds were cuddled together as if the disagreement between them had never existed.

"I'll have some of that ale, if you have not drunk it all."

Darcy happily handed across the skin. "We have dinner to go with it. We were waiting for you." He pointed to a pot stewing on a stone by the fire.

"That would be perfect." Wash stirred the pot with the big spoon, and smelled the good scent from it. Stimulated by his senses, he spooned out three full cups of stew and handed two of them to his friends. They all ate in silence, there was no need to talk.

At length Aliset was the one to speak. "We will stay here tonight and find the manor in the morning."

Washburn looked over at the couple and could not help the laugh that came to his lips. "Making up is always the best part." He gave Darcy a wink and ignored Aliset's slap on Darcy's shoulder for his returned smile. After another spoonful of stew and a small snicker, Washburn announced "I will sleep by the horses. Don't suppose you could spare me an extra blanket."

Darcy was quick to hand a rolled blanket around the fire's edge. "We will only need the one," he said giving his beloved a warm kiss.


Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on May 05, 2019, 08:41:44 AM
In the morning the bells of every cathedral and church in Gwynedd began to toll in unison. For Sunday morning has come to the 11 Kingdoms, and the Priest and Bishops are mourning the passing of one of there own.

For Bishop Denis Michael Arilan had passed away peacefully the day before, aged 81 years. He had returned to Dhassa via Portal for a brief few days to attend to matters there with an informal meeting of several itinerant priests and Bishops.

His body is being persevered by a young Healer of Dhassa who has been given the honor so it may reside in state in the heat of summer at Dhassa, then on to Valoret, then to Rhemuth, before arriving at Tre-Arilan for burial.

The Arlian family is grieving the loss of it's patriarch but the rebellion in Meara is still the priority. They are focused on ending the rebellion and serving the King with all their energies and powers.

As is common with high ranked Deryni, a death reading was preformed by Sextus Arlian. Much was already lost by the time the reading was preformed. But the results were conclusive none the less. The good Bishop's time had come.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on May 08, 2019, 12:44:49 PM
Sir Iain Cameron stood at the window of his apartment in Rhemuth.  The bells of the cathedral and surrounding churches had finally grown silent after exhausting themselves announcing the death of Bishop Denis Arilan. Iain felt a profound sadness.  He rarely crossed paths with the bishop, but he respected the man. Arilan had been the first Deryni to gain entry to the priesthood since the Council of Ramos and then to be consecrated as bishop!  He had paved the way, though perhaps not as openly as some would have wished, to reinstating Deryni into the grace they had long been denied.  God rest his soul and give him praise!

Sidana of Meara was another matter.  His face still stung from the slap she had given him once he had turned his controls on her over to the queen.  Iain was certainly no innocent, but Sidana's vehement curses for all things Haldane had almost made him blush!  Or at least wince.  She was locked away for now in a warded chamber in the Queen's tower, looked after with the respect due to any noble lady.  But not the deference expected by a pretender queen.  Iain had done his duty by delivering her safe to King Kelson.  His responsibility to her was done.  Why did he still feel a nagging concern for her wellbeing?

What would Kelson do about her?  Her captivity is Rhemuth would be a blow to the rebellion.  And once Kelson had subdued the rebels, and Iain was sure that would be the final outcome, God willing, what would become of her?  Her existence would remain a rallying point for any who would challenge Haldane rule in Meara for years to come.  Kelson would be well within his rights to execute her for dynastic reasons, as he had executed Judhael after the last Mearan rebellion.  Surely he would not do so again?  Or would he? 

Iain sighed and turned from the window.  He had opened the wood box on his desk out of habit and checked the contents.  He knew that Darcy had claimed the Heir's Ring.  He smiled again at the hastily scrawled note he had found inside the box.  I owe you two gold coins.  Darcy Solveig.  True enough, his count of coin was two short.  Darcy could have taken more, but he had not. His brother seemed to be confident in making his own way in the world.  Though now that way included a wife.

The bells of Rhemuth began to toll again.  Iain did not find comfort in the sound; there were too many pieces of Master Feyd's puzzle that needed to be understood before he could find peace of mind.  And many pieces were still missing and needed to be found.  He had work to do.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on May 08, 2019, 06:21:27 PM
The dinner in the baron's hall drew to an end. With thanks to Baron Stuart for his hospitality, the guests began to leave the dining hall to tend to other responsibilities. Lord Jaxom bowed to the baron and his wife, expressed his thanks for the meal, and left the hall to prepare for the departure of himself and his men with the prisoners early the next morning. Lord Michael bowed to his father and mother, stating that he too had preparations to make for the morning's departure. Although he would remain nominally a prisoner until his fate was decided by Earl Brendan, he was submitting himself voluntarily to the earl for judgment. Therefore, he would be allowed to ride his own horse and would be treated with the respect due his station. Although he would certainly not be allowed to carry arms, he planned to ask Lord Jaxom to convey his sword, bow and arrows to Droghera for him. He hoped to be able to join Earl Brendan's forces and prove himself as a loyal king's man.

Jaxom had found a cart with high sides, big enough to hold four of the prisoners with a driver to convey the other prisoners to Droghera.  The baron had readily agreed to lend him the conveyance and one of his draught horses to pull it.  He was anxious to have the rebels removed from his estate and placed in the custody of the earl and his men who were certainly better prepared to deal with them.  Only Drago would ride his own horse, closely watched by one of Jaxom's men, with his hands bound and a rope running from his chest to the pommel of his guard's saddle. He was being kept separate from the other prisoners to prevent him from stirring up any trouble.

Gavin was sent to assist the baron back to his own quarters. There Mac would begin to draw up plans for mutual defense against the rebels to keep his own lands and those of his neighbors safe.   He began to compose a letter that he would have copied and carried by Gavin to those neighboring lords who needed to be included.

Father Columcil accompanied the baron back to his quarters to examine his injuries and be certain they were healed with no lingering deleterious effects. He reminded Baron Stuart that he still needed rest to complete his recovery. After the baron promised to go to bed after he completed his letter, the priest left him to go to the church for vespers.

After conferring with the cook about preparations for breakfast and for food to be provided for the travelers the next morning, Fiona retired to her own room, feeling somewhat at loose ends. After a warm bath, she donned her nightdress.  However, she did not feel sleepy, there was much to think about.  She curled up on the window seat with her arms wrapped around her knees and gazed out the window at the scene below. The long summer dusk was drawing in and stars were beginning to appear in the sky above the trees. It was quiet. She heard only distant voices as the servants completed their tasks and headed to their beds. She had given little thought to what should come next for her own life. She had been happy here, but she was seventeen and changes were inevitable. What did she see for herself in the future? She had an independant nature and hoped to have some choice about what should happen next. She loved and respected the baron and his wife and she was devoted to Iain, but she hoped to have her ideas at least considered. She could not see herself remaining quietly at the manor, helping the baron and his wife like a dutiful daughter until a marriage was arranged for her.

Fiona was aware that Baron Stuart had hoped that she and Michael might wed. Though neither of them had any serious feelings for anyone else, they thought of each other more like brother and sister, and their relationship was like that of siblings. Uncle Mac had never actually proposed  such a match to her, but he had hinted that it would be advantageous for both of them. Much as she loved Uncle Mac and Aunt Olivia, she could not see herself married to Michael if there was another possibility. She had dreamed of a handsome knight on a charger who would one day appear and sweep her off her feet. But Fiona had a core of solid common sense which told her this was extremely unlikely.

Fiona gave a deep sigh. She had long dreamed of being able to attend one of the king's scholas. She knew she was Deryni, and she was able to use some of the basic powers she had learned when she was much younger, before Iain took her to live with the baron.  After that she had no one who could teach her. Iain, on his rare visits to the manor, had little time to discuss future plans for her. He mostly focused on her immediate welfare. She was not sure he even realized that she was no longer the little girl he remembered but a young lady who needed a plan for her future. With the eruption of the rebellion in Meara and his vital responsibilities to King Kelson, she was sure he had little thought or time to give to her beyond her immediate safety. She wondered whether the appearance of his long lost brother, Darcy, might make a difference. Perhaps she might be able to talk to her new cousin and his wife about her concerns if she could reach them. Aliset was a fully trained Deryni and might be receptive to providing training for Fiona herself or encouraging Iain to support her admission to the schola in Rhemuth. She so much wanted to learn more about her Deryni heritage and to learn to use her powers in the service of others.

She knew that marriage was in her future as it was for any young girl of her age and station. In fact, it was somewhat surprising that she had not already been betrothed to a young man of similar status. She was heir to lands in the Duchy of Claiborne that had belonged to her father. They had been managed by a steward chosen by Iain who oversaw her inheritance until she should marry. That certainly made her attractive as a marriage prospect. At least Iain was kind and had not been pushing the idea of marriage to her. She was sure he would never force her into a marriage, but her time as an unattached girl was surely limited. She had hoped that she would have an opportunity to at least meet and know others her age. Her acquaintances were mostly limited to Michael's friends who treated her like a pesky younger sister. She considered them too young and immature to be of interest. She sighed deeply and leaned her head against the window. She saw no immediate solution to her problems. The rebellion made the future quite uncertain.  She felt very tired and gradually drifted off to sleep.

Fiona awoke to the sound of bells ringing, not just the bells of their own small church on the estate, but bells from nearby St. Brigids and from Cuilteine and Droghera. Something momentous must have happened. She quickly rose, washed, dressed for the day and made ready to descend.

As she hurried down the stairs toward the kitchen, she could also hear the stamping of horses, the jingle of harness and the sounds of men's voices. It was apparent that Lord Jaxom and his party were getting ready to set out. She hurried through the kitchen and out the door to the courtyard. The wagon and horse were pulled up near the door that led to the barn, and the prisoners were being loaded into the well of the horse cart where they sat with their hands  bound. A rope looped through their tied hands, binding them together.  Drago was already mounted, his hands also bound and a rope running from his body to the pommel of the saddle of the guard near him. Michael was also mounted and ready to accompany Jaxom to Droghera.  Jaxom was standing with the Baron, watching the disposition of his men. 

Fiona hurried over to where Mac and Lord Jaxom were standing. "What is the meaning of the bells?"  she asked, "and where is Father Columcil?" 

Lord Jaxom turned to her, "We do not yet know the meaning of the bells, my lady. The priest has gone to try to reach Earl Brendan to find out the meaning of the bells and whether there is any change in his orders to me to deliver the rebels to Droghera by this evening. He also needed to clarify his own mission. Since his charge was to accompany you here to the manor and you are remaining here, he needs to know if he should also remain here or if he is to rejoin his companions and where he will find them."

Fiona's heart sank when she thought of Father Columcil rejoining her cousin and his wife while she was left behind at the manor. She wanted desperately to have another opportunity to talk with Darcy and Aliset about her desire for training, either from Lady Aliset or at the schola. If she was left behind, who knew when she would have another opportunity? With the rebellion requiring the services of all Kelson's loyal knights and vassals, who knew when she would see Iain or Darcy again. She needed Iain to at least know her wishes.

Just then, they all heard the sound of horses' hooves approaching the stableyard. As they all turned to see who was arriving, Fiona gasped. There were three horses. Riding two of them were her cousin Darcy and his wife. It was the third horse and rider who claimed her attention. He had appeared out of her dream of last night, a tall blond knight on a big black warhorse! Maybe dreams did come true after all!
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on May 09, 2019, 06:03:53 PM
"Are you planning on sleeping all day?" said the voice of Darcy, disrupting dreams filled with mixed emotions. Washburn was a page running errands through a large castle, a snippet of a hug from his mother, stern orders from his brother to be faster and better, a smack on his hand from a baton, the violet eyes of a bishop declaring that he was impossible to teach and that he gives up on him and would never again try and teach him. Then suddenly those violet eyes blinked and refocused and a hand touched Washburn's forehead and the old voice of Bishop Denis Arilan said softly, "I was wrong, forgive me, as I forgive you." There was a tear on the old bishop's cheek as he fingered the cross on Washburn's forehead, then he was gone. Shocked, Wash opened his eyes to see the pale blue ones of Lord Darcy leaning over him.

"You're a heavy sleeper. Wake up, we want to be at the manor as soon as may be. We don't know if we will find trouble there or peace. I would rather we surprise them, than they surprise us." There was a stomp of horse feet near Washburn's head and Darcy stood up quickly calling  "Whoa!"  Then he hefted his saddle over Sigrun's back.

A bit dazed, Washburn sat up keeping one hand firm on the ground to support himself, the other hand brushed across his eyes wondering if his eyesight was failing him. That's when he realized it was still pre-dawn. "Strange and otherworldly," Wash said with a sigh. Shaking off the dream, he lit his handfire to see better. "Sleep all day? Hah! The day hasn't even started. Why...? Did you and Aliset have another fight?"

The handfire gave light to the smile that crossed Darcy's face. "Quite the contrary," he declared. "We had a sumptuous..."

"No, No... That is none of my business," Washburn interrupted him in a rush. Then he returned Darcy's big smile. "Honest, my friend,  I heard and saw nothing; too tired for any of that nonsense."

"Far from nonsense," Darcy claimed with a happy slap upon his horse's neck.

Ignoring that, Wash returned, "You know, I really could have slept this whole next day away, and you and your wife could have had all that time you needed to yourselves. But no..., here you are blowing it by waking me up pre-dawn so that we can get back to civilization. Again I ask, Why?  Just so we can eat a hot morning meal?"

"That's not it. Aliset and I are a bit worried about my cousin and about Father Columcil. Both of them seem to me to be strong-headed and easily baited into trouble, I mean, Columcil followed us through our shenanigans didn't he?  I am anxious to get us back together. Besides, we do better as a team, individually not so well." Darcy gripped Washburn's shoulder in a gesture of comradery.

Standing up, Wash copied the gesture.  "I can't tell you how much I agree with you and appreciate that." There was a nod between the two men and then both almost embarrassingly turned to their horses and their gear.  "It's a bit of a brisk morning. I wonder if my mother packed me some clothes. I almost regret leaving that green tunic behind. I take that back, no I don't."

Darcy looked at his friend quizzically and agreed that his black silk under-tunic was not much for warm clothing. "I don't have anything your size."

Wash moved his handfire over to his saddle bags. He looked inside for black fabric. What he found, instead, was an uncharacteristic long sea-blue wool tunic with a fur neck line, sleeves cut out and a dagged hem with the metal-thread embroidery of two gold lines and a silver flory. Not quite the sable, double tressure or, argent flory of the old House of Morgan heraldry, but close enough.  Washburn instantly recognized the tunic as one seen in a grand fresco in the halls of his home. The subjects were of his grandparents, Sir Kenneth Kai Morgan and the Lady Alyce, kneeling on the steps before the Haldane King of Gwynedd, a young blond haired boy bowing on the steps above them.  Washburn bunched his grandfather's tunic into his hands. This was indeed his mother's doing, her subtle way of reminding him of the fealty of the House of Morgan to the crown.

Aliset unknowingly said, "Oh, that matches your eyes! And it should be warm enough for this morning and not too warm for latter in the day. Put it on."

"This is older than I am by thrice, and it likely will not fit."

"Your mother would not have packed it if it would not fit," Aliset said with a quirk of a smile.

Wanting to prove the lady wrong, Wash jammed the tunic over his head. To his dismay the old style tunics were cut extra wide and extra long, which on him fit well and had a length just past his knees. The overlapped slashed openings front and back would make for ease of riding. Well at least the wool was soft and comfortable, Wash had to admit he liked the color, too.

"Not bad," Aliset said with a girlish giggle.

"Like you can see in this light," Washburn commented.

"I may be married, yet my eyes work just fine, even in this light," She said giving both men a blushing smile. Then quick enough she was all business again, picking up the last of her things. Darcy saddled her horse and the two shared a loving touch as she added those things to her saddle-pack. 

It was still pre-dawn as the three rode out. They kept to an easy canter until the sun rose to show the road ahead of them. When the way was well lit, the not too distant sound of bells reminded them that a world still existed beyond this forest. When the bells continued to toll, they each searched the others' faces for answers. Finding none, they pressed their mounts to canter faster, to get where they needed to be all the sooner.

Ahead of them was open ground and a stone and wood/stucco manor beyond. The open ground was not clear; men, horses and a wagon prepared to move out. From what his cousin had shared, Darcy recognized the baron and his wife before the manor's doors and knew instantly from their calm demeanor that all was well. Washburn saw no such thing.

The knight scanned the courtyard as the three cantered in. He saw the bound men in the wagon, the one man tied to his horse, the guards watchful of the their prisoners, the lord and lady of the manor with a young pretty woman beside them, and then he saw, just turning away from the manor's lord, the one face that raised the bile into his throat. In an instant rage, he put spurs to his horse, charged ahead of his companions through the throng of horses and guards, catching all by surprise.  He wheeled the black stallion to a quick turn and a halt, then leaped from the saddle to land square with both feet facing his target, his hand drawing his sword in the same motion to make an ominous poise before the man he blamed for all his troubles.

"You! You're alive and not rotting in some dungeon for your crimes?!" Wash yelled at the despicable lordling of Trillick. He took a step forward closing the distance between him and Jaxom. "We were friends and you betrayed me. You betrayed the good Lady Aliset, the woman you professed to love! I will slaughter you where you stand for what you have done! Draw your sword!"
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on May 18, 2019, 09:08:46 PM
Sir Washburn threatened Lord Jaxom with his cold, hard anger. Everyone in the courtyard seemed frozen in place unable to respond to the threat. Jaxom's hand hovered over the hilt of his sword. Dare he pull it from his scabbard? Jaxom was proud of his swordsmanship, but was he good enough? The reputation of the man challenging him was of an undefeated champion. ((11:13  <Derynifank>  does Jaxom draw his sword? !roll 2d6
11:14  <Derynifank>  !roll 2d6
11:14  <•derynibot> 3, 4 == 7  Nope!))

Jaxom hesitated.

"Defend yourself, scum!" Washburn threatened his betrayer advancing a step closer and gesturing in a hostile manner with his sword.

"I've been pardoned," Jaxom claimed. His hand hovered over  his sword hilt, braced to draw in defense if need be.

"What?" Washburn was incensed by the mere idea. It had to be a lie! Yet, he did not detect it as so. "You abducted a maiden from the Queen's garden! You drugged her senseless and took her to a man who was contracted by Oswald, the man who murdered her whole family. He planned to force her to marry him so he would have her father's lands to use in a rebellion against Gwynedd. That is Treason!" Washburn yelled out advancing on the young lord.

((20:06 <Laurna> !roll 2d6
20:06 <•derynibot> 3, 6 == 9  this time , yes. ))

Thus threatened, Jaxom drew his sword, prepared to fight for his life.

Through this challenge, Darcy was the only one moving. Bloody hell, he thought, we don't need this. All too aware of the bloodshed about to erupt, he leapt from the back of his horse. He landed within reach of Washburn, and his hand grabbed the knight's sword arm. "Damn it Wash, hold and listen to me!"

Feeling his anger to be just, Wash shook Darcy's hand off. "I know what I saw! I know what I tried to stop, and I know the price I paid for it. What price has this fop paid?" Wash demanded.

"Hold!" Aliset's voice rang out from behind him. Wash froze, his eyes never left Jaxom's face; his heart wanted to avenge the terrible distress which he knew she had endured. Unbelievably, it was she who called to stop him from dealing out retribution. Her voice echoed in his mind, There are circumstances of which you are unaware. You must hold!

The nearest of Jaxom's soldiers were shifting closer to the two men, not sure what was happening but ready to defend their leader. The Baron quickly asserted his authority shouting, "Stop! What do you mean by dashing in here and attacking my guest?  Who are you and why are you here? I demand to know what is going on!" The scene was becoming chaotic. As the baron demanded answers,  Fiona ran forward throwing her arms outward coming to a halt between Lord Jaxom and this unknown knight, thinking she could stop the violence.

Wash maintained  his menacing stance; he did not lower his sword nor turn away from challenging Jaxom. Only for a moment did his gaze flit over to the pretty blond girl between them, amazed at her bravado.

He heard Aliset's voice in his mind. Wash I need you to not attack Lord Jaxom. Lower your sword. Resentment flared in Wash, his heart was racing, he didn't understand how everyone could let this man get off so easily from what he had done.
((01:14 <Laurna> Save test to resist Aliset's orders
01:14 <Laurna> !roll 3d6
01:14 <•derynibot> 2, 3, 3 == 8))

Washburn found her entreaty one he could not disobey. Slowly he lowered his sword, although he continued to glare at Jaxom.

"How can you defend him? He caused injury to us both!" In a harsh voice, Wash repeated his accusations of betrayal. His tone threatened to expose the torment he had felt for the attack on Aliset and for what he himself had endured.

Jaxom began to protest, but the baron called out "Silence! I am Baron Stuart and this is my manor which was threatened by a rebel infiltration and attempted seizure. Lord Jaxom and his men were sent by the King's representative to provide assistance, and they have freed my land from this threat. They have also captured several rebel prisoners".  The baron looked across at the wagon that held the prisoners. They were whispering among themselves and he suspected they were thinking of using this distraction to attempt an escape. He gestured to two of Jaxom's men to move nearer prevent any escape attempt.  As the men kneed their horses closer to the wagon he turned back to Darcy, satisfied  "I am grateful for his assistance and I need an explanation of this attack from one of you." He pointed at Darcy. "You," he said in a stern voice, "explain this clash. I will tolerate no fights or settling of private scores here. The rebels are threat enough to deal with."

Aliset had dismounted and came to stand beside  Darcy; her hand tugged at Fiona's sleeve to pull her out of harm's way. Darcy again touched  Wash's arm and spoke to him while keeping his eyes on Jaxom. "Sheathe your sword," he said softly. "We do not need complications here any more than we did in Cuiltiene. We do not wish to alienate any of the landowners here who are still loyal to Gwynedd. Baron Stuart is an influential man in this part of the borders and we need him on our side."

Wash nodded slowly and returned his sword to its scabbard although he continued to focus his hard stare on Jaxom. In response to the baron's words, Jaxom also sheathed his sword. "I apologize for this unseemly fracas, but I really had no choice but to defend myself against an unprovoked attack."

Darcy muttered to himself, "that depends on your point of view."  Aliset sent him a sharp look of warning.

The baron nodded, then beckoned to Fiona. "Tis foolish to put yourself between two armed men with weapons drawn. You could have been seriously hurt if it had escalated to a fight between them. Return to your aunt's side and stay there."

However, Fiona, instead of returning to the side of the baron's lady, moved to stand facing him.
"I have information to share with you, and it's important that you listen. Please Uncle Mac." She pleaded.

The baron studied her face then nodded briefly. "What is this Information you have for me?"

"I do not know the identity of the knight, but the other gentleman is Darcy Cameron. He is Sir Iain's  brother and therefore, also my cousin."

"Impossible!" said the baron. "Sir Iain's younger brother died of an illness when very young and he had no other brothers. This man must be an imposter."

Fiona shook her head. "That was what Sir Iain's stepfather gave out when the younger boy disappeared.  Actually his stepfather sold the boy to the master of a passing ship. His mother, my aunt, was in no position to challenge him, and Iain was in Rhemuth serving as a squire and undergoing his training. He never knew his brother was actually still alive.  Darcy spent 12 years at sea and only recently returned to seek employment as a man-at-arms. I met him at the Micheline ruins where I was seeking help to deal with the rebels here. He and Father Columcil were there with the squire on a mission from the King to locate a hidden fortress in the  Ratharkan mountains."

The baron looked doubtful but Fiona continued. "Look at him. Can you not see that he is the image of Iain?"  Darcy removed his cap and Mac studied the shorter of the two men standing before him. He certainly looked very much like Sir Iain. He shook his head as if trying to clear it.

He shifted his gaze from Fiona to Darcy. "Explain yourself and why you arrived here so abruptly, precipitating this confrontation. And who is this knight who travels with you and who was ready to attack my guest?"

Darcy stepped forward and, bowing to the baron, began to speak. "I am indeed Darcy Solveig Cameron, brother to Sir Iain Reyvik Cameron; and it is true that I have been many years at sea, learning a mariner's skills. How I came there is a story for another time. I had advanced to navigator of a trading ship when the master died. The new master preferred his own navigator so I was forced to seek new employment. I decided to seek my fortune as a man-at-arms. My first job was escorting a young lord who was in a great deal of danger to Rhemuth. The knight was also assigned as part of the young lord's escort. He is Sir Washburn Morgan, youngest son of the late Alaric Morgan, Duke of Corwyn and brother of the present duke, His Grace Kelric Morgan. It was he who sent Sir Washburn to join the escort. We met the good father who was also traveling to Rhemuth, and he joined our party. Lord Jaxom's father had sent him to find Sir Washburn because of concern for his safety and that of his party. He and his men joined the escort when he learned how dangerous the mission was, particularly with the rebellion spreading".

Darcy continued. " After we reached Rhemuth, events occurred which led to the enmity between Sir Washburn and Lord Jaxom. Unfortunately, Sir Washburn was abducted by a man in the employment of one of the rebel leaders. He suffered a great deal, both mentally and physically. He was delivered to this high ranking rebel and chained in a dungeon. Fortunately, my brother Iain was able to free him and conduct him to the Michaeline ruins where he joined me .Much occurred after Sir Washburn's abduction of which he is as yet unaware. There has been no opportunity to inform him of these events."

"While we were still in Rhemuth, the king became aware of my skill as a navigator and ability to use the stars as a guide. That led him to assign to me the mission of locating this fortress which is known to be a major rebel stronghold. At that time we were seeking Sir Washburn, and it was thought he might have been taken there. Father Columcil was directed to join me as he had achieved his goal in Rhemuth, and his Deryni powers would enable us to maintain contact with Rhemuth and inform them of our progress. We had reached the Michaeline ruins in our pursuit of this objective. While there we learned that my brother had already discovered the location of the hidden fortress from which he rescued he Sir Washburn. Since the fortress had been located, our mission changed."

"There we met Lady Fiona who was trying to reach Sir Iain to ask his help in dealing with the rebels who had infiltrated the manor and were attempting to seize it in order to gain a foothold in Gwynedd. She had run afoul of thieves on the Cuilteine road and had ridden toward the ruins in an effort to escape. Lord Jaxom and his men were there and drove off the attackers. Lady Fiona told her story to the King's representative and was able to convince him  to mount a rescue mission and to allow her to accompany them. Father Columcil was to serve as protector for the lady during this excursion, otherwise she would have to remain behind. I am sure her knowledge of the manor and its inhabitants was quite valuable in carrying out  their orders to free the manor of the rebels and prevent them from establishing a base here."

Jaxom had been silent during Darcy's explanation. However, when the baron asked why Darcy and the knight had followed them to the manor instead of accompanying them, he interjected, "Because they were not needed. As you have seen, I was perfectly capable of completing the assigned task without their help. I am not sure why they are here now!  And I don't see why the knight is now part of the party. He was not present at the ruins when I left there, and he seems more likely to cause trouble than prevent it."

Darcy began to reply, "We needed to wait for Iain to bring Sir Washburn to the ruins where he could rejoin us. Lady Fiona was very anxious to return to the manor immediately to interrupt the rebels' actions to take over and also to protect you and your wife from harm. Therefore, the rescue party left....."

Jaxom interrupted. "I still see no need for these others to be added to my mission, certainly not the knight!"

Wash stiffened, glaring at Jaxom. "I am here, no thanks to you, to offer my services to Lord Darcy and Lord Iain to help bring about the downfall of this Mearan rebellion. Do not get in my way again or I will  exact a price for the harm you have already caused."

The two men began a shouting match, with Darcy trying to restrain Wash and the baron calling for an end to the disagreement when another voice was heard above the fracas.

"Wha is ta meanin' of this bather and wha's the shoutin' aboot?" Columcil had come out into the stable yard unnoticed and now his own shout rang out over the clamor. In the sudden silence that followed, he said gravely, "I hae news for ye that is o' impairtance ta us all." All eyes turned toward him. "Ta bells were ringin' tae mark the passin' o' Bishop Denis Arilan who passed a day ago at Dhassa. He weel be sairly missed an his loss felt throughout the Eleven Kingdoms. I also have other news. But first, what is ta cause of this brawl?"

His eyes turned first to Darcy and then to the baron, waiting for them to inform him of what was happening here. Those around him appeared stunned, saying nothing while digesting the news that Columcil had brought. The bishop had been loved and respected throughout the Eleven Kingdoms for as long as most of them could remember.  The good Father's gaze scanned the men in the courtyard. His eyes stopped abruptly on the one face he had feared never to see again. As his eyes turned to Sir Washburn he declared, "Thanks be to God! I was afeared we might never see ya agin. How did ya ever regain yer freedom?"

Before Wash could reply, Darcy intervened. "That is also a story for another time. Right now, we need to resolve this squabble and determine what actions are most appropriate for each of us. Our main goal has to be to do what is best for Gwynedd and what is needed to help defeat the rebels. Personal quarrels have no place in this present crisis"

Washburn, appearing much calmer, stepped forward and bowed to the baron. "I regret that my unseemly behavior has contributed to the development of this brawl. It was never my intent to insult or offend you. I was not expecting to see Lord Jaxom, and at first all I saw was a person who had caused great harm to both the Lady Aliset and myself. However, since both Lord Darcy and the lady are defending him, there must be reasons of which I am unaware. My argument with Lord Jaxom began with events in Rhemuth, and I admit that this is not the time or place to pursue it. I certainly do not want to interfere with whatever must be done to defeat the rebellion."

Washburn looked sadly at Columcil. "I am also grieved to hear of the passing of Bishop Arilan. He was close to my family and will be greatly missed."

Lord Jaxom had remained standing stiffly near the baron, facing Darcy, Washburn, and Lady Aliset, his hand still poised near the hilt of his sword. "I too wish to do what is best for Gwynedd. However, I have the right to defend myself from attack. I had no private quarrel with this knight, and I feel that his attack on me was unprovoked. It was shown that I was not at fault for what happened in Rhemuth."

Darcy could feel the anger rising again in Wash as Jaxom sought to deny all responsibility for what had occurred and the effects. He spoke up quickly, "This is not the time to allocate responsibility for past acts. We need to decide on our best course of action."

Columcil spoke, his eyes on Lord Jaxom. "Lord Jaxom, ta Earl has confirmed his orders to ya tae deliver the rebel prisoners tae Droghera witout delay. He is most anxious tae question them. Ye appear ready to leave. Mayhap, ye moight move tae carry out yer instructions tae go now so ye can still arrive afore dark."

The baron was nodding in agreement. "I thank you for your actions to free my manor. I  feel that your best course now is to set out for Droghera immediately, before more of the day has passed."

"I agree that my party needs to be on its way. Is there any way I can serve you before we leave?" Jaxom addressed the baron, pointedly ignoring the others, as he mounted his horse.

The baron shook his head as Jaxom's men formed up to leave. Jaxom took the lead with his standard bearer close beside him. Lord Michael followed Jaxom. Two of Jaxom's men followed with the bound Drago between them followed by the wagon with the driver perched on the front The driver was the baron's man and would return the wagon to the manor after the prisoners had been delivered. One man rode on either side of the wagon and lastly, one followed behind. The party circled the house and took the main track leading to the Cuilteine Road.

Those remaining behind turned their attention to determining what their actions should be. Fiona spoke quietly into Mac's ear. The baron turned his attention to the three latest arrivals and spoke; "Will you join me in the solar where we can better discuss the reason for your arrival here. Father Columcil, please join us as I am sure you can add to the discussion"

"Gladly," said Darcy,  "but we must see to our horses, first."

Mac beckoned to Gavin who was standing nearby. "Go quickly and have two of the grooms to come and tend to the horses." Gavin bowed and trotted off to the stables to summon the men. In a very short time, he returned with two of the baron's grooms. They took the reins to lead the mounts to the stable.

However, Washburn resisted surrendering Shadow Dancer to anyone else.  The great black warhorse stood quietly by Wash's side but began to pull at his reins and fidget restlessly when one of the grooms sought to take him toward the stable. "I beg  your pardon, milord, but I have only very recently been reunited with my mount, and he does not readily accept any other person's hand. Begging your pardon, but I think it would be best if I tended to him. I will not delay your discussion long."  Mac hesitated briefly but at a signal from Columcil, he agreed.
Wash led his horse into the stable as the others followed the baron and Fiona into the house and to the solar.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on May 26, 2019, 03:56:34 PM
Before he did anything else, Columcil knew that he must seek forgiveness for the lie, but he could not have borne the explanation which his high and mightiness, milord Jaxom, would have demanded had he revealed that he was contacting Archbishop Duncan. Worse still would have been the raised eyebrow and patronising smirk which made his fists ball in anticipation of unpriestly retaliation. Contacting Earl Brendan was a plausible excuse, and if there were fresh orders from the Earl, then doubtless the  Archbishop would know of them. He would, in any case, as soon not contact Brendan, for in their last Rapport Duncan had confided in him, in strictest confidence, that there had been no choice but that Washburn should be disinherited by his brothers till he could be freed of the evil spells which twisted his memories and bound his soul. And God alone knew when that should be. Duncan had been palpably distressed and, though Duncan had shared nothing he should not, Columcil had sensed the burden of others' distress held in his grandfather's heart. Brendan, too, must have been torn apart, and Columcil felt for him, but he felt more for his friend and he was not entirely sure that he could keep his anger from lashing out at the Earl.

And he had best seek God's pardon for that too, so once he was alone in the manor chapel, he sank to his knees and, bowing his head, beat his breast, repeating the ritual words, "Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa." The baron was a devout man, and the peace coming from regular faithful prayer which filled the chapel felt like absolution, though the formal words must wait.

The scent of the pinewood panelling calmed him too, on a more earthly but no less needful level, and Columcil allowed himself to slip gently sideways until he was half sitting and reached out with his mind for his Grandfather.  He felt affection, love even, as his mind's touch was welcomed and accepted, but there was new disquiet too. His heart was warmed that Duncan made no attempt to veil this disquiet from him, but the sense of yet more terrible tidings came quickly with cold dread.

Yer Grace, what is't?


The formal title was a plea for reassurance as horrible imaginings ran through his head; Washburn had been recaptured, had run amok, had harmed Aliset and been killed by Darcy. Or - this as the tolling bell from the tower on the outside of the chapel reached to him even in trance - the King himself was dead.

His thoughts whirled at the forefront of his mind and, though he did not of intent share them, they were easily read.

Slow down, Son, it's not as bad as that. Though in truth we can spare no good man to death, the coil we're in. But he was an old man, even for a Deryni, and he had fought the good fight, harder and longer than any of us knew. And he'll be glad to be reunited with Jorian. I just wish I had ever properly told him that I came to know how much I owed him. And how sorry I was for my arrogance towards him.

M'Lord I'm gey sorry but ah dinna ken who is't tha's died. Or why ye o'a' folk could aye think ye ha'e the need ta say sorry.

Even in the other's sorrow a gleam of humour came through.

Where do you suppose that arrogance of yours, aye and insolence too, came from? I doubt it was your mother, and of a certainty it was not Maryse, God rest their souls. I like to think you got your vocation from me, I fear you got more than your fair share of my sins too. But that's a conversation we must have another time.

The one whom we mourn is his Grace of Dhassa, Bishop Denis Arilan. Of your charity pray for him - it's thanks to his courage and faith that Deryni can again respond to the call of God to holy office without facing the stake and the flames.

A shudder shook Duncan's mental tone and there was a long silence before he continued.

He was the first Deryni that we know of to make it alive through ordination, and though I did not know it at the time he brought me and others safe through too.

Columcil had of course met Bishop Arilan who had made a point of visiting the seminary several times a year, and like many younger priests, viewed him with great respect but as a visitor from a distant past. For Columcil personally there was fear mixed in with that respect; the learned and austere Bishop had not taken kindly to the uncouth lad from the borders and several of Columcil's harshest penances had been meted out during his visits. Now he brought to mind the long hours that the Bishop had spent in prayer before the altar, often seeming shaken and drawn with emotion when he finally rose, and a connection that he had never before made began to form.

Ye mentioned Jorian, are ye saying that his Grace o' Dhassa kenned that puir sainted lad?

There was another long silence and Columcil began to fear that he had somehow offended, though again it was sadness and not withdrawal that he could sense.

Yes. They were friends. Denis was forced to watch him burn - Now it was anger that burst through - as was Alaric, to show him what became of Deryni who didn't keep to their place.One day I'll tell you that story too, for now it's enough to know that I have long believed that it was by the prayers of Jorian that the mercy of God protected Denis and made him a priest. He was a brave man, and an honest one, though not an easy one. And now he's gone, another one whose wisdom will be sorely missed. And the timing could not be worse, for us at least, though maybe not for our enemies.

There was just something in Duncan's mental tone that made Columcil dare to ask,

"Ye're no tellin' me tha'' he didna' die o' natural causes, yer Grace?

Oh it was his heart that stopped without doubt, and that's a merciful way for any to go. I just cannot help remembering...

Duncan seemed to recollect himself suddenly and now Columcil heard Archiepiscopal authority in the other's mental tone.

You are not to repeat any of that, or even think any further of what you and Dhugal would call my maundering.The truth is that in such times I begin to suspect everything. But nothing will be helped by spreading idle rumours, even if they come from the Archbishop. Especially if they come from the Archbishop. You may of course tell the news that his Grace of Dhassa has died - indeed it is important that you so, to stop others, like you, from fearing the worst.

Columcil understood that there was only the mildest of rebukes in his grandfather's tone, and that was as much for himself as his grandson and he was emboldened to ask:

And wha' o' Washburn, sir?

"Nothing as far as we know has changed there. Someone has worked black mischief and as yet no-one can see a way to free the poor lad. It occurs to me now that Denis might have...

Duncan's mental voice trailed off and the sharp mental shake that he gave himself jerked across Columcil's psyche before Duncan began again.

There are no new orders concerning Washburn. Just try to help him understand that the memories of his ill-treatment at the hands of his family are false, even if he cannot yet find the true ones. Heal what hurts you can, using the way we have discussed and pray for him. And for me, as I will pray for you. Bless you, son of my son, he could ask for no better friends than you and Darcy and Aliset.

Columcil found himself swallowing the lump in his throat, and it cost him an effort to mention the name of one he detested.

I'm supposed ta be askin' th' Earl o' Marley if there are new orders for Jaxom. Beg pardon fer ma cheek, but would yer Grace ken if any there are any such?

The understanding in Duncan's voice brought the tears back into Colcumcil's eyes.

I understand why you will find it hard to bespeak Earl Brendan, just remember how much he is grieving too. And yes, Lord Jaxom is to take his prisoners as soon as he can back to the Earl. For a number of reasons, not least that Washburn is likely to kill Jaxom if the two have any length of time together.

That thought had occurred to Columcil too and he realised that it was high time for him to return outside and see what was happening in his absence. Darcy and his party, including an angry and unstable Washburn must surely have arrived by now. His concern must have transmitted itself for in the next instance his grandfather said,

Yes, you must go as must I. In nomine, Patri et Filii et Spiritu Sancto...

With that blessing Duncan broke the link. Columcil got slowly to his feet and made his way outside, where he feared that he might be too late as all hell had apparently broken loose in his absence.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on May 27, 2019, 01:12:18 PM
Washburn settled his horse and his gear in the barn, not too far in from the doors, just in case a quick departure was required. He was tense, far more so than he should have been. He had not expected to find Jaxom here. Hadn't Darcy said something to him about Jaxom escorting his cousin, but he hadn't used Jaxom's name, he had said the heir of Trillik. Wash had been so preoccupied that he hadn't realized who Darcy was talking about.  Wash growled and knotted his hands up in Shadow's bridle as he hung it up. Frustrated, he clenched his fingers and pounded his hand against the stall partition. When he hadn't acknowledged the name of Jaxom in their conversation, Darcy must have thought everything would be alright, and he had not pressed the matter further. Just now,  Aliset was likely berating her husband for that lapse. One more knot he had caused between the happy couple.

"Agh! How do I screw things up so badly?" Wash asked of Shadow. "I am going to be the death of my friends if I don't watch this temper of mine." His hands adjusted the saddle to rest on the railing, that's when the idea of escape came to him. Other than the two boys, no one else was in the barn. He could just ride out, and leave everyone behind. His friends would be far safer without his troubles on their hands, that was a certainty.  A fresh determination gripped him and his hands lifted the saddle off the wooden partition.

"I would miss ye greatly if ye left afore we cuid talk," said a borderman from the barn entrance.

Undone by the familiar brogue, Wash settled his gear back onto the rail. Ashamed, he turned with his head hung low. "Ah, Father Columcil, I admit I would miss you as well. I had hoped for a better meeting between us. Not one where I have lost my temper and near-on skewered a former comrade. Not that in my eyes he didn't have it coming, yet I see where others might think differently." Wash looked up to see the amber eyes gazing across at him, trying to read him. Ashamed of all the trouble he had caused, Wash could not drop his shields. Instead he turned away. "I am not worthy of your attention, good Father."

"What 'tis it ye ha'e done to be considered unworthy? Was it no' yer hand that saved Lady Aliset from her abductor? Are ye no' worthy because ye survived four days in the enemy's clutches and then escaped; an heroic escape as was tel't to me by His Grace, Archbishop Duncan, who heard t'accountin' directly from Lord Iain?"

'That was not me, that was Iain who saved my hide."

"And ye his, as I were tauld."

"Hardly! So, everybody in Rhemuth knows I am a blundering fool. I will never be able to show my face there again. Columcil, honestly, leave me be. I will go find a rock to hide under and not come up for a hundred years. Maybe by then, I will be able to face my fears." He buried his face in Shadow's mane.

"Tis nae shame in havin' fears. Capture yer fear, hold it close, use it tae keep yer attention keen, tae keep from becomin' complacent." Columcil quoted words he had heard from his grandfather years ago.  While saying this, he extended his mind across the space between them, to establish a mental contact.

((16:42 <Laurna> Columcil rapport with Washburn
16:42 <Laurna> !roll 2d6
16:42 <•derynibot> 3, 1 == 4, no))

Startled by the familiar phrase, Washburn looked up at the priest.The knight's shields remained closed, his eyes narrow and his lips pressed together. At length with some distress, he said, "I have been told those words before, but I can not recall by whom."

"Mebbe's ah can help ye tae bring it ta mind?"

Columcil walked over to the offside of Shadow and looked straight over the horse's withers at his friend. "Rapport hae been easy between us. Do ya recall, like when I was teachin ya tae heal?"

Columcil didn't touch Washburn, instead he placed both hands on Shadow's neck. He sent a calming thought filled with images of the times they had healed together.

((16:44 <Laurna> Columcil attempts contact again
16:44 <Laurna> !roll 2d6
16:44 <•derynibot> 3, 2 == 5))

He knew these thoughts bounced off of closed shields. Yet in another way he sent calming energy from his fingers into the stallion's sinew, muscles, and bone. Reaching through that medium toward the unwary fingers of the man who also openly sought energy from the horse he leaned upon, the priest sought to make a connection.

((17:02 <Columcil>  One last chance. Does Columcil make contact with Washburn through Shadow?
17:02 <Columcil> !roll 2d6
17:02 <•derynibot> 2, 6 == 8  yes))

Columcil had discovered his talent with beasts allowed him to do this. The knight had closed himself off to the world, all but for the support he gained from his horse, the only one he trusted who would not abuse him. Columcil felt guilt using this trust. There were times, however, when it was necessary to breach a man's defenses to heal him. His grandfather had been the one to suggest this means of Rapport. Duncan had stressed the importance of learning how much damage was done to the younger son of Alaric. No one since his rescue had been able to make deep Rapport with the freed man.

Purposely changing the subject, Culumcil commented, "Tis sad news indeed aboot Bishop Arilan. I'm worrit that ta stress o' ta Mearan uprising undid him. I know he put much effort toward findin' ya when ye were first taken."

"I... I had an odd dream about him last night," Washburn said looking up at the rafters trying to recollect part of his dream.

((Wash save test from Columcil's touch. Roll "2d6" : 3 + 3 = 6 Verification Number: 2wf7zslfdn, failed to resist Columcil.))

Distracted, he never sensed the mental touch that lingered through his hands on his horse's neck. "A younger Bishop Denis was in my dream. As he had in days of my youth, he whacked his baton on my knuckles and told me I was unteachable. Then, mysteriously, it was as if the ageing bishop was with me, touching my mind, saying he was wrong, asking for my forgiveness. It was so real. And now to learn that the bishop has died.. it is...bewildering."

"...bewilderin'..." Columcil echoed Wash's words as his mind deftly slide over the other. "Sleep noo me friend, sleep. Ye're safe with me."

Columcil almost wasn't fast enough to dodge in front of the horse's chest and catch Washburn's shoulder as the larger man was falling to the barn floor in an imposed sleep. Fortunately, there was a pile of hay there for Shadow to eat. The two men fell upon it in a heap, Columcil under Washburn's sudden dead weight. Even in sleep, the knight's tension was great and he was impossible to shift aside.

Soothingly, Columcil said a prayer to calm himself and to ease the mind under his touch from fighting back. The knight's muscles relaxed. Less trapped, Columcil managed to squirm out from under the knight without taking his hand off the man's wrist. He had gained access behind Washburn's shields, he dare not lose that contact after all he had just done to gain it.

Columcil pressed his free hand over Washburn's eyes. He did next what he had heard that Duchess Richenda had done for her son the night before. He shared with Washburn what he had done in the last few days. Then Columcil used the familiarity he had gained in their Rapport to quest through Washburn's recent memories. His grandfather had said the Duchess had requested to learn these memories, but as Columcil filtered through memories of drug-induced helplessness, nausea and physical abuse, he understood why Wash was reluctant to share this with his mother. Would Wash have openly shared this with him? Perhaps not... Wash didn't fully trust anyone at the moment. "Ye can trust me," Columcil said as he knelt over the knight. "I am yer shepherd and ye are one o' ma flock. I would see ya well again, ma dear friend."

After that statement, it was like a dam giving way, Wash accepted Columcil's presence and he voluntarily shared the events of capture, of the villain Valerian's control, of Valerian's dungeon, then of his escape and of Iain's safe house. All of it flooded forth without restraint. Columcil took it in and placed it to the side where all confessions went. There he could decipher and filter the important parts at a later time. He verified that Valerian's controls were gone for good. He found no other controls; only those of Iain and Aliset remained. He doubted Iain would ever need those controls again, so he shifted that control over to himself and then eliminated Iain's control over Wash.

When he tried to dig deeper, to learn more about the scholar who had controlled Washburn in his first days of capture, he felt something strong that lurked in the pathway. Turning aside, he considered what to do next. He had promised to find out who had used the phrase about keeping fear close and not becoming complacent. He found that Wash had recalled that phrase during the deepest fears of his confinement. As Columcil reached deep to witness this memory which seemed placed in deep fold of the mind, a place where the most protected ideas were stored, he found not only this treasured memory of the Duke of Corwyn, but a shocking detail of words deciphered from an illegible scroll and a talent born to block Deryni racial powers. Columcil quivered at the discovery of in this untaught manifestation of the healing gift. He considered the ramifications, did his grandfather know about this?

Caught unaware, the thing that had lurked on the edge of Washburn's old memories burst forth like a beast, all claws and fangs.The priest of many years experience mentally made the sign of the cross over himself and Washburn praying fervently "Merciful Lord, by thy passion and the prayers of our blessed lady and all the saints preserve us thy servants from all evil," Then Columcil clutched that part of the memories he had gained; quickly he sought to withdraw from Washburn's mind. Angered at what Columcil had seen, this vicious creature chased him down,  tried to trap him, tried to devour the mind that interfered, and stop the theft of the memories the priest had gleaned.

You were warned to not let others pry! No more warnings!" the beast howled.

Washburn attuned to the internal struggle. This thing was an affront to his freedom. It's second appearance did not shock him, it invigorated him to fight. Wash forced his own energy between the beast and Columcil's presence. Then he yelled I will hold it off! Free yourself! Go my friend! Go!"

Reality in the mind is not akin to real life. The mind is filled with inlays and turns, Columcil mentally tripped over suplanted tortured memories of family disapproving of Washburn's actions. Caught in this unnatural vicious circle in Washburn's mind, Columcil became unable to retreat from their Rapport. This was the danger of deep Rapport, he had been warned by Deryni instructors in seminary of this possibility. It required a delicate balance to not force a departure that might damage the mind of either of them.

((18:23 <Laurna> save test, Is Wash unharmed by Feyd's demon and therefore able to free Columcil.
18:23 <Laurna> !roll 3d6
18:23 <•derynibot> 3, 4, 5 == 12))

Washburn wrestled with the energy as he might fight a rapid bear; he locked it in his mental grasp, his arms around the beast's throat, his legs braced to hold it in place to keep the creature from leaping after his friend. "Father, please go!" Wash pleaded in desperation. It wasn't the delicate exit the priest sought, not with the way the knight pushed at him. It caused both of them pain, yet it worked, Columicl was free. Columcil woke in the real world, his hand instantly rubbing his temples to ease the headache behind his eyes. After a quick assessment, he leaned over Washburn, to waken him. The knight's shoulders were stiff with a long withheld breath, nigh on to giving out. Then Wash opened his eyes wide in triumph, and he took in a great gasp of air. "It is contained!" he managed to say in his next outward breath. He lay for a long time taking in deep breaths, his eyes wide, staring at the thatched roof.  Desperate, Columcil called on his healing gift. Without retouching the tortured mind of his friend, he eased the knight's muscles and replenished his energy.

Wash whispered with a half smile of thanks upon his lips saying, "If you had told me of what you intended, I would have given you fair warning about that thing." He blinked a few times and then closed his eyes, easing his tension with the warmth of the healing. "Thank you, my friend, for trying." Wash finally said.

"It wasna so unsuccessful as all tha'," Columcil replied. "I learnt who twas who said tha' phrase tae ye so verra long ago. A decade later twas repeated tae me by th' cousin of th' man who said it tae you."

"Really, who said it first?" Wash turned his head to look directly at the priest desperate to know what he could not remember.

"Forgi'e me ma friend, but ah'm desperate tired. It's quiet in here and maybe's ah can sleep a wee bittie ta regain ma strength. Ah promise ye ah'll tell ye later." The exhaustion in Columcil's face as he fell back against the hay gave the truth to his words.  Could he help his friend to remember the love of his father without triggering that evil spirit?  There had to be a way. Columcil vowed he would find it. Then his eyes closed and he fell asleep where he lay.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on May 28, 2019, 10:46:30 AM
For several months the priest had stayed in the village. At first the people were a bit weary of a foreign stranger among them, but as time went by they had grown not only to trust him but to rely on him as much as they relied on their village parish priest as well. From time to time a messenger would arrive in the village with orders from a far away Bishop in Beldour recalling the priest so he could report on how Gwynedd and Torenth were different in their practices of Faith. He would be gone for a few weeks and then return. He always promised he would return if he was able to do so.

Hours ago he returned again from being recalled to Beldour. The people of the village and the village priest were over  joyed at his return. Tired from the road and travel he took to his room and closed the shutters to meditate and pray from his journey. He would be undisturbed until the next day.

In the small room the priest sits on the floor. It has been swept clean of any debris and distractions. A single candle burns in a holder a few feet away and between it and the priest is a basin of water with a large ruby at the bottom.

The priest finishes his prayer and picks up a jar of ink and pours it into the water of the basin. It swirls around for a moment both clear and dark until the ink has colored all of the water black.

Placing his palms flat on either side of the basin he leans forward and stares into the inky blackness. The flickering candle light dances across the surface of the dark water and the priest's reflection moved with it and on its own. Changing. And finally showing another man and face all together.

If anyone else were to see the image as it rippled through the water they would recognize the blond hair of the House of Morgan instantly. For the man in the inked water was Washburn Morgan, younger brother to the Duke of Corwyn.

The priest concentrates at the image while he barely vocalizes his magic. Washburn is in a barn and a priest sleeps on the hay nearby.

With a smile the priest leans closer to the basin and whispers into the dark waters. "Come to this place." He knows his compulsion spell will work, even if it resisted it will eat at the back of the Washburn's mind until it is satisfied. He wont know why he wants to go there or who has called him (( Save Test at 2d6 to Resist but the Test must be made every day, futher attempts will be at Disadvantage and will only last for 3 days. Also another 2d6 Test can be made, if successful, Wash will know that Feyd is responsible. There is only one attempt at this one.))

The priest is indeed tired. With a thought he extinguishes the candle and the room is plunged into darkness.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on June 03, 2019, 08:19:41 AM
Darcy and Aliset followed the baron, his wife and Fiona into the manor house and toward the solar. Columcil was hanging back, his gaze following Wash as he led Shadow toward the stable. The two young grooms were ahead leading the other horses into the stable. There was a look of concern on the priest's face. He moved up beside Darcy and said something quietly in his ear, Darcy nodded.  As they approached the door to the solar, Columcil hesitated and addressed the baron. "Me lord, I dinnae wish ta delay yer conference, but I am that concerned aboot yon knight. He hae joost escaped a harrowin' experience and he's no too sure o' hissel' yet. I hae not seen him sin' afore his ordeal.  I feel I need tae check on him tae see how he is and tae offer him any healin'  I can provide. Lord Darcy can tell ye more aboot wha's happenin' wi th' rebels noo. We will join ye soon." The baron did not look pleased but he nodded his assent. The priest left them, hurrying toward the back of the manor and the stable.

As they entered the solar, Lady Olivia spoke quietly to her lord, pleading fatigue and asking to be excused to go to her room to rest. "I will speak to the cook about sending some refreshments for your and your guests."

Mac studied her anxiously. "Are you sure you are alright? Should I send the priest/healer to you when he returns?"

"I will be fine. I just need to rest. It has been a very stressful time for all of us." With a smile, she slipped out of the room and turned toward the kitchen.

Fiona clasped the Baron's arm. "Is  Aunt Olivia feeling unwell? Should I go to her?"

Mac replied, "She insists she is fine, just tired and in need of rest. She doesn't speak of it but I know she is most worried about Michael. Although she knows that going to plead his case to Earl Brendan is a right and necessary step, we don't know how the earl will respond.  And if he accepts Michael's expression of regret for his actions and allows him the chance to redeem himself, he may join the earl's forces. That means going to war. If he does not, it  could mean a trial for treason. Either outcome is very frightening for her, the possibility of losing our only son. She is trying to be brave, but it is difficult and she is in great need of support. She is going to lie down for a time. Perhaps you can check on her in an hour or two to be sure all is well. I will also ask the priest to go to her later when she arises."

Mac gestured toward Darcy and Aliset, indicating that they should take seats. He seated himself in a large chair with carved arms next to a round oak table near the fireplace. Aliset and Fiona seated themselves on a cushioned bench along the wall. Darcy hesitated, then bowed to the baron. "I owe you more explanation of what happened this morning and why we arrived after Jaxom and his men." Mac nodded to Darcy to take a seat and proceed with his account.  Darcy seated himself facing the baron and began his explanation  "As I had said, I and my party had orders from the king to locate a hidden rebel stronghold in the Ratharkin mountains where they thought the missing man might have been taken. Our orders were just to locate it and communicate where it could be found, not to try to enter it."

"We had reached the Michaeline Ruins where we encountered the Earl of Marley who also was seeking the missing knight who is his half brother and had been abducted from Rhemuth.  The earl was there with Lord Jaxom and his men seeking  to find out more about events there that had involved both guards from the garrison and citizens of Droghera. These men from Droghera went to the ruins because a young man had sighted a knight standing atop the ruins, looking as if he intended to jump. However, he quickly disappeared as though he had been pulled back. The captain of the guard, with a couple of his men and several citizens of the town decided to mount a rescue effort to free this captive. They had not been heard from since they had begun their attempt. They were supposed to join Prince Javan's army the  next day Cuilteine, but none of them had returned.  When they were found in the ruins, several were injured, and  they told of encountering traps, obstacles, and frightening creatures placed there by the kidnapper. They had made a gallant attempt but were unsuccessful. There was strong evidence that Sir Washburn had been held there but had been moved just ahead of the attempted rescue."

" Did my cousin Fiona or Father Columcil already tell you how she came upon the earl's men at the ruins?" The baron nodded, indicating that he had indeed been told of Fiona's effort to secure help to free the manor from the rebels who were attempting to seize it. He studied Darcy as he talked, listening quietly and combining what he had been told earlier with what he was hearing now. The baron responded. "I am thankful for Fiona's bold action which brought help to the manor, but I am concerned that her independent spirit might lead her into serious trouble in the future."

Darcy noted the baron's response and continued with his narrative. "She did well in this situation, convincing the earl that the situation was serious enough to warrant a raid on the manor to free you and capture the rebels. She also convinced him to let her ride with the party to use her knowledge of the manor and its inhabitants to assist with the mission.  Father Columcil agreed to accompany the party to protect her and her reputation."

The baron gave a rueful smile and looked over at Fiona on her bench. "Aye. She can be quite persuasive and very stubborn when she wants something." Fiona studied her uncle's expressions anxiously as he listened to Darcy. She very much wanted his acceptance of what she had done and his understanding of why she had done it. She was worried that he might feel he needed to restrict her choices more in order to protect her. She would need his help if she was to persuade Lord Iain to help her achieve her goal to attend the schola in Rhemuth.

Darcy continued. "The Earl had also devised a plan to find his brother but all plans changed when word came from Rhemuth that the fortress had been located by my brother, Lord Iain, and that he had managed to free Sir Washburn and escape with him to a secure hiding place where they awaited orders from the king. Since the fortress had been found, by order of the king my mission changed as well."

'In the meantime, we were under the command of Earl Brendan. The earl had discovered a rebel traitor among the men from Droghera and learned that there were more traitors among the guards in Droghera's garrison. He and his men would proceed there accompanied by the Captain of the Guard and those who remained loyal. His plan was to seize control of the garrison there, and to identify and imprison the traitors before they could be warned that their treason was known."

There was a knock at the door and at the baron's call to enter,  Gavin came in with a tray of refreshments and set them on the table near the baron. Cups of cool ale were served and a plate with a variety of cakes was passed around. After a welcome draught of ale, Darcy resumed his narrative.

"My brother received orders to bring Sir Washburn to the ruins then to continue on to Rhemuth where the king had need of him. Sir Washburn was to rejoin my party and travel with us. Lady Fiona was most anxious that the relief party proceed to your manor and she persuaded the earl to agree. We needed to await Iain's arrival.  We would follow Lord Jaxom to the manor as soon as Sir Washburn joined us."

The baron frowned as he interrupted Darcy "You say Earl Brendan was seeking his half-brother, yet he left before Sir Washburn arrived? That doesn't seem right. I know he is loyal to the king and his focus has to be helping to put down the rebellion as soon as may be, but should he not have waited to at least meet his brother? Surely, they would not have lost that much time."

Darcy hesitated before replying. "Those were the kings orders. The reason for those orders is not for me to divulge, but I can tell you that Sir Washburn had been severely abused mentally and emotionally while a prisoner. The full extent of the damage is not yet known, but he is able to trust few people including his family. Father Columcil is one of those he most trusts and has been assigned to stay by him and to discover as much as possible about what was done to him and how he might be healed."

"When we arrived here, we found that the manor had been secured and the rebels captured. Our assignment now is to offer whatever assistance we can in devising a defense plan that will keep you and your neighbors safe from the rebels." Darcy took another draught of ale and waited quietly for Mac's response.

As he sipped his ale, the baron considered what he had been told.  He gave Darcy a grave look then began to speak. "I have been giving some thought to my situation since I recovered my senses. The call to arms had gone out several days before the struggle here became serious. Many of the young men from the surrounding estates have answered that call and are gone to join the king's army. However, there remain a number of dependable retainers who can be used to our advantage. There are three manors within two or three hours ride from here. Their lords are my friends and are loyal to King Kelson. At least two of them employ men-at-arms who are experienced in fighting. I have written a letter which is being copied and will be carried to them asking that we meet very soon, later today if possible, to consider our best course of action in mounting a defense against the rebels, especially since we are so near the Mearan border.."

"I do have some thoughts on this matter of how best to secure our estates." Mac continued. "We are situated between Droghera and Cuilteine, both of which have well manned garrisons that may deter the rebels and should be able to provide assistance as needed. I thought we might create one or two roving bands, led by the most experienced fighters among our men, who would be able to respond quickly to any threat. They could mount regular patrols of our lands to look for any signs of trouble. I also propose that we devise a warning system, perhaps enlisting the aid of the priests in our churches to use their bells to sound warning when needed.  I will send Gavin to fetch the original letter for you to read."

Darcy nodded his head in approval of the plans the baron had devised so far. "I have not had much experience defending estates such as yours from attack. Most of my experience has been at sea, defending our ship against pirates and raiders. This is a somewhat different situation. If your neighbors agree to this plan, we will need someone with more fighting expertise and familiarity with the defense needs of large estates to assist us. Sir Washburn seems the ideal person to undertake this effort."

The baron looked doubtful. "After what occurred when you rode in this morning, I'm not sure that he can be relied on to fill such a leadership position. He appears somewhat unstable and apt to explode without warning."

"As I told you earlier, his enmity toward Lord Jaxom results from events that occurred in Rhemuth during his abduction. There were circumstances surrounding Lord Jaxom's behavior that to some extent excused it and led to his pardon by the king. However, Sir Washburn is not yet aware of  what happened after he was lost. That situation will be remedied immediately. You need to be aware that he is the most respected warrior in the kingdom and is undefeated in combat. He has experience in training young men in the skills needed to become knights. He was a sponsor for schools establish to train young men in arms and continues to support them. He is the ideal person to mold your men into a fighting unit." Darcy hesitated, waiting for a response from Mac. 

"If he is willing to take this on, can we trust him to focus on the task and to control his temper in order to work effectively with our men?  And what of the priest whose task is to work with him? What will he say to this idea?" Mac looked at Darcy. "Where are they? It seems to me that it is taking a very long time to tend to the knight's horse. What do you suppose has become of them?"

Fiona and Aliset had remained silent during the discussion between the baron and Darcy.. Before anyone could say more, Fiona jumped to her feet, addressing the Baron. "I will go down to the stable, find them and tell them of your need to speak with them about the plans for defense". Fiona thought of the knight as she had first seen him, tall and blond, riding a big black warhorse. She also felt sympathy for what had happened to him, and she felt a desire to see him again. Aliset offered to accompany her to the stables to find the  two men. At the baron's nod, the young women left the room and made their way to the stable.

The first thing they saw was Shadow standing quietly pulling hay from a pile on the floor. When Fiona looked  more closely, she noted a pair of boots protruding from the pile of hay. As they moved closer, they saw both men apparently asleep in the hay. They were puzzled. Why should the two men be sleeping instead of returning to solar as the baron had expected them to do? Had something happened to them?

The priest  stirred and Aliset moved closer and spoke to him in a low voice. He sat up and replied. "There was'na any problem. I was verra tired and thought to lie down a bit. I dinna mean tae fall asleep.  We'll joost put Shadow in his stall and then present oursel's to apologise tae ta baron."

Wash also stirred and sat up, appearing somewhat dazed as he tried to get his bearings. He found himself looking up into the face one of the prettiest girls he had ever seen. He beheld two celestial blue eyes gazing at him, very fair skin with a rosy glow, a long braid of pale blond hair reaching almost to her waist, and a slender, erect figure. He became aware that he was staring at her with his mouth open   She asked, "Are you alright? Did someone attack you and render you unconscious? My uncle is quite concerned at your failure to join him and Lord Darcy in the solar as he expected. They have been discussing the defense of this manor and surrounding estates and are seeking your advice."

Before he could answer, Father Columcil responded. "T'was me fault, milady. I was seeking answers aboot what had happened tae him durin' his captivity. I put him ta sleep as a help ta establish Rapport and healin.  Rapport, especially deep Rapport, can drain yer energy, I found mesel' exhausted after and fell asleep after the Rapport had ended. We will join ta baron and Lord Darcy in ta solar immediately." The priest rose quickly to his feet. Wash also arose and led Shadow into a nearby stall where he left him provided with fresh water and more hay.  Both men
brushed off and straightened their garments and followed Aliset and Fiona back to the manor and toward the solar.

As they entered the solar, the two men bowed to the Baron. Columcil quickly offered their apologies for failing to return sooner. Before he could offer his explanation, Fiona spoke up. "Uncle, it has been some time since  Aunt Olivia went to rest and I feel that I should go and see whether she is feeling better and whether she needs anything." Mac readily agreed to this. Fiona turned to Aliset." Perhaps I could also show you to the quarters you and your husband will be sharing. I am sure you would appreciate the opportunity to freshen up and to change your clothing before lunch."  Aliset indicated her agreement with a graceful nod. The two ladies curtsied to the Baron and left the room.

Baron Stuart gestured to Columcil and Sir Washburn to take seats and Columcil repeated his explanation for their delay in returning and Washburn added his regrets for his tardiness. Gavin returned with the letter which Darcy quickly read. "I agree with what you have written and I think this should be sent out immediately." Gavin was sent to summon the two young grooms. The three of them would deliver the letters to the lords of the surrounding estates asking them to attend the proposed meeting later that day. They were to wait for answers from the lords.

The men returned to their discussion of the proposed defense plan for the manor and surrounding estates. If successful, the region between Droghera and Cuilteine would be held secure from the rebels. Both Columcil and Washburn listened attentively as the plan was explained to them.

Darcy turned to address Wash. "We feel that you can play a critical role in the establishment of our proposed plan. You have experience, not only with arms and defense, but also with training men in the skills they need to form an effective force for the defense of the region. I hope you will agree to remain here, at least until we receive new directions, and assist with the building of this much needed force."

Wash looked first at Columcil, then at Darcy with doubt in his face. It would be wonderful to feel useful again, to feel in control of his future, at least his immediate future. Here was something that he had the ability to do, something that would help others who felt threatened by the Mearan rebels. But could he remain focused on the task, control his temper and be the leader they needed?  He had promised his mother in their Rapport that he would always try to do what was right. He truly meant that. But he was still afraid that he would not be able to do so, that his control of his mind and emotions was still precarious.  He felt a warmth in his mind as Columcil sent reassurance that he and Darcy would be with Wash to help him.  Wash took a deep breath, relaxed his rigid muscles, and nodded his assent. "If you feel I am able to provide what you need, with your help I am willing to try."

Darcy addressed the Baron. "Father Columcil and I feel that Sir Washburn is the best person to lead this effort. Both of us will provide support to him in his mission. But this is your decision. We need to meet as soon as possible with those who are lords of the neighboring estates and determine whether they are willing to be part of it. Once we have their agreement, we can begin. Do you feel able to entrust us, especially Sir Washburn, with its execution going forward?

((!roll 2d6, Does the Baron accept Wash
derynibot  6,4==10
Yes! ))

Baron Stuart was silent for several minutes, then he nodded his head, indicating that he accepted Wash's role as leader for the institution of the defense plan. "I feel sure that, with the help of both Lord Darcy and Father Columcil, you can be successful in your  task."

Sir Washburn stood and bowed to the baron. "I will do my best, my Lord." With this new mission and responsibility to focus on, he found it possible to ignore the odd feeling that told him he should be moving on to another place.

While the discussion was continuing in the solar, Fiona led Aliset to the room assigned to Lord Darcy and herself. "I am looking forward to a wash and change of clothing." she said as she began to rummage in her saddlebags for her needs.

"I am going to look in on Aunt Olivia to see if she is feeling better. Uncle Mac is concerned about her. The episode with the rebels was very stressful and she found Drago very alarming. And she is frightened about Michael and what will happen to him."  Fiona started toward the  door, then turned back briefly. "If all is well with Aunt Olivia, I should like to come back and talk with you if you will permit."

"Of course, you may return and we can talk." Aliset smiled at her.

Fiona tapped on Lady Olivia's door and opened it. She saw her aunt sitting in her favorite chair near the window. She smiled at Fiona. "Come in, my dear. It is thoughtful of you to check on me but I am feeling better. I expect to come down for lunch. You must tell your uncle, he worries so."

"Is there anything you need, aunt?" Lady Olivia shook her head no. Fiona curtsied and left the room.

Aliset had washed and changed and was brushing her hair. Fiona went to sit in the window seat. "As you know I am Deryni but I have had little training. My mother died when I was very young, and once I came here to live, there was no one to teach me. I have always dreamed of attending the king's schola and learning more about my powers and how to use them wisely. Sir Iain is my guardian, but he has had little or no time to discuss my future due to his commitment to the king's business. Do you think you could help me?"

Aliset studied the young woman sitting before her. Certainly she deserved a chance to develop her Deryni powers. Of course, Aliset could certainly assess what she already knew and explore her potential. She could even provide some training herself. From what she had seen at the Ruins, Fiona was a bright and determined young lady who deserved a better future. Aliset's husband was also mostly untrained although he certainly displayed potential. Perhaps she could start her own small schola, providing training to both. When the opportunity presented itself, she could talk with Sir Iain about Fiona's future. She turned to Fiona. " I think I will be able to help you. It's nearly time for the noon meal and I need to talk with Darcy. We will talk again in this afternoon.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on June 23, 2019, 11:35:10 PM
For an anniversary feast, the guest list was small and the repast modest. But that wasn't important. What mattered was that two dukes of the realm, who, related by marriage and good friendship, shared their duel 38th wedding anniversaries with their respective beloved duchesses. Both couples dined at the head table within the great hall of Laas, their first sons and heirs sat to either side of them, and joined in the celebration were their loyal retainers, many of whom were natives of Laas and who would never subvert their loyalties away from the King of Gwynedd, nor away from the solid trust in the current Duke of Laas. Of those who sat in the hall, most were men; few women of any station remained within the city walls of Laas. Walls that were certain to be under siege by the week's end. In recent days, many families had been separated, as wives, daughters, and children had fled by ship from the Bay of Laas to find safer harbors as far away as Dessa or even the Isle of Orsal. The bay had emptied of all but its smallest fishing dories; the emptiness in the usually bustling harbor seemed surreal. The one Portal within the castle of Laas had been used as often as could be determined safe, but truth to tell there were few Deryni within the Castle who even knew of the Portal's existence. And at least three jumps were necessary to get to far away Rhemuth.  Duchess Richelle Haldane and her son Richard had used this form of travel to the extent of their abilities. It was exhausting transporting family and close friends out of Meara. But to her credit, Duchess Richelle had not failed to returned to her husband's side in Laas after she was assured the members of her family were safe. This was her home; not for a rebel scare would she abandon it.

So it was that the anniversary feast was served on Saturday evening of August 1; a day late, actually, as the dukes had been married on the thirty-first of July in the Year of Our Lord Eleven Twenty-eight. Trouble was, everyone had been busy on the true anniversary date, so it was thought that a postponement for the celebration would not go amiss. Duchess Richelle sat to the left of Brecon Ramsay, Duke of Laas, her husband of thirty-eight years, and to her left sat Prince Rory Haldane, Duke of Ratharkin. Next to him sat his wife, Duchess Noelie. Noelie had too refused to leave her husband's side in this time of conflict. Rory and Noelie had already lost their home of Ratharkin to rebel separatists. Rory was none to pleased about Noelie's choice to remain, but once it had been decided upon, he held her in high regard for her bravery. Noelie was Brecon's sister, she proved the Ramsay bloodline was made of sterner stuff than most. But then that was a known trait of the Mearan nobility for centuries past. The very reason why the splintered bloodline was once again in contention.  Thus the feast was a subdued event highlighted by a few shared laughs and stories of old times.

As the evening wore down, tensions in the hall eased. Many excused themselves early for early morning mass was a necessity, as rebellions did not take the liberty of Sunday's off. Wine flowed freely for those who remained at table. A harpist played somberly in the corner, and more and more the two noble couples clasped hands under the table, where few others would notice. Time was getting late and soon it became apparent that the evening should end in more private comforts. Rory's son, Earl Bearand stood to give final orders to his father's men on duty. Brecon's son, Earl Richard took the cue to do the same. A moment later, both dukes stood to close out the evening with a gracious thank you to those still within the hall. That long awaited moment for the rebel strike had come. All four men standing made for easy marks from the two skilled archers hidden in the gallery above.

Two arrows, shot with deft precision, pierced tunics, chain-mail, and flesh of both incumbent dukes.  Few heard the sounds of the bow strings, but all stood witness to both men falling back into their high backed chairs as if a giant hand had pushed them down at the same time. The piercing scream of the duchesses in unison echoed through the hall. In a time span of three heart beats, two more arrows flew. Only this time the Deryni powers of Earl Bearand, son of Lady Richelle, daughter of Prince Richard Haldane and Princess Sivon von Horthy used his trained ability to deflect the incoming projectiles. One skimmed just passed his ear and the other smashed into the stone just above his cousin's head. The rebels intentions were clear,  to rid Meara of its Haldane influence. **

Everyone was moving then. Earl Bearand took swift command of the castle guard. He and a handful of men were quick to bound up the gallery stairs and to corner the two assassins who had little time to flee. Their capture was eminent. Earl Richard cast out with his powers to determine if any others in the room sought to take his family's lives. He found no others broadcasting such ill will. The noble ladies were quick to regain their wits, both kept their husbands in their chairs and surveyed the damage done. The wounded men were conscious, neither wound fatal, but time was telling. It was fortunate that the battle surgeon was in the hall at a lower table. He rushed forward to attend to the dukes' wounds.

In the turmoil, the two rebel archers were dragged down to the main hall. The first questions put to them by Earl Richard had powerful persuasion behind it which in turn caused both men to convulse in seizure. All to quickly both assassin's were dead. The only glimpse in their minds that Richard could ascertain was that a Deryni death trigger had been placed upon each of them. Who had placed these could only be a high Deryni practitioner. It was more than rumor that the sons of Terymuraz led this current unease among the Mearan people.

Proof they had now that is was more than unease. The quiet of Laas was shattered. The war was officially begun.

**((10:03 <Laurna> Rolling dice to see who might have been injured during an attack on the dukal families in the city of Laas during the 38 wedding anniversaries of Brecon/Richelle and Rory/Noelie
10:06 <Laurna> Brecon's son is Richard and Rory's son is Bearand, they would also have been in the attack. So I will roll for all four men to see if any were injured.
10:07 <Laurna> A roll of 5,6 means injured. In this order Brecon, Richard, Rory, Bearand
10:07 <Laurna> !Roll 2d6
10:07 <•derynibot> 5, 4 == 9  Duke Brecon injured
10:07 <Laurna> !roll 2d6
10:07 <•derynibot> 3, 2 == 5  Earl Richard not injured
10:07 <Laurna> !roll 2d6
10:07 <•derynibot> 5, 4 == 9 Duke Rory injured
10:08 <Laurna> !roll 2d6
10:08 <•derynibot> 1, 4 == 5 Earl Bearand not injured))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on June 24, 2019, 01:54:30 AM
The Duke of Corwyn had ample warning about the blockade on the road before the city walls of Laas. His army was prepared to handle these rebellious Mearan sepratiest. In the predawn hour his scouts informed him that the Duchess had not embellished on their numbers and that they did indeed intend to stop him from entering the city. Yet enter the city he must, as quickly as possible. In a Rapport from the Duchess of Laas, Richelle Ramsay-Haldane had shared the dire situation within the castle of Laas.  Not only were rebels at her gates, but two assassins had infiltrated the castle during the dinner feast of her wedding anniversary. Both Duke Brecon, Richelle's husband, and Duke Rory, her brother-in-law had been wounded by assassins' arrows. The need of the army of Corwyn, Kierney and Truill to arrive sooner than later was an imperative. Most importantly the need of a trained Healer was required. Just as his father had had such a gift, Duke Kelric had acquired this same gift. Kelric had been giving the understanding that a schola healer had arrived at the castle by Portal, but there was only so much an apprentice healer could manage. Kelric's expertise would be much looked for.

So it was that Duke Kelric of Corwyn commanded his army to march out several hours before dawn. As the sun began to lighten their backs, they crossed the last of the arid plain of Meara to come upon the rugged hills leading down to the great bay of Laas. It was good that the sun was behind them and that its blinding light hindered those who headed the blockade. The city walls stood high on a great bluff overlooking the bay with one long rampart road leading up to the pastern gates. Scouts announced the marauders long before Kelric knew they would attack. Arrows launched from the blockade flew high and short of their position. The sun was sure to be the cause of those wasted projectiles. The foot men of Gwyenedd moved forward in a shield wall position with shields not only held before them but also held over head. The turtle it was called back in the days of old Byzantyun. A solid maneuver when dealing with undisciplined men such as these villagers and seaman. For no skilled soldier seemed yet to be among the rebels blocking the gates. Kelric had been told that this would soon change. Valerian's army were no more than two days behind him. He needed to have his men within the city walls to help fortify Duke Brecon's garrison.

Kelric thanked the heavens that he had beaten Valerian here. His men defended well against the first two lofts of arrows, and then scales of the turtle parted by mere inches allowing for a volley of his Gwynedd arrows to be launched at the blockade before them.  In this method they marched right up to the blockade. The common folk of Meara scattered, non willing to face long swords and armed men. They ran toward the plains and toward the badlands along the shore line, where boulders and crags would allow them to move on foot faster than a mounted horse would dare to move through those treacherous cliffs. Only the open sand beach remained clear of men, they would be too easy a target to run along there. The cliffs above the beach was what gave Laas such a good advantage, the city could be approached by one lone road or by cliff-side climb up from the sea. This also lent for the city to be so easily cut off from the world around it.  The past days had seen the uprising of the Mearan separatists cutting off the main road. These commoners had become embolden by stories of the fall of Ratherkin. Ratharkin had been the newest Duchy of the split of the old seat of Meara. With Ratharkin taken, only the taking of the old capital of Laas stood in the rebel's way. Or so the common folk of the land had been told and believed, for a new queen had been presented to them and their independence had been promised. 

Duncan Michael did not order pursuit of the rebels, now that they had dispersed. Instead he ordered the blockade dismantled, pushed to the side and set a flame, so that it could not be used again. Free of further hindrance, the army moved up the road  and through the gates that opened for them. With cheers they were welcomed into the city by its remaining inhabitants. Earl Duncan Michael McLain and Jass MacArdry turned to the captain of the garrison and soon plans were solidified to house the new men and to fortify the walls with the new soldiers. Duke Kelric trusted them to make it good. He continued up to the castle where he was met by Duchess Richelle, who gave him a dutiful curtsy and then an unaccustomed hug.

"Thank you for coming to our rescue so quickly. Brecon and Rory are being attended to, but I am told that a deep healing for Rory is necessary, if he is ever to use his sword arm again.  The healer Kelson sent us, says he is not experienced enough to handle such delicate manipulations."

"Certainly his majesty would have sent only the best to heal his cousin?" Kelric responded to her as they walked up the backstairs to enter the family residence.

Her grace looked down cast before she responded. "But there were none to be had. As you know, healers are still so few and all the trained Healers are marching to here with Prince Javan. Only the untrained have remained in Rhemuth."

"The archbishop?" Kelric had to ask suddenly concerned.

"I am told that he is being retained in Rhemuth, for the King fears to send him out. I got the impression from my sister that His Grace is none to pleased with this arrangement, but due to the things that have happened at the capital, he understands the necessity that at least one trained Healer must remain beside the king."

"Aye there is that," Kelric had to agree.

"Here we are, your grace. I pray that you can help Rory and Brecon to recover fully." Richelle opened to door to a sleeping room where two beds occupied the opposite wall.
Two men of similar rank to his own greeted him with pale faces and guilty smiles. These men were friends and it hurt inside to see them in their sick beds. Both men had right shoulders wrapped in gauze and arms held in a sling. "Do you always do everything the same?" Kelric had to ask as he stepped between the beds.

"It does seem that way." Prince Rory replied.

"Not always." Brecon returned. But then he gave a perplexed look to think of some way that he differed from his brother-in-law. "I can not think of anything just now, but I am sure it will come to me in time."

"If we live that long." Rory said with side smirk. But then he shifted his shoulder and he winced at the pain. "I don't mean to sound facetious, but I really do want to hold my sword up against the rebel leaders when they come. I owe them much for the taking of my home."

"Let me see that wound and I shall see what I can do for you."

Kelric found the wound itself healed on the outside at the least. But the damage inside, to muscle and bone, was not so easily discernible. He spent the morning making small manipulations and small healings to repair the damage done. The trouble was men in their fifties already had age damage to the joints. Kelric took the extra care to see that repaired, as well. With Rory sleeping, Kelric took a moment to eat a noon meal, and then he spent equal time Healing the injury for Duke Brecon. It was important that both men were returned to full health and that they could once more walk among their people. It was the reminder that Meara had seen forty years of good rulership and prosperity at the hands of these two men that would ultimately win back the people and end this rebellion.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on June 24, 2019, 01:04:14 PM
Prologue:

Stefan Chandos was a Mearan with strong passions about Mearan independence. His father had fought and died in the last Mearan war and his mother had dinned into his head her hatred of the Haldanes as the cause of his death.  He was of medium height and stocky with dark hair and hooded dark eyes. He had managed to obtain a position as assistant to the castle steward in Laas and had been employed there as a trusted servant or two years. He was a man of few words and had kept his sympathy  with the separatists secret.  He watched from the walls as the men blockading the road into Laas scattered, fleeing from the oncoming army led by the Duke of Corwyn. The great gates opened and Duke Kelric's army entered adding to the resistance that Valerian would encounter when he reached Laas. Resentment burned as he watched. Meara needed to be independent, ruled by the ancient line represented by the recently discovered Queen, granddaughter of Prince Ithel. Stefan had done whatever he could to support the rebellion. He had been Valerian's agent in Laas for over a year providing information about the castle defences and the plans and actions of Duke Brecon and his Gwyneddan allies.

Stefan had agreed to help two Mearan archers infiltrate the castle and assassinate the two dukes currently in residence there. He thought back to what had happened during the attack. He was to meet them at the base of the rocks near the city wall just after dark.  He watched as the two Mearan archers crept warily along the shore beneath the walls of Laas and angled toward the rocks that marked the limit of the sandy beach. They were headed toward the base of the city walls which, from their view, looked impenetrable, but he would guide them to a secret way inside. As they neared the rocks, he stepped out in front of them.

One of the archers started to speak but Stefan had silenced him with a finger to his lips and signaled to them to follow. He led them between two rocks through a narrow fissure that led to a concealed wooden door. They passed through and he locked the door behind them. He then led them up three flights of stone steps enclosed in narrow walls. At the top he motioned for them to stop while he cautiously opened another door and peered out. He then motioned them to follow him out into a gallery that ran around three sides of the great hall..

The two archers had followed him to the vantage point he had selected where they could look down on the great hall below  where a celebration was in progress. They had a clear view of the high table and the two dukes seated there with their wives and heirs. They indicated that their position was satisfactory, and Stefan had quickly retreated to a vantage point where he was invisible but could observe the outcome of the attack.

The archers had drawn the deadly little recurve bows and nocked their arrows. They had taken aim, but waited until the two dukes stood to say goodnight to their guests. They had then fired their arrows and the two targets had fallen back, both hit by the arrows but still alive. They had quickly each nocked a second arrow and fired but the noise of the first shots had alerted the Duchess to the direction from which they had been fired and she had been able to deflect them so that they fell harmlessly to the floor. The two archers had been captured by Earl Berand and the castle guard but had died before they could reveal any information.

Stefan was furiously disappointed that the attack had not achieved its goal, and both dukes still lived even though injured. He had hoped for success but he did not want to report failure to Valerian. He had thought it wise to have a backup plan although he had hoped not to have to use it. Now he needed to consider how best to implement it. He needed to eliminate the dukes before Valerian reached the city.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on June 24, 2019, 02:22:04 PM
Lord Jaxom's party rode through the gates of Droghera at midafternoon, having left early. The men were tired, hungry and thirsty. Several guards moved forward and one of them, a sergean,t who appeared to be in charge challenged. "Who are you and what is your business here?"

"I am Lord Jaxom Trillic. I have completed my mission to the manor of Baron Stuart and have travelled here to Droghera to present my report to Earl Brendan. Please inform him at once of our arrival."

Yes, my lord." replied the sergeant, bowing and turning toward the barracks behind him.  He knocked at the door and entered. Almost immediately, the tall figure of the earl appeared, and strode toward him. He was accompanied by the captain in charge of the garrison, Captain Stev, whom Jaxom recognized from the ruins.

Jaxom dismounted and handed his horse's reins to the man nearest him. He bowed as the earl approached. "My Lord, I have completed the task you gave me and have delivered the prisoners secured at Barons Stuart's manor here as you ordered. There are five prisoners including one named Drago who appears to be a person of some authority in the rebellion. I wish to make my complete report to you, but first my men are tired and hungry and I need to see to their needs. Also I need to turn over the prisoners to your charge."

Brendan addressed the captain, "See to the confinement of the prisoners. The man Drago should be placed under guard in a solitary room in the keep until I have the opportunity to interrogate him. Place the others in the tower until their final disposition is decided. Show Lord Jaxom's men where to stable their horses, see to it that they are fed and provided sleeping quarters for the night."

"The wagon, horse, and driver used to convey the prisoners were lent by the baron, and the driver should return to the manor tomorrow. They will need to be housed for the night and sent on their way in the morning.  Have one of the grooms take  Lord Michael Stuart's horse and show him to guest quarters. I will send for him after I have received Lord Jaxom's report."  The earl gestured to Lord Jaxom to follow him, and the two men disappeared into the captain's room while others moved quickly to carry out the earl's orders. Men, horses and wagon rapidly dispersed.

Once they were alone in the room, the earl seated himself behind a desk and motioned Jaxom to take a seat across from him and proceed with his report. Jaxom began. "Under my leadership, we made our way to Baron Stuart's manor. It was nearly dark when we arrived near the manor house, so we halted to rest and wait until dawn was just breaking to make our approach. We encountered a young page who was in service to the baron and was riding to seek help from the lord of a nearby manor. He was able to inform me of what had happened to the baron, and  particularly of the arrival of some high ranking rebel who was giving the orders. Just as the sky began to lighten the next morning we rode up to the manor and almost immediately detained two of the baron's retainers. We confined several more men until we could sort out which were the baron's men and which were more likely rebels." Jaxom gave a cocky lift of his head and shoulders, proud of his own success. He continued,"  There were three who, under questioning, admitted to joining the rebels. One was questionable as he admitted to talking with a rebel but never actually committed.  These were peasants who appeared to know little about the rebellion, having been lured in by promises of rewards." Jaxom paused and took a drink of some ale that had been brought to him by one of the servants. The earl had made no comment thus far, but appeared to be listening intently. Jaxom felt quite pleased with himself sure that he was making a good impression.

"We also suspected that the baron's steward was part of the plan for the rebels to seize the manor. His efforts to mislead us as to where the baron and his son were and persuade us that there were no rebels there were highly suspicious.  Although he tried to deny it, I found that the baron's steward was also a rebel sympathizer and had been the main source of instructions for the rebel recruits. I took him into custody and confined him while we searched the manor."

"As soon as we entered the manor house, I instituted a search for the baron. The page told us he had been locked in a distant attic room. As we reached the second floor, we heard pounding and shouting. When we unlocked the door, we found the baron's son who demanded to know who we were. As soon as I told him we had been sent by the king's representative because of reports of rebel activity there and  reports of danger to the baron, he voiced concern about his father and quickly led us to where he had last seen him. On unlocking the door, we found Baron Stuart unconscious on the floor  with an injury to his head. He had apparently been there for some time.  I quickly summoned the priest to him, and we moved him to his room where he could be cared for by the healer." Jaxom glanced at Earl Brendan, looking for approval of his actions. He needed to impress this man who was close to the king.

"I was aware that there was another rebel somewhere at the manor and that it was important that we locate him. After continued efforts, we were able to locate and capture him. I have brought him to Droghera as I felt you should be the one to question him.  I have also delivered the steward and the other three men to be further questioned as to rebel plans. I hope I have completed my mission in a satisfactory manner." He sat back on his stool and studied the face of  the lord before him hopefully.

Earl Brendan spoke. "I am pleased with the outcome of this mission, however I do have some questions. First, what is the status of the baron? Has he been healed of his injuries, and is he able to retake control of his manor?"

Jaxom replied. "Yes, my lord. The priest was able to heal his injuries, and he is much recovered. He is giving thought to the future security of his estate and already making plans for its protection."

The earl studied the young lord before him. "I have heard little from you about the role of those I sent with you. I understood from my Rapport with Father Columcil that the Lady Fiona played a significant role in the success of the mission, providing important information and helping to separate the rebels from innocent vassals of the baron. Also she prevented one of the prisoners from injuring you with a dagger. And I believe she helped to locate the rebel leader so you could capture him."

Jaxom was aware that the earl was awaiting his response and much depended on his answers. "Indeed, the Lady Fiona was helpful although at times she made things a little more difficult by refusing at first to follow some of my orders. Orders that were given to help ensure her safety. The information she shared was important to the completion of our tasks. She also helped reassure the servants and retainers at the manor so that they were more willing to share what they knew with us." Jaxom relaxed somewhat, feeling satisfied with his answers. He had acknowledged Fiona's contributions while contriving to play down the role that she had played.

However, Brendan's expression was difficult to read. He was not sure of the impression he had made. The earl then asked, "What of the baron's son, Lord Michael. I understand he had been determined to join the rebels, taking the manor with him, but has now experienced a change of heart and regrets that decision. You questioned him. What is your impression? Is this change of heart sincere?"

Jaxom replied. "I did question him more than once. His statements were consistent, and I feel that he genuinely wishes to redeem himself and renew his fealty to King Kelson. He was anxious to present his case to you. Indeed, at his request I have brought his personal weapons with me as he wishes to join your troops as you march into Meara. He hopes to have the chance to prove himself in helping to defeat the uprising."

Brendan continued his questions. "Did you ask Father Columcil to truth-read him when he gave these statements. It would have helped to be sure of his true intentions."

Jaxom answered reluctantly, "The priest was much occupied with the healing and recovery of the baron, as well as keeping watch over Lady Fiona and and establishing Rapport with you so I did not request that of him."

The earl looked at him with his ice blue gaze. "I understand that Lady Fiona is also able to truth-read. Did you perhaps ask for her assistance in this matter?"

"The lady informed me that she was able to determine the truth of what was told to her, and she was willing to talk with Lord Michael and make such a determination. I agreed in order to spare Father Columcil another task. She asked Lord Michael if he were willing to be truth-read in this way. He agreed readily, certainly a mark in his favor, and repeated his story to her. She reported that he was being truthful and sincere in what he said and his words could be relied upon."

Brendan again fixed his icy blue gaze on Jaxom.  "I am concerned about the safety of the manor after you and your men left. What arrangements did you make to address this problem?"

Jaxom answered. "The baron had already given some thought to that concern and was proposing cooperation with the lords of several nearby estates to establish a mutually beneficial  plan for the defense, not only of his own estate but of the area between Droghera and Cuilteine where these estates are located. He had drafted a letter to them outlining his ideas and asking them to join him. If they agree, I am sure they can devise an effective defense. Just as I was leaving, Lord Darcy Cameron and his party arrived, assuring the baron that they had orders from your lordship to assist in this endeavor. Father Columcil informed me that he had orders to rejoin Lord Darcy's party, and that Lady Fiona would remain at the manor with her uncle.I believe the baron has everything well in hand"

The earl was silent for several minutes then addressed the young lord. "It appears that you have accomplished your mission and I am pleased with the outcome. After you have had a chance to check on your men and refresh yourself, I need you to submit your report in writing, including all details you can remember. Do not omit anything as you cannot be sure what will be of value. Also, keep in mind that a good commander always gives credit where credit is due to those who assisted him. My squire will conduct you to your quarters  and show you where your men are housed. I will speak with you again after I have read your report."

The earl's young squire stepped forward and bowed. "This way my lord" Jaxom rose from his seat, bowed deeply to the earl, and followed the boy from the room.

Earl Brendan remained seated at the table that served as his desk, deep in thought. Lord Jaxom had completed the task assigned to him but the earl suspected that others, especially Lady Fiona and the good father had played a much bigger part in that success than had been indicated in his narrative. Jaxom appeared to be competent but still arrogant and centered on his own advancement. That could pose problems in the future.

When his squire returned from escorting Jaxom to the quarters assigned to him, Brendan sent him to conduct Lord Michael to him. After a short time, the squire returned, opening the door, announcing the young man who followed him. Michael was tall and slim with dark hair and blue eyes, appearing very young and nervous as he entered the room and bowed deeply to the earl. Brendan studied him gravely, "Be seated on that stool and relate to me what happened in your encounters with the rebels."

Michael began his tale, his nervousness evident in his voice. "I met a rebel sympathizer at a hunt held on the estate of a friend. He seemed impressed with my prowess with my bow. At the dinner afterwards, he seemed to find my conversation informed and worth listening to, an opinion my father did not share. We did talk briefly about the situation in Meara. His view that the Mearans deserved to be an independent kingdom under the recently discovered queen sounded fair. He made it sound exciting. I would be helping to reestablish a free and independent Meara, and I would have many opportunities for advancement at the queen's court.  I met him several times, and he seemed to value my ideas and opinions. I know now he was just flattering me to gain entry into the manor. I even helped him obtain the position of steward for one of his followers when our old steward retired."

Michael hesitated over the next part of his story then took a deep breath to steady himself and continued. "As I'm sure you know from Fiona, my father and I had increasingly violent arguments about my rebel sympathies until I became desperate and decided to trick my father into entering one of the attic rooms, confine him there and assume control of the manor. I carried out my plan, but his resistance did not lessen as I thought it would. I was unable to convince him of the rightness of the rebel cause."

"Then the man Drago showed up. I was already beginning to have doubts about my decision to join the rebellion. News of what had happened during the fall of Ratharkin had reached us, and I was horrified at what I heard. Then Drago insisted that I take him to my father. He would convince him of the right of the Mearan cause. When he failed, he became angry and struck my father, felling him to the floor unconscious. He then dragged me out of the room, leaving my father there unattended and forced me back to my own room where he locked me in."

The earl had said nothing during this recital, but there was some sympathy in his face as he listened. Michael continued. "By now I knew I had made a serious mistake in even considering becoming part of the rebellion. I was worried about my father and did not know how I was going to get free to help him. I heard the commotion that accompanied the arrival of Lord Jaxom and his men. I made as much noise as I could to attract attention hoping they would release me so I could help my father. I'm sure Lord Jaxom has told you what happened after that."

Michael was speaking earnestly, almost pleading with the earl. "I know I have laid myself open to a charge of treason. I bitterly regret my actions and I do ,most sincerely, wish to redeem myself through service to the king in helping to put down the rebellion, especially now that I know the kind of men they are.  Lady Fiona truth-read me at the manor and can attest to my sincerity. My father and I agreed that my best course was to present my case to you and hope for clemency." The boy fell silent, looking at Earl Brendan with pleading eyes.

When Brendan spoke, it was not with the condemnation Michael expected. "I have been told by Father Columcil that the Lady Fiona confirms the truth and sincerity of your words. I have also been truth-reading you as you spoke, and I am convinced that your repentance is not feigned.  I have also noted your willingness to come here to face me, not as a bound prisoner but as a willing penitent. You are young and need to learn to give greater consideration to the consequences of your decisions and actions. I need to give some thought to what you have said. Return to your quarters, and I will give you my decision after I have further considered the matter."

Michael rose, bowed to the earl, and followed the squire from the room.

Later that evening, having eaten his supper, Brendan sat back in his chair considering all that he had heard that day. He was expecting that the king would contact him, and he had much to report: the securing of Baron Stuart's manor, the proposed defense plan, Lord Jaxom's completion of his mission, Lord Michael's request for a chance to redeem himself, and the capture of a rebel leader, as well as other prisoners. He was anxious for new orders from the king as to what his next move should be.

He was leaning back, relaxed, watching the fire when he felt the touch of the king's mind.
Sire, how may I serve you? Have you further orders for me?

I have, but first I need to hear your report on what has been happening there.

Brendan rapidly presented his summary of the events of the past few days, including the capture and confinement of the rebel prisoners.

Kelson took time to consider what he had been told.   What you have told me is welcome. I would have you send the rebel leader to Rhemuth under guard that I may interrogate him. The more we learn about the rebels, their resources and plans, the better we can plan to defeat them. I have sent Lord Darcy and his party to assist the baron. Lady Aliset will be able to keep us informed of their progress. What of the baron's son? Do you judge his regrets and desire to redeem himself to be sincere?

I do, my liege. Both  the Lady Fiona and I have truth-read him and found him to be truthful. He is young and realizes now that he was taken in by the rebels. I do believe he deserves a chance to redeem himself, and I am willing to have him ride with my men.

Brendan then queried, What of my brother? Have you further news? When will I be able to see him?

He felt the warmth and concern in Kelson's reply. I wish I could give you the answer you desire. We still do not know the full extent of the damage done to his mind by his captor. There has been no time yet to pursue it, much as I would wish it. Wash is safe and being cared for. He needs a chance to heal and with God's help that healing will progress. When it is safe, you will see him. I need you to prepare your men to march as soon as I give the word. You will  rejoin Javan's army for the attack on the rebels outside Laas.

Brendan was bitterly disappointed but indicated his acceptance of the king's command. Kelson's final words were warm in his mind. I promise, you will be reunited with your brother as soon as it can be safely done.

Brendan turned his attention to the things that needed to be done to carry out the king's commands. He sent his squire to request Captain Stev's attendance on him so that the necessary preparations could be made, and he would be ready to move at the king's command
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on June 24, 2019, 05:01:09 PM

Baron du Chantal and his men proved themselves battle ready and hardened as they fought bravely with along side the Haldane forces taking Laas. Once inside they celebrated with their compatriots and settled into fortifying the city with the rest of the Haldane armies.

Baron du Chantal knew the mistakes of his grandfather and father who both died in the last Mearan War. His father on the battlefield and his grandfather at the end of a rope by that Haldane usurper. He would not make the same mistakes. Although he knew he probably wouldn't live to see a free Meara but he would be there for its birth.

His men knew too that they had a dangerous and most likely a fatal mission in front of them. But the plan was simple. Give loyalty to the Haldane and fight along side his army. And when the moment was right it would be time to strike.

Like many of the rest of the Haldane army inside Laas, everyone shares in all the duties. Including the watch and guards for higher ranked officers. Thus this is where the Baron and his men found themselves. Positioned in good places on the city and palace walls. Generally near a ranking officer. Here they would stay until they all strike at the appointed time.

It will be glorious, to kill so many of the accursed Haldane's. Perhaps even all three of the Dukes and their most trusted captains and generals. All to fall as Lord Valerian and the Queen's army come to capture and free Laas. If they manage to survive the task then they will be great heroes to the Mearian independence. If they die, then they will be remembered for generations to come as Meara remembers its fight for freedom.

But the Baron doesn't know that he has already been betrayed. That the Portal at his manor has been given to the Haldane King. And his name appeared at the top of a list of names of Mearan separatists given to the Haldane King by Master Feyd.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on June 27, 2019, 12:54:14 PM
Of shoes and ships and sealing wax,
Of chamber pots and brides...


(with apologies to William Shakespeare)

Darcy Cameron stretched his full length and felt the familiar, satisfying crack in his spine.  He also felt the warm body of his wife snuggled against him, still fast asleep.  He tried not to disturb her, though a wave of long brown hair tickled his chest in a most enchanting way. He grinned to himself; he had kept her awake long enough last night, he'd let her rest in these early morning hours.

Well, not that early.  Used to early watches at sea, Darcy should have been awake before now.  He had only himself to blame, although if he remembered correctly, Aliset had not voiced any objections. Married life, so far, was leaving him with no complaints.

Other thoughts began to intrude on his contentment.  There was that small detail of the war with Meara. All he knew of the current state of affairs was that Lord Peacock was to join Earl Brendan in Droghera,  From there they would likely move to join Prince Javan and push forward to Laas.  Part of Darcy wished to be with them, but he was not a knight and his expertise was better used at sea.  Or was it?  Now he was charged with keeping Sir Washburn from harm or from causing harm.  He had no idea how it would play out.  Still, he wished he had a better grasp of the whole situation.  He liked to have all of the details and see the bigger picture.  He had a nagging feeling that an important piece of this puzzle was missing.

Darcy's thoughts were distracted by sounds from outside the room he shared with Aliset.  Men moving, commands given, and yes, that was Washburn, beginning to round up the men he would hone into battle-ready soldiers.  Darcy thought it would be best to leave him to it and not interfere.  He would certainly assist if asked, but this was Washburn's forte, and Darcy would stay in the background.  Watching to be sure, but letting Washburn do what he did so well.

The lovely, warm body beside Darcy stirred, and he moved to kiss the tip of her nose. 

"What is it about my nose you like so much?"  Aliset asked sleepily.

"It's not just your nose, love, trust me in that," Darcy said as he moved closer to steal a satisfying kiss.

Aliset returned the kiss and then pushed him far enough away to gaze into his ice-blue eyes.  "I trust you slept well?"

Darcy smiled as he stole a second kiss.  "Well enough, but now the day beckons and I should catch up with Washburn.  I must leave to see to my morning needs."

Aliset looked at him and said, "We have our own chamber pot; you need not go elsewhere."

"Well yes," Darcy said hurriedly, but perhaps you would like your privacy."

Aliset struggled not to laugh.  "Privacy?  That did not seem to be a concern earlier."

"Well, of course not, but, well, um...."  Darcy blushed a deep shade of rose. The only one at sea who had the smallest amount of privacy was the Captain; there was little left unseen or unheard on a ship.  Why did he feel shy now?

Aliset smiled.  "I had older brothers, Darcy; you will not shock me."

Darcy felt the rose on his cheeks turn to crimson.  "Oh, no worries about that, I just thought..."

"Off with you!"  Aliset said and shoved at his side.  "I too have needs to see to and won't argue over our single chamber pot!"

"Maybe we should ask for two?"  Darcy said as he rolled out of the bed and reached for his shirt.

"Oh, of course!" Aliset said.  "Excuse me, my lord, could we have the room with the two chamber pots?  And maybe "his" and "hers" garderobes?"  Her laughter echoed in their small room.

Darcy looked at her ruefully.  "It's not exactly a bad idea, though it does lack some practicality."

"Go!"  Aliset exclaimed, still laughing.

"I will when I get to the proper garderobe," Darcy replied sternly.

"You are incorrigible!"

Darcy grinned and slipped out of the door.  Marriage held some momentous joys,  but there were still some little details he would need to get used to.

A short wile later, Darcy and Aliset entered the hall as the servants were clearing the morning meal.  The cook took pity on the newlyweds and provided a goodly amount of fresh bread and cheese.  They left little behind.  Aliset decided to find Fiona and discuss the girl's desire for further training at Kelson's Deryni Schola.  Darcy assured Aliset that he would prefer his own special, private tutor. Her smile still lingered in his memory.

Now Darcy stood watching Washburn line the Baron's men up in front of the butts. Darcy noted that some of the men looked comfortable with their bows, while a few others looked to be unsure of what to do with them.  Darcy smiled to himself; he had no doubt that Washburn would whip them into shape.

After the third time the Lendour knight sent the men forward to retrieve their arrows, Darcy ventured forward to Washburn's side.

"At least more of them are having to walk farther forward to retrieve their arrows," Darcy said.

Washburn snorted.  "And some have overshot the butts entirely and will have a nice, long walk."  He reached across to grip Darcy's shoulder in greeting.  "I hope I have enough time to have them ready.  I really need to be moving on."

"Moving on?" Darcy asked carefully.  "Why do you need to move on?"

Washburn looked down at Darcy sheepishly.  "I don't know exactly why.  I just have a nagging feeling that I need to GO, and it won't give me peace until I do."

"Perhaps the feeling will soon pass," Darcy said reassuringly.  "Baron Stuart has put his trust in you to make sure his men can provide the defense he needs.  I know you won't let him down."

"Aye," Wasbhurn replied, but he looked off into the distance toward whatever it was that called to him.  "I have pledged my support, and I will honour my pledge."  He turned abruptly back to the men who stood in line again before the butts, awaiting his instructions.

Darcy stepped back to watch from a safe distance.  He could not begin to guess what had caused Washburn's sudden desire to leave when he had much to accomplish. On the other hand, nothing on this journey had been straightforward.  He would remain vigilant with Wash.  And if Darcy could not prevent him from leaving, Wash would not be leaving alone.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on June 29, 2019, 01:05:34 PM
The Droghera town square would most certainly not be considered a grand hub for vending and marketing, especially when compared to cities like Culdi or even Cuilteine. However, the basic needs of the townsfolk could always be found in the morning hours from carts set up around the square. At any given day a farmer or two came up from the valleys beyond the town gates to sell fresh foods. What was brought in often dictated what the townsfolk were likely to eat that night.  Alongside the farm goods, hawkers stood announcing their guild's wares and skills. Some even brought out tables of goods to entice business. And then there were the more dubious seller of non-guild items that if caught would be rousted by the constable. For these people did not pay their fair taxes and thus they were secretive in conducting their business. The town was small and most days these men were ignored. However, with the king's men housed in the barracks most of these types were laying low in the back streets, only doing business with those they trusted. Thus, Lord Jaxom thought to himself, How clean and honest this market Square of Droghera appears to be.

The proud heir of Trillick walked the square with a singular purpose. His cloak had become torn in the last few days. He did not remember when it had happened, but it irked him to wear a damaged garment. A man who was to ride beside the Earl of Marley on a mission into Meara must look his very best. Jaxom knew he would come before the earl at Terce. That was when he  would get his orders. After his successful mission to free Baron Stuart's estate, Jaxom was certain his orders would include riding out as Earl Branden's right hand man in their mission to put down the Mearan rebellion.  Time was running short. He needed a new cloak. He most certainly could not lead men to Meara looking like he had been rolled for his coin by a brigand. It was fortunate that his father had a good reputation in this town;  buying the items he needed under his father's name would not be a problem. Not only that, but he did have ready coin in his purse from his last successful mission. Knowing he had well earned it, he gave himself permission to look at items he otherwise would have deemed too expensive.

The weavers had set up a table in the square that day. It was a lucky thing for Jaxom, for he found a deep blue cloak with a beaver collar. It would be perfect for the out-of-door nights in the lands near the sea. The wool was sumptuous and thick with an expense to match. Jaxom considered himself the better man, and dickered down the merchant's price until he was sure he had won the deal. Showing a bit of displeasure for being bested in the price war, the merchant wrapped the cloak in canvas and tied it with a knot of hemp. He held his hand out for the coin before he would let the bundle go. Grudgingly Jaxom paid him. 

That took the energy out of the young lord and he considered a hearty breakfast at the inn would energize his step. At the tavern door he undid the canvas string and pulled the cloak out giving it a shake. The blue wool was wonderful. That was when he noticed the broken throat catch. "This wasn't broken when I bought it." he murmured angrily to himself. Back to the square he went, getting angrier with each step that the merchant had purposely broken it have lost the bargaining. "He didn't have to sell it to me, if he felt undercut. It's a criminal act to break it after I bought it." Jaxom said with a hiss.

Back at the square the weaver's table was gone. Jaxom stamped his foot, he felt a need to throw the garment to the ground and crush it under his boot. But he refrained knowing that many eyes were upon him. Did they all know he had been cheated? Perhaps not, for no one turned away as he glared at them. Well, he would show he was the better man. He walked out of the square with his head held high. He walked back to the inn, however, his appetite was gone. He fingered the throat catch wondering if he should go to the black smith to fix it.

That is when a short man with sticks and a pouch approached him. "Aye, Sir, aye can na help bu' notice that ye can na' wear such fine garment withou' a clasp. Aye just happen to have two or three here for ye ta pick from. Which be your liking?" He stood the sticks up and they suddenly unfold them in a criss cross fashion causing a leather top to pull taught forming a table. Out from the inside of his pouch he pulled two metal cloak clasps. One nickel and one bronze. He laid them on the leather table and then his hand went back into the pouch pulling out other jewelry items. Rings and neck chains and a locket.  But no third clasp. "Now's aye recalls. Sorry, traded the third, so I hae just these two. Does one strike your discerning eye?"

Jaxom's eye fell on the bronze one with the cross upon it. If he was going to war, the significance of the cross over his neck would be welcome. Before he would point that out, he looked at the other items tumbled across the leather table.

"What all have you here? These would not be stolen items. I will not buy from a thief."

"I am no thief, good Sir." the man spat back. "I walk the towns of the highlands buying trinkets such as these from the locals giving them fair value in return. I turn but a small profit in selling the items to those who want to improve their station by owning them."

"Are you being honest?"

"Aye, I am, Sir. Here in the borderlands, a lie can be a cause of one's demise. I never lie. I run an honest business. Now, what could a knight of the realm like yourself wish for? A broach for a lady or a ring for yourself." He passed over a few items, putting them back in his pouch one at a time, as he got no reaction from the knight watching him. That was until he fingered a thick silver band with an engraving of the arms of Howicce between two swords. Jaxom's eyes narrowed, and the peddler instantly held it closer for him to see.  "This would be your day, Sir. This be a knight's ring, and I would only sell it to another knight."

"How did you get this," Jaxom asked, recognizing it as a token from a tournament. "This is not a thing someone would part with."

"Ah, tis a sad story, I purchased this ring from a woman here in town. Her lover had given it to her and told her to sell it to get herself free of himself and of Meara. What with the rebellion and all, she was certain the knight was heading to his death. She would not have parted with it but for her need to eat. I gave her fair coin for the item and I would only ask for fair coin back, if I sell it."

"An item such as that would surely have bad vibes upon it." Jaxom waved a hand to reject it. "Just the bronze broach, what is your price?"

The peddler held the ring up higher, "I suppose I should melt the thing and have it remade. But it is a rare ring, a championship ring, a proof of prowess." The emblem on the ring caught the light and Jaxom looked at it again. "I assure you the woman will eat well through the winter with what I paid her for it. Then she will be able to find a better man. One who won't abandon such a pretty lass for this idiotic Mearan cause."

Jaxom suddenly knew who had owned the ring. Only one person could have won that ring and had worn it with pride.The very man who had threatened him at sword point just yesterday.

HE had a lover in Droghera? How is that even possible?

If he bought the ring, could he earn back the man's loyalty by giving it to him? Jaxom considered that this item would not have come to him if there had not been a heaven sent purpose behind it.  "Would be a shame to melt it down. And you certainly could not sell that to anyone who was not a knight. I'll take it off your hands so that it will not weigh down your pack. How much for that and clasp?"

"Sir, for you, Six gold."

Jaxom nearly choked. "When the sun froze over and heaven is laid bare! 8 silver!"

"I gave the lady four gold, I would not sell it for less."

"That lady took you for a fool! You most certainly won't sell it for more than 1 gold."

"Four gold, five silver. I am not a fool, but I was willing to give charity to such a pretty lady as she."

"Two gold and nine silvers. I am done with yea and things I don't really need."

"Three gold and both are yours."

"Very well, I can agree that this is for charity."

Jaxom parted with the three gold coins and took the clasp and ring in exchange. "Tell me who was this lover you bought this from, I might want to hear more of her story and give her more charity for it."

"No, for certain you wouldn't want to talk to her. She was all tears and fretful, with a sister to protect her. So no worries on her behalf. I thank you for your business." Then the man gathered his items back in his pouch and folded his table up to hang across his back. Jaxom considered turning the man in for thievery, for he was now certain that there had been no lover and that some rebel scum had stolen the knight's rings while he was in captivity. Yet he let the man go grinning over his own luck. He would return the ring to its rightful owner and gain back the man's confidence. Well, on second thought, that might not be a good idea. He would give the ring to the knight's brother and win that man's higher regard. Yes, that was it. It was Earl Branden he need to impress, not Washburn. 

He put the silver band in his coin purse. He walked quickly back to the barracks with his new cloak and clasp. He would see that his squire replaced the broken clasp with the new one and then he would go before Earl Branden to receive his orders and present this new acquisition.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on June 30, 2019, 02:06:54 PM
Stefan was frustrated and angry. He still intended to carry out his self imposed mission to bring about the deaths of the two dukes here in Laas. However, since the arrival of the Duke of Corwyn and his healing of their wounds, the two men had been closely guarded. There was no opportunity to enter their quarters unobserved. However, it was still possible to carry out his plan with only slight modifications. He would have to do it alone, and he knew that his chances of escaping afterwards were slim. He was aware that, with the arrival of Duke Kelric's army, there were more Deryni present and the chances of his being found out were greatly increased. If only he could complete his tasks before that happened.

Stefan retired to his quarters between the lunch and dinner hours, ostensibly to rest. He locked his door securely, then went to a chest standing near his table. Taking out an ornate key, he unlocked the chest and took out a small velvet bag. He opened it and looked at the reddish-brown powder within. The old woman who had given it to him had warned him of his risk in handling or using it and informed him of the great care necessary in dealing with it. His intent was to poison his targets by adding the powder to the food prepared for their supper. Only a small amount would be necessary to accomplish his goal.  He was certain he could do this without being observed as he was frequently in the kitchen checking the supplies and making certain that  the servants were carrying out their duties. His presence would be expected as he would need to see to meeting the needs of the newly arrived troops and their leaders. No one would pay any special attention to him. He took the small bag and secreted it securely in his belt pouch within easy reach. He then left his room.

As he descended the stairs toward the hall leading to the kitchens and storerooms, he noticed one of the squires leading two men from the castle garrison to the withdrawing room behind the great hall. He watched as the young man paused at the entrance to announce the men following him. The curtain at the door was pushed back to allow the men to enter. Stefan caught a glimpse of the Duke of Corwyn and two of his most trusted lieutenants inside. A sense of apprehension ran through him. What was going on?

Earlier, after he had completed Brecon's healing, Kelric had joined Earl Duncan Michael McLain and Baron Jass McArdry in the withdrawing room to discuss what had occurred prior to their arrival as well as their current situation. The heirs to the two injured dukes, Bearand and Richard, had been asked to join the council as the men considered the current situation. Kelric's gaze fastened on the two dukes' sons. "How did those archers manage not only to infiltrate the castle but to reach the gallery of the great hall without being detected?"

Richard answered, "We do not yet know but I, for one, intend to find out.  We cornered them and took them prisoner but before we could force any information from them, they went into convulsions and died. I was only able to identify the presence of Deryni death triggers set in each man but not who placed those triggers."

Kelric nodded, "It requires a high Deryni practitioner to set such triggers. We know that at least one on the sons of Teymuraz, Grand Duke Valerian, is involved in this uprising.  It is his army that is marching toward Laas even now. He may have been behind the attack but there had to be someone on the inside, a Mearan sympathizer, who helped them enter the castle and led them to the vantage point in the gallery from which they launched their attack. That person must still be here, and he is the one we must find. We have no way of knowing whether there was a single separatist sympathizer or several present among men of the castle. We must find them! In the meantime both Prince Rory and Duke Brecon must be closely guarded to prevent another attack. The guards will be drawn from the most trusted of my men. We cannot use any of the castle guard as they were present when the attack was initiated."

At Kelric's order Jass left the room to select the most trusted men from among their guards and to set them outside the room where the two recently healed dukes were recovering. Until the man or men who abetted the attack were identified, no Mearans could be included in the guard detail.

"How should we go about rooting out these traitors?" Duncan Michael looked around at the other men in the room.

"We haven't much time." Kelric warned. "Valerian is at most two days behind me, Probably less. We must uncover and imprison any traitors within our gates before his army arrives. We also need to find the route by which they entered and seal it off so it cannot be used again."

"Is it possible that the transfer portal was used?' He asked Richard and Bearand.

"No." they answered. "There are few within the castle who knew of the portal's existence before the current crisis and almost no one other than our immediate families who have its signature or are able to use it."

"Are there any concealed or secret tunnels or other entrances that you know of that might have been used? If we can determine the point of entry, it may make it easier to determine who among the dukes retainers might have known about it and used it."

Richard considered the question. "There was an old tunnel that once led from the rocks lining the beach at the base of the walls to a concealed door that gave entry into the cellars. From there a hidden staircase led between the walls to the second floor where one could access the hallways through a concealed door. It is from the old time when the Quinnells occupied the castle. It has always been kept locked at both ends, and my father had the only keys. It has never been used in my lifetime, and I don't know who could possibly know about it other than the family, our steward, and perhaps the captain of the guard. We would need to ask my father about it."

Kelric nodded, "I need to visit my patients and judge their progress since the healing was completed. I will ask your father about the tunnel, whether it is still usable, and who might have known about it and been able to access it. In the meantime, Duncan, you and Jass with the assistance of  these two young men, need to begin questioning those who were inside the castle before and during the attack. They can assist you in identifying those men most likely to have been involved since they know their retainers well. This is particularly true of Richard as this is his home. Bearand will assist but will not know all the retainers as well as he has been here only a short time."

"I know I don't need to remind you to keep your guard up and a close eye on those men Kelson has identified for us. They may try to recruit or suborn some of Duke Brecon's men. The time is not yet but soon they may act and we must in turn capture them for their treachery. Be vigilant my friends" 

The duke rose and left the room, heading for the stairs and the quarters where Rory and Brecon were recovering from their ordeal. Duncan unrolled a scroll that Richard had delivered. It contained the names of all of Duke Brecon's retainers, their positions and how long they had been employed.  The four men bent over it, discussing which men they should question first. "Should we start with those who are least likely to be involved, to lighten our task?" asked Richard. After further discussion, the men agreed on this strategy. They sent one of the squires to summon the first of the men to be questioned. With two Deryni present during the questioning, it should be possible to eliminate those who were loyal to the duke and had no involvement quickly. This would narrow their search.

Kelric entered their room to find the two dukes awake and much recovered. He quickly checked the healed wounds, especially Rory's, to find that most of the damage done by the arrows was gone. Their need now was for rest and food to complete the healing process.

Kelric addressed Brecon. "We are most concerned with how those archers were able to enter the castle and make their way to the gallery without being detected. We have two questions we must answer and we need your help. First, is there a secret way into the castle that is not well known but might be usable? Second, we are sure that they must have had one or more persons on the inside to assist them, and it is most important that we capture this traitor before he can do more harm. Richard told us of a secret tunnel from the old times that led from the rocks along the beach to the cellars and from there by a hidden stairway to the upper floors. Does such a tunnel exist and is it still navigable?"

Brecon nodded slowly. "Such a tunnel does exist. In the old days it provided a way of escape for the inhabitants should the castle defences be overcome and they needed to flee. They could escape to the beach and be rescued by sea. Only a few knew of its existence or location. I had considered having it blocked since there had been no threat for many years but decided against it. There are two hidden doors, one among the rocks at the base of the wall and another that leads to the gallery from which the rest of the castle can be readily accessed. I hold the keys which are kept locked in a chest in my strong room. There was one additional key which had been kept by my steward so he could check the status of the structure as is required periodically. However, he had reported to me several days ago that it had disappeared from his ring of keys, and he had no idea where it could have gone. He keeps his ring on him at all times except when he is sleeping. We have searched for it but have not found it. We did determine that my keys remain in the locked chest where they are kept."

All three men were quiet for several minutes considering the implications of what they knew.  Then Kelric spoke. "Who could have gained access to the stewards keys?  Who is close enough to him to have been entrusted with them at any time? Surely not any of the more common servants. It would need to be someone in a responsible position, someone he had faith in"

Brecon considered for a moment. "The most likely person would be Stefan who is the steward's assistant. He might be allowed possession of the keys for a special purpose. I know Angus trusts him and relies on him a great deal. He is a silent and somewhat surly man who says little but he has never given any cause to doubt his loyalty in the two years he has held his position. However, we can summon Angus and ask if he has at any time given the keys to Stefan or whether they have ever been in his possession."

A squire was summoned and sent to tell Master Angus that the duke had need of him and to ask him  to attend the duke in his quarters. When the squire entered the kitchen and spoke quietly to the steward, Stefan was curious but not alarmed. He  had not been able to get close enough to the plates being prepared for the two dukes to add his powder to the food without exciting suspicion. But he was confident that an opportunity would come. Angus called to him to continue to supervise the preparations for supper while he attended the duke. Angus followed the squire to the dukes' quarters and bowed deeply as he entered.         

Brecon addressed him. "The Duke of Corwyn is trying to determine how those two assassins managed to infiltrate the castle. He is interested in the old tunnel from the shore and whether they might have gained access to it. I need to know whether Stefan knows about the existence of the tunnel. Is there anyone else privy to the knowledge about it?"

Angus replied. "He does know about the tunnel.  After that big storm we had several months ago, I thought it prudent to check on the status of the entrance from the shore and whether any flooding had occurred. I intended to do it myself as was usual, but in assessing the rocky area that leads to the lower door, I slipped and fell, injuring my leg which made walking difficult. After I made my way painfully back to my office and had it seen to by the battle surgeon, I gave Stefan the key and sent him to the rocks to check for damage to the entrance or door and to see if there was any flooding in the cellar. He returned to report that all was well, and the cellar was dry. He returned the key to me. I am sorry, my lord, I had not remembered it until now.."

"Did you question Stefan when the key disappeared?" Kelric asked

"Yes, mi'lord, along with the other servants,  but he said he had not seen it. He had not had possession of my keys other than that once, and I had no reason to disbelieve him. I could think of no reason why he would want them." Angus said nervously.

Kelric turned to Brecon. "I think we need to question Stefan. He is a native of Laas. Has he ever given you any reason to think he is sympathetic to the separatist cause?

"As I said, he is a man of few words but he has certainly given no indication of such leanings." Brecon looked troubled.  He summoned the squire to go ask Stefan to attend him as he had some additional duties to assign to him. The squire then was to go to the withdrawing room and ask Earl Richard to join them.

Stefan was uneasy. Angus had been gone for longer than he would have expected if he was only receiving new orders. He looked around but the servants were busy and paying little attention to him. The trays of food to be carried up to the dukes' quarters were sitting on the table ready for delivery. This was his best opportunity. Under the cover of the table, he eased the velvet bag from his belt pouch and opened it as he inched closer to the plates of food. He uncovered the first plate as though checking the contents, then managed to add a small amount of the powder to the food.

He was replacing the cover and beginning to uncover the second plate when the squire who had been sent for him shouted "Stop! Guards!" Two of the castle guards  ran into the kitchen with swords drawn. "I saw him add something to the food on the  dukes tray!" he said loudly. The guards turned to eye Stefan suspiciously.

((is Stefan caught?Roll 2d6 6+3==9. Yes!))

"Pay no attention to this boy. I added nothing. I was only checking to see that the tray was properly laid and the food hot. He is imagining things!" Stefan edged toward the door.

"The duke sent me to summon the steward to his quarters. As I came in I saw him take a small bag from his belt pouch and sprinkle something on the food. You need to find out what is in that bag!"

The two guards moved in to secure Stefan, grabbing him by both arms as he tried to reach the hearth and throw the bag into the fire. Hearing the commotion, Earl Richard entered the kitchen. "What is going on? He demanded.

One of the guards replied. "This squire claimed he saw the steward add something from a small bag to the food on one of the trays. When we moved to detain him to find out what was in the bag, he tried to throw it in the fire."

Richard turned to the squire. "What did you see?"

"I was sent to summon the steward to the Duke's quarters then to ask that you also join Duke Kelric and Duke Brecon as they had questions for him. As I came in, I saw him with a small bag in his hand. He sprinkled something from the bag onto the food then recovered it. He was reaching for the cover on the second plate when I shouted at him to stop and called the guards." the squire looked anxiously at Richard, hoping he had done the right thing. The assistant steward was respected and could cause a lot of trouble for a young squire.

Richard motioned to one of the guards. "I think we need to see what is in that bag that he tried to destroy." Stefan struggled as one of the guards took the bag from where he had tried to hide it in his sleeve. Richard opened the top and saw a reddish-brown powder inside but had no idea what it was. "Cook,guard that tray and see that no one touches it. There very well be death upon it. Killan, bring him!" Richard ordered the guard as he started for the stairs that led to his father's room. The guards forced the struggling steward up the stairs behind the earl.

On entering the quarters of the two dukes, Richard bowed and quickly recounted to all three men what had occurred in the kitchen. He then showed them the contents of the bag. They shook out a small amount of the power for examination. Neither Brecon nor Rory recognized it, but Kelric did. He had seen a very similar powder when, with Briony, he had attended a class given at the schola by an apothecary. The man had described it and its lethal properties. It was powdered monkshood and highly poisonous. The steward had intended to kill both dukes.

The guards bound his hands behind him and forced him into a chair. Kelric questioned him, using his truth-reading ability to test the steward's answers. The man denied that there were any others involved in his attempt. He had spied for Valerian for nearly a year but had never before received any orders for action, only providing information. He had received a message concerning the two archers that he was to admit to the castle and lead to the gallery. However, the messages were left in his room, and he never saw who delivered them. When the archers he took it upon himself to try again, using the poison he had obtained for that purpose. He strongly supported Mearan independence and was avenging the death of his father in the last Mearan War.

After lengthy questioning, Kelric decided that they had learned what they could from him. The guards conducted him to the dungeons where he was chained in a cell to await his fate. The three dukes discussed the situation. Both Richard and Kelric confirmed that his answers had been truthful. It appeared that he knew of no other enemies within the fortress. The questioning done by Duncan Michael, Jass, Richard and Bearand had uncovered no suspicious plans or sympathies among the castle garrison. All they had questioned so far were loyal to Duke Brecon and to the king.

Later that night, as Kelric sat alone in his room, he considered all that had happened since their arrival in Laas. He knew that Valerian's army was very near, and they expected to be under seige in the next day or two. Fortunately, both Brecon and Rory were mostly recovered from the attack and would be able to lead their men in resisting any assault by Valerian. He thought about their attempts to establish the loyalties of the inhabitants of Laas. He was also worried about the traitors he knew had entered Laas with his own army. When would they make their move?  Despite finding no indications of additional traitors, he had an uneasy feeling that all was not yet known
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on July 07, 2019, 02:18:47 PM
Captain Stev entered Brendan's quarters and bowed. "You wished to see me, mi'lord?

The earl replied. "I did. Be seated, there are things we must discuss in preparation for the departure of myself and my men. The king has tasked me with being ready to move immediately on his command which I expect very soon, probably as early as the morning. We are to rejoin Prince Javan's army for the attack on the rebels at Laas.'

Brendan continued, "We need to arrange to have the rebel leader, Drago, delivered as soon as possible to Rhemuth. The king is anxious to question him. I need you to select two of your most experienced and reliable men to escort him there. He will be restrained by chains during the trip. If they leave at first light tomorrow and take the shorter road through the Hidden Gwynedd Valley they should be able to reach Arx Fidei before dark. They could rest there for the night and face only a short ride into Rhemuth the next morning. There they will turn the prisoner over to the king's guards. Do you have concerns about this plan?"

The captain shifted on his stool. "The problem is that I'm already short o' men to guard the increased number o' prisoners here. Takin' two o' me most experienced guards will  decrease me numbers more an' make the risk of attempted escape or attacks higher."

"How many additional men do you need to feel that you can control the rebel prisoners and maintain the safety of the garrison?"

Captain Stev considered the question for several minutes, then spoke.  "If they're experienced men-at-arms,  three at the least, four wuid be better. If they're newer with little experience, I wuid say five or six wuid be best. I could release two o' em when my men return from Rhemuth."

"That is easily solved." replied Earl Brendan. "I intend that Lord Jaxom ride with me as one of my lieutenants. His men were to be added to the men under my command. I will detach his five men to join the guard detail here to assist you in maintaining the safety of the garrison."

"Thank ye, mi'lord. That will indeed make me task easier." The Captain looked relieved.

"Do you have other concerns?" Brendan waited for the captain's answer.

"I am that worrit about the safety o' the estates between here and Cuiltiene. If they are attacked, I'm not sure how much help I could give 'em." Captain Stev waited quietly.

"That is being addressed." the earl assured him. "The lords whose Manors lie between here and Cuiltiene are taking steps to provide for their own defense, putting together a force made up of their own men-at-arms and retainers to discourage any attempts to seize any of their manors."

The captain sat back on his stool, appearing less tense. "I have checked all me defenses an me supplies an' weapons, an' I think we're well prepared to meet any action from the rebels."

"Good!" replied Brendan. "I am pleased with your preparations. I am sure all will be secure in our absence."  Captain Stev stood, bowed and left the earl's quarters.

Brendan next sent his squire to summon Lord Jaxom and Lord Michael to attend him. While he awaited their arrival, he considered the readiness of his own men for the march and battle ahead. He had tasked his men to check their horses, gear, and weapons to be sure all was in readiness to ride as soon as the king's command came.  He had also taken steps to be sure that they had adequate supplies.

He heard footsteps approaching and his squire ushered in the two young lords. Both of them bowed to the earl, and he motioned to them to be seated on the two stools across from him. Brendan  noted that Jaxom wore a new and expensive cloak of deep blue with a bronze clasp engraved with a cross, obviously dressed to impress. He smiled to himself. He addressed the two young men. "I summoned you as we will depart Droghera soon to rejoin Prince Javan's army for the relief of Laas. I need to make you aware of your orders for this mission."

"Lord Michael, I have considered everything you have told me as well as Lady Fiona's report of your sincerity, and I have recommended to the king that you be given a chance to redeem yourself and prove your fealty to him and to Gwynedd. Before we depart, I do require that here before me you swear an oath of loyalty to Gwynedd. When this campaign is over, you may have the opportunity to go to Rhemuth and swear your fealty to King Kelson. Are you prepared to give me your oath?"

"Aye, my lord" Michael bent his knee before the earl who stood to receive his oath. He repeated the words of the oath after Brendan. He then rose to face the earl who turned to Lord Jaxom. "You are witness to this man's oath of loyalty, and I am placing him under your supervision. He will receive his orders from you, and I expect that you will watch over him." 

Jaxom stood straight and proud before the earl. "I will carry out your command, my lord."

Brendan again addressed Michael. "You will ride with me as an aide to Lord Jaxom.  He will return your weapons to you. "Check them to be sure they are in order. Have you had training as a squire in their use in battle? " Brendan studied the young man before him.

"I have had such training, my lord." Michael replied. " Although I have never been in battle, I have practiced regularly to improve my skills."

Brendan nodded. "Lord Jaxom will be responsible for your integration into the cavalry accompanying me. He will keep me apprised of your progress. I expect you to take full advantage of the opportunity you have been given. You may go to get ready for tomorrow's departure"

"Thank you, my lord. I will do my best to justify your faith in me."  Michael bowed and withdrew.

Brendan turned his attention to Lord Jaxom. "I depend on you to help that young man  establish  himself as a trustworthy vassal of the king. Since his father's estate is near yours, it seemed useful to provide the two of you with a chance to form a relationship that will serve you well not only during the current campaign, but later when you have returned to your estates."

"When we leave, you will be riding with me as one of my lieutenants. I had intended to integrate your men with my own. However, the captain of the garrison here needs additional soldiers to safely and adequately man the town and its fortifications and manage the prisoners you brought as well as those already here. Therefore, I have decided to detach your men and reassign them to the garrison here under Captain Stev."

Jaxom did not appear too pleased with this plan. "These are my father's men-at-arms, and he will not be pleased if I return without them. They have been together under my leadership for quite some time, and they respect me and follow my commands. I am not sure how they will accept a new assignment to garrison duty under a new commander."

The earl eyed the young lord sternly. "I am sure that they will accept the necessity of this change if it is presented to them in the right way by you, their commander. This assignment will enable them to remain together as a unit. I am sure that you can help them understand that we all must use our resources wisely in order to defeat the rebels and that their role will make a significant contribution to achieving this goal"

Jaxom  nodded his agreement with Brendan's words. "I understand, my lord. I will explain to them the importance of their role in protecting the town and in ensuring that the prisoners are duly brought before the king's justice. That will surely discourage any others who might be having thoughts about joining the rebellion." Jaxom looked pleased with his rejoinder, certain that he had made a good impression with his response. And he would be one of the Earl's lieutenants which would surely offer opportunities to enhance his reputation and help him toward advancement in the king's favor.

Brendan stood, "Have you further questions about your assignment? If not, you may rejoin your men and take care of informing them of their new role and seeing that they get settled in the barracks. You might ask Captain Stev to accompany you so he can show them to their quarters and  review what will be expected of them. I expect you to be ready to ride out with me in the morning when we receive the king's command"

"Yes, my lord." However, Jaxom hesitated.

"Have you further questions about your orders?"

"No, my lord, but I do have something I need to give you." Jaxom reached into his coin purse and withdrew a thick silver band which he held out to Brendan, who looked puzzled.  "I bought this from the same merchant who sold me the clasp. I recognized it right away as a knight's ring. On closer examination, I saw that it was a tournament token, a championship ring. I thought he might have stolen it, but he assured me he bought it from a lady who was in great need. He said that she told him it was given to her by a lover, but somehow I doubt that was true. The man described his purchase as an act of charity. I hesitated to buy it, and he began to talk of melting it down since he would have great difficulty selling it as only another knight could buy it. I studied it more closely and decided it would be a great pity to let it be melted down. The person who won it must have worn it with pride."

Jaxom looked up and met the intent gaze of the earl. He took a deep breath and continued. "As I studied it further,  I realized that it was very like a ring worn by your brother during our trip to Rhemuth. I decided to purchase it. I thought you might be able to determine whether it had indeed belonged to Sir Washburn. I knew of his capture, and I was sure that if it had been his, it must have been stolen from him by the rebel scum who held him. I decided to bring it to you." He placed the ring in Brendan's hand.

"I know he had a ring similar to this, but I do not know if this is actually his ring." Brendan turned the ring over in his hand, studying the engraving on it. He felt a stirring as if the ring was indeed trying to tell him something, but he needed time alone with it to study it, to focus on it and let it tell him whatever secrets it held. "I would like to retain the ring and study it when I have time. I will reimburse you for the price you paid."

Jaxom replied. "I bought it together with the cloak clasp for three gold coins, but I do not seek repayment. I would ask that you keep it, and if it does belong to your brother, that you return it to him when there is opportunity. I would hope that the return of his ring would improve relations between us when our paths cross again."

Brendan studied the man before him. He felt sure that Jaxom's real intent was to curry favor with him, however, it was a laudable act. "I thank you for your generosity in bringing the ring to me. It speaks well of you that you thought to buy it to save it and try to return it to its owner thinking it might have been my brother's.  When there is time, I will study it further and try to determine the owner. I will then see that it is returned to the owner, whoever it is. Now we must prepare for our departure."

Lord Jaxom bowed and left the room to carry out his orders. Brendan sat back in his chair and focused on the ring he still held in his hand. He took one slow, deep breath then another. He slipped into trance.

((Does he find that the ring does belong to Wash
roll 2d6, 2+6==8  Yes))

He does sense his brother, first his pride and happiness at winning the ring. But then he senses darker happenings, pain as shields crumble, then assaults on Wash's mind. As he slips deeper, Brendan senses feelings of helplessness and shame, followed by a sense of deep cold and blackness, despair. Death is near. But then there is a brief feeling of warmth and returning life just before his sense of Wash is lost.

He awakens from the trance, considering what he learned. The ring does belong to Wash, and he continued to wear it at least part of the time during his captivity. At some point it was taken from him. The king has told him that Wash survived and escaped his captors and is now being cared for.  But he also knows that Wash is not out of danger. The extent of the damage done to his mind by his captor and how to reverse it is not yet known. If his mind cannot be healed and he becomes a danger to the king or to his own family, it still could cost him his life.

Brendan knows he must follow his king's orders, and he will soon leave Droghera and rejoin Prince Javan and his army. The highest priority must be to defeat the Mearan rebels and restore peace to the kingdom. However, he makes a firm resolve to find Wash's captor. When he does, he will force him to reveal what can be done to heal his brother. He will then kill him.

Brendan receives the king's command to move in the early predawn hours the next morning. He orders his men to muster in the stable yard. The escort taking Drago to Rhemuth has already left. The earl mounts his horse and moves to the head of the column with Lord Jaxom beside him. He bids farewell to the Captain, the gates of Droghera swing open, and they ride out toward the west, following the shortest route to overtaking and joining Prince Javan and his army on their march toward Laas
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on July 08, 2019, 02:55:05 PM
Many men, both young and old, gathered at Baron Stuart's estate; they joined together for the assembly that had been called the day before. Only the oldest of the land owners came themselves, for most of the male nobility had already answered the call-to-arms and had joined with Prince Javan's army days before. Instead, those who came were the chatelaines and wives with their stewards and youthful sons.  They were accompanied by a boisterous group of men who had been itching to go to war, but who had been assigned by their lords to guard their estates. All these men and boys swelled the ranks under Sir Washburn's instruction in the outer yard. The Baron's official meeting with his neighbors to strengthen their lands against the rebels would take place in the afternoon following a worthy meal, the smells of which wafted over the practice grounds as the kitchens were up wind; the smell of roasts on the spits and baked goods in the ovens. Until such time as they could all sit in the great hall to eat, the women watched from the manor's stairs talking of the events while the men plied their skills in the yard; skills in archery, swordsmanship and dagger play.  Sir Washburn walked between the archery field and the practice dueling grounds giving pointers on position, stance, aim and attack to any and all who needed assistance.

The Lendour knight was pleased with what he saw. Of these men, a few were men-at-arms, many others from the estates were workmen and drovers. Men trained to defend property, but not as soldiers, nevertheless they had some experience in fighting as being on the borderlands with Meara and the Connait. Skilled enough to for Washburn to help them improve upon what they already knew. Only a few times did Wash actually need to intervene when a poorly held sword would have seen a boy skewered before he even knew what had happened to him. He took the minutes necessary to show proper stance and weapon's hold and most importantly how to block a swing. Whenever he gave such general instruction, many nearby would stop to watch and learn, and then when dueling began again, each man's postures were much improved. Halfway through the morning, Wash turned to see Lord Darcy giving pointers in dagger play. Obviously the seaman had a good mastery in that form of fighting. Washburn was impressed.

"How is your archery?" Mostly in jest, Washburn challenged his friend as he came up beside him.

"Passably good. I can lob a flaming arrow at a passing boat and set a sail aflame," Darcy claimed with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Than at least you know what the bow string is for," Wash jibed back. "But can you hit the passing boat's halyard line with a razor arrow tip to bring the sail down upon the deck and cause the enemy vessel to become dead in the water?"

Darcy gave a skeptic laugh. "No one can do that!"

"I have," Wash said offhandedly with a small shrug of his shoulders and a confident smile.

"Not possible," Darcy challenged.

Wash said nothing more, he walked up to the nearest man with a heavy longbow.  Borrowing it, Wash tested the pull of the string, not quite the tension of his own bow, but strong enough. He chose an arrow with a war tip and ripped the feather's off one side. He sighted the pennant flag to the side of the gate tower. He concentrated on the breeze as the pennant lightly waved and how it tugged at the rope holding it to the top of the pole. He focused, taking steady even breaths. He didn't even notice that the courtyard had gone quiet. All watching.

His arrow flew with a wild spin and a rapid trajectory. The arrow severed the targeted rope then flew on to strike the castle wall with a "Ting". There was a faint flapping sound as the pennant fluttered free in the breeze, the weight from the lower rope pulling it to the ground.

(( Wash, bow mastery.  3d6 results  3 + 1 + 5 = 9. success))

"Not quite perfect, but it gets the job done." Wash lowered the bow, a little surprised to hear the cheers around him. He acknowledged the men and waved them back to their training. He turned back to Darcy. "Of course it is much harder at sea, but not an impossible feat for men like you and I. Have you tried a little focus with your arrows. It is not hard once you get the hang of it."

"Like that time when, some days back, you willed the dagger away?" Darcy asked, recalling a time when a dagger thrown at Lord Alister had suddenly turned mid-flight and thumped harmlessly into a tree. "I thought that would be a good skill to learn, so I had Aliset teach it to me."

"Archery marksmanship is akin to that, yes. A little simpler, as it is you who control the arrow from its launching. No need to catch something mid-flight, which takes swift intense focus. If you have been working on that talent already, then you will find your archery skills easily improved.Take a round at the butts and see what I mean."

"I will." Darcy and Washburn walked over to the head of the archery field. He took the long bow from Washburn, added a handful of arrows in a quiver and then assumed a good stance, his eyes on the bullseye at the end of the field.

Wash smiled. Darcy had that natural wide feet placement and bent knees from standing upon a reeling deck. His draw was a little wide; if he had been in tight soldiers formation, he would not have had that kind of room, but Wash could forgive him that, as Darcy had likely never to stand shoulder to shoulder as footmen did.  Sight with your mind, not just your eye. Sense the target. And now the wind between you and the target. The wind's strength ebbs and wanes almost in a pattern, adjusted for it as you need.

Darcy's eyes shrewdly focused, then he loosed the arrow, which flew quick and sure. It thumped into the center ring of the target.

((Darcy at the butts 3d6  results 4 + 6 + 2 = 12))

"Hah! You're a master already!" Wash gave Darcy's shoulder a pat of comradery.

Washburn felt Darcy's joy at his new found use of a known skill. Inside, Wash felt his own accomplishment in training others to improve their weapons proficiency. Something he had always enjoyed doing with the squires at Lendour and Rhemuth. Wash rubbed his eyes and looked away. Those places were lost to him. He could not go home. Not now, and maybe not ever. His brothers and his king had renounced him from his inheritance. He was a homeless man whose tether to family was broken. "Keep practicing like that." Wash said distractedly. He walked away from Darcy, away from the men working hard to improve their skills, and looked toward the open road, it led to a place that somewhere out there which called to him. Affection and loyalty for his friends kept his mind and his feet from running down that road. Still there was a need to go, like a single remaining tether that tugged at him to move on.

((Washburn's first save test to resist the compulsion sent by Feyd.
Fingers crossed. 2d6 Wash first save test. Results 3 + 3 = 6
Verification Number: 3bfqqjws2f Darn!))

The pull was greater now than it had been all morning. He had a place to go, a place he needed to be. Unlike going home, thinking of this place filled him with anticipation, a sense of a future that could be. Soon, he promised himself, somehow he knew, three days ride and he would discover his destiny. Why was he hesitating, he could go anytime. Because he did have loyalties and vows to keep.  He looked back at Darcy who shot a second arrow in the center yellow. He looked up at the manor house and saw Lady Aliset keenly watching her husband, and the wide blue eyes of the lady standing beside her. Lady Fiona flashed him a wide smile as their gazes met. He thought her an attractive girl, yet he was not unaccustomed to looking at pretty women; look but don't touch were the morals of his society. Morals he was well trained to live by. It was easy enough as he had come to realize that most good looking women were about as sharp-minded and interesting as a round river stone. Intelligence was like river waters that ran in one ear and out the other, never making a dent on the brain the information passed over. Why, then, did this girl strike him as different. She most certainly had her own mind, and she was confident in herself, not needing a man to make her decisions for her. Washburn liked that confidence. Maybe when all this was over, he would come back here and listen to this tug at his heart.

His eyes looked away from Lady Fiona to the open road. Time was growing short, as was his need to leave. Feeling pent up frustration he sighted a rock on the road that could turn a horses hoof if stepped upon, he attempted to toss it aside with his mind. ((Washburn telekinesis 2d6 results 2 + 4 = 6 failed))  His distraction was too intense to concentrate. Angry with himself, he physically picked up the rock and threw it hard into the tree line. Then his eyes fell upon Father Columcil walking out of the chapel. The calm presence of the good Father seemed to settle across Washburn. He could control his urges and his anger, he knew he had to, for those would only get him thrown in a dungeon somewhere. The knight took a took a deep breath, and repeated his vows of loyalty to himself. Gaining a calm forbearance, he walked back to the training yard. He could take the time for one more shared afternoon in comradery with his friends and a shared meal before he would be on his way.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on July 09, 2019, 12:53:23 PM
Sir Iain Cameron paused outside the door to King Kelson's withdrawing room.   Robert  stood at his side.  Although Robert would not be admitted to this private conference with the king, Robert had finally accepted that the king did not blame him for Lady Aliset's departure from Rhemuth.  He had been restored to his proper place as one of King Kelson's chosen squires, on loan as often happened to the Baron o' Isles.

Iain straightened his tunic; the light blue of Isles with its sea eagle embroidered in white thread suited his pale features.  But the shoulder and back seams seemed to have stretched out a bit since the last time he wore it.  He gave Robert a questioning look.

"I loaned it to Lord Darcy when he was summoned by the king.  It was a tad snug," Robert said quietly.

"Hopefully his swordsmanship is worthy of the extra muscles," Iain replied dryly.

"I believe it is, my lord; I watched him practice.  Turned the target into little chips of wood."

"Overkill," Iain muttered as the door to the withdrawing room opened.  Robert stepped inside and announced Sir Iain, bowed and withdrew with the guard that had opened the door. It closed behind them.

"How may I serve you, your Majesty?" Iain asked as he straightened from his bow.  He noted the two men who sat beside King Kelson at the table;  Archbishop Duncan McLain and Lord Seisyll Arilan.  The king and Seisyll wore wide mourning sashes from right shoulder to left hip for the late Bishop Denis Arilan; the archbishop wore a plain black cassock.

"As you always do," Kelson responded and motioned for Iain to be seated. It was not the normal relaxed gesture Iain would have expected.  "We need to know what you make of this message from Master Feyd."  He pushed a rolled parchment toward Iain.

Iain unrolled the parchment and felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise when he saw it bore not only Feyd's seal but also the seal of the Black Order of Death.  This he would not have expected.  Although he was already aware of the content, he read the message carefully, memorizing the names Feyd had listed.  He stopped when he reached the end and looked up at the king.  "You have read the seal, your Majesty?" he asked.

Kelson nodded.  "As have Archbishop Duncan and Lord Seisyll.  Do the same."

Iain nodded and then focused his mind to find the message hidden within the seal of the Black Order of Death.  The essence of Feyd was strong within the message once he found it. He committed the content to memory. 

"A clever way to bypass a trap," he said at last.

'You have already assured Us that Feyd is clever.  Should We accept his bargain?"

The king's formality was not lost on Iain.  He suspected Kelson was using it to keep his anger in check.  Archbishop Duncan gave the king a sidelong glance; Seisyll Arilan was studying Iain carefully.

"I see no reason for Feyd to play you false; he wants his ward cubes back. What is not clear to me, however, is why he is offering you access to du Chantal's manor.  You could round up du Chantal and all the others based on the names Feyd provided."  Iain paused as another idea came to mind.  "The manor is located strategically within Meara. If Valerian knows of the Portal, and likely he does, he could be counting on using it to escape when he fails to take Laas.  We could capture him, if we have it under our control."

"Valerian has lost the use of his powers," Archbishop Duncan said. "He cannot use the Portal on his own.  And why would Feyd betray him?"

"Valerian will have others with him who can get him through the Portal. He will use them to keep his loss a secret for as long as possible," Iain responded.  "Once he has been paid, Feyd's loyalty to a client is finished. And I suspect Lord Brioc's actions did not endear Valerian to Feyd."

"Then you trust Feyd's offer?"  Seisyll asked.

"I never trust Feyd," Iain responded.  "But he has nothing to gain by laying a trap.  We gain a possible way to capture Grand Duke Valerian."

"We could keep the ward cubes, or destroy them."  Kelson said.

"I would advise against either course of action.  Crossing Feyd in the slightest way is dangerous, as Lord Brioc found out.  If we could destroy the ward cubes, and I'm not certain we could, Feyd and possibly his entire order would put contracts out on us and everyone we hold dear.  I would advise against it, especially given the war with Meara."

Kelson considered Iain's words.  Finally he said to Iain, "Taking du Chantal's manor will take more men than you can take with you through the portal. I could divert Earl Brendan and his forces to the manor.  If you can penetrate successfully, Brendan can secure the manor and leave a few men behind to keep it secure."  He glanced at Seisyll, who nodded and then turned his grey gaze on Iain once more.  "What do you think Feyd will do once we succeed?"

"He will contact you with further instructions for the exchange."  Iain looked thoughtful. "I would very much like to know what Master Feyd intends to do with his ward cubes when he gets them.  If we fulfill our part of this bargain, there may be a way to get a hint of what he intends to do.  He wants revenge for something that happened two hundred years ago, and he has a plan.  I have concern not just for his intended target but for any collateral damage that results."

"Two hundred years is a long time," Duncan said quietly.

'You have already surmised I intend to send you to get through the Portal, Sir Iain," Kelson said. 

Iain nodded.  "I have an idea that may help us.  I will need someone who can play a part, maybe two men, to risk going through with me.  We may be able to gain Earl Brendan swift access to the manor without a direct attack ourselves.  Perhaps Sir Seisyll would be willing to assist, though I realize the timing is poor given the recent loss of his uncle."

Seisyll Arilan raised one dark eyebrow. "Perhaps Sextus would be the better choice, and Jamyl could be considered as well, if he is willing.  Uncle Denis would not be pleased if we put our personal feelings ahead of the greater good."

"Pursue your plan, Iain,"  Kelson said.   "Let's not delay longer than necessary."  He waited until Iain completed his bow and then added, "I do have some news of interest to you."

"Sire?"  Iain asked.

"I have received a report from Duke Dhugal. His agent in Ratharkin reports that Oswald, the man who killed Lady Aliset's family, is dead."

"Of what cause, your Majesty?" Iain asked.  "I am pleased his is no longer a threat to Lady Aliset and my brother.  How did he die?"

"Duke Dhugal's agent reports he was poisoned and died a slow and painful death."

"I would judge that Master Feyd had a hand in that," Iain replied after a moment.   "But Feyd would not perform, or commission the deed, without payment."

"Earl Brendan found the Lendour great sword in a room Feyd had secured in Rhemuth."  Kelson gave Iain a considering look.  "The jewels on the hilt, including the great ruby, were missing."

"Then Master Feyd has his payment," Iain replied.  "And has succeeded."

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on July 12, 2019, 08:00:04 AM
As the bells of the village church began to ring sext, the baron, his family, his guests and the men assembled in the great hall for the noon meal, the aroma of which had been tantalizing them all morning while they trained and practised. The baron, his wife, Fiona and their guests were seated at the high table. The lords and ladies, and their sons were seated at tables nearby while the men sat at tables set up in the body of the hall. Father Columcil stood to deliver the blessing then servants began to distribute the food.

Sir Washburn found himself seated between Lady Fiona on his right and Lord Darcy to his left. Darcy was much occupied in conversation with his wife. As he began to eat, Wash heard a soft voice in his ear. "I so enjoyed watching you as you trained the men this morning. You are a wonderful teacher. I could see the improvement in their skills as a result of your instruction."

Sir Washburn turned to Fiona with a tilt of his head and a lop-sided smile. He acknowledged her compliment, saying, "I greatly enjoy the teaching. I was involved with King Kelson's training centers for aspiring knights and it was one of my favorite assignments. It is rewarding when I not only see the improvement in their skills but I can feel their pleasure and pride in their performance. Also, I enjoy seeing them starting to meld together as a group, able to work well together. They will soon be well able to handle any rebels who try to attack their estates."

Fiona gave him a wide smile that lit up her blue eyes. "Archery is my favorite sport. I am better at it than the baron's son, but I wish I could persuade you to give me some pointers to further improve my skills. However, I understand that you must focus on training the men who will be responsible for our defense." Fiona sighed. " I was most impressed as I watched you begin to transform them into  a band of men who will be able to protect us from marauding rebels. I don't think they have become such a group yet but I am sure with your help they will".

Wash gave a genuine smile to the young lady beside him.  "I think I could find a bit of time to help you if you wish it".

"Oooh." Fiona responded. "I would love that. You tell me when to come to the practice yard for instruction and I will be there." She continued to smile to herself as she focused on her plate..

They were silent for several moments as they ate but then Fiona spoke again. "Father Columcil told me that you have discovered that you have talent as a healer. That is wonderful! There is a great need for people with such a talent and so few who possess it. Think of all the people you could help."

Wash wasn't certain how best to handle the young lady's admiration for his special gift. He himself had not yet come to terms with how to incorporate it into his life. He certainly did not consider himself a Healer yet, that came after years of study and experience. "Aye my lady, in time I do hope I can help people. I will need  to attend the schola in Rhemuth to learn more about the healing skills. Father Columcil first discovered my ability and has trained me in a few of the basics of its use. But we were involved in completing a mission to rescue a young nobleman, and there was little time. There is so much more to learn." He gazed past Fiona into the distance.

"I also wish to attend the schola." she told him. "I possess Deryni powers but have little training in their use. I have long dreamed of being able to be admitted to the schola and to learn from the wonderful teachers there."

"If that is your dream, you should indeed go.What has stopped you from going?" he asked"

"I lost both my parents when I was young. Sir Iain Cameron became my guardian. His mother and mine were sisters. My aunt was beginning my training but she also became ill and was no longer able to work with me. That is when Iain brought me to live with Uncle Mac and Aunt Olivia. There was no one here to continue my training. The king's missions were so important and took so much of Iain's time and forethought that there was never any time during his brief visits to discuss my future. I am hoping that once the rebels are defeated that there will be opportunities for such discussion. Lady Aliset has agreed to work with me while she is here." Fiona grinned at him. "Who knows, perhaps we will meet there."

"When this current matter is resolved, I would very much enjoy meeting with you there. With, of course, your cousin's and uncle's permission." Wash gave the lady a courtier's smile and bow.

"If your going to flirt with me, perhaps you should ask my cousin and uncle for permission now." Fiona teased him with a flutter of her eye lashes.

"I dare not succumb to your teasing, my lady. I have much to do before I must excuse my leaving to your uncle".

"You are leaving? But why?" Fiona sounded dismayed. "You have not completed the task you took on to help form and train a defense force to protect us and our lands. Although they have made progress, their training is not complete. There is still great need for your knowledge and skill. We are all depending on you. Surely you would not wish to leave with the training unfinished."

Wash looked embarrassed. "I would certainly wish to complete what I have begun. The men are responding  well to the training, and I am sure they will become a formidable defense force. After the joint meeting, which we are to have as soon as we have finished our meal, I intend to spend the rest of today setting patrols and lines of communication between the estates. Then it will be up to the stewards of each estate to carry out the plans. I don't see where I will be much needed here after tomorrow. Besides, I am too visible here. I have enemies who may very possibly learn where I am, and I dare not overstay. To do so will put not just me but everyone at risk."

"These men are loyal," Fiona exclaimed, her hand waving across the hall indicating everyone partaking of the noon meal. "As my uncle's guest, you are under his protection. This I guarantee!"

Fiona spoke of certainties, but the knight knew no such certainty could be guaranteed. He took a deep breath, held it for a moment and let it out slowly. "My lady, I thank Baron Stuart for his hospitality and good intentions toward me. I do not wish to frighten you with my troubles, yet troubles do follow me."

"I have heard some of your trial, it does not frighten me for you to talk about it. Know that you are protected here, there is no need for you to leave," Fiona pleaded.

"Here in the open, I am very vulnerable. I dare not stay long. I have enemies who will spare no expense to discover my whereabouts. I fear I would need the king's army around me to feel safe. I do wish for that. If it were not for my brothers, that is where I would go." Wash hung his head low. "I know you do not see it, but there is great danger if I stay here, my lady. Do you recall the faces of the prisoners guarded by Lord Jaxom?"- Wash could not help but suck in his breath as he said the name-"I know at least one prisoner recognized me.  If he tells a key conspirator in Droghera, the Grand Duke will hear of it. For Gywnedd's sake, for the sake of your family, it is better if I am known to be gone. I will let it be known that I am going to plead my case before my brother. That should lead the trail far away from here."


Fiona placed a sympathetic hand on his arm. 'My lord, What about your family and friends? How could you possibly be safer anywhere more than here? I know Lord Darcy made a sincere effort to convince my uncle to place his confidence in you. He assured my uncle that you are the ideal person to forge these men into a fighting unit. He also assured him that you could be trusted to focus on what needs to be done and to put that first. You did agree to the plan they presented to you, and you committed to doing your best. Is this feeling that draws you away more important than what you undertook to do here? If you fail, it will reflect not only on you but on both Lord Darcy and Father Columcil."

"I assure you, your estates' protection will be well organized before I go. And when word gets out that I am no longer here, I believe your uncle Mac will no longer be in danger." Wash looked sad. "I have no more ties to my family. Those have been broken by their actions to renounce me. But both Darcy and Father Columcil promised to support me in this endeavor. and I do not want to let them down. My lady I wish that you could understand. There is a place, three days ride from here, where I have made prior vows to go. I am certain that it holds the cure to some things which have befallen me of late."

Fiona sensed the turmoil in him and she was very concerned for him."I do not understand this compulsion that tries to draw you away.. Why must you leave now, with your task unfinished? Could you not remain longer? I feel that you are an honorable man, and you will regret it if you leave. Surely whatever place you feel the need to go will still be there when you have completed your obligations here. I think you would be better able to seek out your future if you could move on with a sense of pride in what you have accomplished in creating a strong defense for those you leave behind."

Wash thought about what she had said. He did feel strongly that he needed to finish what he had started. He owed it to the baron and the other landowners who had put their trust in him to do his best to do as he had promised. He also owed it to Darcy and Columcil who had promised to support him. But he was not sure the feeling was strong enough to overcome this compulsion he felt.

Fiona thought furiously. She did feel compassion for the young man who seemed so torn and even desperate. What could she say to help him, to persuade him not to make the mistake of leaving before he had fulfilled his oath She was certain that to do so would result in great unhappiness for him.. " Could you not talk this over with your friends before you make a final choice? Father Columcil could surely help you to find the right path."

Washburn looked uncertain. He would never again allow himself to be restrained or made a prisoner. He would die first. However, he trusted the priest and felt sure that Columcil would never do anything to hurt him.  He also trusted Darcy and Aliset and felt that they also cared about him and wished to help. They would surely not try to keep him here against his will. But perhaps yielding to this strange compulsion he felt was not the right or honorable thing to do. He had promised his mother in their last rapport that he would always try to do what was right.  Fiona's reasoning was also compelling. He felt confused and no longer sure what he should do.

The meal was drawing to an end. He turned and looked into Fiona's eyes. He could see the concern there, and he felt that it was not only for the defense of her home but that it was also for him. He smiled a little sadly at her. "Speaking with you has given me much to think about. Perhaps my best course is to speak with the good father and get his advice. I will try to meet with him this afternoon." As the baron rose from his seat and the other diners began to leave, Wash stood, bowed to Fiona and turned to leave the great hall and seek out his mentor. The priest would surely help him deal with what was happening to him. 
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on July 12, 2019, 11:33:15 PM
After his meeting with the King and Sir Iain Cameron, Lord Seisyll Arilan makes his way back to his apartments within the castle. He takes the time to relax before going through the day's correspondence and papers that have arrived from Tre-Arilan. One is from a member of the Camberian Council stating that he must meet with Seisyll this very night. The Rhemuth Castle library will be fine since members of the Council are allowed to use that Portal.

Later that evening Seisyll is in the library waiting for his friend who arrives a bit later than planned. His face already betraying the news he must share with the Council's only co-adjustor. And he relates the tale and the news that Council now numbers only 5.


There has been an accident in the Connait. Owen Lord Reis, a younger member of the Camberian Council, has died due to wounds received during a hunt. He was gored by a large mad stag.

Lord Reis had brought a Healer along with him, as hunts have been known to their fair share of accidents. But the Healer was unable to save Owen's life, the injuries were just too severe.

The beast itself was killed a short time afterwards. It showed no fear of man, unlike most animals, and actually turned to attack and charge those who were hunting it. The stag had a heavy froth about it's mouth and had bloodshot eyes. Obviously a beast possessed of the devil from hell.

The body of the stag was burned instead of being used for meat even it's hide was burned as well. Out of safety in to stop the spread of any sickness that may have been the cause of the stag's behavior.

The news is a lot to take in. The councilor bids his farewell to his friend and leaves via Portal leaving Seisyll to his own thoughts.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on July 13, 2019, 03:44:33 PM
John Nivard rose from his knees at the foot of the catafalque on which rested the body of his mentor and friend. He crossed himself slowly, using the gesture to unobtrusively wipe the tears that he was struggling to restrain, and then bent to kiss the cold hand which lay crossed upon the still breast.

He had risked casting a preservation spell upon the Bishop's body so that members of his household could pay their respects but, even in these more open times, it was probably best not to prolong such an openly Deryni gesture once the funeral cortege set out. Which, in this summer heat, meant that the Bishop would need to be coffined and soon.  And then the problems would start.

John knew just how much he had owed to Denis; his promotion within the church, his priesthood and maybe even his life itself. He respected him deeply, in recent decades he had come to love him as a friend, and hearing his story he understood why Denis had ordained what was to come. That did not mean that it would be any easier. He sometimes thought that Denis, coming from a noble family of ancient Deryni lineage, did not quite understand just how much in awe of his superiors John Nivard was. And he now had to go and tell his King and his Archbishop that their orders concerning the funeral obsequies could not be followed.

These orders, signed by both King and Archbishop, had been brought that very morning through the portal by one of Archbishop Duncan's chaplains. The late Lord Bishop of Dhassa, his excellency Denis Arilan, was to be laid in a casket of finest oak, sealed with lead and lined with purple silk. He himself should be clothed in the finest of his festal robes, as fitted a faithful servant even now receiving his well-merited reward from his Lord. Once sealed, the casket would be brought in easy stages to Rhemuth where he would lie in state in the Cathedral overnight and thence to Arx Fidei where he would be laid to rest after a suitable period for all to pay their respects. The casket should be covered with cloth of richest silk, the purple of mourning embroidered with the white and gold of resurrection, and while at rest the casket would bear the signs of Denis's high office, his bishop's ring, the stole in which he had been consecrated bishop and the chalice and paten which denoted a priest.

John rehearsed these details in his head as he bowed to the body and then stepping a few paces to the side bent his knee to the Presence before Whom the Bishop lay. He sketched a sign of blessing to the monks who knelt keeping vigil at the four corners where candles burned and then drew a deep breath before making his way to the portal in the Bishop's quarters. He was at least expected in Rhemuth, indeed he was summoned to report on progress. He doubted though that the news that he bore would be welcome.
                             
The signs of the danger now facing the kingdom met him everywhere, and the guards standing with weapons drawn in the portal anteroom and at the entrance to the King's quarters were only to be expected. More shocking was the look of strain on the faces of both King and Archbishop though the warmth of their welcome to him was as gracious as ever. The fear of challenging authority which had tied John's stomach in knots was now replaced by something worse; a wave of physical pain swept him as he realised that the outward show of respect for the late Bishop was also an act of defiance, a sign that the enemy would not prevail. And he was about to deny that comfort to his Liege Lord and his Archbishop.

Kelson and Duncan had both risen to greet John and, in this informal setting where all were old friends, neither had expected to be greeted formally. John, however, pretended not to see the King's gesture towards a seat and instead sank to one knee, his hand reaching into the breast of his cassock to draw out a document.

"Your Majesty, your Excellency, I must crave your pardons for my disobedience to your orders. But I have been forbidden to comply with what you ask."

Kelson and Duncan stared at each other. The word disobedience was not one that you associated with John Nivard. Ever. As one, they looked away from each other towards the man kneeling on the floor, his hand shaking as he held out a piece of folded parchment sealed with the signet of the late Bishop of Dhassa. Duncan got to his feet and, walking the few paces forward, reached out and pulled John to his, keeping the latter's wrist in a surprisingly firm grip as he all but pushed him down into the seat that the King had indicated.

"Whatever this is, you have my word that you will not be blamed. And I dare promise the word of your King too. Save fear for our enemies, not those who are honoured to call you friend."

He reached out his hand and, taking the parchment broke the seal saying as he did you,

"I take it from your demeanour that you know what this contains and that we will not like it?"

John nodded, but Duncan already knew the answer and he had not waited for it before beginning to read. As he read tears came into his eyes and he murmered as if to himself, "You never truly forgave yourself did you my friend? Kyrie Eleison."

He sat for a long moment, obviously praying, then turned to John.

"Thank you for having the courage to remain faithful to his wishes."

Then to the King, who had waited silently though the rigidity of his expression betrayed his impatience,

"Denis wishes to be remembered simply as a pentitent.  He is to be buried in a simple coffin, wearing only a shroud, and draped with unadorned purple. Once he reaches Arx Fidei even that is to be removed and replaced with sackcloth. And on top is to be, is to be..." As Duncan's voice faltered to a stop John found his courage and continued for him.

"No-one ever knew, Sire, that Denis had a ordination gift prepared for his friend, Jorian de Courcy, a book of hours, beautifully illuminated. He must have waited to give it to him after the ordination and" - John Nivard paused to swallow down his own tears -" it was in his private oratory. I have only now seen it and the original inscription has been pasted over with the words 'Ora pro me, frater meus.' 'Pray for me, my brother.' Then that last has been struck out and replaced by 'Sancte Iorian'. 'Pray for me Saint Jorian.'"

Speaking barely above a whisper Duncan got out,

"When I first discovered he was Deryni, I asked him if he never thought how many had died because of his silence. It has taken me a lifetime to learn that no-one could ever reproach Denis as bitterly as he did himself."

He glanced down at the parchment which contained Denis' last wishes and continued,

"He writes that his only hope is that he faithfully carried the torch lit by Jorian and he would have on his coffin no adornment but his gift to Jorian in the hope that Jorian's prayers will cover the multitude of his sins."

For the first time Kelson spoke and he used the formal Latin which enacted a royal decree,

"Rex vult, ita erit." The king wills it, so shall it be.











                 


Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on July 16, 2019, 03:56:32 PM
The afternoon had been both busy and productive. The general meeting for the residents of the neighboring estates had included several land owners, several wives and chatelians of the absentee landowners, and a dozen stewards who helped run those estates, along with several men at arms. The meeting could have been a free-for-all. But to Washburn's amazement, Baron Stuart kept the gathering well in hand. Things got done. Agreements were struck. A system of communications by bell rings and by daily couriers was put in place. If something were to happen at one estate, no more than hours would go by before others knew of it. And by the bell signals trouble could be recognized instantly. As for the patrols, Sir Washburn sat with the men-at-arms to make a schedule that was both manageable for even the small estates and effect in forming a defense against the rabble of Meara. Satisfied, those who lived near to Baron Stuart's home left for their homes to implement the agreement immediately. Those who had a longer journey, would stay the night in the great hall. They would leave at mid-morning the next day, after a final meeting. Wash agreed to a second training session for the men while the landowner's meeting was taking place.   

It was evening before Wash found himself seated alone at a low table in the great hall. He sat with his back to the wall to watch the room and the doors, something he naturally always did for his own protection. He had scattered pages of parchment before him, ones that he was checking to be sure that the patrols for each estate were well organized. As he checked them, he signed them and set them aside for the baron to approve before they were sent off. The great hall was by no means empty. There were many people about, mostly men, who sat talking in small groups. Unless someone had a question, no one would bother the tall blond knight. Even those who had not recognized him at first had learned early in the day who he was. He was a Morgan, a duke's brother, a king's man, and a Deryni. And even rumored to have been a war hostage. A man not to be trifled with. So it was that Wash was left alone to his own thoughts.

When signing his first parchment, Wash had made the motion to gather a drop of hot wax to make his seal with his Lendour signet ring. It was only then that he realized he no longer had the ring. He had fumbled his signature onto the page after that. Not even daring to add Knight of Lendour to his title. In his solitude of busy work, his mind went to the servant girl Ellia. His fondness for her was genuine. It wasn't love or even lust, though there was that. She had given him life when he needed it most, and he would never forget her gift. He only hoped she was safe and well. He didn't have any way of scrying for her and he wasn't sure what he could do for her if he could see where she was now. He said a small prayer under his breath that she would find a good life and be rewarded for her caring heart. In the days and even years to come, he would remember to keep her in his prayers, always.

The thought of women brought the Lady Fiona to mind. There was one vivacious, determined lass. She hardly knew him, yet she had put him in his place during the luncheon meal. He knew she said what she said for the welfare of her family and her uncle's people. She would make a good chatelain for her own land someday; undoubtedly she would be a good protector to the people under her.  Wash knew well enough that he was not a qualified suitor for such a lady. Not in his present circumstances. He was thinking that it would be best if he left here soon. When the others left at noon tomorrow. She would forget him the moment that he was gone and would soon find herself a good husband. He was sure that Lord Iain was not the type to force her into a marriage against her will. So he had little doubt that she would find her own good match in due time. All he had to do was remain too busy until noon the following day, so that he would not have time to assist her in archery, as she had asked. To be that close to her, might be detrimental for his peace of mind. The last thing he needed was to lose Darcy's favor over his poor ability to keep from looking at this beautiful lass who was Darcy's cousin and who was also Deryni.

Unwillingly, Washburn's heart was racing. He took a deep breath to calm his center. More than anything, he needed Darcy and he needed Columcil, he even needed the beloved Aliset. He needed these people in his life, and he needed to not do something that would condemn him in their eyes. That is why the calling at the back of his mind to leave was one that he could grapple with and hold in check. For now. Though it nagged at him endlessly. Every look out the window, called to him to ride out and away. Soon enough he told himself, soon enough.

Finish your work, Washburn Morgan, don't think of the girl, don't think of leaving, don't think of the war. Just do what you have to do in this moment.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on July 20, 2019, 09:52:37 PM
"I'll trade wi' ye a goblet o' wine fer yer thoughts," Father Columcil said casually as he sat opposite Wash at the lower table in the great hall. He expected an answer as he handed across a filled cup. When Wash said nothing, Columcil nodded in understanding. "Ye hae hud a busy day. Thare haes bin na time tae speak with one another. Tell me, how urr ye daein'?"

"I am doing well enough." Distractedly, Wash picked up the cup and took a long drink. "All this parchment is like running the castle back in Lendour. I admit, it does me good to have a purpose. Much like the lass said, I made a commitment and I need to see it through. It is like a bandage to cover a deep wound, it does help some, at least on the outside."

"I hope thare is some healing goin' on inside as well. I am nay talking in th' physical sense, mind ya. How kin ah help ye further tae heal those lost memories?"

"Dear Father Columcil, I willingly accept your assistance, I just don't know what we should try next." Wash looked up into the face of his friend. He saw concern in the older man's eyes.

"Laddie, you know I think of ye as a good man. And it hurts me to see you abused so. In our Rapport, I witnessed visions that I know to be false. I want you to understand that the hand of the Devil was in Feyd when he planted false memories of yer family mistreatin ya. Twas well known tha there was and is great love among ta Morgan brothers." The priest was open in both his hands and his shields inviting Rapport.

Washburn all but retracted into a warded space. His intake of breath was sharp, his hands rubbed the sides of his jaw and his shields were firm like a castle wall. There was a long silent moment before Washburn Morgan pursed his lips and nodded his head. Letting out a slow breath his hand went to his forehead as if to do a fatigue banishing spell. Instead it was a calming spell,(([5] 19-07-20 15:57:56 Calming spell for Wash add 3XP So success on 4,5,or 6. Rolled 2d6 results 4 + 2 = 6, success, thank you XPs)) The spell released its effect and allowed the knight to think clearly, past the resentment that seemed to arise out of nowhere whenever his family was mentioned. As Wash subdued the animosity, he looked into the eyes of the good Father, his friend and knew that Columcil would try to help him get through this. He just didn't want to harm the father in any way. 

At last Wash said, "It is like an instant defiance that takes a strong will to quell. I know what you're saying and that it has truth in it. I suspect Valerian's plan was to use me cruelly against my family. For that, I am sorry I failed at dispatching him when I had the chance. I know this is something I need to work through. After our last Rapport... truth to tell... I am amazed that you are still willing to try. Now is just not the time nor the place."

Father Colucmil kept both hands open outward on the table. "I am 'ere fur ye, anytime ye are ready."

"That is a relief to hear," Wash said, his smile returning to his face.  He did not yet feel recovered enough for another deep Rapport. "Some time soon," he whispered.

Searching for a change in subject he all but blurted out. "That lassie Fiona, you will warn her off of Jaxom, will you not? I mean to say, that yesterday, she all but got herself wounded trying to protect him from me. Today, I could not judge how she felt about him?"

Columcil shrugged his shoulders. "If ye haven't figured it oot yit, I wull tell ye that Fiona's thoughts ur aw aboot protecting her own." The father gave a gruff laugh as he pictured her with Jaxom. "I dare say, if she chose Laird Jaxom, she wuid straighten that laddie oot in na time. He wuid resist, bit he wuid lose 'n' it wuid be tae th' betterment fur ever'body if she did."

Columcil continued to smile at the possibility. He didn't see the horror on Washburn's face until after he heard, "Oh Father, please tell me she is not interested in him?"

Columcil looked anew at his distant cousin. "I am certain that she sees Laird Jaxom fur wha' he is. Lassie Fiona haes a richt guid heid oan her shoulders. Kin ah ask ye, how come ye urr concerned?"

Wash shook his head almost too quickly. "No reason." He took a swallow of wine, signed the last parchment before him, and put it on the stack to the side. "I have no time or energy for the fair ladies. I can't even remember when my life wasn't in turmoil.  And I have nothing to offer a lady. An heiress is far out of my reach. Father, when did life get so complicated?"

Columcil raised his eye up to Washburn's face. "She haes made an impression upon ye, hasn't she? Weel, young Laird Morgan, th' complications o' life ur continually shiftin' aren't they now."

"I'm learning that God haes his path fur a' o' us. Lak that day I pulled mah horse oot o' a stable fire 'n' fell in wi' three persons wha saved th' lower half o' Culdi fae pure burnin` doon. Remember that day?"

Wash brushed his hand against the back of his head, happy to find that his hair mostly filled in over the small tonsure he had gotten from the days Columcil mentioned. "I remember that day. Amazingly, I am thinking back on that as good times."

"At th' time, I hud na idea, that mah feet wur bein' pointed in th' direction that got us tae here. Our bonds formed by adversity wis God's solution tae defeat th' devil's plans. As a group, we wull prevail." The Father gave an easy smile. "You only hae tae look at Darcy 'n' Aliset tae ken that guid comes fae hardship."

"Where are those two?" Wash asked, looking over the hall, seeing many people, but neither of his other friends.

"Took tae thair bed early. Aliset feigning exhaustion."

"It will be Darcy who will be exhausted before morning comes," Washburn said with a half-sided grin. "Sorry, Father, I should not say things like that, it is unnoble of me." But still Wash gave a chortle as he drank his wine. Then more seriously, he said,  "Perhaps it would be well for them if they should stay here, when I leave tomorrow."

Colucmil raised an eyebrow, searching the face of his friend. "Aboot that, ye ken that we need tae remain a team. Wash, thare is a war gaun oan.Thare ur many places a'm certain ye think ye shuid go, bit hae a care. Yer freedom haes bin given tae ye by th' king. Don't dae anythin' tae jeopardize his trust."

Wash spread both hands out on the table, purposely not clenching his fits. "What you mean to say is that I am still a hostage, just one with friends as my guards."

"We ur nae guards! Ye ken that."

"I am sorry, I know." Wash nodded. "But you would stop me from going into Meara to fight a war that I was trained to fight against the man who did this to me. And you would stop me from going home to Rhemuth to face a king from whom I need answers."

"Aye.... Tell me, mah friend, other than those twa places, ya hae the kingdom at your feet. Whit is it that ye intend tae do? Ye say yer leavin', whaur wuid ye go?"

"I would go to Lendour, I feel a need to find my center east of here, I can only think that it is my old life that is calling me to get back to it."

"That direction wuid be guid. Get us all far awa' from our enemies, going whaur thay won't think tae fin' us. " Columcil pursed his lips and his more formal court voice came through. "Ah hae bin told by... " Colmcil had to stop himself before he said grandfather, instead he pushed forth the title... "Archbishop Duncan McLain, that the funeral for th' Bishop o' Dhassa is tae be held at ta end o' ta week, at Arx Fidei Seminary near Valoret. Ye have spoken that ye knew Bishop Arilan 'n' that ye even dreamt o' him oan th' day he died. Ye said ye wished ye hud bin able tae thank him fer his efforts tae find ye? Aye?" Columcil studied the knight's face, seeing interest there.

"I too wuid like tae gie the bishop mah private prayers 'n' blessings. Fer I knew him in mah seminary days, I thought of him then as a harsh taskmaster 'n' ah didnae appreciate all that he was tae sae many o' us. Wi'oot him, neither one o' us would be 'ere. I wuid hae burned at th' stake fer following my calling tae become a deryni priest."

"And I may never have been born, for he helped my father in many ways to survive his Deryni heritage." Wash nodded interested in what Columicl was thinking. "In a roundabout way, the Bishop made me become the best knight I could become."

"My point exactly, mah son.  I hae na doubt that his soul rests in th' brightness o' God's light. But I wuid mak that light brighter still wi' oor prayers. Dae ye remember the story of Saint Jorian? I am told your father had been forced to witness his execution as a warnin' ta keep the Deryni boy in his place."

Wash cocked his head and pulled out the old leather bound book that he kept under his tunic. He was surprised he could hold it without his hand shaking. "You would think that I should remember that, but I do not. I believe there is an entry here about that event. Perhaps, I should read it in full."

"Aye ye shuid. 'Twas a devastating, yit pivotal moment in oor history. The Custodes Fidei were a harsh prejudiced order, who condemned our race. The two old houses of Arx Fidei have been swept clean of their narrow doctrine. Both houses are now rededicated to Saint Jorian, to bring awareness and healing to the people of this kingdom.. The old Arx Fidei Abby, the one between here and Rhemuth, is rebuilt by the current leaders of the church to reverse the inimical theology of the Ordo Custodes Fidei. The Abby is a daughter house of the Seminary of Arx Fidei near Valoret. Jorian was executed on those grounds; he had been a newly ordained priest, who was discovered to be of the Deryni race. His treatment at ta hands of bishops was an atrocity that shook the very foundation of the church.  More so, it awoke th' angels, I dare say, fer miracles were said to have happened after his death.  God willed that Denis Arilan complete his vocation when no other Deryni had done so in 200 years. Twas nothin short o' a manifestation o'divine intervention!"

"Since then, there have been other indications that God's Will will be done. Archbishop Duncan is one who owes his life to Bishop Denis, as I owe my life to the Archbishop. Deryni are no longer denied if they feel a calling.  In most recent times, both sites, the Arx Fidei Abby and the Arx Fidei Seminary, have been rebuilt and rededicated to the life and Death of Saint Jorian. There will be masses held at both altars for the Bishop of Dhassa. If the chance exists, then I for one would consider it mah duty tae pay mah respects directly tae th' man wha saved us all. If yer heading fer Lendour, then it wuid nae be a hardship tae travel tae Valoret 'n' be at th' funeral o' His Grace Denis Arilan."

Wash could well see the passion in Columcil's request. "I think you have the right of it my friend.  I would like it very much if I could accompany you, and we will ask my other two guards to accompany us too. For this cause I think Darcy and Aliset will be pleased at our direction. We will need to leave after the noon meetings on the marrow if we are to arrive at Arx Fidei Seminary in time to give our proper respect."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on July 21, 2019, 06:30:34 AM
Brendan Coris, Earl of Marley, and his men rode along the narrow road through the Ratharkin Mountains toward De Paor Pass. They had left Droghera early that morning and headed north along the Cuilteine Road. After passing St. Brigids, they had turned west following this road through the mountains. Their goal was to catch up with and join Prince Javan's army as it marched toward Laas. Brendan planned to skirt along the foot of the mountains, bearing westward and bypassing Ratharkin to avoid any clashes with rebels from the city. He doubted that they had sufficient forces to mount patrols very far outside the city itself.

As they rode, Brendan considered the happenings of the past several days. He was well satisfied with the outcome at Baron Stuart's manor. They had captured a number of rebel prisoners which, added to the prisoners already confined in Droghera by Captain Stev, should reduce the number of rebels in the Cuiltiene highlands. There was a plan in place to defend the estates between Cuiltiene and Droghera. Things seemed to be moving in the right direction to suppress this rebellion and restore peace to Meara. He would never understand the Mearans. They had experienced a long period of peace, prosperity, and good rule under Prince Rory. Why would they want to exchange that for the uncertain rule of a bastard queen no one knew.

He also thought about his brother. At least he knew Wash had been freed from his captivity in a Mearan dungeon. But he was not really free until they could determine the amount of damage done to his mind by his captor and determine how to heal him.  He was committed to finding that captor and eventually eliminating him.

However, his focus now was to rejoin Javan, his friend and liege. The thought of again being part of Javan's army and marching at his side to relieve Laas gave him great satisfaction. He was intent on reaching the army as soon as possible and was therefore pushing both himself and his men toward this goal.

It was at least an hour past noon when he spied an opening to the right where he could hear water and see an open grassy area. He signaled the riders to follow him off the road.  They found a glade with grass for the horses and a stream running past to one side. The stream was bordered by bushes and small trees with some rocks in the bed. "We will take a break here to water the horses and allow them a short rest. You will also have the opportunity to eat some food and refresh yourselves."

He watched as the men dismounted and led their horses to the stream. He also dismounted but waited to allow the men to care for their horses and to find a place to relax briefly and eat some of the food they had brought with them. There was a buzz of talk. Brendan watered his own horse and tethered him lightly near a patch of fresh grass.He then found a comfortable place and sat with his back against an oak tree. As he ate his own rations, he was observing Jaxom and Michael as they sat together. Jaxom appeared to be doing most of the talking, no doubt regaling Michael with tales of his successes, somewhat exaggerated. Lord Peacock was at it again, Brendan was amused.  He hoped Michael has enough sense to take most of what Jaxom told him with a grain of salt.

Brendan was beginning to pack away the rest of his rations and prepare to resume their ride when he felt the King's call. How may I serve you sire? he responded.

I have new orders for you and your men.

But, sire! Brendan was dismayed because he so wanted to rejoin the Royal Army.

The king continued. I know how much you wanted to be with Javan and the army again and he, with you, but I have greater need of you elsewhere. We have discovered traitors among the lords who traveled to Laas with your brother, Duke Kelric. One of them is Baron du Chantal who is an ally of Grand Duke Valerian and committed to the Mearan cause although he has sworn fealty to us. Brendan felt the king's anger held in leash. I understand that his estate is near the Mearan border, in the Ratharkin Mountains not far from Valerian's own mountain fortress, and  he has a portal which may be used by Valerian to escape if things go badly for him at Laas, which we certainly intend that they should. The baron and some of his men may also try to escape from Laas via portal.

I understand that the manor is strongly fortified with stone walls and strong gates. However, there are not many men left to guard the estate and particularly the portal there. Most of his men went with him to Laas. We would have a great advantage if we could secure both manor and portal. We could then seize rebels as they arrive.

You  will meet Sir Iain Cameron and a small party at Chantal's estate.. They will arrive by portal; we know the portal's location and signature as well as how to avoid the trap set on it.  Iain is the one who penetrated Valerian's stronghold and freed Wash. He is most familiar with that part of the border. He is Deryni and highly trained.  He will have overall command of this expedition, and I wish you to give him your full support. Jamyl Arilan will be one of Iain's party, and he will contact you  by mind speech when they have control of the portal. They will then be able to open the gates to admit you and your men. Your main responsibility will be to secure the manor itself, guard the portal and help detain any prisoners.

Brendan responded to the king. I am at your command, sire. We are presently on the road leading west from the Cuiltiene road just past St. Brigid's through the mountains. We are about an hours ride from dePaor Pass heading west toward Meara. I had intended to skirt the foot of the mountains and bypass Ratharkin before continuing into Meara. Can Sir Iain provide some directions as to how we should alter our course to find Chantal's manor?

Brendan sensed the presence of another as Iain joined the Rapport.  Iain provided the directions from dePaor Pass to the mountains where Valerian's stronghold was located. Instead of continuing through the valley, you will turn south into the mountains, where you will find a road that has been widened to accommodate wagons and which leads into the steeper, more heavily forested part of the mountains. If you continued to follow that track, you would reach Valerian's stronghold. However, about halfway up this road, a narrower, less frequently used track splits off to your right. I suspect Chantal's manor is to be found somewhere along that trail. You will need to do some scouting to find the exact location. I regret I cannot not provide a more specific location as we left Valerian's fortress in rather a hurry by portal.

Brendan thanked Iain and prepared to break the contact and muster his men to ride out but then hesitated. Sire, I do need to know, does my brother know of the traitors in his ranks?

He does. We have informed him of their names and numbers. He, Rory, and Brecon with the support of others already in Laas have a plan and are prepared to deal with these traitors. The traitors will not take them by surprise as they had hoped. When they make their move, they will be quickly overcome.

He heard the King's voice one last time. Know that this operation is critical to a successful outcome in suppressing this rebellion and restoring peace to Gwynedd as well as Meara. You are my brother and friend, and I am depending on you. Have you any further questions as to your assignment and what is required of you?

No my liege. We will carry out your orders to the best of our ability. Brendan felt a brief surge of warmth and confidence as the contact was broken. He sent his squire to tell the men to mount but he needed to speak with them before they rode out. He quickly checked his horse and mounted. He then waited while his men also mounted.

"I have news that you must hear before we set out. I have received new orders from the king. We will not be rejoining Prince Javan's army at this time." He heard some muttering among the men, especially from Jaxom. "Traitors, some of high rank, have been discovered among the king's forces, including those with Duke Kelric Morgan. They must be rooted out quickly. One of them, Baron du Chantal, has a manor not far from us in the Ratharkin mountains. He intends to use it to shelter leaders of the rebellion and help them escape if it becomes necessary. We are tasked with finding this manor and securing it in order to capture any rebels who arrive there. Our success could make a difference in whether the King will defeat the rebellion and restore peace and order to our land."

The earl sat tall in his saddle and gazed keenly at his men. "Are you ready for the challenge?"

"Aye! Aye!" the men cheered and raised their swords in salute. He did notice disappointment on the face of Jaxom who, he was sure, had been anticipating more chances for glory with the Prince's army.  Cheers rang in his ears as the earl led his men out of the glade and along the track.

After nearly 2 hours of steady riding along the valley floor, Brendan espied a somewhat narrow but well maintained road turning toward the nearby mountain range.  He halted the column and studied the road which angled toward the heavily forested mountains. It appeared wide enough to accommodate a wagon and horse or two men on horses riding abreast. He turned and addressed the men. "Here is where we begin our search for the traitor's manor. We will leave the valley and follow this road to the location where I understand the rebel's lair is to be found.
"Lord Jaxom, you will ride beside me. Since you know these mountains, I am relying on you to help us negotiate this terrain." Jaxom proudly nudged his mount up beside the earl and the column moved off, following the road out of the valley toward the mountains.

The road very quickly began to climb through increasingly heavily forested ground. As they continued on, it became steeper and rockier but the road remained passable. After nearly an hour of climbing, they reached a switchback where Brendan spied the second track that Iain had mentioned, leading away to the left. It was not quite as wide as the road that they had been following and not as well maintained but easily passable.He halted the column and beckoned to Sir Giles Markham and Jaxom to attend him. "I need the two of you to go ahead  as we follow this new trail. We do not have precise directions and we will need to go carefully as we seek .this fortified manor. Lord Jaxom is more familiar with this ground as his father's estate is not far, and he can warn us of possible obstacles ahead. All of you, keep a sharp watch. Lead on."

The two young men moved forward and led the column up the stoney track, picking their way carefully along the road. Again, the way led upward toward the summit of the mountain but away from the main road. They continued steadily upward until Jaxom signaled a halt. He was gazing intently ahead. The road was surrounded by brush and large trees, but there were some breaks in the foliage. Through one such break, Brendan glimpsed what appeared to be a high stone wall. Signalling the men to hold their positions, he eased his horse up beside the two young men.

Jaxom spoke quietly. "That wall there through the trees may well be the manor we are seeking. Look there and you will see that the road we are following widens out and might be approaching gates or an entrance. I propose that we dismount and approach on foot. We can better reconnoiter the area and observe the entrance if that is indeed what it is." Brendan nodded his assent and the two young men dismounted and moved forward quietly on foot. They soon disappeared behind the trees and brush.

Brendan and his men waited for the return of the two scouts. After what seemed a long time, they reappeared, approached the earl and bowed. Jaxom reported. "This appears to be a manor house enclosed within stone walls. The road does pass inside through stout oak gates. There are two watchtowers at either side of the gates. We could also see the roofs of other buildings ranged around the walls. We saw few guards however, and the watchtowers did not appear well-manned. Due to the steep, rocky terrain and the dense forest, manors and farms in this area are few and widely separated. I do believe that this is the location we are seeking, my lord."

Brendan thanked the two men then proceeded to disperse the men on either side of the road, among the trees. "We will need to remain hidden, so we will light no fires and we will tether the horses further from the road. I will set guards to watch the manor and its approach. We are waiting for a signal from the second party who will arrive via portal and, we hope, be able to open the gates for us. Get what rest you can, but remain ready to move when we receive our signal."

Brendan's squire took his horse to water him and tether him a short distance away. The earl
settled down to wait, relaxing with his back against the trunk of a tree. He looked up as Lord Jaxom and Sir Giles approached and bowed. Jaxom spoke. "My Lord, we request permission to explore the perimeter of the walls surrounding this manor. We think it would be to our advantage to discover whether there is a possible second entrance where we might enter unseen and begin our attack."

"I appreciate your desire to move quickly, but we will not make any attempt to enter the manor until the signal is received. Those are the King's  orders, and we will follow them to the letter. He has a plan and we will do nothing that might interfere with his strategy." the Earl fixed them with a stern look.

Sir Giles would have bowed himself out of the earl's presence but Jaxom persisted. "I understand, milord, and will of course follow your orders, but would it not be helpful to at least know whether there is another way in or out?  If things go badly, it could save lives."

Brendan considered Jaxom's words in silence. Then he nodded slowly. "I will approve a short reconnoiter of the walls to either side of the gates. You may learn valuable information about the structure and its protection. However, you are not to make any attempt to enter, and you will return within the hour and report to me what you have learned."

"Yes, Milord" Jaxom and Giles bowed to the earl and left his presence. They left immediately as they had limited time for their expedition. In view of the thick trees that crowded in from the left, they decided to begin their survey with the right side of the walls. They moved  silently on foot around the edge of the trees studying the walls looking for any weaknesses. They worked their way carefully around the manor.  The walls appeared solid with no indications of any other way in. They saw little activity on the walls. They reached a point where the trees and bushes were so thick that they were impenetrable. They had to turn back.

They moved back through the trees and circled to the left pushing their way through thick growth. They came to a place where the bushes thinned, and they could see farther around the perimeter of the wall. Jaxom thought he saw a gap in the corner of the wall where it met another section. It appeared to be a crack that was wider at the bottom and got narrower near the top. "That might be a way in!" he told Sir Giles. "I'm going closer."

Jaxom crept closer to the crack in the wall. He almost disappeared through it, but then he emerged and returned to where Giles was waiting. "I think I could get through that opening." he said excitedly.

"No!" exclaimed Giles. "The earl was very adamant that we not try to enter the manor. Do you want to be the one who interferes with the king's plan? If you want to be in good standing with the earl and the king, you should not disobey their specific commands. We need to return and report our findings."

Jaxom looked for a moment as if he was going to argue with Giles. But then he agreed and they turned back to rejoin Brendan and report their findings.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on July 21, 2019, 10:47:42 AM
Darcy Cameron woke with a vague feeling that something was wrong.  The comfort of his wife's warm body beside him was missing!  He startled fully awake. Perhaps she had simply woken before him, and he immediately rolled over to view their small chamber.

He heard the retching noises before he saw Aliset hunched over the chamberpot in the dim light.  He was out of bed at once and kneeled down beside her, placing one arm around her shoulders while he grasped her hair to pull it back out of her way.

"I'm here, love, don't fret.  Tell me what's wrong," Darcy said gently.

Aliset took a deep breath.  '"It's nothing.  Probably just too much spice in the feast from yesterday."

"More likely due to the tarts you ate before we retired for the night," Darcy replied. 

Aliset looked rueful.  Although she was not one for late night snacking, fruit tarts had suddenly sounded like a wonderful idea.  Darcy had good naturedly led her to the manor kitchen where he managed to charm one of the servants out of two tarts.  Aliset had eaten them both. 

The urge to empty her stomach passed, and Aliset took a deep breath, grateful for her husband's presence beside her.

Darcy gave her a gentle hug. "I'll fetch Father Columcil; he can have a look at you to make sure it is nothing else."

"No, Darcy! I'm fine, really I am," Aliset said hastily.  "I just need to sit down for a moment."  Darcy steadied her as she rose and made her way somewhat shakily to the bed.  Once she had settled, Darcy wrapped her night robe around her shoulders.

Aliset leaned against him as he sat beside her.  "I think I will feel better if I have a bit of bread and maybe some small ale. I'm not sure I want the morning meal in the hall this morning.  And a little more sleep won't hurt."

"I'll go at once."  Darcy pulled her closer to kiss the tip of her nose and then made his way to the door.

"DARCY!"

'What?" Startled, Darcy turned to look at her in alarm.

"Put some clothes on first!"

"Oh, clothes.  Such a bother.  Waste of time, really.  And they get in the way." 

Despite her earlier discomfort, Aliset giggled.  Darcy dutifully dressed, pleased that he had made her smile, and went off to charm the cook out of bread and small ale.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on July 21, 2019, 01:08:16 PM
My thanks to Laurna, who saved the day on this one!


Sir Iain Cameron stood near the library Portal in Rhemuth Castle.  It had taken most of a day to complete his preparations.  Now he tweaked the tunic of the set of clothes Kelson's seamstresses had hurriedly sewn to his specifications.  'Master Feyd' bowed to the king.  "I believe I should look convincing."

King Kelson of Gwynedd looked at a man who would have gone unnoticed in any crowd.  Clean shaven with muddy brown hair, unnotable features, plainly dressed.  No trace of the Baron o'Isles leaked through the disguise.  "You have me convinced, though I have never seen Master Feyd."

"You would not remember him if you had seen him, your Majesty; it's one of his many skills," Iain said. He unstopped a flask and poured blood down his shoulder until it reached his belt.  "That should be convincing enough."

Lord Sextus studied him carefully.  "Looks like an awful wound, but not so bad that you would not still be breathing."

"That's the idea," Iain said, and Sextus nodded.  Jamyl Arilan looked at them both; his enthusiasm checked by the knowledge that they may not survive this adventure.

"You can stay behind and no fault found." Sextus said to his nephew.  "Perhaps it is too soon to come out of mourning for this."

Jamyl shook his head.  "No. Three against however many is better odds than two."

"Earl Brendan has his orders,"  Kelson said.  "He will be waiting outside the gates of du Chantal's manor."

"God be with you and grant you success," Archbishop Duncan said and raised his hand to bless the Arilans and Iain.

The three men bowed and moved onto the Portal.  Iain held the seal of the Black Order of Death in the palm of his hand, focusing on the intricate pattern and then shifted the energies.

((Will Iain, Sextus and Jamyl make it through the portal?  Iain is ritual trained, so three dice.
<jerusha> Jerusha !roll 3d6
8:05 PM D<@•derynibot> 5, 3, 3 == 11
Yes! They made it!))

The moment Iain felt the new portal under his feet, he slumped against Sextus.  Sextus threw his arm around Iain as though to hold him up. Jamyl stood ready, sword in hand as if fresh from a fight.

"Hold!" Iain commanded the archers who raised their bows.  "We were ambushed and I am injured.  These men are with me."

Of the half dozen archers and a few men-at-arms the real Master Feyd had ordered placed to guard the portal, only two archers remained.  By this time the threat of intrusion was thought to have passed, and additional men had been sent from the du Chantal manor to remain well behind Prince Javan's forces to help their lord escape if needed. The men left to defend the Portal now formed a smaller guard for the manor.

((Will the remaining guards fire on our heroes?
jerusha> Jerusha !roll 2d6
8:05 PM D<@•derynibot> I'm back! 2, 2 == 4
No, they will not!))

The archers hesitated. No one was expecting Master Feyd; but not obeying Master Feyd was not an option.

Iain feigned a grimace of pain.  "Help these men take me to my quarters."

Both guards nodded and moved to the door.

"Not both of you, you fools!"  Iain snarled.  "One of you stay to guard the Portal!"

Nervously, the second guard stood to one side and allowed the other to lead Iain toward Feyd's quarters, supported by Sextus and with Jamyl close on his other side.

"He does get into the role, doesn't he?," Jamyl sent to Sextus in tightly focused mind speech.

"Let's hope he's got it right," was Sextus' terse reply.

They followed the guard to luxurious rooms a fair distance from the Portal. Jamyl moved the bed curtains aside while Sextus eased Iain onto the bed.  Iain uttered moans at the right moments to be all the more convincing.

"I'll fetch the midwife," the guard said nervously.

"Midwife?"  Sextus asked incredulously.  "Master Feyd is certainly not with child!"

"Of course not," the guard said quickly.  "But our physician went with the forces to follow Baron du Chantal.  The one most skilled to help Master Feyd is our midwife. She is in the town below; I will fetch her."

"Do so,"  Iain said in a voice constricted with pain.  "The sooner the better."

The guard bowed.  "I will also make sure the sceneshal knows you have arrived," he said and withdrew. 

"Hopefully Earl Brendan will be watching," Iain said, keeping his voice low.  "He'll see the gate open for the guard to leave.  He may be able to make a move when the guard returns with the midwife."  He adjusted his position on the bed, withdrawing his dagger from its sheath.  "The sceneshal will have to die; he is our greatest danger here."

Sextus and Jamyl exchanged glances.  Iain's voice was cold, but he was right; the sceneshal was their greatest threat here.

***

The guard stopped by the seneschal's quarters.  "My lord," he said and bowed.  Next to Master Feyd, the seneschal was the most feared in the manor.

"What is it?" the old seneschal asked. 

"Master Feyd has come through the Portal   He is injured; I do not know how badly.  I go to fetch the midwife, with your permission."

"Go then," the seneschal said.  "I will attend to Master Feyd."

The archer bowed and withdrew.

The seneschal sat for a long moment.  He had no love for Master Feyd; the man had been a menace since he had taken over the baron's manor.  The baron remained in charge only in name; Master Feyd was the one who was now obeyed.  The man who had forced the seneschal to his knees in submission.  The seneschal fingered the hilt of his dagger.  Although he might die in the attempt, it might be worth it to free them from Master Feyd. He would get only one killing thrust; he would have to make it count.

***

Sir Iain lay on the bed with his eyes closed, but his Deryni senses were finely attuned to detect anyone who approached the door.  Sextus and Jamyl waited with the same sense of alertness. Soon Iain detected steps outside of the door.  The door was opened without someone knocking. 

Sextus and Jamyl bowed as the seneschal opened the door and entered.  "How does he fare?'' the sceneshal asked, addressing both men with a vague wave of his hand toward the figure lying still on the bed.

"A midwife has been sent for to assist," Jamyl said.  "Though if she will be in time...."

The seneschal approached the bed. A probe with his senses told him Feyd's shields were fully engaged.  It would not be Deryni powers that would bring Feyd down.

Iain's hand closed over the hilt of his dagger.  When the seneschal was close enough, he would strike.

((The sceneshal will strike first; will he land a killing strike?
!roll 2d6
8:06 PM D<@•derynibot> I'm back! 4, 1 == 5
Not this time.))

The seneschal struck fast, his dagger aimed at Feyd's heart.  Iain's Deryni senses picked up the threat in time to throw himself to one side.  The seneschal's blade bit into his side.  ((One hit point against Iain.)) 

((Will Iain strike a killing blow against the seneschal?  Although Iain has mastery over both dagger and sword, only two dice rolled because he is now injured and at a disadvantage.
<jerusha> Jerusha !roll 2d6
8:07 PM D<@•derynibot> I'm back! 4, 2 == 6
No.  Drat.))

Iain, off balance and in pain, thrust upward with his dagger at the seneschal.  The blade glaced off a rib and missed the heart, but entered deeply.  ((One hit point against the seneschal.))

((Will Iain be able to pierce the seneschal's heart with an additional twist of his dagger?
<jerusha> Jerusha !roll 2d6
8:10 PM D<@•derynibot> I'm back! 3, 3 == 6
Nope.  Growl))

In spite of his own pain, Iain threw his weight against his dagger, twisting upward.  The seneschal howled in pain, but did not succumb.  ((Second hit point against the seneschal.))

((The seneschal lashes out with his powers against Iain, and Iain fights back.  1,2,3, the seneschal wins.  4, 5. 6, Iain succeeds.
<jerusha> Jerusha !roll 2d6
5:24 PM D<@•derynibot> 4, 3 == 7
Yea Iain!))

In desperation, the seneschal focused his remaining energy in a psychic attack against Iain.  Iain shields held, and gathering his strength, Iain struck back, shattering the seneschal's shields. The seneschal's mental cry was piercing.  ((Third hit point against the seneschal.)

((Will Sextus be able to finish off the seneschal?
00:54 <Laurna> For Sextus
00:54 <Laurna> !roll 2d6
00:54 <•derynibot> 3, 3 == 6
Oh good grief.))

((Jamyl strikes the killing blow against the seneschal.
20:21 <Laurna> !roll 2d6
20:21 <•derynibot> 3, 6 == 9
20:21 <Laurna> For Jamyl
Bless you, Laurna.  Success!))

The struggle between Iain and the seneschal had played out in what seemed to be a heart beat  as Sextus and Jamyl watched in horror. Sextus started forward, but he was across the room, guarding the door.  It was Jamyl who reacted the bed first, darting forward and thrusting his sword through the seneschal's back, piercing the man's heart.  ((Fourth and final hit point for the seneschal.  RIP.))

Jamyl withdrew his sword, and Iain collapsed under the dead weight of the seneschal.  Jamyl rolled the dead man to one side, and Iain drew a long, shuddering breath.  Jamyl stood and looked for a moment at his bloodied blade.  It had been necessary.

"How badly are you injured?" Sextus asked.

Iain took a moment to answer.  "Not too badly; I think most of the blood is his," he nodded toward the seneschal.  Jamyl mentally shook himself and looked for something to bind Iain's wound.  He grabbed a fine linen shirt from one of Feyd's chests and tore the fabric into lengths of bandage.  He helped Iain to sit upright and examined the wound.  It was serious enough, but survivable.  He bound the wound tightly.

"What now?"  Sextus asked.  "Should I try for a death reading?"

Iain shook his head.  "Better we make for the gate.  The archer will be returning with the midwife and the gate will be opened.  Let's see if we can keep it that way."

"What about him?"  Jamyl asked, motioning to the still figure of the seneschal.

"Prop him up in the garderobe and close the curtain.  If anyone enters this room, and not too many would dare, they will think the blood is mine.  Or rather, Feyd's.  Help me up; we cannot waste time."

Sextus opened the door to Feyd's quarters and scanned the corridor with his Deryni senses.  The way seemed clear.  He cast a concerned look at Iain, but Iain shook his head.  He had had worse injuries; the fact that one had been from Master Feyd drove him forward.

They reached the courtyard.  It appeared that only du Chantal's men remained inside the  manor.  The villagers remained outside the wall with its sturdy central gate.  The few people they passed as they made their way toward the gate glanced at Master Feyd and looked hastily away.  They asked no questions.  While Feyd would not have been known to  those in the village, those within the manor were all too aware of who he was.

As they approached the gate, a guard stepped forward.  His jaw was slightly misshapen, as if he had sustained some injury.  'Master Feyd' looked at him directly.

"When you open the gate for the midwife and the guard, do not close it behind them," Iain said.  He planted compulsion behind his words, so the guard would not question his command.

(( Will the guard obey Iain's command?
20:15 <Laurna> !roll 2d6
20:15 <•derynibot> 5, 1 == 6
20:15 <Laurna> For Jerusha
Yes.))

The guard looked at "Master Feyd" for a long moment.  The command made no sense to him; why leave the gate open when they could be attacked by the forces of Gwynedd?  But this was the man who had broken his jaw and cost him several teeth. Master Feyd had killed Otis in an agonizing display of power.  He had escaped with his life, and although his jaw pained him on rainy days, making it difficult to eat, he would not escape with his life if he disobeyed this time.

"Yes, my lord," he said.

A sharp rap on the gate turned the guard's attention to the gate.  He opened it to admit the midwife and the archer who had gone to fetch her.  They stepped within the courtyard, and the gate remained open behind them.

Iain nodded to Jamyl, who focused his powers to reach Earl Brendan.

((Will Jamyl successfully contact Earl Brendan to storm the manor gates?
09:24 <Laurna> Do I dare one more roll for Jerusha
09:24 <Laurna> !roll 2d6
09:24 <•derynibot> 5, 5 == 10
09:25 <Laurna> yes
Oh Yeah!))

Now my lord! The gates are open! Jamyl sent.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on July 24, 2019, 07:13:30 AM
Brendan had been waiting as patiently as he could for the signal from Lord Iain's party. He had guards keeping a close eye on the gates. The afternoon wore on. Then Sir Giles, who had been one of the men watching the gates for the last hour, approached hurriedly, bowing to the earl. "Milord, the gate has just opened to allow a guard to leave the manor. He appears to be headed to the village."

This was the first hint of anything unusual they had seen during this long afternoon. Brendan was at once alert. This could herald the beginning of their assault. "Pass the word to the men to get ready to storm the gates if they are opened to readmit the guard. Then go back to your post to watch for the guard's return."

"Yes, milord." Sir Giles turned and began to make his way among the men, passing the word to each to be ready to storm through the gates at the earl's signal. He then returned to his post to watch for the return of the guard.

A short time later, footsteps were heard approaching the gates from the road. The men were tense with weapons at the ready. Brendan saw the guard returning accompanied by a woman wearing a cloak and hood. The gates opened to admit them

((!2d6 Does Brendan receive the signal to attack from Jamyl?
6+1==7  Yes! Here we go!))

((!2d6 Do Brendan and his men make it through the gates?
5+2=7 Yes!))

As the two figures slipped through the gates, Brendan received the signal he had been waiting for from Jamyl. " Now my lord! The gates are open!" Brendan waves his sword in the air and signals the men to attack. They storm through the gates following the guard and quickly fan out across the courtyard. Jaxom and Lord Michael were flanking the earl and close behind him. Followed closely by Sir Giles and the rest of the men.

((!2d6 Do the archers manage to hit any of the attackers?
4+1==5. No))

The few archers attempted to fire their arrows from the watchtowers. However, taken by surprise, they fired wildly, and their arrows caused no significant harm. Left with no real leader, the few men left to guard the manor were quickly overcome by the earl's men and confined temporarily to a cellar room with a stout door and no window. Brendan motioned to Lord Michael, who had been close to him during the attack and helped subdue Chantal's men, to approach him. 'You performed well in the assault. I am assigning you responsibility for these prisoners. See that they have no chance to escape.They are important to our success in this mission I will assign additional men to your command."

Michael bowed, realizing that Brendan's command was his opportunity to prove that his loyalty was to the crown and not to the men of the rebellion . "It shall be as you order, milord."

Brendan motioned to Jaxom and Giles to follow him as left the cellar. He now began a search to locate Iain and his party. On the second floor, a short distance down the hall, they encountered Jamyl who was on his way to lead them to the portal. Jamyl bowed. "Lord Iain is injured from the fight with the seneschal; the seneschal is dead" Jamyl turned and began to lead them further down the hall.

"How badly is Sir Iain injured?" Brendan asked.

Jamyl answered. "He suffered a knife wound in his side during the fight with the seneschal . He insists that it is not too bad. It looks serious to me but certainly not life threatening. We have dressed it, and he was able to accompany us to the gate to be sure that it remained open. He is resting. Sextus and I are guarding the portal."

"This is the portal room." Jamyl indicated a door on the right. As he entered, Brendan noted the square, polished stone in the floor. Sextus stood nearby.

Brendan walked over and stared down at the portal, such an innocent appearing stone, but a possible source of danger. "Was the portal trapped?" he asked.

"It was and is trapped." Sextus answered. "Fortunately, we had the key necessary to bypass the trap. That allowed us to use it to penetrate the stronghold and take the men here by surprise. Sir Iain was disguised as Master Feyd, and nothing was suspected when we arrived. The men obeyed him unquestioningly. With his reputation, well-known to them, no one was about to question his orders."

"But the attack by the seneschal, did he suspect an attack?" Brendan asked.

"I don't believe so." replied Sextus. Iain as Feyd pretended to be badly injured from an ambush, and I believe the seneschal decided to take advantage of his supposed weakness to attack and kill him. I think he just hated Feyd. A not uncommon emotion, I understand, when dealing with the assassin."

Brendan looked around the room. He saw some blood near the portal but not a large amount and no body. "Where is Lord Iain and where is the dead man?" he asked.

"Follow me." said Jamyl, who led him to Feyd's chambers where there was a great deal of blood on and around the bed. Brendan looked somewhat dismayed. "Sir Iain survived the attack by the seneschal. He is waiting to relate to you everything that has happened here." Jamyl then led the earl to the garderobe. He pulled back the curtain to reveal the body propped up on the seat inside. Brendan chuckled grimmly. "Well surely no one would look for him there."

They returned to the portal room. "I need to confer with Sir Iain. Jamyl, please take me to him. Giles, you remain here with Sir Sextus to guard the portal. Be alert and prepared to seize anyone who arrives via the portal. Notify us at once of any such arrival." Brendan then motioned to Jaxom to follow him, and the three men left the room.

They found Iain resting in a comfortable chair in the baron's withdrawing room. They were all aware of their charge to  maintain control of both the manor and the portal and to capture anyone who arrived either at the gates or via the portal. They would need to guard those of Chantal's men who were already locked in the cellar and to detain any new arrivals. Much would depend on what happened in the assault on Laas. If defeated rebels tried to escape via Chantal's manor, they would be seized and confined. They were hoping to capture one or more of the leaders of the rebellion: Chantal, dePaor, father of the pretender queen who was already in Kelson's hands, or even Valerian himself. But great care must be taken. Valerian might have lost his powers but he certainly had some powerful Deryni with him, to serve and protect him.

They planned the assignments of the guards and rotations to allow for duty and periods of rest. Jaxom would be in charge of one guard detail, Giles of another and Michael would lead the one responsible for the captured men in the cellar.

Jaxom was not pleased, he did not feel it was the best use of his abilities to be sitting around waiting for something to happen. He wanted to make something happen. He would spend some of his time considering how he might do that and enhance his reputation.



Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on July 26, 2019, 08:01:16 PM
Life in the village has not been the best. Most of the young men have been called to service in the King's armies against the Mearan rebels save for those that the village could not spare. Thus many of the women; the wives, the daughters, the sisters of those men who have gone off to war are being comforted by the village priest. And with the recent passing of the Bishop of Dhassa the mood is quite somber indeed.

Fortunately they have Fathers Michael and Paulos to see to their needs in these times of sorrow. Neither is old enough to remember the last war to be fought in the Eleven Kingdoms or the last Mearan rebellion. But they do their best to keep the villagers spirits up in their prayers in Latin and Greek. So the village renews its peace and tranquility for the day and they smile at one another in hopes of a short war without the loss of loved ones.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on July 27, 2019, 07:15:32 PM
Sir Iain Cameron sat in a chair in Baron du Chantal's withdrawing room.  The room was growing dimmer as late afternoon began to stretch into evening. He looked to be asleep, but instead he was assessing his current physical condition.

The midwife had turned out to be very knowledgeable and skilled.  Iain had been able to dampen most of the pain himself as she cleaned the wound in his side, checked the extent of the damage and then stitched him up.  She had declared he would heal fully, but he should rest and take care not to strain the wound.  After Iain had conferred with Earl Brendan and both had agreed on the strategy to guard the Portal and the prisoners, Iain had followed the midwife's orders and slept for the remainder of the afternoon.

Now Iain was awake, and stretched experimentally.  There was still pain, and his muscles had stiffened, but after a good meal, and if  he moved carefully for awhile, he would be fine.

Iain reached inside the fresh shirt he had been provided and pulled out his medallion.  It was time for him to make his report to the king.  He wondered if Earl Brendan had already made his report to King Kelson.

"Your Majesty," Iain sent when Kelson answered his call.  "I have favourable news."

"Proceed," Kelson responded.

Iain noted the shortness of the king's response, and wasted no words himself as he provided all of the details from his perspective of what had transpired, though saying nothing about his injury when he reported that the sceneshal was dead.

"How badly are you injured?" Kelson asked when Iain had finished.

Damn, Iain thought.  The earl has already reported to the king.  "I will mend, your Majesty.  A very skilled midwife was provided to see to the wound.  No physician in Rhemuth would fault her work."  He heard the king's barely restrained snort through their rapport.

"How would you recommend we proceed now, Iain?" Kelson asked.  "Do we attempt to contact Master Feyd in some way?"

Iain mentally shook his head, though pleased that the king was a little less formal in this conversation.  "Master Feyd will contact us when he is ready to arrange to receive the ward cubes.  I think it likely he will send another courier, but he is predictable in his unpredictability.  We should be ready for anything."

"You will return via the Portal with Sextus and Jamyl tonight.  Earl Brendan has his orders to guard the Portal and hold the manor.  I want you here when Feyd contacts me."

"As you command, your Majesty.  We will leave right after the evening meal."  Iain paused for a moment.  "I will return to my own form.  Only our own men are within the manor, and it's better I do not remain as Feyd.  If Feyd does somehow manage to appear in Rhemuth, trust that it is not ME!"

"I am forewarned."   Iain sensed that the king smiled.  "There will be a Healer waiting to see you when you return.  Don't neglect the appointment."

Yes, your Majesty," was all Iain needed to say.

***

Lord Jaxom Trillick sat in a chair by the door to the Portal room, got up and paced, sat back down and rose again from the chair.  Surely he could be more useful doing something else, anything else, than watching empty air above an unremarkable stone.  At least Giles would be arriving soon to relieve him and the two men who watched with him. 

The two men were also eager to be relieved and escape Jaxom's apparent irritation at his assignment.

Jaxom turned as a man entered the Portal room.  What in heaven's name was that annoying Darcy doing here?  Trying to insinuate his presence among the earl's lieutenants?  Not a chance! Jaxom bristled and approached the man.

"State the reason for your presence here, Darcy!" Jaxom snapped.

The man with the pale border braid and ice blue eyes gave Jaxom a considering look.  Jaxom imagined that the eyes grew colder as the man studied him.

"You seem to have mistaken me for someone else," the blond man said.  "I don't believe we have met."

The man's voice was not the same as Darcy's; it was a bit deeper, though it had the same faint hint of a northern accent.  As Jaxom looked more closely, he could see this man was older, but he looked enough like Darcy to be his twin.

"Lord Jaxom Trillick of Trilshire," Jaxom said.  "You look incredibly like another man I have the misfortune to know."

The man's eyes narrowed, but he did not reply as Lords Sextus and Jamyl Arilan entered the room accompanied by Giles and his men. 

Lord Sextus noted Iain's straight back and tight muscles, which probably were doing nothing to help his injury. "Is there a problem here?" he asked.

"Not at the moment," was Iain's mild reply. 

"My lords," Jaxom said with a slight bow to Sextus and Jamyl.  "I must turn this duty over to Giles, unless there is something I can do to assist you."

"No need," Sextus said with a shake of his head.  He motioned toward the Portal stone.  "If you are ready, Baron," he said for Jaxom's benefit, "we should be on our way."

Jaxom looked startled but managed a hasty bow in Iain's direction.

"You may be interested in knowing that Darcy broke Jaxom's nose," Sextus sent to Iain as they approached the Portal stone.

"Pity he could not have done more," Iain replied.

"He did it in the presence of the king.  Some discretion was advised." Sextus quipped.

Iain almost laughed as Sextus and Jamyl joined him on the Portal stone, but it would have hurt.  He focused on the seal of the Black Order of Death that he held in his hand, allowed Jamyl to augment his powers as he shifted the energies, and they were gone.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on August 03, 2019, 06:32:37 AM
Fiona propped her chin in her hand and stared pensively out the window as the sun rose to light the stable yard. She had been thinking long and hard about her future and what she envisioned for herself. Much as she loved Uncle Mac and Aunt Olivia, she did not want to remain at the manor playing the dutiful ward until she married. In fact, her current focus was not marriage at all although that was the more usual.path for young ladies of her age and station. She was Deryni and she yearned to be able to use whatever powers she might have to benefit others. She had received only limited training, and there was so much she did not know. She had dreamed for a long time of attending the king's schola in Rhemuth to learn about and develop her powers.

Lady Aliset had been providing her with some training in areas such as telekinesis and mind seeing. But how long would the lady and her party remain here at the manor? The plan for the defense of the manor and surrounding estates was now in place and being put into operation. She was sure that Sir Washburn would be ready to move on now that this task was mainly completed. He seemed to become more restless each day and to feel the need to move on. She was not sure how this would affect his friends, but she suspected that they would want to keep the group together and would move on with him. Then there would be no one to provide the training she needed. She had to find some way to convince Uncle Mac to allow her to attend the Schola. 

A look of determination settled on Fiona's face. She rose from her seat and left the room to seek out her uncle and try to convince him that he should send her to attend classes at the Schola. Reaching the door to the solar, she knocked lightly although the door was partially open. She heard the baron's voice. "Come." She entered the room closing the door softly behind her and curtsied. Mac was sitting in his favorite chair behind the heavy oak table he used as a desk. There were several stacks of papers placed neatly to one side.  He appeared to be working on a chart, probably of patrols and guard assignments.

"I am sorry to disturb you, uncle, but I need to speak with you. I have an urgent request to present to you." Fiona stood in front of her uncle with her hands loosely clasped in front of her.

"What is it, lass?  What is this urgent request?" The baron studied her face intently.

"Uncle, I need to go to Rhemuth to study at the Schola. I need to learn more about what it means to be Deryni and to understand and use the powers I have wisely and to help others. Lady Aliset has been providing some training to both Lord Darcy and myself. But I do not know how long they will remain here, and what will happen after they depart? There is no one here who can continue the training. The Schola is the only place where I can learn what I need to know. I need to go soon." She studied her uncle anxiously, looking for any sign of what he was thinking.

((Does he consent to allow Fiona to attend the schola?
  !2d6,  3+!==4. Nope))

Mac appeared sympathetic but his words were disappointing. "Fiona, lass, I understand your desire to go to Rhemuth, but I do not feel that this is the time. I have had no chance to discuss it with Lord Iain who is your guardian or to gain his approval. He placed you in my care, and I do not feel that I can make a decision like this without his agreement that it is the right course for you at this time."

"But, uncle..." Fiona started to protest.

Mac held up his hand, momentarily silencing her. "Not only do you not have Iain's consent to this move, but you have not applied nor do you have any assurance that you would be accepted. Once we have discussed this with Lord Iain, if he agrees, I am certain he would be able to smooth the way for you to enter the Schola. He is close to the king and known to the archbishop, and I am certain he would be able to secure a place for you. But you can't just appear at the gates and ask to be admitted.. Surely you must see that."

"But he is much occupied, being of service to the king in suppressing the rebellion. When will he ever be available to hear my plea? There is no way to know when his duties to the king will allow him time to even consider my future. I am not complaining; I know his duty to the king must come first, but I am nearly eighteen and I feel that the more time passes, the less likely it is that I will ever be able to fulfill this dream which I have had for a long time." Fiona paused.

The baron responded in a compassionate tone. "I know how hard it is to wait, but there are other obstacles that you have not considered.  Even if I agreed to allow you to set off on what I feel may be an ill-considered venture, how would you get there? The rebellion has made the roads less than safe for travel even by well armed men. I do not have the men to spare to escort you now while our estates are still under threat from rebels. The plan of defense we have devised  requires every available man. I can see no way that it can be done at this time."

Fiona had that stubborn look that her uncle knew all too well, and which might cause her to devise some hairbrained scheme for getting to Rhemuth on her own.  He thought of her previous plan to ride to find Iain on her own disguised as a young man, although she did not even know where he was. Her intent was to rescue both the manor and himself, and the outcome had been more than satisfactory.  Mac could see his niece's increased confidence brought about by her success. But he also knew how easily it could have gone awry and resulted in injury or even death to those involved.

"Fiona, I am not denying your wish absolutely. I am saying that the timing is wrong. This is not the best time for  traveling to Rhemuth. We can't even be sure of the status of the Schola as dealing with the rebellion demands the commitment of all the king's vassals, particularly those who are Deryni. The classes at the Schola may be curtailed or even suspended due to the need for their teachers elsewhere. I am asking you to be patient, wait until things are more settled and we can present your wishes to Lord Iain. That is not an unreasonable response to your request." Mac looked down at the chart he was working on, and Fiona knew that  the interview was at an end. She curtsied and left the room.

Fiona had mixed emotions. First she was disappointed that her request had been turned down or at least shelved for now. She was also frustrated, feeling that she was getting nowhere. She resented the possibility that she would have to remain at the manor until the rebellion was over. Who knew when that would happen or when Iain would be free to again consider her future?  While she acknowledged that Uncle Mac's objections were reasonable, that did not soothe her rebellious feelings. The baron had been accurate in his reading of her response to his objections. She needed to give it more thought. Somehow, she was going to get to Rhemuth and the Schola soon!

Fiona wandered out into the garden and settled on a bench to give more serious thought to her problem. As she sat, she became aware of voices coming from the other side of the bushes behind her. She recognized Father Columcil's brogue and the voices of Lord Darcy and Lady Aliset.

"Washburn wishes ta gae tae Valoret tae pay respects tae Bishop Arilan who was a close friend o' his family knoon frae childhuid. I too wish tae gae tae pay respects tae ta man that mad me priesthuid possible.  Ye two did nae really ken heem, but ah hope ye will be willin tae travel wi' us." Columcil paused then added,  "Mah orders frae th' king ur tae bide by Washburn tae help heem heal his min."

"Our orders to travel here to help the baron came from the king through Earl Brendan. My thought is that we have accomplished the tasks set for us. I expect the king will have other duties for us, but I don't know when we will receive instructions as to what we are to do next. Paying our respects to the late Bishop of Dhassa seems entirely appropriate. Most importantly,  I  also had orders from the king to accompany Sir Washburn to keep him safe from his captor and from rebel leaders. Going to Valoret would be a good opportunity for us to get clear of this war. It would also give Columcil time to work with him in a less stressful environment. There would be those present who are better trained and might be able to assist with the healing of Wash's mind. " Fiona heard a rustle as though Lord Darcy had turned toward his lady. "What say you, Aliset ? What do you think of this idea?"

Aliset replied softly, "I agree that going to Valoret to pay our respects is a proper thing to do.  However, the king will need to know if we plan to leave . He may have need of us and will need to know how to locate us. The archbishop should also be told what is happening with Washburn and his compulsion to travel east.  Father, could you contact Archbishop Duncan and inform him of our intention?"

"Aye, ah weel try tae reach heem as suin as ah can." answered Columcil.

"We will plan to leave this afternoon after the noon meal. If all goes well, we should reach Arx Fidei in time for the services planned to honor Bishop Arilan." Darcy said quietly. "I will hope to hear from you soon, Father, as to the Archbishop's response."

Before the three could leave, Fiona quickly moved around the screen of bushes and approached them. "I could not help but overhear what you were saying concerning your plans  to leave tomorrow. I would very much like to ride with you if that is possible. Although I never actually met the bishop, I know my uncle knew him from his time in Rhemuth serving the king when he was younger. . He was regretting that he could not travel himself to attend the planned ceremonies. He does not feel that he can leave the manor at this uncertain time. Perhaps I could represent him and pay our respects if you would allow me to accompany you." Fiona surveyed the faces of those before her hopefully.

Darcy looked somewhat doubtful, Aliset more sympathetic. The priest looked curious. He was the one who first responded to her request.  "An' whit duz ta baron say aboot this idee? Hae ye presented it tae heem? "

"Not yet." Fiona replied. "But if I am traveling with your party, what could he object to? I would certainly be safe with you. And I know he would be pleased to have the family represented at the funeral of so distinguished a churchman and a man he knew and greatly respected. I would give no trouble, you have my word. And both the good father and Lady Aliset would ensure that my reputation is safe."

"There is perhaps one problem that you have not considered." Aliset smiled at the young woman. "Following the services, we will not be returning here. How would you get home?"

Fiona continued. "I am hoping to attend the Schola. Surely there will be members of the staff or teachers there and I could return to Rhemuth with them. Lord Darcy, my guardian and your brother, may even be present and be willing to make arrangements for me. Or, if not, as Lord Iain's brother and sister-in-law, could you not assume responsibility for my welfare until we can reach him. After all, you are my cousin just as he is. I feel that this is an opportunity I can't bear to miss."

"Baron Stuart is the person responsible for you at this time. Iain placed you in his care and I am sure he is trying to do his best for you." Darcy smiled at Fiona but she didn't return his smile.

"You don't understand!" Fiona's voice was almost desperate. "If I have to remain here, there is a good chance I will never get to the Schola. Iain means well by me but he is so focused on the king's business, as he should be, that he has no time to consider my future. Sometimes, I think he almost forgets about me."

Aliset had been listening quietly. Now she spoke up. "Let the three of us discuss your  proposal and we will let you know what we decide. Know that whatever our decision is, it will be made with your best interests at heart."

Fiona started to add to her plea but then, looking at Lady Aliset, she said no more. She curtsied, turned, and began to make her way back toward the manor house.

The three friends returned to the bench where they had been sitting. "I can understand her frustration, but I am not sure that allowing her to ride with us without a fixed plan of what should happen to her after the services is a good idea." Darcy looked doubtful. "What will Iain say if we ride off with his ward?"

"Sartin it is 'at this is a problem!"  Columcil rubbed his head thinking. "Ahm afeared if we try tae leave ta lassie haur she will run off tae try tae reach Rhemuth oan 'er ain. Am thinkin' it wuid be safer if she was wi' us.  Ah cuid telt ta Archbishop aboot her when ah contact him. He moight be willin' tae hep us."

Aliset looked thoughtful. "I have to say that I would be uncomfortable leaving Fiona here. The baron does his best but has a lot to deal with right now. I know he cares about Fiona and wants to do what is best for her. However, she has a valid point. With the rebellion, there is no way to predict when Iain will be able to focus on Fiona. He might even be grateful to have us take responsibility temporarily, at least until we can get in touch with him to discover his wishes."

The three of them agreed that they would approach the baron with Fiona's proposal to represent him at the services for Bishop Arilan. They would not bring up the Schola, but they would tell him that while there they would make efforts to get in touch with Iain. It was even possible that Iain would be there.

(( Does the baron agree to let fiona go with Darcy and Aliset?
   2d6  3+5==8 Yes! ))

They  made their way to the solar to find the baron and present their plan to allow Fiona to ride with them to Valoret to represent the baron and his family at the services for Bishop Arilan. Darcy told the baron that, as Iain's brother and Fiona's cousin, he and his wife would take responsibility for the young lady. They would also try to contact Iain to discuss her situation with him. The baron hesitated at first, but finally agreed to their plan. He too had been concerned that Fiona might run away to try to reach Rhemuth. She would be safer riding with their party.

Lady Aliset excused herself to the baron, curtsied gracefully and left the room to give Fiona the news
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on August 04, 2019, 03:42:54 PM
Fiona was on edge, she had left her future in the hands of her cousin and his wife. Could they win over her stubborn uncle, or would she be forced to spend her days here, never getting to see the rest of the kingdom, never getting to learn her heritage? Her frustration and her anxiety grew as she returned to the manor house. The idea of traveling to Valoret to see the splendor of a bishop's funeral, then to meet the noble citizens of Rhemuth there, and perhaps then to get an invitation into the Schola... these thoughts were intoxicating.  How could she possibly just sit quietly in her room and wait for an answer? If she didn't do something else to occupy her mind she might end up running back into the baron's solar and disrupting his meeting with Cousin Darcy. That would be a serious blunder. There was one good distraction that would hold her attention for a time; she turned back to the archery yard, grabbed up a bow and a handful of arrows. She stood in the line with the men for a chance to focus beyond her frustration, to place a few arrows into the center of the target.

                                   **************

East!  East meant freedom, a fresh start. East meant home.  Eastward was the direction he needed to go. Meanwhile, he had a job to complete.

"Block... Good... Thrust... Good... Keep that shield up. It will save your life, but you gotta keep it between you and your attacker.  That is better."

Satisfied with the participants of the practice fight before him, Washburn walked down the line of practice fighters, looking for others he could help. One particular pairing off of arms-men caught his attention. These two men had the moves, they each parried the other's attacks well, If only their reaction times were faster. "Eyes on your opponent. Watch his body, not just his sword. His balance will tell you what he intends. His feet, his shoulders and mostly his eyes. Your balance says the same to him. So when you attack, make it swift. Don't draw the motion out." Wash watched as both men straightened their backs. As ordered, each focused upon the other's next moves. The attack was swift and the block was true. "Excellent! I will expect you both to help others become this good after I am gone."

Wash was now at the end of the fighters. He looked across to the archery yard to see how they carried on. Many arrows stood out from the canvas targets on the three butts at the end of the field. Not many arrows were in the yellow or red rings, the majority being in the blue and the black rings. Good enough for non-soldiers. Yet in this time of rebellion, he could wish they were better.

((10:35 <Laurna> Rolling for Men at arms under Washburn at the archery field - Hitting the practice target with arrows - roll results are- 6=yellow center, 5=red, 4=blue, 3=black, 2=white outside edge considered a miss, 1=missed target.))

As Wash watched, the call was made and three archers took the line. They aimed and released their arrows.
((10:35 <Laurna> Man1  10:35 <Laurna> !roll 1d6   10:35 <•derynibot> 2 == 2))
The nearest arrow thumped into to black ring.
((10:35 <Laurna> Man 2  10:35 <Laurna> !roll 1d6  10:35 <•derynibot> 3 == 3))
The middle butt had a new arrow sticking out from the blue.
((10:36 <Laurna> Man 3  10:36 <Laurna> !roll 1d6  10:36 <•derynibot> 6 == 6))
At the farthest target an arrow whined as it struck the yellow center circle.

"Well shot," Wash called to the farthest archer.

"Thank you, my lord," answered a feminine voice. Wash looked up startled to see Lady Fiona standing at the head of the furthest line. He didn't know whether to be angry with her or to be pleased with her accuracy. Both thoughts filled him as he walked over to her. She had a serious demeanor about her stance; something had her upset. His concern for her got the better of him.

"That was a good placement. You did ask me for a lesson. So let me see your positioning," Wash requested. As she took up a second arrow, it was instantly clear to him that she had not lied about her archery expertise. She had a perfect stance, a perfect draw and a perfect aim. Well, almost perfect... Her next arrow landed in the red. (([8] 19-08-03 05:37:23 CDT - does Fiona's arrow hit the target roll 3d6 Success on 3,4,5,6 results 1 + 2 + 5 = 8, Yes 5=red ring.)) "You have a  good focus and a keen eye. Yesterday, you asked how I can help you improve. I know of only one pointer to give you." He motioned for her to give him her bow and an arrow. "Stand behind me and place your hand on my shoulder. See if you can follow what I do."

As he raised his hands to draw the arrow, he opened his outer shields to show her the energy used to guide the arrow as he shot it. He had done this before with several Deryni squires, but never before with a woman. He set his focus, yet unbelievably, he could not control the racing of his heart beat. It didn't occur to him until the second that their minds touched that he was being more open with a lady than he should be.  Suddenly nervous, he let the arrow fly. (([11] 19-08-03 12:23:12 CDT - Washburn Bow mastery with focus and Telekinesis 3d6 success 3,4,5,6. Roll 3d6 results= 3 + 1 + 2.  For target accuracy sum only the successful dice = 3)) Only his powers kept the arrow from flying wide. It thumped neatly into the black ring and Wash shook his head in shame.

Amazingly, Lady Fiona didn't seem to even notice the arrow placement. Her thoughts were solely about how he had used his energy to improve a near-failed shot. She must have thought that he had done it purposely to show her the Deryni trait of Telekinesis. "Lady Aliset showed me that ability yesterday," Fiona said excitedly. "She shared with me how she used it with her slingshot. The arrow is much faster. Can I actually use this same ability in archery?" Her question was bubbly and vivacious.

"Keep your voice low, my lady. We don't want to frighten the others," Wash warned. Concerned he switched to mind speech. We don't know if anyone here is leery of Deryni. Having taken his warning she returned to a calmer demeanor, allowing him to continue with her lesson. You are the one shooting, as long as you keep your focus, he nearly laughed at himself as he said this, but he managed to hold his teaching composure. You can have full control over the aim of your arrow and the direction of its flight.  You can also push it farther and faster than it might normally travel.   He dared not to touch her, yet she did not pull her hand away from his shoulder as he shared how the Deryni ability to guide projectiles worked. She grasped the concept quickly.

A moment later, she stepped away from him and backed into the archery line. She drew, focused, and released her third arrow. (([9] 19-08-03 05:42:08 CDT -Fiona hits center of target using marksmanship, focus, and telekinesis, roll 4d6 results 4 + 6 + 1 + 4. With four dice you drop the lowest one, a 6 is in the yellow.  For target accuracy, add the successful dice = 14.))

A smile brushed her lips as she realized what she had done. Very quickly she drew another arrow, aimed and released. (([10] 19-08-03 05:43:25 CDT - rolled 4d6, results=1 + 5 + 6 + 1, Drop the lowest and add the successful dice =11)) Her next arrow placement was still in the yellow, just outside the first. "Interesting, I will need to practice that."

Wash inclined his head to her. "That would be good, when there aren't so many eyes watching us." He smiled at her, a little embarrassed.

Realizing she had drawn the attention of many men in the yard, Fiona let her bow drop to her side. "Of course, the men need your training more than I do."

"It is not that, my lady..." Wash stammered to explain.

She didn't notice his hesitancy. "I am so hoping the baron will let me travel with Cousin Darcy to Bishop Arilan's funeral. It would mean that there would be plenty of time for you to show me more."

Wash nearly choked, he had to clear his throat before he trusted himself to talk. "You will be traveling with us to Arx Fidei? But my lady, that is a very long distance."

"I know, won't it be wonderful to be away from here. Aliset can keep training me, you could show me more, Darcy can be my guardian and Father Columcil my protector.  I feel in my heart that this will set me on the road to my future."

"It is too dangerous..." Wash blurted out.

"Not at all, Cousin Darcy has promised to get me to Arx Fidei. Many people will be at the Bishop's funeral: I'll represent the Stuart clan. Iain might even be there, and he can approve my entrance into the Schola.

"Yes... Iain might be there. So might my sister and possibly even my mother. I could ask them to get you an admission into the Schola, but that is not the point. It is a three day's ride to get there."

The lass just looked at Wash like that was no concern at all. Wash could think of nothing to say.  Their travels to this date had been anything but carefree. "Your uncle will not possibly let you go with us." Wash was sure that this must be true, that is until Lady Aliset came forward from out of the crowd. And she whispered something into Fiona's ear. Fiona gave a yell of joy and then suddenly dashed away toward the manor.

Perplexed, Washburn watched her run. Then he turned his gaze to Lady Aliset. "What did you just say to her?"

"Only that her uncle has approved her traveling with us to the funeral and that she had best go pack her bags."

From the look that fell across Washburn's face, Aliset gave a laugh. "Don't worry, their won't be any carriages to slow us down. Darcy's cousin is perfectly capable of riding alongside us." Pleased with herself, Lady Aliset gave a curtsy to the knight. "Don't you be late, we leave after the noon meal."

"I should have run away yesterday when I had the chance," Wash said under his breath as he watched this second lady return to the manor house.

((Thank you, DerynifanK for your dice rolls for Lady Fiona. They fit in perfectly. ))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on August 05, 2019, 09:50:57 AM
Sir Iain Cameron wiped his damp face with a towel.  His workout on the training field had not been as strenuous as it would normally have been, but the healer had advised him not to push himself too hard for a few days, so Iain had not.  The practice target was not reduced to a pile of shavings, though it was badly damaged.

Iain had contented himself with ensuring that his body was functioning as it should. The remaining stiffness was now gone, and his muscles responded when asked.  If he was to face Master Feyd, he must be at least at 110 per cent.  Anything less would be a danger to not only his mission, but to his survival.

Damp towel in hand, Iain strolled along the road in his sweat-streaked training tunic toward his apartment in Rhemuth castle.  He avoided the main road, taking instead the path that skirted Queen Araxie's gardens. 

He intended to  remain a respectful distance away, and as he passed, he heard the voices of the ladies of the Queen's court talking among themselves.  A lulling backdrop to the sound of birds and bees.

"You!" a voice suddenly cried out, shrill among the other quieter tones.  "This is all your fault!"

Iain winced as he recognised the voice of Sidana of Meara; sharp and full of venom.  Sidana stood near a low wall at the back of the gardens, pointing a finger at Iain.  Duchess Grania quickly moved to her side, and Iain recognised the Dowager Duchess of Corwyn not far behind.

"My fault?" said Iain quietly. "You are in a lovely garden, surrounded by the most noble ladies of the Court of Gwynedd.  Ladies with intelligent minds and impeccable character.  I am happy to be responsible for this."

"You are a cad and a coward!"  Sidana cried.  "You brought me here against my will as a prisoner, separating me from my father and the man I intend to marry!"

"A prisoner in a gilded cage," Duchess Grania responded.  "Please go with Lady Bridget," Grania indicated a third woman of middle years who had followed Duchess Richenda.  "You should rest for awhile."

Sidana would have protested, but Grania's words were enforced by the controls over Sidana she had been entrusted with.  Sidana's eyes reflected the rebellion in her heart, but she meekly followed the older woman.

"It seems I have introduced a thorn into your garden," Iain said.  Conscious of his less than courtly appearance, he bowed to both duchesses.  "I will do my best to stay downwind."

It was Richenda who smiled at him.  "Duke Alaric was never concerned about such niceties.  He said he liked the way my nose wrinkled at the smell of hard labour."

"Then he was a most discerning man," Iain said.

"And totally unrepentant!" Richenda responded and laughed lightly.  Iain risked an engaging smile, and Grania noted how similar it was to his brother's. 

"Might I ask how Lady Sidana fares?" Iain asked of Grania.  "Is she adjusting at all?"

"Some days are better than others," Grania responded with a sigh.  "She needs to blame someone other than herself for what has transpired, and that someone is most often you."

Iain shrugged. "There is little I can do about that."

"Once the rebellion is over, she will have to come to terms with reality," Richenda said.

"Or she will not, but in the end the king will decide her choices," Iain responded.  "She will have to come to terms with that."

Grania shook her head.  "If the situation was reversed, and I was a captive of Valerian...." Her voice trailed off.

"If you were a captive of Valerian, and if you were fortunate, you would be in a dungeon, away from his men."  At Grania's shocked look, Iain bowed.  "Forgive me, your Grace, for my harshness.  I fear it would be the truth of the matter.  Lady Sidana does not realize how fortunate she is that she is captive in Rhemuth."

Richenda took the opportunity to turn the conversation in a different direction.  "Sir Iain, I know that my son Washburn travels with your brother, his wife and Father Columcil.  Have you any news of how he fares?'

"No, your Grace," Iain responded.  "But I am overdue to contact Darcy and check on their progress.  I will do so tonight, and share with you what I am able, if it please you."

"Thank you, Sir Iain.  I hope you will have a favourable report."

"I hope so too, your Grace."  With that Iain bowed and took his leave of both women.  His heart as not light, but in truth, Sidana was no longer his responsibility.  At least that was what he told himself.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on August 06, 2019, 02:48:32 PM
The village of Windyner sees it fair share of travellers. Of course that is due to being on the road east of Valoret. Those pilgrimming to the holy city from the east always stop here for the night before making the rest of the journey.

Of course with the passing of Bishop of Dhassa, those travellers have increased. Though none will stay village as its too far from Valoret to make the trip quickly enough for the funeral. But they do pass through and will probably return once the funeral is over.

Even though the mood is sometimes darkened by the shadow of war with Meara in the west and many young sons have joined the ranks of soldiers. The village is happy with the coin they can make with so many travellers.

Father's Michael and Paulos help where they can. Not afraid to dirty their hands even in the fields. Our Lord washed the feet of his disciples, we can help with the work of the fields. Both priests are fond of saying when helping out.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on August 07, 2019, 02:54:40 PM
Fiona thought she might burst with joy when Lady Aliset told her that the baron had agreed to allow her to ride with their party to Valoret. It was all she could do to maintain her modest demeanor as she headed back to the manor. She was certain this would be the first step in getting to Rhemuth and the Schola. She had dreamed for a long time of being able to win admission to the Schola but did not know how she could accomplish this. This was a golden opportunity, and she meant to take advantage of it.

As she entered the manor, Fiona turned her steps first to the solar. She needed to express her gratitude to Uncle Mac for allowing her to make the trip. She ran lightly up the stairs and tapped softly on the door to the solar. Not waiting for a response, she pushed the door open. Mac looked up from the papers he was working on. "Fiona, lass," he said. "What is it you want?"

Fiona curtsied and smiled at Mac. "I wanted to thank you for allowing me to ride with Lord Darcy and his party. I will do my best to properly represent our family and to be a credit to you at the services for Bishop Arilan. I have promised Lord Darcy and Lady Aliset that I will give no trouble on the trip. I am hoping that Iain will be in attendance, and I will have an opportunity to speak with him."

Mac gave her a smile and a nod. "I am sure that you will be a worthy representative of the family and will carry out the duties required of you.  Lord Darcy and Lady Aliset will help you and watch over you. You must go now and make ready to leave as I know they intend to depart within the next two hours."

Fiona impulsively gave Uncle Mac a hug, blushed, curtsied and left the room.  Mac watched her go and thought to himself, "I hope Lord Darcy and his wife are aware of what they have taken on." He chuckled quietly as he  returned to his work.

Fiona hurried to her room to pack her things. She checked her kit to make sure everything had been replaced after her last adventure. She added the dagger that had belonged to her father as well as the more common knife she usually carried in her belt pouch. Because of the dangers of the road due to the rebellion, she would also bring her bow and quiver of arrows. She packed her best gown, combs and veil, and shoes. She must look her best when she attended the services. She also tucked the prayer book Aunt Olivia had given her into her rucksack. She would fill her water skin as she passed through the kitchen. She would also ask cook to pack some rations for the road.

Fiona stopped at her aunt's room and tapped on her door. On hearing her aunt's voice, she opened the door, entered, and curtsied. Aunt Olivia was sitting by the window looking out. She beckoned to Fiona to come nearer. "I know your uncle has given permission for you to ride with Lord Darcy to Valoret. That would have been Michael's responsibility were he here, but it will be good for you to be present for the ceremony for Bishop Arilan.  I also know that you see this as an opportunity to advance your intent to gain admission to the Schola in Rhemuth. I hope you will find the help and encouragement you need there. I will miss you. You must take care and pay heed to what Lady Aliset tells you."

Fiona noticed the tears gathering in her aunts eyes. She placed her arms around her aunt's shoulders and hugged her tightly. "I will do as you say and do my best to be a credit to you." She curtsied and left the room.

In the kitchen, she filled her waterskin with fresh water. Cook had prepared provisions for the party for the first part of the journey. These she gave to Fiona. "See you give these to the Lady. They should be enough for today's travels". Fiona thanked her and headed to the  stable to saddle her horse.

As she entered the stable, she noticed the knight was there saddling his big, black warhorse. Father Columcil was also saddling his horse and strapping his bedroll and other belongings behind the saddle. The priest smiled at her. "So, lassie, ye will be ridin' wi' us to Arx Fidei. It is quate a ride. Do ye require any hep with yer horse?"

"No." she replied. "I can take care of him. Valiant is nervous with strangers and will do better if I do what is required. I do thank you for the offer though." She proceeded to saddle her horse and began to secure her belongings on the horse's back while Columcil watched.  "I am sure ye're quite capable, my lady, but shuid ye require any assistance, dennae hesitate ta ask." 

The knight had said nothing, although he had given her a shy smile. He finished his tasks and swung up into the saddle. Wash watched while she secured her bow and quiver to her bundle. "Are you expecting trouble that you go armed?"

"With the rebels about, it is well to be prepared. I feel quite safe with you and Lord Darcy but I also need to be ready to come to our defense if needed."  Fiona replied.

He gave her a neck bow then urged his stallion out into the stable yard where the others were waiting. Fiona could not help thinking how handsome he looked on his black warhorse. Father Columcil followed him.

She followed the others out into the stable yard where the party was mustering. Lord Darcy and Lady Aliset were mounted and ready to leave  The baron and his lady had come out to see them off and wished them Godspeed. Father Columcil held up his hand and pronounced a brief blessing on the party. They then moved out toward the track that led to the Cuilteine Road. Lord Darcy and Lady Aliset were in the lead, followed by the priest and Fiona. Sir Washburn was last, guarding the rear.

As they made their way down the track, Fiona almost quivered with excitement. She was on her way at last, and she felt that her future was opening up before her.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on August 08, 2019, 01:46:29 PM
"Darcy!" Aliset Cameron said with an undisguised note of exasperation in her voice.  "That is the third time you have checked my saddle's girth!"

"Aye, it is," Darcy Cameron responded.  "But his vessel transports cargo that is precious to me, and I would see it safely stowed."

"Stowed?" Aliset responded, in not too pleasant a tone.

"Aye, stowed," Darcy responded with a grin.  He moved to one side to offer her a leg up.  "Up you go, love," he said. 

Aliset accepted his help into her saddle.  She had recovered from her earlier discomfort of the morning, but was not feeling entirely like her normal self.  "Stowed," she repeated and scowled at him.

Darcy's response was to grin back at her unabashedly.  Aliset shook her head.  What was she to do with this man?

Darcy swung up onto his own horse, Sigrun, and paused to stroke her neck.  She responded with a soft nicker, ready to be off again with her master.

Darcy turned around and surveyed the baron's courtyard.  Fiona, Father Columcil and Sir Washburn were just emerging from the stables.  His expression turned thoughtful.

"What are you thinking, Darcy?"  Aliset asked.

Darcy thought for a moment longer before answering.  "It feels like when we first started on this journey.  You and I, though I didn't really know who you were.  He gave her an affectionate smile. "I'm very glad you are who you are."  Aliset blushed.  "But it seems we continually increase our number.  First Washburn and Father Columcil and now Fiona.  Soon we'll be marching with our own army!"

"That will set the rebellion back on its heels!" Aliset replied with a smile

"Aye, that it would!  But for now, I would appreciate a quiet journey to Valoret."

"As would I," Aliset responded. 

Father Columcil, Fiona and Washburn had mounted and now made their way into the baron's courtyard.  The baron wished them Godspeed, and Father Columcil blessed their departure. 

Darcy signaled for them to depart.  He and Aliset took the lead, followed by Father Columcil and Fiona.  Washburn rode in the rear, ready to defend their passage.  Although perhaps it was odd, Darcy felt at home taking command of their small party.  It was his task to do so, and he would see it through.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on August 10, 2019, 01:21:26 PM
"Whoa! Stop!  Will you look at that!" Fiona's exclamation brought all five riders to a halt. Four of whom were instantly on their guard looking for trouble, while the one who called out was far from concerned and simply enjoying the view. Her sense of awe brought on fresh excitement as everyone else began to relax. They had skirted the city of Cuiltiene two hours before and had trotted down the road through the thinning woodlands until just now when they had crested a hill. Rolled out before them, under the brilliance of a clear blue afternoon sky, was the vast green lands that lead down out of the highlands. For as far as the eye could see, land continued on and on, until it smeared to a haze. Even then in the far distant east a shadowy grey line seemed to define the edge between land and sky. Southward, the haze was closer; far nearer, the green plans softened to obscurity.

"The great and beautiful Rhemuth will be down that way, cousin," Darcy said as he pointed south. "Due to the smoke from the city kitchens, I doubt you will see it unless we were very near to it. At least not unless the winds pick up to clear the air. The road we travel upon will not take us that way, not this time anyway."

Fiona's gaze was open and expectant as she looked over the vast landscape. "Perhaps not yet, cousin Darcy, but mark my words. I will find a way to get to Rhemuth and to enter the Schola. Valoret is our destination, yes?" She turned from the South and pointed out across the hills toward the east.

"Yes, my lady," Wash answered her. "Those mountain crest lines, which are barely seen, are the Lendours. From here they appear as nothing more than a rise of land.  Yet from Valoret you will see that they are sharp and rugged with immense beauty, teaming with an alpine forest nestled between their jagged crags. It is both stunning and serene," Wash said, displaying his own yearning for home.

"Valoret is only a stepping stone for me," Fiona countered. "I want to learn about... everything! I want to be so much more than I am now. There is no going back for me. From Valoret..." her eyes looked to the distant east, but then her hand pointed to the haze in the south and her face followed her fingers. "I will find my path to enter the great capital and become a student of the king's university."

"Aye, Lassie, we will find a way to get you there," Father Columcil said with a nod.

Wash only looked down at his riding gloves and shifted the reigns between his fingers. Rhemuth was denied to him, no matter how much he wanted to go back there, he could not. Yet he could go back to Lendour. He raised his eyes to the east and felt the pull of home. "Cynfyn Castle is a marvel to behold. It is like a castle in a story land, my lady. With it's needle towers and red slate roofs, it stands in the foreground of a great forest and mountains beyond. I would share with you it's beauty, some day." He added almost shyly.

But the lady did not turn her eyes to the east, she kept her gaze fixed south. As best she could, she attempted to see what lay behind the smoke and haze.
Father Columcil nodded, feeling the longing of both the young person's who sat their horses to either side of him. "Ay woulds see ye both in the places 'at will see ye happy an' hale. Juist mind, sae lang as ye keep God in ye heart, yer pure happiness isn't dependent upon a location. It is wherever yer own hands mak' it tae be."

"Amen to that Father." Lady Aliset said.

"I for one am not sure what we will find farther along the road east," Darcy said taking back control of the group. "But I do know where Arx Fidei Abby is." The navigator pointed to a series of small hills much more close than where the other two had been looking. "We have been there before and we will stay there again tonight. That way, I know that we will be safe and comfortable for one more night before we travel into mists of you two's hopes and dreams." He looked for confirmation from his companions. "Are we all in agreement?"

"I didn't think of you as the pragmatic one," Aliset teased her husband.

"Oh, I have my own idealist dreams, my love. Never fear that. They have to do with being in a secure, nice, private chamber to share with the one I love." Darcy smiled broadly and skirted his horse closer to Aliset.

She allowed him a kiss before saying. "Not in front of Fiona."

"I beg to differ. She needs to see what a good marriage is all about." Darcy claimed with a happy grin.

Aliset let out a good chuckle, "It is about more than that, dear husband." And with that she kicked her horse and cantered away like a fleeing fawn, leaving Darcy to quickly gather up Sigrun's  reigns and to chase after her.

Washburn let out a great laugh. "I never grow tired of those two."  He gathered his own reigns, holding Shadow to stay at the back. "After you, my lady Fiona, good Father Columcil. Let us proceed to Arx Fidei... for a comfortable night's rest."

"Aye, let's."  The father cheered, and then the three were away to follow their leaders down the road, out of the highlands, and into the proper lands of Gwynedd.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on August 11, 2019, 01:11:25 PM
Darcy Cameron swished his razor in the basin of water and then dried it on a towel.  He did not know if he would get many other nights in private with his wife, and the pain of shaving was worth it if it pleased her.

They had arrived at Arx Fedei as the shadows lengthened before fading into twilight.  There had been some confusion as they were granted access to the abbey's courtyard.  The abbot had left that morning with those of the brethren who could be spared to make the journey to Valoret for Bishop Arilan's funeral.  That had left the abbey short of brothers to deal with those who wanted accommodations at the abbey as they made their journeys to Valeret.  Although Washburn tried to remain unnoticed, the brothers remembered him from his previous stay with the Duke of Corwyn, and they were welcomed for the night.

At first there had been some discussion of Fiona sharing a chamber with Aliset.  Fortunately, a daughter of one of Baron Stuart's knights was also making the journey to Valoret, and the two young women would share a chamber.  Darcy, even though realizing it was selfish, had thanked Saint Nicholas for his good fortune.

Aliset had slipped into the bed before him.  Darcy smiled inwardly at the thought that this time he did not need to sleep on a pallet just inside her door.  Though he might enjoy the opportunity to throw Lord Peacock out on his head a second time.  One look at his wife put all thoughts of Jaxom Trillick out of his mind.

Darcy took very little time to slip in beside her.  "Are you eager for sleep?"  he asked.

"Perhaps not," Aliset said with a demur smile, though her eyes were dancing in a delightful challenge. 

"Well then," Darcy said after kissing the tip of her nose.  "Let me see if I can come up with an appropriate diversion."  He kissed her lips and moved onward....

Darcy!

"Bloody hell," Darcy growled.

Startled, Aliset pushed back from his embrace.  "What is it?"

"Iain.  It's bloody Iain!"  Darcy moved to bring his Heir's ring into view and focused his powers on the call that came through.  What? he asked rudely.  Aliset dug her elbow into his ribs.  "What, my lord?" he amended.

"Happy to speak to you too, little brother," Iain responded with a touch of acerbity.

"Your timing is not the best," Darcy said.

Aliset looked at him and Darcy nodded.  Aliset placed her left hand wearing Darcy's miniature Heir's ring on top of his hand and joined him in rapport.

"Good evening, Sir Iain," she sent.  "How can we assist you?"

"Ah, someone appreciates my contact!" Iain said dryly. "I have a question or two and some news to report."

"Actually, I have a question as well," Darcy said.

"Then my contact is not totally inconvenient!"

"Peace, brother."

Iain relented.  "Where are you now?

"We are at Arx Fedei on the way to Valoret.  Sir Washburn, Father Columcil and cousin Fiona are with us."

"Cousin Fiona?" Iain asked, somewhat startled.

"Aye," Darcy responded.  "She comes with us to represent Baron Stuart at the funeral."

Iain felt a pang of guilt.  He had not thought of his ward for several years.  He had left her safely in the care of her aunt and uncle.  On the border of Meara.  Where there was now a rebellion  brewing.  Damn.

"Tell me how this happened,"  Iain said.

Darcy quickly related what had transpired since they had left the Michaeline ruins.  Aliset was impressed by his succinct report that nevertheless left out none of the details.  Darcy did not presume to judge what details his brother might or might not need.

"I confess," Darcy concluded.  "I was hard pressed to keep Washburn from killing Jaxom and preventing Baron Stuart from throwing us all out on our asses (sorry, love!) for threatening the man who had freed his manor.  It was Fiona that turned the tide in our favour," Darcy added.

"How does Sir Washburn fare now?" Iain asked.

"Well enough," Darcy responded.  "Baron Stuart devised a plan, with input from Washburn, for the neighboring manors to join with him to mount a defense against the rebels.  He charged Washburn with training up the men, and he could not have made a better choice.  Washburn excelled at the task.  The men respect him, he has the skills, and he instructs without the slightest bit of arrogance.  He honed my skills with the bow as well.  No man could have done better."

"And now?" Iain asked.

Darcy paused for a moment.  'He has the idea in his head that he should travel east to Lendour.  He thinks it may help him calm the turmoil of what has happened and find new purpose.  Valoret is on the way, and he also wants to pay his respects to Bishop Arilan."

Iain said nothing for several heartbeats.  Earl Kenric was still in Rhemuth as part of the king's council, so this should not pose a threat.  But King Kelson would need to be informed.  "You said you have a question for me."

"Cousin Fiona wants to attend the Deryni Schola in Rhemuth.  She asked her uncle for permission, but he was not willing to grant it without consulting you.  Fiona is a headstrong lass, and the baron finally granted her permission to travel with us to represent him at the funeral versus risking she would strike out on her own."

"Sir Iain," Aliset interjected.  "Fiona desperately wants the chance to attend the Schola and learn to use her Deyni powers responsibly.  She fears that if she remains at the manor, she will be trapped there until a suitable husband is found.  Once that happens, the opportunity may be lost forever, and she will never realise her full potential."

"I have no objection in principle," Iain said thoughtfully.  "But the Schola has lost many of its teachers to serve with King Kelson's forces.  This may not be the best time."

"Or it might be," Aliset said quickly.  "Fiona is just beginning to learn the basics of her powers.  The teachers there now would be able to bring her up to a level where she can begin to learn more advanced skills with others of her own age once the senior teachers return.  She would not need to be held back."

"She has my approval, but you cannot bring her to Rhemuth because Washburn cannot come here, and your party must stay with Washburn.  I will not trust Fiona's safety to just anyone to escort her here from Valoret.  I will try to speak with Archbishop McLain, both about her admission and about someone attending the funeral that he might trust to escort her here."

"May we inform Fiona?" Aliset asked.

"Yes, you should. It may curb her impatience a bit," Iain responded.

"You said you have news," Darcy reminded him.

"Ah, yes."  Iain paused.  "Lord Oswald is dead."

"What?" Aliset gasped and her hand tightened over Darcy's.

"You killed him?" Darcy asked, more curious than surprised.

"No, I did not," Iain replied.  "Though I would have welcomed the opportunity."

"How did he die, Sir Iain?" Aliset asked.

"He was poisoned in Ratharkin.  A particularly nasty poison, both slow and painful.  The perpetrator remains unknown, but my suspicion is that Master Feyd placed the contract."

"Master Feyd?" Darcy questioned. "I can't imagine him doing us such a favour."

Iain's ironic chuckle came through clearly.  "I can't imagine him doing anyone a favour. However, he held Washburn captive for several days, and Washburn was desperate to keep Aliset safe from Oswald.  Feyd owes no allegiance to the rebellion; he might strike a side deal if the price was right.  The ruby from Washburn's great sword was missing when the sword was recovered in a room rented by Feyd. Feyd may have considered it sufficient payment."

"May we share this news with Washburn?" Darcy asked.

"That may be a good idea.  Watch how he reacts.  I would not tell him that Feyd may have arranged it; see if Washburn jumps to that conclusion himself.  Now I will let you go to salvage what you can of your evening.  Godspeed on your journey; I'll contact you again sometime along the way to Valoret."

"Fair winds and calm seas, Iain," Darcy responded.  "And an improved sense of timing," he added dryly as Iain broke the contact.

Aliset was too preoccupied with her own thoughts to poke his ribs again. Darcy had no illusions that the romantic night he had planned was lost.  He gathered his wife into his arms and held her close.

Aliset's mind was filled with thoughts of her family and Oswald's destruction of those she had loved.   She could not control the sobs that burst forth, and Darcy held her tightly. She was comforted by the security of her husband's strong arms, but it was a long time before the memories would let her sleep.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on August 18, 2019, 06:15:48 PM
In the chill, predawn hours the Mearan army drew up before the city of Laas. Although orders had been given to move as silently as possible, total silence was not possible when moving a large body of men. However,  it was near the end of the night watch, and those on watch would be tired and less alert and might miss some of the sounds heralding the arrival of the army. Complete surprise was not possible. Gwyneddan scouts had been shadowing them, and the garrison was aware of their movements.  But those within the walls of the city would not know the exact hour they would arrive, and any small advantage would be useful.

Grand Duke Valerian sat his horse as the elements of his army moved into their assigned positions. He had studied the available maps of the city and surrounding countryside carefully, planning their approach and assigning their positions to give his army the best advantage. The city sat on a bluff overlooking Laas harbor. Only one road approached the city over a narrow causeway from the land side. It had been blocked by separatists but Duke Kelric's army had driven them away and destroyed their roadblocks. His army had entered and added significantly to the garrison defending the city. Valerian was aware that he was facing a formidable defense. Although his goal was a quick strike to occupy Laas before Javan's army could arrive, and therefore he had pushed his army to move quickly, he had brought one piece of equipment that he thought would give his army an advantage.  Laas did have one weak point and that was the gates that guarded entrance to the city. The ram that had been transported to Laas with the army could be used to breach the gates allowing Valerian's army to enter..

As the first fingers of light heralded the coming of dawn, Valerian handed the reins of his warhorse to a waiting squire and entered a tent hastily erected by two of his men. He was holding a council of war with  Brioc de Paor, his two Deryni knights and two of his captains to finalize their plans for the assault on Laas. He turned his hard gaze on each of them. "Meara's independence is the beginning. I intend to drive those Draper usurpers completely from the Eleven Kingdoms forever!"

"The Tolan Fleet should have reached the harbor and will disembark additional soldiers who will take control of the beach. Although an actual attack from the beach would be too difficult as it would require scaling the bluff, they will be able to draw off defenders who will be needed to man the towers overlooking the sea approach. They will also prevent any reinforcement or resupply of the castle from the sea. Forcing the dukes to split their forces to defend both approaches to the castle should provide an advantage for our attacking forces." He turned to one of his captains. "Rashid, send two scouts to circle the walls of the castle toward the harbor and confirm the presence of the fleet."

"Yes, my lord." The man called Rashid quickly left the tent to carry out the Grand Duke's order.

Valerian continued. " Dawn will have shown those inside the castle that they are surrounded. It would be too much to expect that they will surrender. But we will need to move quickly to secure it as the second Gwynedd army under Prince Javan is making haste to relieve Laas and are not far behind us. We do not want to be caught between the castle defenders and Javan's army. As soon as the scouts have confirmed that the fleet and its men are in place, we will attack the city from the front."

The second captain addressed Valerian. "My lord, we know the defenses are strong and have been reinforced by the addition of Duke Kelric Morgan's forces. Even with the addition of the men at arms landed by the fleet, will we have enough men to overcome them and take possession of the city before Prince Javan's army arrives?"

Valerian addressed the man. "The ram is nearly ready and should provide an advantage. If we can breach the gates, the army will be able to enter Laas with fewer casualties than might be expected without it."

The captain replied. " I have the men to push it into place and the roof will shield them from the arrows. It would also assist us if some of the additional men landed by the fleet could scale the bluff and launch an attack, forcing the defenders to split their forces between the gates and the sea wall. Once we get the ram in place, I promise you the gates will come down. Give us support to get it there."

Valerian looked pleased at the captain's words. Then he.smiled, a cruel smile. "We have another advantage, unknown to any but those in this tent and certainly unknown to the Gwyneddan dukes inside the city walls. There is a nobleman who is loyal to Meara who has convinced them that he is committed to Gwynedd and is part of Morgan's forces. He and his men traveled with Duke Kelric's army and entered Laas with them, fighting alongside them to disperse the separatists who were blocking the entrance to the city. They are viewed as staunch supporters of Gwynedd and King Kelson. There is no suspicion of them, however they are in position inside the castle and ready to strike at my orders. They will create chaos within and possibly even be able to kill one or more of the dukes present there. They will be able to open the gates of the city if the ram has not been successful and allow our forces  to enter.."

"But what of the queen? The Mearan people will expect her to appear as they celebrate the fall of Laas and the return of Mearan independence. How are we explain her absence? You have made no effort to free her from her confinement as Kelson's prisoner." Brioc spoke angrily.

"You forget yourself!" Valerian hissed. "I am in command here! I am the only reason your daughter has any chance to rule an independent Meara.  The time to free her is not yet but it will come soon." The Grand Duke glared at Brioc who subsided but continued to mutter under his breath. "We will tell the people that the queen was abducted by followers of Kelson. We were able to free her, and we have hidden her in a safe place until Meara is free and she can reappear to speak to her people."

As Valerian finished speaking, Captain Rashid reentered the tent. He bowed. "My lord, the scouts have returned. They report no sign of the Tolan Fleet. The only ships in the harbor were a few local fishing vessels which were docking. They also reported that the skies to the west were heavy with dark clouds and the winds are beginning to increase . It is possible that a storm at sea has delayed them."

Valerian turned to his Deryni knights. "Try  to reach them. Discover the cause of the delay and when they expect to arrive.." The two knights left the tent to carry out their orders in quieter  surroundings where they could focus. Although they had managed to perform the actions required by Valerian to keep his loss of his powers hidden from others, it was becoming increasingly difficult. Although they were well trained, they did not possess the powers that Valerian had been able to bring to bear when needed.

***

A knock sounded on Duke Kelric Morgan's door, quickly followed by the entrance of a castle guard. "Your Grace, you must come to the guard tower. The Mearan Army has arrived and taken up positions across the approach to the city gates."

"I am coming. Send squires to notify Duke Rory and Duke Brecon." Kelric hastily threw on a robe and followed the guard to the tower guarding the city gates. As he looked out in  the rapidly growing light, he saw the army spread out across the plain before the city. He noted the pennant of old sovereign Meara flying before a tent  erected in the midst of the horses and men assembled before the city. He also noted the presence of a battering ram being prepared for use against the gates of the city. The Mearans were lifting a large heavy log under the roof of a structure mounted on wheels. It was suspended with chains that allowed it to swing free. The roof over the device was certainly arrow-proof and would make it harder to cause injury to the men propelling it. He had not really expected Valerian to bring siege engines since transporting them slow him down. However, he should have known Valerian would pinpoint the weak points in the city defenses and do whatever he could to exploit them.

Kelric gestured to the other two to follow him as he returned to his quarters to dress. While his squire assisted him to don his attire, they discussed the plan they had devised for defense. Orders were to be sent immediately to the captains and commanders within the castle. Soldiers would man the walls and guard towers and keep careful watch  to meet any moves Valerian might make. Each defender knew his assignment. One captain was assigned to check the whereabouts of each of du Chantal's men to ensure that all were being carefully watched. "I expect attacks from the baron and his men as soon as Valerian makes his first move. We must be ready." Kelric buckled on his sword and dagger.

Kelric dismissed his squire and prepared to leave his quarters and return to the battlements. The other two dukes returned to their quarters to dress and to notify their captains that the siege had begun.  All three met in the withdrawing room where they were joined by Baron Jass, Earl Duncan Michael, and the two heirs, Richard and Bearand to continue their plans.

"I checked the walls and tower facing the sea." said Duncan Michael. "It looks like a storm brewing out to the west. If it hits here it will certainly increase Valerians difficulties. He has little shelter for his men and horses."

"What a shame he can't use one of his weather working spells to calm the storm." commented Rory with a wicked grin.

Kelric faced them. "He can't afford a long siege. Javan is too near and he won't want to be caught between our men and Javan's army. He will have to move quickly if he is to have any chance of taking the city before their arrival. Everyone must stay alert and warn us of any moves they observe. We will use the mobile force of men we stationed in the center of the bailey to move quickly and reinforce any part of the defences that are faltering under attack. I think we are well prepared. We should each now move out to encourage the men."

***

The two Deryni knights reentered Valerian's tent. "We have tried to reach the Fleet Commander but have had no success. Perhaps the storm is hindering our effort. They may be fully engaged in guiding the ships safely through it."

Valerian's eyes narrowed as he considered what the knights had said.  "I will delay our assault for now until my fleet arrives."

The Mearans waited, watching any activity that they could see on the walls. The Deryni knights continued to be unable to reach Rapport with any member of the Fleet. The storm was drifting nearer. The scouts were again sent around the walls to look for any sign of the ships arriving in the harbor. When they returned to again report failure, Valerian exploded. "Where is my fleet? I was promised that the fleet  would be here when needed. Find them!"

"We have tried, your grace. It is possible that they were damaged or sunk by the storm. Perhaps we should try an alternative strategy."

Valerian took several deep breaths to calm himself. Raging at the two knights would not change anything. He thought hard for a few minutes then instructed the Deryni. "We cannot wait any longer. We still have an advantage. Send Baron du Chantal the signal to attack. He should be able to create enough confusion and chaos within the walls to allow our men to enter."

"Yes, Your Grace." The two Deryni focused and sent out the signal to the baron. "Attack now!" 



Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on August 19, 2019, 09:26:33 AM
Captain Nikloi felt sick to the pit of his stomach. He was not by nature a brutal man - or at least no more than the demands of good discipline aboard ship demanded - and the cruelties he had ordered following the debacle at Loch Mhor were uncharacteristic. He had been driven by fear of facing his Lord with the news that he had allowed half the fleet to be destroyed but that fear was now turning to abject terror as judgement closed in on him. He had not dared to seek to bespeak the Grand Duke, hoping that somehow all would be well, or at least forgiven, once they arrived at Laas and all fury and vengeance could be directed to the Haldane brood and the Mearan quislings who supported them.

So how could his Grace have found him out? And found out he must have been else why would he be punished in this way? It was now nigh on two days since the wind from the East had dropped, the wind of power which had speeded their course from Tolan. The sails had suddenly hung limp with little even of the prevailing westerlies to swell them and he had been forced to order the men to the oars. Since Loch Mhor there had been undisguised hatred in the eyes of the common men-at-arms, whose comrades he had ordered tortured and abandoned; if their journey was much delayed it would not take much for the men to mutiny. Driven by despair he had driven himself to bespeak his Grace, but had been met with only silence, not the silence of contact made and refused, but the icy silence of the outer darkness. A foretaste perhaps of God's judgement which if the enemy ships caught up with them could not be long delayed. Whether it be the wrath of the enemy, punishment by the Grand Duke, or vengenance by his own men which caught up with him first, he could look for little mercy in this life, and even less he feared in the next.

But though his gut was paralysed with fear his head was that of a seaman and he gave the only order he could. They must needs veer south and hug the coastline hoping that they could pick up enough offshore wind to tack around the headlands, perhaps too an onwards current and blessed Raphael of the winds and Gabriel of the waters, find their way forward.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on August 21, 2019, 10:57:05 AM
Sir Iain Cameron, with Robert at his side, stepped back as the Captain of the king's guard strode from King Kelson's withdrawing room.  The man was tight-lipped and gave Iain only a cursory nod as he passed. Nonetheless, Iain noted a look of resignation in the man's eyes.

Robert knocked quietly at the door and entered at the king's gruff command to come.  "Sir Iain Cameron is here as you requested, your Majesty,"  Robert said as he bowed.

"Show him in, Robert.  You may wait outside."

Iain entered the withdrawing room and bowed.  "How can I be of service, your Majesty?"

Kelson gestured for his spy to approach closer.  He had several parchments before him; Iain noted that some were signed by the king and sealed with his royal seal.  Others were awaiting his signature. 

"Shall I turn them toward you so you can read them more clearly, Sir Iain?" the king asked.

"That will not be necessary, your Majesty," Iain said, looking at the king directly.

Kelson snorted.  "Even you could not read all of these that quickly."

"Of course not, your Majesty," Iain said noncommittally.  "But are you sure it is wise to travel at this time?"

Kelson placed both hands flat on the table and glared at Iain.  "Don't you start too."

"As you wish, your Majesty," Iain said. 

Kelson gestured toward the parchments before him as he leaned back in his chair.  "Lord Seisyll will chair what's left of my council while Archbishop Duncan and I are in Valoret.  Valerian is cornered in Laas, and we have one of his escape routes under our control.  I will be as safe in Valoret as I am here."

"The crowd in Valoret will be very large, your Majesty,"  Iain pointed out.  "It will provide excellent cover for an assassin."

"That has already been made clear to me," Kelson said dryly.  "Many times.  I have agreed to wear chainmail beneath my clothes and to a larger guard than I wanted.  I will attend without ceremony to pay my personal respects as well as those of a kingdom Denis Arilan served long and faithfully.  I will do no less."

Iain bowed his head briefly in acknowledgement.  "I am sure you did not ask me here to discuss travel arrangements," he said.

"No, I did not."  Kelson looked at Iain directly.  "I am concerned that we have heard nothing more from Master Feyd."

"I confess I am somewhat surprised myself at his silence.  Perhaps he has surmised that you will be attending the funeral and will wait for your return."

"You believe that?" Kelson asked.

"Not really," Iain said and smiled slightly.  "More likely he is waiting to pull this piece of the puzzle into place when he judges the time to be right, or at least most favourable to him."

"I have directed Lord Seisyll to contact you if any word is received from Master Feyd.  If Feyd contacts you, you will advise Lord Seisyll.  No charging off on your own!"

"Have you ever known me to charge, your Majesty?"  Iain asked mildly.

"I have known you to disappear from time to time without anyone's knowledge," Kelson replied pointedly.  "Not this time."

"As you command, your Majesty.  At least not without someone's knowledge."

"That someone better be Lord Seisyll and after appropriate consultation," the king said sternly.  Iain nodded again.  "You may go."

Iain bowed and left the withdrawing room.  The king had not said anything about Lord Seisyll granting permission.  Such details are important.  Iain smiled as he motioned Robert to join him.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on August 21, 2019, 03:34:49 PM
If he had had any inclination to brood over the events of the last few days, once the fleet was under sail Sir Richard Kirby had no time for anything but the demands of being at sea. Unsure how far out in the ocean the uncanny easterly wind filling the sails of the enemy might be, he had chosen to sail as close into the land as he could, trusting to the charts of the coastline painstakingly drawn up over many years and to the skill of the helmsmen to keep them off the rocks. Tacking where they could, and other times resorting to the oars, it was slow work and he feared that what remained of the enemy fleet would make it to Laas long before they could. He could only make his prayers to our Lady Star of the Sea and St Michael, patron of those who fought, that they would not come too late. At least there were plenty of strong backs and arms to man the oars, though in every other respect the clansmen who filled the boats were a blessed nuisance. Either they were being sick or they were complaining about the hard ship's biscuits and the sheer number of extra bodies meant that the ships were more unwieldy and lower in the water than he would have liked.

Seamus on the other hand was nothing less than a Godsend. Not only in the expert seamanship and command of the men that Richard had come to expect, but he had soon taken it upon himself to enstill a measure of discipline amongst the rough borderers, roundly cursing any would be delinquents in words that Richard was glad not to understand, and with an edge to his tongue which his Duke himself would have envied.

"Aye, well. They're nae different ta ma'sen, ye ken." had been his slightly shamedfaced response when Richard expressed his appreciation.

Richard found himself more and more turning to his second in command for counsel and not simply as a recipient of his orders and had taken to inviting Seamus to the Captain's cabin as the watch called out the first sign of the dawn so that they might break their fast together and talk through what the day ahead might bring. He had felt more than a little uncomfortable to be addressed as Sir Richard and had suggested that, in an informal setting, it was unnecessary only to be met with,

"Nay, ye've earned it by a' tha's holy an' I'm no' no' goin' ta gi'e ye yer due...Sir Richard.

The honorific was added with emphasis and with a glare that for an unnerving moment reminded Richard of Dhugal so he resigned himself to the acceptance of his new dignity.

It was as they were breaking their fast on the fourth morning since they set sail that they heard the Watch cry with a loud voice "Ships ahoy!" It took all Seamus' hard earned naval discipline to stand to the side so that his Captain could scramble up the stairs to the deck before him, stopping only to take his precious spy glass from its stand; with Seamus all but treading on Richard's heels they reached The Rose's prow together. There were indeed ships ahoy, but far ahead and only three or four just rounding the further headland. Rapidly Sir Richard got them in the sights of his glass, but with a grunt of frustration he gave the glass over to Seamus,

"I only ever got close to the bloody things by night, here you tell me: Are these the damned brigands that we're after?"

He closed his eyes clasping his hands in entreaty, "O merciful Saints, please tell me that they have been delivered into our hands."

"Aye, Sir, it's them awrigh'"

An unholy grin spread upon Sir Richard's face. Here was his chance to settle his score and, by God, he would enjoy every moment of it. Not normally a blood-thirsty man he bitterly resented being made to play the traitor, a stain that had been freely pardoned but could only, he knew in his gut, be wiped out by seeing the enemy at the bottom of the ocean.




Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on August 23, 2019, 03:29:57 PM
When Sir Richard turned away from the bow, Seamus noticed that his Captain's hands had gripped so fiercely that the paint under his nails had been scored. Not that he needed any clue to how Richard was feeling, as the latter grabbed him by the elbow and steered him rapidly back down to his cabin, only pausing in his haste when it came to laying his precious charts out on the table.

"How many boats, made it out of loch Mhor, you say? Sixteen? So what we saw were the hindmost, but likely the others are not far ahead, they'd stay together in unknown waters. That devilish wind must have dropped, aye, God is good to deliver them into our hands like this. We only have two more boats but they'll not escape us this time. How many archers do we have to each boat, and how much cloth for the burning arrows? Is there enough pitch to hand?

Belatedly Richard realised that he was firing a string of questions at his subordinate without giving him time to respond and turned to Seamus with a grimace of apology. But far from struggling to get a word in edgeways, Seamus was unaccountably staring down at the table and looking uncomfortably reminiscent of the chastened young seaman who had had to work his way back into his master's good graces after the disasterous beginning to their relationship.

Keyed up as he was it was a measure of the strength of their friendship that Richard did not bawl Seamus out, though the release of tension would have been welcome. Taking a deep and slow breath he spoke with a painful forbearance which could not entirely hide his frustration,

"If you have aught to say that will help us be on them by the noon bell, I'd be grateful to hear it, otherwise whatever is biting you, now is not the time. I'd not thought you'd be wanting to hang back yourself, after what you saw in Loch Mhor?"

"Aye, ye needna doot tha', I'd haud th'door o'hell open for them ma'sen an' kick their arses through into the de'il's own clutches, but," Seamus paused before rushing on, "Sir, ye canna dee this. Nay, hear me oot, ah beg ye."

Seamus looked up pleadingly and with a great effort Sir Richard managed to clench his fists to prevent himself from banging the table in fury, or worse striking Seamus.

"Sir, we canna fecht wi' boatie loads o' greenfaced laddies. They're braw enow, an'll do oor Duke proud, but no' on the watter. We'd send th' de'il's crew ta th'dark angel right enow but I'm affeared there's mony a body o' oors they'd tek wi'em. An' the whiles we're fechtin' here, God alone he kens wha's passin' in Laas. These laddies we're ta tek ta fecht fer himself, Prince Rory, in Laas an' we maun dee oor best ta dee as we've bin bid. Mary mĂ thair, bheannaich Iosa, it's sorry I am Ridseard, mo thighearna I've no disobeyed ye these many years but ye canna dee this." As he spoke, his hand sought for the chain round his neck and he pulled out the medallion which hung against his chest, pressing the image of our Blessed Lady to his lips as if seeking her protection.

Strangely, it was Seamus lapse into his native Gaelic rather than his usual brogue that gave Richard pause. He had hitherto only heard him use it when he cried out, as all men will do, in his sleep. And once he paused, he thought and realised that Seamus spoke only the truth. He put his head in his hands in defeat. Was there nothing they could do but trail the enemy into Laas, like a dog sullenly following at the cart's tail.

Mary mĂ thair, bheannaich Iosa Mother Mary, Blessed Jesus
Ridseard, mo thighearna Richard, my lord
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on August 24, 2019, 01:27:50 PM

Five men-at-arms stood their watch on the Laas gate barbicans. Their backs were straight, their tensions were high. Looking east between the stone merlons of the curtain wall, squinting their eyes to look in the direction of the rising sun, the defenders of the city watched the rebel army organize into shielded groups of men protecting a siege engine being readied for war. At first their actions were a mystery. They had carted a pile of animal hides down to the beach, tossed them all in the sea and then pulled them out of the water one by one to stack back onto the cart. Then the rebel  plans became clear. Upon returning, they began hammering the wet hides onto the sides of the wood slanted roof that covered the siege engine. Wet hides would improve resistance to fire and the wood roof under the hides would protect the men beneath it from arrows. The device had six wheels with a wide base, several chains hung down from the peaked roof beam supporting a great metal-shod tree trunk that freely swung forward and back. A dozen rebels held shields to protect the front of the battering ram.  Dozens more men climbed into the ram from behind. Slowly they would push the battering ram up the rampart approach to the city gates. Laas held few weaknesses being couched on this cliff faced plateau. The entrance gates were that one weak point which the rebels intended to abuse.

The gates of Laas were made from layered Rathark oakwood. Over time, the battering ram just might take it down. However, the device advancing would not breach the iron cross-worked portcullis which was closed hard to the enemy and stood some twenty feet before the great gate. The portcullis would be impossible to lift, not without the chains and the geared windlass in the guardroom high within the double thick wall.  A third of the men of Laas stood upon the  curtain-wall walk watching the Mearan rebels begin their siege. The men of Laas believed with all confidence that they could defend their city against the likes of those below. The ramp leading up to the fortress was narrow giving the battering ram little maneuverability. Last evening, Duke Brecon's men had scattered rocks along the causeway. It may only be a small hindrance to the enemy, as men could clear the stones as the battering ram came over them. However, this would clearly slow their progress. The garrison had a good arsonal of arrows to spend on attempts to aim between the holes in the enemies shielding; they could also rain down fire arrows upon the hide covered roof. Eventually one just might catch it ablaze. If the enemy did get close enough to the portcullis with that ram of theirs, Laas had an added defense. Two huge cauldrons of pitch poised over the machicolations at the top of the wall. Fires under the cauldrons had been burning all night, the messy black pitch steamed and boiled awaiting a time of need.  Just a release of the hold chain and a pull of the lever and anyone below, shielded or no, would regret coming so near to the gates of Laas.

That is why Tage was posted to the barbican.  He was a giant of a man. He could easily tilt the cauldron levers by himself when it would take two other men to do so. Tage was a native of Laas. He had lived here all his life. He had seen the rulers of Laas change many times. His loyalty to the garrison had never wavered, no matter who gave the orders. He had never been considered a bright man, not by those who thought they knew him.  He had no wife, no children, no friends who still lived. He had one weakness and that was his sister. He had not seen her in years but he loved her dearly, any excess money he earned had always gone to her.  His sister's boy had even been named after him, and he knew his one true loyalty was to his few blood relatives. And amazingly, his sister's son had arrived here in Laas just days before, coming with the army of men who relieved the city of the barricades that had been placed before her gate.

The first night of their meeting Tage's nephew, Tagart confided with his uncle news of a young Mearan Queen. A beautiful girl who had his and his mother's full support. During the night while on duty above the gate, when no one else was around to hear, Tagart told stories filled with motivation for a new Meara and an independent land. He told how the current man who sat upon the throne, the one who claimed to be a Haldane, was not a True Haldane at all. The Royal Haldane line had died to the very last man centuries ago. The upstarts who currently claimed the throne were Drapers, not men of royal blood. "The Drapers have stolen the crown of Gwynedd. Likewise they have stolen the Mearan throne from it's rightful heir. The Drapers are not but power mad thieves," Tagart claimed with such tenacity in the predawn hours that it caused Tage to believe him. Then Tagart talked about how truth would prevail. Meara and Gwynedd would be set free from the Draper scourge who had destroyed the old Haldane legacy with their adaptation of that long lost good name.

Tage was intrigued by the scandal of it. At first he didn't believe, but his nephew had so many stories; he named off so many men who followed this newly discovered truth. Tage was past his prime, he was growing weary of the unceasing guard duties and being ordered around. To work the land as his sister did would be a welcome change. Tage was convinced that his nephew held the means to restore Meara to its old sovereignty. Before others joined them on the wall to watch the siege about to begin, Tage and Tagart made a pact. That pact was to change the course of the land. As the morning progressed, they stood with strong wills on opposite sides of the hot boiling pitch at the top of the barbacans. The sergeant of the garrison came to stand his post at the top of the gate as was expected.  Tage and Tagart were pleased, they awaited the signal  that was sure to come soon. Today was the day for the restoration of Meara to commence.

***

Late into the morning, shielded groups of men marched forward from the ranks below. In an orderly fashion they started their assent of the rampway, the battering ram coming up behind them like a rolling house. Archers on the walls lifted their bows and prepared for battle. On the field below the city, somewhere near the tent erected there, two blasts of a horn echoed across the point of Laas. The defenders of the city would think it was the signal to attack. In a way it was, but not the way most men of Laas imagined. Tagart nodded, accepting the call to action at last. All along the curtain wall walkways, archers were called to draw and to release. Covered by the distraction of a flight of hundreds of arrows, Tagart stepped up to the cauldron as if to examine its readiness, this placed him in arms reach of his intended mark. In a flash his dagger was in his hand and he spun on the sergeant of the gate's guard, seemingly taking the man by surprise. To Tagart's dismay it wasn't by surprise. Another man-at-arms had been prepared for his move, he stopped the boy's lethal swing before it could encounter the sergeant's back. 

The sergeant turned and smiled as the young Mearan rebel struggled in the guard's grip. "Did you honestly think we didn't know that mutinous Mearan scum were harbored within our own ranks? We know who you are. All your rebel friends will fail their tasks and they will soon be captured or dead!" The sergeant turned Tagart's dagger back upon the chest of its owner. Young Tagart would not know old age, his heart would be pierced in seconds if Tage did not act.

Rage filled the big man, no one suspected his blood relation to the Mearan lad. His rage was a shock to the sergeant. "No one harms my nephew!" the man hissed between clenched teeth. In a mad act, Tage's fist smashed the face of the guard who held his nephew and then the huge man barreled into the sergeant, breaking the arm that held his nephew's dagger and then picking the man up physically and tossing him head first into the scalding cauldron of pitch. The sergeant never had a chance to stop the huge brute. One last guard on the gate walkway attacked Tagart, yet he was quickly beaten down. The five men were now two, Righteousness was on their side, Tage had just proved it. Their small mutiny had been quick with little sounds, nothing that drew the attention of the guards along the walls to the right or to the left or the glances of the dukes high up on the tower above. All of Laas gazed down upon the enemy beyond the walls, watching the damage their arrows caused.

Another round of arrows was called and launched.  Several hundred twangs sounded at once as several hundred arrows flew through the skies. Tagart and Tage watched from the barbacans as the arrows bounced off of the shield barricade over the advancing rebels. Very few caught the men on the outer edges. When a man fell he was quickly replaced by another. Nothing seemed to stop the slow moving battering ram.

"We will have our free Meara,' Tagart rejoiced to his uncle. "I will find Chantal and tell him we are found out. You see to the gates; get them open when our queen' s men approach."

"That gate will be open, for our queen!" Tage vowed. The two rebel men left their posts on the gate wall. They split when they were half way down the stairs. No one yet suspected Tage and he easily walked into the guard room which housed the windlass for the portcullis. Here men stood tense over the murder holes in the floor. They would drop hot metal fragments and scalding sands upon the heads of the enemy who came too near the precious gates of the city.

Tage grinned, This is going to be too easy he said to himself.

***

Tagart reached the courtyard, then quickly dove back into the shadows of an archway. There in the center bailey, before the standing army of five hundred men, a companion of Tagart's was being stabbed through the heart by the sword of the garrison captain. The captain laughed as the Mearan rebel slipped to the ground in a pool of his own blood. This wasn't how the rebellion was supposed to go. How did they know?! How did they know?! Tagart screamed inside. He pushed into the door at his back and skirted the wall of the long corridor hiding in niches from groups of armed men who walked passed him. He had to reach Chantal. He had to warn him before it was too late.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on August 25, 2019, 01:41:48 AM
Dukes Kelric Morgan, Rory Haldane and Brecon Ramsey stood atop the eastern Tower, their main attention was upon Valerian's army. Their attackers numbered more than they had expected. Kelric wondered if mercenaries from Connait had secretly come up from the south. It would not be the first time the independent baron's of the Connait chose to profit from Gywnedd's instability. Kelric's eye turned west and scanned the horizon, still no sign of those ships Dhugal had reported being seen last week passing the point of Ballymar. If those ships landed in the bay of Laas, they could add a significant number to the army laying siege. Kelric again wondered where they were. Surely Valerian was disappointed that his brother's fleet had not made landfall.

Something over the ocean caught Kelric's attention. His eyes lost focus as he searched for what it was. Power, way out there, far beyond the last rocky island and the last point of land. Power stirred the winds, white spray crested the rising swells of the sea, the distant skies seemed to darken, and then a flash of light illuminated the clouds that had blocked out the sun. Something out there was angry. The myths of Oden, though not a belief of Gwynedd's, were not wholly discarded by those who lived upon the sea. Corwyn made much of its wealth from sea trade. Corwyn's duke abided well what his fleet captains believed.  A flash of lightning struck the water line than another flash struck near the same place. Kelric sucked in his breath. This may not be the anger of the Sea God.  This was something far more controlled. Valerian had been strong in weather workings. Was this Valerian's attack upon the Cassan fleet coming south to aid Laas? But it couldn't be. Valerian had lost his powers. Kelson had assured  Kelric that this was true. Trouble was Kelric knew that Valerian had other Deryni in his employ; was he guiding them to make this weather working happen? Don't underestimate the enemy, Kelric chided himself. That had been his father's mistake, he swore he would not make that mistake himself.  Kelric gave a word of prayer for the fate of the Cassan fleet. With his current concerns, he could not spare the time to help the Cassan fleet.

Kelric turned his full attention back to the men on the tower standing with him. He was grateful that Rory, Brecon and Sier had his back while he had used his focus out over the seas. For there were other men standing near him, men who could have used that distraction to their advantage. Perhaps an attack on him at that moment might have been premature. As yet, there was no outward sign that a mutiny was about to occur. It was fortunate that the king had given him the names of the traitors who had intermixed with his own men. So far, those men seemed content to wait for some kind of signal.

Then a horn sounded in two shrill tones, Kelric knew the signal was called. He was prepared. Nothing happened. No one standing on the East tower seemed phased at all by the sound. Behind and below them, there was a ruckus in the bailey grounds. Men defended and squashed an attack there. Then there was a motion on the North tower where Lord Richard and Prince Bearand were taking charge of the attack occurring there. Kelric dare not break his attention on the men around him to see how the heirs of Laas and Ratharkin faired. He could sense Brecon's tension with concern for his son but he too did not release the focus he held on the men on the tower standing beside him. Kelric sensed Baron Du Chantal's tight shields as the man found an excuse to stand close. Yet the Duke of Corwyn could not be the one to make the first move. In King Kelson's reign, treason had to be a physical act in order to be punishable by death. He had to wait for Baron du Chantal to act.

The sounds of the first volley of arrows drowned out all other signs of suppressed mutiny. Kelric was secure that his men had done their job well. What mattered most was the four rebels at his back. Were they going to attack knowing that the rest of their men had failed. If they didn't attack could Brecon arrest these men on hearsay alone from Feyd's letter? They could easily claim they were innocent and falsely accused. They could claim they knew nothing of their subordinates actions to attack the leaders of the Laas garrison.   And so it seemed more and more as the battering ram inched its way up the causeway that maybe the suspicions against Baron du Chantal and his men were falsely claimed.

Time seemed to inch by slowly. The defenders of Laas did little damage to the slowly approaching battering ram.  The rebels had shielded it well. Like a turtle encased in his shell, it inched ever closer up the causeway.

It was Brecon Ramsey who first broke the tension on the East tower. He had clearly been in Rapport with his son. "Something is wrong on the barbican. The portcullis gate is rising! We need to stop it!" Brecon blurted out, anxious to protect his home.  He bent over a Merlon to look down at the main gate. Kelric cursed at the duke's break in concentration. This was the opportunity Chantal had been waiting for. Two men leapt on the Duke of Laas with daggers drawn. Six more men leapt at the backs of Rory and Kelric, shortening Kelric's mental warning to his men on the levle below.  Even Baron Sieur II de Vali at Kelric's side was targeted by the rebels. The attack started with deadly intent and escalated to a violent scuffle. The chaos was intense as guards poured up the steps. The fights ending was abrupt.  Eight rebels were pinned to the stone floor. They were disarmed and trussed up, abusively, by the dozen loyal men of Corwyn.

The fight over, Kelric made a quick assessment of  the men on the tower. Brecon had taken the worst of it with a blow to the head. With the help of his captain he was finding his feet, his eyes were filled with apology as he looked up at Kelric. The Duke of Corwyn nodded, grateful that Brecon had not taken serious harm.  Assured that the eight rebel men were confined, Kelric let out a breath slowly. "I am disappointed in you!" he addressed Baron Chantal, he was the only rebel still standing. "For a moment there, I had half-hoped that you had changed your loyalty back to your king. I had hoped that you could see the rebellion for the failure that it is! You have not heard from your grand duke in days. Why do you think that is? Didn't you wonder? Perhaps you have gotten orders from his minions, but not from the man himself. Isn't that right?"

Kelric paused before Chantal, feeling the strength of the man's shields even without the effort to look for them. "You want to reach him now? Give it a try? You can't, can you?" Kelric saw the man's eyes unfocus. At a nod, Baron Sieur de Valli punched Chantal in the midriff, doubling the man over and breaking his concentration. "I didn't say for you to try for Valerian's Deryni hounds,"  Kelric ordered. He looked around the tower disgusted by what he saw. "Remove these men to the dungeons. We will deal with their treason when we have won this battle." 

The guards forcefully moved the rebels down the tower stairs. "Leave Chantal, I want him to see the full of Valerian's loss. He will lose this siege," he said directly to Chantal. "After what he did to my brother, and what my brother did to him in return,  I can happily prophesize that your Queen's suitor will not prevail. You can not reach him because the man's powers have been castrated. He thinks no one has noticed, but without his powers, he has lost his ability to terrorize.  I intend to hold him and his siege below us, at the edge of the cliff until such time as the Crown Prince of Gwynedd comes behind him and cuts him and his Mearan traitors down."

"He will take your precious city long before that happens," Chantal boasted, causing the dagger held at his neck to draw blood from his struggle.

"Keep that up and you won't learn the fullness of your lose," Sieur de Valle snarled at the prisoner, daring the man to try anything, anything at all.

Seiur wasn't the only one prepared for more of Chantal's treachery. Rory wasn't Deryni but he held his sword at the ready. And Brecon, now back on his feet, employed his Deryni powers to block out that which Chantal might mentally attempt. In the next instant Duke Kelric had a sensation that he would regret his prideful boost. Then it happened. A great crack of metal slammed against the gates of Laas

Kelric sprinted to the tower merlons, he looked down at the gates and sew two dead guards  "Khadasha!" the battering ram was under the gate tower.  Once again the ram was deployed to bash the gates causing a horrendous bang.  Brecon shouted orders at his captain to get that portcullis down. The captain ran three steps down the steps,  only to stop suddenly. He fell to his knees, followed by a slow tumble head long down the stairs.

((17:46 <Laurna> encounter: Tagart has mastery at throwing daggers. He has five in all. He is standing on the tower stair where no one has seen him. His targets are the captain of the guard whom he will take at close quarters without a roll, then Kelric, Rory, Brecon and Baron Sieur II de Vali. Shall we roll.
17:47 <Laurna> !roll 3d6  17:47 <•derynibot> 3, 2, 6 == 11 Kelric hit
17:47 <Laurna> !roll 3d6  17:47 <•derynibot> 5, 2, 2 == 9   Rory hit
17:47 <Laurna> !roll 3d6  17:47 <•derynibot> 4, 2, 1 == 7   Brecon missed
17:47 <Laurna> !roll 3d6  17:47 <•derynibot> 4, 4, 3 == 11  Baron Sieur missed
17:47 <Laurna> Two of four are a hit. ))

Daggers flew through the air far faster than the first two targets could dodge. The duke of Corwyn's shoulder burned in intense pain as the force of the projectile slammed into him and knocked him back into the crenelated stone wall. His fingers scratched at the stone to keep himself from falling passed the opening. The Duke of Ratharkin fell to his knees beside him, a horrified look of concern for Kelric as Rory grabbed Kelric's tunic and forced him down to the tower floor beside where he knelt.  Rory's hand brushed the throwing dagger protruded from the braces over his own shoulder and cringed. Brecon and Sieur had an instant more warning. They dodged from the double edged blades which seemed to skimmed passed their heads.

This distraction was all Chantal needed to Mind Blast the man who held him tight.

***

The youngest boy from the Chantal estate, the one Chantal had brought along only because the boy's mother had begged it of him, grabbed the baron's hand and dragged him down the tower stairs. At the body of the fallen captain, Chantal gathered his wits and grabbed the captain's sword arming himself. They descended the rest of the steps, hearing the footsteps of those pursuing them, but the chaos Tagart had left behind had slowed the response of those above, giving them a good lead. At the empty halls of the main keep Tagart would turn right, but Chantal pulled the boy left instead. "To the chapel," he told the boy. "We will escape through there."

Tagart had no idea what his liege lord meant to do. He dreaded leaving his uncle behind and twice he thought to break free of the Baron and to find the large man. But Chantal's hand was on his wrist now and was propelling him along, even forcing him in front of the baron's body whenever they turned a corner. At last they stood in the small chapel behind the altar stone. "This will all be over in a second," Chantal  explained. Then his hand was on Tagart's head and in a wave to nausea and blackness, they were both suddenly not in the chapel anymore.

***
((20:06 <Laurna> Rory Save test 20:07 <Laurna> !roll 2d6 20:07 <•derynibot> 1, 5 == 6 20:07 <Laurna> good
20:07 <Laurna> Kelric Save test 20:07 <Laurna> !roll 2d6 20:07 <•derynibot> 1, 3 == 4 20:07 <Laurna> not so good))

Prince Rory pulled the offending dagger out from his right shoulder armature. After his injury days before, his duchess had insisted that he wear an extra covering of armor over the newly healed shoulder. He had argued with her, saying it would hinder his movement if it came to hand-to-hand fighting.  She had argued that Prince Nigel, the man who had been not just his father but his mentor throughout his youth, would have not allowed such a lame excuse. Now, he was grateful she had shamed him into wearing it. If only Kelric had been given that same advice. For indeed the thrown dagger had done no harm to him, but the one protruding from the Duke of Corwyn's shoulder was seen to have drawn blood, a good deal of blood. 

"Condemned those Mearan's to eternal perdition!" Rory cursed. "Kelric, wake up! I need you to heal yourself when I pull forth this dagger."

The Duke of Cowyn's eyes fluttered open, he turned to move but he fell back out of breath. He managed a weak smile. "Here I had sworn I would not make the same mistakes as my father. Seems I underestimated our enemy, just as he did."

Rory yelled behind him, "Get me that apprentice Healer!" Then he turned back to his friend. "Aye, we all did. Don't compare this to the Torenthi war. Think back on a day before you were born. The day our king was crowned. I was there. I saw your father wounded by a dagger, then I saw him standing protective next to our king as the archbishop placed the crown upon his head. You are like your father, be like him, do what he did in that moment of crisis."

"He had help from cousin Duncan," Kelric managed to say.

"And so will you. Use my energy until the man can arrive." Rory placed one hand over his friend's forehead and with the other he grasped Kelric's hand, which he then placed on the shoulder next to the offending dagger. They just needed more time.

The siege was at its full height.  The pounding on the gates was intense. Soon the gates would fail.

"Someone, get that Healer up here!"

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on August 25, 2019, 06:35:07 AM
It was mid afternoon and Lord Jaxom was bored. He disliked this guard duty which he felt was beneath him and certainly did not contribute anything to advancing him in the graces of Earl Brendan. He and Lord Giles were assigned again to the portal room to watch for any arrivals. He did not expect any. Nothing had happened as yet, and he considered it unlikely that anything was going to happen so far from the site of the action around Laas.  He wanted more than anything to rejoin Prince Javan's army as it marched to the relief of Laas. He shifted to find a slightly more comfortable position on the stool he was occupying.. Giles was standing on the other side of the room, across  the portal stone from Jaxom, leaning against the wall. Both men wore swords but neither had his weapon drawn. Jaxom sighed and closed his eyes.

Jaxom was dreaming of meeting the enemy and overcoming rebel Mearans with his superior swordsmanship when he heard an exclamation from the direction of the portal. "Who the devil are you and what are you doing at my manor. You are not one of my garrison!" Jaxom opened his eyes to see two men standing on the portal stone. He had not seen either of them before. Giles had straightened up and drawn his sword, although he was not yet threatening the men with it.

"I was assigned to guard this portal." Giles answered

"By whom? Where is my seneschal?  I need to know who you are and who placed you here!" The man on the portal looked both angry and dangerous. He was above middle height, of stocky build with dark hair and eyes. Although he was dressed as a nobleman, he appeared disheveled and his tunic had a rent in it as from a sword thrust. He showed no sign of injury but appeared to have been in a fight. He held his sword in a threatening manner.

The other man on the portal had made no move since their arrival. He was tall and slim with a shock of curly brown hair. Giles realized that he was barely more than a boy, perhaps 15 or 16 years old. He appeared stunned at finding himself standing on a portal facing a man with a drawn sword.

As Giles stared at the older man, he realised that he matched the description given them of the Baron du Chantal, a rebel and traitor. "In the name of the king, drop your sword and step off that portal!" Giles demanded. Jaxom edged forward toward the portal. The men on the stone did not see him as he was behind them, and they were focused on Giles. He drew near to those men, prepared to help .

Chantal realised instantly that his manor must have been taken and was now controlled by the king's men.The rebel hesitated briefly. Jaxom seized the younger man, wrapping his arms around his body and dragging him from the portal. The older rebel then lunged forward, aiming his sword at Giles' heart. Giles quickly sidestepped and thrust his own sword toward the rebel's side. Due to his momentum, it was a glancing blow which drew blood but did not penetrate deeply as intended. Quickly the rebel spun around and aimed a second thrust at Giles' throat. Giles quickly parried the thrust and tried to trap his opponent's sword with his own. For a moment, they stood toe to toe, each straining to overcome the other. Suddenly Giles sprang back, disengaging and causing the rebel to lose his balance and stumble forward. He quickly regained his balance, and the two men circled each other like a pair of angry cats each seeking a weakness in the other.

Abruptly the rebel spun and shoved Jaxom, causing him to fall. At the same moment he seized the boy and yanked him to his feet. He wrapped one arm around the boy's body and held his sword to his throat, using him as a shield. "Back off unless you wish to be held responsible for this boy's death!"

Giles hesitated, still holding his sword in a position to strike or parry but he made no move. Jaxom climbed to his feet drawing his sword but unable to get behind the baron who kept shifting cautiously keeping the boy's body between the guards and himself. He was edging toward the door. If he could break out of this room and reach the cellar, they could  escape by the secret entrance.  There were others nearby who would shelter him.

Suddenly the boy went limp, dragging Chantal almost to the floor with him. The two guards leapt forward. Jaxom grabbed the rebel's sword arm, forcing it upward and struggling to twist the sword away from him. In this struggle, Jaxom dropped his own sword as he tried to seize the rebel's weapon. Giles pulled the boy away from the struggling men, pushing him onto a corner. "Stay there and don't move!" he commanded.

The rebel abruptly twisted out of Jaxom's grip and aimed a downward stroke at Jaxom's neck. Giles thrust his sword into the path of the rebel's strike and foiled it. He tripped the baron, who fell, and then stepped on his wrist, pinning it to the floor. Jaxom grabbed the sword that had fallen from the baron's suddenly numb fingers.

The boy had not moved from the corner where Giles had shoved him. He stood there, shaking and breathing hard.

The door burst open and two of Earl Brendan's men rushed into the room with drawn swords, having heard the noise of the fight. "What's going on here?" one of the men demanded.

Jaxom answered. "These two men came through the portal. When told to drop the sword he was holding and step off the portal, the older man attacked Sir Giles. We fought and he has now been subdued. The boy came through with the baron but was not armed. We need to notify Earl Brendan of what has occurred. That man fits the description of Baron du Chantal, the rebel we have been seeking. They will have come from Laas. The Earl will be anxious to question them."   

The earl's men bound the two prisoners' hands behind them and lifted the baron roughly to his feet. They started toward the door followed by Giles and Jaxom. "Wait." Jaxom turned to Giles. "Someone will have to remain on guard here in case others try to escape using the portal. And one of us will have to accompany the prisoners to the earl to tell him what has happened here. Sir Giles, will you remain here by the portal until I can reach the earl and ask that someone be sent to relieve you? One of these men will remain with you. "

"Aye." Giles agreed seating himself on the stool Jaxom had occupied earlier. "I do ask that you send relief as soon as you can". Jaxom gestured to one of the guards to remain in the portal room, then left the room with the other guard and the two prisoners.

They hustled the two prisoners to the withdrawing room where the Earl of Marley sat looking at some maps and other papers. He looked up as Jaxom and the guard pushed their prisoners into the room.  "Who are these men?" he asked.

Jaxom and the guard bowed to the earl. As he spoke he forced the prisoners to their knees.
"These two men came through the portal. One of them fits the description of Baron du Chantal, the rebel who had been described to us. When ordered to drop his sword and step off the portal, he attacked Sir Giles." Jaxom briefly described the fight which had led to disarming and capturing the rebel. "The baron was wounded in the fight and needs to have his injury tended."

"What of the other prisoner?" Brendan studied the boy who appeared to be frightened but unharmed.

Jaxom replied. "He came through the portal with the baron but was unarmed and seemed to be confused. The man tried to use him as a shield to get out of the portal room and escape the manor, but the boy suddenly went limp, causing the baron to stumble and nearly fall, giving us a chance to overcome him."

" Where did you come from and what was your purpose in using the portal?" Brendan studied the two intently.

"We were escaping from the battle at Laas..." the boy began but the baron shouted at him.
"Be silent! Answer none of their questions." The boy fell silent.

"Put them in separate cells in the dungeons. We'll give them a little time to consider their options. They can answer my questions here or they can be escorted to Rhemuth to answer the king's questions. I am sure His Majesty will be quite anxious to confront the traitor who swore fealty to him then violated his oath." Brendan looked grim as he addressed the baron. "You know the penalty for treason.  Mercy will not be easily come by. Take them away."  The guards led the two prisoners away. Jaxom remained behind.

Brendan indicated that Jaxom should be seated in a chair. " Tell me more of what happened in the portal room. You have done well in capturing the two rebels. Is Sir Giles unharmed?"

"Yes, my lord." Jaxom replied." He remained in the portal room with another of your men to secure it should any others arrive. He has asked to be relieved as soon as it is practicable."

Brendan sent his squire to summon one of his lieutenants to assign new guards to the portal. Then he turned his attention to Jaxom, seeking to obtain more details about what had transpired when the rebels appeared on the portal.

Jaxom began to relate the happenings, as usual focusing on himself and his contributions to the outcome of the fight. Then he looked up and met the earl's eyes as he listened attentively. And Jaxom remembered what Brendan had said to him in Droghera.  /"a good commander always gives credit where credit is due to those who have helped him"/  Boasting would surely not advance him in the earl's good graces. He hesitated, then continued his report. "It was Sir Giles who first engaged the rebel. He was the more alert when they appeared. While he fought the baron, I secured the boy. But Chantal was able to cause me to fall and seize the boy to use as a shield. It was the boy's action in going limp that threw him off balance and allowed me to grab his sword and attempt to wrestle it away from him. He managed to get his sword free of my grasp and attempted to strike at my throat. Giles blocked the blow, and between us we secured both rebels just as two more of your men rushed into the room. I am not sure whether the boy truly fainted or used that ploy to try to escape. But it did allow us to regain an advantage in the fight."

Brendan was silent for a moment, then spoke. "You have both done well. Giles is being relieved as we speak, and you are both excused from further duty tonight. Get some food and rest as you may. Be prepared to be called upon again. If Laas is seeing action, then we may have others coming through that Portal. Meanwhile I will speak with Giles.  I am pleased with what you have done, and I will  be informing his Majesty of the capture of these rebels,

Jaxom bowed deeply to the earl and left the room. Brendan was thoughtful as he watched the young lord go. He was certain that Jaxom's report had not been presented as originally intended. He had noted the young lord's hesitation. He had altered it and had given well deserved credit to Sir Giles who, whether Jaxom realized it or not, had probably saved his life.  But he had not tried to hog the credit and had been more honest in his account of the fight than Brendan would have expected. Maybe there was hope for him yet.


Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on August 25, 2019, 01:02:18 PM
The Earl of Kierney, Sir Duncan Michael McLain, surveyed the men in the courtyard of Laas Castle.  They had done everything they could think of to prepare for Grand Duke Valerian's onslaught when it came.  Baron Jass strolled among the men, seeming one of their number while at the same time readily acknowledged as one of their commanders. There was a note of tension among the men, similar to a bow string drawn taunt and waiting for release.

The two sharp blasts from a horn outside the gates startled them all, but men gripped sword hilts and looked to the walls for confirmation the assault had begun.  It was at that moment Jass realized there were no men on the barbican to be seen.

"What treachery is this?" he called to Duncan Michael. 

Duncan Michael was about to reply when he felt a faint tremor under his feet.  "The portcullis is being raised!"  Duncan Michael recognized his cousin's mind in his own, mixed with horror and pain.  Kelric was injured!  "You must stop this!"

Duncan Michael wasted no time with questions.  "Jass, you two, with me!"  Duncan Michael raced toward the castle walls and once he reached them, mounted the steps to the guardroom two at a time.

Jass was right at his heels, his sword drawn.  Two men-at arms followed. They burst into the guardroom to find a huge man with the portcullis winch in his hand, drawn up to the point it could be latched secure to hold the portcullis open.

"Lower the gate!" Duncan Michael commanded.  "Do you know what treason you do?"

Tage stopped winding the winch.  "This will be a new day for Meara and our queen!"  he shouted.

"You fool"  Jass said.  "You will die where you stand!"

"But Meara will be free!" Tage roared back. 

Jass leveled his sword at the big man, who stood firm with the winch lever in his hand, the chain still not secured. 

Duncan Michael glanced out the guardroom window as the battering ram landed another solid blow against the gates of Laas.  "Wait a moment," he said.

"What?  Are you daft?" Jass asked aghast.

"Let the last of the men enter through; then we'll lower the portcullis and trap all these rebels within!" Duncan Michael replied.  "On my signal,"  he watched as the last of the ram cleared the portcullis.  "NOW!"

"Lower the portcullis!" Jass commanded. 

"I will not!" Tage said with a stubborn shake of his head while reaching out to lock the chain into place.

Jass drove his sword through Tage's chest, straight into his heart.  Tage shuddered but did not drop his arm holding the winch lever.  The guard beside Jass sliced deep with his sword into Tage's shoulder, and Tage's arm went numb.  His hand released the lever, and the portcullis fell into place with a resounding crash.  Tage fell backwards against the guardroom wall.

"Took out three rebels when it hit,"  Duncan Michael said.   The battering ram and the men controlling it were now trapped between the portcullis and the castle gate.

"The cauldrons!"  Jass said urgently. 

Duncan Michael nodded.  "You," he said to the man who had sliced Tage's shoulder.  "Man the kill holes.  Dump all we've got through them."  He waved an arm toward Jass and the other remaining man.  "To the cauldrons!"

The three men ran up the remaining stairs to the cauldrons that bubbled above the machicolations.  They needed another man to tip the heavy cauldrons, but three would have to do.

Duncan Michael ran toward the cauldron nearest him, followed by the remaining man-at-arms.  Together they released the chain and lifted the lever below the simmering cauldron.  The melted pitched poured onto the rebels below.

Jass struggled with the second cauldron.  Damn it was heavy!  The man-at-arms hurried to his side, and even with his added strength, they were barely able to force the lever to turn the cauldron and pour the pitch down the hole.

They did not expect the dark mass that also flowed from the cauldron.  For a moment it seemed to stick in the machicolation, but the pitch behind it forced it through.  As it plummeted toward the rebels below, it seemed to spread out, until Jass recognized legs, coated in pitch, streaming behind it.

"Sweet Jesu!" Jass muttered as he realized it was a man coated in pitch.

Duncan Michael crossed himself as the mass took out two more rebels when it struck the ground.  "God rest his soul."

In the space between the portcullis and the gate, men were screaming as the scalding pitch burnt through clothing, leather and skin.  Some of the rebels dove beneath the ram and it's protective hides, but there was no escape.  The pitch oozed beneath the ram, and additional burning sand and metal came down through the kill holes.  Those that tried to run had nowhere to go, and the archers picked them off one by one.

As Duncan Michael and Jass watched the scene below them they heard a crash, and the walls trembled.  Grand Duke Valerian had pulled his trebuchet into position and the first projectile had struck the castle wall.

***

Grand Duke Valerian cursed loudly in Torenthi.  His battering ram was now trapped between the portcullis and the castle gates and was stopped dead.  He had launched the assault with his trebuchet, but the castle was too far above them for the slings to clear the barbicons with their deadly payloads and terrorize the people within.  Given time, they might eventually bring down the walls with a constant assault, but ....

"Your Grace!"  The rider charged into the encampment and threw himself off of his horse to fall on his knees before Valerian.  "Prince Javan and the army of Gwynedd are less than two hours away!"

Valerian had run out of time.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on August 26, 2019, 03:42:31 PM
Up in the crows' nest of the hindermost of the Tolan fleet the watchman squinted into the rising sun as the ships came into view. He could not make out the device on the pennant of the flagship but he did not need to. These could only be the Cassani ships he had been bidden to watch for. His belly contracted and he hardly drew breath until the ships ahead of him had rounded the headland and no shout had come. Good, it seemed that he was the one with the news that Captain Nikloi would need to hear, would maybe reward richly.

Except that he was not going to give it. After the nightmare of Loch Mhor, from which somehow he had escaped unscathed, he had been roughly pushed aboard this undamaged vessel and orders given to set sail, leaving the dying and injured behind. Men he had served with, men whom he had eaten with, men whose families he knew. If he went to the bottom of the sea so be it; better to fall into the hands of God, than, living, be at the mercy of such masters. Who was it the men of Gwynedd prayed to? Somewhere from the dregs of memory he dredged up a name Blessed Saint Camber, come to the aid of your people. May they come upon us unawares again in the dark
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on September 01, 2019, 04:06:56 PM
The Grand Duke stared at the man on his knees before him. "Are you certain? Exactly how far away are they? How fast are they moving?"

"I have seen their banners, colors, and shields. They are men of Gwynedd, Carthmoor, and Cassan in large numbers. They are not more than 10-15 miles to our rear. They are moving steadily and will certainly reach our rear lines within two hours. They will quickly surround us."

One of his captains dared to speak. "Your Grace, the storm is moving on shore. If you step outside the tent, you will feel the winds increasing and rain being driven by the wind. Our men have little or no shelter from the storm."

Surprisingly, the Grand Duke did not upbraid the man as they might have expected.  Though his eyes glinted with anger and his face flushed red, he did not issue any rebuke. Instead he paced the tent, silent except for the sound of his boots. This was no time for taking any of his men to task. He had to consider his options if he was to be able to salvage anything from what was quickly becoming a disaster for his forces. The fleet, whatever had happened to it, had not appeared so those reinforcements were lost to him. 

It appeared that Chantal's men had been unable to create the kind of confusion among the forces inside the walls that he had hoped for. Not only had the gates of the city withstood the blows of the ram, the ram and the men with it had become trapped between the gates and the portcullis. His men had cheered when the portcullis had begun to rise, opening the entrance to the city and allowing the ram to batter the gates. But it had no sooner reached the top than it had slammed down again, trapping the ram and many men. He had heard their screams as they were attacked by the defenders from the walls.

His Deryni knights had been unable to reach Chantal since the attack order had been sent. He had no idea whether any of the dukes had been injured or killed or what had become of Chantal and his men.

Considering all of these factors, it appeared  his best course of action would be  to try to withdraw from Laas and escape with as much of his army as possible before the arrival of Javan and his army and the loss of those resources he had left. He had studied the maps of Laas and its surroundings carefully while planning his attack and he saw a possible escape route which might allow him to save a large number of his fighting men.  If they could move quickly to the north and east away from Lass and reach Castleroo, he had a good chance to achieve his goal.

Between Laas and Castleroo the countryside  was rolling with low hills but no mountains. The land gradually flattened as it reached the sea. His army could move rapidly , threading a course between low hills in a more or less straight line parallel to the coast to Castleroo which stood on a point at the western end of the entrance to the Bay of Kilarden. This town was a stronghold for Mearan rebels and sympathizers.  It bred fierce fighters and had in the past sent many soldiers to serve the cause of independence. It was a fortified town with strong walls and had in the past withstood attacks both by land and sea.  It was the most favorable location to set up a defense against the Gwyneddan army if they chose to pursue him as he was sure they would.

Valerian unrolled one of his maps and traced the route his units should take toward Castleroo.  "The ram and the men manning it are lost to us. Nor can we move the Trebuchet. We must move as rapidly as possible and will leave behind anything that would slow us down. That includes the wounded. Order those who cannot accompany us to man the trebuchet and defend it to the last man. Tell them their sacrifices are for their queen, and she will see them given a hero's honor when we have won back this land.'

'Only those who are uninjured and able to move quickly will go with us. The storm may help by masking our movements from the arriving troops. Pass the word to the commanders. Muster your men and move out immediately".

He called his two Deryni knights to his side. "You have both seen me do weather workings. I trust that you recall the spell and how it is cast?"

Both knights looked at each other nervously. As an agreement passed between them they both nodded to their liege lord. "Yes, Your grace."

"There is to be no hesitation between you. I need you to do this in tandem. This storm around us is uncanny, I can not feel the power from whence it comes-- Damn that Morgan!" Valerian took a shaking deep breath. "It doesn't matter who started it. I want you to use it. Use the wind that is building and build it stronger, make it colder. Send it away from the ocean, away from the bay. Send it east, just fifteen miles is all I need. Send lightning and hail  the size of my fist, send an ice storm to smash that be-damned army of the Haldane's to smithereens. That will give us the time we need to escape."

As he wrapped himself in his cloak and prepared to mount his destrier, he spoke to the two knights. "You will remain here to complete the weather working as I have ordered. I am leaving horses for you. As soon as you have succeeded, ride to rejoin me and the army." . As he exited the tent and pulled himself up into the saddle, the wind driven rain hit his exposed skin like tiny needles. He was taking a gamble that his men could slip away from the approaching army and out march them to reach Castleroo  before Javan realised what was happening and could take up pursuit.

As he paused to watch his men moving out, he could hear the cries of the wounded but made no response. He prodded his horse with his spurs and turned toward the northeast to skirt Laas and move toward their refuge.



Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on September 02, 2019, 01:30:51 PM

Brecon, Duke of Laas, stood on the East tower half in the present and half in trance. He used Rapport with the dozen or so Deryni under his command to receive their reports and to give his orders. They were at the height of the siege. Earlier, he had made the mistake of letting his emotions break his control. That mistake had caused injury to the Duke of Corwyn, he dare not let his concentration break again. In the aftermath of the mutiny, Brecon took back his control. This was his home, these were his family and his people. He reasserted his calm and issued the orders that were needed. His calm in Rapport influenced the men with whom he shared contract. His men made their reports in succinct fashion and they followed his orders without question.

Of the mutineers, only the guards on the gate had failed to capture their foe. Brecon would not fully learn the details of that matter until the Earl of Kierney could return Rapport, but he was confident in McLain, who had mustered men to take back the gate house.  It was a great relief to hear the portcullis slamming down and to see a halt on the causeway of the advancing enemy. Their battering ram made one last bash against the gates before it ceased to be a threat. Howls of death echoed from under the gate house; the enemy was paying dearly for their failed attack.

A call of Rapport from his son drew Brecon's attention out onto the field. A trebuchet had been pulled into place. A netted ball of mixed rocks and oil bags was set aflame just as the great arm of the Trebuchet was freed. The sling threw the missile mass with great force upon the city. Brecon calculated the trajectory. Would it clear the wall? If it did it would set the roof of the stables on fire? He held his breath, as did every man on the wall.  The great flaming mass erupted against the wall... at only mid-height. Brecon could breathe again. If the rebels could not catapult fire and boulders over the walls, then they could do little damage in the short time he knew that they had. The walls would hold against days of bombardment. He ordered his son to bypass the trebuchet for now and to concentrate their arrows on the men with ladders attacking the causeway to rescue their lost battering ram.

A Rapport came from the out-of-breath Earl of Keirney. He now could be seen standing atop the barbican. The cauldron pots had already been turned over, releasing their deadly protection. Brecon almost let a smile passed his lips at the news of the earl's success. But then he chanced a look behind him to see how the Duke of Corwyn fared. His Grace was still alive, that much he gleaned, for now. But the man was very still, his eyes closed against the world, Rory bent over him, hands upon the dagger still not removed. 

"Richelle," Brecon contacted his wife, whom he knew was down in the infirmary keeping vigilant watch for anything that he might need. She had not gone to the lower caverns as he had wanted her to. As the siege was progressing in favor of the city, Brecon prayed that she would not need to go there anytime soon. Richelle, do you hear me?

Aye, your grace, answered the attentive mind of his wife.

We are holding steady as we had predicted. Alas, it was not predicted that Duke Kelric would be wounded. Gather your ladies around you and make contact with Prince Javan. Can you do that for me? I need to know if they are still a full day out, or if they have managed to march through the night and have gotten themselves much closer. Javan needs to know how Valerian's army is placed on the field He sent his wife full images and placements of the rebels below his walls. Images that she could pass on with accuracy to the prince. Also, I know they have Healers with them. Tell him that I fear we will need them.

I sent the apprentice Healer to the tower as soon as we heard he was needed. Richelle responded urgently. He should be there at any moment. Should I come too?

No, they are getting close enough to fire arrows over the walls. It is too dangerous. I have men putting out fires as the arrows land. Stay inside and say safe for now. And find for me where Prince Javan is.

Aye, husband, I will contact you as soon as I have a word from him

As he closed his Rapport with his beloved wife, he felt the first drops of rain upon his face.  He turned to look over the ocean to see the clouds moving over the point of land and to see the growing winds dashing the waves over the natural breakwater of stones at the sea side of the bay. Rain had started in earnest when the apprentice Healer from the scola stepped onto the tower outlook. Brecon pointed him to Rory, and Rory called him to kneel at the Duke of Corwyn's side. Brecon said a word of prayer to Saint Camber that Kelric would have his Healing.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on September 06, 2019, 03:27:07 PM
They had been riding for several hours when Darcy held up his hand to signal a halt.  He turned his horse to the right, leaving the road and forcing his way through some bushes. Once through the bushes, he came out into a lovely glade shaded by trees, with soft green grass underfoot and the sound of water bubbling nearby. This was a perfect spot to stop, rest and water the horses, and refresh the riders. He called to the others to follow him. Aliset followed first, then Lady Fiona and Father Columcil. Last came Sir Washburn who paused to give a last careful look up and down the road before he followed the others.

"What a lovely place" exclaimed Lady Aliset as she looked around.

"We will rest here and refresh both our mounts and ourselves." replied Darcy. He dismounted and led his horse to the nearby stream they could hear flowing by. The water was cold, clear, and refreshing. Sigrun lowered her head to drink thirstily. Darcy turned to assist Aliset to dismount and also led her horse to the stream.

The others followed suit, dismounting and leading their horses to drink from the stream. When the horses had drunk their fill, they were tethered loosely to allow them to graze while their riders also refreshed themselves. After long drinks of the sweet, cold water, they sought comfortable places in the soft grass and relaxed, leaning against tree trunks or warm rocks. They unpacked food from their saddlebags and sat quietly eating the bread, cheese and meat the manor cook had prepared.for their trip.

Darcy, Aliset, and Fiona were close to each other talking quietly. The good Father  had moved a little apart to perform his noon devotions. Once he was finished, he looked around at his companions. He noted that Wash was sitting apart, his back against a large tree trunk. eating his rations. Shadow Dancer grazed nearby. He carried his own portion over to stand in front of the young man. "Min if ah sit beside ye. Ye look lak ye cuid use a bit o company."

Wash shifted a little to one side and patted the grass beside him. Father Columcil seated himself on the grass near Wash, unpacked his own food and began to eat. Wash sat quietly, staring out into the distance as if his thoughts were far away.  "A penny fur yer thooghts," the priest turned to face him. "will ye nae telt me whit is trooblin' ye?"

Wash was silent for a few moments, then he replied. ""Father, I trust you, so I will tell you that my memories are causing me conflict.  At least some, the ones filled with misery, they contradict others. Yet all of them seem so real. They happened!" Wash hesitated a moment. "I think they happened." he finally said uncertainly.  "If my captor used his powers to replace  my memories to help the rebel cause, then how can I act on what I think is right? I can't, because I don't know what is true and what is not.  How can I trust myself not to lash out when the false memories are triggered?  So far, I have been doing my best to live in the moment, the here and the now,  trying to not think of the past at all. But these memories are pervasive, especially the ones that I don't ever recall seeing before.  I know there are memories missing, lost in a mist I can't penetrate, perhaps lost forever. I don't know how to sort them out...."

Columcil studied the young man beside him, trying to think how he could help him. How could he restore to him at least one of his precious memories without activating the beast that guarded them and tried to keep them hidden?  "Ye'll min a bit o' whit ah tauld ye o' whit ah saw durin' our rapport. Ah saw visions Ah kin are false. That was true of some o'  whit  Ah saw aboot hoo yer folk treated ye  We will fin' a way tae defeat it an find yer real memories."

Wash studied the priest intently and nodded.

Columcil continued. "Twill tak' mair time an' resoorces than we hae noo tae sort this oot. But Ah did promise tae teel ye who fairst said th' words aboot holdin' fear close an nae become complacent. Th' one who tauld it tae me was Bishop Duncan when I was in seminary, an he was cousin tae th' man who said it first tae ye, Alaric Morgan, yer faither."

"But when did he say it to me and why? I must have been very young. He died when I was only five so I have no real memories of him. I only know what others have told me" Wash reached out to grasp Columcil's arm as though to wrench from him more knowledge of this memory. "Why can I not find this memory? Show me what you saw!"

Columcil called on his healing power to soothe Wash. "Th' memory micht still be thaur buried deep. But Ah am afeared if Ah try tae show it tae ye in Rapport, we will rouse th' beast tha' guards it an risk mair damage. We will fin' a way tae defeat it, Ah promise ye. But believe me when Ah teel ye yer Da loved ye deeply."

Wash released Columcil's arm and fell back against the tree, breathing deeply.  Finally, he sat up. "There is sense in what you say. I would not have you risk another encounter with that beast to help me. But I wish I had more knowledge that didn't rely on the memories of others."

Just then, Darcy stood up, stretched and reached for Sigrund's reins. "We'd best be on our way if we are to find a place to rest tonight." He assisted Aliset to mount and then swung up into his saddle. Columcil hurried forward to help Fiona to mount then hoisted himself up onto his horse. The group moved out onto the road, following Darcy, Aliset beside him, Fiona followed Aliset and Washburn, on Shadow, had resumed his place at the rear of the party.

Columcil fell back beside Wash as they moved forward. "Thar is a way tae learn mair now, ye hae th' means in yer grasp. His joornal in his ain words will surely help ye tae know heem better." With those words, the priest kneed his horse forward and resumed his place beside Lady Fiona.

As the party continued on its way, Wash considered Columcil's words and promised himself that at their next stop, he would take out the journal and begin reading it.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on September 08, 2019, 05:45:02 PM
So many people upon the road. As Darcy led his company through the heartland of Gwynedd, the road had become more and more congested with the common folk going about their daily lives. Huge numbers of women walked the sides of the road, carrying upon their backs everything from water jugs to bushels of long grass stalks that they would weave into matts and baskets. Many too had babes wrapped in shawls upon their chests. Women had always been the consummate keeper of the home, and it struck Wash that in a time when few strong able bodied men remained to work the land, being as they had been conscripted to support the king's forces, it was the women who took charge of all the chores that could not wait for men's war to be done.

In much the same way, Wash could not discharge his duty to guard over his companions as they traveled. He could not take the leisurely time to read his father's journal as he would like to have done as they rode. The congestion upon the road got worse as they neared each village. It seemed that many parishioners were taking a pilgrimage in the direction of Valoret. Whether they traveled by foot, by horse, or by carriage, they seemed to pack each village and town to overflowing. It surprised Wash to learn that all these men and women upon the road were not trying to escape the rebel uprising in the west, but instead were traveling east to give their last requards to a man who supported and often quietly and secretly guided the kingdom toward salvation. It seemed that if Bishop Arilan's funeral procession was not to cross the kingdom to come to them, then the people would cross the kingdom to go to him. That, more than any words and past memories, struck Wash as to how puissant Bishop Arilan's life had been.

At last a chance came to read his father's journal when Darcy had left them to wait on the outer edge of a village. Columcil had nodded that he would keep the watch. Wash took the journal out from his tunic. He purposely avoided the end of the journal, not yet ready to deal with how he fit into his father's life. Rather instead he opened the hand-written pages to somewhere in the first portion of the book. Better to learn who the man was before he was embittered toward his second son.

"Lord Rogier stood uneasily and turned to Kelson. "Are you challenging the findings of your lawful Council, Your highness?"
"Not at all," Kelson answered promptly. "I merely wish to reassure myself that your verdict was, indeed, secured through lawful means. Come, gentlemen, we waste precious time. How say you? Is Morgan, indeed, traitor and heretic? Nigel?"
**

Washburn took in a deep breath. What had he just stumbled upon? He read on as the royal council took a vote nearly split down the middle, yet ending in favor of condemning Alaric Morgan, that accursed Deryni heretic, of treason. The hand that wrote the words was tense, for the letters on this page were tight and abrupt, not flowing as could be seen in other portions of the journal. Perhaps that is why Washburn's eye had stopped here to start his reading. In fact the letters were uncharacteristically shaky as Washburn read the condemning words of Queen Jehana.

"... I say Morgan is guilty as charged, which brings your vote to six to five against him. Your precious Morgan is doomed, Kelson! What do you say to that?"*

Taken aback, Washburn thumbed back a page and realized his father had been arrested and had been bound and placed to stand as a convicted man before this royal council. The reason? Hate from the archbishop and the queen, fear of his race and his closeness to the king, these seemed to be the prevailing cause.  Passively, Alaric had allowed himself to be arrested, trusting in the prince who was his king to see him free. The conviction and the loyalty of a man to trust in his liege lord to keep him from a traitor's fate was not lost upon Wash.

My duty in this life has always been to see my prince, my king, safe from his enemies, by means which have been entrusted to me by the beloved man who once wore the crown, I must bring the son to the full potential required of Gwynedd's ruler-ship. Ability Brion's queen would deny in her own son. "To save his soul," she had said. Yet it is for his very soul and the soul of Gwynedd that I must prevail. Though it would condemn me and the blood of all Deryni, I needed to be free to do what needed to be done. I, Alaric Morgan, was about to commit myself to an act the likes of which I had never committed before. Thus I was readying myself when my prince eased his booted toe to the side, nudging my boot with his. I glanced at my prince, saw an almost imperceptible shake of his head, he had a plan. I would let him try.

Unable to look away from the pages, Washburn read about the coup of the boy king wrestling his power from that of his regents.

When the cathedral bells chime four, the king, no longer a boy in age nor in action, proclaimed himself fourteen years of age "...the coronation ceremony was scheduled for tomorrow. But I rule today!" Kelson proclaimed. Alaric must of been so proud, his words were large on the page as he wrote how King Kelson announced, "I hereby declare Lord Alaric Anthony Morgan, Duke of Cowryn and Lord general of the Royal Armies, innocent of the charges which have been set out against him!" With Morgan's own dagger the king cut the rope that bound his wrists and returned him his sword.

This was loyalty two-fold. The covenant between the Morgans and the Haldanes had proved over and over again to withstand all obstacles. His father trusted his king and his king did not let him down. Wash took in a deep breath, then why was this very same king not standing by Alaric's son? How had the years unraveled this loyalty and trust that had at one time been so tightly bound. Wash wanted nothing more than to present himself, even to prostrate himself, before his king, to reverse whatever it was he had done to lose such trust? Yet in this greatest need, Washburn Morgan was forbidden to approach Rhemuth, forbidden to approach the crown. His father had been accused of treason, and he had prevailed by the will of the king.  Could the son do no less?

Then suddenly Wash took in a great breath. Maybe the very reason that I am ill-received by the king, is of itself my doubt in the king's command. Does that doubt bring vindication for why the king is holding my loyalty of him in question? Wash asked himself. Taking in the full purpose of why he had read the passage he had read,  he finally conceded to the journal's wisdom.  As my father did, I must hold and trust that the man who wears the crown has a plan.


**Deryni Rising Chapter 5
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on September 10, 2019, 12:57:56 PM
"I'm sorry, my Lord, but we are full up,"  the innkeeper said to Darcy Cameron.  "There is not even space in the stable for you to bed down with your horses."  Darcy thought the man looked even more harried than the owner of the first inn he had inquired at.

As Darcy nodded and turned to leave, the innkeeper hesitated a moment and then added,  "There is an old manor down the road where you might find lodging for the night.  It's a bit farther, and the old lord is eccentric, but he's harmless enough and might have a room you can use."

'My thanks," Darcy replied and returned to his horse.  He mounted and rode to the outskirts of the town, where he had left his companions to rest while he searched for lodgings in the town.  As he approached, Father Columcil nodded greetings from where he stood keeping an eye on their surroundings.  Aliset and Fiona sat companionably on the grass, talking quietly.  Sir Washburn tucked the journal he had been leafing through into his saddle bag as Darcy approached.

"I believe I have underestimated the number of people who would be travelling to Bishop Arilan's funeral," Darcy said ruefully.

They had left Arx Fedei a little later than Darcy had planned, but he could not object to Father Columcil's suggestion that they all attend the morning mass.  Aliset had welcomed the suggestion with more enthusiasm than Darcy had expected, and if it helped her to deal with the news they had received of Oswald's death, he was happy to agree.

They had followed the road that led from the abbey to the Eirian River.  At this point the road turned north to follow the river. The road grew more crowded as each mile passed.   At the juncture of the Eirian and another tributary, a middle-sized town had been founded based on the trade flowing into the juncture of the two rivers.  Normally, there would be enough rooms at the two inns the town hosted for both traders and travellers, but with the numbers headed to Valoret for the bishop's funeral, the town was full to bursting.

"There is no place for us to stay here," Darcy announced.  "I have been advised there is a manor down the road that might have a room for us."

"If not," Columcil said, "we can always camp somewhere down the road."

"Not tonight," Darcy replied as he scanned the sky above them.  "There will be rain, probably heavy, before morning, and I would have our ladies kept dry."

"I will not melt," Aliset said, a little more sharply than she intended.

"I trust not, or I would be most distressed," Darcy replied and smiled.  "But I would rather that  you are safe and warm, if I can arrange it.  "Very warm would be pleasing," he sent to her.

Aliset blushed, annoyed and pleased in the same moment.  Fiona hid a smile, guessing at what she had not heard.

"Let us be on our way, before any rooms at the manor have been taken."  Darcy mounted Sigrun, and once his companions had mounted their own horses, led the way beyond the town.

It was a good hour before they reached the path that turned off toward the manor. The sun was only beginning to move toward sunset, but the unpruned trees along the path to the manor cast eerie shadows as they approached.   The path wound a fair distance before they reached the manor itself.  It was a small manor in good enough repair, but it looked to have been standing for at least one  hundred years, maybe more.

"Is this a good idea?" Fiona murmured to Washburn as they entered the manor courtyard..

"It is only a trick of the light that makes it seem foreboding.  And your cousin is right; there will be rain tonight."  Nevertheless, Washburn checked that his sword was secure at his side.  He noticed that Father Columcil also checked to make sure his staff was in place. 

The manor courtyard was empty as they entered.  The manor house itself was made out of sturdy stone, etched and scarred by storms over the years.  The stables and out-buildings were made of wood, old and well seasoned.

"Father Columcil," Darcy said as they reined in.  "Perhaps you should ask for shelter tonight.  I confess, my luck has not been good today. The lord of the manor may favour a priest over a dusty seaman."

Columcil nodded.  He was not feeling at ease here, but he had no good reason to explain his unease.  Maybe they had been through too much on this journey to feel at ease anywhere.

The border priest knocked on the weathered door.  He was about to knock again when a wizened old man opened it.

"Who comes here?" the man asked. 

"Your pardon for our intrusion," Columcil said in his best court voice.  "But my companions and I seek shelter for the night."

"Do ye now," the old man replied.  "How many are you?"

"Myself and four others; three men and two women in total."

"Two women?" The old man's eyes lit up in a disturbing way.

"One woman is our Captain's wife and the other is his cousin," Columcil said with a firm note to his voice.  Darcy might not technically be a captain, but the title would do for now.

"The third man?" the old man asked.

"A seasoned knight who has joined us on the journey," Columcil replied. 

"You can take your horses to  the stable.  Once they are settled, come within and join me for dinner," the old lord responded.

"We have our own provisions," Columcil said hastily.  "We need not tax your supplies."

"Nonsense, you will be my guests.  Lettie will make sure there is enough food for all."  With that, the old lord dismissed them to look after their horses.  "Knock at the door when you are finished."

Columcil nodded and returned to the others.  "The lord requests we stable our horses and be his guests for dinner."

"We need not inconvenience him," Darcy said.

"Aye, but he insists."  Columcil raised an eyebrow at Darcy.  "The innkeeper said the lord here was a bit eccentric?"

"Aye, but I did not ask for details," Darcy responded. 

Columcil had a fleeting thought that it might have been wise to do so.

***

Darcy knocked on the door when they returned to the manor.

"Come in, come in," the old lord urged.  His voice quavered a bit with age, but there was still strength in it.  "I am Jeffers du Clemence; welcome to my home. You may leave your weapons there by the door."

Columcil nodded and slipped his arm through the strap that secured his staff to his back.  It was customary not to bring weapons into a host's home if your intentions were benign,  but both Washburn and Darcy hesitated for a moment before complying. When Washburn's broad back blocked Darcy from their host's view,  Darcy surreptitiously slipped his second dagger inside his wife's boot, deftly arranging the skirt of her gown so it was concealed.  Aliset gave him a sharp look , but said nothing.  Fiona had left her bow behind with her horse, and now rested her dagger beside Washburn's sword.

"I am Father Columcil from Saint Melangell's," Columcil stated. "Lord Darcy Cameron is our Captain, and Lady Aliset is his wife.  Lady Fiona is his cousin, and Sir Washburn completes our party."  Columcil had deliberately avoided including surnames except for Darcy.  The men bowed, and the woman curtsied.  Lord Jeffers appeared pleased.

"Lettie!" Lord Jeffers called as he guided them to manor's small hall.  "Serve the meal!"

The room Lord Jeffers led them to was furnished with a large table set back from a central hearth.  A youngish woman, Aliset thought she could be as old as thirty, tended a cookpot above the fire. The open windows did not let in much light, so most of the room remained in shadow.  A faint breeze stirred the faded tapestries that hung along the walls.

Lord Jeffers claimed the most imposing chair placed behind the centre of the table.  Lesser chairs were arranged to either side and across from him. Lord Jeffers motioned to the chairs on either side of his.  "The ladies may sit here beside me for ease of conversation; you may sit across from me so I can hear you clearly.  I'm not as young as I used to be."  He gave them what could have been interpreted as a disarming smile. 

Darcy stiffened at the thought of not being able to remain at Aliset's side, nor was he pleased to leave his cousin unprotected on the other side of the old lord. A glance at Washburn's face told him the knight felt much the same, but the priest made a faint calming gesture with his hand.  Afterall, Darcy had no good reason to feel protection would be required.  But when had he ever needed a good reason to justify his instincts?

They sat as they had been bid  as Lettie brought forth a tray with a large tureen and several bowls.  She set a bowl before each of them and ladled a thin stew into each.  Once finished, she left and returned with a jug and several cups.  She filled one for each of them, placed them on the table and withdrew from the room.

"Would you say a blessing for the meal, Father?" Lord Jeffers requested.

"Gladly," Columcil responded.  He blessed the meal and their host, and hoped the meal would taste better than it looked.

"Lettie is my granddaughter and looks after me. Dinner here is simple fare, but wholesome enough."  Lord Jeffers took a drink of his ale and smiled at Fiona.

"Your granddaughter does not join us?"  Aliset asked.

"Nay," Lord Jeffers replied.  "She prefers her own company since her betrothed ran out on her two years ago."

"Oh," was all Aliset could think of for a polite response. She looked at Darcy for assistance, but he shrugged ever so slightly.  There were no safe waters that he could navigate around that statement.

Darcy had tasted better ale, but out of politeness finished his cup.  The stew was tasteless, and if there was meat in it. Darcy had swallowed it without noticing.  He thought Aliset looked pale, but she managed to eat most of her stew.  As they reached the end of the meal, her eyelids began to droop, and Darcy nudged her foot gently to keep her awake.  She gave him a wan smile.

The conversation had remained neutral during the meal;  it would be a good harvest this year, the weather had been mostly good, too bad about the Mearan rebellion. Until Lord Jeffers asked where they travelled to.

"We go to Valoret," Columcil responded.  "To attend the funeral of Bishop Denis Arilan."

"A worthless Deryni priest, who should never have been ordained," Lord Jeffers said,  turned his head and spat on the floor.

Darcy's jaw dropped, Aliset gasped, Columcil looked like a thundercloud and Washburn reached for the sword that was no longer at his side.  Fiona looked from one to the other, not sure what she should say or do.

Columcil recovered first.  "Our Lord chooses those He feels worthy to the task," he said, surprised at the calmness of his voice.  "I trust His judgement."

"Perhaps He made a mistake,"  Lord Jeffers replied.

"The hour grows late," Darcy said firmly.  "We should retire so we can get an early start.  Will you kindly show us to our rooms?" 

Lord Jeffers eyed them from across the top of his cup and took a long drink before he responded.  "I have only one room to spare, since Lettie occupies the room across from  my own chamber.  It will only provide comfort for two persons.  The ladies may sleep there tonight; I have a comfortable shed for the rest of you."

Darcy's voice took on a tone of command.  "I'm afraid, Lord Jeffers, that will not do.  We will stay together."

"I'm sure the ladies would be more comfortable in my spare room," Jeffers said, looking appreciatively at both Fiona and Aliset.

"My wife and I are newly married,"  Darcy said.  "We prefer not to be apart."

"Not willing to share, eh?" Jeffers said with a laugh. "You have an extra lady...."

It was only Columcil's firm hand on Darcy's shoulder that prevented Darcy from launching across the table to take their host to task barehanded.  Washburn would have been right behind him.

"Now, now," Jeffers said placatingly, holding out both wrinkled hands.  "Can't blame an old man for trying."

"If you would show us to your shed, we will bid you goodnight," Darcy said coldly. 

Lord Jeffers actually chuckled as he rose from the table.  "This way," he said.

They paused at the door as they followed him to collect their weapons.  Jeffer led them to a wooden shed that looked newer than the other buildings. 

"My original shed burned down two years ago," Lord Jeffers informed them.  "I built this one last year."

The shed was well-sized, with a single door and one window with wooden shutters.  The roof was thatched, and there was good, dry straw on the floor.  "I hope you will be comfortable enough," Jeffers said.  "Though I still suggest that the room in the manor would be more comfortable for the ladies."

"We will be fine here," Washburn said, trying to keep his voice neutral.  "Good night to you."

Lord Jeffers nodded and set a jug down just inside the door.  In their haste to leave after dinner, none had noticed him pick it up.  "May you sleep peacefully," he said.  He closed the door behind him.

"God forgive me," Columcil said.  "If I'd had my staff, I think I would have bashed his head in."

"Not if I got there first," Washburn said, anger clearly evident in his voice.

"I don't like this, not one little bit." Darcy said.

"Should we leave now?" Aliset asked.

"Down the road, no," Darcy replied. "The rain is not far off. As soon as all is quiet, I propose we relocate to the stable.  We will be nearer our horses if we need to leave quickly."

"Does it not seem that there is an awful lot of straw on this floor?" Fiona asked.  "Surely there's more than we need for comfort."

Washburn drew his sword and poked it into the straw in several spots.  "There is just straw here, but it is more than I would expect.  I agree Darcy; we should not stay here."

They waited for almost half an hour and then gathered their belongings.  Aliset picked up the jug, removed the stopper and took a cautious sniff.  She retched and resealed the jug quickly, unsure if she could keep down the meager fare she had eaten.

"Worse than the first batch?" Darcy asked solicitously.  Aliset only dared nod her agreement and set the jug back down by the door.

"Not to worry," he said as he came to her side.  "I filled my waterskin at the brook this afternoon."

"No ale this time, Darcy?"  In spite of their current misgivings, Columcil could not resist the question.

"Baron Stuart's fine ale is in my second waterskin," Darcy replied and grinned.

His grin faded as they made their way quietly to the stable. Sigrun nickered as they entered, and Darcy hastened over to quiet her.  It was late, and they spread their blankets outside the stalls to get what sleep they could. 

"We should keep watch," Darcy said.

"Aye, I agree," replied Washburn.  "I'll take the first watch."  When Darcy started to protest, Washburn shook his head and managed a rueful grin. "I don't think I can sleep for awhile yet, so you may as well get what rest you can."

Darcy nodded and moved to the spot Aliset would share with Fiona.  Incredibly, his wife was already asleep.  Darcy knelt beside her, made sure she was not tangled in her gown, and tenderly kissed her cheek

"I'll keep an eye on her," Fiona whispered, and Darcy gave her a grateful smile.  Fiona laid down beside Aliset, her bow and quiver within reach if needed.  Darcy spread his blanket nearby next to Columcil's.  The priest knelt in prayer, whether asking for forgiveness for their host or their deliverance from this place, Darcy did not know.

***

"Darcy, Columcil!"  Washburn's mental voice woke Darcy instantly.  Catlike, he rose with his sword in hand.  Columcil also awoke immediately.  "Come see this!"  He motioned to the stable door, which he had left ajar to be able to see the courtyard and out-buildings.

They watched as Lord Jeffers set a carefully shuttered lantern on the ground before the shed.  He approached the door and slipped a wooden plank into place to secure it shut.  He moved to the only window, quietly reached inside to pull the shutter closed and secured it with another bar.

Jeffers moved back to his lantern, opened if fully and then hurled it up onto the thatched roof.

The dry thatch caught fire immediately. Quickly the flame spread to engulf the walls.

"What is going on?" Aliset was alarmed but managed to keep her voice low.  Fiona stood beside her, one arm across her shoulders.

"He means to burn us alive!" Columcil said, aghast.

"Does he know we are Deryni?" Fiona's face was as pale as Aliset's.

"I'm not sure it matters to him," Darcy replied. The roar of the flames allowed them to speak without worry of being overheard.   He thought back to his journey to Desse and the smell of the burned building there.  "The man is clearly insane."

"Does he not find it curious we are not crying out or trying to escape?" Washburn asked.

"Perhaps there is a reason the ale in the jug smelled so foul," Darcy replied. "He could have drugged or poisoned it."

"I feel sorry for his granddaughter," Fiona said.  "She can't be safe here."  As Fiona spoke. Lettie came out from the manor house to join Lord Jeffers.  She slipped her arm through his and by the light of the flames, it was clear that they were both smiling.

"She's as batty as he is," Darcy said.

"Darcy," Aliset gripped her husband's arm.  "Didn't Lord Jeffers say that the original shed burned down two years ago?"

"Aye," he replied. "And her betrothed also ran away two years ago." 

Washburn looked back at the only other horse in the stable and wondered who had originally owned it.  Columcil crossed himself.

Darcy's prediction of rain came true.  The first drops soon turned into a torrent, causing the flaming shed to sputter and steam.  Jeffers appeared to not like being drenched, and soon returned to the shelter of the manor with Lettie.

"Should we leave now?" Aliset asked.

"Much as I would like to, we need to wait for the rain to ease, and the thick clouds will give us no light until they clear."  He looked toward Washburn and Columcil.  "I am unfamiliar with the road to Valoret, which does not help.  Have either of you travelled it before?"

Columcil shook his grizzled head. 

"I have travelled to Valoret before," Washburn said.  "But only from the east.  If I can trust those memories," he added ruefully.

"Then I propose we wait until there is enough light to travel," Darcy said.  "I'll take the first watch, and with luck, since we are near to dawn, there will be no need for a second.  I'll wake all so we can be away as soon as we can safely travel."  He looked at Aliset.  "I trust you will forgive  me for not taking proper leave of our host and thanking him for his hospitality."

"I will forgive you this one lapse of protocol," she said and threw her arms around his neck.  He hugged her back and then bade her to get what rest she could.

"What should we do about them?" Fiona asked, jerking her head towards the manor.  "We can't let them get away with this."

"I fear there is little we can do," Washburn replied  "There is no crime in a man burning down his own shed, and it would be our word against theirs as to what transpired here.  If there was any proof of our presence in the shed, the flames consumed it."

"And we would be the unknown travellers unjustly accusing two pillars of the community.  Eccentric my ass!" Darcy hissed.  "Beg pardon, Father."

"You only said what I was thinking, Son." Columcil gripped Darcy's shoulder for a moment.  "Wake us if you need us."

***

Darcy had them up once the barest hint off light shone in the sky.  The rain had stopped, and the clouds had cleared.  The sodden, charred remains of the shed hissed slightly, reminding them of what might have been. It was all they could do to keep their horses to a quiet walk rather than charging down the path from the manor toward the road.  Once they reached the road, Darcy stopped and pulled his dagger from its sheath.  He quickly carved a crude skull and crossbones into the most visible tree at the entrance; a sign of danger.

"At least we have tried to leave a warning," he said and turned Sigrun east toward Valoret.

Once they could see clearly enough, Darcy had them off at a fast canter, doing his best to put distance behind them before Lord Jeffers awoke.  As they travelled, he was not the only one to look back over his shoulder from time to time to make sure the demons of Satan were not pursuing them.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on September 12, 2019, 09:05:08 AM
Watching the heart go out of his captain as Sir Richard's head and shoulders slumped in defeat, Seamus thought he would rather be flogged than suffer the sense of betrayal which skewered his gut like a red-hot knife. Though either were better than facing the Duke's wrath, had he colluded in such an ill-advised attack and lived to tell the tale. Aye, the man was a force of nature to be reckoned with, even had he not been a Duke of the realm and a powerful Deryni. As he thought this something rang a bell deep in Seamus' memory, something his Grandda had said once...

He had no idea whether such a thing were possible and part of him balked at his presumption in even daring to think of it, but, blessed Saints, it had to be worth a try.

"Sir, ah've nae dout ye've heard more'n enow fra' ma'sen the day, but mebbes there is a way to gi'e the bastards wha' they desairve. Ha'e I yer permission ta speak?"

Despite his gloom, Richard could not prevent his lips quirking in a smile at that,

"When you start toadying to me, that's when I know to be worried. Out with it, man!" He paused for a long moment before adding, "And thank you."

"Weel, ah dinna ken as his Grace would be able fer it an' most like himself an ye"ll  ha'e ma hide fer daring e'en ta suggest sich a thing but if yon black-hearted yin wha's behind yon unnatural wind can dee such a thing, then mebbes a canny Deryni like himself can bring a storm that"ll send them a' ta hell."

Seamus hardly dared to look up but, as the silence that followed his words lengthened, at last he raised his eyes. Richard was not looking angry, as he had feared he might but rather a mixture of blank puzzlement mixed with wild hope which meant that his face wore a very odd expression.

"I'm not at all sure I know just what you are suggesting, but anything that turns their black magic back upon themselves will have my blessing. ANYTHING!"

Sir Richard's pent up anger exploded out of him as he bellowed the last word and slammed his clenched fist down on the table between them.

Such open displays of anger were far from natural to his Captain and in reaction to this Seamus replied in an unwontedly submissive voice, though instinct made him reach out a hand to steady the pitcher of morning ale, causing Richard his first smile of the morning.

"Well, I'm no just suggestin' we ask fer himself ta dee any magic that his sire th'Archbishop shouldna ken aboot, but ma grandda used ta tell me an oor Jamie aboot them as could govern th'wind. I'm no so sure tha' he couldna do a wee bittie himself when I come ta think on it."

Richard had long  wondered about this Grandda of Seamus's - if half Seamus' tales were true then surely border blood alone could not account for his uncanny abilities, but now was not the time to go into that.

"Given that you nobly saved our ale from watering the table,"  Richard's genuine smile told Seamus that his superior included himself in the gentle mockery, "perhaps we should break our fast while you explain a bit more what you are suggesting to be ready for when his Grace next makes contact. In the meantime, I'll give the order for our boats to drop anchor this side of the headland, and pray that I do not live to regret it."

Richard had previously declined to be present when Seamus made his report to the Duke, feeling unable to overcome his sqeamishness in the presence of magic, although he knew that this to be unfair to Seamus. Now seeing how uncertain Seamus felt about making his suggestion to one far above him both in rank and magical ability and given that he had just whole-heartedly consented to the use of magic as a weapon of war he felt constrained to remain in the cabin as, on the appointed two hours after sunrise, Seamus took his medal in both hands, briefly touched it to his lips, and muttered the words he had been taught, allowing himself to drift from his surroundings.

Good morrow ta yer Grace. I trust I haven'a disturbed ye.

Dhugal took his arm from around Mirjana, thankful that Seamus could not see him.

Nay. You are punctual to time as ever. Is all, well?
Don't go silent on me, man. What's Richard been up to now?

It had to be Richard, Dhugal decided, any real disaster and Seamus would have been straight out with it, but he would be unwilling to seem to be bearing tales. The silence lengthened but only for a few moments and then the tale came out, Seamus not seeking to hide his own hurt at causing pain to his captain.

At least you had the sense to prevent his heroics this time.

The acerbic mental tone that Dhugal was unable to suppress made Seamus wince, and hearing this Dhugal made haste to make amends.

Your pardon, it was well done, and not easy for either of you. But what now? Richard is right in saying that they should not reach Laas. His Highness Prince Rory looks to be hard pressed, by last report.

The question startled Seamus who was expecting to hear further orders, even more puzzling was the faint but unmistakable mental hesitation that followed as though the Duke were hesitant to suggest something.  Then they both began to Mindspeak at once,

Yer Grace,

Her Grace,

Seamus drew back deferentially to allow his Lord precedence but Dhugal seemed almost relieved and Sent for him to continue. Seamus took a mental breath and held nothing back.

Yer Grace, Ah dinna ken if ah shud be saying this ta ye, an' beggin' yer pardon if ah'm above m'sel' but ah couldn't help but wonder if ye could mebbes bring up a wee bittie storm blowing down fra' th'north that'd send  'em into the rocks - Sir Richard an' me 'ave scanned th'charts and we speir they'd be on 'em just ere nightfall but ah doot they'd ken they were there, wi'them no expecting ta be this near ta land.

In the silence that followed, as Seamus held his breath half-expecting a mental skelping, there was relief and, even odder, a hint of amusement. Then a question put with real anxiety,

And Richard is happy with such use of magic ?

Aye, ma Lord, nae doot o' it. He doesna care how the b**** get ta t'bottom o'th'ocean.

Well, then. Her Grace has spent the last day teaching me how 'tis done and together we can promise you better than a wee bittie storm. A tempest is what I had in mind. You are moored safely. Good, then you'd best tell Sir Richard that my orders to the fleet are to stay where you are until further notice. You may not be able to reach me for a while. Try tomorrow morning, but don't be alarmed if you cannot reach me. In the meantime if you can safely land the landlubbers amongst the men and then find a few who can run ahead round the shore and watch out to sea that might be wise. And Seamus, you're a good man and a brave one. Well done."

Thank you, yer Grace.

Dhugal had managed to suppress the excitement he felt in at last able to do something  active in the struggle, fearing that it might smack of disloyalty to the King's orders, but once contact had been severed he drove his fist into the pillow with an exultant  "yes!".





















Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on September 19, 2019, 07:24:05 AM
The little party had maintained a fast pace, alternating between a canter and a fast walk as they strove to put more distance between themselves and Jeffers' manor. It was several hours past sunrise and the traffic on the road was steadily increasing when Darcy slowed the pace and began to scan the sides of the road, obviously looking for a place to rest. Within a short distance he signalled a turn to the left, leaving the road and passing between two large trees. He entered a copse with several more large trees and a small stream running past it.

He turned in his saddle and addressed the others. "We need to rest and water the horses and eat something ourselves. We have been on the road since first light and all of us, beasts and riders, need food and water. We have had nothing to eat or drink since last evening, and that was certainly not very fortifying."

The party dismounted and began to lead their mounts to the stream to water them. Darcy caught Aliset as she dismounted to steady her. He noticed that she looked pale and a little shaky. "Are you feeling unwell?" he asked solicitously. "You need to rest. In my haste to get as far away as possible from Jeffers, I have perhaps pushed us a bit too hard. You rest here and I will take care of the horses."

"I will be fine once I have some water and food." she insisted.  She found an area of soft grass to sit on with a sturdy tree trunk to lean against and seated herself with a sigh.

Darcy took both horses to the stream to allow them to drink and returned quickly with his waterskin filled with fresh, cold water. He gave it to Aliset who drank thirstily. He pulled the remainder of the bread and a piece of fruit from her saddlebag and offered it to her. "Take it slowly, my love. If you eat too fast, it may make you ill." He sat beside his wife and studied her anxiously.

Aliset took a few bites of the bread, then smiled at him. "Don't worry about me, I am feeling better already."

The others were also watering and tethering their horses then seating themselves to eat the food that remained in their saddlebags. This was a welcome respite from the stress of the encounter with Jeffers and their fortunate escape from his manor.

Father Columcil was seated nearby and Fiona joined him. She noticed that Washburn again sat some little distance away from the rest of the party.  "Why does Sir Wshburn separate himself from the rest of us? Is there something worrying him, aside from our safety?"

"Aye," the priest replied. "He's tryin' tae deal wi' whit was done tae him whilst he was held captive by th' rebels. Th' effects oan his min' an' memories is whit bothers heem most."

Fiona looked at the priest with sympathy and concern in her eyes. "Is there nothing we can do to help him?"
Columcil smiled at her. "We  aw want tae hep him. Th' best thin' we can dae is support heem an' help heem recognise whit is true an' real an' whit is nae."

"What is that book he carries in his tunic? Whenever we stop he pulls it out and reads from it. Does it contain something that will help him restore his true memories?"

Columcil was silent for a few minutes. "Tis a joornal 'at contains knowledge he needs. Ah think it wuid be best tae let him talk tae ye himself aboot it. He has tae learn tae troost again and keepin' his confidences will hep."

Fiona nodded thoughtfully as she finished eating her bread. "Thank you for sharing your thoughts with me, Father. Excuse me, now.. I think i will go keep company with him for a bit before we continue our journey.." 

Fiona rose from her seat beside the priest and walked over to where the knight was seated, He had finished his food and was again reading from the journal he carried with him. "May I join you?" she asked softly. "I would like to talk with you." Wash stood, bowed and assisted
Fiona to a seat in the grass next to him. "Are you concerned about further danger from Lord Jeffers?" she asked, " Is that why you sit at a distance from the rest of us, so you can keep watch? He will have seen that our horses are gone and know, or at least suspect that we did not perish in the fire. Do you think he might have us followed to prevent us from telling the anyone about his attempt at murder?"

Wash smiled reassuringly. "No, I do not think that Jeffers has the resources to have us followed. There did not seem to be any other inhabitants at the manor, nor did it appear to be a prosperous estate. The most he could do would be to send for the authority from the nearest town and accuse us of burning down his shed or threatening him. But he is both insane and cunning, and I do not think he will wish to call attention to himself or any other suspicious happenings at his manor. After all, there is the disappearance of the granddaughter's fiance. I suspect the other horse in the stable was his, and I wonder if he encountered a similar attack and was not as fortunate as we."

"I am worried that some other unfortunate soul might fall into his clutches. Was there nothing else we could do to stop him?"  Fiona's concern could be seen in her face,

Wash replied ruefully, "Unfortunately, I am afraid that the warning Darcy left at the entrance to the manor is the most we can do. Lord Jeffers is known in that shire and, although they consider him eccentric, there was no indication that he is considered dangerous. We are not known here and we would probably not be believed if we did try to tell our story.  It would delay our journey and certainly call unwelcome attention to us."

Fiona nodded as she considered what he had said. She sighed. "I am sure you are right".

Wash continued. "I suspect they rarely get visitors. The large number of travelers on the road now is most unusual and brought about by the funeral of Bishop Arilan. In normal times, the town had more than adequate lodging for travelers, and I think the likelihood of anyone else being sent there is very small. I hope they will see the warning we left and avoid it."

Fiona was silent for several minutes then spoke. "I don't wish to intrude, but I have noticed the book that you take out and read whenever we stop. When we talked at the manor, you told me of some of the problems you are struggling to overcome, including powerful enemies who are trying to find you. Does that journal perhaps contain wisdom and guidance that will help you overcome some of your difficulties? As I told Father Columcil, I wish I could help you."

Wash looked down at the young lass and smiled. "Just knowing there are those who believe in me is a great help. I will tell you a little of what happened while I was held prisoner. It will help you understand the difficulties I face. You have heard something of what occurred, but even I do not completely understand what was done to me. Using both drugs and his powers, my captor twisted my mind, robbed me of memories, and distorted those that remained. I cannot be sure what is real and true and what is not. I cannot act on what I believe because it may be false."

Wash stared sadly into the distance. "The book I read is my father's journal, kept by him over many years. My father was killed in battle when I was five so I had few real memories of him, but even those have vanished. I feel that all I know of him came from the memories of others. The good Father reminded me that I had another source of knowledge about him and what kind of man he was. I had his journal, written in his own words, to help me know him better. I have disturbing memories of my family, especially my brothers, disapproving of me and treating me badly. But I am beginning to doubt the truth of those memories as Father Columcil has told me that they do not match what he knew about our family. My hope is that I will come to know my father and what he felt for his youngest son, the spare."

Fiona reached over and touched his hand gently. "Thank you for sharing your thoughts with me. I understand something of what you are feeling, As I told you, I also lost my father in battle when I was five. My memories of him are few and hazy. You are fortunate to have his journal. I have no such resource to tell me about my father. My mother died when I was eight and was ill for some time before that, so she spoke little about him. I wish I could learn more."

"Perhaps, your uncle can help, tell you more about him." Wash suggested.

Fiona looked doubtful. "He was my father's friend but he has never told me much about him. I hope there will be a time when he will tell me more."

"Have you ever thought of returning to your home, your birthplace? Didn't you say it was a Barony in Claiborne?  If your father's steward is an honest fellow- I am sure that Lord Iain would have made certain of that as he is the one to watch over your inheritance- then perhaps you could learn some of what you want to know by visiting your homeland and talking to your people? Surely there will be those who remember him?"

"I'm not sure what  Uncle Mac or Iain would think of such an idea.  I am afraid they still think of me as a child," Fiona said, sounding uncertain of such an idea.

"My lady, you are most certainly no child. I believe you have shown yourself to be quite determined and able to make and carry out plans for yourself ." Wash dared to look fully at the pretty young woman seated beside him.

Then, embarrassed, he disentangled his gaze and looked up into the trees. "I am just thinking, well, rather hoping that the walls of home will speak out in volumes of the past to me. Perhaps your home will do the same?"

"Is this part of this pull driving you to travel east, the need to recover your past, those missing memories?"  Fiona asked. "But why Lendour? I didn't think Lendour was your family seat?"

Wash looked thoughtful. "I don't know. Cynfyn Castle and the Lendours are part of my family's lands. I know I spent much time there, acting as regent for my nephew, but I remember little of what occurred. I do feel a nearly irresistible pull to return there. Perhaps there will be those who can help me better understand myself and my relationships with my family, especially my brothers."

Fiona gazed at him with her big blue eyes, seeing for the first ttime more than just the warrior in the man seated beside her. The Duke of Corwyn had trusted him to act as his son's regent. She realized that Sir Washburn could not see how much trust the duke must have had in his younger brother to place him in a position of such responsibility over his son's inheritance. She had no idea of how to enlighten him without triggering those false memories.  Perhaps she might speak again to Father Columcil and ask his advice.

Meanwhile,Fiona spoke sincerely. "I hope you will find what you seek when you reach your goal. I will think about your idea of visiting my first home.  It has been my dream for a long time to attend the schola. I did ask my uncle but he was not willing to grant permission without speaking to Iain, and there has been no opportunity to do that. I asked to travel with your party to Valoret hoping that once there, I could find a way to get to Rhemuth and the schola. I am hoping that Iain will be present, and I will have a chance to speak with him.  Perhaps we will meet there as students, you of healing and myself of how to best use my powers.I would like that."

"I also." Wash agreed.

Just then Lord Darcy called on the party to pack up, mount and get ready to ride. They needed to continue their journey quickly in order to reach Arx Fidei in time for Bishop Arilans services.  Wash rose to his feet and reached his hand down to assist Fiona to her feet. As they walked toward their horses, each reflected that sharing their similar pasts had drawn them together and given them a feeling of shared concern and friendship. 
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on September 23, 2019, 10:30:21 AM
Captain Nikloi was not at first aware of the wind strengthening as the morning wore into afternoon. He had other things on his mind. He could not bring himself to blame the lookout for the resentment which had led him to keep vital information to himself, but he did not like being taken for a fool. Surely the man must have realised that he would have Deryni spies planted on each of the boats, spies with eyes in their heads and orders to use them.

His first thought had been simply to allow events to take their course. He had been careful to ensure that the least loyal amongst his crew were in the hindmost boats. Even before they were spotted he had known that the cursed Cassani would be following close behind, and, once the witch wind had failed, almost sure to catch them up. He thought it likely that the last half dozen or so boats might be tempted to try to surrender; well good riddance to them and in the resulting confusion at least some of the rest of them might still make it to Laas. The fate of the spies on the surrendered boats was likely to be unpleasant, but then so was his when he came into the hands of the Grand Duke. Let each man look to his own survival, and what might be even more important, to the salvation of his soul as his body paid the price of failure.

But where were the enemy? Where the hell were they? Unless they had chosen to remain holed up in the sheltered inlet leading out into the Bay of Kilarden? But why should they do that? Unable to share his worries with anyone else - for to do so would be to admit that he got his information not from his seamen but from his Deryni spies - Nikloi contented himself with tearing the head off anyone who was stupid enough to speak to him and biting his fingernails to the quick as the fleet sailed further on west. No-one thought it a good idea to spell it out to him that as the day wore on the last five boats were barely making any progress at all.

At last he became aware that the wind was strengthening, blowing in gusts from behind them and speeding their course along. Maybe there was some mercy after all? Whatever the cause, the sooner they were out of these seas the better. God! What a country! Why anyone should want to invade it was beyond him. Glancing landward to confirm his contempt Nikloi was jerked out of the stupor into which he had lapsed and he yelled out to the steersman,

"Pull her head round you fool! Cannot you see those whitecaps, there are hidden rocks under there!"

But now there was no mistaking the strength of the wind as it veered round to tear down from the north. The skies turned an inky black making night of the summer afternoon and lightening tore the world asunder. The ship's timbers screamed as she was lifted high on a breaker, flung against the rocks then dragged savagely back by the undertow to be impaled again.

As his soul was flung from his body Nikloi's last prayer was that this savage baptism might be payment enough for his sins.

Thanks to DerynifanK for the dice roll 2+3+5 (Dhugal and Mirjana working together for a 3d6 roll). Taking the two highest numbers which gave me 8, I checked that against the Beaufort scale of wind speed which gave me a nice gale. My own dice role 3+2 gave me 5  Tolani boats to survive the storm Technically no dice rolls were needed as these are NPCs but it's more of a challenge, and more fun, writing with them









Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on September 27, 2019, 04:24:28 AM
((Kelric finding his focus to heal
10:59 <Laurna> !roll 1d6
10:59 <•derynibot> 4 == 4 ))

Kelric felt the rain fall against his forehead. He blamed the pattering of the cold drops on his face for his inability to find his focus. He blamed the shouts of the men around him, the noise of battle below the tower, and the barrage of boulders slamming against the curtain walls of Laas for his inability to find his focus. He blamed everything but that which he knew was the real cause; that cursed dagger whose point was deep in flesh lying against his collarbone. He had enough Healer's energy to stanch the flow of blood through the severed artery that the steel of the blade lay against. But now his arm had gone numb; a cold extremity which could no longer feel the drops of rain upon his upturned palm. He had told Rory not to pull out the dagger, not until help arrived, but now he questioned even his own knowledge.  Rory was a steadfast well of energy that Kelric pulled upon to remain conscious, yet he could not find the deep focus that he needed to take Healing into his own hands. If he didn't find his focus soon, he worried he might pass out, and then he would be at the mercy of men who knew little of how Healing worked.

"Your Grace, can you hear me?" asked the youth who was barely grown. He knelt at the Duke of Corwyn's side relieved to find the wounded man still alive. "Uncle, it's Jayce, I'm here to help you. I know I've only started my training at the schola this year, but I assure you, my mother taught me well after she discovered that I had inherited her gift." The boy leaned in close to assess the wound, yet Kelric only saw the round child-like face surrounded by a mass of auburn curls which identified this boy as Healer Jana de Tehryn's son. Unlike Jana's older sons, who took after Brendan with his red hair and blue eyes, this youngest Coris had the emerald eyes of his mother; intelligent eyes which shown both concern and determination to see his uncle Healed.  The trouble was Kelric could not help but think of Jayce as he thought of his own eldest son.  Cousins Jayce and Kenric were good friends. They studied together at the schola. Yet unlike Kenric who had reached the age of manhood, Jayce was just thirteen. In Kelric's eyes, Jayce was still just a boy. 

"You're so young." Kelric managed to stammer.

"You didn't think me so young two days ago when I helped you heal Their Graces Rory and Brecon." nephew Jayce Coris said with a smile. "We touched minds then, as healers do, remember? If you allow me, I will do what I can to help you."

Two days back, Kelric had been surprised to see this lean lanky apprentice Healer whom Kelson had chosen to send to Laas to assist here. After he had gotten over his concern for his  brother's son being here, Kelric remembered the mature touch of the healer's portion of his nephew's mind, he just didn't remember the boy's face being so youthful. Kelric thought back on the friendship between Jayce's mother, Lady Jana, and Kelric's sister, Lady Briony, when he and the two ladies had been the first young healers to study at the Schola together some twenty years before. Those two young ladies had been a force to reckon with in their time. And pretty young Jana had set her eyes upon the Earl of Marley even in those early days when Brendan was still trying to win himself a place at court. She had never forgotten his protective escort for her the night she had nearly been abducted. In time their affinity for one another grew. They were married in her father's home in those years before the old baron had grown ill.  Jana would say that it was she who stole Brendan's heart. Of course if you listened to Brendan, he would say that it was he who had won his beloved lady against all the competitors who were vying for Lady Jana's favor. What mattered was that the two had loved each other in secret well before they gained their parents permission to see one another. The memory of his papa drilling his older brother over his choice of ladies and then demanding that Brendan keep his honor firm toward the younger lady who was in need of finishing her Healer's training before they could wed, warmed Kelric to accept the aid of his nephew who was a strong combination of Brendan's honor and Jana's determination and ability.  Even if not fully trained, Kelric realized he could direct the youth's potential to assist him in what needed to be done.

Yet, Jayce hesitated. Protocol required that the apprentice healer wait upon the acknowledgement of the duke of the realm before he could make first contact. 

Kelric gave that permission and let down his shields. Quickly he felt the maturity in the mind that helped him brush aside the pain. At last Kelric could balance his focus and find his own Healing trance. Taking the lead, once permission had been granted, Jayce placed one hand over his uncle's forehead and one hand next to Rory's hand on the dagger.  It was Rory's hand that finally withdrew the dagger from the Duke of Corwyn's shoulder. Kelric felt no pain. If not for the rush of warmth soaking his tunic, he would have forgotten how deep the wound had been. In a small panic, Kelric pushed too quickly to find his own Healing, thusly causing the boy to falter in his first attempt to heal the wound.

((12:21 <Laurna> Apprentice Healing is Disadvantage
12:21 <Laurna> !roll 1d6
12:21 <•derynibot> 3 == 3))

"My lord, please, let us work together," Jayce pleaded. Taught well by his teachers and his mother, Jayce was quick to regain his center and his calm. Kelric mused at the wellspring of energy that poured out from the boy and the growing halo of gold that surrounding the boy's head shining against the ever darkening black clouds in the skies above.  Kelric let his green aura shine through and with it they both delved deep into their Healers' trance.

((12:21 <Laurna> roll for Kelric's healing. I believe self Healing is disadvantage 1d6 success on 5,6  I have been afraid to roll this all week.
12:22 <Laurna> !roll 1d6
12:22 <•derynibot> 5 == 5))

Kelric's hand lay over Jayce's hand, whose smaller finger lay deep in the wound. Kelric balanced the energies that flowed between them. It was a delicate process to stop the escape of blood, to seal the artery closed and to repair the splintered bone. Rory's hand was there giving what energy he had remaining... and then... there was another hand. A hand full of warmth and full of caring, a hand of power and of blessing. Jayce gasped at the presence. Rory's hand tensed but dared not to move. Kelric smiled as he completed the Healing, lifting away the boy's finger even as he finished healing muscle and skin and making the shoulder whole once more.

((01:22 <Laurna> Kelric points healed.
01:22  <Laurna> !roll 1d6
01:22 <•derynibot> 3 == 3 -half rounded up is 2, Therefore 2 hit points healed which should be good enough))

Taking a deep welcome breath, Kelric opened his eyes knowing he would see three faces over him, two with eyes wide and mouths agape and one with a pair of eyes that were warm and shining with a silver grey.

"I can not thank you enough," Kelric said in a gasping breath, speaking as much to Rory and Jayce as he did to Saint Camber. The essence of the saint nodded, but then the ghostly smile under the grey hood turned grim and dark giving new purpose to his presence. Kelric experienced a vision. Here were the Duke and Duchess of Cassan leaning over a map of the ocean and the western most coast line of Meara. In ritual spell casting, Dhugal was sprinkling water upon the map while Mirjana was blowing out gusts of breaths. And then came a vision of black sails being torn from the masts of boats that were floundering on the dangerous reefs and rocks of Eilean an Eu-dòchas. The rocks known as the Islands of Despair that became submerged at high tide and had claimed the tragic fate of many vessels off the point of Laas. Now Kelric's eyes were wide as Saint Camber showed him the storm being pulled away from the shattered, sinking fleet and a pair of men bringing that storm onto land. This was Saint Camber's warning. As the holy essence faded from Kelric's eyes, a spike of lightning struck the only small fishing boat in the harbor below the city. As everyone recovered from the massive crack of thunder, Kelric became aware that more energy was building in the clouds above.

"We need to get off this Tower!" Kelric yelled.

It was Brecon who acted first. He ordered men down the steps. He pulled Kelric to his feet, he was prepared to carry the Duke of Corwyn down if he had to. But Kelric had enough physical strength to move to the steps and go down with but the hand of the Duke of Laas under his arm. Everyone, including the exhausted figures of Rory and Jayce, arrived in the lower room just as a crack of lightning and thunder both blinded and deafened the men. The stone around them shook but the thickness of the walls held against the evil onslaught.

_________

Two Deryni knights with Grand Duke Valerian's emblem upon their tunics locked one set of hands with the other and they whispered cruel incantations over a leather inscribed map.

((10:50 <Laurna> two knights, Ritual trained, doing weather spell casting success on 4,5,6
10:50 <Laurna> !roll 2d6
10:50 <•derynibot> 5, 3 == 8))

The storm clouds built stronger and pulled away from its first mostly destroyed victims. The vortex of clouds moved inland, finding a path directly over the Bay of Laas. Energy grew and lightning struck the sea. The mast of a boat caught the blast. The sails tied to the mast burst into flame; the wood deck was soon encased in a consuming fire.

Charged by their success, the knights pulled the storm further inland. "The tower!" one of them claimed in giddy greed.

((10:50 <Laurna> !roll 2d6
10:50 <•derynibot> 6, 2 == 8))

Both laughed in unrelenting glee as lightning struck the tallest tower of Laas.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on September 28, 2019, 03:24:39 PM
Note:  The ritual for raising wards described in this scene is taken from Deryni Magic, sometimes paraphrased and sometimes directly.  I credit KK for all of the referenced material on pages 154 - 160.  And thanks to Laurna and DerynifanK for correcting me when I got it wrong anyway!

Darcy Cameron looked around behind him to make sure his party was still together.  The traffic along the road had continued to increase, all of it flowing east to Valoret, and it had forced Darcy to slow their pace.  It was late in the afternoon; he signaled for them to move with him off the road so they could talk privately.

"We should be able to make the abbey of Ramos by nightfall, though I doubt there will be any place for us to stay either in the abbey or in the town," he said as his companions came along side him.  He surveyed the sky above him.  "The weather looks good, and I expect the night will be clear.  We can always camp on the outskirts of the town."

"Ma'sen I'd as soon gie Ramos a miss, if we can," Father Columcil suggested.  Darcy gave him a blank look and the priest realized that the sanctions against the Deryni imposed by the Council of Ramos were not something that had concerned the young Darcy at sea. 

"It was at Ramos that the sanctions against the Deryni were written in 917 and 918, forbidding Deryni from Holy Orders, ownership of land and removing them from the nobility, just to name a few," Aliset told him. 

"King Kelson was instrumental in overturning that," Washburn added and then wondered if his words were correct.  Aliset and Columcil nodded, indicating that this memory, at least, was a true one.

"Probably an intentional oversight in my education thanks to my stepfather," Darcy said.  Aliset noted the momentary flash of anger in his pale blue eyes.  "Let's continue a short way beyond Ramos and camp a distance away from the road.  We can get an early start in the morning and be in Valoret well before the funeral."

"Aye, that'd  suit me," Columcil said.  "It'd be an affront ta Bishop Arilan if we stayed nigh t'th'abbey."

"We're all agreed?" Darcy asked the group.

"I believe so," Fiona responded, and Darcy led them back onto the road.

***

"This should do nicely," Aliset said as Darcy helped her to dismount.  Once they were past Ramos, Darcy had found a small clearing far enough away from the road that they would not be easily seen.  Although the number of travellers had lessened with nightfall, she could still hear the sounds of travellers continuing on. 

"I think we should set wards for the night," she announced.  'I would feel better with the extra protection."

"I like the sound of that," Darcy replied.  He reached inside his shirt and pulled out the leather pouch with the Quartermaster's ward cubes.  "Not everyone on the road tonight will be travelling with the best of intentions; and this way we won't need to stand watch."

"A braw night's sleep would be good fer us all," Columcil agreed.  "The morn  may be a lang day; nae dout t'will be fou o' emotion fer me."

Aliset took the pouch from Darcy.  She was feeling fatigued again, which was starting to thoroughly annoy her.  She could ask Washburn to raise the wards with his own ward cubes, but she had a sudden thought.  "Darcy, why don't I show you how to set the wards?"

"Aye," he responded with a pleased smile at his wife.  "I would like that."

"Perhaps I could watch and learn as well?" Fiona asked hopefully. 

"I can't see why not," Aliset replied. 

"If you have no objection, I may sit in as well, though just as an observer," Father Columcil added.  "Though my border ways serve me well enough, it's always good to know a wee bit more"

"Care to join us as well, Wash?"  Aliset asked.  ""There is always room for one more."

Washburn smiled but shook his head.  "I think it's best if I stand watch until the wards are raised..  Besides, I think your class is full."

Aliset handed the pouch back to Darcy and indicated that he should sit in the centre of the clearing.  She sat down beside him, and Fiona and Columcil sat on his other side.

"Raising wards is often the first formal training a Deryni child receives," Aliset began.

"I'm just a tad late then?" Darcy interrupted, looking slightly miffed.

"It's a good way to learn centering and concentration, which you might find helpful," she replied.  "Try not to interrupt."

"Aye, love," Darcy said.  "I'll do my best."  He opened the pouch and spilled the cubes onto the ground.

"Your focused concentration, what we often call centering, is key to balancing the energies of the white and black cubes to raise the wards," Aliset began. " You actually don't need the cubes to raise wards, but naming the cubes in the appropriate fashion tiggers the right mind-set in the operator, focusing the power and establishing certain balances.  You know you have been successful when the named component begins to glow.  First, arrange the white cubes next to each other in a tight square."

Darcy separated the white cubes and arranged them as bidden.

"Now place each black cube so a corner touches the corner of a white cube, forming an open square around the white cubes," Aliset continued.  Darcy placed a black cube next to each of the white cubes with the corners touching. He chanced a look at Aliset to make sure he had placed them correctly.  She nodded.

"I want you to concentrate on feeling the energies as I lead you through this.  Don't focus on my voice."  Aliset pointed to the cubes but did not touch them.  "Each cube has a name, or nomena; you will touch each cube as you say its name.  The order is always left to right, the top row first and then the one below it.  We start with the white cubes."  Darcy positioned his finger  above the first cube and looked up at her.

"Don't look at me; focus on the cubes," Aliset said firmly.  Darcy turned his eyes back to the cubes before him. "The first cube's nomena is Prime."

Darcy touched the first cube.  "Prime."  The cube glowed a pale, dull white.  Darcy felt a memory surfacing in his mind.  He tried to push it away.

"The second is Secunde, the third is Tierce, and the fourth is Quarte."

Darcy touched the second cube and uttered its nomena.  His memories could not be repressed this time, and he saw another hand, slender and pale, still graceful in spite of her illness, touch a ward cube in the same way.  His mother.

Darcy touched the remaining white cubes, stating their names clearly, his eyes never straying from the cubes as each glowed faintly.  The cubes his mother had touched had glowed more strongly.  He gave up trying to push her away and tried to turn his concentration totally to the ward cubes.  Her hand seemed to hover above his.

Darcy did not see the troubled look on his wife's face, but she continued on with her instructions. 

"Next the black cubes. These will be named following the same pattern as the white cubes.  In order, they are named Quinte, Sixte, Septime and Octave."

Darcy touched each black cube, stating its name as he did so.  Each black cube glowed faintly.  Aliset sighed.

"Now the named cubes must be balanced," she said, hoping the energies would grow stronger as Darcy proceeded.  "Each pair must harmonize with itself but also in reference to the other three. Place each white cube on top of its matched black cube, in the same order we have been following.  Each pillar has a cognomen, which you will say as each pillar is formed.  The cognomen are Primus, Secundus, Tertius and Quartus."

Darcy followed her directions, stating each cognomen clearly.  The result was four rectoids, each oblong shape glowing a dull grey. 

"Now you must move each tower to a corner of the area you want under the wards,"  Aliset said.  "Don't worry, we can adjust them a bit afterwards if we need to. The horses are close enough we can include them within the space as well.  Place the first tower in the east, and place the others, in order, in the remaining cardinal points."

Darcy stood and did this with confidence, sure of his sense of direction.

"This is the final step," Aliset said encouragingly.  "Point to each pillar, calling it by its cognomen, and then say "Fiat Lux!"

((Will Darcy be successful in raising the wards?  Never having done this before, he can only roll one dice, so spending 2 xp for a second dice.
jerusha> Jerusha !roll 2d6 (used 2 xp for the second dice)
3:41 PM D<@•derynibot> 2, 3 == 5
Drat!))

Darcy did exactly as he had been told, and nothing happened.  The light from the glowing pillars faded and went dark.

"Bloody hell!" he exploded.  He strode around the area that should have been warded and picked up each pair of cubes none too gently.  He returned to stand in front of Aliset, the cubes clenched tightly in his fist.  "What did I do wrong?"

For a fleeting moment, Aliset feared Darcy would heave the ward cubes into the trees.  He did not and suddenly sat down in front of her, the cubes still in his fist.

"Perhaps it is because they are not attuned to you; they were your Quartermaster's, not truly yours." she said gently.

"You were able to raise the ward outside Droghera with these cubes, and you never knew the Quartermaster!" Darcy replied, a bit of heat in his voice.

For a moment, no one said anything; the only voice Darcy heard was in his own head.

"I've told you more than once that you are too easily distracted." 

How many times had the Quartermaster told him this?  Startled, Darcy opened his fist to gaze at the ward cubes within.

"I could try," Fiona ventured.  "I am sure I can remember the sequence."

"No!" Darcy said firmly, and clenched the ward cubes in his hand again.  "I know what went wrong; I was distracted by my mother."

"Your mother?" Aliset asked incredulously.

"Aye.  The memory came to me unbidden," Darcy replied.  "My mother summoned me to her rooms in secret; I was not normally allowed to visit her. When I arrived, she bolted the door and pulled a pouch from a secret drawer within her desk.  The pouch held her ward cubes, and in my mind, I again saw her raise the wards that would protect us while she erased my memories.  It was the night before I was sold to sea."

"Perhaps I should raise the wards," Aliset ventured.

"No! I will do this and I will succeed."  Darcy's jaw was set in a hard line, and Aliset, used to her husband's even and sometimes irreverent nature, was surprised at the steely glint of resolve in his pale eyes. He would not be swayed from his decision.

"Very well," she said.  "You know what you need to do."

Darcy took a deep, steadying breath and arranged the cubes before him.  He reached forward and touched the white cubes and named them in order.  This time, they glowed with a deep, opalescent glow.  Next, he touched the black cubes and recited their nomena.  Each glowed with a deep, blue-black colour.  He formed the pillars; as he completed the ritual, they glowed a deep silver grey. He was surprised at how much effort that took.  Now he rose and moved them to the points of the compass, pointed to them and recited their cognomen"Fiat Lux!" he commanded at the end.

((Will Darcy be successful this time?  1 dice plus 2 xp spent to roll 2 dice.
jerusha> Jerusha !roll 2d6 (used 2 xp for the second dice)
3:42 PM D<@•derynibot> I'm back! 6, 6 == 12
Now that's a roll!))

The pale dome rose above them, shielding them from harm. 

"Done well enough," the Quartermaster said in Darcy's mind.  "But you could do better." 

The Quartermaster had always been stingy with praise.

***

They settled for the night within the protective dome.  They shared their rations for the evening meal, and now content, each treasured a few moments to themselves.  Washburn read from his journal; Father Columcil devoted himself to the evening office, and Fiona looked after the gown she would wear to the funeral tomorrow, formally representing the baron.  She also checked her quiver of arrows and bow, just in case.

Aliset was thinking of retiring for the night.  As in the past few weeks, she found she was exhausted by the end of the day.  Hopefully this would pass in time.  She looked over to where Darcy was standing beside the boundary of the ward, gazing at the stars.  She really wanted to lay down, but thought she could spare some time to stand alongside her husband. 

When Aliset reached him, Darcy slipped his arm around her waist.  "I will never make a good courtier," he said.

"Why?" she asked, puzzled.

"If I was clever, I would have told you I was distracted by your extraordinary beauty, not by my mother," he replied.

Aliset chuckled.  "I prefer the truth to courtly posturning," she said.

"I am much relieved at that." He paused and Aliset leaned her head against his. "Have I told you about the constellations?"

"All of them?" Aliset asked with an expression of mock horror.

"Nay, love," Darcy replied and chuckled.  "We need to make an early start in the morning, and I confess I am a bit tired from the warding, but I can point out a couple you might find interesting."

Aliset nestled a little closer.

"If you look to the east," her husband began....

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on October 03, 2019, 05:00:36 AM


"Aye.  The memory came to me unbidden," Darcy replied. Washburn's attention was caught by the intensity of Darcy's low voice as he spoke of a past memory that had been sparked by his first failed attempt to make a Ward Major. "My mother summoned me to her rooms in secret; I was not normally allowed to visit her. When I arrived, she bolted the door and pulled a pouch from a secret drawer within her desk.  The pouch held her ward cubes, and in my mind, I again saw her raise the wards that would protect us while she erased my memories.  It was the night before I was sold to sea."

Washburn turned to look back at Darcy. His own heart felt dismayed. How had he forgotten that Darcy too had lived half a life time without remembering who his family was or where he had come from.  His mother had done this thing to protect him, because she knew what her husband intended to do with her youngest child, and she could not stop it from happening. This ability of his race to alter memories seemed to be a curse. Wash shivered. But then maybe it was a form of protection too. If Darcy had remembered who he was when he was first sold to sea, would he have mourned his lost life? In his grief, with such hardships as men of the sea trade must cope with, might Darcy have lost his life before he had the chance to find the man inside who could survive such a harsh livelihood? Maybe, just maybe, the adjusted memories were a blessing in disguise. For here before the small gathering of friends, a very determined young man, who was invigorated with self-confidence, chose to do again a magic that had at first defeated him. Washburn approved.  Wash smiled at his friend's next attempt to build a true Ward Major. The cubes shone brightly against the dark ground as he named them. Wash turned back to keeping his vigilance on the forest beyond their small glen. As his senses swept the surroundings for intruders, he considered how Darcy had survived without his memories. He too should match the determination of his friend and survive.

Wash kept an eye on the forest until suddenly a strong ward burst forth over his head. Wash gave it a mental test. A good ward indeed ((can not get better than a roll of 12 with two dice.))  Content that nothing could penetrate this defense, Wash came back to the group and settled in next to them as the meal was prepared. Tonight he would get some sleep. And that would be a welcome necessity.

Finding himself truly relaxed in the company he was keeping, Wash pulled the book from his tunic and opened it to where he had been reading about a cult led by one Warin de Grey who preached to eradicate all Deryni from existence. On top of those troubles, there was the aggressive posturing of Archbishops Corrigan and Loris who wanted repentance from one Alaric Morgan for bringing the devil's magic into their cathedral months before at Kelson's coronation. These were hard times for the newly crowned King of Gwynedd and the king's champion who was of know Deryni descent. This was long before Washburn was born. He had been told stories of such times. But those memories were blurred. Here was an accounting from a man who was very concerned for himself, his cousin, his king, but mostly, for the threat of interdict upon his Duchy of Corwyn and his people. At first Wash could not imagine the church being so cold and calculating. He had grown up with Archbishop Duncan as a guardian. Yet  in this story, Duncan was a simple priest, one threatened with suspension and accompanying Alaric as a nobleman and not a man of the church. So hard to fathom that Wash nearly questioned if this story were true. 

Nevertheless, Wash read on, intrigued. There was a short description of how the two cousins planned to ride to Dhassa to confront the Curia. Wash turned the page and found it blank.  On the facing page were the lone words Merasha.  Another blank page and then the writing resumed.

"The world has turned upside down. I am excommunicated. Interdict has fallen on Corwyn. My lovely beloved sister and her betrothed have been murdered days before their wedding--by jealous magic gone wrong!  Only my king stands between my enemy and I. If I fall, how do I write about what has happened in these last horrific days so that those that I love will know?"

Wash then read about the fated ride to Dhassa, the night in the ruins of Saint Noet's, and the arrival at the Shrine of Saint Torin. There was a brief light hearted moment of words about the passing of arms-men in the colors of blue and white, and a carriage that became bogged down in mud. Followed by a surprisingly soft description of the carriages incumbent, a lady of incomparable beauty. In someway this sounded so familiar to Wash, but he didn't stop his reading to figure it out; he had to know what happened next. The telling of the Merasha dowsing and the ambush set to capture, judge, and execute the Heathen Deryni Lord of Corwyn held Washburn's attention, his heart was racing as he knew nearly exactly how his father felt. The words that followed were about a drug blurred fight, a rescue by Duncan, and the confrontation of if his greatest fear.

"There stood the fate that my enemy had chosen for me. Halfway up the slope, a tall stake was set in the ground amid piles of kindling. Iron chains hung around the stake, ready to fetter this unwilling victim, and nearby, a torch smoked and guttered in the wind. I had to burn it before any soul, including my own, would succumb to such horror."

Washburn shivered as he read this. Again he noted the tense upright letters on the page as Alaric wrote of what had occurred. Then followed the escape. The next days of hardship won at last by reaching Culdi, only then to learn of a worse fate that befell his sister, Bronwyn, and Duncan's brother, Kevin.  Wash brushed aside his tears and nearly closed the book to put it aside.

"Incomparable beauty... red-golden hair." Suddenly Wash knew who the lady in the carriage had been. He turned back to those pages and read again the brief words of happiness in this whole portion of the journal. His father would not have known it at the time, but he was writing about his very first encounter with the woman he would fall in love with and would marry. Alaric's description of the lady he saw on the road to Dhessa was like writing about an angel.  Wash read the description of a young Lady Richanda and smiled.

"And her ladyship wishes to add her personal thanks," said a light, musical voice from inside the coach.
It was then that I looked up, startled, into a pair of the bluest eyes I had ever seen set in a pale, heart-shaped face of incomparable beauty. That face was surrounded by a smooth cloud of red-golden hair, swooped down on either side like twin wings of fire and then twisted into a coiled coronet around her head. Her nose was delicate and slightly upturned, her mouth wide generous, tinged with a blush of color which by rights should have belonged only to a rose."**


Wash took in a deep breath and smiled. He put the book away and looked over the people around him. The newlyweds were just returning to their bedroll, arm in arm, both with heads leaning into the other. Their love strong and renewed. Columcil was too putting his good book away and was bedding down for the night. The priest purposely had placed his bed so he could protect the Lady Fiona; a space halfway between Wash and the young lady.  Wash wasn't sure if that was intentional or not. But it certainly was not necessary. Then again, he looked across at Fiona and wondered how he would describe her if he was to write about her in a journal. Pretty as a fawn, lithe as a willow, determined as a bear.  Hair of white/golden wheat flowing in the breeze. Eyes of the sea. Lips... kissed by a rose...

Embarrassed by his thoughts, he blushed and turned away. He certainly wasn't the poet or writer that his father was.  Best not to be thinking those type of  thoughts anyway. He pulled his bedding over his shoulders and was very quickly asleep. Dreaming of roses.

((** Deryni Checkmate chapter 12))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on October 04, 2019, 08:35:41 PM
A bolt of lightning struck Laas' highest tower, causing the stone structure to tremble and rock but it did not fall. Following the strike almost immediately, two men burst into the tower room where Kelric and the others had taken refuge. Duncan Michael's eyes quickly scanned the room. He could smell the sharp, acrid odor of the lightning and the air still crackled with energy. None of the men inside appeared to have been injured by the strike.

His eyes sought his cousin, the Duke of Corwyn. He knew that Kelric had been severely injured by a knife thrown by one of the rebels who had infiltrated the castle. A young man with auburn curls knelt near Kelric who was sitting on the floor leaning against Rory's shoulder. The knife that had caused the injury had been removed, and there was no blood  flowing from his shoulder. Kelric smiled at his cousin. "My wound has been healed with the assistance of this young man." Duncan Michael turned his scrutiny to the young man with the auburn curls kneeling beside the duke. He recognized the duke's nephew, son of  healer Jana de Tehryn, an apprentice healer himself.

Sir Jass. who had followed Duncan Michael into the room, rapidly surveyed the room, making sure that there were no injuries from the lightning strike. He addressed the duke, "The gatehouse is under our control again and the mutineer who was raising the portcullis has been killed. The portcullis has been lowered, and the ram and those manning it are trapped between it and  the gates. They are being dealt with."

"Well done" said Kelric. He then motioned for Duncan Michael to come closer to him. Duncan Michael moved over to the duke and knelt beside him. Kelric pulled him closer and spoke. "During my healing I had a vision. There was a third pair of hands over mine and Jayce's helping us heal the wound . As the wound healed and my shoulder was repaired, I felt his power and blessing. But following the healing another vision appeared. I saw the Duke and Duchess of Cassan creating the storm and bringing it down on the Tolan fleet, destroying many of their ships. But then I saw the storm  being pulled away from the sinking fleet onto the shore and over the city. And I saw two knights with the Grand Duke Valerian's badge on their tunics. They were acting together using magic to control the storm. I'm sure they have been instructed by the Grand Duke in the proper spell to take control of the storm, and they are turning it against us. This is the warning St. Camber was giving us."

"If that is true, what can I do to counteract their spell?" Duncan Michael asked.

"I need you to try to reach your Da and tell him what is happening. Although my wound is healed, I have drawn heavily on my power, and I am too weak to reach out over that distance.  I am hoping he and the duchess can use their powers to regain control of the storm and move it away from the city," Kelric replied.

Duncan Michael grasped his cousin's hand and nodded his assent. "I will do my best to contact Da, but I'm not certain how the storm will affect my efforts." The storm had continued to rage outside the tower, but now that they listened, it sounded as if it was beginning to move away, toward the east. The thunder and lightning had subsided and there had been no further strikes. The wind and rain were still heard but not as strongly. "The storm sounds like it's moving away, what do you think that means?"

Kelric considered it then turned a look of alarm on Duncan. "Javan's army must be near. They are trying to move the storm over his army to stop them from reaching Laas until Valerian has escaped. We must stop them!"

Duncan Michael nodded and moved away to the innermost wall, away from the windows and separate from the others. He reached inside his tunic and drew out the St. Camber medal his grandfather had given him when he started his training. Holding it up to his lips, he kissed it and then focused his mind on the medal.  Gradually the room faded from his sight as he concentrated on reaching his father, extending his mind out through the storm toward Cassan. Suddenly he felt a familiar presence. "Son, what is it? What's wrong?" Dhugal could feel the urgency of his son's call.

"Tis the storm. It has moved away from the sea and the Tolan fleet toward Laas and is pounding the city with rain, fierce winds and lightning, threatening damage to the castle and endangering all within"

"What has driven it ashore? Mirjana and I had it confined over the sea where the Tolan fleet was tae be found. We have sensed the pull of the storm away but cuid nae sense what was creating that pull. I was goin tae try tae contact Kelric or you because we dinnae know if we should counter it. It cannae be Valerian. Kelson assured me that his powers were blocked."

" Kelric was badly wounded during the attack on the city gates, but he has since been healed. During the healing of his wound, Kelric had a vision of St Camber who gave a warning. I will show you what he saw." Duncan Michael sent the vision of the two knights in the tent to his father.  " The storm is now moving east. We believe that Valerian has instructed two of his Deryni knights in casting the spell to divert the storm and cause havoc here. We think they intend to send the force of the storm onto Javan's army, which is very close, in order to delay them and allow Valerian to escape. Can you not regain control of the storm and turn it against them?"

"I will show  Mirjana what you have shown me, and we will see what can be done. Stand by"

Duncan Michael returned to Kelric's side. He crouched down by the duke and recounted his contact with his father and what his father had said. They could now only wait and leave it to the Duke of Cassan and his Duchess.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on October 09, 2019, 12:18:19 PM
Duncan Michael sent the vision of the two knights in the tent to his father.  "The storm is now moving east. We believe that Valerian has instructed two of his Deryni knights in casting the spell to divert the storm and cause havoc here. We think they intend to send the force of the storm onto Javan's army, which is very close, in order to delay them and allow Valerian to escape. Can you not regain control of the storm and turn it against them?"

Duke Dhugal immediately shared the information with his wife.  Duchess Mirjana hesitated for the briefest of moments.  "We can do this, and together we will."

((Combined roll for Dhugal and Mirjana; three dice since they are both ritual trained.  The sum will be their ability to turn the storm.
Revanne Sep 25 at 5:06 PM
@derynibot
22:03:43
5, 3, 6 == 14

Combined roll for Valerian's knights.  Two dice as both are not ritual trained. 
12:32 <Laurna> Knight one roll
12:32 <Laurna> !roll 2d6
12:32 <•derynibot> 3, 1 == 4
Ah well, it's been a long day for them.))

Mirjana grasped the edge of the map, lifting is slightly so that the drops Dhugal continued to sprinkle on the map began to flow to the west.  She repositioned herself so that the gusts of breath she blew also drove toward the west.  She gathered her strength and blew harder, and Dhugal increased the flow of water.  The storm grew stronger and swept back toward Laas.

***

Baron Vilmos was the first to notice that something had changed; the storm had begun to pull back towards them. 

"Sir Georgios," he said to the Deryni knight that sat across from him.  "You must focus fully."  He tightened his grip on the man's hands.  Perhaps expending energy on striking the tower in Laas had been foolish.  "Centre all of your focus on the map and continue to drive the storm to the east."  He stilled a growing concern and turned his full attention to the leather inscribed map and the incantations Valerian had instructed them to use.

Although he was ritual trained, this form of weather-working was new to Vilmos.  Sir Georgios, though skilled enough, lacked ritual training and could only follow Vilmos' lead.  Villmos felt the storm's energies begin to build towards them.  How could someone know to send it here?

"Give it every bit of strength you have," Vilmos said urgently.  "Else we are lost!"

The winds continued to build as the storm swept in towards them.  The tent flaps stained against the tent poles until the main pole snapped.  The tent was pulled up and away from them, but neither man looked up from the map, which Georgios secured with one knee to keep it before them.  Without the protection of the tent, both men were soon drenched by the rain.  Their tethered horses broke free of the lines and bolted in fear.  Lightning struck the ground close to where the men sat; the thunderclap deafening.   Both men were flattened to the ground by the force, and the wind tossed the map away.

((Will the Torenthi knights survive?
12:33 <Laurna> Knight two roll
12:33 <Laurna> !roll 2d6
12:33 <•derynibot> 5, 6 == 11
Perhaps this is their lucky day.))

Baron Vilmos stirred first.  Every muscle, every bone in his body ached!  It was more force of will than strength that allowed him to open his eyes.  The sky above was clearing, and the rain was slackening to a light drizzle.  He turned his head and viewed Georgios, face down on the ground.

It was almost beyond the Deryni knight to pull himself up enough to crawl towards his companion.  Georgios was as still as death, but Vilmos placed a finger against the man's neck and felt his pulse; it was strong enough to tell him the man would survive.  Vilmos scanned the area around him.  The trees were shredded of their leaves, and the horses were gone.

Vilmos pulled himself into a sitting position and considered his fate. Without the horses, they would not get far.  He could easily abandon Gerogios, but how far would he get before the Haldane forces were upon him?  Not far, and he was too old for this.

The Haldanes, in spite of what was often said in Torenth, were not known to be cruel to their prisoners.  Vilmos had no doubt the questioning would not be pleasant, and he would not give up information willingly.   Merasha would be preferable to mind-ripping.  Perhaps there would be a quick death when all was done.

In spite of the slim chance of success, he could try to follow Grand Duke Valerian to Castleroo,  but what then?  Valerian did not tolerate failure, and Vilmos had no desire to endure the Dance of Death.  He had no doubt Valerian would condemn him to impalement, and he could not face the possibility of such excruciating agony.

"I'm sorry, Gregorios, but I must make this decision without consulting you,"  Vilmos said as he slowly stood.  He pulled his sword from its sheath and drove it deep into Georgios' back, piercing his heart.  Then, after a brief prayer for forgiveness, he withdrew the sword, wedged the hilt in the soggy ground below the body, and threw himself against the blade.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on October 13, 2019, 12:07:13 PM
"Someone is seeding this storm with Magic!" Prince Albin yelled as he kneed his destrier closer to Royal Crown Prince Javan's warhorse.   "Meara does not sport this kind of weather in the summertime."

"Whoever is controlling it, is purposely sending it against us," Javan yelled back to be heard over the deluge.

"Your highness, what are your orders? Do we continue forward or hunker down until the worst of the storm passes?"  Albin maneuvered the reins in his hands back and forth to keep control on his destrier's head. The horse tossed his head and stomped his feet in agitation. Javan's steed, though more calm, was also beginning to tense under the prince's seat. The storm, which had begun mere minutes before, had quickly become a torrential downpour. Rain stung their faces and blinded the whole army as men and horses march westward to no avail. Javan held his hand over his forehead in protection as he looked westward; even so, he could not see more than a few paces ahead. He looked north and then south, they were in a rugged Mearan glen on the road that lay just east of the Bay of Laas. The land afforded no protection from a storm such as this. Water was already puddling at their horses feet. If this cloudburst continued, a flood was sure to wash down the rocky outcroppings and then down onto the road they stood on. They could not climb the road sides. To go back was to admit defeat. Going forward meant heading into gale force winds.

The leaders of Gwynedd's army had seen warnings of the storm. In the late morning hours it had ruled far out upon the ocean. The distant lightning and thunder had rolled across the land announcing the sea's displeasure for all to witness on the coastline of Meara. What worried Javan was that somehow this storm had moved unnaturally onto land. Now it seemed to have halted directly above the Gwyneddian army. They knew they were close to Laas. If they could march over that hill ahead, then they would find the fields below the city walls. Yet did they dare to make that march blinded as they were? The army might just walk directly into the enemy lines before they were aware of it.

"Send out two scouting parties. I want to know if the enemy lies in ambush for us. Tell the men to halt and gather in tight until we learn what lies ahead."

"Aye, my prince, it shall be done," Albin said. He turned to his captains to pass the orders along with a loud yell over the winds. He returned to find Javan staring at the sky looking as drenched as if the prince had just climbed out of a lake. "Can you feel who is controlling this?" Albin asked as he came back shoulder to shoulder with his cousin.

"Nay, but it has evil intent, I am sure of that. Lady Richelle Ramsay, did give me warning of it, but the winds hadn't been aimed at us at that time. She said allies were targeting a fleet of ships off the coast, ships destined to land in Laas Bay and to unload hundreds of Tolan soldiers to help the son of Teymuraz. This isn't the work of allies!  Kadassa! Look up!"

Both men gazed skyward. Above their heads the black clouds churned like a boiling cauldron. The driving rain and wind began to swirl in a vortex over their heads, spinning out tendrils of a funnel moving downward toward the land. Where the tornado would touchdown was anybody's guess.

"That's not good!" Prince Albin called. In a lower voice barely heard, he began to mutter an incantation of protection. Javan understood what the Duke of Carthmoor was doing, thus he added his voice to the incantation. As did a number of Deryni throughout the army. Were there enough trained Deryni among the men to protect the full thousands that made up the army of Gwynedd?

Javan watched the tornado forming, lowering and swirling directly over their heads. The horses whinnied and nickered at the threat of it. The incantation was spoken louder by those who knew of it. Instead of cowering in fear, the soldiers of Gwynedd began to hum the rhythm of the chant, some quickly learning the words, even if they themselves did not have the power to fashion the spell.

Then suddenly, there was an opposing wind. It blew in from the east at their backs, stronger than the driving storm from the west. The twisting funnel cloud disintegrated like a candle being blown out by a hurricane force wind over the army's banners. Only the protective shield of magic seemed to save the army from being flattened.

The voice of thousands of men seemed to chase the clouds away, with it the rain and wind eased to almost nothing. The incantation had done its job. Men cheered at the results.

"Did we do that?" Javan had to ask utterly amazed by the show of his men. He knew that the spell they had used had been only for protection and not one that had the magical focus to shift the storm.

"No! Whoever did that had more control than us."

Javan nodded accepting that they had strong allies in this. "Very well, let us use their aid to our advantage." Prince Javan stood in his stirrups turned behind him and yelled, "Forward men!"

With the wind at their backs and the rain falling back on the fields ahead of them, the army made good time breasting the last hill before they came into the visual sight of the great bay and the castle upon the point. His scouts had the right of it. Most of the rebel army had gone from here. Some still remained, but now with the storm directed at them, they were scattering north and south to the beach. Debris of a camp were taking flight in the wind. A large white tent in the center of the field took the brunt of the gale; it blew apart in a shred of sticks and canvass. Two men were seen kneeling together where the tent had once been. They seemed to glow with a silver aura all around them. An aura that attracted a great jagged bolt of lightning which struck the two men down.

Even Javan and Albin ducked and blinked madly after the electric expenditure. When they had recovered, they ordered their army to take the field. It was a short campaign. The Mearans readily surrendered; there was no fight left in them. By the time Javan arrived at the place where the two men lay dead, done in by their own hands, the clouds above were dissipating. The sun regained its late afternoon strength and a glorious rainbow arched over their heads crowning the city of Laas with heaven's approval.

Prince Javan took in the reports of his captains, the field was theirs."We make camp here tonight. We will follow the rebels north at first light. Make the prisoners secure," he told his men. Then he turned to Prince Albin. "As soon as the gates to the city are made passable, I will go to the city with a healer to discover how the Dukes and their men fare."

"That is good, my prince. Could you send me confirmation after you have learned how Kelric is doing?" Albin requested.

"That I will."

With a small group of men, Javan rode up the causeway. The portcullis was now lifted. A great battering ram with flames upon its beams was being plunged off the side of the causeway. The contraption cracked against the rocks with new flame catching on the splintered wood. Bodies of those who would have used the war machine to conquer a city, were tossed off the edge of the causeway into the fire, finalizing their devastating defeat. The gateway clear, Javan and his men rode easily under the previously contested gates and into the city of Laas.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on October 25, 2019, 04:45:53 PM
As Valerian rode away from Laas with the remainder of his army, wind driven rain pelted any exposed skin.  He hunched over his horse's neck and pulled his cloak closer around him. The wind drove in from the west driving the storm inland over the city and toward the Gwyneddan army. He smiled to himself. His knights were doing exactly what he had ordered, pushing the storm over his pursuers to slow down or halt their approach and give him a chance to escape.

He had ridden some distance into the hills beyond the sight of the city walls, when he noticed a change in the wind. It was veering around and buffeting him from the east. The storm was moving back toward the city and the sea. He halted his horse and turned in the saddle to gaze back the way he had come. He was still close enough to see the black clouds boiling toward Laas. As he watched, he saw a wicked bolt of lightning fork down, and he heard a loud crack. The lightning had surely hit something on the ground in front of the city. What was left of his men still on the field of battle with the trebuchet would have been exposed. He did not know about the tent where his knights had been controlling the storm. Without his powers, he had no way to know if they still lived or if they had escaped.  After the lightning strike, the wind and rain began to subside, rapidly dissipating and leaving only a few showers behind.

Valerian did not know what had happened on the field in front of Laas, but he felt that what was left of his army there was surely lost. He could not know what had happened to his knights. He could only hope that at least one of them would rejoin him in Castleroo, but he was afraid both were lost. He needed to reach the fortified town and regroup to decide what he should do next.

Just after dusk Valerian and his army drew up in front of Castleroo. The gates of the fortified town were already closed.  A challenge rang out from the tower atop the wall, "Who goes there?"

The captain of Valerian's personal guard responded.  "Grand Duke Valerian and the Mearan army of Independence!  We are escaping pursuit by the army of Gwynedd and are seeking shelter."

"Why is the army of Gwynedd pursuing you? What is your mission?"

"Our mission is to free Meara from the control of Gwynedd and restore the Queen to her throne."

The guard atop the tower responded. "Halt where you are. I will summon the Captain of the guard."

Within a very short time, another voice addressed them from the tower. "You say you are the  Mearan Army of Independence. How is it you are at our gates seeking shelter? Who is your leader?"

Valerian called out irritably. "I am Grand Duke Valerian ho Furstanos. I am betrothed to Sidana Quinnell de Paor, the rightful Queen of Meara. I have been supporting her father, the Baron Brioc de Paor in his effort to restore the Quinnell line to the throne and to reestablish Mearan independence. My army was in the process of seizing the city of Laas where the illegitimate ruler of Meara, the Haldane viceroy, is currently residing with the so-called Duke of Laas. We encountered unexpected difficulties due to a freak storm that disrupted our attack. The imminent arrival of a pursuing army sent by the Haldane also forced us to abandon the field of battle- for now- we seek shelter and a chance to regroup so we can return to the attack."

The captain replied,  "I have sent to our lord's representative for his approval to admit you.  How far behind you is the Gwyneddan army?"

Valerian responded, keeping a tight rein on his temper since he needed the assistance of the town's authorities, "We believe that they are in the city of Laas and will remain there at least for the night."

After another pause, a new voice addressed them. "I am the representative of the MacDonald, chief and laird of this town. The captain has told me of your request. My chief  is not present at this time, although he is expected tonight. He has long been a supporter of the Mearan royal line, and I feel that he would want me to grant your request. We will admit you and your men. I would wish to speak more with you after you and your men are settled. The captain will direct you to quarters for yourself and direct your men to a place they can set up camp." The gates of the town swung open, and Valerian led his men inside.

One of the town guards directed the troops to a large open area where they could set up camp. "Food and firewood will be provided for you. You must lay aside your arms while inside these walls. If you have wounded, the priest will tend to them." After surviving the fight outside Laas, the storm and the rapid march to Castleroo, the men were relieved to lay aside their arms, start campfires and eat the rations provided by the garrison.

Meanwhile, Valerian was conducted to quarters suitable for a commander and was able to seat himself comfortably in front of a fire and sip the ale provided. He was considering what options might still be available to him. How could he preserve  his forces and make it possible to still take Laas from the Duke of Corwyn, the Haldane ruler and his supporters? Even if his knights had escaped from Laas and were able to join him, how could he keep his men from being killed or captured by the Haldane's army? Although Javan would probably decide to rest his own men for the night in Laas, they would no doubt be in pursuit at first light the next morning. He needed an escape route for both himself and his men. Also, he was severely hampered by the loss of his powers. "Damn the Morgan pup!" he thought. "If only I could find and capture him. I would soon compel him to restore my powers." he considered the tortures he would impose on Washburn if he ever had him in his hands again. " But for now I have no way to carry out that plan. I have to find a way to escape the Haldane and return to Ratharkin, The fighters of this part of Meara have a long history of supporting independence and have fought on the side of the Quinnells. It is possible I can gain their help in a bid for Mearan independence."

There was a knock at the door and a tall, thin man with dark red hair opened it and entered. He bowed and addressed Valerian. "My lord, Jaime Douglas at your service. I am steward to the Laird, Wallace MacDonald, who is overlord of Castleroo and its surrounding lands. As I stated earlier, he has been absent but is expected to return tonight. I need to know more of your involvement in this conflict. We have heard rumors of a possible rebellion in the eastern part of Meara but little real information. The name of Baron de Paor of Trurill has been mentioned as one of the leaders. He is known to us, but we have heard nothing other than rumors.  How did you arrive at our gates, and what is it you are asking from us?"

Valerian was irritated at being asked to repeat what he had already said, but he managed to control his temper. He was unused to being spoken to in this manner. He was accustomed to prompt and obsequious service at all times. However, he knew he needed help from these people, and he could not afford to alienate them. He repeated the information he had provided to the Captain of the Guard. "I am hoping your chief will grant us shelter and rest within your walls while we determine our next move."

The steward bowed. "I will provide the information you have given me to my lord on his return. In the meantime, I trust that you have all you need. A servant will be bringing you a meal.  If you have other requirements, do not hesitate to let me know." Douglas bowed and exited the room.

After the steward's exit, Valerian paced the room in mounting fury. He was finding the effort to contain his temper and provide the repeated explanations asked of him very trying. What right had these heathens to question his status, actions, or intentions? In his anger, he drew his sword and slashed at the pillows on the bed. Feathers flew everywhere, floating to land on furniture and floor.  His squire scurried about the room trying to gather them up and hide them before the MacDonald returned. The Grand Duke calmed down, sheathed his sword, and demanded water to wash before eating.

Sometime later, Valerian had finished eating and was again seated in front of the fire in a somewhat calmer frame of mind, sipping a glass of wine which had been served at the end of his meal. He heard a commotion outside in the courtyard, voices shouting and horses' hooves stamping. The laird of the town and its surrounding lands had returned and would soon seek out this uninvited guest.

After an interval during which Valerian was sure that the steward was reporting to his lord all that he had been told about Valerian's identity and purpose here, there was a short knock and the door opened to admit Douglas followed by an older man. The newcomer also had red hair along with a bristling red beard, both threaded with some gray. He was tall and broad shouldered, with piercing blue eyes and a weather beaten face from much time spent outside. He carried himself with an air of authority. Douglas bowed and spoke. 'My lord, this is the man of whom I told you.  He and his men arrived just at dusk seeking shelter and a place to rest for the night. He says that they are fighting for Mearan independence but suffered a setback before Laas due to a violent freak storm. In your absence, I admitted them to await your return knowing you have been a supporter of that cause."

Valerian had risen when the two men entered. He faced the newcomer and bowed. "Grand Duke Valerian ho Furstanos, leading the Mearan Army of Independence. I am seeking your support in overcoming a temporary setback suffered by our forces due to a sudden, violent storm. I was given to understand that you support the cause and might look favorably on my request."

The man bowed and spoke. "Lord Wallace MacDonald, laird of Castleroo and its surrounding lands. I hae heard rumors of the new uprising for independence. We are fairly isolated here so I am anxious for news of ta situation. I am willin' tae hear what ye have ta say." He turned to the steward and dismissed him, telling him to send more wine and to see to his escort who had ridden in with him. The man bowed and left the room, closing the door after him.

MacDonald seated himself in a chair opposite Valerian and signaled for Valerian to resume his seat. "Jaime hae reported to me what ye told him. I wuid lak tae hear from yerself exactly what, ye, an outsider, bring tae the cause of Mearan independence? What is yer purpose here on ma land? How do ye plan to hep us gain freedom from the Haldane? Ta Haldane hae not done badly by us. Why should we trade his rule for that of a stranger and a Pretender Queen we do not know?"

Valerian again had to restrain his temper at having his status and intentions questioned..  "As I said, I am Grand Duke Valerian ho Furstanos. I am betrothed to Sidana Quinnell de Paor, granddaughter of Prince Ithel Quinnell, last descendent of the royal line, and the rightful Queen of Meara. I have been supporting her father, the Baron Brioc de Paor in his effort to restore the Quinnell line to the throne and to reestablish Mearan independence. Many Mearans have flocked to our standard in support of this effort. Our forces have already taken Ratharkin, and it is under our control. Our next objective was to take the city of Laas, the former Mearan capital, and capture the cousin of the Haldane usurper who has been ruling as viceroy and the so called Duke of Laas who supports the Haldane."

Valerian paused and took a sip of wine. glancing over at the laird who had made no comment. His face showed no emotion but he was looking intently at the grand duke. Valerian resumed his tale. "We had attacked Laas and were using a ram to try to force the gates. A sympathizer inside the city had managed to raise the portcullis allowing the ram to attack the gate.We also had another siege engine, and I believe we would have breached the gate but a violent storm blew in from the sea over the city and assaulted my forces with fierce winds, blinding rain, and terrible lightning. At one point the winds seemed to come from every direction at once and a funnel cloud formed threatening to destroy my forces. The Army of Gwynedd had been in pursuit and, due to the effects of the storm, was nearly on top of us before we could take the city. In order to prevent the death or capture of a large part of my army, I decided to withdraw under cover of the storm and seek shelter until we could regroup. I had heard much of the fortified town of Castleroo, its fierce fighters, and its long history of support for Mearan independence. It seemed to be the best alternative to seek the assistance we needed here. I hope that you continue to favor the idea of independence for Meara."

MacDonald was silent for several minutes. Then he replied, "Aye, independence for Meara hae long been a dream. I supported Queen Caitrin's effort to release Meara from her subjugation tae Gwynedd. I had hopes for her campaign's success. Sicard was a fine commander. I was leadin' my men toward Dorna tae join his army when we met Mearan soldiers fleein ta the west. They told us o' Ithel's and Sicard's deaths and the defeat of the Mearan Army. Kelson's army was marchin' on Laas. Rather than lose them, I turned my men back ta Casteroo. I never met Kelson nor pledged him my fealty. I hae kept meself to meself, tendin' my lands here."

"I hae no real knowledge of the present rebellion. I hae heard some rumors of a pretender queen but I was no aware of ta legitimacy o' her claim. I planned ta wait and see. I am no willin ta risk ta lives o' me men or safety o' me lands without knowin' more,."

"Our Queen is Sidana Quinnell de Paor, granddaughter of Prince Ithel Quinnell, heir to Meara's throne. He was betrothed to her mother but was executed by Kelson during the last Mearan war before the ceremony could take place. The young woman was already with child and was delivered of a daughter. The daughter married de Paor's son and the Princess Sidana is their daughter. She is the last of the royal Quinnell line and heir to the throne.The baron has been seeking to place her on the throne, fomenting rebellion among the Mearans and again raising the call for independence from Gwynedd.. Meara could then take its rightful place among the eleven kingdoms as a respected state, making its own treaties and alliances. They have taken the city of Ratharkin and and control the surrounding lands. The next goal was to take the ancient capital of Laas, which remains a center of veneration by the people, and capture the Haldane who serves as viceroy, by the authority of King Kelson. This would hearten the people to throw their support to their queen. What happened at Laas is only a temporary setback caused by that freak storm. We will regroup and we will prevail. Our return to Ratharkin is critical.  And we will remember those that help us." Valerian sat back in his chair and studied his host.

MacDonald studied the Grand Duke but his expression gave nothing away. At last he set his wine cup on the table and spoke. " Tis true I still hold the dream of an independent Meara but I am not convinced that ye have the strength or support tae secure it. King Kelson is respected and generally loved in the Eleven Kingdoms, and he will have the support of most. However, tis possible that you can achieve independence as a principality if ye can contrive ta carry out yer plan tae return and take Laas."

"My lord, if you can see your way...." Valerian began. But he was interrupted by MacDonald who held up his hand for silence.

"I am not prepared tae commit men yet, but I will map out an escape route fer ye that will allow ye to bypass the Gwyneddan army coming from Laas and perhaps reach Ratharkin in safety. When ye leave here ye will ride slightly north and then east, skirtin' ta bay then followin' ta Kilarden River till ya reach ta walled city of Kilarden. From there ya will turn slightly east and south toward ta Ratharkin mountains and yer goal. That route will take you well ta the east of the approaching army from Laas. Ya should make it tae Ratharkin safely. When ta Gwyneddan army reaches ma gates, I will delay them as much as possible without given mysel away."

Valerian had to swallow his pride and thank the chief for the support he offered. Then he said, "I am unfamiliar with these lands and not sure of the way after I turn away from the river. Also, my men are  exhausted."

MacDonald replied. " I will draw ye a map tae guide ye on yer way. Ye must guard it and be sure it doesna fall into enemy hands. I hae not made a decision, and I dinnae want it known yet that I am considerin' supportin' the cause. It would be best it you and yer men rest tonight and leave at first light. I will also give ye provisions fer yer men. That is ta best I can give ya."

Valerian controlled his anger and thanked the laird for his offer. He agreed that his men should rest overnight, and they would leave at first light to follow the route mapped out for them. Without his powers and without the support of his Dernyi knights, he had little choice but to accept what was offered and make the best of it. If he could reach Ratharkin and then his mountain fortress, there was a real chance that he could regroup and still achieve his goal, to sit on the throne of Meara beside his Mearan queen.

Both men stood and bowed. MacDonald spoke first. "I will meet you here at first light and give you the map I have prepared for you. I will have Jaime see to the provisioning of your men."

Valerian replied. "I thank you for your help. I will now go to my bed in order to be ready to ride in the morning."

MacDonald strode to the door, opened it and left the room. Valerian made his preparations and lay down on the bed, thinking of the challenges he would face on the morrow.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on November 08, 2019, 06:58:55 AM
At first light, Valerian's squire roused him to prepare for their departure, assisting the Grand Duke to dress and arm. He had just finished a light breakfast provided by the MacDonald's staff when a knock sounded at the door. The squire quickly opened the door to admit Castleroo's Laird carrying a parchment." I hae drawn ye the map as I promised. It should get ye tae Ratharkin witout meeting the Gwyneddan army."

He moved to the table and unrolled the parchment to show Valerian the route he should follow to reach Ratharkin safely. Valerian joined him to study the map and fix the route in his mind. With a meaty finger, MacDonald traced a line along the immediate coast toward the Kilarden River. "Once ye reach the point where ta river empties into ta bay, ye can follow it inland  tae the walled town o" Kilardin.  Dinnae continue ta the town, they are loyal tae the duke and tae the king.  Ya will reach a bend in the river. At that point ya need tae turn south away from ta river. Ya will then cross the Mearan plain along ta borders of Transha and Kierney. Ya should reach ta Ratharkin mountains and ta city witout interference. This route should kep ya well away from ta army that is pursuin' ya."  MacDonald stepped back to allow the grand duke to study the map.

After a few minutes of intense scrutiny, Valerian turned to Laird MacDonald and spoke. "I have the route fixed in my mind now. What about the land, especially along the river? How rough is it, is it difficult for riders?"

MacDonald replied, "Tis not difficult along the Bay but as ya near ta mouth of ta river it becomes steeper with rocky cliffs and deep defiles. Tis treacherous ground and must be ridden with care. Ye cannae move fast, but then neither can those followin' ya. If ye follow ta route I sketched out on ta map, ye should be safe enough."

Valerian rolled up the scroll and tucked it inside his tunic. He bowed to the MacDonald. " I thank you for your assistance. When the Queen comes to her throne, we will not forget those who have helped us. There will be rewards for our supporters."

MacDonald returned his bow. "I would remind ye ta keep that map safe. Dinnae let it fall into enemy hands. I am not yet ready tae have my support known. I can be of more help ta the cause if my sympathies are not suspected."

Valerian inclined his head and then strode from the room toward the stableyard where his men were mustering. His squire held the reins of his warhorse. The Grand Duke quickly mounted and turned to face his men. "Is all ready for our departure?" he asked the captain of his personal guard.

"Yes, your grace." the man saluted as he replied.

At the MacDonald's command, the gates of the town swung open and Valerian led his troops through and toward the shore of Kilarden Bay. After the last man had passed through, the gates of the town swung closed again. His men followed the Grand Duke as he turned east along the shore toward the mouth of the River Kilarden.
 
....

Prince Javan and his escort entered the city of Laas after the great storm subsided.  He was met by Duke Brecon inside the walls, Jass  and Duncan Michael just behind him.  All three bowed as the royal prince dismounted from his destrier. He was accompanied by a tall, dark haired man who wore the badge of a battle surgeon on his tunic. A small escort of royal lancers followed.

Javan addressed Brecon anxiously. "Where is Duke Kelric and what is his condition? I understand that he was severely wounded during the battle. I have brought Lord Aliston, my highest trained healer, with me as I understood from Lady Richelle that he was urgently needed by the Duke. I have been most anxious about him."

Brecon replied with a smile. "He has been healed, through his own powers and with the assistance of Jayce Coris, an apprentice healer, who was sent to us by the King. His Grace's wound has been completely healed but he is weak and exhausted from the battle and the effort to heal the injury. Duke Rory remains with him as does Jayce."

"That is good news. I would like Lord Aliston to examine him to be sure that all possible is being done to restore him to health."

"I will take you to him, your highness." Brecon turned to lead Javan to the inner room where Kelric still sat propped against Rory's shoulder. A young slim squire with auburn curls hovered nearby. Kelric was pale and he appeared weak, but his eyes were clear and bright, there was no sign of bleeding and the offending weapon had been removed. He tried to rise but Rory held him back.

Javan motioned for him to remain where he was. The tall, dark haired man with him moved to Kelric's side. "I have brought my most skilled healer, Lord Aliston, to serve you. Although it appears that you have been healed of your wound, I would have him examine you to ensure that all is well. Then you can be moved to a more comfortable bed to continue your recovery. Both the king and I were very concerned that we might lose you."

Kelric nodded as the healer knelt at his side. "This young man is Jayce Coris, an apprentice healer at the Schola. He was sent by the king and was most helpful in the healing. I could not have completed it without his able assistance." Kelric grinned, "I think he might benefit from observing you as you complete my healing, and I am sure he would be thrilled to be allowed to do so." Jayce nodded his head shyly. The healer smiled and gestured for Jayce to kneel at his side. He placed his hands over the site of the wound. He spoke to Jayce, "Place your hands over mine." Jayce did so and they both entered a healing trance. As he moved his hands over Kelric's body, checking that the artery was well sealed and the blood flowing as it should, that the splintered collarbone was knitted and stable, and that muscle and sinew was restored, he and Jayce communicated in rapport. The healer then moved his hands gently over the duke's head to be sure that no injury had occurred when he fell. Lord Aliston withdrew his hands, stood, and bowed to the Prince. "I find the healing well done, your highness. The duke will need rest, wine to restore the blood he lost, and nourishing food."

"Vezaire wine would do the trick" Kelric interjected.

Rory snorted and Javan shook his head at the Duke. "Like father like son." he retorted with a grin of relief, knowing that his friend and mentor would recover.

The healer continued, ignoring this byplay. "I'm sure Duchess Richelle will be able to provide the nourishing food he requires and will see that he rests. If he behaves, his recovery should be uncomplicated." He turned and put his hand on Jayce's shoulder. "I also think this young man will prove to be quite a talented healer, and I look forward to continuing his education at the schola." He then addressed Duke Brecon. "Are there other wounded who require my services? We have other healers with us and should be able to meet their needs, if you will take me to them." Brecon nodded. "With your leave, your highness." Javan nodded his assent. Brecon and the healer left the room with Jayce trailing after them.

Javan then spoke to Kelric and Rory. "Now that my priority concern has been addressed, what is the status of the castle and its garrison? Have you many wounded, and how much damage has been done? My men are rounding up those Mearan soldiers that remain on the battlefield. The fight has gone out of them, and they are surrendering without resistance. They will be confined and their wounded cared for. However, judging by the numbers I saw, I suspect that a large number of the separatists escaped with Grand Duke Valerian. Have you any idea where they might have gone?

Rory replied, "Unfortunately, the storm hid their movements, and we were dealing not only with attacks from without but also from within. Baron du Chantal and his men were secretly allied with the separatists and Valerian. They rose up and attacked from within in an effort to seize the gatehouse, raise the portcullis, and allow the ram to breach the gates and admit the attacking force. They nearly succeeded. Baron MacArdry and Earl McLain with several soldiers managed to retake the gatehouse to slam the portcullis shut trapping the ram and many men between it and the gate. Many of the rebels were killed or captured, but du Chantal disappeared during the fight, and I suspect he escaped using our portal. The remaining mutineers have been secured and are confined in the dungeons."

"The walls of the city and castle remain intact though there is damage, both from the attack and from lightning strikes on the main tower during the storm. Repairs will be required but the defences are still  strong and can be relied on to protect those within. There were no significant breaches.  We do have many wounded, and the assistance of your healers in restoring them to health and strength so that they may return to their duties will greatly improve our ability to both defend the city and to join in your pursuit of those rebels who escaped." Rory paused.

The prince responded. "My men are fatigued from a long, forced march and battling the storm and securing the rebels that remained on the.battleground. I propose to rest them here tonight and resume our pursuit of Valerian in the morning. Prince Albin is commanding the final roundup and disposition of the captured men. Duke Kelric needs to be moved to a chamber where he can rest comfortably and his recovery can be supported."

Kelric objected, "I'm  fine now" but was ignored

Javan continued as if Kelric had not spoken. "I propose that we meet after a meal and brief rest to discuss our best course in putting down this rebellion. I will need to Rapport with the king to report what has occurred and receive his orders."

Duchess Richelle entered the room and curtsied to the prince, warmly clasping the hand he held out to her.  "We are relieved at your arrival and help in securing the castle, and we are honored by the presence of both your highness and Prince Albin.  My husband has apprised me of what needs to be done now. I have prepared Duke Kelric's room and will see him moved as soon as possible. There are also quarters being prepared for your Highness and Prince Albin where you may refresh yourselves. A meal is being prepared and will be served when you are ready."

Brecon re-entered the room and bowed to the prince. "The healers are tending to the wounded, and  my guard captain is preparing a barracks area for your men. Food will be provided as soon as it is ready."

Javan nodded his approval. "I propose that we all return to our duties . As soon as we have made all the necessary dispositions and all is taken care of, we should meet to discuss our next moves. I am sure Duke Brecon can provide a suitable meeting place. I intend to make a brief tour of both castle and battleground to be sure that all is well. I will then retire to my room and attempt to reach the king to report to him all that has occurred and obtain his orders."

He continued, "Our most immediate need will be to discover where Valerian and his army have gone. To this end, I intend to send out scouting parties at first light tomorrow to cast about for their trail. Baron MacArdry will lead one and Earl MacLain another. I will ask Duke Brecon to send one or two men familiar with the surrounding lands with them to provide direction. Additional plans must await the king's instructions and our discussion tonight." Javan stood and prepared to leave the room. "Brecon, will you accompany me on my review of our current situation?"  Brecon bowed and moved to the prince's side.

Two male servants appeared, sent by the Duchess to assist Duke Kelric to his room. "I can stand without assistance." Kelric insisted. He stood slowly and started to take a few steps. However, his knees began to buckle, and he was forced to lean on the arm of the closest man. He then allowed them to support him, one on either side as they slowly left the room. The prince and Duke Brecon followed them from the room, and the others dispersed to carry out their duties.

Later that evening, Prince Javan, his dukes and the other noblemen present came together in the largest withdrawing room . Javan stood in front of a chair at the center of the large table. He indicated that the men should take their seats. "I have found that all is in good order here. I have Rapported with the king, and he is pleased with the outcome of this battle. His orders are that we pursue and capture Valerian. He feels that the loss of Valerian as well as the capture of Sidana and her confinement in Rhemuth will deal a severe blow to the rebellion. He had news of Baron du Chantal who did escape Laas by portal to reach his estate. He was quickly taken by Earl Brendan Coris and his men who had occupied the manor and were lying in wait for him. The king is ordering Coris to conduct du Chantal to Rhemuth where he will be questioned and confined as a traitor. The Earl is then to lead his men toward Ratharkin where plans are being made for retaking the city."

"Our task is to discover the whereabouts of Valerian and to capture him." Javan turned to indicate a large map of Laas and its surrounding lands. "His escape was covered by the storm which prevented seeing which way he went. Duke Brecon, you know this area best. What are your thoughts on the most likely route for Valerian to have followed?"

Brecon rose and moved to the map. "I believe his goal will be to reach Ratharkin which is currently under rebel control. His most direct route would have been to go east, but Javan and his army were between Laas and Ratharkin and approaching fast. He could have tried to move south but he would have to skirt the bay where he would confront that violent and erratic storm. Then he would have to cross the great river Laas and turn east toward Ratharkin. Further south, he would encounter the Cloome mountains and the Connait. If he skirted Kilarden Bay to the north and east he would have the easiest route with no real impediments. He could reach the walled town of Castleroo which has a long history of separist sympathies. Alternatively, he could ride more directly northeast toward Kilarden. From Kilarden, he would have an easy ride south across the plain to Ratharkin. I believe he would have been most likely to take one of the last two routes."

They discussed the information provided by Duke Brecon. He best knew the lie of the land, and they agreed on the last two as the most likely ways for Valerian to have gone. Javan stood and addressed them.  "Two scouting parties will leave at first light. The first, led by Baron MacArdry, will ride north and east along the Bay toward Castleroo. The second, led by Earl MacLain, will ride northeast toward Kilarden. At any sighting, send a courier back to notify us of the location and which way they are riding. Stay out of sight but continue to shadow them until the army reaches you. Let us go to our beds and get what rest we can. Thank you gentlemen."  The party dispersed as the men headed to their beds.

As the sky lightened the next  morning, the two scouting parties assembled in the stable yard. Prince Javan and Dukes Brecon and Rory were there to send them on their way Two squires and two men-at-arms stood holding the reins of their horses. Brecon stepped forward and spoke to Jass and Duncan Michael. "These men are most familiar with the countryside and can best steer you on the way. He turned and directed them. "Andrews and Dunstan, you will ride with Baron MacArdry. McCallan and Muir, you will ride with Earl MacLain."  Bowing, the four turned to mount their horses and join their parties. The Prince stepped forward to wish them godspeed and the two parties rode out of the gates.

....

Valerian led his men along the shore of Kilarden Bay toward the mouth of the Kilarden river. At the beginning the terrain had been easy riding with gently rolling hills, and they had been able to make good time. However, the land was now becoming steeper and rockier. They were forced to slow down and pick their way carefully over the rocks and defiles. Valerian's temper grew shorter, and no one ventured to question him.  He noticed a faint roaring sound which grew louder as they continued. They must be nearing the mouth of the river Kilarden where it emptied into the bay.  The roaring became louder until the party came out on a steep bluff overlooking a river that flowed swiftly into the bay which spread out to the west.  Turning aside Valerian picked his way back from the bluff and found a track leading eastward away from the bay and along the river's course. After a short ride, Valerian signaled the men to halt.  A little further along the track there was an opening which led to a glade with grass and water for the horses. "We will rest here. Water your horses and tend to your own needs. We will move on as soon as I have had a chance to study the map the MacDonald gave me."  He dismounted and threw his reins to his squire who led both horses to the stream to allow them to drink. Valerian found a place where he could sit and lean against the trunk of a gnarled old tree. He drew the parchment out of his tunic and unfolded it to study the map. The track indicated on the map followed the banks of the river for some distance. The river, as indicated on the map, flowed in a nearly straight line toward the town of Kilarden. There was one sharp bend in the river where it dipped south toward a mountain then returned to its previous course toward Kilarden. That bend looked to be a short distance from the town but far enough that the movements of his army would not be visible from their walls. At the deepest point in the  bend they would leave the river and move south, skirt the mountain and ride south toward Ratharkin. Once they turned south, the ride appeared easy with gently rolling land and no large obstacles. They only had to reach the plain and his troubles would be over.

....

The scouting party led by Jass MasArdry headed north and east along the shores of Kilarden Bay keeping a sharp lookout for signs of the passage of a large group of riders. His party included two men who were excellent trackers and quickly noted signs of riders having passed this way recently. They rode steadily along the bay toward Castleroo without encountering other riders. After several hours of steady riding, Jass called a halt to rest both men and horses. As the men dismounted and led their horses to a small stream to allow them to drink, he called the two guides and the trackers to him to consider their progress.

Jass turned to the trackers, "Do ta signs ye see convince ya that Valerian's army passed this way? Ye hae seen no signs that he turned from the way ta Castleroo? "

"Nae, milord. All ta signs point to his tryin' tae reach Castleroo. Ta town is noted fer its support o' independence, and he would hae ta best chance o' gettin' hep there."

Jass addressed the guides who had accompanied him. "Ye know this land. Is our best course tae continue tae track them toward Castleroo?"

Andrews answered first, confirming that it was most likely that Valerian was trying to reach Castleroo where he had the best chance to obtain much needed support. "The MacDonald, Laird of Castleroo and its surrounding lands, was a supporter of Princess Caitrin in her bid for Mearan independence. He and his men were too late to fight with Sicard at Dorna. They returned without encountering the king and his army. Since then he has remained quiet, tending to his own lands. He would be the most likely source of support for Valerian."

The other young man, Brecon's squire, Gregory Dunstan, then spoke." Even if he has reached Castleroo, he will not want to stay there. He will know that the Prince will be in pursuit. The only other town of any size is Kilarden which is loyal to Duke Brecon and the king. If he intends to reach Ratharkin, he might bypass Kilarden and turn south across the plain. If we bypass Castleroo and move more inland we might be able to intercept him."

Jass considered what the men had told him. After a brief deliberation, he decided to change course, turn inland away from the shore and follow a line to try to intercept Valerian and his men on the plain south of Kilarden. He signaled to the men to mount. He placed the two guides at the front of the party, one to each side, to lead them toward a sighting of Valerian and his army.

They rode steadily for several hours. Jass began to notice a gradual change in the lay of the land. The gentle hills were giving way to steeper rises with rocks, small trees and bushes. Jass halted the party to again confer with his guides. "Will ta land get steeper and rougher and will ta riding get harder, slowin' us doon? "

Both guides agreed that their path would get rougher, and it would be to their advantage to alter their path somewhat, turning more south. The older of the two, Andrews, addressed the baron. "There is at least one tall mountain and one or two lower ones in front of us. There is also a small lake. The steeper ground is the lower part of the mountain.  We think our best course will be to skirt the foot of the mountain and pass between it and the lake. The riding should remain fairly easy, and it should put us on track to intercept Valerian if, as we believe, he is heading away from Kilarden and toward. Ratharkin." 

Jass nodded his agreement to the route proposed. "After a short rest, we'll move on. You two lead ta way." As the others took advantage of the short halt, Jass kneed his horse to move closer to the younger of the guides, Dunstan, and spoke to him. "Ye seem verra keen ta catch these rebels. Is there a reason ye want so badly ta see em caught?"

Young Dunstan replied. "The Grand Duke murdered my grandfather, Lord Dunstan, when the rebels took Ratharkin. Grandfather refused to swear fealty to the Pretender Queen, and he ordered my grandfather beheaded and displayed his head on the castle walls as a warning to others. My brother told me of it in a letter he sent just after it happened. He thought I should know." The young man continued through clinched teeth. "I want him caught and punished for that act. I would like to see him drawn and quartered, but at least I want to see him die."

Jass responded in a sympathetic voice. "I understand yer feelins, lad, but remember, our orders are ta find the Grand Duke, send word ta Prince Javan, and track him til ta army can capture him and his men. Ta king will decide what is ta be done wi' him."Jass fixed the boy with a stern look. "Ye need ta follow orders an hep us find him. Focus on yer duties. If ye cannae do that, I will send ya back ta Laas. I will be watchin' ya."

"I will do as you command, milord." Dunstan gave a neck bow to Jass but still looked mutinous."

At Jass' signal the group moved out, continuing to follow their guides as they moved on toward the south and east. After they had ridden some distance, Jass again halted the party and signaled the two guides to approach. "I need the two o' ye ta ride ahead and scout fer any signs o' riders. Dunstan, go tae the north, back toward Kilarden and the river. Andrews, go east toward ta plain tae be sure they hae no got past us. Report back tae me." Both men saluted and turned their horses in the directions assigned.

Young Gregory Dunstan guided his horse through the rocks and brush at the base of the mountain toward Kilarden. As he rode, he thought of his grandfather. They had been close, and he had adored the older man. His grandfather had instilled in him precepts of honor and chivalry. The more he thought of the rebels and especially the Grand Duke and what they had done to his grandfather, the angrier he became. He felt the need to revenge himself on the person he saw as his grandfather's murderer. But he also thought of his pledge of loyalty and obedience to the Duke he served and to the king. His thoughts were in turmoil, he was conflicted. He shook himself and tried to focus on his mission to try to discover the whereabouts of the rebels and their leader.

Screened by rocks and brush, Gregory  reined in his horse and studied the scene before him, looking for any sign of riders. He sighted signs of movement in the distance, in the direction of the Kilarden river. As he watched, the movement dissolved into a large group of riders headed toward him. They were here, the rebels!  He turned away and spurred his horse back toward where he had left his party.

Dunstan reined in his horse in front of Baron Jass. "I have seen them, milord, a large group of riders headed this way from the river. I believe it is the army we are seeking!"

Jass singled out one of the men nearby. " Joseph, you will be my courier and take this news back to the prince as quickly as you can. Inform him that we will watch them and continue to shadow them until he arrives. I expect you will meet the army moving in this direction."

"Aye, milord." the man saluted the baron, kneed his horse away from the party and set off back toward Laas. 

Jass ordered Gregory to lead them to the point from which he had sighted the riders. "Be careful tae conceal yourselves. We dinnae want them tae know they hae been seen," he told the men.  The party followed Gregory to the part of the slope from which he had seen the riders. They could see a large party of riders headed in their direction. The men concealed themselves to continue to watch the advancing rebel group.

Gregory found an excellent lookout where he was hidden but had a good view of the approaching rebels. As they drew nearer, he could better see the men in the lead. He noted the arrogant look and the superior carriage of one man whom he suspected was the Grand Duke. Gregory inched his horse closer as the leaders of the army drew closer, and his view became sharper. As they neared the beginning of the foothill at the base of the mountain, the black haired man in the lead signaled for a halt. As the army reined in their horses behind him, he gestured for two of them to approach him as he pulled out a parchment from his tunic and unrolled it. Probably a map of some kind the young man thought .

As Gregory continued to watch the black haired man conferred with the two men he had summoned. The longer he watched, the more certain the boy became that this was indeed Valerian and the angrier he became. It was not enough that Valerian should be captured. Gregory wanted him dead. He looked around, Jass was some distance away also studying the actions of those below. Gregory reached for the crossbow hanging from his saddle. His horse somewhat hid him from the others. As he stared down at the hated figure, his anger overtook him. He loaded the bolt, sighted his target and fired. He saw the bolt hit the Grand Duke in the chest. The man reeled in his saddle ; his warhorse reared as he pulled at the reins in an effort to keep his seat. It was not to be. Semi-conscious, the Grand Duke fell back and to the side,toppling from his horse, his head striking a rock in the path. He lay motionless, the bolt from the crossbow deep in his chest.

The other  two men sprang from their horses and knelt beside him. One of them was pointing in the general direction of the mountainside but seemed unsure of where the fatal bolt had come from. There were no further arrows nor any signs of attackers. The men seemed unsure of what they should do as they knelt beside the still body. The rebels were becoming agitated, uncertain of what to do and suddenly leaderless.

Jass quickly passed the word that they should remain still and hidden. Their number was small, and they could not withstand an attack from the men below if one was launched. However, the rebels continued to mill around, unsure of their next actions.  One of the men who had been beside Valerian when the bolt hit him, stood up and addressed the men. Instead of moving to search the area for the attacker, they loaded the body onto his horse and turned back toward Kilarden. Gregory Dunstan heaved a sigh of relief that there would be no search for the person who fired the bolt. His emotions at having the man he hated in his sights had overcome him, and he had failed to consider that he might be putting the other members of the scouting party in danger. He  knew that the Baron would single him out as the one who fired the killing bolt, and he would surely face punishment, but he had done what he needed to do to obtain vengeance for the killing of his grandfather and he would gladly face whatever punishment was determined for him.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on November 11, 2019, 08:45:56 AM
"I told you I am FINE!  Stop asking me if I am feeling unwell!" 

Aliset Cameron stood with her hands on her hips and glared at her husband.  Her husband, standing in the exact same position, glared back.

"Fine then!" he said, hefting his sea bag over his shoulder and stroding away toward his horse.  "I'll never understand her," he muttered as he passed Father Columcil on the way. He stopped and turned to the priest. "Everything I say to her is the wrong thing.  And if I don't say anything, it's the wrong thing.  I should go back to sea."

"Ye mun ha'e a bittie patience, ma laddie," the priest replied.  "I'm sure come the next month or twae she'll be no' wantin' ta bite yer heid off."

"A month or two?" Darcy looked dismayed and  shook his head, pushing  back the stray strands of fair hair that fell across his face.  "How can you be sure?  I can read the stars, and I can read the weather, but I can't read her at all."

Columcil had seen the signs many times before as a remote parish priest, but did not feel it was his place to enlighten the frustrated younger man before him.  At least not yet.  "Gi'e her a wee bit o' space; she doesn'a need you at her side all the time. She's an independent lass and kens her own mind."

"I'm glad she knows it, for I'm sure I don't!"  Darcy sighed.  "We'd best get on with the day."  He shook his head a second time and walked purposefully toward his horse.

Columcil watched him walk away. He knew how dearly Darcy loved Aliset and that she was fond of him.  Both had the mettle to face the world on their own; they would just have to figure out how to face it together.  A challenge to be sure.  Columcil looked toward Aliset and saw that Fiona had joined Aliset and they were talking quietly.  Fiona placed a gentle hand on Aliset's arm, said something to her earnestly, and Aliset nodded.  The priest smiled ruefully and wondered if Washburn would figure it out before Darcy.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on November 13, 2019, 12:25:55 PM
"Darcy, could you hold up on releasing the ward cubes for a few minutes longer?" Washburn asked in a rush as he came over to the seaman's side. 

Standing beside his horse, Darcy had raised his hands above his head and had started to concentrate on the spell that would lower the protective ward which had lain over their heads for the night. He gave Wash a look of concern as he lowered his hands back to the pommel of his saddle. "We need to get moving. We will not get into the church, if we are not there soon."

"Aye! Yes, I agree. Yet, I would ask a boon of your wife for a bit of magic before the wards are gone. It will not take long." Wash had a  boyish grin that echoed mischievousness. There was no doubt that the good night's sleep had done him a world of good. "You don't mind, do you?" Wash asked at Darcy's downcast eyes.

"Don't mind which? That you want magic performed or that you would ask my wife to perform it?" Darcy then looked up and twisted his lips. "Tis neither of those things, Wash. It is this damnable road. Truth is, my lady and I have only known the road together. I have little experience of residential living, land ownership, and homes, those are alien to me. But for my loved one, I need to bring her to a good home, and soon. I feel it in my bones that she will be happier when we are settled down. Yet, if I suggest that she go back to Rhemuth when we send Fiona there, she gets stubbornly fixated that she doesn't want just any roof over her head. That she would rather have the stars as her roof and my arms as her walls."

"And this upsets you?"  Wash said with a quizzical laugh. "If only I could find such a woman."

Darcy looked at Wash with a disgruntled exasperation. "What she says is contrary to what she needs."

"Aye, all women are contrary, Darcy. That is the way of their kind. Keep her close to you. That is the key. Soon, hopefully soon, we will get you some solid walls and a hardy roof to put over your heads. I did promise you a good bed, too. I stand by that." Wash clapped a hand on the younger man's shoulder with a wide smile. "To that eventual happy day, if it is acceptable to you, I shall ask for that little magic of which I am in need." With a sprite step, Wash across the campsite with it's magical protection. He drop to one knee before the two chattering young women. "Lady Fiona, Lady Aliset." He acknowledged the young ladies before him. "I hope the morning is finding you both well. My lady?" he looked up into the face of his friend's wife, aware of the hesitant look Aliset gave him. "Would you be kind and perform a favor for me?"

"Sir Washburn, if I can, I will." Lady Aliset Cameron stifled the smile she had been sharing with Fiona and then cocked her head in suspect of the knight's purpose on behalf of her husband. "Why are we being so formal?" she inquired.

"Well, I need your expertise... in body changing!" he exclaimed, which only elicited a confused look shared between Aliset and Fiona. A bit taken off guard, they both began to giggle and Wash felt undone. He didn't understand women either, apparently. "You misunderstand me. I can not walk into the funeral church mass as I am. It is quite probable that the Grand Duke will have spies seeking my whereabouts at the abbey. He will want me alive to reverse what I did to him, but his spies would think it nothing to harm those who protect me. My hope is they still believe me to be in Meara hiding with Iain-- I wish I knew how good the Grand Duke's informants are?" He looked up at Aliset and saw her biting her lip. In the glow of the blue dome, her skin was pale and her eyes showed concern. He saw a vulnerability in her he had not seen before. Perhaps Darcy was right, the road was no place for both of these young noble women. Yet, at this moment, that problem could not be resolved.

Wash had a need to lighten the mood, so he shrugged his shoulders and spread forth his hands. "Besides,  don't you think that I draw too much attention?" He gave a charming lopsided grin, his gold hair falling characteristic forward. "Even if I cover up in a cowl, there will be other people there who could recognize me. I am not sure I can face them, not yet. Can you change me.... To look like someone else?" He added in a rush.

Aliset softened her expression and color returned to her cheeks. "Yes, I can. But who should you be? It needs to be someone that I know well enough to model you after, someone close in height and of similar build. You are far taller than Alister was, and young Robert may never reach your height."

"He could become Jaxom,"  Fiona happily suggested.

"No!" was everyone's unanimous reply, confirming that Darcy and Columcil had come close to hear Washburn's request.  Wash barely managed in time to swallow his own response, which could not have been properly uttered before the ladies, nor a priest. Darcy on the other hand would have applauded his comment. That is if he had dared to say it, which he did not.

Fiona noted Washburn's pursed lips and giggled. "Well, there is Baron Stuart," she offered when she had settled her mirth. "He is my guardian and that would make it easier to explain my presence among you to anyone who would inquire."

"This would not upset him, if he found out?"  Wash asked liking the idea.

"You do not plan to sully his good name?" Fiona inquired.

"No, absolutely not!" Washburn responded.

"Father, would that be acceptable?" Fiona asked of Columcil.

"I see no evil in it. It would be a form of protection to avoid danger for all of us, I would not think that the baron would object.  However, Wash you will need to behave as an elder baron of standing and not the brash laddy you sometimes can be."

Wash smiled at Columcil's open expression. "I... Brash.... When!" Then he laughed knowing Columcil was teasing him. "I will happily be Fiona's guardian during the mass. It is a solemn occasion. It may bring upon me some emotions, but I swear, I will be the proper old baron."

Aliset looked across the company for approval. Columcil nodded, Darcy agreed, and then Fiona gave a final nod of assent. Aliset bit her lip for a moment. "Fiona could you give me a good image of Baron Stuart, my memory of him was only brief and I would have his full image, voice, and mannerisms in my mind before we do this."

Washburn remained kneeling as he watched the two women form Rapport, he used the long minutes to prepare himself. He glanced at the last embers of the dying fire and brought his breathing to even slow breaths and his mind to a calm openness. For only two people he would willingly drop his shields, for Father Columcil who now knelt beside him and for the Lady Aliset whom he trusted like an angel. When Aliset was certain she had the image in her mind, she lifted one hand to Washburn's forehead. He closed his eyes as her hand passed over his face, his calm went deeper, into his Healer focus. He shifted his own energy from himself into the hand that touched him and the lady accepted the warmth of it with a welcome relief. Wash sensed the ladies nausea and paleness dissipate and he was happy he could help in this small way.  Then she was sending him the knowledge she had gained from Fiona about Baron Stuart.

((09:59 <Laurna> Roll Wash in healing trance, does he discover Aliset's condition?
09:59 <Laurna> !roll 2d6
09:59 <•derynibot> 4, 3 == 7
10:00 <Laurna> nope.))

The others now all purchased on knees near at hand, listened raptly to the soft chanting spell that Lady Aliset sung, "Behold the essence of Baron Mackenzie Stuart, hold his outward form in your memory. Let your essence mingle with that of the baron until your outward forms become one. Let it be done, Fiat!"

((10:05 <Laurna> Roll for Aliset, success on 4,5,6
10:05 <Laurna> !roll 2d6
10:05 <•derynibot> 5, 2 == 7  success))

Washburn's eyes were closed but his mind was open and he felt the supporting presence of all of his friends. There had been a faint tingle in his face and an itch on his hands as the use of power filled him. He knew it would be his own power from here on which would maintain the spell that was passed over to him, but this was but a trifle. Yet...was it a true success?  How was he to know?  The lady's hands dropped away from him and Fiona gave a small gasp.  Wash opened his eyes searching the faces staring at him. "Did it work?" he asked in a voice that was much deeper than his own.

"Aye, my son," was Columcil's response. "I dare say you are now older than I."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on November 14, 2019, 06:39:57 AM
Brendan Coris, Earl of Marley, leaned back in his chair and took a sip of the Fianna wine that had followed his meal. He was feeling out of sorts. No one else had used the portal since Chantal came through and was captured. Nor had he received any news concerning the battle for Laas. It was becoming difficult to keep his men alert and battle ready since basically they were just guarding prisoners and maintaining the manor. The men were getting bored and restless and so was he.

He knew that his brother, the Duke of Corwyn, had reached Laas and was surely involved in the fighting. But he did not know what might have happened to him or to the others defending the castle. He had learned nothing from du Chantal who refused to answer any questions.

Nor had there been any further news concerning Washburn. He knew that Sir Iain had freed him, but that his brother was still under the influence of his captor who had twisted his mind and altered his memories for what purpose no one knew.
 
He closed his eyes and let his thoughts drift. How long would he and his men remain here at du Chantal's manor? No one had followed the baron through the portal, and there had been no action since he had been captured and detained.. As his mind continued to drift, he felt Kelson's call. "How may I serve you, your majesty?"

"I have instructions for you." Kelson detected the Earl's sigh. "I hope you have not felt neglected. There has been much to occupy my mind, but I have certainly not forgotten you."

Brendan responded. "Forgive me, Sire. I have not felt that I have accomplished much to advance your cause or to help either of my brothers.  I have not able to rejoin Javan's army or support him in the fight at Laas. Nor did I have the chance to find Valerian's stronghold and free my brother. That was accomplished by another"  Kelson sensed Brendan's frustration.

Brendan felt the king's sympathy. "I know the difficulty of being far from the action, forced to wait while others fight the battles."  Brendan had not considered that the king might have similar emotions  as his son led the army to Laas..

Kelson continued. " Your service has indeed been of value. You stopped rebels from seizing estates and gaining a foothold in Gwynedd. You also prevented an uprising in the town of Droghera, supported the commander and held it for the crown. And while you did not directly free Sir Washburn, you supported those who did free him and are helping him now. Without your efforts, the entire area between Cuiltiene and Droghera could be in rebel hands."

"You hold a valuable prisoner who stands high in the separatists' councils. His loss will severely hamper their plans. My first order for you is to transport Chantal under close guard via portal to Rhemuth. He will be thrown into my dungeon like the traitor he is. He swore fealty to me but violated his oath. He will pay the price for his treachery." Brendan sensed the king's anger  though it was held tightly in check. "Once you have delivered the prisoner, I will have further instructions for you. Plans are being made to free Ratharkin from the rebels and return it to its legitimate leader.  You and your men will play an important role in that campaign."

"It shall be done as you command, my liege. But I must ask, what news of Laas and my brother?" The king felt the anxiety in Brendan's thoughts..

"I have had good news from Laas. Javan has reported that although Duke Kelric was severely wounded by one of the mutineers, he has been healed through his own efforts assisted and supported by your son, Jayce. Duchess Richelle had urgently requested a healer, but all of my healers were with Javan and the army. I was told that Jayce was one of the most talented of the apprentice healers in the schola, and he begged to be allowed to go and assist his uncle. The most able of the healers with Javan examined Kelric and found the healing well done. He needs only rest and nourishment to complete the process."

"The castle did sustain some damage and will require repairs, but no walls were breached nor were the gates compromised. The castle can still defend the city and its people." Kelson paused. "However, Grand Duke Valerian and a large portion of his force did escape under cover of a freak storm that blew in from the sea. Javan and his men will resume pursuit at first light."

"I share your concern for Washburn, but I assure you that he is safe with his party. They will 
protect him until such time as we can have the best mages and healers examine hIm and determine what needs to be done to restore his mind . As soon as peace is restored and the rebellion crushed, healing Washburn will have the highest priority"

Brendan felt eased in his mind by the king's words. "I will go now to make ready to transport the prisoner, my liege. I will deliver him to your hands first thing in the morning." Kelson ended the Rapport and Brendan called one of his guards to summon Lord Jaxom to attend him immediately.

Jaxom entered the room a short time later and bowed to the Earl. "You sent for me, my lord?"

Brendan gestured to the young lord to be seated on a stool facing  him across the table. "I have received instructions from the king. I am to deliver our prisoner, Baron du Chantal to Rhemuth. I will take him via portal to Rhemuth castle where he will be surrendered to the king's guard who will be awaiting him. He is to travel under close guard, so I will take two guards with me. You will see that he is brought to the portal room at first light, blindfolded and bound and accompanied by two guards."

"I am leaving you in charge of the garrison and the other prisoners while I am absent. The king has indicated that we will be leaving here upon my return so I need you to check supplies and have the men check their gear in preparation for our departure. I suspect we will leave a token force here to guard the other prisoners."

Jaxom  sat erect and attentive on his stool, eager to make the most of this opportunity to impress the Earl.

Brendan smiled at the young lord's eagerness. "The king said he would have orders for us after the prisoner has been delivered. We must both be patient until those orders are given." Jaxom bowed again and left the room to carry out his orders.

The next morning Brendan waited by the portal for the prisoner to be brought to him  He heard footsteps in the hallway and Jaxom entered accompanied by two guards with the prisoner between them held by his arms which were bound in front of him. His eyes were covered by a blindfold. "Where am I being taken?" The prisoner demanded. The Earl stepped forward. "You will find out soon enough." He opened a small jar and smeared a small amount of the contents at the base of the prisoner's throat using a glove to cover his hand. He then helped the guards position the baron on the portal and instructed them to stand close on either side. Brendan moved onto the portal, wrenched the energies, and they were gone.

Jaxom took a deep breath, smiled to himself and turned to leave the portal room. He thought to himself, "I am in charge."
 
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on November 22, 2019, 08:00:04 PM
Kelson's guards were waiting as Brendan and his guards arrived on the portal with the prisoner. Brendan's men moved Chantal off the portal, and the royal guards took charge of him immediately, one seizing each arm, and marched him away to the corridor which would eventually lead to the descent to the dungeons.  One of Kelson's captains was also waiting for them. He bowed to Brendan. "I will see to your men, my lord. The king has ordered that they be fed and quarters are ready for them." Brendan nodded to his two guards to follow the captain, and the three men also left the portal room.

A tall, slim young squire was also waiting. He bowed to Brendan, "My  Lord, my orders are to escort you to the king as soon as you arrive. If you will come with me." Brendan nodded and followed the young man through different corridors until they reached a withdrawing room near the great hall. The squire knocked softly followed by a response, "Come." He opened the door and entered, bowing deeply to the king who was seated at a table inside.  "The Earl of Marley, as you commanded sire."

Kelson stood. He smiled at the young man. "Thank you, Barclay. You may now return to your other duties." The young man bowed again and left the room, closing the door behind him. Kelson walked around the table and approached the Earl. Brendan bowed. As he straightened, he found himself clasped in an embrace by the king. "It is good to see you. We will have the chance to talk face to face rather than just in rapport . Rapport is very valuable but it also has its limitations. I know these last weeks have been difficult for you. We have much to discuss."

.Kelson continued." First, however, I must attend the funeral mass for Bishop Arilan. The time for it to start is quickly approaching, and I need to leave. Denis was close to your family, and I am sure you would like to pay your respects. I would ask that you accompany me to the cathedral. Your presence will be a support to me. Your mother will also accompany me, and she is anxious to see you as well. We are traveling by portal to save time and for reasons of safety. My council was not pleased by my decision to attend because of concern for my safety. However, they are resigned since I agreed to wear mail under my tunic and to travel by portal."

Brendan answered his king. "As you say, my liege, Bishop Arilan was always close to my family, and I would be glad of the opportunity to pay my last respects to him. I would be honored to be present at his services in attendance on your majesty."

The king eyed his Earl. "A room has been prepared for you. I can allow you a little time to  prepare before our departure." Brendan noticed that Kelson seemed to be studying him more closely than usual and appeared somewhat puzzled. Brendan wondered to himself if there was something wrong with his attire.

There was another knock at the door and Richenda, dowager Duchess of Corwyn entered and curtsied deeply. "I am ready, Sire." Then her eyes fell on her son and her face lit up with her wonderful smile. Brendan moved quickly to embrace her, noticing how thin and fragile she had become. She hugged him close to her. As he released her, she stepped back and studied him with her head tilted to one side. As she continued to gaze at him, he began to fidget, feeling a little uncomfortable under her scrutiny as well as that of the king.

Brendan spoke. "Is there something amiss with my appearance, Maman? "

Richenda replied. "What has happened to your hair? My son has red hair. The red hair of Marley is well known. But I see before me a man with hair of a rather dull brown. It greatly changes your appearance and might make it difficult for those who do not know you well to recognize you."

Brendan's cheeks flushed red. He had not thought of the difference in his appearance produced by his dyed hair. So much had happened since he had changed his appearance in order to seek his brother being held captive by the rebels that he had actually forgotten about it. He ducked his head as he answered her. "I dyed it in an effort to disguise myself. I intended to search for Washburn, and I thought it would be better if his captors did not recognize the Earl of Marley in the search party. I know there had been warnings from his captor of dire consequences for Wash if a formal search were made."

The king then addressed him. "What search party was this that you planned to join?"

"I intended to ride with Lord Darcy. We would appear to be two ordinary men-at-arms traveling with a priest and a squire and arouse no suspicions should we find our objective. Prince Javan shared your rapport with me, your majesty. He argued that I should remain with the main army and allow others to search for Wash. However, he did not make it an order. He understood that for the love I bear my mother and my brother I had to be part of the effort to free him."

Brendan paused to look at the king and his mother, then continued. "Before we set out, I received the news that Washburn had been located and freed by one of your trusted agents who was hiding him from the rebels. There was no longer any need to search for him. I became absorbed in other urgent matters and no longer gave my disguise any thought until now."

Richenda addressed him, asking what he had used to dye his hair. When he told her what he had used, she turned to the king and smiled ruefully. "Your majesty, if you need an agent who can remain incognito to carry out an assignment for you, Brendan is your man, since the dye he used cannot be washed out. I'm afraid we'll just have to wait for it to grow out before your red headed earl will reappear."

To Brendan's relief, the king was not angry at his decision to follow a course forbidden by him. Kelson laughed saying, "At least your change in appearance should make it harder for your brother to recognize you and have his anger ignited. That could be dangerous and was the reason I wanted him kept away from his family until we could find a way to heal his mind. For now, we need to leave for the cathedral within the hour. My squire will show you to your quarters and we will all meet at the library portal to depart as soon as possible." They dispersed to make ready to travel to pay homage to Bishop Arilan who had served Gwynedd long and faithfully.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on November 28, 2019, 10:48:22 AM
Darcy Cameron surveyed their small party thoughtfully as they prepared to depart from the clearing.  "We'll need to change our riding order a bit," he said to the group.  Sir Washburn, still a little uncomfortable wearing the form of the older Baron Stuart, gave him a puzzled look.  Aliset paused in packing away the apples into her saddle bag that were left from breaking their morning fast.  Father Columcil stopped checking his saddle girth, and Fiona looked up from examining her quiver of arrows.

"'Tis more appropriate for the baron and his daughter to ride behind me, your faithful man-at-arms."  Darcy sketched a brief bow in Washburn's direction.  "Father Columcil, would you mind bringing up the rear?"

"What about me?" Aliset said before Columcil could answer.

"Why you, of course, as my new bride, will be loath to be kept apart from me and will ride close by my side." 

Aliset's hand clenched the apple she held and threw it directly at Darcy's head.  Darcy caught it neatly and Sigrun, standing behind him, nudged him in the back with her head, suggesting that he now held an appropriate treat.  "I will ride before Father Columcil, thank you!" she said stiffly.

"I suspected as much," Darcy replied. 

"I'll gang tae th'back," Columcil agreed. An' blessed Mary Mother, may ah keep th' peace thereby, he added to himself.

Darcy tucked the apple into his sea bag and then, somewhat warily, helped his wife to mount her horse.  He turned back once more to address the group.  "Already the noise of travellers on the road increases, and the crowd will continue to grow once we pass Valoret and continue on to Arx Fedei.  Do your best to stay together; it will be easy to become separated and difficult to find each other again if we do."  His companions nodded as he mounted Sigrun, and followed as he led them from the clearing toward the road.

***

Darcy was right in his prediction.  As they passed Valoret, the road began to fill as those who had spent the night in the town joined the others destined for Arx Fedei.   Some travelled on horseback, some travelled on foot, and some travelled in carriages.  Darcy noted that a large number of the clergy had joined them.

Their progress slowed when they reached the abbey.  Arx Fedei had grown over the years as it acquired additional  patronage after the canonization of Saint Jorian.  The abbey walls were new and the gates impressive.  Now the abbey gates became a bottleneck, and all were forced to wait as the guards slowly motioned people through, scrutinizing each one as they passed. 

"Stay as close as is safe," Darcy said, more loudly than he wanted to but the crowd, despite heading toward the solemn occasion of a funeral, was far from quiet.  As he approached the guards, Darcy motioned with his hand indicating that they travelled together.  The guards eyed the baron's magnificent destrier closely and then motioned them through.  Darcy let out the breath he had been holding in a sigh of relief.

They proceeded slowly into the courtyard of the abbey.  Long picket lines had been set up along one side for the overflow of horses that could not be housed in the abbey's stables.  Darcy moved toward the lines, deciding he would prefer easier access to their horses than the crowded stables would provide.  He was not the only one with the same thought, and another rider urged his horse through their group, cutting off Fiona from the rest.  As Fiona attempted to turn her horse back to the others, another rider grabbed hold of her bridle.

"Over this way, my Lady," he said.  "There is plenty of space at this end of the picket line for our horses." 

For a moment Fiona was too startled to jerk her horse's head away.  The man was unremarkable in appearance, probably approaching middle age.  He began to lead them toward the picket line.

"Unhand my daughter's horse immediately!" Baron Stuart, looking suitably fierce, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword, was directly behind them, the large destrier positioned to force the other man's horse aside.

The man hastily released his grip on the bridle, and Fiona turned her horse's head away. 

"Pardon, my Lord," the man said and quickly moved his horse away.  Fiona was not sure whether he was more intimidated by the stern glare in Washburn's eyes or the size of his horse.  Washburn moved Shadow forward to fill the space the other man had vacated.

"Are you all right?" he asked. 

Fiona nodded.  "It was so unexpected, I did not have time to react.  Thank you for assisting me."  She smiled up at him, and hoped no one would wonder why she was blushing as she looked at her father.

Space was found at the picket line for all five horses to be kept together.  Fiona and Washburn left their bows and quivers with their horses, and Columcil left his staff behind with Spean.  Swords and daggers would be retained until they reached the church; once there they would be surrendered at the small guardhouse beside the main entrance.

They joined the throng of people moving toward the abbey's Church of the Paraclete.  They passed low buildings where the lay brothers did the day-to-day tasks needed to run the abbey.  They passed abundant gardens with vegetables and medicinal plants. Darcy kept a wary watch as they walked, and the three men were careful to shield the ladies from the crowd as best they could.  When they reached the church, the doors were closed to hold back the mourners, as well as the curious, until all inside was ready.

"Aliset," Darcy said.  "It you'll give me your daggers, I'll take them to the guardhouse while you remain here with Father Columcil and Fiona."

"I thought you did not want us separated?" Aliset asked, although she eyed the crowd of men at the guardhouse surrendering their weapons with some dismay.

"I don't want to raise questions as to why a lady carries such a handsome pair of throwing daggers," Darcy replied. "Don't fret; Washburn and I will be able to navigate safely back."

"There are no stars to be seen," Aliset quipped.

"The shining beacon of you eyes is all I need," Darcy replied.  Aliset held no apple this time, so Darcy felt he was safe enough.

"Aye, lad 'tis a guid thought," Columcil interjected.  "Gang yer ways afore th' crowd gets worse.  They'll be openin' the doors afore lang, ah've nay dout."

Aliset handed Darcy her daggers, and Fiona handed her dagger to Washburn. It took some time for Darcy and Washburn to work their way through the throng at the gatehouse, and the crowd growing on the steps to the church awaiting the doors to open was worse.

Once they returned to Columcil, Aliset and Fiona, Darcy shook his head.  "I'm not that fond of crowds, and the day grows warm.  It will be stifling inside the church." He looked to his right at the long guest house that extended along the west edge of the seminary's cloistered garth.  "I have an idea," he said and motioned for them to follow.

Darcy entered the guest house door without hesitation, giving no hint in his bearing that he should not be there.  "There should be a door leading into the church from here," he said in a low voice. 

"Aye, it should be there," the priest said with a nod to his left.

Darcy led them to the door, muttering something Columcil preferred not to hear when Darcy found it locked.  "Not to worry," Darcy said as he reached into his belt pouch and withdrew a lockpick.

"This is a kirk, laddie!" Columcil said sharply, but still keeping his voice low.

"Father, I'll do whatever penance you set to me, but I would prefer to enter early and find a spot less crowded for Aliset where there may be a breath of air." Without waiting for the priest's approval, Darcy deftly picked the lock and opened the door.  Washburn gave Aliset a look, and she shrugged her shoulders; there were other ways to open a lock, but Darcy's method had been swift and efficient.  Aliset had a sudden suspicion that it was also well-practiced.  Columcil shook his head as Darcy returned the lockpick to his pouch and led them through into the church. 

They entered one of the aisles of the nave.  Darcy surveyed the layout and then nodded toward the front aisle to the left of the transept.  A brother passed by as they walked, but at the quiet nod of greeting from Father Columcil, he continued on.  Darcy positioned them at the front of the aisle; others would have to fill in behind them if they wished.

The air in the church was still and hot, and Alset began to fan herself.  Darcy pushed a damp strand of pale hair back from his forehead and studied his wife.  Hopefully, the doors to the church would be opened soon.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on November 30, 2019, 12:55:54 PM
The tan and gold vaulted web ceilings and great stone columns of the abbey church of Arx Fidei were not unfamiliar to Washburn. He had been here a time or two before. His first experience in this church had been his most memorable: the day had been Saint Jorian's Feast Day; this was many years ago. He recalled being ordered to attend the service by his brother, as punishment to properly atone for his disrespect of the Bishop of Dhassa, after Arilan had declared the young Washburn Morgan untrainable. He had been how old? Wash shook his head. That memory conflicted with other memories of that day. Something was not right. He remembered being reprimanded by Bishop Arilan at some point, yet that had been at a different time and a different place. As Wash let the aura of this magnificent church fill him, he recalled being emotionally swept up in the mass given by none other than the same said Bishop, to honor the life and death of Saint Jorian whose sacrifice had become a beacon and a gift to all Deryni. As celebrant of that service, Denis Arilan had brought Wash to tears, for he remembered his father had been witness to such atrocities and had been a strong supporter of Jorian's canonization. His father had been wise and loving in that respect. The conflict of it against the other memories of his father caused Wash to shiver as if a freezing wind had blown over his bones. The air in the church was still and hot, as noted when Aliset began fanning herself.

Darcy had them settle in the very front side isle. At their back, in the first chapel alcove, stood in relief, the statue of Saint Camber, the Patron Saint for Deryni and Humans alike. In one hand he held a staff, in the other five scrolls of learning. Individually, each of the five Deryni went back to kneel before the figure giving their respect and thanks to the Saint for his protection. Washburn was the longest to stay kneeling knowing how his very survival had been touched, whether imagined or not, by the essence of this saint. In this church, unlike in other chapels, this statue of Saint Camber appeared to look across the church at the distant chapel opposite where another alcove showed the statue of a young man in a plain white cassock such as a priest would wear on his ordination day, that figure's face extolled a gentle smile, his right hand raised in blessing, his eyes cast upon the center of the chancel. As each of Darcy's party followed the statue's gaze, they were struck by the glorious sight of the morning sunlight awash through the eastern stained glass windows. The light shone across the altar and the chancel before it, in a brilliant reflection of multiple colors. Gold seemed to illuminate most brightly in one spot, the spot where Saint Jorian's gaze lay. The warmth of that light fell upon the drape of a casket on the long flat space between the steps and altar.  Washburn caught his breath, stunned to see the plainness of the coffin laid out before them and the simple drape upon it with a book lying open at its center.

Again he said to himself This can not be right. Here lay the Bishop of Dhassa. A man honored by all Deryni for his changing of their world to one in which they could live freely and openly.  Wash held his breath and tried to understand. Surely princely robes and ornate coffin should adorn the passing of so great a man.  As Washburn continued to stare, looking for answers, he began to see two figures before the coffin, both attired in simple black cassocks which nearly camouflaged them within the brightness of the colored light from the windows above.  One priest knelt at the foot of the altar steps, his head bare, his tonsured hair grey with hints of light brown, his hands folded in prayer. His eyes from time to time looked from his hands to the coffin. Only then Wash realized he was looking at the other priest in deep concern as he lay prostrate on the floor at the coffin's feet. As Wash looked on, he swore if these men would turn around he might know who they were.

In the pre-event stillness of the huge church, the harsh breathing of the man lying upon the pavement could be heard. Almost embarrassed to be a witness of such a personal moment, Wash whispered to Darcy, his voice sounding over-loud in the stillness. "Perhaps we have come too soon." Darcy was nodding in agreement when the priest kneeling at the steps looked up at the sound. It was Columcil who took in a quick breath. "Grand ...  Father.... um... Your Grace!" he exclaimed as he knelt in respect, even at a distance of thirty feet between them. All five members of the party caught their breath as they recognized Archbishop Duncan, who recognized them, who stood and took a step toward them. Duncan had an odd expression on his face as he looked at each of them in turn. Only three of the five did he know and the one face that should have been among them was not. Then he was looking straight at Columcil in question. The country priest quickly shook his head, and Duncan stopped his advancement.

If words passed between Duncan and Columcil, Wash was not aware of it. But then Duncan's gaze settled on Baron Stuart and his eyes warmed. He would have come forward then, but for a clatter from the sacristy entrance at the far side. An elder man in white and gold robes, his head as yet bare, stepped up to the coffin; his stance was supported by a bishop's crosier in his hand. He genuflected and gave the sign of blessing, yet it became worrisome when it appeared he needed others to help him stand.

"Father John, your assistance would not go amiss here. My knees are not what they use to be," the Archbishop of Valoret and Primate of all Gwynedd cordially requested of the priest lying upon the floor. Washburn recognized Father John Nivard as he lifted himself from the floor, brushed back streaks of tears from his face, sniffled, and then rushed to help the revered Archbishop to stand.

"My apologies, Archbishop Hugh. Your grace, I... I should have been more attentive." John finally admitted, head bowed low.

"It is understandable, my son, but the morning is getting on. Duncan? You are going to properly dress for the service, are you not? It may be Denis's will to be a penitent soul, but it is our will that we honor him properly."

"Aye, your grace, I will do right by him this day. I can do no less." With that Duncan nodded to the five, then turned to go. He checked the coffin, the book, and the altar, before he followed the two men out of the chancel and into the side door of the sacristy.

Now, Washburn understood the simpleness of the coffin. This was going to be an emotionally wrought service. He found himself holding Fiona's hand for support. Suddenly conscious of what he was doing, he let her hand go, but then she held his hand tightly in both of hers.

Then the west doors were opened and people began to enter.

The five watched as the nave quickly filled. Washburn returned Fiona's grasp to hold her closer, as a father would so that they would not be separated as others crowded in at their back. Soon the doors at the north and south ends of the transept were opened, and all were grateful for the gentle breeze that refreshed the air.

"Thank you, Darcy, for getting us here," Lady Aliset said to her husband.  Her smile was as refreshing as the breeze.  And Wash knew that all was well between his good friends.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on January 04, 2020, 10:14:25 AM
Fiona hesitated as they entered the church through the door Darcy had opened. She had been awed by her first sight of the Abbey Church as they rode in. It was so much larger and more imposing than the parish churches with which she was familiar, and its large, square tower dominated the scene. As they entered the church, she felt almost lost in the vast space with its vaulted ceiling and a nave that stretched far back toward the doors which remained closed. She followed close behind Darcy with Washburn behind her as they moved toward the left aisle and took seats in the front of the nave. She settled onto the bench between Lady Aliset and Washburn and looked around. Immediately in front of them was an intricately carved rood screen which separated the nave from the transept and the altar but allowed vision of the altar and the steps leading up to it.   Along each side were columns which flowed into arches which supported the high domed ceiling. They seemed to draw her eyes upward toward heaven, focusing one's thoughts on worship.  Stained glass windows in celestial blue, red, and gold poured colored light down on the altar.

As her eyes adjusted, Fiona noticed the coffin on the flat space before the altar at the top of the steps. It was not what she had expected. Although she had never seen Bishop Arilan, she had heard much about him and  his efforts to improve the lot of Deryni in Gwynedd. She knew he was revered not only by Deryni but also by the human inhabitants of the land. She had thought to see an elaborate coffin draped in rich, embroidered purple and gold and decorated with the accoutrements of his high office. Instead she saw a coffin draped in plain purple cloth with only an open book lying on the drape. Its appearance puzzled her.

In alcoves to either side of where they were seated, she saw statues, the nearest one of St Camber and the one on the other side of the nave representing a young man in ordination robes. Though not familiar with the appearance of St. Jorian, she thought it must be he since he was martyred and canonized at Arx Fidei.  Darcy and then Aliset, left their seats and and knelt before St. Camber,  paying respect and offering brief prayers. Father Columcil went next, kneeling before the saint and offering his own prayers. Fiona followed him, feeling that she should also offer her respect and prayers. Sir Washburn was the last to go, kneeling before the statue of St. Camber and bowing his head. He remained there for a longer time, almost seeming to be in dialog with the saint although she heard nothing. As he resumed his seat, he looked toward the altar. Fiona followed his gaze and saw a priest in black cassock kneeling in attendance on the coffin. A second black robed priest lay prostrate on the steps before the coffin appearing to be in some distress. Washburn whispered that perhaps they had entered the church too soon as he stared at the second priest prostrate before the coffin. The first priest turned his head at Wash's words, looking intently at their group. She felt Washburn tense up as he peered at the priest. He took her hand, holding it tightly as if for support. Father Columcil gasped as he recognized the man and quickly knelt in respect to someone he clearly recognized. The priest stood and appeared to start towards them. However, the arrival of the archbishop before the altar caused him to halt and turn. The archbishop knelt before the casket briefly, then spoke to the two priests. The one who had been prostrate quickly stood and assisted the archbishop to rise. After a brief exchange, they all left the church through the side door to the sacristy.

At their exit, Washburn looked down, realizing that he had been holding tightly to Fiona's hand. She felt him relax slightly and begin to let go of her hand. Fiona sensed that he still needed support, and instead of withdrawing her hand, reached over and took his hand between both of her own, holding it close. He looked down at her and she smiled at him. She wanted him to know that no matter what was causing him concern, he had support.  He sat back in his seat, seeming somewhat reassured as behind them, the great doors opened and people began to stream in, rapidly filling the nave.There was a constant murmur of voices like wind rustling through dry grasses

Soon all the benches were filled and those without seats were standing at the back, anxious to be part of this momentous event. Suddenly, the voices died away and the crowd became quiet. A small party entered the church from the side entrance of the sacristy. Two lancers clad in Haldane crimson preceded a tall, erect man, his dark hair threaded with gray, wearing a black cloak lined with crimson with a plain gold circlet on his brow. A slender woman clad in green with a darker green cloak was on his arm. Another tall man with medium brown hair clad in a blue cloak followed him. Fiona recognized the Earl of Marley behind the first man who was surely the king. A black clad priest approached the party and bowed deeply. He led the party to seats in the choir.

Fiona felt Washburn's increased tension in his hand. He studied the party closely with narrowed eyes, especially the king. However, he made no move and continued to let Fiona hold his hand between hers. The archbishop, mitered and coped entered from the sacristy.. Father Columcil was watching Washburn closely, concerned about his response to the presence of the king.  As Washburn remained quiet, the priest relaxed  somewhat. As they all looked toward the front of the abbey, the procession toward the altar began, led by the thurifer swinging his incenser. The service for Denis Arilan was beginning..
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on January 18, 2020, 03:54:54 AM
((Spoiler Alert: In this chapter, I offer multiple small scenes which are quotes or lightly modified quotes from the novels Deryni Rising, Deryni Checkmate, and High Deryni. These are Spoilers for these books.  If you have never read those books, then I must say, Stop and Go read them! The idea for this chapter was given to me by Revanne.))


The dulcet harmony of a score of youthful voices filled the stone walls of Arx Fidei. The funeral for the long standing Bishop of Dhassa was well underway. The music was counterpoint to the earlier Latin prayers intoned by Archbishop Hugh. In the midst of the angelic voices, Washburn felt a brush against his shields. Wash was surprised that Father Columcil would have chosen this moment to interrupt the calming effects the music played against his own internal strife.

Maight I share somethin wi ye? came the Mind-voice of Father Columcil.

"Surely, not now!" Wash stated aloud. He gave a questioning look at his good friend.

"Hush!" Fiona admonished hoping for no interruptions, for she was enraptured in the music. Wash turned to her on his other side and saw her intent gaze upon the faces of the young boys singing in the choir opposite from where the king sat. Tears streamed down her rosy cheeks. Her color must be from the heat, he thought. They were all feeling it.  Unlike the fair maiden, Wash had been bolstering his fortitude to keep up an outward appearance of stoic decorum. Above all, he needed to hide the tangle of emotions brewing inside; love and loathing, respect and rebellion, all these emotions and more were intermingled for the man they came to mourn.  Wash knew if he opened his shields enough for Columcil to share his wisdom, then some of his own turmoil might spill into the link. Columcil was a friend, as close as any one he had ever had, yet did he dare to share this much?

Also too, if he opened his shields, he might become susceptible to the emotions he knew to be flowing through the very air of the large church. Lady Fiona's shields were thin, barely there, her mind flowing with the tide of her perceptions. His closeness to her, just through the touch of their hands, was enough to prove to him just how intense the atmosphere had become.  Albeit that most of the mourners were human; their feelings, multiplied in great numbers, seemed to emanate like a soft humming. But that was mere background to an untold number of mourners who were Deryni and who seemed not particular about shielding their emotional state here at the height of the service. Some Deryni kept their emotions behind their shields: those of the clergy, in the king's contingent, or even the members of the Arilan family. The other Deryni present among the mourners were mainly women and a few aged men, as most Deryni men were west with Prince Javan's army. These Deryni, who were scattered around the church, knew in their hearts what the loss of the Bishop of Dhassa meant to Gwynedd. For before him, they and their families had been ravaged and criminalized, and forced into hiding. It was they who openly mourned the bishop, and it was their emotions which filled up the whole of the space around them, all the way to the vaulted ceilings and the magnificent stained glass clerestory. Wash had not wanted to open himself up to that. He was afraid. Columcil had sensed his fear and closed mind and perhaps that is why he would have Wash soften his stance, even just this little bit to share in his Rapport.

Och aye, me dear friend, now is ta best time fer what I wuid show ye. Columcil tilted his head, looking at the man who looked like Fiona's father. The priest closed his eyes, and saw Wash in his mind. A close familiar Rapport, well established over the last several weeks, formed between them, one that required no physical touch. Columcil began to share flashes of a past, all involving the late Bishop of Dhassa.

Curious, Wash let the images flow.

... The first was dramatic, a young, victorious Haldane in a great crimson robe was kneeling on the stairs of Saint George's Cathedral before three men of high clergy. Each of these three had a hand upon the state crown which was being lowered onto the young man's head. Archbishops Corrigan and Loris were shaken and unsure from the events that had just occurred, nonetheless, they spoke the proper phrases of kingship. The third was Bishop Arilan who, by his whole outward being and inner soul, gave the crowning of this youth his full approval. Then, mysteriously, a fourth hand was upon the crown and the watcher was in awe to be witness to this. It seemed that heaven itself gave blessing to Gwynedd's new king....

The scene shifted to a later time...

...  "Father McLain and Duke Alaric," called Bishop Arilan as he strode into the hall. Bishop Cardiel stood tall at his side. "I see that you have reached Dhassa at last." Arilan folded his arms across his chest, his bishop's ring winking cold fire in the stillness. "Tell me, have you come to seek our blessings or our deaths?"

Arilan's face was stern, his violet eyes cold, as he watched the guards manhandle the cousins Duncan and Alaric into submission. And yet, there was something in Arilan's face that could be read as pleasure instead of anger at seeing the two men restrained so. It seemed almost as though he were putting on an act for the benefit of the guards....

Wash thought back to his own youth, He had seen  that same stern look on the Bishop's face when  the man, as teacher, had stared down at his pupil who shifted uneasily in his writing desk under that glare. Suddenly Wash wondered if instead of being so stern, perhaps Arilan was rather laughing to himself at how much Wash reminded him of his father. Before Wash could follow those thoughts further, the scene in his mind shifted.

...   "Very well, Alaric. I had not thought to tell you yet, but perhaps it is time after all. Surely you didn't think that you and Duncan were the only Deryni in the world?"
 
"The only--" Washburn's father froze as he looked upon Arilan. Suddenly Alaric realized why Bishop Cardiel was staring at his colleague so strangely. "You..." he murmured.

Arilan nodded. "That's correct. I am Deryni also. Now tell me why I wouldn't understand what you've done tonight."

Alaric Morgan was speechless. Shaking his head in disbelief, he staggered backward a few steps and found a chair behind his knees. Gratefully he sank down on it, unable to take his eyes from the Deryni bishop....

...  "Try, if you can, to picture my position," Bishop Arilan was later seen to say with a patient sigh. "I am the only Deryni to wear the episcopal purple in nearly two hundred years-- the only one. I am also the youngest of Gwynedd's twenty-two bishops, which again puts me in a historically precarious position." The man lowered his eyes to the man he addressed.

This scene was not shown in first person as the others had been, instead it was a scene recalled from another's sharing as Columcil was doing now with Wash. The voice of Arilan was filled with regrets, something the man would never live beyond, even into his old age.

"I know what you must be thinking: that my inaction for the Deryni cause has probably permitted countless deaths, untold suffering at the hands of persecutors like Loris and others of his ilk. I know-- and I ask forgiveness of every one of those unfortunate victims in my prayers each night." He raised his eyes to look straight at Bishop Cardiel. "But I believe that the greater virtue sometimes lies in knowing how to wait, Thomas. Sometimes, though the price be almost unbearable, and though a man's mind and soul and heart cry out in protest, even then must he wait until the time is right. I only hope that I've not waited too long."....

Wash took in a deep breath. Understanding dawned on Wash as he lifted his eyes to look at the simple drape on the plain coffin before them. No man should have that much upon his heart. Water began to pool in the corners of his eyes.

Washburn was shaken by this last sharing. By his actions and his words, Arilan had gained the trust of his best human friend, Bishop Cardiel. The results of that friendship proved its worth as Cardiel addressed his colleagues on the church's stance about the Deryni Race.

...  Bishop Tolliver whispered, "What are we, hodge-podge of human and Deryni and half of each? Where is the dividing line? Who is on the side of right?"

"He who serves the right is on the side of right," Cardiel said softly, turning to face his fellow Bishops. "He who is human and Deryni and half of each. It is not a man's blood which makes him choose good or evil. It is what lies within his soul."....

New voices in full acapella filled Arx Fidei with bass and tenor. The adult male choir members added their voices to the young boys giving a full range of sound to echo through the transept and down the nave. Through it all, Washburn's shields eased and his eyes watered. Yet, Columcil was not finished with his Rapport.

...  The lion banner snapped in the rising breeze, Kelson turned his horse toward the enemy. The great black warhorse minced and preened as it led Morgan, Duncan, and the Bishop Arilan to the center field between the two great armies. The King of Torenth garbed all in gold and purple faced the King of Gwynedd. "Personal combat" is what this high Deryni King demanded. A Dual Arcane, four to each side, to the death by magic, winner takes both kingdoms. Wencit's challenge could not be refused. The lives of two hundred prisoners depended upon Kelson's answer by nightfall. To offer Kelson the assurance of a fair combat, Wencit did make one concession. "I have sought and received permission from the Council to wage this duel with you on the terms which I have already specified, and to have Council arbitrators present. I assure you, there could be no treachery where the Council is concerned," King Wencit proclaimed.

King Kelson's brows  furrowed in consternation. "The Camberian Coun--"

It was Bishop Arilan who interrupted cutting Kelson off in mid-word. "My lord, you will forgive my intrusion, but His Majesty was not prepared to answer a challenge such as you have proposed to him today. You will understand that he must have time to consult with his advisors before giving you a final answer. If he accepts, the lives and fortunes of many thousands of his people will hang upon the talents of four men. You will agree that it is not a decision to be made lightly."

Wencit turned to study Arilan as though he were some particularly noxious form of lower life. "If the King of Gwynedd feels that he cannot make a decision without consulting his inferiors, Bishop, that is his weakness, not mine." ....

...  Not but a few hours later, the four who would champion Gwynedd in this Arcane Duel stood under a violet dome with seven members of the mysterious council seated before them. It seemed that the true council had known nothing of King Wencit's claim that he offered their arbitration for fair combat. "Stand with your colleagues, Arilan," one councilman had said. "Kelson Haldane, Alaric Morgan, Duncan McLain, hear the verdict of the Camberian Council. It has been decided that all of you may be worthy of Council protection in this matter, and hence it has been granted. The duel arcane shall be arbitrated by four of our number. All will be done according to the proper ritual, as it was in the beginning."....

Washburn felt no small amount of satisfaction as he realized that the almighty King of Torneth had not known of Bishop Arilan's true connections, and thereby had made his greatest mistake.

And then Wash witnessed the inside of the warded circle of the Duel Arcane itself. An event which the four survivors of said event had sworn to never speak of, yet here Washburn bore witness to the four Torenthi men who lay dying at the king's feet. How they came to be that way, even Columcil did not know, but what he shared was one of the four changing his appearance from a Torenthi combatant to one of the Camberian members they had earlier met.

Stephan Coram smiled at Denis Arilan, as he freely admitted his true identity to the four victors of the Duel Arcane. "I have appeared in other guise more familiar to your friends, Morgan and Duncan."...

"You were Saint Camber?" Morgan had breathed.

"No, I told you I was not," Coram shook his head lightly..."I have only appeared to you a few times: at Kelson's coronation as a representative of the Council; to you, Duncan, on the Coroth road; at Saint Neot's---"

"Denis," Coram whispered as he lay dying, "I just saw the strangest thing. There was a man's face, a blond man with a cowl--I think it was Ca-Cam---Oh God, Denis, help me!" ....

Shocked to be witnessing this most intimate moments of the legendary king's Dual Arcane. Washburn blurted out, "How?"

"Hushhh!" Fiona shushed her father louder than before, but the music crescendoed and she was heard only by Wash.

How do you know these things? Wash desperately Mind-spoke to Columcil

I hae been in Rapport wi Archbishop Duncan and he hae shaured this wi me in hopes 'twod hep yer healin if I were tae shaur 'em wi ye.

Wash could find no understanding in this. The archbishop would not share such private moments with you, not even for my sake.

A grandsire wuild shaur these things wi his grandson in hopes o' healin his favored coosin's son aboot whom he cares deeply.  Columcil let that sink in for a moment before he continued. Ah think ye sensed it lang ago, in ta familiarity o' oor Rapport. Ahm surprised ye ne'er pot it together. We're bluid relations, Wash. We share the same Healin trait t'at ur faither's shaure,

Stunned Wash suddenly saw how Columil and Dhugal had the same eyes. Duke Dhugal?

Aye, Dhugal is ma father, from a time o teenage fancy afar he e'en knent who his ain true faither was.

Dhugal and Duncan know of this?

Och aye, they do and they accep' it.  I dinnae need formal recognition. But ah dae wish an' hope ye an ah can remain friends as weel as coosins. What say ye coosin?

Wash was silent for a long time. He let the music fill him. He let the plainness of the coffin before him give him sense of earthliness and penitence. Arilan had stood for the protection of his people. Washburn's knighthood had stood for the protection of all the people of Gwynedd, human and Deryni alike. His own recent failings had made him question his commitment and his honor. And here was Father Columcil who had proven over and over how true friendships worked. How had he never seen this before.  Coosin... he Mind-spoke with growing courage. I am proud to call you cousin. I would see us team together to Heal the world against abusers, you have put my feet square on the path to finding myself through this forest. You make a good guide for healing the soul.

We, tis we who ha'e found th' path tae healin together. A team, dear cousin. Aye, a team! Columcil said with assurance.

The music ended and Archbishop Duncan stepped forward to began his eulogy.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on January 18, 2020, 12:17:44 PM
"Sorry!" Darcy Cameron muttered as Aliset turned her face toward him and frowned at his fidgeting.  She gave her head a slight shake and then looked forward again to focus on the service.  Darcy did his best to settle more comfortably on the bench.  Sitting still had never come easily to him.  He reached across and took hold of her hand.  She did not withdraw it, which surprised him, but maybe she thought it might achor him in place.  Good luck with that.

He had lost count at an early age of the number of times his father had chided him for fidgeting during church, and more than once had given his ear a sharp pinch when he did not sit still.  It didn't help that Iain poked him in the ribs from time to time to make him jump, all the while maintaining a look of angelic innocence.  Mor had caught on to that quickly enough and took to sitting between them.  It hadn't helped much.

Darcy had come late to his Deryni heritage, and while he respected the man who had done so much to finally allow Deryni to take their place among the clergy, it was all a bit distant to him. Even in spite of what had happened in Desse.

But what he could respect and admire was the plain coffin and the simple drape across it.  In the end, Bishop Arilan had let his deeds speak for his worth and not the trappings of worldly position.  Darcy had seen it before; men who cloaked themselves in glittering wealth to convince the world that they were to be exalted above others. In his experience, they were selfish, self-centered bullies, whose positions in whatever community they claimed to serve rested on the backs of those they trod on.  He had felt that boot more than once.

But perhaps even more telling, was the fact that king and archbishop had respected Bishop Arilan's wishes.  That spoke to their respect for the man, to allow him this final, simple request.  God rest his soul and grant him peace.

Darcy fidgeted at the unexpected wave of emotion he felt toward the man in the plain coffin before him.  Aliset squeezed his hand hard, and Darcy decided it was best to return his attention to the funeral.  Before any bones were broken.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on January 24, 2020, 01:50:25 PM
(My thanks to Revanne who provided the lovely prayer in both Latin and English that concluded the service)

As the words of the last prayer were spoken, Aliset looked with concern at the young lady sitting next to her. Fiona's face was flushed, and tears were running down her cheeks. "Are you alright?" she whispered quietly, touching Fiona's arm gently. "Are you feeling faint? It is oppressively hot in here in spite of the slight breeze from the open doors. Darcy can assist you out of the church into the fresh air if necessary."

Fiona shook her head "no". "It is not the heat. I just feel so saddened by his loss even though I never actually knew him. Bishop McLain's words spoke to my heart. I can't  imagine carrying such a heavy burden for his people. How difficult it must have been for him."

Aliset replied quietly. "It was indeed difficult, especially in the early years when the persecutions were widespread. That he managed to be ordained a priest when it was still forbidden by the church hierarchy is amazing. Imagine the pressure he must have had to live with, especially after St. Jorian was discovered and martyred as he was. Constantly being afraid of discovery, having to hide what he was, being aware of the sufferings of his people and being unable to help them;  he indeed walked a very perilous path."

Fiona's eyes were huge in her face as she turned to look at Aliset.  "I have heard that there were those who blamed him for the deaths, saying that he should have done more sooner to help, to change things."

Aliset replied. "There are always those who think things should have been done differently, but you can't reverse so many years of fear and hate quickly. Although I'm sure it was difficult, he had to be patient and proceed slowly. The crowning of King Kelson, who was found to be half Deryni himself, was a huge step forward. Kelson's rule has been fair, and his people have enjoyed peace and prosperity. Those he has gathered  around him, both Deryni and Human as councilors, have supported his efforts.The bishop was an important part of the efforts to dispel the fear and distrust and make it possible for the Derynii to live openly, and we owe him much." 

Fiona was quiet, considering what she had heard. She gazed at the king seated in the choir with his head bent as though in prayer. Behind him stood a tall knight with dark brown hair. With a start, she recognized Earl Brendan. She did not think that anyone who had not seen him in Droghera would recognize him. Beside the king she saw the older woman in green with a veil concealing her face. That must be the Dowager Duchess of Corwyn who she hoped would help her to reach Rhemuth and enter the Schola.  She turned to Aliset and whispered earnestly. "That is one reason that it is so important to me to be able to attend the Schola to learn about my powers and how to use them properly. I never want to reinforce anyone's fear of Deryni powers. I want to use them only for good".

Aliset smiled at the young woman. "Your feelings do you credit. I am sure you will be an admirable student and will learn to use your powers  for your own advantage and for that of your people."

Fiona bounced a little in her seat and smiled at Aliset.  "I can hardly wait to reach the schola and begin my studies. There is so much to learn! I am so grateful to all of you for helping me get here." Then she glanced at the man sitting on her other side. "I only hope Washburn can find the healing he needs and can join me there as a pupil to discover more about his healing talent. We can both learn how to best use our powers for all the people of Gwynedd."

Both ladies fell silent and turned again toward the altar as the choir began to sing the Libera me Domine.  This was followed by the singing of the Kyrie Eleison while the presiding bishop walked around the coffin sprinkling it with holy water and censing it.  The archbishop then intoned the final prayer:

"Proficíscere ánima christiána de hoc mundo,
in nómine Dei Patris omnipoténtis, qui te creávit,
in nĂłmine Iesu Christi FĂ­lii Dei, qui pro te passus est.,
in nĂłmine SpĂ­ritus Sancti, qui in te effĂşsus est;
hĂłdie sit in pace locus tuus
et habitátio tua apud Deum in sancta Sion.
Cum sancta Dei GenetrĂ­ce VĂ­rgine MarĂ­a,
cum sancto Ioseph,
et omnibus Angelis et Sanctis Dei."

(Go forth, Christian soul, from this world
in the name of God the almighty Father,
who created you,
in the name of Jesus Christ, Son of the living God,
who suffered for you,
in the name of the Holy Spirit,
who was poured out upon you,
go forth, faithful Christian.

May you live in peace this day,
may your home be with God,with Mary, the virgin Mother of God, with Joseph, and all the angels and saints.)

Aliset translated the words from the Latin as she listened,  repeating the prayer for her lost family

  The bishop's service was nearing its completion. As the prayer came to an end, Duncan mind spoke to the king: "Your Majesty?"  Kelson rose from his seat, stepped down and moved to the area in front of the coffin. There he knelt, offering his final good-by to his long-time counselor and friend.
He was followed by the Dowager Duchess of Corwyn and their knight escort. As the king's party  moved to one side to speak quietly with the two archbishops standing there, other members of the nobility in the nave rose and began to form a line. They would pass by the coffin, offer their brief .respects and then exit quietly and solemnly from the abbey.

Darcy stood and motioned his party to do the same. They prepared to join the line of mourners moving toward the casket

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on January 24, 2020, 07:34:09 PM

On the day of Bishop Arlin's funeral several miles to the east in the tiny village of Windyner the local parish priest is seeing to his flock. It is a sad day for the Church and the people of Windyner. They have seen many pilgrims pass through their village in the last few days. And more will pass through starting tomorrow. Although most will not stop for long. Only long enough to water their horses before going further down the road.

The parish priest and his Torenthi guest priest, Fathers Michael and Paulos, share the peoples burden and hold a smaller service and tribute of their own for the deceased Deryni bishop. Throughout the day they take turns tending to the needs of the parish.

While Father Paulos is resting in his private rooms he gets a psychic call from an unexpected but welcome contact.

"Master. Lord Valerian's forces in Meara have been routed. And the Grand Duke is currently on the run from the Haldane armies. It is rumored that Lord Valerian has lost his powers too. What are your orders?"

Master Feyd replies back across the link to the contact. "Have our best seers find where Lord Valerian is located. Have any agent near him get to him by any means available. Including paying off anyone that can be bought with coin. Get to him before the Haldane's do and bring him to our Order's house in The Connait. His men are expendable." With that Feyd severs the link. And Father Paulos wakes from his mediation. 

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on January 25, 2020, 11:48:54 AM
((Laurna and I wrote this scene together.   We tossed around a few ideas, she wrote the first draft, I messed with it a bit, Laurna added some more cool stuff, and we were done.))

The unremarkable, middle-aged man stood behind a column in the north aisle of the overcrowded church. He made sure he had a clear view of  the aisle into which  the short, blond man had led his companions.  He watched as they moved to one of the benches towards the front of the nave.  He continued to watch the five of them throughout the service, especially the daughter of the older man. 

"I see that you failed in taking the girl away," a voice said quietly beside his ear.

The man stiffened, but he managed to keep his face calm in spite of the knot he felt growing in his stomach.  The only sign he gave that he had heard the man was to bite his lower lip as he wondered what punishment his failure would bring.

The man who had spoken stood just behind him, equally unremarkable, though not as tall.  The menace in his next words, despite being softly spoken, was very clear.

"If the mother meets with the son, then our Master's hopes will be lost. At all costs, that must be prevented. Distraction is the key; we must pull the son away before this happens."

The taller man wondered  briefly who the son was.  The only men he saw in the group were a priest, an older man who was the father of the girl he sought, and the blond man who seemed to have trouble sitting still.  He could not be a son of the Dowager Duchess of Corwyn!

It was not his place to question the motives of the Black Order of Death, but assassination was the typical contract, not kidnapping and keeping the victim alive and unharmed.  This restraint made the contract harder to fulfill, though the higher payment was a good incentive.  If it did not quite go as planned, he could afford to lose a little coin.  His attention was drawn sharply back to the voice that again spoke in his ear.

"When the time is right, I will pass her into your hands and then you had best do the job you were paid to do.  You will have only a quarter hour to complete the contract once I bring her to you. Be ready by the door to the courtyard.  Do not fail this time." A fleeting impression of pain, leading to his untimely death, followed.

Then the man from the Black Order of Death slipped away.  The man remaining behind the column wiped his sweating hands on his tunic.  He began to move toward the door; he would be ready.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on January 28, 2020, 03:06:03 AM
Calm yourself, Washburn admonished his racing heart. That was just a dove outside the windows, his inner voice attempted to rationalize the vision. At the zenith of Duncan's prayer, the light from the stained glass windows above the chancel seemed to strengthen, the colors shone in brilliance upon the casket laid out on the center floor. Then there was an essence in the light, it looked to be a pair of hands in prayer. A pair of saintly hands floating atop the open book. It was fleeting and gone. The cause of the heavenly effect could only be explained by the shadow of a dove briefly hovering outside the apse near the eastern windows. The effect was phenomenal, many saw it and many gasped, only to sigh outwardly when the hands, no that had to be a bird's wings, flitted on. Washburn stole a look at the statue of St Jorian; he swore the lips smiled a little wider than the statue had before. Of course, it couldn't be, the smile on Saint Jorian's face was the same as it always had been, as sculpted by the artisan years before.

Washburn smiled too. Denis Arilan was in that realm where the hands of the saints would take him into their care. He was in good company. Strange how the residents of Heaven choose to play with such subtle clues in the realm of men. It was not the first time Wash had felt their influence and he was always in awe of it.

The service closed and the mourners stood, shuffling to form a line for those wishing to pay their final respects. Darcy was quick to get his group up and near the front of that line. But of course, rank had its privileges and Mackenzie Stuart was merely a minor Baron from the borderlands of Meara. It was proper decorum that he bow to the wishes of those ranked above him. But Darcy was anxious, so they did not give their position away to very many. As Darcy kept tabs on the crowd, Wash had only one concern. For Fiona, he had to make a request from his mother, and it had to happen before she departed into the sacristy and the portal square laid in the floor there.

Washburn was certain that Aliset's spell was well placed and complete.  In all outward appearances he was Fiona's Uncle Mac. But inwardly? Unless his shields were firm as stone, he could not hide his heart. Just the presence of shields would give him away; Mac was not Deryni. Her Grace's instincts were keen, she would guess the deception, especially with his companions at his side. So what words would assuage the emotional outburst that was likely to happen when the Dowager Duchess of Corwyn realized she was in arms reach of her youngest son? 

To disclose his identity thus openly might bring peril of another kind upon himself. He had no wish to confront the king. Not here in this place, in front of all these people. The king would not trust him, and in truth, he did not trust himself before the king. Trouble might come from that quarter, and that would be detrimental to his goal. Best if he stayed well clear of Kelson and his entourage of lancers and knights at his back.  Simply and covertly, he must play Baron Stuart, introduce the Baron's niece to the Dowager Duchess of Corwyn and see Fiona placed under his mother's protection. Then the young lady could have her dream of going to Rhemuth and enter the schola to advance her studies. He briefly wondered if there was something he could say on Lady Aliset's behalf, as well. Perhaps Darcy would like Aliset to be safely back in Rhemuth, too. A look over his shoulder at the lady in question told him he better not interfere in that decision.

The line of mourners inched forward. The king and his party had moved aside to talk to the archbishops, Lady Richenda at the king's side. Darcy had been good to get his company near the front of the line. Nearing the coffin, Washburn's thoughts went back to Denis Arilan.  He would ask the spirit for forgiveness for his past transgressions and pray that Heaven hugged Denis firmly in the warmth of the Light. He held no doubts about  the soul of the bishop, but he hoped his small plea would help alleviate the penance with which His Grace had always internally struggled.

"Stand aside, Sir! My lady Countess of Eastmarch has precedence here! You will let her pass before you."  A man in Eastmarch colors barred Baron Stuart's way forward. An elder women with daughters and grandchildren in tow, twelve in all, shuffled their way past him to join the line ahead of the others. Wash protested, but Fiona tugged his hand. Nobility had its privilege. There was nothing he could do.

The king and his knights moved away from the archbishops to give greetings to the Arilan family. Seisyll, Sextus, Jamyl and several veiled women of that family took solace from the king's presence and his kind words. Her Grace of Corwyn did not advance to the Arilans, she stayed beside Archbishop Duncan, her hand resting lightly on his sleeve. Wash took note that Uncle Duncan was looking rather flushed in his white and gold vestments. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead, and he was looking overwhelmed by the crowd. Now that people were pressing forward, the church was unbearably warm and no breeze seemed to come through the doors. The service, given with such devotion of heart and soul, was clearly taking its toll on Duncan's fortitude.

"Oh, hurry on!" Wash whispered, annoyed by the Eastmarch contingent. The countess seemed to make each grandchild bend a knee and say a prayer, one... at... a... time...! Of course, they all had Deryni blood of some small percentage, but honestly, did they not know there were a thousand mourners behind them?

Wash, in his anxiety to press forward, missed the first clue of trouble. It was when the whole body of mourners inhaled sharply in the same moment. Wash looked up to see Duncan held from the floor between the arms of Archbishop Hugh and Lady Richenda. Duncan had collapsed in a full swoon, likely from the heat. Wash was anxious and prayed it was nothing more. The two elderly persons at his side, struggled to lay Duncan upon the floor, unharmed. When he was down, Richenda placed her hands upon the archbishop's brow. Wash could not see his mother's face under her veil, but he knew she was in trance.

The crowd pushed forward to see what had happened. Columcil was at Washburn's side. "Laird hae mercy... we main gang tae heem...." he said as he pushed up to the Eastmarch contingent who seemed in their confusion to block the path forward.

Is there a Healer in the church! Richenda's mind called forth to all Deryni who could hear her.

"Ah am haur, yer Grace!" Columcil yelled. His priestly attire gave him the authority to squeezed passed the Eastmarch grandchildren.

Wash attempted to follow, but his size only caused the countess to scream at him. How dare he try to man-handle her granddaughters aside. To Washburn's dismay, she forced her way before Baron Mac and refused to give leeway to the lesser baron. She had let one man pass that was well enough.

At least Father Columcil was quickly kneeling at the archbishop's side.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on January 30, 2020, 12:05:25 PM
Darcy Cameron was less hampered by size than Washburn.  "Stay with Fiona," he said to Aliset, and with a movement that vaguely reminded Aliset of an eel, he slipped sideways past the Countess of Eastmarch and her granddaughters.

Darcy stopped just beyond the head of the line and saw that Father Columcil had reached Archbishop Duncan's side and was kneeling beside him.  One hand was on the archbishop's wrist, while the other rested on the fallen man's forehead.  Archbishop Hugh had moved back, but the dowager duchess remained at Duncan's side, her hand on Columcil's wrist, lending him whatever strength he might need.  She knew the Healer's touch of her beloved Alaric, and she would assist Columcil in whatever way she could.  King Kelson was being urged to move back closer to his lancers by the Earl of Marley.  Darcy had recognized the tall man in the blue cloak immediately when the man had entered at the side of the king.  Whether the earl chose to maintain his disguise or had no choice until the dye grew out, Darcy didn't know, but he suspected the latter.

The line of the mourners wanting to pay their respects was no longer as disciplined.  The line began to spread sideways as people moved to get a better view of what was happening just beyond Bishop Arilan's casket.  As people began to move forward, Darcy stepped in front of them with his arms spread wide.

"Stay back, if you please," he said, moderating his voice to suit being inside a church but still leaving a touch of command in it.  "Move back to give them room and more air." 

The Countess of Eastmarch gave Darcy a haughty look and stood her ground.

"Please move back with your family, Countess," said a familiar voice.  The Earl of Marley had joined Darcy at the front of the line, adding his authority to Darcy's efforts.  The two men looked at each other, but other than slight nods,  gave no indication of recognition.  The Countess of Eastmarch nodded her head in acquiescence to the earl and moved farther back. Members of the clergy moved forward to assist in stemming the tide.

Washburn tensed and looked closely at the man in the blue cloak.  He knew that voice!  It had to be his half-brother, Brendan, but what in blazes had he done to his hair?

Darcy saw Washburn staring at the Earl of Marley.  This would not do.  Aliset! he sent.  Get Washburn to move back farther into the crowd.

"Let's move back a bit," Aliset said quietly to Washburn.  "Fiona can hold our place in the line."  She laid a gentle but firm hand on his arm and urged him backwards.

"That's Brendan," Washburn said in a low voice so only Aliset would hear.  "What has he done to himself?"

Aliset switched to mind speech.  Be at ease.  Earl Brendan's hair is a bit startling, but it's no worse than your tonsure was.

Washburn gave Aliset a sharp look.  Is he trying to trap me?

Far from it, she replied.  He intended to go with Darcy and me to try to find the fortress where you were imprisoned and rescue you.  He dyed his hair so he would not be recognized and call attention to us.  When we learned that you and Sir Iain had escaped, that plan was put aside.

Earl Brendan scanned the crowd before him.  If Lord Darcy was here, surely Washburn was too.  He spotted Fiona standing in line just behind the Countess of Eastmarch and her brood.  Aliset stood farther back with an older man who appeared vexed and was looking at Brendan.  Brendan thought that he was likely Fiona's uncle, Baron Stuart.  Brendan glanced back at the front of the church and realized, with a sense of relief, that the priest was Father Columcil, the Healer from Saint Melangell's.  Archbishop Duncan was in good hands.

Brendan turned his attention back to the crowd and heard Darcy again requesting that they move back.  He added his voice to that of the seaman's, moving forward a bit more to force the crowd farther back. To distract the Earl of Marley and ensure he did not get too close to Washburn, Darcy stepped to the earl's side.

"My lord, I hope I do not seem impudent, but I wonder if you could assist me with something once we are all assured that the archbishop is out of any danger?" Darcy asked.

Brendan gave the seaman a look that was partly puzzled and partly annoyed, but nodded his head for the man to continue.

"You remember my cousin Lady Fiona, and perhaps also the fact that she has barely any Deryni training, even less that I have."  Brendan raised one red eyebrow, and Darcy suddenly realised the earl have overlooked that small detail in his disguise.  "Fiona is desperate to attend the Deyni Schola in Rhemuth to receive training.  There is no chance of her getting the training at her uncle's manor.  Although many of the teachers are with King Kelson's forces, there should be some remaining who can help her understand the basics.  She will then  be ready for further study when the rest of the teachers return."

"How can I assist with this?" Brendan asked.

"If you could present Fiona to your mother, the Dowager Duchess Richenda, Baron Stuart hopes that she will take Fiona back to Rhemuth with her and help her gain admission to the schola.  He will pay all her fees, of course," Darcy added hastily.  If the baron didn't, he knew that Iain would.

Brendan gave Darcy a considering look.  "And this would get your cousin out of your hair.  I remember her as being a strong-minded lass."

"There is that," Darcy admitted.

"I will see what I can do, if circumstances permit."

"Thank you, my Lord," Darcy said and inclined his head respectfully. 

Earl Brendan scanned the crowd before him, again failing to find his brother. He turned back to the front of the church to rejoin the king.

Darcy let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding and decided to maintain his position, at least for the moment, as a buffer between Washburn and the earl.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on February 01, 2020, 05:36:03 PM
Darcy was talking to Washburn's brother. Why did that bother Wash? He watched their lips and it was not his name that came up, but rather Fiona's name. Briefly both men looked at Fiona. Wash followed their gaze; the poor girl was standing there in a squash of people looking a bit forlorn. Without her companions at her side, the young lady looked to belong to the Countess of Eashmarch's contingent, only those girls were all red heads and Fiona's soft veiling covered a head of sunny wheaten-colored locks. Wash's tension eased, he needed to do right by Fiona. This was his moment to do so.

"Aliset, I know you mean well, but I think if I could talk to Brendan, I could help Fiona, and I could resolve some of this misunderstanding between us."

"I don't think that is a good idea," Aliset stated with some authority in her voice.

Wash tried again, he needed to get Aliset to see his way. "You just said that Brendan had been looking to rescue me. That is so important to me! If that is true, I need to know, I need to hear him say it. Let me go talk to him."

Aliset's eyes were big. She was reading the truth of his request. "Darcy would not think that wise."

Wash opened his arms out to his sides. "I am unarmed. As is he. I just want to talk."

Aliset shook her head, no. "Sir, you may have no weapon, but you are not unarmed. Neither you nor the earl are ever fully unarmed." At the old baron's quizzical look, for he really had no sharp instrument upon his person, Aliset bluntly stated. "You're both Deryni! I will not be the one who permitted a Duel Arcane right here in the middle of a church."

Her words were soft but intense, and they struck Wash like he had been slapped. "That... That would never happen." he stammered. Then he realized that if his closest friends did not trust him in this fashion, than perhaps, they knew his mind better than he knew himself. "I swear to you, I would not let that happen. I have not been twisted as to become a traitor, I would die first. It can't be so."

The lady's face softened and her hand reached up to touch Baron Stuart's cheek. "I know your heart is well placed. And I do trust you. But this is not the time nor the place," she pleaded.  "When we get to Lendour and we are settled, we can ask the Earl to a meeting.  For now,  let Darcy handle Fiona's cause. He will get his cousin to Rhemuth. He is doing that right now. And there, thank the heavens, I see Columcil assisting the archbishop; he seems to be waking up." Washburn looked over the heads of the crowd and saw uncle Duncan's own hand lift to his head to brush the nausea away.  His mother had brushed back her veil and she was helping the clergy to place pillows under Duncan's head. A wry smile of embarrassment seemed to pass the good archbishop's face. Columcil remained at his grandfather's side seeing that the man did not sit up as yet. That was such a relief to see. "Come, Wash, let us move out of here. I too am feeling overwhelmed. Would you mind escorting me to where the air is a bit fresher."

Washburn turned back to Aliset and saw that her face was looking a bit pale too. This hot air was doing ill to everyone. "My lady, you look faint! Darcy is right, you have been ill." He instinctively touched her hand and sent her a wave of energy which seemed to push back her faint. "You have had two healers in your company, why have you not sought our talent?"

"It isn't an illness," she said with a shy smile.

Understanding hit like a harsh wind, Baron Stuart's mouth dropped and his eye's opened wide. Wash didn't have to go into healer's trance to suddenly know what had been ailing his dearest friend. "Oh sweet Lady of Heaven. Is it truly so?" At her shy nod, he was overwhelmed with joy. Wash picked up the lady under both of her arms, he lifted her feet off the ground, with her head above the crowd. Full of exuberance, forgetting his manners, he turned her around and laughed, causing those nearby to look at them sharply.

"Put me down, Sir!" Aliset exclaimed all out of breath, yet suddenly flush and invigorated.

"Of course, of course.... Forgive me!" Wash said all flustered as he put the lady back on her feet.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on February 03, 2020, 06:41:42 PM
Darcy Cameron stared in shocked disbelief at his wife and the man he had come to consider his friend.  Washburn had grabbed Aliset under her arms, picked her up and whirled her around in a joyous circle!  And she seemed pleased with it!  Darcy bristled. He was not a jealous man by nature, and he understood there was a close bond between the two, but what in bloody hell were they so pleased about at a funeral?  He glanced at Fiona, who was still standing just behind the Countess of Eastmarch.  Fiona was looking at Aliset and Washburn and smiling. She was still smiling as she turned to look at him, and when he scowled at her, he could swear she suppressed a giggle.  Had the heat driven all three of them mad?  He would get to the bottom of this later.

Now he turned his attention back to the crowd in the church, scanning the faces more out of habit than any particular concern.  He paused at the sight of a man standing by the open door to the courtyard. 

((Does Darcy recognize the man?  Eidetic memory, roll of two dice, success on 4, 5, or 6.
jerusha rolled 2d6: 1 6 <Total: 7>
Success!))

The man was familiar; it was the man who had tried to guide Fiona's  horse away.  Darcy studied him.  He appeared to be watching the people around him, much the same as Darcy was doing, and Darcy wondered why.  Perhaps the man was waiting for someone to join him so he could leave.  Not everyone attending the funeral would line up to pay their final respects to Bishop Arilan.  Hopefully he would be gone soon.  The sound of movement in the vicinity of the high altar pulled Darcy's attention away.

***

Fiona suppressed the giggle she felt bubbling up at the look on Darcy's face.  How could he possibly not know by now what was "wrong" with Aliset?  She was sure that Iain would not still be in the dark about it, if it was his wife.  She wondered why Sir Iain had never married; he had much to offer a wife.

((Will Fiona be able to raise her shields in time to resist the spy?
DFK's dice roll
did dice roll,   1d6=3 =3.   Not thrilled with it but that is the result. Did it in discord. DFK
Oh dear!))

Lost in thought, Fiona barely noticed when someone touched her hand and then it was too late.  Strong Deryni controls wrapped around her mind, forbidding her to react or cry out.

Don't fuss, my dear, an unfamiliar voice spoke in her mind.  Remain silent; you won't be harmed.  Come along with me as if we are friends; look only straight ahead of you.  The man placed her hand on his arm and led her away from the line. 

Fiona wanted to snatch her hand away, to cry out for Darcy or Washburn, but neither her hand or her voice would respond.  She tried to fight down her rising panic; she must think clearly!  She must regain her freedom!

It did not take them long for them to travel the distance of the nave to the door to the courtyard where another man waited.  This was the man who had grabbed her horse earlier!  Again she tried to pull away or scream, but to no avail. 

You will go with this man and do anything his asks of you for the next quarter hour.  After that, you will be free.  Fiona felt her hand be transferred to the arm of the man at the door.  She could still only look ahead as he led her into the courtyard and towards the horses.

***

Darcy was pleased to see that Father Columcil,  assisted by several of the clergy, now had Archbishop Duncan sitting up. The Dowager Duchess still knelt beside him, an arm around his shoulders for extra support.  King Kelson had moved forward, probably to be reassured that all would be well.

"Young man!"  said a sharp voice beside him.  "You are in our way.  Step back!"  The Countess of Eastmarch was glaring at him.

"Beg pardon, my Lady," Darcy said, stepping back as directed and bowing only as much as courtesy demanded.  The countess clucked at her charges and her ducklings followed her obediently.  Darcy doubted she would have liked the comparison.  The clergy that had helped hold the onlookers back now indicated they should reform their line to pass by Bishop Arilan's casket.  Darcy noted that Earl Brendan was standing just behind the king.  It was time to rejoin Fiona and with the earl's assistance, present her to Duchess Richenda.

But Fiona was not where he expected her to be!  Once the countess and children had finally moved on, Fiona should have been standing almost in front of him.  "Fiona?" he called softly.  There was no answer.

Aliset!  Washburn!   Do you see Fiona? Darcy sent urgently. He remembered the man in the doorway, but surely Fiona would have stayed well away from him.  Darcy glanced at the door; the man was gone.

Aliset and Washburn scanned the faces around them.  Aliset had seen Fiona only moments before, or so she thought, but now she was not sure how long ago that had been.  Washburn, tall enough to see over most heads in the church, looked left and right, but he did not see her.

She's not with you? Aliset sent to Darcy. Surely she would not have stepped outside without one of us with her.

She may be a bit rash at times, but I don't see her walking away from her chance to go to Rhemuth. he replied.  He did not like the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.  Washburn, check the aisles on the north side; Aliset, you check the aisles on the south side.  I'll take the centre of the nave.  Meet at the door to the courtyard.  Darcy suddenly realized he was standing before Bishop Arilan's casket.  He quickly went down on one knee.  "No disrespect meant, Bishop Arilan, but right now I must look after the living."  He quickly crossed himself, rose and left.

***

Fiona seemed to have no choice other than to walk beside the man. He had said nothing to her as they moved toward where her horse was tethered.  She tried to stumble, hoping the misstep would allow her to pull away. 

"Don't be a stupid girl," he said to her as he gripped her arm.  "You will not try to escape."

They were beside her horse now.  He helped her to mount, but did not give her the reins.  He moved them along to his own horse, tethered just a few horses away, and mounted quickly.

"You will ride quietly beside me.  Say nothing to anyone or do anything to draw attention to yourself."  He handed her the reins of her horse and turned toward the gate of the abbey. 

Fiona had no choice but to follow.

***

"I saw no sign of her," Washburn said in a low voice as he joined Aliset and Darcy at the door. 

'The man who tried to lead off her horse earlier was here in this doorway just a short time ago," Darcy said.  "Now he's gone and so is she."

"I don't like this at all," Aliset said, looking worried. 

"We'll check to see if her horse is here.  If it is, there is a good chance she is still within the abbey somewhere."  Darcy was already moving toward the horses as he was speaking.

"Damn," Aliset said when they reached the horses and found Fiona's horse gone.

"We must retrieve our weapons and follow at once!" Washburn declared and started toward the guardhouse.

"Aliset," Darcy said.  "Ready our horses while I go with Washburn."  He reached down to the top of his boot and withdrew a thin stiletto.  "In case you need this while we are gone."  He handed the stiletto to Aliset.  The hilt was wrapped in leather that exactly matched the color of Darcy's hose.  It would be hard to find even if you were looking for it.

"You had this in the church?" she asked his retreating back as he quickened his step to catch up to Washburn. Of course he would.  He was Darcy.

**

As the man had hoped, the guards waved them through when they reached the gate.  With the king presumed to be still be inside the church, the guards were more concerned with people entering than leaving.  Once through the gate, the man headed east, and Fiona rode quietly at his side, the turmoil in her mind smothered by the man's command to draw no attention to them.

The man picked up the pace.  He was not sure how long it had taken them to get this far, and he only had a quarter hour until he could no longer control the girl.  But that did not matter.  All he had to do was lead her companions east, staying far enough ahead to not be captured, but close enough to entice them to follow.  Once he led them to a specific destination, his contract with the Black Order of Death would be completed.  He would not be in a hurry to accept another one.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on February 06, 2020, 04:34:27 PM
As she rode beside the man who had abducted her, Fiona tried to control her emotions. She was both frightened and angry, and she was finding it hard to overcome her feelings. She also felt helpless, and she hated that feeling. She could do nothing to escape as she was unable to disobey his command not to try to escape.  Her mind was in turmoil, making it impossible to think or plan.

Giving in to her emotions would accomplish nothing. She had to get control of herself. She had to think. She took a.deep slow breath then glanced over at her abductor. He was riding slightly ahead of her and seemed to be paying little attention  to her. She was sure that with those compulsions firmly in place, he felt no need to watch her closely. He did, however, turn in his saddle more than once to study the road behind them. He seemed to be unconcerned about concealing their path. It was almost as if he wanted the pursuers to be able to follow them.

Why had she been taken? Certainly not for ransom. Mac was a relatively minor nobleman from the borders of Meara, and he certainly was not rich. He could not afford to pay a large ransom. And then she remembered  the first man, the one who had taken over her mind, had said she would be prisoner for a quarter of an hour after which she would be free. That made no sense. What could he expect to gain from her or from her guardian by holding her such a short time? Could it be that she was not the primary object of this act, but a means to an end? But what end?

Fiona thought hard. What could be expected to happen when her disappearance was discovered?  Her friends would immediately begin a search for her. They would soon discover that she was no longer within the abbey precincts. They would know that she had not gone voluntarily but had been taken away. They would try to discover where she and her captor had gone and quickly follow in order to rescue her. So perhaps his goal was to lure one of her friends away from the abbey, perhaps into an ambush. Washburn was the one most likely to be sought; he had been held prisoner before and had escaped with Iain's help. Perhaps the one behind this kidnapping was the same one who had held him before. That made sense and would explain her captor's frequent scanning of the road behind them.

Fiona most certainly did not want to be the cause of injury or capture of any of her friends, especially Washburn for whom she felt a special closeness.  What could she do? The quarter hour must be nearly over as they had been riding for some time. What would happen when he could no longer control her?  He had given no indication of his intent. Was there a special place they needed to reach before the controls were lost? She thought there probably was such a place and if she could prevent their arrival, she might be able to prevent the man from achieving his goal. If he thought she would continue to ride meekly beside him to whatever rendezvous he had in mind, he was sadly mistaken. She had to find a way to escape. What could she do?

Fiona began to form a plan.   First, she would try to increase the distance between them by slowing down and gradually dropping back. That would increase her chances of escape  She had not sensed any effort by her abductor to establish additional controls. She thought perhaps he did not have the ability shone by the first man to actually take over her mind. He could give orders that she was compelled to obey until the end of the allotted quarter hour, but she thought he was not able to control her after that. She was determined that she would follow no more orders from him. She did not dare to probe his mind in case he was Deryni, but she felt she could take a chance on escape.

((Save test: 3d6, 6,5,2.==13 (do I put the total in?) She would not follow any more commands from him.)) (Not sure if this is right.)

As soon as she sensed a loosening of the control, she would raise her shields to prevent him from reestablishing his dominance over her in case he was Deryni. However, she thought if he had similar powers he would have used them by now. Then when he was distracted by his study of the way they had come, looking for signs of a party pursuing them, she would, without warning, jerk her horse's head around and dash back the way they had come.  She thought he would pursue her, but she hoped to reach her friends and warn them to turn back. Or they might even capture him and question him. She didn't think he could resist all of them and they needed to discover what his plan had been and who was behind it in order to avoid future traps.

Fiona took a breath and glanced aside at her captor. He seemed to be paying little attention to her. She felt  confident now. She had a plan and she would regain control of her fate and that of her friends. What she had to do now was wait for her opportunity and put her plan into action. She rode on, waiting for the sense of the compulsions dropping away, the signal for her to spring into action.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on February 11, 2020, 12:02:27 PM
Aliset Cameron watched as Darcy caught up with Washburn.  They were moving as quickly as they could without breaking into a run.  Darcy had to take almost two strides to Washburn's one; fortunately Baron Stuart was also a tall man and not so old that  Washburn looked out of character.  Aliset sighed; they should have thought of the weapons before checking the horses.  The men now had to retrace the route through the abbey grounds to the guardhouse outside the church, retrieve the weapons and return, using up precious time.

Aliset slipped Darcy's stiletto into her belt and turned to the horses.  She patted Shadow's shoulder and checked to ensure the saddle's girth was secure.  The great destrier stood quietly, but she could feel the horse's tension.  He had picked up that something was amiss.  Next she checked Darcy's Sigrun.  The mare turned her head and tried to examine the back of Aliset's head, looking for a leather lace like her master's that she could pull.  "No luck, girl,"  Aliset said quietly and stroked the horse's nose.  "My hair is securely pinned and will stay that way."

After checking the horse Darcy had secured for her own use, Aliset untied Sigrun and held onto the reins while she mounted her horse.  She would leave Shadow tied to the line until Washburn returned.  She did not have Columcil's talent with animals and did not want to risk that she could not control the huge stallion.

Once settled  on her saddle, Aliset felt the unease in her stomach.  It was not just her concern for Fiona that caused it, and she reached inside her saddlebag for a bit of bread left from the morning meal.  That and a sip from her waterskin should settle her stomach.

She looked back toward the church and saw Washburn and Darcy returning.  She felt a pang of guilt.  She really should tell her husband what she hoped he would see as good  news, and she knew it was not fair that she had not explained why she was so often out of sorts.  If he knew, she feared he would insist she return to Rhemuth, once they had Fiona back and safe.  She could not do that!  She had skills they needed and she would see this through to the end! It gladdened her heart that right now,  Darcy had again treated her as an equal partner in their group with a role to play, not someone to be fussed over and protected. She did not fault him, and she knew he loved her, but if Darcy asked her if she was unwell one more time, she might be tempted to strangle him.

***

Darcy Cameron matched Washburn's long stride as best he could as they hurried to the guardhouse.  One guard stood before the locked door, while the other guard stood a few feet away, waiting for the mourners to spill out from the open doors.  The guard at the door bowed slightly to the Washburn as the two men almost skidded to a stop before him.

"We need our weapons returned immediately," Washburn informed the guard, standing imposingly in front of him.  "Quickly, man, we must be on our way!"

The guard straightened and took a stance of resistance.  "My lord, I must ensure I release the right weapons to you.  No one will leave with what is not theirs!"

Washburn's jaw tightened as the guard took his time to unlock the door.  Washburn pushed past him as soon as it opened; the guard protested and began to draw his sword.

"No need," Darcy said hastily, resisting the impulse to grasp the man's arm.  "He is concerned for his niece, who is also my cousin.  She may have wandered off with a young man of less than  reputable character.  It will not do, and the sooner we intercept them, the less trouble there is likely to be.  You do not need trouble on this solemn occasion."   Darcy was itching to move forward toward his own weapons, but waited for the guard to nod. The guard had a daughter of his own of marriageable age; he understood the men's concern. Nevertheless, the guard insisted on delaying them until he marked their weapons as returned on his list.

Washburn was out of the door immediately, and Darcy was buckling on his own sword while he hastily followed.  He jammed Aliset's daggers under his belt as he caught up to the tall knight.

Aliset was waiting with the horses ready to go.  She handed Darcy his stiletto as he passed over her daggers to her.  Darcy slipped the stiletto back into his boot, and Aliset realized that, even though she knew where it was, she could barely discern it.  Washburn had untied Shadow Dancer and was already in the saddle as Darcy mounted. 

"Well done, love," Darcy said as they rode toward the gate.  Aliset smiled back at him.

The guard at the gate waved them through.  Washburn began to surge forward, but Darcy reined in and addressed the guard.

"Did you see a man and young women leave recently, perhaps less than a quarter hour ago?" Darcy asked. "The lass would be young, well dressed, lightly veiled, with hair much the colour as mine."

The guard nodded.  "Yes, my Lord.  She rode out with a man.  I remembered her from when you entered with her."

"Was she well?  Did she show any sign of injury or restraint?"  Darcy asked, aware of Washburn's impatience.

"No, my Lord," the guard replied.  "But I did  notice that she was much more subdued than when you arrived." He looked at Darcy sharply.  "Should I have stopped them?"

"No," Darcy said.   "You would have had no reason. Which way did they ride?"

"They set out along the road east," the guard replied.

Darcy tossed a coin to the guard.  "You have a keen eye. If a priest named Father Columcil asks about us, relay what you have told us to him, and tell him that we follow them east."

The guard nodded and Darcy urged Sigrun forward.

"We need to follow, now!"  Washburn said sharply.

"With all speed," Darcy replied and set Sigrun to a full canter.  He said a fervent prayer to Saint Nicholas that they would reach Fiona in time.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on February 13, 2020, 03:22:01 PM
Fiona rode beside the kidnapper. The road was becoming busier as people resumed their normal activities. She was sure that the quarter hour must have passed. She tensed as though she were going to call out to some of the people riding near them.  She felt no response from him. Indeed, he seemed to be more concerned with what was happening behind them than with what she might be doing. She felt no restraint to her scream as she had before.

They were nearing a bend in the road, and the man was slowing down. He again turned in his saddle to scan the road behind them.  Fiona felt that this was the time for action. While he was distracted, she had the best chance for success.  She gripped her reins tightly, and as they rounded the bend, she pulled her horse's head around and kicked his sides, spurring him to leap and break into a gallop. She felt no hindrance to her actions. She was free as the first man had said she would be! It was up to her to make the most of her freedom. She dashed headlong back toward the abbey.

*******

The kidnapper hesitated as Fiona bolted back down the road away from him. He tried to command her to stop, to return to his side, but it had no effect. Obviously, the quarter hour was complete, and he had no more control over her. But they had not quite reached their appointed destination. He still did not see any of her party, and he needed them to follow him.  He did not wish to explain failure to any member of the Black Order. He was terrified of what they might do to him. If he could catch her, he could use physical restraint to convey her to the journey's end making certain that her party followed.  Abruptly, he spurred his horse in pursuit shouting  "runaway horse, stop her!"  He hoped one of the travellers would stop Fiona before she could reach either the abbey or her friends.

******

(( Does Fiona escape the kidnapper?
    Dice roll 2d6=5+3== success!))

Fiona rode headlong toward the abbey, scattering a few travellers before her. She tried to sense the man and how close he was to her.  He was gaining on her! She looked ahead for any possible alternate to the road she was on. But even if there was another road, if her friends were following her they would be on this road. She urged her mount to go faster but his horse was bigger and faster than hers. What could she do?  Just then, she noticed a party ahead and in the lead was a huge, black warhorse. It was Shadow! Washburn and the others were riding toward her! They noticed her and increased their own speed. In a few minutes she had reached them. Darcy reached out for her bridle. "Whoa, easy there, slow down," he cried loudly,  slowing her horse. Quickly their party surrounded her as she reined her horse to a halt.  "Are you harmed? What has happened? Who is that man?" They were all speaking at once. Darcy pointed to the man who had been chasing her. "Is that the man who took you?  Fiona nodded yes, too out of breath to speak clearly just yet.

They all looked toward the pursuer. He had pulled up and stared at them briefly. He then turned his horse's head back along the road to the east. He spurred his horse and hightailed it back the way he had come. 

"Are you hurt?" Darcy asked her again. She nodded in the negative, that she was unharmed. "We need to know what is behind this attempt to take Fiona, We need to pursue him to see if we can overtake him and find out what this is all about! There will be time for questions later." Darcy urged his horse forward beckoning to the others to follow. Washburn was already surging forward on the trail of the kidnapper. The others followed, trying to keep up with the big warhorse. They needed answers and that kidnapper had to have the information they were after.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on February 15, 2020, 09:06:05 AM
Brendan had resumed his position near the king. He continued to scan the crowd looking for his brother but was still  unable to locate him. If the others in the group were there, surely he must also be present. He sensed Kelson beginning to move forward toward the archbishop, who had been assisted into a sitting position by Columcil and another cleric. Duchess Richenda remained at his side, holding his hand, looking somewhat relieved at Duncan's recovery. He was looking better, more alert but still weak and a little embarrassed at his collapse. 

Kelson paused in front of the archbishop, "Are you recovering, Father? What happened?" Kelson's voice was full of concern. This was his mentor and closest advisor, and he needed to be assured that the archbishop was indeed on the mend.

"I was overcome by the heat as well as my emotions, sire. I had not eaten since breakfast nor had I had anything to drink since before the vigil began. The heat became oppressive and I felt the waves of emotion as the service progressed. I began to feel faint, but before I could react, everything went black. I am distressed that my weakness disrupted the proceedings."

Father Columcil took a cup handed to him by one of the clerics and held it to the bishop's lips. "Haur, drink this. Twill hep oercome th' faintness."

"What is it?" Duncan asked as he accepted the cup."

"Tis water an' will replenish whit ye hae lost."

Duncan drained the cup, then smiled at Columcil. "Thank you, Father. I am already feeling at least partially recovered." He started to rise to his feet to bow to the king, but both Richenda and Columcil restrained him.

Kelson placed a hand on Duncan's shoulder. "Do not try to rise yet. You need to rest. The mass has ended and the line of those paying last respects at the casket is dwindling. The church is emptying, and people are making their way out and preparing to leave for home. The casket will soon be moved to its final resting place within the abbey. All is well." Kelson turned to Richenda, "We must return to Rhemuth, my Lady. I have other matters I must attend to. Are you prepared to leave now that Bishop Duncan is recovering?"

Before Lady Richenda could reply, Brendan spoke. "Sire, Maman, there is one concern I wish to address, if you will permit." Kelson nodded briefly. "There is a young lady in attendance who is Deryni but who has little or no training. She is the niece of Baron Stuart, and cousin to Sir Iain. It is her dearest wish to attend your Schola, sire, and learn about her powers and how to use them responsibly. Sir Iain is her guardian and has agreed to her request but has had no time to act on it. She is hoping that you, maman, might take her back to Rhemuth with you and help her gain admission to the Schola. May I introduce her to you before we leave for Rhemuth?"


Both Kelson and Richenda nodded assent. Brendan turned, looking for Fiona in the place where he had previously seen her.  The Countess of Eastmarch had at last departed with her brood, and others were approaching and paying respects but Fiona was not among them. In fact he did not see her at all. He quickly scanned the crowd but could see neither Fiona nor any of her party. He did not understand it.  Why would they leave before he could introduce the girl to his mother?  What could have happened?

Bishop Ducan looked up at Brendan. "Is there a problem, my son?"

"Lord Darcy Cameron had asked me to introduce his cousin, Fiona McIntyre, to the Dowager Duchess of Corwyn. The girl wishes to attend the Schola and was hoping she could travel to Rhemuth with maman who could help her gain admission. I had agreed to do so but now I cannot locate her in the church. In fact I can see none of his party, not even the Baron who hoped to present his niece to Duchess Richenda. Why would they leave before it was done?"

"You say the Baron has disappeared with the rest of the party? "  Duncan asked. Brendan nodded.   

Duncan looked at the king with dismay in his eyes. "I am not sure what is happening here, but there is certainly cause for concern. Washburn was here, disguised as the baron. Father Columcil here was one of their party and has been riding with them. He may be able to tell us more about what they intended and why Wash was in disguise. Father, do you have any idea  where they have gone or why they left so suddenly without approaching the Duchess?"

Columcil turned from his position beside his grandfather and answered. "Washburn  was afeared tae be recognized but wanted tae coom wi us tae pay his respects tae th'  Bishop. He also wanted tae place Lady Fiona under his mother's protection. He wanted tae hep 'er reach Rhemuth an' th' schola, 'er dearest wish. He said he then planned tae ride oan tae th' Lendours and Cynfyn Castle. He hoped tae fin' hep thaur in sortin' his memories."

Columcil turned to Brendan and the king. "Ur ye shure they ur missin'? Micht ah tak' a quick swatch aroond fer them?"  At a nod from the king, Columcil jumped up and walked  briskly toward the nave, scanning the crowd for any sign of his friends. He hesitated at the side of the nave, near the statue of St Camber. He drew back into the shelter of the alcove. He hoped to use Rapport to reach Fiona.

((Columcil attempts rapport with Fiona
!roll 2d6: rolled 3,1. Failure unable to reach her))

He was unable to feel any sense of her. He quickly left the altar and walked through the nave, rapidly striding along the two aisles surveying the remaining crowd in the church, then walked to the side door to peer at the nearby part of the grounds where the horses had been tethered. He saw immediately that only his own mount remained. The others were gone. He hastily returned to his grandfather and the king. "Ah dinnae see onie sign o' 'em an their horses ur gone. Ah  't doan ken why they ran. Only somethin' ay great danger wuid cause them tae lae so abruptly wi' Fiona nae meetin' th' duchess. Cuid they hae recognized  someain frae Wash's captivity, mebbe a rebel knoon tae be Deryni who recognized heem. One probe by th' spy wuid teel him he was knoon an' cause heem tae lae.Th' ethers wuid gang wi' heem."

Richenda stared at Duncan with tears in her eyes. "My son was here, so close, and I have again missed meeting him! Why did no one tell me? I so need to see him, to learn what has happened to him and how he is coping and to help him. I have been able to reach him only once in Rapport and only briefly.  Why is everyone keeping me from him?" Richenda bowed her head in great distress as tears flowed.

Duncan reached for her hand to comfort her. Brendan turned to the king. "Sire, I know it is vital that you return to Rhemuth. I am asking for leave to remain here and to either find them or discover what has happened to them. I will follow you by portal as soon as I have answers."

Kelson frowned, "I understand your disquiet, especially regarding your brother, but I cannot spare you for this task. In order to put an end to this rebellion, we must retake Ratharkin, depriving the rebels of their last  base from which to build and spread their insurrection.. Laas is now secure, and Ratharkin is our immediate concern. I have a plan which will require you to lead your forces there to meet with others I am sending to surround and retake the city. This has to be our highest priority."

Brendan bowed, "I understand, my liege, but may I at least quickly survey the abbey precincts to be certain they are no longer here? Perhaps, I will see some sign that the good father missed  in his haste. I will return as soon as I have at least covered the grounds. I feel it is vital that we resolve this situation." Kelson agreed reluctantly and Brendan began his search.

Brendan returned after a brief interval, shorter than the others had expected. He bowed to Kelson and addressed those remaining with him. "They are nowhere within the abbey grounds. I questioned the guards at the guardhouse where the weapons were held, and they told me that a party such as I described had retrieved their weapons in a hurry and had ridden out a short time before. They said that the tall baron seemed very upset that his niece had left with an unknown man near the end of the service."

Columcil spoke up. "Ta lass wuid ne'er hae left ur freinds ur gain aff wi' a stranger unless compelled tae do so."

Brendan continued. "As Columcil suggested, I am afraid that a Mearan rebel, most probably a Dreyni, was here in the abbey and recognized Washburn through his disguise. It would have been easy enough for a spy to mingle with the mourners to observe those attending. We know that they  urgently want to recapture him and have been seeking to find out his whereabouts. Such a person may have managed to lure the group out to follow him, perhaps by kidnapping Lady Fiona."

Duchess Richenda had dried her tears and appeared to be considering carefully what was being said as they discussed what was happening and its implications. "If such a spy was here, he may have seen an opportunity to free Princess Sidana by capturing Lady Fiona and offering an exchange, although I can't think he would believe that you would enter into such a pact, Sire."  she offered.

Brendan spoke up." It certainly appears that there are fiendish intentions in play here, although I too feel that this was a case of the spy seizing an opportunity rather than an organized plot. The rebel could not know that Washburn would be here. His whereabouts have been kept quiet and only a very few people knew his location. Even his family did not know I feel that it is most important that we try to discover what is going on."
 
Brendan continued. "I know that my first duty is to you, sire, and I will return to Rhemuth with you to receive your orders for the relief of Ratharkin. However, I would ask that a detail of lancers be sent after them as support. If they are able to catch any spy present today, such a prisoner could be sent to Rhemuth for interrogation. I believe that he could provide valuable information about the Mearans intentions." 

Kelson considered Brendan's proposal for a few minutes, then sent one of his lancers to bring the lancer captain to him. The captain quickly arrived and bowed to the king. "I am returning immediately to Rhemuth by portal and should no longer need your services. You are to take four men from your detail and pursue a party that left the abbey a short time ago and is riding east.  The Earl of Marley will provide you with their description and any further information you may need. It is possible that they may catch a man suspected of being a rebel spy. If that happens, you will take custody of the prisoner and deliver him to Rhemuth for questioning."  The captain bowed, then stepped aside to briefly confer with Brendan. He then left to assemble his men and ride after Darcy Cameron's party.

Archbishop Duncan again attempted to rise but was still shaky. Columcil again moved to his side and placed his arm around the older man's waist to support him. Richenda rose to stand beside him, her eyes still wet but tears no longer pouring down. However, her distress was still to be seen in her face. The archbishop sought to reassure her. "Wash will be safe. His friends accompany him. He is not alone as he was when he was taken in Rhemuth. And the king has sent some of his lancers to support them. I will pray for them, especially for Washburn, that he can soon be healed and be with us again."

Duncan tried to smile and bowed to the king. "Sire, have I your permission to retire? I will take your advice and rest before returning to Rhemuth and my duties there. Father Columcil, will you assist me to a room where I can lie down and remain with me?" The good father nodded his agreement as he and another cleric assisted Duncan from the altar.  He vowed he would remain with his grandfather until he recovered from his collapse.

The king motioned to Brendan to rejoin him.  We must now return to Rhemuth. Brendan moved to his mother's side and took her arm. She leaned against him. Kelson sought to reassure her. "I have every expectation that this final attack on Ratharkin will finally break the back of the rebellion. Once the rebels have been captured and Ratharkin freed, we will direct every effort to finding and healing Washburn and restoring him both to his family and to my service. I value and care about him, and I will keep him foremost among my concerns. Never think that I have forgotten him." Kelson then led them to the portal. They positioned themselves, he wrenched the energies and they were gone.

The abbey church was now nearly empty of mourners. Only those whose job it was to move Bishop Arilan's casket to its final resting place within the church remained  Most of those who had come for the service were departing Arx Fidei. Soon both the church and its grounds would be restored to their accustomed peace.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on February 16, 2020, 01:04:05 PM
Wash reached for Lady Fiona's hand to assure himself that she was not physically harmed. She was shaking and upset. But there was no pain in her eyes, only fear; fear now that the worst had been averted. How dare someone attack one of his friends! And that someone was a mere field length away and was turning to run. The warrior gritted his teeth and put spurs to his warhorse. Shadow snorted at the sensed anger of his rider. The great stallion leaped forward into a full gallop and battle mode to overtake a foe who had brought harm to an innocent lady. People walking the road scattered this way and that as the pounding sound of hooves struck the dirt and ate up the distance separating the enraged uncle from the fiend who would abduct his niece. The man in the forefront ran his horse hard, yet was steadily losing his lead.

The kidnapper looked over his shoulder again. This time unlike the times before, fear was in his eyes. His mistake had been to chase the girl back toward her people. He should have known that black stallion could move out as he did. He had misjudged the horse because of the older looking man who was his rider. He miscalculated and that was a mistake, a mistake that would ruin everything, a mistake that might cost him his life. He spurred his horse hard and screamed at the beast to run faster. But faster would not be fast enough.  He had to delay the rider behind him in some way. He saw his chance, at the bend in the road, where a grey rouncy pony pulled a cart, with barrels lined along the length of its bed, precariously balanced and held in place by a rope. The man being chased slowed his horse up, pulled his axe from his belt, and pushed his horse up close to the backside of the cart. With a battle cry he slammed his axe down to cut the rope holding the barrels in place.

((12:51 <Laurna> kidnapper cutting through the rope with hand axe 3d6
12:51 <Laurna> !roll 3d6
12:51 <GameServ> Laurna rolled 3d6: 3 3 2 <Total: 8> Nope))

The barrel beneath the rope splintered and a spray of ale splashed up and then drenched the road. But the rope, though damaged, did not part and the barrels remained secure in the bed of the cart. Seeing what was happening and not knowing why, the driver hollered at the man, then grabbed his horse-whip and drew back the thong.

The kidnapper cursed, not daring to delay with another axe swing, he charged his horse past the cart and the driver, slapping the flat of his axe against the rouncy's neck, scaring the creature which jumped sideways.

((12:56 <Laurna> Kidnapper scaring the horse pulling  the cart 2d6
12:56 <Laurna> !roll 2d6
12:56 <GameServ> Laurna rolled 2d6: 1 5 <Total: 6> yes))

The pony reared and turned aside nearly overturning the cart blocking the width of the road.
Angered by the offensive passing rider, the driver smacked his whip at the man.

((13:04 <Laurna> Driver using his whip on the kidnapper
13:04 <Laurna> !roll 2d6
13:04 <GameServ> Laurna rolled 2d6: 3 1 <Total: 4> missed ))

The whip whistled in the air but missed its mark. The kidnapper was well away again, running hard on the eastward road.

Wash was nearly upon the obstacle as the cart turned sideways blocking his path down the road. Quality of horse flesh and blood told well. The agility of R'Kassi bloodlines combined with royal training allowed horse and rider to make a great leap and to fly through the air. Over cart and over barrels did the great stallion fly, to land securely on the far side, not breaking speed nor stride.

((13:08 <Laurna> Does Wash jump his horse over the cart
13:08 <Laurna> !roll 2d6
13:08 <GameServ> Laurna rolled 2d6: 5 2 <Total: 7> That is a Yes!))

Wash smiled with grim pleasure. He was gaining on his prey. A few more strides and he would run the man down.

((13:25 <Laurna> Kidnapper dodge aside
13:25 <Laurna> !roll 2d6
13:25 <GameServ> Laurna rolled 2d6: 1 5 <Total: 6>yep))

The kidnapper dodged right to stay out of reach. His horse found a side pathway that dove toward a line of trees. He doubted his chances, but it was all that he had. Southward he galloped, the forest seemed his only escape.

Wash came to the path and turned south to bring this chase to an end. He would catch the man well before they entered the forest. That is not the way! a beast howled inside Washburn's head. East, go east! You can go no other way!

Washburn's left hand involuntarily pulled Shadow up. The stallion whinnied in confusion at the sudden change. Wash's mind was conflicted. He would charge south, yet to do so was against every grain of his being that compelled him to ignore all else and to go east. Furiously, he yelled out at the man getting away from him. Again he put spurs to Shadow's side and tried to push his steed southward. The stallion was willing to go, but the rider found himself counter-acting his own commands and pulling hard on the reins and backing Shadow back upon his haunches. At the conflict of orders the stallion reared high, forelegs kicking up and out in the direction of their retreating foe. Dumbfounded, the warrior succumbed to his compelling need to stay upon the road.

Angry with himself, he watched the man who had abducted Fiona escape toward the trees. Wash determined he had just enough time. He pulled his bow from his saddle, braced the lower tip of the bow against his booted toe, bent the ebony ash-wood to meet the upper string and nocked the string in place. He pulled one arrow from his quiver and set it to the string. He quieted Shadow's prancing and sighted his mark. The kidnapper was more than 300 paces out nearing the edge of the first line of trees. At the very last second Wash changed his sights from the man's center back to his right shoulder. He would not kill him outright for what he had done, but he would mark him with a wound that would surely be impossible to hide. Washburn wanted answers and only that man alive could provide them.

((13:26 <Laurna> Wash pulls out his bow
13:26 <Laurna> !roll 3d6
13:26 <GameServ> Laurna rolled 3d6: 6 2 5 <Total: 13> Near perfect aim))

The arrow flew true. Wounded in the shoulder, the kidnapper slumped over the neck of his horse, then he disappeared into the trees. Frustration filled Wash. He yelled out loudly into the sky. He turned his head East and felt a compulsion that was near impossible to quell. Then he looked back West to his friends as they charged their horses puffing for breath to come up where he stood.

"Thank the Lord you did not follow him!" Darcy yelled, "What were you thinking? It could have been a trap!"

Wash wanted to yell, It is a trap! All of it is a trap! But he could not find a way to voice the words. His heart was racing and his hands were shaking, he had to calm down, had to try and make sense of it all. Taking a deep breath he took a moment to unstrung his bow and slide it back into its place under his leg. Then he walked Shadow up next to Fiona's lathered horse.  He reached out for her hand, which she readily gave to him willingly.

"My lady, are you truly well. Did he hurt you in any way?"

"Only my pride," she said with tears in her eyes. "I thought they were using me to get to you."

Wash nodded. "That may be..." he said, letting the words dangle. Then his hand raised up to brush the tears from her check. "You are very brave. And I thank you for that."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on February 16, 2020, 01:56:12 PM

As the day grows short the people who have come for the requiem mass of the Bishop of Dhassa leave Valoret in every direction. Most head south towards Rhemuth or points west or north. But some few head eastward.

Along the east road about a days ride or so is the small village of Windyner. It's parish priest, Father Michael and his Torenthi guest, Father Paulos, get ready for an influx of potential visitors. The villagers too make up rooms at the inn and boarding houses.

A welcoming site indeed for any travellers along the road who wish to stop and rest. Windyner is not alone. Other paths from the main road lead to other villages, which are also getting ready for any travellers that come their way.

Depending on one's ultimate destination determines which village will be visited. But the people get ready. Travellers will pass through them all.


Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on February 19, 2020, 04:09:03 PM
Darcy Cameron watched as Washburn brushed the tears from Darcy's cousin's cheek.  Interesting that Washburn seemed nearly as shaken as Fiona.  In truth, they were all shaken by what had just happened.  What of Aliset?  Did he dare ask her how she fared?  He turned to look in her direction and saw that she had dismounted and was kneeling at the side of the road, her slender body wracked by powerful retching.

"Sweet Jesu!" Darcy said as he leapt from Sigrun and hurried to her side.  She sat back when he reached her, pale and trembling, her hand over her mouth.  Darcy crouched beside her and put his arm around her shoulders. 

"It's nothing," Aliset said.

Darcy bit back a sharp retort and instead said, "I'll get you something to refresh yourself.  Just sit for a moment until I return."  He waited for her to nod her agreement before leaving her side.

Darcy hastened back to Sigrun to remove his waterskin, but considering the ale it contained, he turned instead to remove Aliset's from her horse.  Water would probably be better for her just now. 

"Do you need my help?" Washburn asked.

"Or mine?" Fiona added.

Darcy shook his head and returned to his wife's side, aware they were watching him.  "Rinse your mouth and then have a small drink," he said gently.

Aliset took the waterskin and feeling better after the water, allowed Darcy to help her to her feet. 

"Pray don't tell me that you now find me so repulsive that you must spew your guts at the side of the road at the mere sight of me."

"Darcy!" Aliset exclaimed, wide-eyed.  She sometimes forgot that he had spent almost half of his life as a sailor.  "Of course not!  Let's step farther away from the others for a moment."  Darcy took hold of her elbow, and Aliset was not sure if he was being solicitous, or if he was intent on preventing her escape.  She set her waterskin down, using the movement to gather her thoughts and then turned to face him, her hands folded over her abdomen.

"Darcy," she began, "I'm bearing."

Darcy gave her a blank look.  "Bearing east or west?" he asked, puzzled.

"I'm with child, you dolt!" Aliset exclaimed. 

"What? You mean a baby?"

"Most children do start out that way," Aliset said dryly.

Darcy threw his arms around her and held her close.  Aliset hugged him back until he pulled away.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked.  "You should be somewhere safe, not charging after kidnappers!"

"And that is exactly why I did not tell you earlier," Aliset said firmly.  "I am not ill, and the morning sickness will pass in a few months.  I need to see this through with you.  If you send me away, I will be worrying constantly, and that would be bad for the children."

"So I can worry instead!"  Darcy stopped and stared at her.  "Did you say child-REN?"

"I did."   Aliset could not help looking smug.

"Isn't it safer to do this sort of thing one at a time?" 

"Darcy."  Aliset shook her head and took his calloused hands in hers.  "I will be fine, and we know two excellent Healers."

"Aye, but...." 

"Do you want to know their gender?"  Aliset interrupted, wanting to distract him from his worry.

Darcy gave her a sharp look.  "You know that?"

"Yes, Darcy. Deryni women can sense such things very early on."  She looked at him expectantly.

Darcy hesitated for a moment, but could think of no good reason to not know. He squared his shoulders as if readying to meet a storm.  "Aye, out with it, love." 

"It's girls, Darcy."   Aliset took a deep breath and studied his face.  Would he be very disappointed?  Most men wanted sons, and both Mariot and Isles needed heirs.

Darcy's face brightened.  "Little, wee Alisets.  Why, that's all right.  I can adjust to that, even if they turn out to be just like their mother."

Aliset would have been insulted if Darcy had not been smiling at her in that mischievous way he had.  What if sons were just like Darcy!  She thought she  just might be able to cope.

"I suppose the others all know?" Darcy asked and turned to look back at their companions.  Washburn and Fiona were staring at them shamelessly.  "Never mind, I think I know that answer."

"They don't know we have twins or that they are girls," Aliset assured him.

He held out his arm to her and she placed her hand on it.  "Maybe we should keep that a secret for awhile."

"If you wish,"  Aliset said lightly, doubting that he could do it. 

"Yes, I now know!"  Darcy declared when they reached Washburn and Fiona.  "And I know there will be two little Alisets!"

"Twins!" Fiona gasped and threw her arms around Aliset.

Washburn grabbed Darcy's arm and squeezed hard enough that Darcy was sure there would be bruises.  "Daughters!" Washburn exclaimed.  "Congratulations, man!  Well done!"

That was how the lancers found them when they arrived.

((Evie rolled the dice back in June and in the fall to determine if Aliset was pregnant, how many babies there were and their gender.  I decided to include the results at the end so as not to give anything away too soon.

Result of the throw of dice "2d6 > 4" :
6 + 3 = 9 ... success
Aliset seems to have a bun in the oven after that last delightful evening with her snugglebunny!

Number of children:
1-3  Single
4-6  Twins
Result of the throw of dice "1d6" :
4  (Twins!)

Child 1's sex:
1-3 Male
4-6 Female
Result of the throw of dice "1d6" :
4 (girl)

Child 2:
Result of the throw of dice "1d6" :
6 (another girl) ))

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on February 23, 2020, 07:16:36 AM
As the group stood beside the road, Wash heard the beat of hooves pounding toward them. He turned to see several Haldane lancers approaching.  The lancers drew up, and the captain addressed Wash. "The king sent us after you to assist with the capture of an escaping man thought to be a possible rebel spy. I see no such man. Has he escaped then?"

The baron (Wash) replied. "We were close behind him but he managed to dodge away from me. I am just grateful that my niece was able to break free of his evil grasp and ride back to us. That she is back under my protection is an immense relief to me."

Washburn continued. "We were closing in on him when he suddenly veered off the road, dodging southward toward that band of trees in  what appeared to be an effort to elude us. I wanted to continue the pursuit but Lord Darcy  discouraged that course.  He pointed out that the man might have one or more allies lying in wait in those woods. His purpose all along may have been to lead us into an ambush. Also we are a small group, lightly armed.  As much as it vexed me to let him go, we decided the risk of continuing was too great."

'While we abandoned the pursuit, I felt  that I could not allow him to escape without hindrance. I decided to try to make his escape more difficult and to make it easier for authorities to identify him.  I drew my bow, shot an arrow and wounded him in the shoulder.. He swayed in the saddle then slumped over his horses' neck but did not fall. He disappeared into the trees.  I had thought to notify the authorities in the nearest village or town in hopes they could find and capture him. I was much relieved at your arrival with orders from the king to assist with finding and detaining him." Wash paused to allow the lancer captain the chance to ask further questions.

The lancer captain was a man of considerable intelligence. He did recognize Lord Darcy Cameron from his resemblance to his brother and from his presence in Rhemuth in attendance on the king  prior to the death of Bishop Arilan. However, the baron and the others were strangers to him.  He studied the members of the party carefully, noting that they looked somewhat rattled.  That was not unexpected when they had been entangled in a kidnapping and pursuit of the felon.

"Do you require our assistance?"  the captain asked.

Washburn shook his head, "No, we can manage here, but we must leave the chase to you. You and your men must press on with the pursuit.  You should be able to overtake him. Look for a man with an arrow wound in his shoulder. I don't think he will have gotten far with that wound. It is important that you take him captive and return him to Rhemuth. I am convinced he has valuable information. We need to find out who was behind this kidnapping and what was the purpose. What did he hope to accomplish? The king needs answers to these questions."

The captain bowed to Washburn, signalled to his men to follow, and they galloped southward, following the track the kidnapper had taken.

The group of friends remained at the side of the road. Darcy swept his eyes around, taking in the faces of his wife and his friends.  "It is getting late and all of us need rest. It has been a very stressful day. Aliset needs to rest and recover from her sickness."

"I am fine now!"  asserted Aliset in an irritable voice. "I do not want to be the reason we hold back from what we need to do. This is what I was afraid of, you becoming overprotective.  I have skills that you need, and I don't intend to be left behind or to slow us down,"

"But you did agree that you would take care. You shouldn't push yourself when it is not needed," Darcy insisted stubbornly.

Wash spoke up before this exchange could escalate into an argument.  "Lady Fiona still appears shaken from her ordeal of being seized by the kidnapper and being under his control. Such an experience is terrifying! I remember all too well how it feels to find yourself a prisoner, unable to do anything to help yourself.  And the heat and emotion in the church added to the stress. I see exhaustion in her face. And after the stress of what occurred in the abbey and the chase, we are all in need of a period of repose and recovery. "

"Of course we all need a chance to recover. I was thoughtless." Aliset sounded contrite.

Fiona spoke up.  "I will not be a burden!. I am well able to proceed with whatever action we decide on. I am a little tired but otherwise fine."

Darcy again spoke. "I did not intend to offend.  We are all tired, and I believe we are all in need of  food and a period of rest. And we need to talk, to decide what comes next."

There was a brief silence as the group considered what had been said.

After a pause, Darcy continued. "I propose that we ride a bit further and look for a clearing where we can make camp. Once settled, we can discuss the best course for our future.  Perhaps either Aliset or Washburn can establish Rapport with Father Columcil and enable us to learn what occurred after we left the abbey. We could also learn how the archbishop is faring and when the good father might be able to rejoin us. What are your thoughts?"

The others considered what Darcy had said, then one by one agreed to his proposal. Darcy assisted Aliset to mount then sprang into his saddle. Wash suggested that they continue along the road to the east toward the mountains.  "I believe we are more likely to find a suitable clearing in that direction."

They turned their horses' heads and rode along the road toward the east. After a short ride, Darcy noticed an opening in the line of trees to the right.  He signaled for a halt. He could hear the sound of running water. He guided Sigrun  through the trees into a small clearing with the ground covered in soft, green grass. A clear brook tumbled merrily along the edge of the clearing. The others followed him into the clearing and looked about them. "This seems a pleasant place to camp and there is fresh water and green grass for the horses. I believe this meets our needs." said Aliset. The others agreed.

They all dismounted. Darcy and Wash led the horses to the brook to allow them to drink. Aliset and Fiona removed their saddlebags and began to unpack them.  The men returned from the brook, tethered the horses to allow them to graze, and began to set up a camp. They built a fire and unrolled bedrolls. Each of them had a meat pie followed by an apple and some of Darcy's ale. They could now relax and talk about what should come next.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on February 26, 2020, 12:52:32 PM
Wash named the set of four ward cubes in a square. The use of magic gave a thrill to the mind knowing that not long ago he had been denied this power.  Next he named the black cubes. The potential of energy within the eight cubes became a form of tension, could he finish the sequence or would he fail as Darcy had on his first go at it the other night?

Wash looked around him, Aliset and Darcy were busy making up the bed rolls. Fiona's bedding would be on Aliset's far side while Wash would sleep the furthest distance away on Darcy's far side. Wash thought it funny, that is until he looked up to see Fiona intently watching him, her eyes all bright in the glow of the fire. The lass was no longer just a girl to him. She was becoming something special, but he had no right to betray his feelings toward her. As she watched him work the ward cubes into a Ward Major, he considered sharing the magic with her. Quickly, he abandoned that idea. To do so would require her touch upon his hand, even that much intimacy would be too much in his state of mind. Now that he was back in his own face, having dropped her uncle's persona, he was more then ever aware of her physical presence. Only two things were keeping him from kissing her; Cousin Darcy's ever present watchful glances and this nagging feeling he needed to keep moving eastward. Of course Darcy had the right of it. Who was he to approach an heiress without so much as a by-your-leave from her two cousins, her uncle, and the king. That would be four powerful men whom he dared not to cross. And that was nothing compared to the protection Aliset gave the young lady. The two were becoming close friends, and Wash knew there would be nothing he would say to Fiona that would not somehow find its way into Aliset's knowledge and thereby be shared with Darcy. Nope,  no kissing! Keep your hands away from the lass! Wash admonished himself.

As for that nagging sense that he should keep moving toward his home? It was stronger than ever. He had felt this need to keep on riding right on through the night.

((Save test against the call to keep moving east.
17:03 <•Laurna> !roll 1d6
17:03 <GameServ> Laurna rolled 1d6: 4 <Total: 4> failed))

He had felt the pull very strongly as the others turned off the road to go into the clearing. When he had not joined them, it had been Aliset who had turned back,  who had touched his hand, and who had said, "Come with us and we will rest for the night." She had not made it a request, she had put power behind her words. He did not tell her why, but he was grateful that she had done so. Now, with his belly satisfied from dinner and the tension of the day released with a good share of Darcy's ale, Wash returned his energy to the pale-glowing eight little cubes: four white in a square and four black at their points.

"Primus" Wash chanted as he placed the first white cube atop the black cube at its upper point. The opposites of light and dark fused to form an oblong which gave off a grey glow. The tension of magic was building and Wash again felt the thrill of power in his hands. In quick succession he fused the three remaining pairs of cubes, naming them and feeling the satisfaction of ending with four glowing oblongs. He stood then, determined to finish the ward properly. He walked each cube to the farthest corners of their camp site. Then he returned to the center, ignoring  the three people who now watched him and finished the spell with hands raised upward. "Primus, Secundus, Tertius et Quartus, Fiat Lux!"

((Finishing the Ward Major
17:03 <•Laurna> !roll 2d6
17:03 <GameServ> Laurna rolled 2d6: 5 6 <Total: 11>success))

A dome of reddish-gold appeared high over the heads of the horses and reached well above them like a ceiling in a castle room. Wash was pleased, it was the largest Ward he had yet constructed. He and his friends were safe from spies, from kidnappers, and evil men whose intentions were as yet unknown. Under the protective ward, they were able to open their minds, without fear of evil intervention, to seek a distant Rapport with their missing good friend, Father Columcil. They desperately wanted to know how the good father fared and if they could figure a way to meet up again; they did not much like his absence from their group. Circumstances certainly had not gone as planned.

Wash stumbled a little from the wave of exhaustion. He performed a spell to banish fatigue before the others could suspect how tired he was. Feeling better, he straightened his shoulders and returned to the campfire. "Shall I make contact with Columcil? We need to tell him that we are fine and where we are. Also, I would like to hear if Uncle Duncan is well."

"You always were able to make the easiest Rapport with the father," Aliset said coming to sit next to Wash. "I will be your backup, and the others will assist as well, come Fiona." Aliset had Fiona sit behind her with a hand on Washburn's arm and Darcy came to sit on Washburn's right side. Wash pulled his dagger out and turned it hilt up using the ruby set in the cross guard as his focus.

((11:08 <•Laurna> Wash rapport with Columcil
11:08 <•Laurna> !roll 2d6
11:08 <GameServ> Laurna rolled 2d6: 4 3 <Total: 7>))

Washburn cast outward, searching for Father Columcil. He stretched his search out for a very long time, without response. Either it was too early in the night or he did not have the energy to make contact with his cousin. When he would give up, Aliset jumped in, "I think I feel him. Let me focus our energies. If we can just touch him, so that he knows we are calling, he can strengthen the link on his end."

((11:08 <•Laurna> Aliset rapport with Columcil
11:08 <•Laurna> !roll 3d6
11:08 <GameServ> Laurna rolled 3d6: 4 2 6 <Total: 12> success))

They were rewarded with. "Ah was woriat fir ye. Ur ye guid?"

"Fiona is safe with us, and we are well. What of you, my friend?" Washburn relayed.

"Better noo 'at Ah am talkin' wi' ye. Hauld mah friends. Grandfaiter wuid lak tae join in ta link. He is feelin' a wee bit better. Thocht nae guid enaw frae mah point ay veiw. Yit he wuid see fur himself 'at ye ur weel, sae he can relay 'at tae th' dowager duchess."

"Your Grace, you gave us all a fright back there," Aliset announced when she felt Duncan's presence. "You should not tax your strength."

"I am well enough, dear lady," Duncan added with reassurance. "The mass for a dear friend and mentor was more emotional than I was prepared for. It was nearly as hard as when I said mass for my beloved cousin, Alaric. My heart broke that day, and it nearly broke three fold this day when I heard something had happened to you four. Can you assure me that you are well tonight? Washburn, what can I do for you?"

"Uncle..." Wash felt choked up, then steadied his thoughts. "I can handle myself. You should regain your strength. Please, tell maman that I am sorry we were not able to meet, I had wanted to see her."

Then Columcil was back in the link. "Ah, whit happened today? Ye gae us a fricht when ye aw disappeared." 

Aliset was quick to give a recounting of the events as they had played out. She finished with, "Fiona is safe, she was unharmed. And the lancers the king sent to follow us were shown the trail of the perpetrator. I do hope they catch him and find out what that was all about."

"Ah lassie, Ah dae hiner 'at they dae." Columcil agreed. "I am thinkin' 'at Ah can follaw ye in th' morn. But Ah wuid be a day behin' ye.  Cuid ye fin' a safe place tae bide up fur me?"

Washburn offered an image of the road they had traveled, he knew it well enough to know that there was a village up river at the bass of the Lendour Mountains before the road started the climb. "I have not stopped there before, but there is a village a few more hours ahead of us, we did not have time to get to it tonight. It is less than a day's ride from Arx Fidei. We could be there by noon and you could join us there before evening set in. Do you want us to settle there and wait for you?"

''At is a guid plan. Lit us make contact when th' sun is at its zenith. Wi' luck ye will be settled in th' village, an Ah will be half way tae ye. Is it agreed?"

"It is," and "Very well," both Wash and Aliset said together.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on February 27, 2020, 10:16:46 AM
Darcy Cameron stared at the stars in the sky.  While no one looking into the wards could see them, from his place on his bedroll he could see out through the wards clearly to  the sky.  If only he could see the future as clearly as the stars above.

Aliset slept beside him, near enough to touch, but he refrained.  She and the lassies needed their sleep undisturbed, though he wondered if she felt the same disquiet he felt, in spite of the need for sleep.  Fiona seemed to be asleep  on Aliset's other side; Washburn lay recumbent as far away as could be within the wards.  As suitable an arrangement as they could manage.

Darcy's mind would not stop mulling over the day's events.  He was to be a father!  Aye, he had known that was a part of the marriage package, but he had not thought about it much. He was happy enough to know that Aliset was his, though he knew she had her own opinions of what "his" entailed.  He must do right by her and the wee lassies.

Darcy tried to settle himself into a more comfortable position, his hands laced behind his head.  There would be Mariot to settle once this was done.  Aliset's lands must be made secure.  Not just secure, but peaceful and prosperous.  He could not imagine her people not being happy to have the rightful heir returned to them, but there would be those who had hoped to prosper under Oswald who would have to be dealt with.  He could never imagine Aliset being ruthless like her cousin, but there would be difficult decisions to be made.  He hoped they could come to terms with them.

Iain would have to look after Isles for now.  It might be best if Darcy was not present when Iain confronted their stepfather at last.  Darcy would be more apt to use his fists than worry about justice, though perhaps justice would turn a blind eye. Best Darcy was not there. And he would not have to explain it to Aliset.

Darcy yawned; sleep was creeping up on him.  He rolled onto his side and lightly laid his hand on Aliset's arm. The warmth spoke to him as much as the night sky.  Who would have ever thought the tides would send him in this direction?  Darcy would follow this course in his life without regrets. 

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on March 01, 2020, 07:51:02 PM
Fiona turned restlessly, trying to find a comfortable position that would help her relax. In spite of her exhaustion, sleep eluded her. Her mind was in a whirl, and she did not seem to be able to quieten it. Her thoughts ran round and round like an animal in a cage. She turned on her back and opened her eyes to look at the stars glittering overhead.

She had tried her best to push the memory of what had happened in the abbey to the back of her mind, but the thoughts refused to be ignored. She finally decided that it would be better to face them. She took one deep breath, then another. Then she freed her mind to roam at will. Instantly she was back in the abbey church, standing in line behind the Countess of Eastmarch and her grandchildren, waiting for her turn to pay her respects to Bishop Arilan. She had been smiling to herself, having just seen Washburn pick up Aliset and twirl her around exuberantly. She must have told him about the pregnancy.  She felt again the touch of a man's hand on hers, then before she could move or cry out,  the man had taken over her mind and she was under Deryni control.  Against her will she was walking toward the door with her hand on his arm. Once there, she had been handed over like a package and compelled to do whatever he told her. She could not shout for help or break away from him.

She recalled her feelings of helplessness and desperation. Although she had heard of Deryni who abused their powers, she had not really understood what that meant. She had not thought that a Deryni without principles would control another  person's mind and bend them to his will, forcing them to follow his commands.

Fiona had longed to attend the Schola to learn more about her powers and how to use them properly, but now she felt a more urgent need to get to the Schola. Could she learn how to defend herself from attacks such as she had experienced at Arx Fidei? Surely trained Deryni who had control of their shields and powers could mount a defense that could defeat such attacks. She needed to develop such defenses..

.She had missed her chance to attain the protection and assistance of the Dowager Duchess of Corwyn in achieving admission to the Schola. Columcil had told them that the Duchess had returned to Rhemuth with the king. But this did not discourage her. Instead it made her all the more determined. She would find a way to reach Rhemuth and to be accepted as a student at the Schola  If she could reach Iain, he had the King's ear and would surely help her. Whatever she had to do to reach the Schola, she would do it. If all else failed, she would go to Rhemuth alone, present herself at the Schola and demand admission. She was determined never to experience that feeling of helplessness or loss of control again!

She again wondered why she had been taken. How could such a brief kidnapping have benefited the Deryni behind it?  She thought about it. What was the result of her abduction? Her friends had followed in hot pursuit. This had drawn them away from the abbey and possible support from the lords and guards there. That must have been his goal. He had made no effort to hide their trail. In fact it seemed to her that he had wanted them to follow. Surely his purpose had been to put one or more of them in a vulnerable position, drawing them away and possibly luring them into an ambush. But which of her friends was in danger?

Fiona considered each of her friends in turn. She knew that Aliset had barely escaped from an evil cousin who had murdered members of her family. However, word had reached them that the man had died in Ratharkin, and it seemed unlikely that he had any allies who would continue his murderous plans since only he could have inherited her family's lands.

Darcy had left his ship and the sea when ownership of the ship had changed. She could think of no reason why anyone from his seafaring past would be pursuing him. She knew that his stepfather had sold him to sea when he was only ten years old as part of his plan to acquire the baronetcy of Isles. But how would the man know that Darcy had left the sea, where he was or what he was doing?. She could not see how Darcy's stepfather could be involved.

Then she thought of Washburn. He had been kidnapped and held prisoner only a short time before.  He had only escaped with Iain's help. There were signs that the person behind that abduction was making every effort to find and recapture him. It  made sense that Washburn was the object of the attempt to draw them out, separate them from any protection or  help, and retake him.

Fiona was most concerned about Washburn, but what could she do to help him? She thought that they must all talk together in the morning and try to make plans. They were now some distance from Arx Fidei and also from Rhemuth. They were riding east toward the Lendours and Wash's family lands. Where might such an attack take place? How would it occur? How could they defeat it?  Tomorrow, they would continue to the next village where Father Columcil would rejoin them. There they could discuss what she suspected and devise a plan. She was sure she could help.  With confidence that she would be part of whatever plan they devised, she finally was able to fall asleep.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on March 07, 2020, 11:19:33 AM
"Master, the salmon are once more swimming up river, which is as you requested after their momentary sojourn in the estuary of Arx Fidei. The lure to keep your salmon off of the king's plate was a success. Depending upon their pace, they should be in your pond before tomorrow is through. I wish you happy fishing; those four can be slippery bait at times. I do hope your net is tight."

"Never think my net is fallible. It is not!" proclaimed the high member of the Black Order of Death. "I presume you picked them up on the road south of Ramos, as I said you would?"

"You are correct. Your salmon did not stay in that particular pond of Ramos, as I had originally thought. I would have missed them if you had not appraised me of my error. I did lose a bit of coin for the rooms I had the hotelier hold for them, but it is a lesson learned. A mistake I will not make again." The subordinate of the order acknowledged his superior's wisdom.

"Always have your location's history in mind. Fish don't swim in cold waters when there are warmer waters nearby." The master seemed to be enjoying the fishing references, for his words emphasized the expressions as he took in the psychic rapport. "I take it the king's waters were at best frigid, thus keeping my fish from swimming too near to him?"

"Not as cold as I would have liked, Master. It was a near thing. Our big fish changed his look for a time..." An image of an elder baron riding a knight's horse passed through the link. "The king didn't even think to watch for him. If you hadn't told me to keep a look out for the school of fish as a whole, I would have missed the big one. How did you know he would not be traveling alone? As you described your compulsion over him, I would have thought it would have pulled him away from the others to make his way on his own."

"There was a chance of that, but as you aptly named them, salmon run upstream in mass. It is in their nature. It was I who followed them for the first many days out of Culdi. I learned the particular ways of these fish." The master gave a low laugh as he continued to use the allusion in their distant Rapport. "I suspected they would not have changed. You would not be aware, but the first attempts to fish our school out of the river was made by rebel pike-fish. These were nasty rebel men who pushed my school of salmon around quite a bit. They weren't good enough to catch them, mind you, but I followed and watched, and I learned the tactics my salmon used to evade these pike-fish rebels. When you learn their ways, catching them becomes simple." 

"As you say, Master. I am learning much from you. I did hire a pike of my own to run interference for me. His first effort failed. He did better the second time. He got our little fishies back into the river without the king even aware he could have had the delicacy of salmon at his table. Never-the-less, I predict the king will have a fine catch of pike-fish on his plate by tomorrow. Too bad, he will find it bland with no taste at all.  And no connections to you, nor me," said the small man who was a spy of the Black Order of Death. Through their Rapport, the small man sent a full recounting of the day's events, ending with him walking past the warded dome where his school of salmon had bedded down for the night.  He himself had moved further along the road before creating his own much smaller Ward to make this contact with his master.

"You are learning. I will give you a good word back at the Order. This is playing out, exactly as I have foreseen."

Master Feyd severed the Rapport with satisfaction. "Tomorrow is going to be a good day!" he said in a toast to himself.  Then he tossed down the fine red wine in the cup he had used to scry with. It was a good wine that would go well with a platter of salmon. Salmon was a delicacy in his desert home. He would savior tomorrow's meal and drink the rest of the bottle then.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on March 07, 2020, 03:43:58 PM
(( This is a rough area map the village of Windyner for reference when it comes up as the characters leave their campsite ))


(https://rhemuthcastle.com/GotP/area.JPG)
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on March 11, 2020, 07:37:44 PM
Fiona opened her eyes to the pearly light of early dawn. For a moment, she felt disoriented, not sure where she was. She raised her head and looked around, noting the sleeping forms around her. Memory came flooding back, the events of the previous day emerging bright and clear. She was with her friends, camped a day's ride east of Arx Fidei.  Their actions thus far had been directed at rescuing her from the kidnapper and attempting to capture the man who had taken her. She hoped that the lancers had indeed caught up with him and had him under restraint. Hopefully, they had been able to elicit some useful information from him. She felt concern that they still did not know who or what  was behind the kidnapping, although she had some ideas that she wanted very much to discuss with the others.

She stretched and began to rise from her bedroll. She saw that the protective ward still stretched overhead. As she watched, she saw the others begin to stir. Darcy sat up then quickly arose from his own bedroll, looking over at his wife to see if she was awake. Aliset smiled up at him, looking refreshed after a good night's sleep. .Darcy then looked over at Washburn who was also stirring. As Wash arose, Darcy indicated that he needed to pass through the ward in order to fetch wood and water.  Wash nodded and proceeded to release the protective ward that had kept them safe through the night. He then repacked his ward cubes in his belt pouch.

Aliset and Washburn then scanned the area with their senses to determine if any strangers were near. They found no one.  Darcy went to fetch more wood to build up the fire which had been banked down overnight. All of them set about the morning tasks, building up the fire and bringing water from the stream. Aliset distributed the remainder of the food they had carried with them. They were certainly in need of replenishing their supplies soon. Wash went to tend to the horses, taking them to the stream for a morning drink. When Wash returned, they all sat around the fire eating their bread and cheese and washing it down with the ale that Darcy provided.

Darcy looked around at his companions. "We need to discuss what we should do when we leave this site. Our immediate need is to find a village where we can await Father Columcil's arrival and purchase fresh supplies. But we also need to consider our course of action after those immediate goals are met."

Aliset nodded her agreement. "As a result of yesterday's disturbing events, Fiona missed her chance to be introduced to the Dowager Duchess of Cowyn and to obtain her assistance in reaching Rhemuth and gaining acceptance into the Schola. We need to consider how we can now help her achieve her goal. It will be difficult for us to reach the Duchess in Rhemuth as Washburn is forbidden to go there or to be near the king or his own family. We must find another way to place her under the protection of the Duchess."

"One of our problems is that we do not know who was behind Fiona's abduction or what the purpose was. That makes it difficult to anticipate any future attacks or design a plan to thwart them when they occur. Any ideas?"  Darcy looked around at his companions.

Fiona spoke up quickly. "Although reaching the Schola is my goal, I don't think that should be our biggest concern right now. I could not stop thinking about the kidnapping, and the more I thought about it, the less sense it made. There were two men involved. The first man was Deryni, and he took over my mind before I could react or do anything to escape. As he led me to the second man, he mind-spoke telling me that I must go with the second man and obey any orders he gave me. I would not be able to cry out for help or escape. Then he said this would last for a quarter of an hour after which the compulsion would end and I would be free. That indicated that the second man was not Deryni and was not able to extend his mind control. That made no sense. What could he gain from taking me and holding me for such a short time? Certainly not any kind of ransom."

"Then I considered, what was the result of his action? As soon as you realized that I was gone and not of my own will, all of you immediately set out in pursuit. I am very grateful for your care for me, but it drew you away from the guards and men-at-arms and their lords who would have been able to intervene.. What if that was the purpose behind it, to lure one or more of you into a vulnerable position or even into an ambush?  I then thought about who was the most likely target. Aliset had barely escaped from her evil cousin who had murdered many of her family."

"But we know that Oswald is dead, killed in Ratharkin!'  Aliset interjected.

Fiona nodded agreement. "It seemed unlikely that any ally of his would continue the pursuit since there would be no advantage to them. I then considered Darcy. We know his stepfather tried to get rid of him by selling him to sea when he was only ten. But that was many years ago, and I could see no way that he would know that Darcy had survived and left the sea or where to find him. So Darcy seemed an unlikely target of this plot."

"Well I may have made a few enemies at sea, but none so bitter that they would follow me to dry land to exact revenge. I agree I'm not a very likely target." Darcy interjected

"Next I considered Washburn. He had been captured and held prisoner very recently. Even though he had escaped, there were signs that those responsible were still anxious to recapture him and that they continue to pursue him.  And the effects on his mind of his imprisonment suggest that his captor had other plans to use him in the future. It seemed to me that he is the most likely target of both yesterday's attack and any future attacks. We need to focus our efforts on protecting him." Fiona paused, looking around at the others.

Wash had been listening intently to Fiona. Now he spoke for the first time. "I want very much to help Fiona reach the Schola and to place her under my mother's protection, but I am not sure how to accomplish this. I cannot turn back toward Rhemuth or change my eastward course. I did not tell you this before, but I broke off pursuit of the kidnapper, not for fear of a possible ambush, but because I could not turn away in another direction. I do not understand it myself, but there was a voice screaming in my head urging me to continue to the east.  You know that my captor used his power to affect my mind and my memories. I am afraid that he placed this compulsion in my mind, and I find it nearly impossible to disobey. He is a very powerful Deryni. I do not know why he did this or what will happen when I reach the destination he has in mind, but I need to know. I am worried that it will mean danger not just for me but for anyone who accompanies me."  Washburn's expression reflected his uncertainty and worry.

"It might be best if I continue on alone and the rest of you return to Rehmuth.'

"No! We will not agree to letting you continue on alone." Darcy was emphatic. "We will stay together as a group and work out what is best for us to do to defeat whatever evil plan is directed against you." He did not add that his charge from the king was to stay with Wash.

"Certainly it will be safer if we keep together. Fiona became a target when she was alone, separated from the rest of us." Aliset surveyed her companions. "No one should allow themselves to be separated from the group. We will need to be alert for anyone who looks suspicious and avoid contact. The man first touched Fiona and then was able to take over her mind'.She turned to smile at Fiona and Darcy. "I will work with both Fiona and you, Darcy, to help you learn how to control your shields and use them in  your own defense"

She continued. "I believe our first step should be to continue to the village that Washburn mentioned. We can Rapport with the good father and give him directions to it. I believe that Wash told him we would attempt the rapport at noon. He should not be more than a day's ride behind us and we can await him there. I will be happy and relieved to have him with us again.      We will also be able to rest and replenish our supplies so that we will be ready to move on when he arrives."

"I do feel that I must continue east to the Lendours. I am hoping that if I can reach Cynfyn Castle, I will be able to sort out my memories and know what is real and what is not. Also, we will have the protection of the lords and people there. I was regent for my nephew, Kelric's oldest son, until he reached the age of fourteen. I am well known and. I think, respected there. I feel that is my best course. If you are sure that you want to continue with me, I will do all I can to help keep us safe."  Wash hesitated.

The group all indicated their agreement with this plan. It seemed the best course for all of them, even Fiona. Wash added, "When we Rapport with Columcil, I will ask him if Bishop Duncan might be able to help us with gaining admission for Fiona to the Schola. He  was, after all, the first head of the institution, worked tirelessly to establish it and still has great influence there. He and Columcil together might be able to suggest the best way to get her there."

"If we are to reach this village by noon and keep our noon appointment for Rapport  with the good father, we had best be on our way." Aliset rose from her seat near the fire and began to pack away the remaining supplies. She also folded up her bedroll. Darcy brought water from the stream so that they could make a sketchy toilet. The fire was doused, and Wash prepared to saddle the horses, beginning with Fiona's.

Aliset addressed the group.. "Before we ride out, I need to spend a few minutes in Rapport first with Fiona and then with Darcy " She then spoke to them directly. "I can use this opportunity to strengthen your shields and show you how to quickly raise and lower them as needed.  While I am working with them, I need you, Washburn, to maintain vigilance to warn of the approach of any strangers." All of them nodded agreement.

Aliset moved to sit beside Fiona. She spoke gently to Fiona. "I will need to touch you to do this. You will feel no pain or discomfort. You may experience a sensation something like an itch in your head. I will first strengthen your shields then I will show you how to raise them. It is not difficult and once you are able to do so, you can protect yourself from attack by other Deryni. They will not be able to take control of your mind as the man in the Abbey did. At the first probe, your shields will slam up and protect you." Aliset placed her fingers lightly on Fiona's temples.

"Close your eyes and take a slow deep breath." Aliset instructed.  Fiona did as she was told. Aliset's voice was soft and almost hypnotic. "Now take another deep breath." Fiona felt herself relax as she followed Aliset's directions. She was aware of something happening in her head but it was not uncomfortable. After a few minutes, Aliset removed her fingers from Fiona's temples. "Open your eyes and take another deep breath." As Fiona did so, she felt a light probe. She blinked as her shields slammed shut with a snap. "You now have a strong defense against any Deryni attempt to seize your mind. Like any skill, your ability to control your shields will improve with practice. We will work on it again when we are settled in the village."

Darcy had been closely watching Aliset's interaction with Fiona. He trusted his wife and readily came to sit beside her, turning toward her to allow her to place her fingers on his temples. He showed no hesitation.  Aliset repeated the process she had followed with Fiona. When she was done, she asked him if he had felt anything at the end. He too had felt the snap of his shields into place. Aliset smiled at both of them. "We have made an excellent start on strengthening your defenses. It is now time for us to move on".

They quickly finished saddling the horses. They made certain the campsite had been returned to its natural state. When all was ready, the four friends mounted their horses and set off to the east toward  the village with Wash in the lead guiding them on the next leg of their journey.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on March 14, 2020, 04:30:59 PM
The kidnapper fell from his horse as he reached the abandoned farmstead.  The fall jarred the arrow protruding from his right shoulder, and the pain sent the man to the brink of darkness.  He had passed the destination where he was to leave the girl and rode on to the secluded farmstead.  This was the location that  had been set in his mind when the girl's hand was placed on his arm. He would find his payment under the slab just inside the door of the crumbling shed. If he lived that long; he knew he had lost a lot of blood. 

The kidnapper forced himself to stand and staggered to the shed.  The small bag of coin was where he knew it would be, but it was odd that he could not remember who had left it.  He probably could not think straight because of the constant pain.  Perhaps he would rest a bit before moving on.  No one was likely to find him here.  He sat awkwardly and leaned his good shoulder against the door frame, set his axe down within easy reach, and closed his eyes.  Perhaps he would remember once he woke up.

He would not remember, nor would he be aware of the death-trigger the spy had set at the same time he sent him the payment location.  He would never be able to recall the spy from the Black Order of Death, and if questioned too closely by Deryni means, the trigger would activate and he would die.

***

The captain of the Haldane lancers held the tip of his sword against the sleeping man's throat while one of his men kicked the axe away.  The man woke and started to rise but stopped as the sword pricked the skin of his neck.  From the looks of him, the man could not afford to lose any more blood. 

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" the captain demanded.  "How were you injured?"

"I was ambushed on the road, good sir,  but managed to escape with this wound.  I am Master Nyland, a merchant from Carcashale," the kidnapper lied.

"Let  me see that wound," the captain said.   The lancer who had kicked the axe away had to help the man up and support him while the captain examined the wound.  It was exactly as Sir Washburn had said it would be.  "Search him and relieve him of all of his weapons.  You, Master Nyland, will come back with us to Arx Fedei."

A short time later, Master Nyland was once again on his horse, his hands tied together to the pommel of his saddle.  The arrow shaft had been broken off and his wound roughly bandaged.

The captain weighed the bag of coin they had found in Master Nyland's purse in his hand.  "Lucky you managed not to lose this in the ambush.  There is a fair amount of coin here; you must prosper well at your trade." He tucked it into his saddle bag and motioned for his men to move out.  One of the lancer's pulled on the rope leading the kidnapper's horse, noting the beads of sweat on the man's forehead. 

***

Father Columcil nodded at the lay brother as he opened the door for him to depart with a tray of empty dishes.  He was pleased that Archbishop Duncan had finished all of the thick meat broth he had been served for dinner, though Columcil was not sure whether it was because he was truly hungry or the fact that Columcil had pestered him until his grandfather had eaten all of it. 

Archbishop Duncan was not recovering as fast as Columcil would have liked.  He was pleased when the older man had agreed to forego the evening mass in the church and instead  pray at the small prie-dieu in his room. Columcil had assisted him to rise when he was finished and insisted that Duncan eat the food that had been served.   The archbishop was still weak, but the broth seemed to have brought more colour to his face, and Columcil was hopeful that full recovery would occur in a short while.  That recovery had been foremost in Columcil's prayers, that and the safety of his friends on the road.

Duncan reached for the stack of papers on the corner of the desk and shuffled through them until he found the one he sought. 

"Can work not wait a wee bit?" Columcil asked. 

Duncan gave him a warm smile.  "Nothing too strenuous; just reviewing my list of potential candidates for the See of Dhassa."

"A bitty list or a..."  Columcil began when there was a knock on the door.  After a nod from Duncan, Columcil opened it.

It was the same lay brother who had removed the dishes who bowed when the door was opened.  "Beg pardon, your Grace.  The Haldane lancers have returned with a wounded man.  The captain asked if you have a Healer to spare; he wants the man to survive until he can turn him over to the king in Rhemuth."

"Ah can come wi' ye,"  Columcil said quickly.  "If His Grace promises t'rest and no be straying frae this room."

Duncan managed a smile.  "You have my word.  Go and do what you can."

Columcil bowed and followed the lay brother, closing the door softly behind them.  Duncan looked thoughtful for a moment, reached for his quill and added another name to his list.

***

The man lay on his uninjured side on a cot in the infirmary. The hand on that side was tied securely to the side of the cot to prevent any attempt at escape. One of the lancers stood guard at the door.  Father Columcil doubted the man would get far in his current condition if he did try to escape.   He washed his hands in the bowl of water on the small table and then examined the wound. 

"The arrow will have tae be pushed through," Columcil said to the lay brother.  "I'll ease the pain as much as ah can, but I'll need ye tae hold him still."

"Of course, Father," the lay brother replied. 

It was a messy business, but Columcil, centered deep in his Healing, was able to quench the flow of blood before too much more was lost.  He Healed torn muscle, chipped bone and skin, leaving only a small red area at the wound site when he was done. 

"Thank you, Father," the man said weakly.

"By the Grace of God I do what I can," Columcil said humbly.  "But tell me, what did ye want wi' the young lass?"

"I have no idea what you are talking about," the man mumbled.  Columcil knew he lied.

Columcil realized he could have accessed the man's mind while Healing him to find the answers they needed.   But he could never bring himself to do such a thing!  He was a Healer, and more than that a priest!  It would be like forcing confession from an unsuspecting supplicant.   Yet he recognized the deep care he had developed for his companions.  No, his friends!   Yet this was a boundary he would not, could not  cross.  He sent the man into a deep, healing sleep.  Doing his best to hide his inner turmoil, he nodded to the lay brother and the guard.

"I have done all ah can.  Ye can take him to Rhemuth in the morning."

***

Father Columcil's heart was heavy as he headed back to Archbishop Duncan's room.  What would his grandfather think when he confessed his temptation?  He would confess it, and take what penance his grandfather felt due.

Columcil opened the door quietly, and found Archbishop Duncan asleep at the table, his head pillowed on his arms, the parchments pushed aside for the moment.  Columcil realized that he could not leave him yet.  While part of him longed to ride forth and help his friends, his duty lay here, and here he would remain.  The sun was setting as Columcil walked quietly to the window and closed the shutters to the night air.  Somehow it felt prophetic, and he was not comforted.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on March 18, 2020, 11:39:07 PM

Shadow gave a whinny and a gig as he felt the change in his rider's attention. Sir Washburn's ease in the saddle had tensed the moment he and Shadow turned with the bend in the road toward the North. Just past a stand of nut trees, they came upon a series of barley fields in full bloom. From the light breeze down the valley, the whiskery tops of the stalks of barley swayed like small waves on the ocean. Beyond the fields lay multiple stone buildings that made up a village. The sign on a near post had the burnt out letters spelling Windyner. Washburn was certain that this was the destination he had thought would be a good place to stop and wait up for Father Colucmil.

Washburn determinedly calmed his own inner turmoil, he could give no reason why his nerves jangled at the sight of the village. More settled in himself,  Wash pulled at the reins bringing Shadow to a halt; in this calmer state, he let his three friends come up beside him.  From their vantage looking North, Washburn could see several rows of buildings, both one and two stories tall. The two taller structures were a granary tower and mill far off near the river to the right, and furthest away off to the left, behind the first row of buildings was a church steeple, the road seemed to pass down the middle of all the buildings between these two distinct structures.  The church they knew had at least two bells for they had heard the bells ring the time of Terce when they had been still quite a way down the road. The dual bells had not yet struck the sixth hour. Wash was hopeful that there would be plenty of time to find a room at an inn before they needed to settle in and make their contact with Father Columcil. He suspected they still had close to an hour before that scheduled appointment

Lord Darcy was watching Wash closely as they all pulled aside to let a farm wagon and driver trudge up the road. Wash felt a little abashed by the extra attention. Maybe he shouldn't have so openly declared his previous difficulties with moving off the road in a direction that was not east. It was a little embarrassing that his friends were so attentive to him as they started to move north when the road turned toward the village. Yet this time, Wash felt no such anxiety, in fact he almost felt an affinity for finally arriving at the village of Windyner.

Darcy was not sure what to make of his friend's partial smile. "I had thought to go ahead and find rooms for us at the inn, but I think it unwise if we split up. Therefore we shall go in together."

"That would be best," Aliset said in agreement.

Wash merely nodded saying nothing. He started Shadow walking forward, leading them to the village. Yet he had only gone halfway up the road toward the village, when he came across a walking path that cut across the fields. Without explanation, he could not resist the urge to take this path.

"Whoa, that is not the way!" Darcy said to his back.

"I know, but there is something over here. I can not say what it is. Something I need to see."

After hesitating, Darcy and the ladies pushed their horses into a trot to follow Shadow single file.

In the middle of the field, they came across a second pathway intersecting their path. Looking down that way, they could see several men and women near the edge of the trees working the land. No one was near as the war horse stopped at the crossing of the two paths. Unable to  explain his own actions, Wash dismounted from the saddle and walked up to an ancient well that sat at the center of the crossing. The old well was clearly no longer in use. The crossbeam, bucket, and rope were long gone. The bricks that made up the sides of the well were past repair, and the top edge was crumbling away.

"I don't think we can water our horses here," Darcy said, confused by Washburn's actions.

But Wash did not respond to his friend. He very likely had not even heard his friend's words. The well was calling to him. Not as a thirst to be quenched, as there indeed seemed to be no water at the bottom of the well-shaft. Nor was it a voice or a song of a siren that called to him. It was hard to pinpoint exactly what Wash felt, it was like a deeper thirst than the need for water on a hot day. This was something akin to an obsession for seeking a highly valued lost treasure.

Not realizing he had dropped Shadow's reins, Wash began to walk around the well. Darcy was quick to catch Shadow as the horse meandered over to the lush green barley stalks to nibble on the grasses. It would not do to get the local farmers mad at them for damaging their fields.  "We don't have time for this," Darcy stated a bit irritably as he wrapped Shadow's reins in his hands. "I thought we were going to find an inn together."

"Aye, we shall," the knight responded distractedly. He continued to circle the well. Then when he was not satisfied, he walked around it in the opposite direction.

"We are starting to draw attention to ourselves," Aliset muttered with concern.

Just then, Wash dropped down to his knees. He had seen something gleaming. With his dagger, he shifted a loose brick and then dug at the mortar between two other bricks. His friends, now curious, moved their horses over to stand behind him. They could not see what it was that Wash was after. As Wash pried further, the bricks came apart and in the hollow was a red stone the size of a bird's egg. Almost greedily, Wash cupped the stone in his hand, he rubbed the dirt away between his palms and then held it up to the sunlight. It wasn't just a stone, it was a brilliant gem, a ruby, rare in its size and clarity. The ruby was instantly familiar to the knight. One that could be no other than a sister stone to the gems in the pummels of both his dagger and his short sword.

There had been three rubies in all, cut from the same raw stone two centuries before and placed in the pummels of the three Lendour weapons: a dagger, a sword, and a long sword. All three gems varied in size, nevertheless, they shared the same psychic calling. Two of those weapons Sir Washburn currently carried and still had their rubies intact. The Lendour long sword had been taken from Wash several weeks ago in the forest of Droghera. Rather unpleasantly, he recalled the time Darcy and himself had been sitting on the branches of a tree awaiting Alister and Father Columcil to walk by with their horses.  In total surprise they were ambushed by three men shooting Merasha covered arrows. Wounded and delirious, Darcy had managed to stay high in the tree. Less agile than the seaman at such heights, Washburn had fallen to the ground to land squarely in the hands of his abductors. As Wash fought to regain his wits and his freedom, he spied the man responsible for the attack riding away with the Lendour long sword tied across his back. Wash had not seen the man's face. It could have been Master Feyd or it could have been one of several henchmen from the Mearan rebellion. The thing was that Wash had never seen the Lendour long sword again. And this largest of the three gems should have been seated in the pummel of that long sword.  How in the Eleven Kingdoms was the gem here? And what had happened to the sword it belonged to?

Wash stared at its brilliance in the sun for a long time, almost as if the gem had a spell upon it.

((Per Bynw, Wash must make a disadvantaged Save Test of 1d6. I chose to use my Just Fudge It card for this save test. Therefore Wash automatically rolls a success of 6))

His stare upon the gem was considered by Darcy to be too long for just casual interest. Darcy dismounted with great concern and stepped toward the knight. Wash jerked to attentiveness at the proximity of his friend. Wash looked up, blinked his eyes several times, shook his head, and a faint smile crossed his lips.

"What have you found? I could not tell what it was you were after, but now that you have held it up to the light, I can see it is a gem of quality. Who would hide such a treasure here?  May I see that?" Darcy asked.

"NO!" Wash responded too quickly, pulling his hand away. Then realizing his bluntness was inappropriate, he tried to explain. "This is mine, it belongs to the Morgan heritage and was given to me by my father. I need to protect it from ever getting stolen again."

"Heaven and high water! Wait, I recognize that. But you lost that sword. I won't soon forget that day?" Darcy replied in shock. "I don't like that it is here, I don't like this at all."

Wash shrugged off Darcy's concern. "What matters to me is that I have found it and it is back in my possession," Washburn claimed with some defiance. He rubbed the stone again in his palms and then almost reluctantly he put it inside a small draw bag that he attached to the thong around his neck, the same one that held his mother's Lendour coin.

With an odd sense of accomplishment, Wash ignored the seaman's concerned gaze,  concern which seemed to ease once the object was out of view.  That was good, to Washburn's way of thinking. Attempting to be nonchalant about it,  he held out his hand for Shadow's reins and then leaped back into the saddle.

Feeling confused, Darcy remounted Sigrun just as a farmer came forward. "Good sirs and ladies, I am sorry to say that old well is dry. The new well that the village uses is up there to the right nearer to the river and the mill. You can water your horses there."

"Thank you, my good man, we shall do that," Darcy agreed and led his group in that direction.

((Bynw's rules about the gem- The moment Wash picks up the ruby, he must make a Save Test at Disadvantage (1d6). If the Save Test for the gem succeeds. The spell on the ruby will reset itself and Washburn will need to make another Save Test at Disadvantage. The interval between the spell resetting will vary. 1d6 hours.
13:31 <•Laurna> Save test for the duration of the ruby to reset before I have to make another save test.
13:32 <•Laurna> YIKES! Oh what do I get myself into, here goes
13:33 <•Laurna> !roll 1d6
13:33 <GameServ> Laurna rolled 1d6: 6 <Total: 6>
13:33 <•Laurna> Yeah 6 hours reprieve))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on March 24, 2020, 12:18:14 PM
Darcy Cameron rubbed Sigrun's wet muzzle after she raised her head from the trough.  The rough wooden trough had been built near the new well, conveniently located to be filled from the well's bucket.  Once all of the horses had drunk their fill, the companions filled their waterskins from the well. Darcy's was empty of ale, so the water would suffice until he could refill it properly in Windyner.

They were not the only ones at the well.  Many of the travellers heading east after Bishop Arilan's funeral were taking the opportunity to water their horses; how many of them would also want to find rooms in the village? 

"We'd best not linger if we want to find rooms," Darcy said to the others.  "I suspect we will not be the only ones stopping here, although since it is still early, most will continue on.  I hope."  He helped Aliset mount her horse, and Washburn assisted Fiona, giving her a nod and an engaging smile when she thanked him.

Washburn led them back toward the town.  Darcy had not seen him this relaxed since they had first met in Culdi.  How long ago was that?  Darcy reckoned that they had another month of full summer ahead of them, so it was not as long ago as it seemed.  Sweet Jesu, Darcy thought; was Washburn actually humming a merry tune under his breath?  The big knight's mood had changed since they had stopped at the old well.  Washburn had searched around the well's crumbling sides, and he had found something there; Darcy was sure of it.  But what had it been?  For the life of him he could not remember.  That made him uneasy; usually he remembered everything, and with good detail.  Perhaps it would come to him once they had the opportunity to relax for a bit.

The village buildings were grouped on either side of the road, and the road was busy with travellers.  Darcy spotted what appeared to be a large stable off to one side. If the village had an inn, it would be nearby. 

"Shall I go and see what I can find for a room?" Darcy asked. 

Aliset started to object, since they were supposed to stay together, but Washburn spoke before she had a chance.

"Sounds reasonable," Washburn replied.  "Provided our ladies won't mind sharing my company while you are gone." He half bowed in his saddle.

"I think we can leave Darcy on his own for a short while," Aliset said. Darcy scowled at her and she smiled sweetly back.  In truth, Wash's change in mood puzzled her.  She had recommended that they stay together, but perhaps she could better understand the change if she had the opportunity to talk with him while Darcy was gone. 

Darcy dismounted and tied Sigrun's reins to one of the few empty posts outside of the two-story building that must be the inn.  Two men came out of the door and retrieved their horses.  Darcy hoped it was because they were leaving and not that the inn was full.  There was only one way to find out, and he entered hastily.

***

Aliset turned to Washburn.  "Have you been here before?"

"Nay, I don't think so," he replied readily enough.  "I may have passed through it a few times while travelling, but I don't recall ever stopping here."

"It seems a pleasant enough village," Fiona said, liking the ease with which the knight spoke.  Several of the villagers who passed them nodded or smiled in their direction, and Wash nodded back, equally friendly.

"You seem more comfortable here,"  Aliset said to Washburn. 

"It's where I need to be," Washburn replied, adding nothing more and with a tone that invited no more questions.

Aliset sighed.  This was getting her nowhere, and she did not want to jeopardize Washburn's current state of calm.   Perhaps she should just be thankful for the change. Father Columcil might be able to learn more once he arrived.

She watched as Washburn reached inside his shirt and touched the small bag he had tucked inside, almost as if reassuring himself its contents were secure.  There was something possessive about the way he gripped the bag; it was almost as if he hated to let it go.

"Here's Darcy," Fiona said and Washburn hastily withdrew his hand.  "Do you have good news for us, cousin?"

"Mostly," Darcy replied.  "There were no large rooms left, but I was able to get us two smaller ones, and there is room for our horses in the stable.  I was able to arrange for an additional pallet;  Father Columcil and Washburn can share one room, and Aliset, Fiona and I will share the other one.  There is a possibility we can get a larger room if we stay longer."

"You are not going to put Fiona on the pallet!" Aliset said firmly.

Darcy grinned at her.  "Of course not, love.  You and Fiona can share the bed, while I guard your door from the pallet.  Just like old times."

Aliset felt a bit of unease in her stomach.  "Not exactly like old times," she said ruefully  "Let's get settled and then find something to eat."

***

They found the rooms small, but clean enough.  The inn had a small dining area, but one of the stable lads had recommended the tavern across the street from the inn as having better food, so they made their way there once they had secured their belongings.

Washburn ordered two large meat pies and Darcy bought a round of ale.  The pies were excellent and they spent a pleasant hour enjoying the food, drink and the sunshine that poured in through the tavern's open shutters.  Aliset felt better than she had for the past several days.  Darcy told a funny and remarkably clean tale that did not cause the ladies to blush.  Fiona sat comfortably beside Washburn and shared his trencher.  Washburn was attentive and made sure she had the best parts of the pie they shared.  As midday approached, the tavern grew more crowded, and the four friends reluctantly left for their scheduled rapport with Father Columcil.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on March 31, 2020, 02:49:33 PM
 Having finished their meal, the friends left the tavern. They hesitated at the side of the street which was quite busy with people and animals moving to and fro. Looking across the way, they also noted that the inn appeared quite busy with small groups of travelers entering and leaving.

"I wonder if our rooms at the inn will be the best place for Rapport with Father Columcil?" Aliset observed somewhat anxiously. "Perhaps we might take a stroll through the village and see if there is a quieter, more secluded spot we could use. It might be possible to find a spot in the church. We still have time. The bells have not yet begun to ring sext."

Turning toward the church, they began to stroll along the street. The buildings were mainly one story, built of stone with thatched roofs. Next to the inn was a large stable well able to accomodate the travelers' horses. At the far end of the stable, against the wall was a blacksmith's shop busy with several horses awaiting attention. The well was between the inn and the stable with the trough for watering the animals in front. As they continued passing between the two rows of cottages, they saw that the road passed a tall granary with a large barn beside it.

On the opposite side and a short way farther on was the church, a stone structure with an arched porch which flowed upward to the tower where the bells were housed and ended in a pointed gothic spire topped by a cross. They directed their steps toward the church intending to enter and seek a quiet space from which to Rapport with Father Columcil.

As they approached, two priests stepped out of the door and began to walk toward them. They halted as the friends approached. One of them was an older man, rather round with a round face, apple cheeks and bright blue eyes. The hair around his tonsure was medium brown liberally sprinkled with gray. The second man was taller and leaner with a dark, hawklike face. He had dark brown eyes with black, bushy eyebrows and his hair was dark brown, untouched by gray. Both wore cassocks of rough country homespun tied around the waist with a narrow rope. The taller man wore a large wooden cross around his neck. They halted, smiling at the small party approaching them.

"Good day, fathers." said Darcy. "We are visitors to your village on our way home from the funeral mass of Bishop Arilan. We have stopped  for food and to care for our horses.. We were looking about your lovely village and were attracted to your church. May we enter to pay our respects to your St. Elfrida? We heard that you have  at least one of her relics."

The older priest replied. "Welcome, my children. I am Father Michael, priest to this village. This is Father Paulos, a priest from Torenth who has been with me for quite some time studying the differences in worship in our two kingdoms. He has been of great help to me in serving the villagers.  You are most welcome to explore our church. We are stepping out for a brief moment and will be returning for the noon prayers."

Both priests smiled at the little group and Father Michael blessed them. Aliset bowed her head for the blessing, but when she raised her head, she found herself looking directly into the eyes of Father Paulos. Although he smiled, his smile did not reach his eyes. She could not explain it, but something she saw there made her uneasy. She did not feel comfortable in his presence although she did not know why. The two priests walked on by while the friends continued into the church.

The interior was simple with a central aisle stretching through the nave to a simple rood screen separating it from the altar. There were some rough benches on either side. The altar contained a table with a cross.. A presence lamp hung to one side. The group hesitated, moving to one side of the aisle.

"Is something bothering you, Aliset? You seem disturbed." Darcy reached for his wife's hand. Wash and Fiona looked at her with concern.

"I would prefer that we not attempt to contact Columcil from here. I can't explain it, but something about the younger priest made me uneasy. I really think it would be best if we Rapport with him from one of our rooms at the inn as we originally planned." Aliset looked around at her companions. "Washburn, you will be the one establishing the contact, where would you feel more comfortable? Here in the church, one of the priests or a worshipper could enter at any time and interrupt you."

Washburn looked at her with concern. "I did not feel any disquiet from either of the priests, but if you think it best, I am willing to return to the inn."

Aliset replied. "I think it may stem from my attempt to scry for the owner of the ward cubes found in the ruins where Wash had been held as part of our search for him. I know you were worried when I seemed to touch something threatening just before I withdrew. For a few seconds I saw a foreign-looking priest who frightened me."

"Was it this Father Paulos? Did you recognize him?" Darcy sounded anxious.

"No, I can't say I recognized him or that I even think it was the same man. But there was a resemblance. That may be the source of my disquiet." Aliset still appeared nervous. "I just think it would be wise if we established the Rapport in the privacy of our rooms at the inn even if it is a little noisier."

After a moment, the others agreed. They left the little church and walked back down the street toward the inn.


Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on March 31, 2020, 02:52:32 PM
The King, Earl Brendan, and Duchess Richenda stepped from the portal in the library in Rhemuth. Richenda curtsied and addressed the king in a shaky voice. "I will return to my rooms, sire." She turned to walk toward her apartment in the Queen's Tower. Her head was bowed and she moved slowly.

Brendan addressed the king. "Sire, I am concerned about my mother. She puts on a brave front, but I know she is still upset at missing Washburn. May I escort her to her rooms and see her settled? I will return to you immediately after she is cared for."

Kelson nodded his head in assent. "I will send a squire to the Queen to inform her that the duchess has returned and is in need of her support. I am sure she will go to Richenda immediately. As soon as your mother is settled and has someone with her, come to me in the withdrawing room, and I will outline our plan for retaking Ratharkin and putting down the rebellion."

Brendan bowed and quickly followed his mother, taking her arm and supporting her as they continued toward the Queen's tower. When they reached her apartment, the door was opened  by a young maid who curtsied to them.  "Her grace was much moved by the events at the abbey and is in need of rest and refreshment. Fetch a cup of wine for her." Brendan instructed her. The young woman whisked away to procure the wine.

Brendan assisted his maman to a comfortable chair near the fire and added a log to the blaze. Richenda sat down but retained her hold on his hand. She looked up at him, still with tears in her eyes although she was not crying as she had earlier. Her lips trembled as she spoke. "I lost the love of my life when Alaric was killed. Your brother was severely wounded at Laas. He has been healed and is recovering but I could have lost him too.  I can't lose this son! "

She continued.  "I don't understand why I am being kept away from my son. I have only been able to communicate with him in Rapport once briefly. I need to know where he is and how he is faring. I know his captor altered his memories making him believe that his family mistreated him and trying to turn him against us. In Rapport he did tell me that he realized that some of his memories were false, but how could he sort out what was false and what was true?  I could help him, I know I could if only I could be with him."

Brendan saw the distress in her face. He took both her hands in his and held them. "You know he discovered he has healing powers just as Papa did. We all missed that as he was growing up, even Uncle Duncan. He has learned a little about his powers and how to use them; but he also learned how to block Deryni powers in others, making them human. I don't know much about it but apparently it was very rare even among healers in the old times. The king believes that it is necessary to keep him away from his family lest his irrational anger based on these false memories would cause him to use that blocking power, even on his family."

Richenda responded, "I know he would never try to use that blocking power on me , his mother. The one time I was able to reach him, he did promise me that he would always try to act honorably and I believe him."

"I am sure he was sincere, but I am not sure how much control he has, especially if his anger rages out of control." Brendan sought to reassure his mother. "His friends are with him and will help him. The king has promised that as soon as we have freed Ratharkin and broken the rebellion, one of his first priorities will be to find Washburn, heal his mind and restore him to us. I think I can best help both Wash and the king by carrying out his orders and freeing Ratharkin."

The maid returned with the wine. Brendan took the cup from her and held it to his mother's lips. Richenda took a sip. He then placed the cup on a small table nearby. "I must return to the king. Try to rest and be assured that Wash will be in our thoughts. He will not be forgotten and he will be returned to you as soon as possible."

Richenda sighed and leaned her head back against the high back of the chair.

As he prepared to leave, there was a soft knock at the door. The maid opened it and sank into a deep curtsy as the Queen entered the room.  Brendan bowed as she crossed the room to take the hand of her friend and place an arm around her shoulders. "Kelson has told me what occurred at the abbey. I will remain with her. Do not worry. We will care for her. The sooner this is all resolved, the better for all of us."

Brendan bowed to the two women and quickly left the room.

********

Brendan strode rapidly through the castle corridors to the king's withdrawing room. Two lancers stood guard at the door. One of them opened the door and entered to announce,  "the Earl of Marley, Sire." Kelson motioned for the Earl to enter.  The lancer closed the door behind Brendan who approached the king and bowed.

Kelson was seated at a heavy oak table with papers and maps spread out in front of him. Brendan recognized the map on top as depicting Ratharkin and its surroundings. Kelson poured a goblet of red wine from a flask on a tray nearby and handed it to Brendan. He indicated a chair across from him. "Be seated and let me explain what I have in mind for retaking Raharkin and finally crushing the rebellion."

Brendan sat and took a sip of his wine. He listened attentively as Kelson began to speak. "We are now in a position to end this rebellion and restore peace to the kingdom. In Rapport with Javan, I have learned that Laas has been secured and  although there is damage, the walls are largely intact. Kelric was wounded but has been healed and is recovering. The rebel army was defeated. A large portion of the army tried to escape, withdrawing from the battlefield and seeking to reach refuge in Castleroo.  Led by Grand Duke Valerian, the plan was to return to Ratharkin to regroup. Javan was in pursuit. He had sent out two scouting parties to determine which way they were riding.  A courier brought him word that Jass MacArdry's party had located the remnant riding south from the river toward Ratharkin."

When Javan and his army reached their location, Baron Jass reported that Valerian had been wounded by a bolt from a crossbow. His men had taken him up and withdrawn toward Kilardin. Javan followed them to the town, and his army surrounded and captured what was left of the rebel army."  Brendan looked up, hearing a hint of elation in the king's voice. "Valerian is dead! Javan has seen him. The rebellion has lost one of its top leaders! " Kelson sat back, sighing and looking at Brendan with a look of relief on his face..

"Sire, that is incredible news! That is a stunning loss to the rebellion."

Kelson replied. "Now is the time to strike. If we retake Ratharkin, they will have lost their last major base.They will be unable to recruit or rearm or rebuild an army. With Valerian's death they have lost a major source of support, both of political influence and money. The rebellion will be shattered. And my spies tell me that the city is held by only a small force. Valerian had drawn men from those holding the city to strengthen the force that would attack Laas. I am convinced that they are most vulnerable now."

"I have ordered Javan to collect all the cavalry available to him and, under the command of Duke Rory and Lord Duncan Michael, order them to ride to Ratharkin as quickly as possible where they will rendezvous with you and your men. I believe a swift surprise attack now has a good chance of success. You should be able to surround and take the city while they are still undermanned and not expecting it. They will be sure that our forces and our attention remain fixed on Laas and their guard will be down." The king paused to note his earl's reaction to his plan.

Brendan was nodding his agreement with what he had heard. "It seems a bold plan, sire and one which, as you say, has every chance of success. An end to the rebellion is an outcome much to be desired."

Kelson smiled. "Let us refine our plans for the actual attack." He laid out the map of Ratharkin and the two men moved closer studying it to determine the best approaches and identify points most vulnerable to attack. Soon they had a plan in place for the retaking of Ratharkin.

**********

Later that evening, after taking leave of his mother and the king, Brendan positioned himself on the portal, set the destination of Chantal's manor portal, took a deep breath and wrenched the energies.  Almost immediately he was stepping from the portal square at the manor. The guard in the portal room recognized the Earl and bowed.
Brendan smiled and addressed him. "Notify Lord Jaxom and Lord Michael of my return and ask them to attend me in the withdrawing room." The guard bowed and quickly left the room. At a more leisurely pace, Brendan made his way toward the withdrawing room.  He had only been there a few minutes when the Lords Jaxom and Michael entered and bowed.

Brendan addressed them. "I have just returned from the king and I have orders for us. We will be riding out tomorrow to begin to implement the king's directive."

The two young men were excited and eager for action, being heartily tired of what was essentially garrison duty which they found very boring. "My Lord, where are we going and what is our objective?" Jaxom inquired, barely able to contain his excitement"

Brendan gestured for them to take seats at the long table in the center of the room. He seated himself at the head and smiled at their eagerness. "I have some momentous news for you.  Laas has been secured and the last remnants of the rebel army there have been captured. In the course of the defeat and capture of their army in Laas, the Grand Duke Valerian, one of the major leaders of the rebellion, was killed. That is a severe blow to the rebellion."  The young men gave a quiet but heartfelt cheer at this news.

After their response, Brendan continued. "His Majesty feels that the remaining rebels are vulnerable at this time. He is ready to turn his attention to the retaking of Ratharkin. He has designed a plan that should secure the defeat of the rebels remaining there and free the city. Once the city has been taken, the rebels will have no base from which to rebuild their army to further attack the kingdom. This will be the final stone to set the utter defeat of the rebellion."

"We will be riding out in the morning toward Ratharkin. I will leave a token force here to guard the prisoners, but the rest of the men will ride with us. We will rendezvous with cavalry coming from Laas to put the attack plan into motion. The cavalry can travel much faster than the foot soldiers, and they should reach the rendezvous point not long after we arrive. Spies have informed the king that Ratharkin is lightly held, many rebels having been withdrawn to join the army attacking Laas.  We are also depending on an element of surprise as they will expect that our attention and our forces remain focused on Laas and that part of Meara. It is important that we move as stealthily as possible to avoid alerting them to the possibility of attack."

"Duke Rory will ride with the force from Laas. He will be in position to retake his place as viceroy and begin the healing process in the city. He is loved by his people and his presence will reassure them."

The Earl then addressed Lord Jaxom directly. "I instructed you to have the men prepared to move immediately on my return. Has that been accomplished, and are they adequately supplied for the move? "

Jaxom inclined his head respectfully, "Yes, my lord, we have spent the time of your absence preparing for our departure. The men are anxious to be on the move and are ready for your inspection whenever you wish. Lord Michael has been of  great assistance in these efforts." Brendan was pleased to hear Jaxom actually giving credit to another for their assistance. Perhaps he was maturing and learning to be a better commander after all.

Brendan pulled a map from his tunic and unrolled it on the table. He beckoned the two men to move closer and pointed out to them an area  just to the west of a mountain overlooking the city. "This is where we will meet the force from Laas. It is the shortest distance from that city and will provide cover for us as we assemble and prepare our attack. Based on what we have heard from our informants, the king and I identified several points in the city walls that are less well defended and open to infiltration by attackers. The defenders do not have sufficient men to mount patrols outside their walls so that is also in our favor. We believe that this plan has every chance for success and a final defeat of the rebellion." Both young men nodded their understanding of the plan.

Brendan continued, "I will need to leave a small force here to see to the prisoners. I had thought to leave one of you in charge here." He saw their faces fall as they heard that one of them would not be part of the assault, but neither voiced any objection.  "On further consideration, I think I may be able to leave one of the captains in charge here. I believe I will need both of you with me." Happy grins replaced disappointment on their faces.

"I will inspect the men and their gear after dinner. I will then leave it to you to see that all are ready to ride for Ratharkin on the morrow." The three men stood. Lord Jaxom and Lord Michael bowed to the Earl and left the room to attend to their many duties. The Earl resumed his seat and folded the map of Ratharkin and replaced it in his tunic. He summoned a squire and sent him for some wine. He then sat back and relaxed, well pleased with the response of his two lieutenants. All boded well for their undertaking.





Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on April 05, 2020, 09:09:01 PM
As the golden light began to stain the sky in the east, the men mustered in the area before the manor, all anxious to begin their mission. The earl had last words and instructions for the senior captain who would remain in charge of the manor and its prisoners. The captain bowed to Brendan and returned to the manor house. Brendan urged his horse forward to the head of the assembled men. He reined in before them and spoke.

"We are embarking on a vital mission for the king and for Gwynedd. If we defeat the rebels and retake the city, it will mean an end to the rebellion. Laas has been secured, and Ratharkin is the last major locale controlled by the rebels where they can try to raise another army. We will be meeting a force from Laas who will join us in the attack. Duke Rory rides with them to be part of the battle to free his city and restore lawful rule to Ratharkin which has suffered greatly under the rebel  occupation. Surprise is an important factor in our attack plan. Therefore, we must be vigilant and move as stealthily as possible. According to the king's spies, the rebels do not have enough men to mount patrols outside their walls, but they will have sentries posted on the walls. We must at all costs avoid alerting them to our presence." Brendan turned to motion to a priest standing to one side. "Father, will you give us your blessing."

The earl's chaplain came forward to bless the men and their mission. After the blessing, Earl Brendan moved out, followed by his two lieutenants, Lord Jaxom and Lord Michael. Lord Michael carried the pennant with the Earl's colors. The knights fell into two columns behind.

A short distance down the main road the earl turned to the right into a narrower, rough track that led downward through thick woods with a stream tumbling over a rocky bed beside them. There was no talk among the men, the only sound was the muted jingle of harness and an occasional snort of a horse.

As they neared the bottom of the mountain, Earl Brendan signaled for a halt to rest both men and horses. There was a large clearing which offered grass and water from the stream. The men turned in and began to dismount, leading the horses to the stream to allow them to drink.

Brendan spoke briefly with his lieutenants. He drew out his map of Ratharkin and traced the route they would follow. "We will skirt the base of the mountain and then ride toward the Tharkane River. We will cross at the ford at the head of the lake that is formed by the river.  We can then head west, keeping the mountains between us and the city. When we reach the small lake on the western side of the mountain, we will make camp and await the force from Laas that will be joining us. In order to preserve our secrecy, we will not light campfires and we will do all possible to keep any noise to a minimum. Do you have any questions?" The two young men had studied the map carefully as he spoke and indicated their understanding of the plan.

After their rest, the party remounted and continued on their way.  By mid afternoon, they had reached the crossing place for the river. The river was easily fordable at that point, and the party crossed without incident. The track that skirted the western side of the mountain was wider and more level and afforded relatively easy riding.  Shortly before sunset, they reached the shore of the small lake, and Brendan halted them. "We will make camp here and await the arrival of our reinforcements from Laas. In the interest of maintaining our secrecy, we will not light campfires tonight. We will make do with cold rations, but it will be worth it to have the element of surprise in our favor when we attack."

The men quickly dismounted and set about the business of setting up camp. There was a little good-natured grumbling about the lack of warm campfires as the night drew in and the temperature dropped. But every man knew that keeping that aspect of surprise would help save lives when the attack was launched.

                                                               *****

Brendan was leaning against his saddle as he sipped a goblet of wine in his small campaign tent when he felt the king's call. He quickly scanned the area around his tent, and having failed to detect any presence nearby, he answered his king's call. "Your majesty, how may I serve you?"

"What progress have you made today?"

"We have reached the rendezvous point and have made camp for the night. I have sent out two scouts toward Ratharkin to report on any unusual activity there that might suggest that they are alerted to our presence. I expect their reports soon." Brendan paused.

"Excellent!" the king replied. "I have heard from Duncan Michael that they are making good time and should be with you by early afternoon tomorrow. They have all the cavalry available from Duke Brecon as well as those from Prince Javan's army. Together they will make a formidable force."

"Thank you , Sire. That is indeed good news. We are planning our attack to begin just after dawn when many of the defenders will just be waking from sleep and more vulnerable to attack." Brendan waited, feeling that his king had more to say to him.

Kelson continued. "I am providing you with an additional advantage in the coming battle. As you know, I have had an agent in Ratharkin ever since before it fell to the rebels. Although he has been absent recently to perform another assignment for me, he has asked permission to return to Ratharkin to provide support for your offensive. He is well acquainted with many of the nobles there and can readily identify those who have remained loyal to me. His plan is to locate them, many are in the dungeons, and to release them at the beginning of the attack. They can then release their men who can join yours in the attack."

"That is excellent news, sire. That addition to our forces should add significantly to our chances of success. In order to have him join our forces and for his safety, it is important that we be able to recognize him." Brendan waited

He sensed some amusement in the king's mind.  "He is just above average height and of compact build.. He will be disguised as a tinker, the same deception he has used whenever he has acted as my agent in Ratharkin. You will be able to identfy him as he will carry a royal medallion with the Lion of Gwynedd on it.

Kelson continued. "This was entirely his own idea, but he will be an invaluable asset to you.  He will contact you when he has entered the city. You know he is Deryni so he will be able to give you information in Rapport. Be alert for his signal. I am certain he will be an important factor in our eventual success.."

Brendan responded, "It shall be as you command, my liege." He felt Kelson end the Rapport. He lay back against his saddle again, thinking about what he had learned and what was to happen soon. He felt that there was every chance for success and an end to this costly rebellion. He also thought of his younger brother. The sooner this rebellion was put down, the sooner he would be able to turn his attention to finding his brother, seeing his mind healed, and returning him to the family who loved him. With that thought, he put out his candle and composed himself for sleep.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on April 06, 2020, 12:03:48 PM
Earlier that day...

Sir Iain Cameron approached the closed door to the king's withdrawing room and then stood to one side.  It was difficult to get onto the King of Gwynedd's schedule at the best of times; now with the assault to retake Ratharkin imminent, it had proved to be almost impossible.  Iain had been persistent.

The door to the withdrawing room opened and Lord Seisyll nodded briefly at Iain as he exited.  Robert motioned for Iain to enter and then closed the door behind him, remaining outside. 

"Your Majesty," Iain said and bowed.  The king motioned him forward.

"You requested to see me, Sir Iain," Kelson said.  "Have you heard from Master Feyd?"

"I have not, your Majesty.  I would like your approval to return to Ratharkin."

Kelson had not anticipated this request.  He studied the man standing before him for a moment. Iain Cameron was not one to waste the king's time.  "You have a plan?"

"Yes, your Majesty.  I know those who are likely to have remained loyal to you in Ratharkin, If I return there as the tinker, I will be able to contact them and have them ready to mount our own attack from within when Duke Rory and Earl Brendan attack.   The rebels left too few men behind to hold Ratharkin in a direct attack.  They can't fight one from within as well." 

Kelson considered the idea for a moment.  "This is your only reason to return?"

Iain's ice blue eyes did not waver from the king's gaze.  "I left a small bit of unfinished business when I left.  Sir Ainslie Carlisle's young granddaughter survived the attack.  I left her with a trusted agent to keep her safe, and I promised her all would be well.  I would like to make sure that promise is kept." 

"We will give Duke Rory and Earl Brendan all the assistance they need.  Proceed, Sir Iain," the king said.  "I should have thought of it myself."

"Thank you, your Majesty," Iain replied.  "With so much at stake, a small detail can go unnoticed."

Kelson snorted.  "You are a much better spy than a diplomat.  I suggest you stick with that."

Sir Iain's bow hid his faint smile, and the king dismissed him with a flick of his hand.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on April 06, 2020, 01:34:20 PM

The church bells rang the noon-hour as the four friends reached the first steps going up to their rooms on the second floor of the inn. They were in a hurry to make contact with Father Columcil; they did not wish to make him wait, especially if he had needed to stop upon the road somewhere to meet their call. Wash noted the interest of the innkeeper as they passed by him. Wash tossed a good coin to the man and requested a flagon of wine with bread and cheese to be brought up to their room in about thirty minutes time. The innkeeper gave Wash an odd look that included a smirk on his face. It wasn't until Wash was upstairs in the larger of their two rooms and closing the door behind him that it dawned on him what the innkeeper had been thinking. The knight let out a long sigh as he stared at the two pretty ladies before him. "Darcy, I swear, I said nothing, yet I fear Fiona's and Aliset's reputations will be marred by my presence here."

Darcy understood immediately and grimaced. "If the man says anything untoward about my cousin or my wife, he will have hell to pay from me," Darcy declared. "We will deal with that nonsense later, we have an appointment to keep."

Taking charge of the arrangements, Darcy gestured for the ladies to sit on the bed. He then handed to his lady a small leather bag. Aliset instantly knew what it was and upturned the bag onto the bed covers before her. Eight ward cubes tumbled across the wool blanket.

"I think it would be a good idea if we let Fiona try for the Ward Major. Fiona, you have seen it done often enough," the seaman said with assurance to his cousin. "Aliset, my love, if you give her your assistance, I think she can do it. Cousin, you can not do any worse than I did on my first try," Darcy said with a lopsided grin.

"It is a good Idea, Fiona. Let me guide you in this," Aliset replied with a nod.

The two women sat cross legged on the bed facing each other. Fiona's fingers brushed the four white cubes. She seemed a little intimidated to pick them up. "Set the white ones in a square, dear cousin, and the black at the corners," Aliset prompted.

Wash gave Fiona his own encouragement. "You have this, my lady. I will make the contact with Columcil when the ward is set. I don't think he will mind that we are a little bit tardy:"

After an appreciative glance at the women, Wash assisted Darcy to pull the pallet over to the long edge of the bed. They adjusted the mattress so that each of them could sit cross legged at the ends of the pallet bedding. As they waited for the ward to be completed, they both took deep breaths and began to center their minds.

With Aliset's direction, Fiona quickly mastered the first part of the ritual. Unsure of how to begin the intense second part, Fiona hesitated. Aliset patted her hand indicating where to start and  softly whispered, "Now we balance the opposites of white and black into a single entity of energy." She pointed to each pair in the corners mouthing their combined names. Fiona took the lead bravely. She cast her blossoming magic abilities into the cubes as she energized each set. "Primus... Secundus... Tertius... Quartus," she called with succession.

Then there were four silver ovoids lying on the blanket and Fiona took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly with a sense of exhaustion and satisfaction. Aliset complimented her and directed her to set each one at the outer corners of the bed and the pallet, which together formed a near perfect square. Wash briefly came out of trance as a whiff of rose petals tickled his nose. Fiona was leaning behind him to place one of the ovoids at his back. He breathed in the fair scent and remembered how Fiona had combed her hair when they first got to their rooms. She must have dipped the comb in rose water; the scent was very pleasant in these close quarters. He made note to ask his sister about the hair brushes the Queen handed out to her ladies in waiting. They were round with bristles of boar and tied in a handle of silk ribbons. Not that he would know much about such things, but the ladies did seem to prize them. It might make a nice gift for Lady Fiona when all of this was over.

((05:56 <Eris> <derynifank> dice roll for fiona to succeed with Aliset's help to raise the ward major before they contact Columcil. Spend 2 xp to add 1 die. !roll 2d6
05:59 <derynifank> !roll 2d6
05:59 <GameServ> derynifank rolled 2d6: 4 6 <Total: 10>))

Once the four glowing ovoids were properly set, Fiona rose up on her knees in the center of the bed and called forth the energy of the Ward Major: "Primus, Secundus, Tertius et Quartus, fiat lux!"

To her utter surprise a dome of pale gold rose up over all their heads.  Wash congratulated her, "Well done, my lady, well done."

Though Darcy patted her hand with a little admonishment. "Cousin, I don't suppose you could raise the dome up just a bit. I wouldn't want to get up on my knees and hit my head on the ward. That would hurt... a lot." He was jesting of course, but Fiona looked hurt, until Aliset showed her how to put her palms up and lift the dome to a greater height. "Much better," Darcy said proudly.

"Excellent!" Wash said as he felt the ward rise around them all. He didn't waste any more time nor words to put forth his own energy to seek out Father Columcil who should be less than a day's ride away.

My apologies, good Father, for our delay. Fiona has set the wards for us, so that we can speak freely. Where are you upon the road?

Ah, dear coosin, Ah dae wish Ah was upon th' road. Circumstances are nae as Ah woods loch them. Ah fear Ah cannae lav'e Arx Fidei, nae jist yet.

I don't understand, I had truly hoped that you would be rejoining us. Wash hid a pang of disappointment for his cousin's absence.


As did Ah, but ye see.... Ah am woriat. Grandfather Duncan is nae recovered from his ordeal. Nae as Ah ha' hoped. Och he tells a guid story, but Healer's instincts see through th' gloss ay th' auld man's words. If he wer't in Rhemuth wi' his close friends, then Ah woods nae be sae woriat fur His Grace. Yet, here in Arx Fidei, he is nearly aloyn. Thaur is but a cleric an' a bishop frae his hoose, an' neither of them ur Deryni. Ah suspect he wuid nae min' them if they speart heem tae slaw doon.  Fur this reason, Ah daur nae lave his side. Nae yit.

Uncle Duncan did not return to Rhemuth with the king? Why ever not? Surely, if he is as frail as you say, the king would not have left him behind?

He woods nae lit me inf'rm th' king of his condition, Columcil sighed. He did nae ask me in confession, only as a family request, therefore, Ah am nae betrayin' heem by tellin' ye. His Grace intends tae ordain the headmaster here at Arx Fidei as itinerant bishop and assign him to th' diocese ay Dhassa, until the' synoid can gather and elect an official Bishop. Ah understand the need of it, yit Ah fear tae leave grandfather with this demanding duty tae perf'rm. His health is nae whit it should be; he requires a Healing hand now and again. Columcil let his inner concern come across the link.  Ah understand he took a strong jolt some days ago from a trapped portal. Ah believe he did nae gie himself th' time tae recowre frae 'at. Added tae his stress th' funeral, an' his concerns for his own kin....

You mean me....   Wash said with a sigh.

Wash, he is woriat aboot ye, but thes isn't yer daein'. Don't ye gang puttin' thes blam upon yerself. The Archbishop is nae a young man, he needs time tae rest an' recowre, an' he needs a Healer at his side fur those times he pushes himself tae excess. Ah cannae lae heem, nae noo."

I understand, Dear cousin," Wash Rapported across the link. I am heart sick to hear of it. Of course you must stay there. If anything were to happen to Uncle Duncan because of me.... I should banish myself from the kingdom. Washburn hunched over feeling defeated as he spoke to Columcil. His hand moved under his tunic and he squeezed the small bag lying there between his fingers. The gem inside seemed to give him strange comfort.

Columcil seemed to pick up on the unusual energy surge. Wash, whit is 'at?

What do you mean?  Wash asked. He instantly let go of the bag and brought his hands back to rest on his knees.

Darcy, ur ye in th' link? Ah jist felt an odd presence in th' link, whit was 'at, the priest asked with concern.

I don't think I know what you mean, Father. It is the four of us here and no one else. Darcy seemed perplexed he did not remember any odd presence.

Hum, whatever 'at surge ay energy was, it is gone noo. Be mindful, mah friends, ye still hae enemies searchin' fur ye; high an' low, Ah daur say. Ah wish mair then ever Ah was thaur wi' ye. Columcil paused for a minute trying to figure out how he could be in two places at once. Teel me, can ye bide in 'at village anither day? If the Archbishop's staff arrife tomarrow to help him with the ordination, 'en Ah can ride tae join ye after,.Ah can be thaur by th' end ay th' day.

We can do that, cousin. We shall make contact again tomorrow at noon to see how you're getting along."

Wash ended the contact, worrying that his every action seemed to distress his family.

Darcy sat across from him, also worried. His concern was about that odd presence that Columcil had felt during their Rapport. Yet for all his concentration, he could not remember feeling that sensation himself.

There was a knock on the door to their room and a barmaid announced she had their wine. Quickly Aliset, helped Fiona to discharge the ward. Then she was off the bed, opening the door just enough to retrieve the wine and platter of bread and cheese. She thanked the barmaid and then quickly shut the door, before the girl could see inside. "I guess we best make ourselves comfortable, looks like we shall be here for another day."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on April 08, 2020, 10:03:10 AM
Darcy Cameron stood up from the pallet and stretched.  The wine and cheese had been adequate, though not as tasty as the fare in the tavern.  Fiona had placed the empty food tray outside the door and now sat on the one chair the room contained, searching inside her saddlebag. She pulled out something feminine along with a packet of needles and thread, obviously with some mending in mind.  Washburn remained seated on the pallet reading his father's journal.  Aliset  lay stretched out on the bed contemplating an afternoon nap.

Darcy sat quietly beside her.   "Aliset, did you bring the book of poetry with you?" he asked quietly.

"No, I did not.  I left it in my room in the Queen's Tower, along with my mother's grimoire.  I'm sure they are safe," she added hastily.

"I'm sure they are."  Darcy patted her hand.  "I was just looking for something to occupy myself with."

"You could join me for a nap," Aliset suggested.

Darcy's eyes danced with merriment.  "That is a very tempting offer, love," he said in a low voice.  "But I might end up scandalizing our companions!"

Aliset's face turned a lovely shade of deep rose.  "Maybe not such a good idea," she murmured.

Darcy grinned, leaned over and kissed her nose.  She wrinkled it at him as he rose and strolled over to the open window.  He folded his arms along the bottom sill and  gazed out at the town below.

He was surprised at how dismayed he felt that Father Columcil would not be joining them.  Despite the priest's speculation that he might join them tomorrow, Darcy doubted it.  It had taken Darcy a while to warm up to the weathered country priest, but they had found common ground in their lack of noble birthright.  Or so they thought!  Columcil could be a bit testy, Darcy acknowledged with a smile, but he admired the man's grounded faith and wise counsel.  And he was damn handy with that staff!  Beg pardon, Father, he added contritely.  Wise indeed.  If Father Columcil had not decided to marry them, he and Aliset might have slipped apart, drifting away from each other to follow their own courses.  He owed the good Father much.

Darcy's attention shifted to the two priests who were walking among the villagers.  They greeted each person along the way, blessed those that requested it and seemed to be generally well-liked by all.  Why had the foreign looking one, Father Paulos, made Aliset uneasy? 

Darcy turned to look at Washburn, and saw him reach once more into his tunic to grasp the pouch on its cord around his neck.  It must be at least the third time Darcy had seen him do it.  Why had Washburn suddenly developed this habit?  Why, when the knight had been so determined to head east, was he content to pause for at least two days in Windymer?  What in blazes had Washburn found at the well, and why could Darcy not remember?  What was the energy surge Columcil had felt in their Rapport that Darcy had not detected?

Darcy turned back to the window. There were too many questions he could not answer, and he did not like it. He would have to remain vigilant to ensure everyone's safety. At least it was something to do.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on April 12, 2020, 03:34:49 PM
Fiona finished her mending, folded the garment and put that and her sewing materials into her saddlebag. She stood up and stretched. She looked around at her companions. Washburn continued to read his father's journal, and Aliset was still napping on the bed. Darcy had resumed his seat on his pallet and appeared to be studying Wash closely. He seemed to sense her gaze, looked over and smiled at her. Fiona walked over to the window and looked out. She  saw the two priests walking along the street toward the church.

"I wonder what it was about the younger priest that bothered Aliset?" She looked over and asked of Darcy as he rose from his pallet.  "He seems popular with the people of the village," she continued after he joined her at the window.

"I don't know. She doesn't seem sure herself. She didn't recognize him, although he did remind her of someone she had seen before."  Darcy frowned as he thought of the Torenthi priest.

He then turned  from the view of the street and returned to his pallet. He resumed his study of Washburn who had reached inside his tunic to finger the small bag he wore on a thong around his neck. Washburn did not seem to notice but continued to read. Darcy had a worried expression on his face.

"Why are you staring at Washburn? Is there something wrong?" Fiona asked anxiously.

"Have you noticed how he keeps touching that small bag he has under his tunic and how protective he is of it?  He will not let anyone see what's in it. And he has changed, he doesn't seem so fixed on going east but content to wait here.  I don't like having questions I can't answer so I am trying to be vigilant for our safety. But you don't need to worry." Darcy smiled at her.

Fiona replied. "I cannot avoid worry. I haven't forgotten how it felt when I was kidnapped and someone else had control of my mind. I felt so helpless. And as I said before, I am concerned for Washburn because I think my abduction was meant to draw him out where he would be vulnerable to an attack.  I have so little training. I was hoping that Aliset might use some of this time while we are here to add to it so that I might be of more help if needed."

A soft voice came from the bed. "I was planning to work with both of you while we have this additional time here." They both turned to see that Aliset's eyes were open, and she had her head propped up her elbow, smiling at them. "I was just very tired, but I feel refreshed after my nap and am ready to work some more on your training."

Fiona spoke. "I am so sorry. I did not mean to wake you. I know you need your rest. I am just so concerned that if anything does happen while we are here, I will be more of a liability than a help. I do not want to be a burden."

Aliset sat up on the bed. "You are not a burden. Both of you have significant potential; it is a matter of training you to use your power in ways that will benefit you and others. Fiona, that is what you will learn at the schola. What I can do is give you some basic but important skills in accessing and using your powers."

"I want you both during the afternoon to practice raising and lowering your shields. The more you practice the easier it will become. Being able to keep your shields intact under assault will protect you. Even a skilled Deryni will be unable to take control of your mind or force you to take actions against your will."

Aliset continued. "But now I want to work on another skill, telekinesis. This is the ability to move objects without physically touching them. This can be very useful if you need to stop an enemy who is pursuing you. You can fling an object in his path to trip him up. There are several other uses for this skill which I will show you later. This is new to you Fiona. Darcy has tried it before although he didn't find it easy. "  She motioned to Fiona to sit beside her on the bed. She then looked at her husband. "You should try this too."

Darcy nodded and returned to his seat on his pallet. Aliset began. "Get comfortable and close your eyes.  Empty your mind. Take a deep, slow breath." Aliset's voice was soft and low, almost hypnotic. "Take another deep breath. Let your mind drift." The two cousins followed her guidance, entering a light trance. "Now I want you to picture your cup  as it sits on the table. Visualize it, see it in your mind. Now open your eyes and focus on it.  Reach out with your power, feel its form and weight. Use your mind's power to raise it a few inches off the table then push it a short distance and set it down again. "

As Aliset watched, first one cup then the other elevated off the table. Darcy's cup moved  forward a few inches before it fell to the table. Fiona's cup wobbled and fell back to the table.Fiona looked very disappointed. "Darcy is much better with this than I am."

Darcy replied. "Don't be discouraged. I had actually tried something like this with Washburn when we were at the baron's. I was able to move and redirect arrows when working with him in training the defenders. But I have not used it since, and I definitely need more practice. Perhaps Aliset can give me some exercises to do while she works with you."

""What are you doing?" Washburn asked. The sound of the cups dropping to the table had drawn his attention away from his reading. 

Fiona answered. "Aliset is helping us learn a new skill, moving an object without physically touching it. I didn't do very well with my first try. Darcy's cup moved across the table but mine just wobbled and fell down."

Wash smiled at the young lady. 'It takes practice to reach the point where you can do it with ease. I remember when maman taught it to me. I'm afraid I was a difficult student. I was impatient when I couldn't do it perfectly right away and wanted to give up. But she made me keep practicing, and it paid off. You will find it a valuable skill, especially if you are under attack and need to trip up your attacker. Try it again."  Wash looked pleased as he followed her efforts.

Darcy looked at his wife. "What about me? Should I try it again?"

Aliset replied. "Since you have some previous experience and have shown a good level of talent in this skill,  I will give you a different exercise using telekinesis. I am going to lock the door and take the key. I want you to learn how to unlock the door without benefit of a key. This can be a particularly useful ability. I want you to focus on the lock, send a strand of thought into it to seek out  the correct levers and tumblers in the mechanism  and try to move them until you sense the release of the lock and you can open the door".

Darcy looked at his wife with a doubtful expression. "Are you sure I need this?  If you remember from Arx Fidei, I can readily unlock a door my locvk pick which works very well.. Is this the most useful skill for me to focus on right now?"

Wash interrupted:  "Darcy, picture  yourself shackled to a wall in a dark, dank dungeon cell. The only thing between you and death is your ability to unlock that evil shackle, to free your hands to enable you to escape. That is what I did. Then I attacked your brother not knowing he was there to help me. Thank the Lord his cap fell off and I recognized that crop of pale hair you both have. That is how we began our escape from that death trap." Wash took a deep breath,  shook his head, and then looked back up at his astonished friends. "Learn to pick locks with your mind, my friend. It might one day save your life."

Darcy addressed his wife. "I apologize for questioning your guidance, dear teacher. I will follow your   
Instructions and apply myself to learning to manipulate locks." She smiled at him and turned to Fiona.

"Fiona, I am going to focus on working with you to develop the ability to move objects. We will practice picking up and moving different objects until you feel more comfortable with it." Aliset looked at Wash and smiled. "Perhaps you can assist us. I know from your efforts with the baron's defenders that you are an excellent teacher." Washburn nodded his agreement, and Fiona looked pleased.

After some time spent on these skills, we will have a rest. Then I want both of you to practice raising and lowering your shields. These are important basic skills that will serve you well."

The friends settled down to acquire and improve their new skills.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on April 13, 2020, 01:22:37 PM
The stories in the old journal had thinned. Written down were family moments here and there, but mostly what was written were thoughts about keeping Corwyn safe and its people happy. The great sagas of wartime with Torenth and Meara were long over. Years had passed and the Kingdom of Gwynedd prospered. Washburn knew that the war that killed his father was still far in the future, the words he read gave no hint of that dire conflict yet to come. There was one entry that stopped Wash and he read it twice to get the full nuance of it; for it involved himself and he barely could remember the event that it described.

I have not written in my journal for some time as life is what I would call normal: The kingdom is prospering. The Duchy has produced an abundance of food in both crops and herds this year. My family has grown, as has that of the king. All is well.

Today, I was reminded that one should never become too complacent.

It was in the midst of the king's birthday parade, when my heart nearly stopped beating for a time, due to the antics of a four year old. My dear wife later settled my ire by reminding me that all our boys at four years of age had accomplished some feat that had stopped my heart and upset me to the core. She too was inwardly upset, but outwardly she balanced my anger and fear by reminding me of the time Brendan at four years of age had gotten my sword out and played with it, a war-sharpened sword that was twice his height; my heart nearly stopped and I lost my temper then. And then there was the time on the beach when Kelric was four. He and Briony had nearly been kidnapped. My heart nearly stopped again that day. This time it was my youngest, who has an exuberant love of horses. He saw me during the parade. He broke away from his nurse; the woman has repeatedly told my wife and me that our son is far more than she can handle, and it was time we put him in training. After today, I see that she is right. My boy broke free of his guardians, charged and dodged between and under the legs and noses of the king's escorting cavalry and came up to my stirrup, a child very determined to ride with his papa. Again my heart nearly stopped as I feared he would be trampled. I scooped him up and set him before me on the saddle.  Then I scolded him roundly once my voice had returned to my throat. I hugged him tight through the rest of the parade, I told him how much I loved him, and the king told him what an agile boy he was to escape past all his lancers who had tried to catch him up. It was good he was a loyal child to the king. My boy instantly bowed over the saddle horn to Kelson, "I am a king's man, and I ride with my father at the king's side to protect him." What, I ask you, could anyone say after that.  My boy beamed from ear to ear telling me again and again how much he loved the king on his birthday. He loved the horses fully arrayed in their colorful silks. He loved the pageantry of the parade and the people cheering us on throwing flowers at our horses feet. After such a day what is a parent to do?

Richenda says, "Boys will be boys. He is your son, after all."  Indeed, Washburn is so much like I was when I was young. Time to get him out of the nursery and into training. He is just so young. Now I think I know how my father felt when I started to train.


Wash stopped reading and remembered back to his childhood. There had been a parade where he had escaped his nurse to ride with his papa. But all he could remember was the scolding he got.  The rest of the parade was a blur. Yet now that he had read about that day, he realized there had been so much more.  There had been great happiness while he and his father rode down the streets, cheered on by the crowd. He had been hugged lovingly by the strong arms of his father. It had been that memory which drove him to be victorious in every tournament he fought in. With every win, he would ride around the arena listening to the cheers and remember the day he had ridden with his father and had been loved by him.

The two differing memories collided.  In a way they were both right, it was just that the one was cut short leaving a sour feeling of abuse with the scolding. Now Wash realized that abuse was a lie. What parent would not scold their child for doing a dangerous feat?  That scolding had been backed by deep love. Columcil had been right; perhaps it was his father's journal that would set him free from Feyd's entrapment.  He raised the journal to his lips, kissed the binding, then looked up as he heard cups drop onto the table top. Aliset was teaching telekinesis. Fiona still had much to learn. Wash tucked the book in his tunic next to his heart. He could not help but hold the bag with the ruby as his hand brushed past it. All was right in the world. He was in a good place in a good state of mind. Helping his friends in their training routines would be a good way to pass the time.

When he had reminded Darcy why it was so important to learn lock opening, a dark shadow had passed over his heart, but then he touched the bag holding the ruby and that feeling dissipated. Soon he was helping Darcy turn the tumblers in the door lock and helping Fiona balance the cup in the air.  It was a good way to spend the afternoon and he was happy with his friends so close at hand.

The hours turned and Wash looked out the window to see if the tavern was busy. Perhaps it would be best if the four of them could go out for an early dinner.  Wash loved teaching, but being cooped up in this small room was starting to remind him why he liked training practice over book learning. He just plainly preferred the out of doors and moving over sitting. "I am ravenously hungry. My friends, I have the coin, would you care to join me in a full meal, cooked by a chef other than ourselves."

"Wash? Are you insulting my cooking?" Aliset admonished.

"Nay, Lady Aliset. You have sustained my hearty appetite through far too many meals for me to ever complain about such a thing. And I know when you have a hearth of your own and time to lay out a good stew and dishes of fish caught and cleaned by your loving husband, then I swear to you that you will never hear one word from me other than it is a sumptuous meal fit for a king. But just now, I am very weary of apples, salted pork, and bread that has sat for days in a saddle bag while lying across my horse's rump. Please forgive me, but I am hungry."

The pleading look in the knight's eyes made Fiona giggle. Darcy pursed his lips waiting upon his wife's response. When Aliset let out a sigh and then too began to laugh. Darcy's lips spread wide. "We shall take you up on your offer. I am thirsty, I'll buy the ale."

The four of them left the inn together. The innkeeper seemed to take personal notice of their departure for the food across the street. The tavern was quiet for a Saturday afternoon. "The freemen are still in the fields," the young tavern maid declared. "Our patronage grows around the eleventh hour on a Saturday like this. Another hour from now and you will not find a seat."

"Give us your best meat and freshest bread." Wash ordered.  "A side of collard greens would not go amiss with a hot ham dressing that I saw you had this afternoon."

"And tankards of Ale, all around..." Darcy added exuberantly. The maid smiled at the coin both men handed her. She curtsied and disappeared into the kitchen. Soon the four friends were eating as if they had not eaten in days. Even Aliset with her delicate stomach seemed to find the fare pleasing. She ate as much as she dared, her own ale she watered down and drank it, happy to feel an increase in energy.

"Finally, you are eating properly for three, my beloved," her husband said.

"Soon I will be fat like a broodmare. My mother once said she lost her youthful figure after Alister and me."

"You and Alister were her last children and she was already in her third decade." Washburn objected.

Darcy cleared his throat. "I think you will be like our queen. She had twin girls at the first and she continued to sit at the king's side a beauteous women as I heard told. She helped to lead the kingdom with her strength. Strength that you have in equal quantity."

"What would you know about that, dear husband, you have been at sea," Aliset queried as she finished off the plate of greens.

"A story in every port. Stories of kings and queens travel farthest."

"Names! Your twins will need names," Washburn called.  Darset and Alircy."

"Oh no." Darcy said as taken back as Aliset appeared to be.

"Iaina and Washlina," Fiona offered.

"No offense, but no and no." Aliset declared.

"Fiona, I fear this is a game we can not win. I am certain they will find good names for the sweet little girls."

"Who said anything about being sweet." Aliset interrupted. "Do you see sweetness in either of these twin's parents?"

"Fiona, oh dear, did I say sweet, I am sure I meant Sprightly, adventurous, and spirited." Wash corrected himself "When they grow up, I will happily train them to ride and to fight and to rough and tumble with the best of the boys. Will that make their mother happy?"

Aliset smiled but Darcy declared. "Let us temper those thoughts until they are older, born even."

Both Washburn and Fiona gave a hearty laugh for the protective father to be.

Wash saw more patrons entering the tavern. His hand automatically went to the bag under his tunic and he reassured himself that the ruby was still there.  "I think I would like to return to my room. I know it is early yet, but it has been a long day. Perhaps a rest before we have to go to the compline service later tonight."

"Agreed." Darcy said. They wasted no time getting back to their rooms at the inn. This time, however, as the innkeeper followed them up the stairs, Wash determined it would be best if he went straight to his own tiny room. "I'll clean up and see you in a bit of time." He squeezed Fiona's hand before he turned away. She returned the squeeze quite firmly.

In his room, Wash pulled off his grandfather's turquoise blue tunic. For some reason he seemed to want to favor the color of red. He found a Lendour tunic of black and red in his saddle bag and pulled that one over his head. Satisfied with the look, he sat in the center of the bed and leaned his back against the wall, his weopons in arm's reach but not yet placed on the hooks of his knight's belt. The room was tiny with two beds side by side and a wash stand under the window. There was no chair, so his saddle bags rested on the edge of the empty bed. He would have to move them when Colucmil joined them on the morrow.  But then he did not plan to stay here long after that. Wash planned to take all his friends to his home in Lendour. Castle Cynfyn was a great stronghold, with strong curtain walls, tall towers, and red slate roof lines shining against the backdrop of forested mountain sides. They would be secure there.

Then the church bells rang the eleventh hour of the day.  Wash was seized with this very desperate need. He fumbled with the string around his neck. He pulled the bag out from under his tunic and opened the bag to spill the cabochon ruby into his palm. He held his breath as he stared deep into the gem. It called to him, it sang to him. He needed it. He wanted every fiber of his body to dive into the clarity of the stone.

((21:54 <•Laurna> Six hours are up. Wash looks into the ruby. I am spending 6 XP to get his success rate to 3,4,5 or 6, to resist the call of the gem. Here I go...
21:54 <•Laurna> !roll 1d6
21:54 <GameServ> Laurna rolled 1d6: 2 <Total: 2>
21:55 <•Laurna> (Expletive! Expletive! Expletive! And One more Expletive from Jerusha!)
21:55 <•Laurna> Now what?))

He felt himself fall sideways upon the bed, unable to stop his head from hitting the pillow.

A pool of crystalline red waters filled his eyes, his ears, his sense of touch. He was engulfed by the gem in all his senses. It was calming and quiet, a world all unto itself. He felt no reason to fight it, for there was no fear here, no hate, no abuse. There was nothing here but an encasing serenity that kept the real world at bay. Why would he want to escape that?
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on April 14, 2020, 12:13:18 PM
Sir Iain Cameron paused just inside the wall of Ratharkin's castle.  He stooped and grabbed up a hand full of grass and used it to scrape the muck off his left boot.  The stream that flowed through Ratharkin brought fresh water at its entrance to the castle; when it left the castle it carried the night waste that was collected each morning.  The water stank, as did his boot at the moment.  Few guards wanted the duty of guarding the grill where the river exited with its loathsome mess. Which is why it had been easy for Iain to enter the castle there.  Fortunately, he had only slipped on the slimy stones lining the cavern once, and only his boot had entered the muck.  Iain shuddered to think what it would have been like to have slipped completely into the fouled water.

Iain dropped the grass and sauntered toward the stable where he had left his cart and horse before inserting himself among the soldiers returning to Valerian's fortress.  He had donned clothing similar to that of soldiers within Rathakin and completed his attire  with a dark leather cap that hid his bright hair.  While the soldiers who held Ratharkin were more familiar with each other now, Iain had ensured that he wore nothing that would draw attention to himself.

Iain reached the stable.  As he approached his tinker's cart at the back of the stable, his old horse gave a whinny of recognition.  Iain moved quickly to stroke the grizzled muzzle, and the horse butted his shoulder affectionately.  He had been well looked after, though a bit fatter for lack of exercise.  The old boy had earned it.

Iain looked cautiously about; the stable boys were busy with the more noble horses in the front stalls.  Good.  Iain removed his tinker's clothes from the cart and, keeping a wary eye for anyone straying too close, quickly changed garments.  He then paused, and making a circular motion in front of his face, changed again into the guise of the aged tinker.  He stowed the soldier's garb he had worn in the cart and once again strapped on  the tinker's common sword.  He stowed his better weapon, his father's sword, in the wagon with the rest of his gear.  He would retrieve it when the time came for the attack.  It was a formidable sword, made to equal the blade that had belonged to his grandfather.  That sword had been intended to go to Darcy.  Iain would see that it did, even if he had to rip it from the grasp of his stepfather.  Preferably his death-grip.

Iain hitched up the horse and led the cart from the stable.  He made his way to the tavern that the soldier's frequented before the change of watch.  The afternoon watch would be coming to an end, so this was the perfect time for a pint of good ale.  He entered the tavern and made his way to his favorite table in the back corner where he could sit with his back to the wall and watch those who entered.

"Master Tinker!" said the welcoming voice of the proprietor's wife.  "You return to us again."  She placed a tankard of ale in front of  him.  "Where have you been this time?" She sat on the stool across from him, welcoming a moment to rest her tired feet.

"A grandniece of mine got married in a village just outside of Trurill.  Her brother came to get me so I could attend.  It's getting to be a long walk for old Dash out there."  He jutted his chin in the direction of his cart outside.

The woman across from him chuckled.  "That horse of yours never dashed in his life!"

"True, but he thought about it once or twice," the tinker acknowledged with a wink.

"I'm afraid I can't offer you as fine a fare as you are accustomed to here," the woman said.  "The soldiers left by Prince Javan continue to prevent adequate supplies from coming in from the homesteads."  She lowered her voice to not be overheard.  "They don't seem intent to completely starve us out, though.  How did you manage to get through them to get back in?"

The tinker kept his voice low as well.  "They have been there long enough to have pots that needed mending.   I didn't have my cart with me, but I had enough supplies with me that I could be useful. I mended their pots and they let me through.  Even gave me a bit of coin to pay for my ale, and maybe a small meat pie?" he asked hopefully.

The woman shook her head.  "No meat pie now, but I have a stew and I'll try to spoon in a piece of meat for you."

The tinker nodded his thanks, and the woman rose to fetch the stew.

The stew was as good as the proprietor's wife could manage, and there was one piece of mutton in it.  The tinker ate slowly, listening to the conversations as the soldiers from the watch entered.  They grumbled among themselves, irritable and worried.  There had been no word of the queen's return or of the badly needed reinforcements.  There had been no triumphant news of the fall of Laas; instead, the initial attack had not gone as planned and the queen's forces were to regroup in the north.  No news had reached them of late.  They were nervous, hungry and too few to hold Ratharkin if there was an attack.  And they knew it.

The tinker was pleased that there was no indication that they knew Earl Brendan was camped  beyond the walls.   Nor did they know of the advance of Duke Rory's forces to join him.  So far, so good.  He laid a few coins on the table and left.

***

The tinker guided his horse and cart toward Merchant's Row.  A few shopkeepers hailed him as he walked past and indicated they had work for him.  He smiled and nodded and promised to stop by as soon as he was able.  He stopped his cart in front of Mistress Baker's shop. A few breads and sweetmeats remained on the shop counter.  Young Edwin stood  beside the counter, a deterrent to anyone who might try a snatch and run.  He smiled as the tinker knocked on the shop's door.

"Mistress Baker!" he called.  "Do you have pots that need mending?  Perhaps a new chain to hang your cauldron from?"

"Master Tinker!" Mistress Baker said in greeting when she opened the door.. "For sure I do.  Come inside and we'll discuss what is needed." Mistress Baker beckoned the tinker to follow her inside.  "We'll be closing now," she said to Edwin.

"We've missed you," Mistress Baker said, studying him carefully.

"I have been somewhat busy," the tinker replied dryly.  "How do you fare, and how is Gelsey?"

"We do well enough,  I am supplied with enough goods to make sure Lord Giles and his men eat well enough.  I can't say the same for everyone else.  Gelsey has been a joy and has mastered tarts.  Now she moves on to kneading bread. She will make a fine lady of a manor someday." 

The tinker followed her past the huge kitchen into her personal living quarters.  A young girl with brilliant red curls sitting on a stool practicing her mending looked up as he entered. 

"Tinker!" she exclaimed,  dropping hose, needle and thread and charging toward him.  She wrapped her arms around his legs and hugged him tightly.

"Gelsey," the tinker said.  He sat down on a nearby bench and pulled her onto his lap. 

"You have grown since I last saw you!" the tinker said with a smile.  "Are you well?"

"Yes, Tinker," she said with a nod of her head.  "But I have missed you."

The tinker felt a pang of regret.  He would never have a daughter like Gelsey.  Perhaps it was just as well, given the role he played for the king. Darcy might have daughters. Having met the Lady Aliset, the tinker had no doubt there would be many children, God willing.

"Gelsey," Mistress Baker said gently.  "Tinker and I need to talk a bit.  Would you check to make sure all is being readied for the morning baking?"

"Yes, mistress," Gelsey replied, extracting herself from the tinker's lap with a look of regret.

"That's a good girl," Mistress Baker said as Gelsy made her way to the  kitchen.

The tinker waited until the girl was out of earshot.  "Who remains imprisoned in the dungeons?" he asked quietly.

Mistress Baker sighed. "Most of the men have been released and allowed to return home, but their heirs remain hostage to ensure they do nothing rash.  Sir Hugh's young son died a few days ago.  Sir Hugh was furious with grief and ended up in the dungeon himself.  His wife has taken it hard."

"The hostages must be in bad shape," the tinker said.

"Not as bad as you might think,"  Mistress Baker replied.  "Lord Giles allows them out once a week for air in the courtyard.  Their mothers are allowed to speak with them and give them clean clothes and what food they can spare.  They give more than they probably should."

"How much of it do the guards allow them to keep once they return to the dungeons?"

"That I don't know, but I've seen more than one young man bolt down a slice of meat pie or some good bread and cheese before they are herded back away.  I think,"  Mistress Baker continued after a moment. "I think Lord Giles knows that he will lose what control he has if the boys are too badly treated."

The tinker digested this information for a while, and the last pieces of his plan fell into place.

"Mistress Baker," he said.  "I wonder if you could do something for me."

"I will if I am able," she replied after hesitating for a very short moment.

"Round up as much green cloth as you can and rip it into strips that can be used for armbands.  I'll collect them tomorrow afternoon."

Mistress Baker gave him a puzzled look, but then she nodded.  "The less I know the better, eh?"

The tinker smiled.

"I can help," said a quiet voice from behind them.

The tinker turned to look at the small girl who had returned from the kitchen. She looked at him steadily, her chin determined.

"Yes, Gelsey," the tinker said.  "In this you can safely help."

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on April 17, 2020, 11:32:16 AM
Early the next day, the men were awake and the camp was stirring.  The men were tending to the horses, consuming their rations, and checking their gear in preparation for the battle to come. The scouts Brendan had sent out the night before had returned to report no unusual increase in activity on the city walls. There had been no indication that the rebels were aware of an imminent attack or of the presence of  hostile forces nearby.

Just after noon, sentries reported seeing dust rising from the track leading to their camp, indicating the movement of a large group of horsemen approaching. Scouts who had been sent westward to watch for the expected cavalry had ridden into camp a short time before to report to Brendan that the expected fighters were less than an hour away. He summoned Lords Jaxom and Michael to attend him as he prepared to greet them.

The cavalry rode into the camp led by Earl Duncan Michael McArdry McClain and Duke Rory Haldane who reined in their horses in front of Brendan and his two lieutenants. They quickly dismounted and strode forward to greet their allies. They clasped hands and pounded backs. Duncan Michael summoned two of his captains forward. They were introduced to Jaxom and Michael, and the four men left together to see to integrating the two forces and getting the new arrivals and their mounts settled. Brendan, Duncan Michael, and Rory headed to Brendan's tent for a council of war. The others would join them as soon as they completed their duties.

The three leaders seated themselves in a rough circle, and Brendan sent a squire for wine. "The king has designed a plan of attack  based on information from his spies inside Ratharkin. The city is only lightly defended as Valerian withdrew men from the defense to augment his army attacking Laas. In additIon, they will not be expecting us as they  will think that all our attention will still be focused on Laas and Valerian's army. The element of surprise could certainly be our ally."

Duncan Michael agreed. "If we attack near dawn, they will still be foggy with sleep. They will be totally unprepared and less able to mount an effective defense."

Brendan produced the map of Ratharkin the king had given him. "Based on the reports of his spies, he and I identified weak points that are vulnerable to infiltration by attackers." Rory leaned closer to study the map. Ratharkin was his city, and he knew it well. He agreed with most of the points indicated on the map.

Rory advised. "We don't have enough men to cover all of these areas, but there are points that are not only more exposed but controlling them gives access to interior sections of the castle." Rory pointed to these spots on the map. "Gaining control of those sections would hasten the fall of the castle. We could designate three or four small bands to infiltrate and attack at these spots."

Brendan nodded agreement with Rory's proposal and continued. "We will surround the castle and focus on a frontal assault to draw their attention.. In the meantime our smaller bands will be infiltrating those points Rory has marked on the map. And we will have another advantage. The king has an agent who has been in the city disguised as a tinker. He knows which of the nobility has remained loyal to the king. He proposes to warn them of the impending attack and seek their support in our efforts to free Ratharkin.

The three leaders looked up as Lord Jaxom, Lord Michael, and the two captains from Laas entered the tent. They bowed and Lord Jaxom spoke.  "My Lords, the men have been interspersed among the men we brought from the manor. They are seeing to their horses and preparing to eat some of their rations. They will then be checking their weapons and gear and readying themselves for tomorrow's attack. They have heard something of the heinous acts committed by the rebels in the city.. They are all eager to launch this offensive and free Ratharkin."

Earl Brendan responded. "Come near and we will share the plan of attack with you." As the men drew nearer the Earl pointed to the map of the city and castle that they had been studying.  "The main attack will be focused at the front on the main gates. However, we will be selecting four small bands of men each to be led by one of you. Before the launch of the main attack, you will lead your men to one of the points I will show you. These are weak points in the defenses where you should be able to infiltrate the inner wards, attack from the rear, and quickly seize control of chosen sections of the castle. We believe this will hasten its fall." The four men studied the map as the Earl assigned them one by one to the areas for which they would be responsible. "As you know your men best, I will leave it to the four of you to choose the men who will follow you. Each band should include one skilled archer who can pick men off the walls from the inside. "

The men nodded their understanding of the plan and what was expected of them.  Brendan continued. "There is one more thing that it is important that you know. There will be an agent of the king inside the city. He  knows which nobles have remained loyal to the king and will have warned them of the coming attack. Those nobles can then lead some of their own men in support of our offensive. It is important that you be able to identify these men. He will have given them a signal that will let you know they are king's men. I will share that with you as soon as I have heard from him. He will carry a medallion with the Haldane lion etched on it to allow you to recognize him if needed.  His efforts should further increase our chances of success."

Duncan Michael had been following the discussion and tapped the map with his finger. "I believe we have a good plan here with every chance of success." Each man was handed a cup of wine by the Earl's squire. "Let's drink to the end of the rebellion here." The others raised their cups and joined the toast.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on April 18, 2020, 03:16:07 PM
Darcy Cameron watched as the slanting rays of the late evening sun illuminated the steeple of Windyner's church.  He turned from the room's window and glanced over at his wife. 

"You have spent a lot of time gazing out of that window," Aliset said to him and smiled.

"I could have spent all my time gazing at you, love, but I thought you might grow tired of my unrelenting adoration."

Aliset emitted an unladylike snort and Fiona grinned.  "We should get ready for compline," Aliset  announced. 

"Aye," Darcy said and pushed up the sleeves of his tunic and moved towards the washbasin.  "A quick wash would not be amiss."  He stopped, aware that both women were staring at him sternly.  "It has been a long day," he ventured.  Aliset raised one brown eyebrow.  "Oh. Well, um...."  They continued to stare at him.  "Right. I'll just go and join Washburn in the other room."  Darcy turned from the basin, picked up his sword and beat a hasty retreat.

"Women are so fussy, " he muttered to himself and walked the short distance to the room Washburn was to share with Father Columcil. 

"Sir Washburn," he called as he knocked.  "I've been exiled.  Mind if I come in?"  There was no answer.  Darcy knocked again.  "Washburn?"  He tried the latch and found it unlocked.  He opened the door and looked cautiously inside.

The Lendour knight lay on his side on the bed in an awkward position. His long legs stretched beyond the edge of the bed in front of him.  His head lay on the bed's pillow; his right arm bent at a tight angle, with the hand resting near his face. The hand was tightly clenched.  He had changed his tunic.  His saddle bag and sword lay on the other bed.

"Washburn?"  Darcy asked again.  Washburn did not stir.  Darcy didn't think he could be comfortable in that position, but if he was that exhausted, Darcy would let him sleep. 

He moved to the washbasin and did not try to be overly quiet. Perhaps Washburn would wake if he made a little bit of noise.  He rubbed his chin and felt the prickle of a day's growth of beard.  In his haste to leave Aliset and Fiona to their own preparations, he had left his sea bag in the room. No matter; he would not have to worry about his wife's objection to the stubble tonight, since he would not be sharing her bed.  He sighed and pushed his sleeves farther up his arms.  He splashed a bit in the water and snapped the towel before drying off.  Washburn slept on.

Once he had finished,  Darcy walked over to Washburn  and noted that he seemed to be breathing easily. He took a chance and touched Washburn's neck to check his pulse; it was strong and slow as one would expect of  a man fast asleep. The light coming in through the open window caused a momentary flash of red between the fingers of Washburn's clenched fist.  Darcy looked at it from several angles, but could not determine what he held.  He rejected the temptation to try to pry it open: Washburn's other hand was likely to shoot forward in a fist and Darcy's face was well within reach.

The bells of Windyner's church began to toll compline, and Darcy decided to leave well enough alone for the moment.  He did risk carefully moving Washburn's legs into a more comfortable position on the bed.  Still the man did not stir, and Darcy left to escort the ladies to the church.

***

"Enter," Aliset said when she heard the knock on the door.  She and Fiona, taking care to make themselves as presentable as possible with what they had available to them, stood ready to accept Darcy's compliments.  Instead, Darcy entered, seemingly deep in thought, and did little more than glance at them.

"Where's Sir Washburn?" Fiona asked, looking beyond her cousin but not seeing the tall knight.

"He's sleeping,"  Darcy replied.  "I found him in a most awkward position on the bed, but he remained asleep no matter how much noise I made."

"You didn't try to wake him?" Aliset asked, slightly incredulous.

"You remember what happened in the guest house when I kicked Father Columcil awake?" Darcy reminded her.

"Ah yes.  He jumped to his feet with his staff poised to crack your head open.  And you had the tip of your sword at his chest.  It's probably wise not to startle Washburn that way."

'You kicked Father Columcil?" Fiona asked.

"I really just tapped him with my foot and called him a slug-a-bed.  I didn't expect him to be that fast."

"We'd better hurry," Aliset interrupted.  "Perhaps Wash will awaken and join us in the church."

***

The deck heaved and pitched as the high waves crashed against the bow.  A fiery red moon broke through the grey clouds.  The men began to panic, thinking it a bad omen.  Father Paulos appeared, soothing their fears with his calm manner and kind eyes.  Suddenly his eyes changed to a piercing black, and the kind face took on the form of a demon....

Darcy sat bolt upright on his pallet.  Sweet Jesu, what had brought that on? He hoped he hadn't cried out and woken his wife and cousin.  It was dark in the room, with no hint of the approaching dawn.  Neither of the women stirred.  Darcy got up and moved quietly to the bed.  They seemed to be resting comfortably.  He moved over to the wash basin and rubbed his face with cool water.  After a last look around and seeing nothing to cause him concern, he returned to his pallet and sat with his back against the door, his sword at his side.

***

"Did you really sleep like that?" Aliset asked as she stood above Darcy, who was still seated on his pallet.

"Aye, I did.  It seemed a good idea at the time," Darcy replied and rubbed his eyes.  "I had a nasty dream and thought the extra precaution was a good idea."  He rose, stretched and felt the comforting crack of his spine.

"No sign of Sir Washburn?" Fiona asked.

"He hasn't come barging through the door this time," Darcy replied.  He saw her puzzled look.  "A story for another time.  I should go check on him."

"We'll all go," Aliset said firmly.  Fiona nodded vigorously.

"Aye, it might be best," Darcy said and slid his sword back into its scabbard.

"Sir Washburn," Darcy said more loudly than he had the day before as he knocked on the door.  "I have the ladies with me.  Are you decent?"

Aliset gave Darcy a look as they waited for a reply.  None came.

"Let me go first," Darcy said as he lifted the latch and opened the door cautiously.  Both women looked over his shoulder.

Washburn lay in the position Darcy had left him in.  It appeared he had not moved at all!  Darcy strode over to the window and opened the shutters wide.  Light flooded the room as Aliset and Fiona approached the bed.

"Wash," Aliset said as she touched his arm gently.  There was no response.  She grasped his arm and shook him firmly; Wash remained unmoving with not even a flicker of an eyelid.

"Forgive me, Aliset," Darcy said as he returned to Washburn's side.  He paused a moment and then gave the sleeping man a sharp slap in the face.

"Darcy!" Fiona cried in alarm.

Despite the red mark of an open hand on the side of his face, Washburn did not stir.

Aliset checked Washburn's pulse and leaned over to listen to his chest.  Nothing seemed wrong except that he did not wake.  "What should we do now?" Aliset asked.

"First," Darcy replied.  "Let's see what he has in his hand.  It might tell us something."

"Be careful," Aliset warned.

"Step back a bit, both of you, in case he wakes up swinging."  The women moved back, and Darcy grasped Washburn's fist and began to pull the fingers apart.  There was more resistance than he would have expected from a man so deep asleep.  Finally, he pulled the fingers far enough away to expose a very large red stone.

"That's a ruby," Fiona said breathlessly.   "Have you ever seen one so large?"

"Not in all my days at sea," Darcy said as he reached forward to remove the stone from Washburn's hand. 

A small bolt of lightning flashed from the stone.  Darcy yelped as red-hot pain ran up his arm from his fingers to his armpit.  "Bloody hell!" he cried as he dropped Washburn's hand.  "That bloody HURT!  Don't go near it, either of you!"

"Are you injured?" Aliset asked, her voice full of concern.

"Nay, I don't think so," Darcy replied as he flexed his arm and then carefully worked his fingers.  "What could have caused that?"

"I know of a way we might find out," Aliset said thoughtfully.  "It's a bit like scrying.  By focusing on the ruby, I may be able to sense what magic is hidden within it."

"But that could be dangerous.  The ruby could strike you as it did me," Darcy protested.

"It did not strike you until you touched it,"  Aliset said reassuringly.  "I won't need to touch it at all.  I'll sit on the other bed.  I need a clear view of the ruby, but I don't need to be close to it."

"Very well then, but I'll be at your side," Darcy said. 

"So will I," Fiona added.

"Of course.  You can both sit beside me."  Aliset sat on the bed and Fiona quickly sat beside her.

"I'll stand, if you don't mind," Darcy stated.  "I can throw myself in front of you if I have to."

"As you wish," Aliset said and hid a slight smile.   

((Aliset is ritual trained.  She rolls 3d6, success on 5 or 6
GameServ 16:57:36
Jerusha rolled 3d6: 6 1 5  <Total: 12>
Success!  Woo hoo!))

Aliset settled herself into a trance, focusing only on the ruby in Washburns' hand.  At first the stone was clouded and then it coalesced into crystal clarity.  One spell, the topmost, a spell for perception, dissolved as she  detected its presence.  Then four or five other spells, each one layered on another, could be felt.  Aliset refocused her concentration on these spells, but alas, although their presence could be felt, she could not identify them or their purpose.  Realizing this knowledge would not be known to her at this time, she finally withdrew.

"Love," Darcy said.  "What did you find?"

It took Aliset a few moments to refocus her mind from the ruby.  "There are four or five spells remaining active on the ruby," she said.  "One spell, a spell of perceptions, dissolved as I detected it.  The rest remain intact.  I could not  tell what they were, how they were set, or what they intend."  Aliset gave her husband a defeated look.  "I fear I have not discovered what we need to know."

"Don't fret," Darcy replied.  "We know there is powerful Deryni magic here, though we don't know why or what it may be.  But we do need help."  He looked thoughtful.  "Aliset, do you feel strong enough to contact Father Columcil?  If he will be joining us soon, I think we can wait for his arrival."  He glanced at Washburn and sighed.  "Our friend does not appear to be going anywhere soon.  If the good father will be delayed, perhaps he can advise us on the best course of action."

"Yes, I think that is best," Aliset replied.  If you and Fiona will lend me strength, I am certain we can make contact."

Darcy sat beside his wife on the bed. He and Fiona grasped Aliset's hands, and she sent forth the call to Father Columcil.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on April 26, 2020, 12:22:50 PM
The tinker stood at the window of his room at the inn and watched the residents of Ratharkin walk the streets toward home, tavern or church as the evening drew to a close.  Unlike before the rebel attack, few people stopped to speak to each other and exchange the latest news or gossip.  It was safer to go about one's business quietly and draw as little attention as possible. More than one resident of Ratharkin had disappeared under suspicion of not supporting the rebel cause.  The number of heads mounted on the wall had gradually increased.  God willing, this would end tomorrow.

The tinker sat down on the bed, leaned against the wall and stretched his legs out before him. He pulled the Haldane medallion out from inside his shirt and focused on the lion.  This time his Call was not to King Kelson; he reached out with his powers to the Earl of Marley in his camp outside Ratharkin's walls.  He felt Earl Brendan enter the link; the contact was strong.

"Sir Iain Cameron, Baron O'Isles, my Lord."  Iain sent. 

"Welcome, Sir Iain.  I've been expecting you,"  the Earl of Marley responded cordially.  "What news have you for me?"

"My plan is ready to be put into motion before dawn,"
Iain responded.  "These are the details."

Sir Iain does not waste words, Brendan thought to himself.  "Proceed, Sir Iain."

"I have contacted four men whose loyalty to Duke Rory and King Kelson is unquestionable.  Only the fact that their heirs are captive in the dungeon has prevented them from taking any action on their own against the rebels. Once I free the hostages, their fathers will take up arms and support you and Duke Rory from within."

"What are your chances of success?"
Brendan asked.

"I believe success will be achieved, my Lord,"  Iain responded without hesitation. "I will free the hostages during the hour before dawn.  Ratharkin's defenses are at their weakest then.  Even Lord Giles must allow his men rest.  Between manning the walls at night, posting guards at the castle itself,  and allowing the rest of his men to sleep, he has few men left to form the Watch in town.  I will use this to our advantage."  Iain paused for a moment to allow the Earl of Marley to consider this.

"The oldest and ablest of the hostages will return to their fathers, who will be waiting for them with their own men, ready to join the attack," Iain continued. "The youngest and any that are ill will be taken to a safe house by Sir Hugh, who was taken hostage after his son died in the dungeon.  By the time he returns to me, the others will be arming themselves and ready to join us."

"The men I contacted have promised me four skilled archers,"
Iain said.  "They will be posted in strategic spots with good sight-lines to the soldiers on the walls before I free the hostages. Once Sir Hugh returns, I will signal them to begin picking off the soldiers on the wall."

"That aligns well with our plan, Sir Iain,"
Brendan said, and proceeded to provide the details Iain would need to know.  "I have a skilled archer accompanying each of the groups that will infiltrate the castle.  What is the signal they should watch for to lend their aid to your effort?"

"I will light a brazier near the dungeon entrance.  The archers will be able to see it clearly.  Your archers will be a fortuitous asset, Lord Brendan,"
  Iain added.

"How can we identify the men loyal to Duke Rory?" Brendan asked.  "No matter how organized we are, there will be confusion."

"Aye, there is no way to avoid it.  My men will wear green armbands on their sinister arms.  If needed, there is also a password.  It is 'Dunstan.'"

"Where will you direct your efforts after the release of the hostages, Sir Iain?"

"I plan to attack on two fronts.  One group will attack the barracks with the intent of catching the soldiers off guard. Sir Hugh and I will head for the wall gates with the other group, and do our best to open them and the portcullis."

"The sooner we are through the gates, the better,"
Brendan said.  "It's a risky plan, Sir Iain, but I can't think of a better one.  God go with you."

"And with you, my Lord,"
Iain said as the Earl of Marley broke contact. 

The tinker looked thoughtfully at the Haldane medallion.  Earl Brendan was right. It was a risky plan, and he had not been able to think of a better one, either.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on April 28, 2020, 07:23:29 AM
Earl Brendan sat back in his chair and sighed as the contact was broken.  Sir Ian's plan was masterful and would greatly enhance the probability of success in retaking Ratharkin and breaking the rebellion.  He summoned his squire: "Go quickly and ask the Duke of Ratharkin and  Earl of  Kierney to attend me here." The boy bowed and set off running to carry out his task.

The Duke and the Earl soon entered Brendan's tent, followed by his squire. Brendan addressed the boy. "I need you now to find Lord Jaxom and Lord Michael and instruct them to join us here." He turned to Duncan Michael. "Can you send your squire to direct your two captains to also join us here? I have heard from the king's man in Ratharkin, and I have important news." Duncan Michael nodded and left the tent briefly to send his squire on his errand, then returned.

"What have you learned?" asked Rory.

""He has told me of his plan which is well conceived and will greatly add to our chances of success. I will share all that he said as soon as the others arrive. I would prefer to tell it just once." Brendan gestured for Rory to seat himself on a stool near his own.  Within a few minutes, the others entered, bowed and turned their attention to the Earl.

"I have been in Rapport with the king's man in Ratharkin, Sir Iain Cameron, and I can now share his plan which will greatly bolster our chances of success. He has been able to communicate with several nobles inside the city whom he knows to have remained faithful to you, Rory, and to the king. They would have made a move against the rebels themselves had the rebels not thrown their heirs into the dungeons and held them as hostages. These noblemen are anxious to join us and rid their city of these rebels.

Among these nobles is Sir Hugh MacCallan, a very influential man in Ratharkin. He is fiercely loyal to both Duke Rory and the king and has been a vocal opponent of the rebellion.  His son was one of those confined to the dungeons where he became ill and died.  Sir Hugh and his wife were distraught, and Sir Hugh tried to attack Lord Giles openly. He was seized and thrown into the dungeon where he remains. Sir Iain managed to get word to him of his intention to free the hostages an hour before dawn. Sir Hugh will be a strong ally once he is free. The oldest and strongest of the heirs will immediately return to their fathers who will await them with their men, ready to attack. Of the other hostages, those who are able will join the attackers. Those that are too young or who are ill will be conducted to a safe house within the city by Sir Hugh.

Once Sir Hugh returns from this task, their forces will begin their attack from within.  They will divide into two groups, one to attack the barracks where the off duty guards will be sleeping. That will prevent them from reinforcing the guards on the walls. The other group will head for the castle walls to open the gates and portcullis. They are also providing four archers who will be stationed at strategic points within where they will have clear shots at the rebels manning the walls. When Sir Iain gives the signal they will begin their assault.

The earl opened his map and addressed the four who would lead the bands of infiltrators. "You will leave before dawn, ahead of the main army..Two  of you will approach the city from the rear, through this draw which will hide your advance. Once you reach the city wall, there is a small gate used to bring firewood and building materials inside. It is usually barred but not guarded. Sir Iain will make sure this gate is unbarred before the attack begins.The other two groups will approach from the west, moving as silently as possible along the base of the walls."  Brendan paused  to allow Duke Rory to provide additional guidance. .

The duke indicated another point on the map. " Here, near where the wall begins to slant back toward the rear there are several large rocks which conceal a tunnel through into the city. It will bring you out near the tavern. Once you are inside the city you can proceed to infiltrate the castle at the points we have identified."

Brendan resumed his briefing. "You will be able to identify the loyal men inside the castle by the green armbands they will be wearing on their left arms. Your archers will enter first. They need to find places of concealment with good sight lines to the walls and provide support to the archers supplied by the nobles and already in place . At the signal, all archers should launch their arrows at the guards on the walls, especially those near the gates. Tell them that the signal to fire is the lighting of a brazier outside the dungeons."

Brendan then turned to Jaxom. "Lord Jaxom, you and your men will move directly toward the castle gates where you will assist Sir Iain and Sir Hugh in getting the portcullis up. Our cavalry will storm the gates. The sooner we are inside the castle, the better."  Brendan again paused. " Is this clear? Do any of you have any questions?"

Lord Michael spoke up. "What if we are not sure about whether a man is a rebel or loyal? Once all are inside and the battle begins, it will be chaotic. They could even lose their armband. Is there any other way to identify them quickly?"

Brendan replied. "There is a password also. It is 'Dunstan'. You can yell password and that should be their reply. Be sure to pass that on to the men,"

"Duke Rory and Earl Duncan will lead the cavalry along with me. We will round up the rebels as quickly as possible, confining them in the castle stableyard. I expect a quick surrender. They will know themselves to be outnumbered and under attack both from within and without. They know there is no possibility of reinforcements, and they will wish to gain the best terms they can."

Rory added with a grim smile.  "Once the city is ours and the rebels have surrendered, I will be pleased to allow them to sample the dungeons where they have imprisoned others."

Brendan continued. " We particularly wish to capture Lord Giles, who has commanded Ratharkin since the death of Lord Oswald. He is presently the highest ranking rebel within the city, and the king will wish to question him once we have him in custody.  Duke Rory will immediately be reinstated as Viceroy of Meara and will resume his rule over Ratharkin."  Brendan surveyed his allies.

"The freeing of Ratharkin and defeat of the forces there will be the final step in defeating the rebellion and restoring peace in Gwynedd. Your success on the morrow is critical. Does everyone understand the plan and your role? If there are any questions, now is the time to address them." No one spoke.

Brendan turned to Rory. "My lord, have you any final words for your commanders?"

Rory added. "I greatly value your efforts on behalf of my city and my people, and we thank you for your commitment to this mission. Go with God."

Brendan dismissed the men with instructions to get what sleep they could and to be ready to ride by one hour before dawn.  He echoed Rory's wish for them. "Go with God."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on April 29, 2020, 12:08:36 PM
The tinker kept to the shadows as he made his way to the dungeon.  He carried a repaired brasier in his left hand.  A guard had been complaining about the broken dungeon brazier during the tinker's visit to the tavern yesterday afternoon, and the tinker had quickly volunteered to fix it and return it to the dungeon. Luck had been with him on that encounter!  A small satchel filled with bundles of green cloth strips hung from his shoulder.  The tinker's old scabbard hung from a plain brown belt, but the sword sheathed within it had been his father's.

It was the last hour before dawn.  The tinker had checked to make sure the archers were in place before heading to the dungeon. He had also unbarred the small gate in the rear wall used for supplies as Earl Brendan had requested during their Rapport.  Ratharkin's dungeon was not under the great keep.  After the burning of Ratharkin in 1124, the old dungeon was abandoned.  A new dungeon just inside the left wall of the castle housed Ratharkin's prisoners. The gate to the dungeon was somewhat obscured from the main gate and its guards.  The tinker suspected a decision had been made to keep the movement of prisoners out of the direct site of the castle proper.  Duke Rory might want to rethink that in the future.

The tinker walked boldly up to the dungeon gate and knocked just loud enough to be heard.  The guard opened a shuttered window in the upper part of the gate and peered down at the tinker.

"Master Tinker, you were supposed to be here earlier," the guard growled as he opened the gate.

"I know," the tinker said humbly.  "I spent a bit too long in the tavern and had to sleep it off.  But I'm here now, and I'll have this set up and blazing in no time."  He followed the guard into the upper chamber of the dungeon.  Despite the fact the summer night was warm, the dank air that crept up from the cells made the chamber chilly.

The tinker quickly set up the brazier.  In a few moments he had a nice little fire blazing.

"That's better," the guard said as he stepped forward to warm his hands, leaving the tinker behind his back.

The stiletto slipped noiselessly into the tinker's hand.  In one swift move the tinker raised the blade and slit the guard's throat.  He eased the body to the side of the chamber, leaving a smear of blood on the hard packed floor as the body slid across it.  Taking the man's life was unfortunate, but he was one less rebel available to hold Ratharkin.

The tinker took the dungeon keys from the rack, lit a torch from the brazier, and opened the gate to the dungeon.

The air was fetid, but not as bad as the air in the dungeons of Valerian's fortress.  The tinker shook the memory of those dungeons from his mind; he had to focus on what needed to be done now.

The torch light flickered on the face of the old tinker as he walked the narrow path between the cells.  It was not difficult to find the cell of Sir Hugh; the large man was not one to go unnoticed, no matter what the circumstances were.

"Sir Hugh, lads, listen to me," the tinker said.

"Master Tinker?" Sir Hugh questioned.  "How did you  get in here?"

"What is more important," the tinker replied.  'Is that I am getting you out.  Listen to me closely.  I am the king's man."  The tinker pulled the Haldane medallion from his shirt and displayed it so the prisoners could see it.  "Duke Rory and Earl Brendan attack at dawn."  The tinker looked at the pale faces in the cells and saw their eyes come alive with hope.  "You who are old enough and able, must go very quietly to your father's residences in Ratharkin. They are expecting you.  Stay in the shadows and avoid anyone in the streets.  Once they know you are safe, they will join the fight to overthrow the rebels." The tinker pulled the bundles of green armbands from his satchel.  You will all need to wear these so you will be known to be loyal to Duke Rory. There may not be enough for all who will take up arms, so there is also a password.  It's 'Dunstan.'" When you  are home safe, your further orders will come from your fathers."

"Sir Hugh," the tinker continued.  "You must take the youngest and those that are not well enough to fight to Mistress Baker's in Merchant's Row.  They will be safe there.  You know the place?"

"Aye, Master Tinker, I do," the knight replied. 

"Come back to me when they are safe. Events will be set in motion at that time."

"I should have suspected you," Sir Hugh said.  "You've always had an ear to the ground."

"If you had suspected me," the tinker replied.  "I would not be good at my job."  The tinker unlocked the cell and distributed the bundles of cloth to those not going with Sir Hugh. "Follow me."  The tinker led them to the gate of the dungeon and sent the older boys out a few at a time.  "Keep to the shadows and make no noise.  This all depends on you."

Gravely, the older boys hurried away as the tinker had instructed them.  Sir Hugh went last, taking five young boys and one older one, who struggled not to cough, towards Merchant's Row.  Sir Hugh now carried the dead guard's sword and wore a green armband.

The tinker extinguished the brazier and carried it outside to the spot where it could be clearly seen by the archers.  Just as he set it in place, a voice called out from the direction Sir Hugh had taken with his charges.

'You! Halt!  Who goes there?" the man of the Watch commanded.

"Damn!" the tinker said under his breath.  Sir Hugh and the young boys froze in the shadows.

"Rats!" the tinker called out cheerfully to the Watch.  "They are everywhere.  See?" he pointed to the bushes ahead while he approached the man of the Watch.

"Rats?" the man asked.  "Where? I hate the buggers!"

The tinker waved in a direction away from Sir Hugh.  "Over there!"

As the man turned in that direction, the tinker laid his hand against his neck, extending his Deryni powers to take over his mind.  The man froze, unmoving.  The tinker indicated with his free hand for Sir Hugh to continue on.  With a nod, Sir Hugh moved on with his charges.

The tinker might have preferred to kill the man of the Watch outright, but the round eyes of the young former hostages had been staring at him.  They would likely have nightmares for weeks after their ordeal in the dungeon, and the tinker did not need to add another bloody throat cut to that.  Instead he led the man to the bushes and inserted into his mind that he had been drinking too much and needed a well earned rest.  When the man awoke the next day, he would not be inclined to tell anyone of his transgression.

The tinker left him in the bushes and returned to stand quietly near the brazier.  It was not long before Sir Hugh returned. 

"Are they safe?" the tinker asked the knight.

"Safely under Mistress Baker's wings," Sir Hugh replied.

The tinker struck flint against steel and ignited the brasier.  Archers nocked their arrows, pulled their bowstrings, took careful aim and released.

Eight  soldiers collapsed on the walls of Ratharkin.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on April 30, 2020, 10:01:00 AM
The air was cold in the chill predawn hours. The sky was just beginning to lighten in the east. Brendan sat his horse as the men mustered in preparation for the battle to come. He could feel the rising tension. Rory and Duncan Michael also sat their horses nearby. The four advance parties had ridden out nearly an hour before and should be approaching the city walls. The cavalry would not be far behind. The knights formed into columns and Brendan and Rory moved to their head.  Duncan Michael rode beside the column about halfway along.  Brendan raised his arm and gave the signal to move out. The columns moved forward on the road to Ratharkin.

*****

Under the cover of darkness, Jaxom led two of the parties of infiltrators as they picked their way silently between the mountains through the wooded draw toward the walls of the city. The two bands led by Lord Michael and one of the Laas captains had separated from the two led by Jaxom and the other Laas captain and were approaching the city from the west, skirting the base of the mountain's western side. As the two parties following Lord Jaxom neared the rear wall, he signaled for a halt. When the men had reined in their horses, he dismounted, tossing his reins to a waiting squire. He crept silently up to a gate in the wall and tested it, gently pushing it to see whether it would open. The gates swung in, giving access to the back streets of the city.

He returned to the waiting men. "We will leave our horses here. Dismount and give your reins to the squire. He will tether them back among the trees and keep watch here."  The men followed his directions, giving the reins of their horses to the waiting squire who led them a short distance away from the gate. The men passed silently through and the gates swung to behind them.

Once inside the city, Jaxom sent the archers ahead to secure their posts from which to observe the guards on the walls and to watch for the signal to fire their arrows. The two men slipped away soundlessly. After a short interval to allow them to establish their places, the two groups separated, each moving toward their assigned point of attack.  Jaxom's men followed him toward the castle walls where the main gates and the portcullis guarded the inner ward from unwanted intrusions. Their objective was the room where the controls that raised and lowered the portcullis were located. The second group moved toward the rear of the castle to enter through the kitchens and use the servants stairs to reach the sleeping quarters. They planned to take the rebels there before they could awaken and arm and mount a defense.

Meanwhile Lord Michael led other two bands toward the rocks at the base of the west wall that hid the tunnel that would allow them to enter the city  unseen. They also dismounted and handed their mounts to a waiting squire who led them away. The entrance to the tunnel was exactly where the Duke had said it would be. Their two archers were also sent ahead to be followed after several minutes by the rest of the men. One of the groups headed toward the barracks where the off-duty guards were sleeping. They would join the loyal men led by the nobles to attack the sleeping guards. The second headed for a secret side entrance to the castle that led to a hidden stairway which would bring them out to the gallery which ran around three sides of the great hall. The Duke had shown them how to reach it and  how to use it to quickly reach any part of the castle interior.

The freed hostages had reached their homes without detection, reported to their fathers and given out the armbands that would identify them as loyal to Duke Rory. They quickly armed and joined their fathers as they led their men toward the castle and barracks to add their efforts to defeat the rebels.

Jaxom and his men slipped through the shadows toward the gatehouse. He paused to locate the stairs that led to the wallwalk above the gatehouse where the control room was located. It was essential that they overcome those guards not killed by the archers and raise the portcullis. Jaxom's men would also attempt to remove the bars that held the gates closed. The cavalry would attack the gates from the outside, forcing them open to allow them to overcome the rebels inside.

Suddenly he heard a rough voice from above.  "What's that?"

A second voice answered. "What?"

"That light back near the gate to the dungeons."

Before the other man could answer, Jaxom heard the twang of bowstrings, the thumps of  arrows slamming into targets, and the cries of men who had been hit.  A couple of bodies fell from the walkway above, striking the ground with arrows protruding from chests and backs.

"Follow me!" Jaxom cried as he dashed to the foot of the stair with the other two men running behind. Just as he reached the first step, he collided with a huge man also headed for the stairway. He raised his sword, prepared to run the man through. "Wait!" shouted another man. Look at this arm!" On the big man's left arm was the green band that identified him as one of the duke's men. With him was a smaller, more agile man dressed as a tinker who was bounding upward, taking the stairs two at a time. Jaxom and the big man dashed after him, followed by Jaxom's other two men. Two guards with drawn swords appeared at the top, barring the way and slashing downward with their swords.. An arrow took one of them in the right shoulder. He fell backward onto the walk, dropping his sword. The other attempted to run Iain through, but his blow was deflected by a parry from Jaxom's sword. Iain slipped past continuing toward the control room. The remaining guard engaged Jaxom, trying to push him back down the narrow stairway. At last Jaxom was able to get past his guard and pierce his upper chest. He pushed the man off the walkway to the bottom of the stair and rushed on to the control room.  Both Jaxom and Iain made it through to the gears and levers that raised and lowered the portcullis. They seized the handle and began to turn the wheel that would raise it. They heard the portcullis beginning to rise.

They also heard the sounds of many horses hooves and shouts at the gate. As the portcullis neared the top, they felt the blows of heavy bodies slamming into the gates. Iain shouted at the big man and one of Jaxom's men..  "Unbar the gates!" Both men ran back down the stairway to the gates. Over their shoulders they saw a half-dozen rebels racing up the street to stop them. "Sir Hugh, Make it fast! Iain yelled from above. The big man lifted the heavy bars that held them in place while the second soldier fended off attacking rebels. The gates burst open and the cavalry thundered in, filling the bailey with horses and shouting as the armed men engaged with swords and lances. Some of the mounted men leapt from their saddles to the stairs leading to the walkways, quickly wounding or killing several of the remaining guards.

Sounds of fighting could also be heard from the area where the barracks were located. The sleeping guards had indeed been taken by surprise and were quickly being overcome. They had little chance to arm or mount any kind of defense. And quickly surrendered.

Led by the duke, a group of men threw themselvest from their horses and forced open the castle doors, fanning out inside looking for rebels. Sounds of swordplay came from the upper levels where the sleeping chambers were. The men ran up the stairs leading to the gallery and around to the hallways leading to the bedrooms. There they encountered armed men, some with green armbands fighting with partially dressed men wielding swords. When they saw more attackers entering the fray, the rebels began dropping their weapons and surrendering. They knew they were outnumbered and saw no chance for help to reach them. 

They were quickly rounded up and herded down to the great hall where several men kept guard over them. Duke Rory surveyed the prisoners but failed to locate the man in whom he was most interested. There was no sign of Lord Giles. When questioned, the newly captured men denied knowing where he had gone. He had last been seen, sword drawn, surrounded by a few of his men, fighting his way toward the back stairs from which he could hope to reach a rear entrance and escape from the castle.

Lord Michael and a few of the nobles herded the guards seized in the barracks into the great hall to join their fellow prisoners. All of them had been stripped of their weapons and gathered together at the rear of the hall closely guarded by the king's men. Those captured on the wallwalk and in the bailey were added to those confined in the great hall. Outside in the courtyard, priests were beginning to tend to the wounded from both sides. Fighting had mostly ceased and most of the rebels had surrendered, knowing themselves outnumbered and taken by surprise.

Iain and Lord Jaxom entered the hall to join Duke Rory, Earls Brendan and Duncan and Lord Michael. "We need to search the castle for Lord Giles and those of his men still with him." Rory commanded. "Let us break up, each taking one or two men, and search the castle. We will meet back here. If we have not found him, we will then send search parties through the town. It is vital that he not escape!"  Lords Iain, Michael, and Jaxom as well as Earl Duncan called two soldiers each and separated to begin the search of the castle. Only Duke Rory and Earl Brendan remained behind.

Sir Iain accompanied by Sir Hugh and one of the soldiers, set off to begin his search in the kitchens and storerooms at the rear of the castle. He found no sign of Lord Giles and all of the servants he met denied having seen him. . They searched all of the storerooms, corridors, entrances and kitchen area without success. There was no sign of Giles or any of his men.
They returned to the great hall to find that none of the others had found any trace of him. They had searched the gallery, the bedchambers, the servant's quarters, the whole inner ward.  They agreed that they needed to expand the search, beginning with the outer ward, the stables, smithy, chapel, priests' house and the storehouses. Rory was anxious to find Lord Giles. If he had escaped the castle altogether and was hiding in the surrounding town, it would not be difficult for him to escape entirely.

Sir Iain and Sir Hugh helped search the stables and haylofts but again were unsuccessful. "I am certain we will need to expand our search into the town." Iain nodded to the other two men who had been searching with him. "I want first to go to Mistress Baker's and see that the boys hidden there remain safe. I would not want Lord Giles to be able to find them and grab hostages again.


Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on May 01, 2020, 02:41:58 PM
"Sir Iain!" called a familiar voice as the tinker turned toward Merchant's Row.  The soldier standing at his side gave the tinker a puzzled look.  Sir Iain Cameron sighed; the days of his disguise as the tinker appeared to be nearing their end.

"Yes, Lord Jaxom," Iain responded.

"Where are you headed next?" Jaxom asked.  His sword was still drawn, though he carried it close to his side.  Two of  his men stood with him.

"To Mistress Baker's," Iain responded.  "Sir Hugh delivered the young hostages there for safety.  I have no good reason to believe Lord Giles would guess they were there, but..." His voice trailed off as something Mistress Baker had said the day before came to mind. 

***

"I have done my best to keep Gelsey out of sight," Mistress Baker said.  "But I can't keep her a prisoner!  I've started letting her help with some of the sales.  It's a good way to learn the accounting skills she will need one day."

The tinker waited for her to proceed; he sensed there was more she wanted to say.

"Lately," Mistress Baker continued.  "There has been a soldier from the castle, one of Lord Giles' men, who has been making regular visits.  He seems to have taken special note of Gelsey."

"She is too pretty to go completely unnoticed," Iain said thoughtfully.  "The soldier comes often?"

"Too often for my liking, and he's stingy with his coin.  I've kept Gelsey inside the last couple of days, but Edwin tells me the soldier continues to visit."

"It could just be he is fond of your tarts," Iain said with a smile.  "But you are right to be cautious.  Can you describe him to me?"

"He mostly just looks like any other soldier, except his nose has been badly broken."

Iain nodded, and the conversation had slipped to the back of his mind.

***

Sir Iain started toward Merchant's Row, Lord Jaxom and Sir Hugh fell into step with him, followed by their four soldiers.

"I doubt Lord Giles knows the hostages are with Mistress Baker," Iain said as they walked.  "But he may have figured out that Sir Ainslie's granddaughter is hidden there.  She would make a valuable hostage, and Duke Rory would never risk a child's life."

"Sir Ainslie was the duke's steward," Sir Hugh said, anticipating Jaxom's question.  "He was killed in the assault by the rebels.  Both the girl's parents travelled to Laas with the duke's entourage.  Her father is one of his knights, and her mother is one of the duchess's ladies-in-waiting."  Hugh looked sideways at Iain.  "No one has seen his granddaughter since the attack."

"I was in the right place at the right time," was all Iain would admit.

They approached the entrance to Merchant's Row.  Two soldiers stood on guard on either side, neither one wearing a green armband.  The man on the left had a badly broken nose.

"Take them out," Iain said quietly, sending their four soldiers forward. 

Lord Giles' men spotted them and prepared to fight, but they were outnumbered by Iain and Jaxom's men, and although they fought hard, they were subdued quickly.

"Two of you take positions here at the entrance,"  Iain ordered.  "The other two of you go ahead to the other end of the street.  Be prepared to intercept anyone who attempts to flee.  Lord Jaxom, Sir Hugh and I will proceed to Mistress Baker's.  Be vigilant!'" he added, and with Lord Jaxom beside him and Sir Hugh behind him, set off for Mistress Baker's.

As Iain expected, the shop front was closed. He knocked on the door.  "Mistress Baker, it's Master Tinker.  It's been such a wild morning, I thought I would check and make sure you are safe."  Iain thought he heard a movement behind the door.

"There is no need, Tinker!"  Mistress Baker's voice said sharply. "You can go away!"

It was clear to Iain that there was a need; she always addressed him as "Master Tinker" and never used such a sharp tone.  The woman's voice sounded as if she was back away from the door, perhaps in the kitchen entrance.  He quietly tried the door and found  it was bolted.

"Are you sure, Mistress Baker?" Iain asked as he focused his powers on the bolt.  He had bolted this door himself many times and was familiar with it.   Mistress Baker kept it well oiled.  He felt the sweat begin to drip down his forehead as the bolt finally slipped aside.

"Of course I am sure!"  Mistress Baker snapped back at him.  "Now be on your way!"

Iain motioned to Sir Hugh.  The big man smiled grimly, lifted his boot and kicked the door open.

Iain and Jaxom were through first, swords at the ready.  One soldier darted out from the kitchen and went for Jaxom.  Jaxom parried the stroke, and Iain was through the kitchen doorway.  Iain had only a moment to assess the situation before the second soldier was on him.  The youngest boys were standing behind the huge kitchen table.  Mistress Baker was at the far end near the ovens with Gelsey standing beside her.  The older boy with the bad cough knelt on the floor beside Edwin, bandaging a wound in Edwin's arm.  Giles was moving toward Mistress Baker, his dagger drawn because the space was too cramped to use his sword.

Iain parried the first blow with his sword and pulled his dagger. Iain's movements were hampered by the scattered stools on his side of the table, and the soldier lunged at him a second time.  Iain's sword slashed down and drew first blood.  The soldier's next blow was weakened; Iain trapped it with his sword and would have finished him with his dagger, but the man grabbed a bowl of flour from a shelf and threw it in Iain's face.

Iain, momentarily blinded and almost choking on the flour, snarled a curse that would have made his brother the seaman proud. He hooked one of the stools with his foot and threw it in front of his attacker's feet. The man tripped as Iain cleared the flour from his eyes with the heel of his hand that held the dagger and plunged his sword into the man's neck.

Lord Jaxom was now beside Iain.  As Iain turned toward Lord Giles, the man reached Mistress Baker and grabbed for Gelsey.  Mistress Baker hefted her skillet and aimed for Giles' head.  But Gelsey was between them and Mistress Baker checked her swing, so the blow glanced off Giles' helmet, knocking it askew and hampering his vision.   He tossed it aside with his free hand and then wrapped his arm around Gelsey's neck, his dagger pointing at her chest.

"Drop your weapons!" Giles barked.  "And you," he looked at Mistress Baker,  "Put that damned thing down with the handle pointing away from you!"  Mistress Baker set the skillet carefully on the table, turning the handle away from herself, but in the general direction of Jaxom.

Sir Hugh had come in behind Jaxom and tried to move back out of sight, but not before Giles saw him.  "Stay where you are and drop your weapon!"  Giles commanded.  "All of you drop your weapons!"

"She won't be much of a hostage if you kill her," Iain said calmly.

Lord Giles jerked his head in the direction of the boys behind the table.  "I have others to choose from.  Now drop your weapons or the girl dies!"

Iain looked at Jaxom and Hugh, nodded, and all three  men carefully laid their weapons on the floor. As Iain crouched down, he saw the boy still kneeling beside Edwin, and a riskier plan than his first began to form in his mind.  He  caught the eye of the boy and made a slight cough.  The boy looked puzzled for a moment and then blinked his eyes once.  Iain slowly stood.

"What now?" he asked Lord Giles. 

"The three of you will move behind the table with the boys, one at a time," Giles instructed.  "You first," he said to Iain. "Slowly and make no sudden moves."

Sir Hugh was behind both Iain and Jaxom, his bulk conveniently preventing Iain from moving around him. Iain made sure his hands were in sight, and moved toward Giles. He noted the heavy leather mitt within reach on the table.  "I'll just slip by in front of you.  I'll make no move that will risk the girl," he said.

While Giles focused on Iain, Mistress Baker inched the skillet toward Jaxom as Jaxom slowly moved forward. Giles moved back a few steps as Iain edged along the table,  his eyes never leaving the old tinker's face.

The boy beside Edwin suddenly started to cough violently. Giles looked in his direction and Iain grabbed the mitt and drove forward, using the mitt to force the dagger aside, grabbing Gelsey out of Giles'  grasp and throwing himself on top of her, fully expecting his life to end if Giles thrust the dagger through his back when they hit the floor, knowing the dagger was not long enough to pass through him and into Gelsey.

He was dumbfounded when the dead weight of Giles collapsed on top of him instead.

Iain did his best to keep most of the weight off Gelsey.  He managed to peer under Giles' unmoving arm and expected to see Sir Hugh standing above him, sword in hand.  Instead he saw Lord Jaxom, looking quite fierce and holding Mistress Baker's skillet in his hand.

"Well done, Jaxom,"  Iain called out, his voice strained by the weight on top of him.  "But a little help here, if you would be so kind?"

***

Lord Giles lay on his back off to one side, his hands bound in front of him although no one thought he would wake any time soon.  Mistress Baker had drawn Gelsy aside to check for any injuries, but there was nothing worse than a few bruises.  Sir Iain had a few bruises of his own, and he sat on one of the stools, still amazed that they had pulled this off.  The young lad with the cough sat near him, rewarded with a cup of warm tisane Mistress Baker had laced with soothing honey.

Sir Hugh had left to gather the four soldiers they had left guarding Merchant's Row. Two he would send to the castle with the word that Lord Giles had been found, and the other two would return with him to Mistress Baker's.  Once additional men arrived from the castle to take charge of Giles and his dead men, Sir Hugh would take the  boys home to their families.   

Gelsey walked over to Iain and handed him a cherry tart.  "You look frightful," she said.  "You could be a ghost."

For a moment Iain looked puzzled and then tasted the baking flour along with the tart as he took a bite.  He had forgotten his face was still mostly covered with flour.  "Well, I would be a ghost if it wasn't for Lord Jaxom."

"He had a little help from me," Mistress Baker said as she handed Iain a towel. 

"Aye, that I did," Jaxom looked rueful.  "I wonder what Earl Brendan will think of the weapon I used."

"'Tis not the weapon that matters, but how well you use it," Iain replied.  "Exactly what you tell Earl Brendan is up to you.  I will report to Duke Rory that you felled Lord Giles with a well-placed blow and saved my life."

Jaxom's chest puffed out a little.  "Thank you, Sir Iain."

"I might, however," Iain added as he wiped the last of the flour from his face.  "Have to tell Darcy it was a skillet you used."

Lord Jaxom Trillick looked aghast, and Sir Iain Cameron grinned.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on May 16, 2020, 07:24:41 AM
Sir Hugh quickly returned with two of the soldiers, having sent the other two to the castle to inform the Duke that Lord Giles had been captured. They were set to keep guard over Lord Giles and those of his men that still lived. 

"I expect that Earl Brendan will inform the king of the success of our attack as soon as the rebels have been secured in the dungeons they used so ruthlessly to control Ratharkin's nobles and frighten the populace. This should effectively end the rebellion." Iain smiled happily at the thought of the king's relief and delight at being able to declare the rebellion at an end. 

Sir Hugh appeared relieved and a little sad, but his lips did curve in a small smile as he considered the vanquishing of the rebels, the return of Duke Rory to his role as viceroy, and the restoration of peace in Ratharkin and the rest of Meara. "It 'will be a pleasure ta see the backs of those scurvy rats!" he growled.

"How is Gelsey?" Iain addressed Mistress Baker. "And how is Edwin's arm?

"Gelsey has a few bruises but she is fine. She was very brave when those men forced their way into the shop. The leader was intending to take her as a hostage. He knew that she was Lord Ainslie's granddaughter, and he was sure that he would be able to negotiate escape for himself and his men. She stayed calm and followed my directions which helped keep her safe. She is a very courageous young lady." Mistress Baker gave Gelsey a quick hug.

"What about Edwin? How was he injured?" Iain looked down at the young man who was now sitting propped against the wall, his arm bandaged and supported by a sling fashioned from
one of the cloths used to dry the baking pans. He looked a little pale but not in too much pain.

"When one of the soldiers grabbed for Gelsey, Edwin tried to interfere, thrusting himself between them in an effort to stop him. The man slashed at him with his sword. Edwin dodged but he was unable to avoid it completely. The sword ripped his arm.  I don't think the wound is too deep nor has he lost too much blood. Perhaps one of the battle surgeons might look at it when things have settled down a bit." Mistress Baker handed Edwin a cup of wine. "Drink this. It will help replace some of the blood you lost." 

Lord Jaxom looked at the young boys still huddled together behind the table. Their eyes were large and round, and they stared at the disorder and signs of violence before them. Jaxom moved closer and smiled at the boys. "You have been subjected to threats and sights of violence, but you need not be afraid now. The men who misused you have been captured and will be punished. Duke Rory is here and retaking control of the city. He will see that you are safe.."

Sir Hugh added. "As soon as the duke's men arrive to take control of these prisoners, I will be taking you back home to your families. All will be well." The boys seemed to accept his words and relaxed, though they remained close together.

In a short time, heavy footsteps were heard outside and a knock sounded at the door. At Iain's call of "Come." the door opened and one of the duke's sergeants entered. They could see several other soldiers close behind him. "We have been sent by the duke to take the prisoners back to the castle where he will direct their disposition." He looked down at Lord Giles who was beginning to stir and try to sit up. "His Grace is very anxious to have this one in his hands." The soldiers quickly herded the men out of the shop, placing Lord Giles on a horse led by one of them, his bound hands tied to the pommel of the saddle.  Lastly, they carried out the two dead men, placed on litters to be carried to the castle.

Everyone gave a sigh of relief as the door closed behind the party headed to the castle. Sir Hugh turned to the boys. "Are ye ready to go home to yer families then?  They're waiting anxiously for your return. They want to see for themselves how you have fared during yer captivity and the attack. They need to see that you are well and unharmed." 

The boys edged their way around the big table and out of the kitchen to where Sir Hugh was waiting for them. Mistress Baker waited beside him to give each of them a hug and a tart for the journey home. "You were all very brave and you did well." she said as she hugged each one. They then passed through the shop and out into the street to join Sir Hugh. The boy with the cough who had helped distract Giles so that Iain could free Gelsey was the last to exit. Iain clapped him gently on the back as he left. "You were a valuable ally in the fight. I could not have saved her without your help." The boy glowed with pride as Sir Hugh led them away from the shop.

Sir Iain studied Lord Jaxom as he spoke to Mistress Baker. "We need to return to the castle. Duke Rory may have further orders for us. But before we leave you, let us help you restore your premises. I have a feeling that the demand for your tasty baked goods may be about to greatly increase. The people will want to celebrate the end of the rebellion." Jaxom looked a little doubtful about being volunteered but made no comment.  The two men quickly straightened the kitchen and returned the shop to its usual order.

"I thank you both. Although I don't believe Edwin's wound is severe, his activity might be a bit limited until it heals.. And I think I will shortly lose my assistant as I am certain Gelsey's parents will be anxious to restore her to their care." Mistress Baker smiled at the young girl who had begun to clean up the spilled flour.

Ian replied looking at both the baker and the young girl.  "I think she might remain with you for now until things settle down. Her father rode with Duke Rory's force and was part of the attack on the rebels. He is at the castle now and I am sure he is eager to see her. He and his wife are both grieved at the death of her grandfather and were greatly concerned that they did not know what had happened to their child.. I will bring him here to assure himself that she is well, but he may wait until her mother returns with the duchess to remove her from your care. He will be grateful for your care of her during the rebel occupation."

As Iain opened the door and prepared to leave, Jaxom addressed Mistress Baker. "If I am ever again in a similar fight, I would hope to have you on my side with your handy frying pan. Not my first choice of weapons, but it was most effective." He smiled as he went out the door, following Sir Iain.

As the two men made their way back to the castle, they noticed that there were greater numbers of people in the streets, and they were gathering in small groups to talk over what had happened. There were more smiles and nods among them. The fear and tension that had been present before the attack had disappeared. The oppressive atmosphere had lifted. The citizens of Ratharkin could breathe freely again.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on May 16, 2020, 07:36:09 AM

When Iain and Jaxom reached the castle, a squire met them at the entrance and conducted them to the withdrawing room where Rory, Brendan and the other leaders of the successful assault were waiting. Both men bowed to the Duke who looked first at Sir Iain and then at Lord Jaxom.  "I have been waiting for your arrival and report of what occurred in Merchant's Row. The last I knew of you Sir Iain, you and Sir Hugh were searching the stables for Lord Giles and his men. What made you think to look for him in the baker's shop?"

Iain replied. "I was concerned about the younger hostages whom I had sent there for protection after they were freed from the dungeons at the beginning of the attack. I didn't see how he could suspect they were hidden there, but I was also worried about the other person I had hidden there when the rebels seized the castle."

"Lord Ainslie Carlisle's granddaughter was in the Castle when the rebels attacked it, and one of the rebels was threatening and misusing her. I was in the right place and heard her cries for help. I killed the rebel and rescued her, placing her in the care of Mistress Baker, who is an old friend and ally.  When I visited her before tonight's attack, Mistress Baker told me that one  of Lord Giles' soldiers had been hanging around the bakery and paying too much attention to Lady Agnes. We were afraid that he might have penetrated her disguise. If the soldier reported to Lord Giles and he had figured out that she was Lord Ainslie's granddaughter, he might try to capture her.  She would make a valuable hostage," Iain continued.

"As I headed toward Merchant's row, Lord Jaxom and two of his men joined us. When we reached the street, two of Lord Giles' men were guarding the approach to the bakery shop. I ordered our soldiers to take them out. We then approached the shop. The door was barred. I called out to Mistress Baker that I needed to know if she was safe. By her reply I knew something was wrong. I managed to unlock the door, and we entered to find Lord Giles and two of his soldiers in the shop. His intent was obviously to seize one or more hostages to use to negotiate his escape.  We had to  stop him. Lord Jaxom managed to overcome one of the attackers with his sword. Giles was trying to reach the girl, but Mistress Baker tried to stop him by hitting him with a large, heavy frying pan. Unfortunately, Lady Agnes was between her and Giles. She had to deflect her stroke and only managed to knock off his helmet.  He was able to grab the girl and use her as a shield, ordering us to drop our weapons. We had no choice." Iain paused. "I think Lord Jaxom can best tell the rest."

Jaxom stood straight before the Duke. "We had all laid down our swords. He had also commanded Mistress Baker to put down her frying pan with the handle pointed away from her. He ordered us to move, one at a time, to join the boys on the opposite side of the table. Sir Iain was first and was edging around the table when one of the boys coughed loudly, distracting the rebel causing him to look away briefly. Mistress Baker had placed the frying pan with its handle pointed toward me and had been inching it toward me. I had been edging up closer to the table. When he looked away, Iain leapt toward him, snatching the girl out of his grasp and pushing her to the floor covering her with his body. Giles started to plunge his dagger into Iain's back, but I was able to grab the frying pan and hit him over the head with it. He collapsed on top of Iain unconscious." Jaxom flushed and looked a little embarrassed as he looked around the table and saw several grins.

Duke Rory managed to keep a straight face as he addressed Lord Jaxom. "Not perhaps the most elegant of weapons but very effective. I congratulate you on your quick thinking."

Sir Iain spoke up. "I expected my life to end there and then with Lord Giles' dagger in my back. I was surprised and relieved to instead have his dead weight fall on me. I was able to look up and, instead of a man with a sword in his hand, I saw Jaxom holding the frying pan. His well placed blow certainly saved my life and probably others as well."

The Duke surveyed the men around the table. "Congratulations on a job well done. We have our victory but there is much to be done. I will return to the Great hall to oversee the disposition of the prisoners to the dungeons. Earl Brendan will arrange to report to the king the outcome of our mission. I am sure he will be most pleased. The Earl will have orders for you, Lord Jaxom and you, Lord Michael. We will meet again in this room after the evening meal to further discuss our plans." He left the room.

Brendan addressed his two lieutenants. "Go to the kitchens and get something to eat. Then check on the men. We need to arrange quarters for them to sleep tonight and food to be served for them. We will also need to set guards both in the dungeons and on the walls. We need to develop a rota for guard duty."

As the two young men headed for the door. Brendan saw Michael give Jaxom a light punch in the ribs and heard him say laughingly, "You have a new weapon to add to your arsenal. A frying pan will be most versatile. You can both cook in it and subdue an enemy with it."

Jaxom replied calmly,  "I was very lucky to have an ally with the foresight of Mistress Baker. Without her help, things might have turned out much worse. Lord Giles might have escaped leaving more than one dead body behind. As Sir Iain said, it's not the weapon that's important but how you use it."

Michael nodded his agreement. "She was indeed a most useful ally."

"I told her that if ever I was in a similar fight, I hope I have her or another like her on my side." Jaxom grinned at Michael. "And she also makes excellent tarts!"

Brendan watched as the young men exited the room and turned down the hall toward the kitchens. He was most pleased with both Jaxom's report to Duke Rory and his defense of Mistress Baker and her frying pan. He had shown a lot of improvement since the beginning of this mission and Brendan felt he would make a valuable lieutenant and ally in the future.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on May 19, 2020, 04:40:14 PM
The tinker was tempted to follow Lords Jaxom and Micheal to the kitchens, for the lone cherry tart that Gelsey had given him had done more to rouse his hunger than to quench it.  He reminded himself that he must now think of her as Lady Agnes; her time spent as Gelsey would soon come to an end.  The next thing he needed to do was to find her father and tell him that his daughter was safe and sound.

It did not take him long to find Sir Angus Carlisle.  Lady Agnes' father was part of Duke Rory's personal guard and was in the Great Hall as the tinker had expected.  Sir Angus was not hard to spot. The red curls that surrounded his head were a shorter version of his daughter's, though the similarity ended with his close-clipped red beard.  The tinker had met him once or twice and found him to be an affable man and very competent.  It would not surprise him if Duke Rory selected Sir Angus to succeed  his father as the castle's steward.  As the tinker approached, he noticed lines around Sir Angus' eyes that had not been there before; grief for his father and worry for his daughter had taken their toll.

"Sir Angus," the tinker said with a bow.  "If I may have a word?"

"Of course," Sir Angus replied.  He had been privy to Duke Rory's plans for retaking Ratharkin and was aware the tinker was not who he seemed to be.  He motioned for the tinker to join him as he stepped away from the others.

"Sir Angus," the tinker said.  "Your daughter is alive, safe, and has been well looked after since the rebels took Ratharkin."

"God be praised!" Sir Angus exclaimed, and the relief on his face was plain to see.  "Where is she?  Where can I find her?"

The tinker had been a spy too long to provide the location if he could be overheard, even by men who should be absolutely trustworthy.  "I would be happy to take you to her, if you can get away," he replied.

Sir Angus glanced at the activity around him, torn between the desire to see his daughter and his duty to the Duke.  "Perhaps in an hour or two?"

"Of course.  She is in good hands, I assure you, and probably safer away until the rebels are secure under lock and key."

Sir Angus clapped the tinker on the shoulder.  "Yes, I think that would be best.  Give me two hours, but if you have a choice, be early rather than late!'

The tinker smiled, nodded his agreement and took his leave.

***

The tinker stood before the door of Mistress Baker's shop in Merchant's Row.  Sir Angus stood at his side, barely able to contain his impatience to see his daughter.  The shop's shutters were open and Edwin sat on a high stool behind the counter, his arm in its makeshift sling.

"We've sold almost everything Mistress Baker could get ready," Edwin announced.  "I never thought we'd see such brisk business today.  Mistress Baker, you have visitors!" he called over his shoulder.

Mistress Baker opened the door and gave a brief curtsey.   "Sir Angus, it's so good to see you again.  And you too of course, Master Tinker," she added.  "Come this way, please.  Lady Agnes is just through...."

"PAPA!" Lady Agnes ran across the kitchen and Sir Angus scooped her up into his arms.  Red curls crushed red curls as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

The tinker felt his throat tighten and looked away discreetly.

"Why don't you make yourselves comfortable in my sitting room?  It's just through the door there,"  Mistress Baker indicated the door on the far side of the kitchen.   "I'm sure  you have much to talk about."

"Thank you, Mistress Baker," Sir Angus said, his voice slightly muffled by his own emotions and his daughter's fierce hug.  He carried his daughter into the other room.

"Well, Master Tinker," Mistress Baker said with a knowing look at the old man.  "Will you be staying a while with us, or will you be moving on?"

"I think it is time for this old tinker to retire," the tinker said carefully.  "I'm afraid he has outlived his usefulness here."

"Nonsense!" she replied.  "You are a very good tinker, though I suspect you are good at many things, Sir Iain."

"I do have my moments," he said evasively.

"Well, if you ever decide to return to honest work, there will always be a place for a good tinker here in Ratharkin."

"Honest work?"  the tinker asked in surprise and then started to laugh.  It felt good.

The tinker reached over, took Mistress Baker's hand, bowed over it in his best courtly manner and raised it to his lips.

"Very gallant for an old tinker," Mistress Baker said with a knowing smile as she withdrew her hand. 

Sir Angus and his daughter re-entered the kitchen as the tinker straightened.  He raised one red eyebrow and the tinker nonchalantly clasped his hands behind his back.

"Mistress Baker, I am loath to continue to impose on you, but could Agnes stay with you for a bit longer?"  Sir Angus asked.

"Can't I come home with you?" Agnes asked plaintively.  "Though Mistress Baker has been very kind to me, and I have learned a lot," she quickly added.

"Poppet," her father said and knelt down on one knee beside her.  "Right now the castle is filled with men striding around giving orders to make sure we are all safe.  It's not the best place for a young lady to be right now."

"Men giving orders do not always use polite language," Agnes said with a knowing nod.

Her father smiled.  "No, unfortunately not.  But your mother will be here in a day or two, and by then I can have our quarters tidied up and ready for us.  As soon as she is here, we will come and get you and all go home.  Can you wait that long?"

"Yes Papa."  Agnes gave her father another tight hug,  "But don't take too long!"

"I won't," he said as he hugged her back. 

Sir Angus stood and faced the tinker and Mistress Baker.  "I owe you both more than I can ever repay for my daughter's safety and well-being."

"Nonsense," Mistress Baker said briskly.  "Agnes has been the most delightful assistant a baker could ever want.  I am the fortunate one!"

"Mistress Baker," Agnes said.  "We'll need to make sure we have cherry tarts to give to Mummy when she comes."

"Indeed we will,"  Mistress Baker replied with a nod.

"What about my tarts?"  the tinker asked, pretending to look hurt.  "Don't forget about me!"

"I'll never forget you, Master Tinker," Agnes said solemnly, reaching up and grasping his hand.  "Not ever!"

Sir Iain Cameron went down on one knee and hugged her.  "I'll never forget you either."

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on May 24, 2020, 03:54:13 PM
After the young men exited the room, Brendan returned to his seat at the table. He took a sip of the wine a squire had poured for him. Rory was ordering the disposition of the rebel prisoners who had surrendered.  They were presently confined in the stableyard, guarded by the duke's men. They would be moved in small groups to the confines of the dungeons where they would remain until the king made known his wishes concerning their final disposition. The other men were about their business. It was time to try to reach the king and relate to him all that had happened. Brendan found a comfortable position in his chair and took several deep centering breaths as he relaxed and focused his mind on the king. He reached out to Kelson to establish Rapport and give his report.

He felt the king enter the link. "I have been awaiting your call. Things have gone well, I trust."

"Indeed they have, your Majesty. The rebels have been subdued, and Ratharkin is again ours. We have captured Lord Giles, the rebel who has commanded the garrison at Ratharkin since the death of Lord Oswald. He was injured trying to escape but will recover. The nobles of the town joined the fight as soon as Sir Iain freed their heirs who had been held in the dungeons as hostages. "

"The people of Ratharkin are coming out into the streets and appear elated at the defeat of the rebels. The rebels made no effort to gain their allegiance, but rather misused them, depriving them of food and executing any who was not seen to be sufficiently in support of their cause. There were many heads on the city walls. People lived in fear." Brendan paused for his king's response.

Kelson's thought came quickly. "I regret the suffering of the Mearan people who have had little choice in the intrigues of some of their nobility.   I also regret that we allowed ourselves to become complacent and were taken by surprise by the actions of the plotters. We missed early signs that could have prevented the violence done to our people and lands .We have been fortunate to be able to overcome and defeat them. I will be putting in place new plans to be sure that this does not happen again."

Brendan replied. "The people of Meara did not forsake their allegiance to you, sire or to Duke Rory. There were some who were lured by the promise of titles and lands, but most were not. I believe they will be happy to reaffirm their fealty to you and to their duke. I feel it would help to further bind their loyalty if we hold a celebration of their renewed freedom from the oppression of the rebels and the return of the peace and prosperity they have known under your rule."

There was a pause as Brendan waited for Kelson's reaction to his proposal. "I think that is an excellent idea." He could feel the king's pleasure at the idea of holding a celebration as Rory resumed his position as Viceroy of Meara. "I would have them see our support for their Duke and for their land. In fact, I think I will attend this celebration to reinforce the value I place on their people and lands as an important part of Gwynedd."

"I will discuss it with my council, but I will plan to travel by portal to Ratharkin to be part of the celebration of the relief of the city and all of Meara from the violence  and oppression of the rebels. I will inform you of my final plans once I have spoken with them."

Brendan sent. "As you wish, your majesty. I do have one further concern. What of Prince Javan and the rest of his army? Will they be returning to Rhemuth soon?  And will my brother, Kelric, be able to return with them? I had heard that he was healed and recovering from a serious wound but I have heard nothing more."

"Prince Javan and his army have left Laas well garrisoned and under the command of Duke Brecon and his son. Repairs on the walls are already underway and plans are in progress for determining the fates of prisoners taken in that battle. Javan has informed me that the Duke of Corwyn is almost completely recovered and accompanies him." He could feel the king's pleasure in this news.

"That is wonderful news, sire!  I will be expecting final news of your plans and we will all be anticipating your arrival." He felt the link dissolve. He took a quick, happy breath and rose to go find Rory to inform him of the King's intentions. They had a celebration to plan.


*******

The leaders of the successful assault on Ratharkin were meeting in the withdrawing room to discuss their future course. Rory was seated at the head of the long table with Brendan to his right and Duncan Michael to his left. Sir Iain was seated further down the table beside Duncan Michael. A squire had been sent to find Lord Michael and Lord Jaxom and to conduct them to the meeting.

Rory spoke first. "I think that it is important that we reassure both the nobles and the people of the return of the king's law in the city and the restoration of order and safety.  They need to see that  the rebels are defeated and can no longer threaten them. They will be able to go about their lawful business in peace. I will summon the nobles to the castle to inform them, and  I will issue a declaration to be read in the city square and to be cried throughout the city so that all will be aware that normal activities should resume."

Earl Brendan then spoke. "I have Rapported with the king and he is most pleased with our success. He looked with favor on the idea of a celebration here to mark the end of the rebellion and the return of peace to this part of the kingdom. He is proposing to attend such a celebration himself to establish the return of Meara to its proper place within the kingdom and to show the value he places on it. He will discuss it with his council and I expect to hear from him again soon as to his plans. In the interval, perhaps we should go ahead and plan a celebration to be held four  days hence."

The Duke then asked, "What of Prince Javan and his army? When do they return to Rhemuth?"

Brendan replied. "The prince and his army left Laas only a day behind the cavalry and are returning to Rhemuth. They plan to pause here for rest and to restore Rory's duchess to her home. Duchess Noelie and her ladies are also travelling with the Prince. It is possible that they might arrive in time for the celebration but that is not certain. It is my hope that they will reach Ratharkin in time for the duchess to be at your side as you resume your role of viceroy for Meara. They are aware of the planned celebration and will strive to reach here in time to take part in the ceremonies "

Rory looked around at his compatriots. "I will announce a special  gathering in observance of deliverance of my people and a celebration of their restored peace to be held in the great hall four days hence. All the nobles and their families will be summoned to attend. There will also be a festival day for all the people of the city and countryside.  I hope that the prince and his army will arrive in time to participate in the occasion. The king has stated his intention to attend so a great deal of preparation is needed."

Each of those around the table received their assignments. There was much to do. Since the castle  was bereft of a steward, the duke summoned Lord Angus Carlisle to oversee the preparations as his father would have done. Maids were set to cleaning and polishing, and the cooks and kitchen servants were directed to prepare sweets and savouries for the event. Bedchambers were to be prepared in the event that  Prince Javan's army did arrive and there was need to house the prince and his entourage for their stay. Wines were brought up from the cellars.

The Duke conferred with the priests as to their roles in the proceedings,  asking the most senior among them to present prayers of thanksgiving for their deliverance and the return of peace to their land. A special mass would be offered in the church that morning, giving thanks and commemorating those who had lost their lives under the oppressive rule of the rebels.

Duke Rory, with the help of Earl Brendan, composed his declaration to be read throughout the city.  Pages were dispatched to all the nobles summoning them and their families to attend him in the great hall at sext, four days hence to celebrate the end of the rebellion.  Heralds would proclaim the day as a festival and all citizens would be released from their usual tasks to participate.

The castle and the town hummed with activity. In her shop, Mistress Baker was preparing as many tasty treats as possible. Everywhere people were sprucing up their premises as much as they could. It had the feeling of a feast day. People were happily discussing the changes in their fortunes.  They could meet and talk and argue freely without expecting a heavy hand on their shoulders and possible confinement in the dungeons. Those who were being thrown in the dungeons now deserved it.  They had experienced peace and prosperity under Duke Rory Haldane's fair and benevolent rule, and they were greatly looking forward to a return to those days.

Later that evening, Brendan sought out Rory. "I have heard from His Majesty. He will arrive by portal on the appointed day, an hour before sext. He will be accompanied by two Haldane lancers and, at the insistence of his council who are not totally in favor of this venture, he will wear mail under his tunic. They understand why he feels the need to do this but they are uncomfortable with the idea of his traveling to a stronghold so recently a center of rebel activity. He will return to Rhemuth that evening after the ceremonies are complete."

Rory nodded. "We must arrange for adequate guards in the hall without casting a cloud over the celebration. I will have archers in the gallery and men mingling through the crowd. We will keep a sharp watch for any signs of a rebel who escaped our round up and might want to attack the king."

Brendan agreed. "I will place Lord Jaxom and Lord Michael in charge of the guard. I feel they are well capable of carrying out such responsibilities."

*******

The day of the celebration dawned clear and cool. People were already stirring as the sun rose in the east, washing the scene with a clear golden light. Many were hurrying to the church for the early mass to give thanks for their release from the rebel tyranny. Others were establishing their rights to the best spots from which to see the arrival of the nobles and the other participants in the celebration to come. There was an air of excitement and joy in the town.

By midmorning the square in front of the castle was already crowded with the citizens of the town. Duke Rory's guards were moving people back to leave a path for the nobility to make their way to the castle entrance and into the great hall where the ceremony would take place. Shortly before eleven, the noble families began to arrive.

Inside the castle there was much bustle as Sir Angus oversaw last minute preparations. Jaxom and Michael had positioned their guards and given them instructions as to their duties. The archers assigned to the gallery were already in place and those who were to intersperse themselves among the attendees were standing ready near the entrance to the great hall. The guests entered and were directed to either side of the hall which soon filled with those fortunate enough to have been summoned to attend. The air vibrated with talk and excitement.

The Duke and Earl Brendan waited by the portal for the arrival of the king and his escort. The others waited in the withdrawing room. As the church bell chimed eleven, King Kelson and his accompanying guard appeared on the portal. The lancers stepped from the portal square first and surveyed the room to assure themselves that all was well. Kelson, arrayed in a long overtunic of Haldane crimson embroidered with the golden lion of Gwynedd and wearing a gold circlet on his brow stepped off the portal as Rory and Brendan bowed deeply. "Your majesty, welcome to Ratharkin, once again the seat of lawful rule in Meara."

Kelson smiled and replied. "I am most pleased to be able to attend this celebration and to reassure my people here and in the rest of Meara of my care for them."

Rory led the king's party to the withdrawing room where the others awaited them. All of the men bowed deeply as the king entered the room.  Rory escorted the king to a chair at the head of the table where he seated himself and indicated that the others should take seats until it was time for the ceremony to begin. There were some murmurs of disappointment that Prince Javan's army had not yet arrived. They could hear the rising murmur of the crowd in the great hall.

After a brief interval, the party moved toward the great hall. Rory's herald announced in a ringing voice, "Give homage to his Majesty, King Kelson Cinhl Rhys Anthony Haldane, by the Grace of God, King of Gwynedd, Prince of Meara, and Lord of the Purple March. There was a buzz of surprise as only Rory and his immediate party had known of the king's plan to attend. Preceded by his lancers, the king led the rest of the party into the hall and toward the dais  On either side the men bowed deeply and the ladies curtsied. Though there had been limited time for them to prepare for the occasion, all wore their finest garments and had obviously made every effort to look their best. The king was flanked by Duke Rory Haldane and Earl Brendan Coris. Other high ranking officials followed. The king carried Meara's jeweled sceptre.

Ratharkin's priests waited to the side of the dais behind the high backed, throne-like chair that sat in the center. The bishop of Meara had been absent in Valoret at a meeting of the synod when the uprisings began and had not yet been able to return. After the king had reached the dais and stood before the seat of power, the most senior of Ratharkin's priests stepped forward to offer a prayer of thanks and blessing for the proceedings.

The king began a brief address to the assembled nobles, their families and other prominent citizens. "I am pleased to see so many of you here in this hall. I know the past year has been difficult for you, particularly the seizing of the city by the rebels while your Viceroy was absent.
I deeply regret the suffering of the Mearan people, both here and in Laas, who have had little choice in the intrigues of some of their aristocracy and others who were seeking to advance their own fortunes. I also regret the loss of life that occurred during this rebellion."

Kelson continued: "We are cognizant of the fact that we allowed ourselves to become complacent during our long period of peace and did not keep as close a watch on what was happening in some parts of our kingdom as was needed. Had we been more alert, we might have prevented some of what has occurred. I want to assure you that plans are even now being put into place to ensure that this does not happen again." Kelson was interrupted by cheers from the assembled lords, ladies and citizens of Ratharkin.  "I am also most appreciative of the loyalty to myself and to your Duke that you maintained under extremely trying circumstances.You should know that most of the leaders of the rebellion have either been killed or captured. Those that are currently confined will be tried for their treason and will be punished." The king surveyed those gathered before him.

"I wish to recognize certain individuals who played a critical role in the success of our efforts to free Ratharkin and put an end to the rebellion.  Lord Hugh McCallan, join me on the dais."  Hugh was escorted forward by one of the guards to stand before the king. "Sir Hugh, we wish to reward your loyalty and recognize the sacrifices you made. We deeply regret the death of your son. Rest assured that those responsible will be punished. Please kneel." Sir Hugh knelt before  his king who placed a gold chain from which depended a gold medallion engraved with Kelson's likeness around his neck. "Wear this in recognition of the risks you took and the sacrifices you made for Meara."

Next Kelson summoned Lord Jaxom Trillic to approach the dais. Jaxom stepped up to the dais looking somewhat bewildered. Kelson addressed him. "I have heard very good reports of your progress and growing maturity. Sir Iain reported to me how you saved his life during the rescue of Lady Agnes and the hostages, displaying bravery and imagination in seizing on an unusual but effective weapon."  Jaxom blushed, the king knew about the frying pan!   Kelson smiled.  "Please kneel" Lord Jaxom knelt before his king who placed a similar chain around his neck.  He rose, bowed to the king and returned to his place.

Cheers rang out loud and long  throughout the hall. It was some time before the cheers began to die down. As the crowd quieted, there was a commotion at the back of the hall. One of Rory's guards approached the dais and bowed. He then spoke quietly into the duke's ear. Rory smiled happily and turned to speak softly to the king who smiled in his turn.  The duke announced. "Some very special guests have arrived. Prince Javan and his army have reached Ratharkin and are just outside our walls. He and several of his officers are waiting outside to join our celebration for which they are to a large degree responsible. Let us have them in to join our celebration."

The guard bowed and moved back down the aisle to fling open the door. The herald announced His Royal Highness, Prince Javan Haldane, Prince Albin Haldane, His Grace Kelric Morgan, Duke of Corwyn, and her Grace, Duchess Noellie Haldane. As the party moved forward, the prince escorting the duchess, the cheers again rang out, even louder than before. When they reached the dais, Prince Javan handed the duchess to her husband and the two of them turned together to face their people.

The king could barely control his pride and joy as he again addressed those present in the hall. "Prince Javan, his officers and his army are responsible for the defeat of the main rebel army at Laas, the capture of that army and the death of one of the main rebel leaders. They prevented the seizure of the capitol. The rebellion is truly over and Meara is safe." Cheers again broke out.

Duke Rory quieted the crowd. "This is indeed a day for acknowledging all those who contributed to our success and celebrating such a fortunate outcome. Let us feast!  I hope all will enjoy the celebration." At the duke's signal, the priest came forward to pronounce the benediction. The king's party left the dais and exited the hall. Pages began to circulate with trays of tasty treats and cups of wine. Those present in the hall began to relax and to circulate among their friends. They heard more cheers from outside as the king, Prince Javan and the Duke and Duchess stepped outside the castle doors to show themselves to the people. It was indeed a very happy day.






Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on May 25, 2020, 12:28:49 PM
The old tinker urged Dash on toward Ratharkin's gate. The good, steady beast drew the tinker's cart at a sedate, even pace.  As he always had.  Behind the cart  trod a good horse, tied to the back of the cart with enough distance to walk comfortably.  If anyone wondered why the tinker had suddenly acquired such a fine horse, they would judge it a just reward for services rendered from Duke Rory.  The tinker had no intention of leaving his finer mount behind.

It was late morning, and the gates stood open under the watchful eyes of Duke Rory's garrison.  As the tinker urged Dash forward, the guards waved him on without concern.  The tinker had passed through these gates  many times; they did not know that this time he did not intend to return.

Once through the gate, the tinker urged Dash down the way that would eventually return him to his hideaway.  Sir Roland and Lady Maeve would give Dash the retirement he deserved.  The tinker's cart would be housed in the shed for now; the tools could be repurposed for other tasks.  Who knew what role he would next need to assume to serve the King of Gwynedd?

But first, Master Feyd would need to be dealt with.  His ward cubes were still in the King's possession in Rhemuth, and Feyd would want them back.  That duty may or may not fall to Sir Iain, but he would return to Rhemuth by Portal and be ready to do what was required.

When all was finished, he would again ask the king's leave to return to Isles.  His stepfather must be dealt with and Isles set right. Never again would the watchfires not be lit when needed!  And he had a score to settle for his brother's sake. 

The birds sang cheerfully as Dash made his way steadily forward.  The tinker cleared his mind of the tasks still to be faced.  This was a day to be enjoyed, and he revelled in the beauty of the clear skies and the birdsong.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on May 28, 2020, 12:14:43 PM
Father! I am at a loss! I can not find a way to help him! The rapport came unexpectedly  from the dear Lady Aliset. It revealed a vulnerability he rarely felt from her.

Him! Who! What has happened? Columicil tried to calm his mind to get to the source of her distress. She was so upset. Had something happened to Darcy?

It's Wash! Aliset exclaimed.  We can not wake him.  He has come to harm by a spell cast on a gem. There are many spells on this ruby, and I can not begin to dispel them all. I could only succeed at the outermost spell- the one that made us forget about its excistance after Wash had found it in the crumbling sides of an ancient well- the other spells are embedded and tangled within the ruby. It is impossible for me to discern what they truly are and what they are meant to do.

"Och hen!"  Father Columcil exclaimed aloud. Faces in the Arx Fidei library turned to shush the father, but Columcil did not hear them as he was too focused on receiving the images that Lady Aliset sent to him of the events from the last two days. Her concern poured through the link and he was very moved by it.

We need help! she pleaded at the end of her account. Columcil was silent after her plea as he settled the information that had been rushed to him. Father, please, can you help us?

Columcil disciplined his nerves so as not to lose contact with the shaken lady. Ye showed me 'at Wash is breathin' easily and seems calm in his sleep. Columcil relayed attempting to ascertain the full breadth of the circumstances. Ye cannae pass his shields? E'en in his sleep? Ye shood be able tae mak' some sort ay contact wi' heem.

Father, it is not any sleep I have seen before. Washburn's shields are firm. He does seem at peace, but he is definitely held in thrall by this ruby. We can not even pull the gem from his hand, for it sends a shock to anyone who touches it.  Can you come to us? I beg of you. Is there anyone there who could come with you who could help us dispel this thing?

Columcil thought for a moment. Nay, ta three Arilans hae left fer Rhemuth. They hae the man who attacked Fiona. They waur takin' heem tae th' king for questionin. Ah don't think Ah cuid get a Rapport back tae them until tonecht when things hae settled doon at their end. Columcil thought hard. There was no one in Rhemuth that he was close enough to in order to make contact without a scheduled Rapport time. Duncan was already locked away in the Synod. Columcil had sat himself outside their meeting room, in the small adjacent library, in case his grandfather needed him, but he could not barge into the Synod and ask for Duncan's help. The bishops were locked away, at least for now.

We don't have time for that, Father, please can you come? You are the closest to Wash. If anyone can get through to him, it would be you. Please, Father, I would not ask this of you, if we were not desperate, Aliset begged.

I...Ah will come! Columcil agreed. If Ah run puir Spean hard, Ah can be thaur by noon.

Oh, Father, don't overtax your horse or yourself. We will stay here at the inn and keep a watch on Washburn. Whenever you get here will be good enough for us. Thank you. Alset added enclosing a mental hug with her ending the Rapport.

Columcil found himself taking in a deep breath as he came out of Rapport. He blinked and looked around at the others in the small library. Some students were reading nearby, others were copying text. All seemed to look away from him as his eyes touched theirs. Some students in Arx Fidei were Deyrni, but their numbers were still few, he didn't think that anyone here could have breached his Rapport as he spoke with Aliset. Most appeared more curious than dismayed. It could not be helped, he had not expected Aliset's call, so he had not prepared the space in which he sat to complete her contact. 

As students returned to their own business, Columcil pulled parchment and inkwell toward him. From the Archbishop's offices in Rhemuth, two Deryni had arrived by Portal at the opening of the day, both sharing great concern for the wellbeing of His Grace Duncan. One of the persons was Duncan's chaplain, a priest named Taggert Moreau, who had been seeing that the archbishop's duties in Rhemuth were being attended to in his absence. He had joined Duncan today to keep the log at the Synod. However, he also had a more personal reason for coming. He was Lord Sextus Arilan's step-son and he had dearly wanted to give his prayers to his mentor, Bishop Arilan. As for right now, Chaplain Taggert would be with the Archbishop in chambers and would not be able to take Columcil's letter.

The other person who had arrived this morning was Magistra Helena. When Columcil had been introduced to her briefly this very morning, he had been struck by her comeliness and her authority as one of the women in charge of the Rhemuth Schola. She was a Healer and seemed close to the archbishop. She had said she would be in conference with the seminary master here at Arx Fidei this morning if anyone had a need for her. Columcil determined that he did have that need.

He put quill to ink and wrote to her a message, explaining that something important had come to his attention and that he needed to leave, but he could not go unless he knew Archbishop Duncan would be cared for if the need arose.  Could she respond back to him if she would oversee the duties that he had so far been responsible for since his grace had collapsed during the funeral service? 

Columcil tossed a little sand over the parchment, then blew it away. Quickly, he folded the page in thirds, then he used a little magic to seal the letter so that only Magistra Helena could open it. He called for the clerk's aide to hurry the letter to the lady it was addressed to. When the boy was gone, Columcil stood and walked toward the back of the library. The books on spell-cast gems would be somewhere near the back in the chained section so that no one could take the books from the premises.

He perused down two shelves of chained books, thumbing through a volume or two, yet not finding what he was looking for. He was startled when a soft voice spoke behind him.

"Father Columcil, I presume."

Columcil nearly dropped the book he was examining. He turned quickly. "Aye, Magistra Helena. I hae no expected ye tae come in person."

"Your letter sounded urgent," the lady responded. She was of more years than his own, yet not a blemish touched her features. The wimple seemed to frame her face rather than give her the dowdy look of an older nun. When she spoke, she spoke confidently. "I know who you are. Duncan has spoken well of you. And if you are in need, tell me what it is and I would like to help in any way that I can."

"I thank ye most kindly, Magistra. I cae only leave if you agree to perform my Healer's duties for the sake of the Archbishop."

"That is why I am here. I will do that without question.  As for the books that you are reading, those are not Healer's texts. What is it you seek?"

"May I...?" Columcil asked, holding out his palm. The magistra did not hesitate as she placed her hand inside his. What passed between them was her knowledge that he was Duncan's grandson and Sir Washburn's relation. That gave him courage to send across what Lady Aliset had told him. "Ye kin why Ah main gang."

"I do. However, that is not the book that you seek. Let me see if they have a copy here of the one you want." Magistra Helena closed her eyes and gave a soft hum, then she turned, opened her eyes and took two steps down the shelf, pointing to a book high up on the top shelf. "I can not reach it, and I will not say how it disappeared from the shelf, nor how it will be returned, but that one is the one that you will need." She turned to leave, then she turned back. "I am aware of the peril that your cousin has been in for these many days. Duncan has been torn up with worry over Alaric's youngest son. I do not like being the bearer of more troubled news told to his Grace. Yet, I will tell Duncan about our discussion, later, after his meetings have adjourned. To ease his worry, I will tell him to expect a report from you at sunset.  Don't make him wait. The stress of it will be bad enough for him. Do you understand?"

"Ah do, Magistra Helena. Ah thank ye. Ah wulnae lit mah grandfaither doon," Columcil said with a bow.

When she had left, and no one was passing by to see, Columcil used a little bit of thievery magic to break the chain and lift the book down from the shelf. He murmured prayers asking for forgiveness as he tucked the spell book under his cloak. He paced quickly out of the library. He would pack his things and be out of the gates of Arx Fidei in a matter of minutes.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on May 29, 2020, 07:44:06 AM
Aliset exhaled in a long sigh as the link with Columcil dissolved. A look of profound relief relaxed her face as she turned to Darcy.  "He is coming! Father Columcil will be here by noon. We will need to keep watch over Washburn and protect him until the good father arrives. I hope he will be able to break this spell or find someone else who can."

Darcy put his arm around his wife. He was aware of how tense and frightened she had been since they had found Washburn under a spell which she could not identify much less reverse.  He hoped the good father would be more successful in breaking the spell.

The three of them had sat on the other narrow bed during the rapport. After it was over, they had again studied the man on the other bed. There had been no change in the knight. Wash had not moved at all, but he continued to breathe easily and quietly and appeared to be deeply asleep. Darcy proposed that they move to the larger room to decide on a course of action  until the good father arrived.  But Fiona refused to leave him alone even for a short time. "I will not leave him as long as he remains in this state. He is vulnerable and unable to defend himself. We don't know who placed this spell on him or why, but I believe there is evil purpose here." Fiona looked up at the other two defiantly.  Her expression reminded Darcy of an angry goose he had seen once, ready to attack if her charge was threatened. That goose had had a mean bite when aroused.

Aliset smiled and took Fiona's hand, "Help is on the way." She then continued in mind speech. The good father is coming. He planned to leave immediately and hopes to be here by noon.  Our charge now is just to continue to watch over Wash until Columcil arrives.

Fiona gave Aliset a puzzled look. "Why are you using mind speech? Surely no one can hear what we are saying here in our rooms."

Darcy snorted. "These walls aren't made of stone you know."

Aliset continued mind speaking to Fiona. I am concerned about the spells I detected on that gem. I could not identify them, but I know it is possible to place a spell on such a jewel that acts almost like scrying.  It would allow whoever placed the spell to see and hear what is going on around the person wearing it. We will need to be very careful what we say around it. We cannot be sure that there is no one eavesdropping on us.

Fiona frowned in concern. "What should we do now?"


Darcy replied, "I believe we should stay in our rooms and discuss our plans, but we also need to break our fast. I will go and procure some bread and cheese and fruit and bring it back here to eat." The two women agreed and Darcy left the room to find food for them.

After a short time, Darcy returned with food and a pitcher of light ale. He divided the food among the three of them. " Let us move  to our room to eat. It will be less crowded and more comfortable for all of us. I believe that it will be safe to leave Wash for the short time required to eat our meal. We will be able to discuss our plan of action in safety away from him and that gem he holds."

They settled into the larger room to eat their meal. Darcy talked as they ate. "I think it best that no one else discovers what has happened until Columcil arrives. The people in these villages tend to be superstitious, and if they discover there is something going on that might include magic, especially dark magic, I don't know how they might react. We certainly don't need a frightened group of villagers to cope with. Fear can often turn to anger and even violence if they feel threatened. They might even want to expel us from the village. It is probably best if we remain quietly in our rooms until help arrives. Each of us can take a turn sitting with Wash. Fiona, you may return first to your post watching over Wash. "If there is any problem or you have need of us,  just call. It might be better to mind speak to Aliset if you must call one of us."

Fiona nodded and stood to return to Wash. Darcy escorted her back to the room where Wash still slept and stood in the doorway while she made herself comfortable on the second bed where she would continue to keep watch on him.

He and Aliset had finished cleaning up after their meal and settled down when there was a knock at the door. Darcy partially opened it to see the maid standing there with her mop and pail. "I need to do yer rooms. Will ye be goin out soon so I can do me cleanin?"

Darcy replied. "We are not ready to go out yet. You will need to put off cleaning in here for now. We will let the landlord know when we are going out and you can get in."

The woman then looked at the adjacent door. "Since ye are in this room, how 'bout I clean the other room?"

Darcy shook his head. "I cannot allow that right now. One of our party was not feeling too well this morning and has gone back to bed to try to sleep it off. I don't want him disturbed. Perhaps there are other rooms you can clean and you can return later. This is for your trouble" He slipped her a small coin

The maid nodded with a wink. "A bit too much to drink eh?" She understood that. These lords often drank too much and woke with headaches and in foul moods. They often took out their bad moods on the servants. She didn't want to become the object of that bad mood. Best to let the man sleep awhile longer. "I will be back after I clean me other rooms, But I will have ta finish afore more people come in askin for rooms." She turned away and headed down the hall.

Darcy closed the door with a sigh of relief . Darcy and Aliset looked at each other and smiled. They knew Fiona was going to keep a close watch on Wash.  Now they settled down to await Columcil's arrival
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on May 30, 2020, 03:40:28 PM
"Enter!" Aliset Cameron said in response to the light tap on the door.  She was sitting in the chair and had just finished tidying her hair.

Darcy entered, closed the door behind him and slouched against it.  "I can't remember when I've suffered so much rejection in one day," he said petulantly.

Aliset smiled.   "Did you really think Fiona would let you relieve her to watch over Washburn for a while?" 

"It was a possibility, though not a very likely one," he responded.

"Besides, if I count correctly, that is only one rejection today."  Aliset returned her comb to her satchel.

"Ah, but there you are wrong, love.  The first rejection was from you when I suggested a more satisfying way to pass the time alone in our room." Darcy waggled a finger at her in mock reproach.

"Darcy!  This was hardly the right time, especially with Washburn in his current condition."  Aliset shook her head at him reprovingly.

"Aye, you are right.  You know that Father Columcil would have arrived at exactly the wrong moment."  He stood straighter and pretended to knock on a door in front of him.

"Ach, I thought ye said ye were desperate for ma help and needed me richt away!" Darcy said in the worst brogue Aliset had ever heard.

"Aye, we do Father," Darcy gave the imaginary reply in his normal voice.  "But can you just give us a moment or two longer? Or maybe three?"

"Oh Darcy!" Aliset admonished and then began to laugh.  "How is it you can make me smile despite these circumstances?"

"It's one of my many talents," he said as he walked toward her.  "I could show you a couple more..."

"Oh, no you don't!"  Aliset held her hands out to ward him off, still giggling.

Darcy sat down across from her on the bed and glanced at the position of the sun through the open window.  "We still have a bit  more waiting to do."

"Why don't you go for a short walk?" Aliset suggested.  "You are beginning to have a 'trapped in a cage' look about you."

"I wouldn't mind stretching my legs a bit," Darcy replied as he stretched them out in front of him.  "But that's when something is likely to happen.  Somehow things usually work that way."

"If Washburn shows the slightest change in his condition, I'll call for you at once using mindspeech.  I promise."

Darcy stood and walked toward her,  "Just for a short walk.  I won't go far in case I need to return quickly."  He gave his wife a lingering kiss before pulling reluctantly away.  "I'd best be off."

"Maybe you'll catch sight of Father Columcil arriving," Aliset said encouragingly after taking a deep breath.

"Aye, that would be good," he said as he closed the door behind him.  He quickly descended the stairs and as usual, took a moment to survey the inn's main room.  The maid was speaking with the innkeeper, who gave Darcy a sharp look as Darcy crossed the room.  Darcy gave him a noncommittal nod and proceeded out into the street.

***

It was nearing noon when Darcy returned to the inn.  He hadn't intended to be gone quite that long, but he had decided to check on the horses while he was out and was pleased to see that they were being well cared for.  As Darcy approached the stairs to the rooms above, he noted the innkeeper was not present.  He began to take the stairs two-at-a-time when he recognised Fiona's voice raised in a very firm "NO!"

He found the innkeeper and his maid standing in front of Washburn's room.  Fiona stood in the doorway with the door mostly closed behind her, one hand firmly placed on either side of the doorframe, blocking anyone from entering.  Aliset was approaching from her room with a look of stern determination on her face.

"Stand back!" Darcy commanded.  "What is the problem here?" 

The innkeeper stepped back involuntarily at the tone of Darcy's voice, and Darcy took the opportunity to insert himself between the innkeeper and Fiona.

"My maid needs to tidy the room, and this lady," the innkeeper nodded toward Fiona,  "will not let her enter."

"I told the maid earlier that the man within was not feeling well and should not be disturbed," Darcy replied calmly but equally as firm as Fiona had been.

"The room needs to be cleaned before the next guest," the innkeeper said with equal firmness.

"I have paid for both rooms for two nights, so there will be no next guests until tomorrow.  Surely you can leave the rooms until then."  Darcy rested his hands on his hips, which drew the innkeeper's attention to the sword at his side.

"The chamber pots need to be emptied," the innkeeper stated.  "I'll not allow vermin to gain a foothold in my inn.  Now stand aside!"

"We can pass you the pots to be emptied if that is your concern," Aliset said placatingly.  "The maid can start with our other room."

"Something stinks more than chamber pots about this, and I will know what it is!" the innkeeper snapped and took a step closer to Darcy, close enough that it could now be difficult for Darcy to draw his blade.  "I am also the Reeve of Windyner, and I have the authority to determine if anything untoward is happening in this inn!"  He looked pointedly at Fiona, who gasped with indignation.

Darcy stiffened, his ice blue eyes taking on a cold, hard look.  "Reeve you may be, but I have a writ from King Kelson that demands I keep the man within safe from harm."  It might not be exactly what it said, but it was close enough.  "I will not allow him to be disturbed until such time as I deem it appropriate!"

For a moment the two men stared at each other and then the innkeeper spoke, his voice as cold as Darcy's.  "We will see what Father Micheal, our village priest, has to say about this.  You would do well to soften your stance before a man of God!"

"Our own priest will be joining us, so both sides will be represented in any discussion.  If any is required," Darcy added.

The innkeeper turned on his heel and strode downstairs, followed  by the maid.  Some water sloshed from her bucket as she tried to keep up with him.

"Whatever was he thinking!" Fiona said hotly.

"Pay no mind," Aliset said soothingly but with a concerned look at Darcy.  Perhaps leaving Fiona alone with Washburn in his room had not been wise.  "I confess, I am surprised he turned away so readily to fetch Father Michael."

"I suspect he can't read, so he needs the priest to inspect my writ.  Hopefully Father Columcil arrives in time to calm these troubled waters before we have a full storm."  Darcy motioned for Fiona to precede them into the room.  Washburn lay as he had before, his breathing even and his apparent sleep undisturbed.

"I grow more concerned that the commotion just outside his door has not stirred him a bit," Darcy said, the worry evident in his voice.  "I hope Father Columcil arrives soon and can discover what is wrong."

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on June 06, 2020, 10:52:01 PM
Crimson... Crystalline... Constant... Cool... Calm...

No wants. No needs. Drifting in a slow swirl. 
A second. An eternity. Did it matter?
Boundless. Yet bound.
Unrestrained. Yet captive...

Confinement had never sat well with the mind before this.
Confined to a school desk and chair.  No, the body needed to run free.
Confined to an arena. No, the sword needed to defeat the foe. To champion the crowd and earn their love.
Confined to a dungeon. NO! The mind needed to break the chains and win back freedom.

"Breath easy, Sir knight. Here there are no such concerns... Forget all that was before." The voice had a bass purr. Wash was not sure, but thought it came from his inner being.

Calm... Cool... Constant... Crystalline... Crimson...

Lendour Crimson. Smooth boundaries. A round egg. A dragon's egg. Eternal and mystifying.
Curiosity... Small blemishes marred the crystalline beauty... Smokey hazes that caught the eye.
There, just off center, a blur, a defect, a defiance to the perpetual perfection.

Washburn was intrigued.  He pushed to investigate the blemish.

He entered the cloud, a red blinding fog. Yet not blinding. Glimpses of shades of events long past filled his vision: Scolding from an elder brother...  Drowning in the deep Southern Sea... A ride on the pommel of his father's war steed with the crowd cheering all around and a strong loving hand holding him in place.

"Grrrr..." The bass purr turned to a low rolling sound which vibrated through the fog. Fangs, sharp and contrasting to the endless red separated Wash from his visions of the crowd. The beast blocked his view of his child-self and his father.

"Step aside. I want to see that!" Wash called out.

Cat eyes within the red mist, focused and narrowed. They glared at Wash, then there came a warning growl. As if on cue, the horse and rider started to recede into the fog.

"Father! Don't go! It is I, your son. I need you!" Wash yelled out, but the image of his father did not acknowledge him.

Out from the fog a full head of the breast emerged, he was all golden with a great waving mane. "Get back to your place, Lendour. You don't dominate here! I am king, I rule all!"

"NO!" Wash yelled. He reached for his sword. But his sword was tied down with a leather strapping and was impossible to free from his belt. 

The lion, king of all beasts, stood rampant and roared in guardant fashion, emulating the stance of a Haldane. Washburn cowered back and the lion came down on all fours, satisfied. "You are my minion. I say forget all that has been, it is not worthy of remembrance."

"No! Please Sire, I need to remember!" pleaded the knight falling to his knees before his king. "I want back what I once had."

"You had nothing!" The kingly lion growled back. "You are a ne'er-do-well. In the grand scheme of the Eleven kingdoms, nobody."

"I am more than nothing!"  Wash resisted. "I have abilities, I have reason. I am my father's son. He was King's champion. A warrior. A statesman. I am a warrior, I am a Healer. I've regained some of my memory and I will find where you have hidden the others from me. I will have them back."

The lion roared out and turned aside, swiping a great claw over the Washburn-child and his father on horseback. The memory bayed like a lamb and ran away from the great lion.

"You can not break me of who I am!" Washburn yelled at the lion. Believing he defied his king, he charged forward and dove under the great jaw that would bite into his flesh.

((12:57 <•Laurna> Washburn avoids the beast
12:57 <•Laurna> !roll 2d6
12:57 <GameServ> Laurna rolled 2d6: 5 6 <Total: 11>))

Washburn was quick and agile, his breathing barely increased. He dodged under the lion and past the swiping claws, he ran up a crystalline hill, following the lamb, ahead he could see a high fenced corral that confined a great herd of many different animals.  A snowy lynx came to run beside him on the right, and a golden eagle flew down from above to protect his back. An even larger bird, a white shouldered sea eagle, circled above Washburn's head calling out defiance. A large gray hare jumped out from the fog to protect the knight's left side. Surrounded by his companions, Wash raced confidently up to the fence that held all manner of creatures behind it: a stag, a griffon, a marlin, a Norse cow, sparrows and fish, frogs and lizards, wolves and bears. All creatures representing parts of the past lost to Washburn.

Wash pulled at the fence, wanting to break it down. It would not budge. He kicked at it, it moved not a bit. Only his foot hurt for his efforts. He tore at the bindings to the fence; his fingers bled, yet the fence held. His confidence was waning and his desperation grew.

"Your efforts are wasted, little man," growled the lion. "I am the protector of these poor lost creatures. If you persist, I will devour them, so that you will never see them again." The lion leaped to the space between Wash and the fence and forced Wash and his friends back several paces.

"They are part of me. I feel it. Let them free."

The lion only laughed, not the laugh of the king of beasts, but a laugh of a malevolent man, a scholar, a captor, an assassin.

Wash suddenly knew it wasn't the king that he faced, it was the man who had imprisoned him once. Wash stepped backward, sudden fear made him look around. Had the man imprisoned him a second time? How had he not realized this before?

"You are not my king. I know who you are. With the blood of my father running in my veins, I defy you!" Wash yelled.

"You can try," the lion stated. The assassin's beast paced steadily between Wash and the fenced in memories, his eyes glowing, his fangs dripping with anticipated saliva.

As if called by Washburn's defiance, a hot sulfuric wind blew at both man and lion from above. In the crimson sky, Wash swore he saw the movement of a great pair of wings.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on June 14, 2020, 02:29:37 PM
The reeve of Windynar strood purposely into the church. Belatedly  he dropped to his knee, crossed himself before the altar, and then before he had even stood, he yelled out, "Father Michael, are you here? I am in need of your assistance."

The two priests of the church, one older and one younger, came into the church proper from a side door. "No need to yell, my son. I am here," said the older priest with a calm forbearance.

"Will you come with me, Father. I need to evict these two men and their women from my inn. No doubt you have seen them? The whole village is whispering about these two fighting men who should be at the war to the west, but are here far from battle with women, instead."

"We have taken note of them," Father Michael said with a nod. He looked briefly at the younger priest who raised an eyebrow and gave a sly smirk, as if that very subject had been a private conversation between them. "Reeve, I dare say, they are noblemen, and I presume they have paid for your service. So evicting them would not be good for the village."

"Aye, they paid. But the tall one is said to be ill with drink and can not be moved. And that would be from no drink that I provided to them, nor did the tavern supply them enough to be so drunk. I have talked with Trever about it. The short fighting man, he says he is a lord, but he does not act like one. Well now, he says he has a writ from the king to protect the drunk one. Drunk lords are trouble, trouble I don't need in my inn. Bad enough that the lassie was seen going into his room and she didn't come out in hours. I don't run that kind of inn and you well know what I think of that kind of debauchery."

"You're a good man of God," Father Michael said in agreement. "These are troubled times, The good Lord teaches us to love all people and try to understand their hardships as well as our own. These men may not be as they appear."

"I follow the words of the good book the best I can, Father. But I must protect the village the only way I know how. As for the written word. You know I don't read. So will you come? If the short man does have a real writ from the king, then I must abide by it. But I ask you to prove that the writ is a fraud and the man a liar. Then I will bring my boys in and chase these knaves out of our good town."

"I will come," the elder Father Michael said, then he turned to his guest from Torenth.  "Father Paulos, would you care to come with us?"

The younger priest almost laughed, but then pursed his lips to hide his mirth. "No, I think I shall remain behind and pray that no trouble befalls the good town of Windynar. High lords, even from Torenth, are known to bring troubled times to the God fearing folk of the small villages. "

"I welcome your prayers," Father Michael said. Then he and the reeve walked together out of the church and down the street toward the inn.

They arrived just as did a rider on a lathered horse. A man of the cloth, by the look of him, but one who looked anything but pious at that very moment.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on June 22, 2020, 01:46:22 PM
Father Paulos watched as the Reeve led Father Michael towards the inn. This was not the first time he had witnessed the involvement of Windyner's elder in something going on at the inn. No, since Windyner is a stopping point on the east road to Valoret it is a common occurrence with strangers.

During his time in the village Father Paulos has sat in on a few of these investigations and judgements. Truth reading some to see how well human judgement got it correct. He had been surprised by the accuracy of Father Michael's ability in determining truth from falsehood.

And here, in this instance, Father Paulos himself turned back to his duties inside the village parish. Thinking that things were well in hand by Father Michael and the Reeve. A foreign Deryni priest would not be needed in this case.

But Father Paulos was wrong. A foreign Deryni priest would be needed soon. For what awaited Father Michael was dark magic beyond his understanding.

In an unknown corner of Father Paulos's mind, hidden from even himself, were thoughts of what was to come next. For Washburn, the son of Alaric Morgan, was the cause of the disturbance at the inn.

And he was being held in thrall by an old Torenthi spell. Little known today in the Peace of Kelson that was being challenged on the far side of Gwynedd by a rebellion. But it was not forgotten by some certain Deryni houses in the east that have kept the practice alive.

The hidden thoughts knew that Father Michael would call for his friend, the Torenthi Deryni priest when magic is discovered causing the strangers distress. And Father Paulos would come. A dutiful servant he was and just as much in thrall to the master as Washburn was.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on July 02, 2020, 07:28:16 PM
After the encounter with the innkeeper, Fiona returned to the room where Washburn still lay without moving. She closed the door behind her and walked over to the bed. He still lay exactly as he had since he fell into what they now believe to be a coma caused by the ruby clutched in his hand. He had not stirred despite the loud voices and altercation occurring just outside his door.

They had sought to discover the source of the coma. Darcy had tried to take the stone from Wash's hand, but it had delivered a painful shock to his hand and arm when he touched it. Fortunately Aliset had not needed to touch the gem to examine it.  She had discovered several spells on the ruby but had not been able to identify what they were or their purpose.  Any attempt to touch or move the gem resulted in pain to the person making the effort.

Fiona paced the small room restlessly. She was frightened. The innkeeper was loud and angry. He had demanded that he be admitted to Washburn's room to see for himself what was ailing the knight. He was afraid that his drunken guest could wake and cause mayhem, just as fighting men had done so often in the past and this would frighten others away. Darcy had not tried to dissuade the innkeeper from his thoughts about his inebriated  guest. For if magic, especially black magic, was suspected as the cause of the knight's condition,  people would be afraid that it could somehow affect them. She didn't know how they might react or what they might try to do to Wash and his companions. Fright could turn to anger, and they could become a mob. They had to do something but what could they do?

She whirled around as the door opened.  She relaxed as Aliset entered. Aliset moved to stand beside Wash and asked quietly, "Any change?"

Fiona replied. "No. He has not moved or stirred since this began. I am afraid that the innkeeper will get the villagers stirred up, and they may do anything. They might try to force us out of the village or even try to harm Wash. We have to do something!" Fiona was becoming more agitated.

Aliset sat on the other bed and motioned Fiona to sit beside her. Fiona sat and Aliset took her hand. "Calm yourself. I understand your concern for Washburn. We all share it. The innkeeper sent for Father Michael, and I have found the priest to be a  reasonable and reassuring  person. The villagers trust him, and I think he will be able to quiet their fears. But he will want to discover the nature of the problem, and I don't see how we could keep him from seeing what has happened. Nor can we really explain it."

"Then we have to do something to remove that cursed stone!" Fiona was up and pacing again.
Aliset answered. "You saw what happened when Darcy touched it. If we try again to move it, we don't know what will happen. It could release an even stronger shock and cause lasting harm  to the person touching it. And we can't be sure it won't cause harm to Wash."

Fiona came back to sit beside Aliset and turned pleading eyes toward her.  "I can't just sit here and do nothing. I think I may know a way to get at the stone without incurring injury. It's a spell my mother taught me when I was a girl. It can be used on articles you are wearing to protect you from injury if you are attacked. I have a pair of leather riding gloves. If I can put the spell on the gloves and wear them to grasp the stone, I might be able to get it out of his grasp without getting shocked. Then he would be free!" Fiona jumped up and went to the door. "I'll get the gloves." She ran out of the room.

She returned in a few minutes carrying a pair of soft, brown leather riding gloves. She resumed her place beside Aliset and showed her the gloves.  "Once the spell is in place, I will be able to grasp the stone safely and pull it from Washburn's grasp!" Fiona's cheeks were flushed with excitement.

Aliset placed a hand on her arm and spoke to her soothingly. "Wait. We must consider what could happen if we remove the ruby."

"What is there to consider? Wash would be free of its evil influence. He would be himself again. Isn't that the result we want?"

"Of course," Aliset replied. "But we don't really know whether that is the result we would get. I want Wash to be released too, but I'm not sure that would be the outcome of removing the ruby. As I told you,  I could see several layers of spells but I could not identify what they were or their purpose, nor could I remove them. While we might free him, we also could harm him. We just don't know what would happen. We know the stone can attack us, we don't know whether it would also attack Wash."

Fiona's mouth turned down, a few tears appeared in the corners of her eyes, she sighed deeply. She began to plead with Aliset. "I can't just continue to sit here and do nothing! I have to help him somehow!"

"Father Columcil will be here soon and perhaps he will be able to help us determine what is best to do, or he will be able to help us find someone who can remove these spells. I know it's hard but I think the best thing we can do right now is wait and continue to watch over Wash."  She tried to pat Fiona's hand but the girl continued to look mutinous.

Darcy entered the room. "Is everything alright?  I thought I heard raised voices. Is there a problem?" He looked at both the ladies with concern.

Aliset spoke up. "Fiona is afraid of what the innkeeper and the villagers might do if they are convinced that magic, especially black magic is involved. She feels there is more we could do to free Wash from the spells on the ruby."

Darcy turned to look at Fiona. "What is it that you think we can do differently to enable us to free Wash? You saw what happened when I tried. I don't see what else we can do until Father Columcil arrives.."

Fiona's cheeks flushed, and she stamped her foot. "You don't know what will happen when the village priest arrives. I am sure he will be attended by not only the innkeeper but  anxious villagers too. How will we withstand their demands?"

"I have the king's writ which the priest can read to them directing us to protect the knight and keep him safe. Surely they won't disobey the king?" Darcy looked at his two companions.

Aliset replied. "Frightened people will do things that they would not ordinarily do if they feel threatened. We must convince them that what has befallen Wash does not threaten them. It is coming from one source, the stone, which is directed only at him though we don't know why."

Fiona snorted. "Do you really think they will listen? And we do not know who placed those spells on the stone and made certain that Wash would find it. We don't know the intentions of the spellcaster but I have felt all along that there is evil intent here."

Aliset spoke."Fiona thinks she knows a way to get the ruby out of Washburn's grasp, using gloves with a magic spell on them to protect her from any shock. .She knows how to place this spell on her gloves and thinks she can then get stone out of his grasp. I have told her of my concern that even if she manages to pry it out of his grasp, we don't know what the effect of such an action might be on Wash.  While it might free him, it could just as easily do lasting harm to him. We just don't know enough to take the chance. I think we need to wait for Father Columcil. It is not long until Sext and the good father should be here."

"I understand your worry, Fiona, but I feel our best course and the safest for Wash is to wait." Darcy laid a sympathetic arm across Fiona's shoulders but she remained stiff and unyielding.

After a short time, they heard voices  in the street. Darcy looked out the window and saw the priest approaching followed by several villagers.  He turned to tell the women that Father Michael was near. He felt in his belt pouch and removed the parchment that outlined Kelson's charge to him regarding Sir Washburn. He addressed Fiona and Aliset. "I'm going to move to the other room to draw them away from this room. Stay with Washburn." He moved toward the door.

Aliset followed.  "I'm going with you. Perhaps two of us will have a better chance of delaying them. "  Darcy nodded and they left the room closing the door behind them. He hoped he could hold off the innkeeper and the villagers at least until Columcil arrived.

As soon as Fiona was alone with Washburn, she again considered trying to get the ruby out of his grasp. She understood Aliset's concern that they couldn't be sure that such an action would not harm rather than help him. But neither could they know what might result from allowing him to remain as he was. If the villagers became alarmed about the possibility of black magic being involved,  there was no knowing what they might do. It wasn't long ago that Deryni had been burned because of fear of their magic. She had to do something!

Quickly, Fiona pulled out the leather gloves and placed them on the empty bed. She knelt beside the bed and focused, taking several deep breaths and calming herself. She felt herself entering  a light trance. She focused on the gloves and allowed the trance to deepen. She repeated the words of the spell as she remembered them.
    Our Lady, in your sympathy for those in danger
    imbue these objects with your power
    That they may provide protection to those who wear them
    blocking attacks from without and preventing harm.
    In nomine patrii, et filie, et spiritus sanctus. Amen
A golden aura surrounded the gloves, seeming to penetrate the leather until it was no longer separate and visible from the leather.

Fiona slipped her hands into the gloves.She felt a tingle in her palms and fingers but it was not unpleasant. She stood and moved to the bed on which Wash lay, kneeling down beside him. Now that the moment was here, she was frightened but she was also determined. She could see the glint of the ruby through his fingers. Gingerly, she reached out to grasp one of his fingers and attempt to straighten it and pull it away from the stone.

Is Fiona able to straighten the first finger and pull it away from the stone?
Dice roll !roll 1d6. Use 3 xp to increase chance of success to 4,5, or 6
Results = 3. Attempt failed

Wash's grip is like iron, and she is unable to straighten even the first finger. As she pulls at it, the stone flashes. Although the glove protects her from the pain experienced by Darcy in his attempt, she can sense its power. Just for a second, Wash seems almost to grimace and moans softly. Fiona remembers what Aliset said about the possibility that the ruby would attack Wash if they managed to pry it loose. She should have listened! She looks carefully at him, but now all is as it was before. His breathing is quiet and easy and his position is unchanged. He continues to hold the stone as he had before.  She removes the gloves and curls up close beside him. Tears run down her cheeks. There is nothing she can do but wait and pray that Father Columcil will arrive soon and will know what to do.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on July 03, 2020, 01:30:39 PM
All eyes looked up at the underbelly of red scales that sparkled through the red mist of the sky. Red leather wings again stroked the mist and the sulfuric whoosh of air brushed Wash's hair into his eyes. His hair had grown out since his last haircut. How long ago had that been? Hadn't that been when he had gotten a tonsure back at the monastery in Culdi. That had been so very long ago. At least that memory had not been caged up like so many others, memories in danger of being lost behind the fence at his back.

The lion-beast roared defiance, "I am guardian of this realm!" The breath of the beast blew Washburn's hair back from his face. And the winged dragon above them seemed to be blown just a little higher into the sky.

"I am a free man, I defy you!" Wash growled in a dangerous voice. He stood his ground before the lion. Yet his heart was not as confident as his words.  His hands moved to break the ties which held the sword hilt secure at his side. If he could just break those bonds, he could make a good attack.

The Sea Eagle screeched at his side. Interpreting the eagle speech, Wash heard Darcy's words.  "As you taught me, break the bonds with your powers!" To go into trance while facing down the enemy was a risk. Wash sensed the protection of his friends, they would defend him from attack. He closed his eyes, and reached for an inner calm. Thus it was that he missed the pacing of the snow-lynx to stand between him and the lion-beast.

The beautiful cat purred in anticipation of action. She too had reached an inner calm and had used her powers. Sensing her, Wash opened his eyes to see the white paws of the lynx turn golden with a surrounding aura of warding. The huntress tensed her hind legs, with great agility she leapt at the lion- beast.

Proud of her action yet terrified for her, Wash rushed forward. The lion roared and a bolt of lightning flashed between the lion and the pouncing cat. Blinded, Wash smacked hard against the sudden appearance of a crystalline wall. As the flash dissipated, he could just barely see the lion smiling on the wall's other side.

"Only the master can free you from this prison," laughed the beast.

Wash yelled out in frustration. Then he leaned down to find the defeated snow-lynx at his feet, She was crying yet unharmed. He bent down and picked the sleek cat up in his arms, he cradled her and pet her soft fur. Carrying her, he turned away from the crystalline wall and walked back to the corral of animals and the two eagles waiting for him there. "I am sorry that I have put you all in grave danger," he said to them.

"We are unharmed and we are here for you," the lynx said with a comforting purr.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on July 05, 2020, 06:57:49 AM
Columcil went quickly to his room and put together the few things that he would need. Then removing his cassock he dressed in a linen shirt and a pair of sturdy breeches. Carefully wrapping the precious text in a linen cloth he slipped it securely under his shirt next to his skin, and put his oldest thickest cassock over everything. In this warm summer weather he did not dare take a cloak; dressed for riding it would reasonably be assumed that he was on an errand for some of the higher clergy locked away in Synod, but with a cloak and a pack someone might see and suspect.

"Och ye gurt fool! Wha d'ye think wud be watchin' an auld priest like masen!" he chided himself, but he could not shake off the thought that it was best to trust no-one. Quickly he breathed a prayer of gratitude for Magistra Helena and brushed off the thought that he was abandoning his grandfather. Surely he, above all people would understand that he must do what he could for Alaric's son.

He went into the stable, where Spean whickered happily to see him. "Aye, ah've neglected ye too, ye puir beastie and noo ah'm asking ye tae run the best ye can."
He restrained his impatience while the stable lad saddled Spean for him, and in a friendly tone offered, "Och ah'll be reet glad ta tak some fresh air fer a wee bittie," but realised that he might as well have been speaking Torenthi given the blank look on the lad's face. So he sketched the sign of the cross by way of blessing, mounted Spean and took his way out of the Abbey in a gentle trot. Then when he was sure he was out of sight he whispered "Off ye gan then, ma beautie" and without a backwards glance galloped towards the inn where Aliset had told him he would be anxiously awaited. Pray God he would be there by noon and that his presence would be of some help.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on July 05, 2020, 12:16:37 PM
"Aliset," Darcy Cameron said as he left the door to their room open. The innkeeper would clearly see him, and hopefully that would deflect the troublemaker from Washburn's room.  "How concerned should I be about Fiona?"

"You're concerned about Fiona?"  Aliset replied carefully. 

"Aye, I am."  Darcy paused to consider his words.  "She is becoming very fond of Washburn."

Aliset sighed.  Darcy may have missed the early signs of her pregnancy, but he had not missed Fiona's increasing attention to the Lendour knight.  "Yes, I believe she is.  Does that trouble you?"

"Aye and nay,"  he responded.

"That's not helpful,"  Aliset said.  Under other circumstances, she might have made light of his concern, but she also had concerns.  And Darcy was hard to dissuade once he got started on something.  "Is it more 'aye' or more 'nay'?" she asked.

"I'm not sure."  Darcy paused to push stray strands of pale hair back from his face.  "If the circumstances were different, I don't think I would have any objections.  Of course, any decisions on Fiona's future will be Iain's,  and I don't know my brother well enough to guess what he would think."

"I think he would give due consideration to Fiona's feelings," Aliset said.

"I'd like to think so, but that hasn't always happened in my family," Darcy said dryly.

"Your stepfather was never your family,"  Aliset stated firmly, and Darcy smiled.

"But in Washburn's current condition, and the way his memories have been tampered with, I don't think it's wise. I respect the real Washburn; bloody hell, I respect the present Washburn!  I'm not sure I would be as resilient as he has been through all of this.  But that doesn't mean he's safe for Fiona at the moment."  Darcy sighed and sat on the edge of the table. Aliset seated herself in the chair. 

"Darcy, Fiona does care for Washburn."  Aliset could say that much without giving away any confidences Fiona had shared with her.  "But she was born and raised to be a proper lady.  She understands propriety and responsibility."

"She was also born a Cameron through her mother," Darcy replied.  "We tend to be very protective and chart whatever course is required to ensure those we care for reach safe harbour, despite the risks."

"I hadn't noticed," Aliset said dryly. 

"Oh, I'm sure you didn't," Darcy replied and grinned wryly.  "And I seem to remember another proper young lady who threw caution into a gale to do what she thought needed to be done."

"Touché."

"The more her feelings for him grow," Darcy continued,  "the more likely it is she will do something rash.  You saw how distraught she was earlier."

"Yes," Aliset replied.  "But she listened to what we told her.  Surely she would not do something foolish."

"You forget the Cameron part," Darcy replied. 

"I never forget the Cameron part."

Darcy grinned at her.  "And best you never do."  He sighed.  "When we have freed Washburn from the gem, and returned to him his proper memories, we'll be able to look at this in a different light.  Aliset," he said suddenly.  "What if Washburn sees her differently then?  What if his affections take a different course?"

Aliset saw that Darcy had not been oblivious to Washburn's attentions to Fiona, discreet as they had been.  "He is Washburn.  When this is over you will find his heart is true.  And thank you."

"For what?" Darcy replied, puzzled.

"For saying 'when' we free Washburn and not 'if'."

Darcy smiled and leaned across to kiss her.  He would have let the kiss linger, but voices in the street and the sound of a horse being pulled up quickly drew his attention to the window.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on July 26, 2020, 02:11:54 PM
Columcil settled into the rhythm of Spean's gallop, enjoying being out from the constrictions of monastery life, and now that his anxiety about his grandfather was somewhat assuaged he could also admit to himself that he was glad to be away from the protocol which inevitably surrounded him as Archbishop of Rhemuth. Not that there weren't compensations. He fingered the good cloth that he was wearing with pleasure - and this was now his oldest cassock- and remembered without regret the rough homespun in which he had set out from St Melangell's. Dia, how long ago that seemed and how much had happened.

Thinking like that was a mistake as it brought into focus his fears for Washburn, and fear was something none of them could afford to indulge in. He blessed himself and offered up the prayer for protection which he said nightly at Compline, but seemed appropriate against the darkness which held Washburn captive:

Visit this place, O Lord, we pray,
and drive far from it the snares of the enemy;
may your holy angels dwell with us and guard us in peace,
and may your blessing be always upon us;
through Jesus Christ our Lord.


Then he allowed himself to feel the gentle, uncomplaining presence of his mount and felt comforted.

The directions he had received were simple to follow but even had they not been he sensed that he would have been drawn by Washburn's spirit, and he heard the bell of the village church ringing out the noon Angelus as he pulled Spean to a halt before what could only be the village inn. He dismounted and would have taken Spean round the back to find stables, when a young lad darted out through the doorway and took the bridle from him. He was clearly expected.

Following the lad's gesture, which managed to convey both respect and direction, he went through the door into the main room of the inn, momentarily blinded by moving from the bright summer sunshine into semi-darkness and not at once able to focus on the figure who moved towards him. Instinctively his hand moved as if to clasp his staff before he realised that this must still be at Arx Fidei but then, his eyes clearing, he saw that the man was a priest, and he was able to smoothly continue the movement of his hand to place it over his heart and bow courteously in greeting.

"Pax vobiscum"

"Et cum spiritu vostri"


"Welcome Father, you must be Father Columcil."

"Thank ye, aye, and ye'll be...?"

Thankfully the priest seemed unoffended by Columcil's directness and smilingly offered,

"I'm Father Michael, the priest of this village. I'm away upstairs to where I believe the poor young man who was taken ill is being cared for by his friends. The prayers of the both of us cannot but help."

Columcil would have been happier if this strange priest had revealed how he knew his name, and wondered how much more he knew, but there was no time to ask as Father Michael led the way to the upper room.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on July 28, 2020, 12:47:33 PM
Fiona stirred and stretched. She was still curled up next to Washburn on the bed with her arm thrown over him. She was surprised to find that she had dozed off. She wondered what had aroused her, then she realized that there was the increased sound of many voices from the street outside. She also heard several voices from the main room of the inn. She supposed that this indicated the arrival of the village priest, Father Michael, accompanied by some of the villagers. She did not know whether the visiting Torenthi priest had also come.

Fiona sat up then turned to look at Wash. Again there was no change. He lay in the same position with the hand  clasping the ruby drawn up under his chin. The only thing that had elicited any response from the knight was her attempt to remove the ruby from his hand. Her enspelled glove had protected her from the ruby's attack, but Wash had winced as if in pain and moaned. She would take care to avoid it, at least for now.

She heard the sound of a flurry of hoofbeats as a horse was ridden up to the front of the inn. She heard the sound of someone dismounting and a horse being led away. The sound of boots crossed the porch of the inn, and she heard the door open. There was a brief silence, then the murmur of voices. She hoped this heralded the long awaited arrival of Father Columcil. She felt that they desperately needed his help in unraveling the mystery of the spells on the ruby, who placed them there and with what intent.

Fiona became aware of her position on the bed next to Washburn. She was sure that being discovered in such a compromising position would not do her reputation any good. They needed the help of the reeve and the village priest, and it was important that they do nothing to antagonize either of those men. She quickly rose from the bed and did her best to smooth down her gown. She ran her fingers through her hair and adjusted her veil. She heard the sound of several people mounting the stairs to the hallway outside their rooms.

She moved softly over to stand by the window. Someone knocked on the door of the room next door, and she heard it open. She heard the voice of the innkeeper/reeve again demanding to be allowed to see the knight.

"Here is Father Michael, our village priest. Show him this writ you say is signed by the king that commands you to protect the knight. I need to protect the people of the village. We need to know what is ailing him."

She heard another voice speaking quietly. Then she heard Darcy reply. "Aye, Father. You are welcome to read the King's writ. You will be able to reassure the villagers that we speak the truth. There is no threat to the people of the village. The only person at risk here is the knight himself. We are hoping that you and Father Columcil can assist us in helping him."

Fiona was excited to hear Father Columcil's name spoken. Surely that meant that the good father has arrived at last. She heard the village priest's voice as he read the writ that Darcy handed him. She also heard steps approaching the door of Wash's room. There was a soft knock at the door. Fiona moved forward and opened the door. She found herself face-to-face with the person they had all been hoping to see, Father Columcil.  She stood back to allow him to enter the room. His gaze went immediately to Washburn, lying unmoving on the bed. Then he turned to Fiona. She thought she saw a hint of disapproval in his eyes.

"Lassie, whit wuid ye be daein aloyn in his bedroom with Sir Washburn?"

Fiona's eyes flashed. She had not thought that Columcil would chide her. "I'm protecting him! Do you not see that he has not responded to your voice?  He has fallen into a coma from which we have been unable to arouse him. He is unaware of anything happening around him and unable to protect himself should anyone try to harm him.  I was not about to leave him alone and vulnerable. We have been taking turns watching over him. He is hardly in any condition to compromise me, not that he would even if he could!"

Columcil replied soothingly. "Noo, noo. Calm yersel. Ah meant nae harm. We dae need tae think abit hoo this wuid look tae Father Michael and ta villagers."

Fiona pointed to Wash lying unmoving on the bed. "Examine him. See whether you can get any response from him. Darcy even tried slapping him; nothing. We have not been able to get any response from him no matter what we do. We know the source of the spell is that ruby clutched in his hand. And there are multiple spells on that gem. I tried to remove it using an enspelled glove for protection. I was unable to do so. We do not know who is behind this, but we do not feel it safe to leave him alone while he is like this. We are hoping you can help us."

Columcil patted Fiona's hand and spoke gently. "That is wa Ah hae come, tae hep ye. Faither Michael an' Ah intend tae examine heem tae fin' th' problem an' figure oot wha's best tae do."

Just then there was a soft knock at the door. Columcil opened it and Father Michael stepped into the room followed by Aliset. Fiona could see Darcy in the doorway behind her.  "I have seen the king's writ and read it to the reeve. I have assured him that the two of us will examine the knight  to determine what we can do to help him." The two priests turned to study the man lying on the bed.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on July 31, 2020, 03:12:02 PM
"Father Columcil!" Darcy Cameron said from the doorway to Washburn's room.  "Thank Saint Nicholas that you are here at last!"

Father Columcil managed a rueful smile.  "I wish I could hae been here sooner, but I doubt it would hae made much difference, from whit Aliset relayed to me."

Aliset resisted the impulse to throw her arms around the priest, but only barely.

"What are you going to do now?" said the innkeeper as he approached the door, stopping just short of Darcy's back.

"We'll inform you in due time," Darcy said coldly as he turned and blocked the man's entry into the room.  He moved as if to close the door.

"No you don't," the innkeeper said and reached over Darcy's shoulder to place his hand against the door.   "Your writ may be valid, but I will  make my own judgement on the risk to my inn from your knight."

"We have no need of secrets," Father Michael said calmly.  "But the room is already crowded.  Reeve, I'll look into this. Just wait outside the doorway." 

The innkeeper dropped his arm, and Darcy turned back to face the room.  Aliset moved to stand next to him, giving the priests more room to examine Washburn.   Fiona remained by the window.

Both priests moved closer to Washburn, Father Michael allowing Columcil to precede him to examine Washburn first.  Columcil checked the stricken man's pulse and his breathing and then gently opened each eye.  Washburn's eyes looked normal, but did not respond to the change in light as Columcil passed his hand over Washburn's face.  Columcil flexed Washburn's legs and then reached toward the arm bent to keep the hand with the ruby under Washburn's chin.

"Have a care, Father," Darcy quickly warned.  "If you touch the gem, the result will be very painful, and I can't swear another flash will not be worse than the first."

Columcil glanced at Fiona, who shook her head slightly.  "It did not seem worse to me," she said quietly.

"Oh, Fiona!" Aliset said and sighed.  Darcy looked from his wife to his cousin; although his eyes  narrowed, he said nothing.

Columcil grasped the knight's elbow and attempted to straighten the arm, but it would not move, even as he applied more pressure.

"Ach, laddie," Columcil said quietly as he knelt beside him.   "What has befallen ye?"  He looked up at Father Michael. "Is there anything ye would like to check before I probe deeper?" he asked.

Father Micheal looked thoughtful for a moment and then reached over to the heavy brass candlestick holder on the small table.  He held it up level with his chin and then let go.  The loud crash caused all those both in and without the room to jump except for Washburn, who did not stir.

"He would not have been expecting that, and while I don't believe he is shamming, I thought it a prudent test."

"None of us was expecting that," Darcy muttered, and Aliset poked him in the ribs.

Father Columcil took a deep, centering breath and placed his hands on Washburn's head, one over his forehead and one at the back of his neck.  He stayed that way for some time and then pulled his hands away and sat back on his heels.

"Is there nothing you can do to Heal him, Father?" Fiona asked, a hint of desperation in her voice.

"There is nothing physically amiss with him that I can Heal, and I can't get past his shields to probe deeper," Columcil said heavily.  "All I can ken is that he is held in thrall by dark magic, and it appears the source is the ruby."  Father Michael crossed himself.

"Foul, Deryni magic!" the innkeeper hissed.  "I want him out of my inn!"

Darcy half-turned toward him, but Father Michael held up a staying hand.  "Remember what Father Paulos has taught us about magic; it is not the magic that is evil, but the heart of the person that uses it for a dark purpose.  Remember that Archbishop McLain is a Deryni, as was Bishop Arilan. Would you consider them evil men?"

The innkeeper pointed toward Father Columcil.  "He said this is dark magic!"

"And so it appears to be," Father Michael responded gravely.  "I propose we move this knight to the church where Father Paulos can assist us.  Working against dark magic will require priests skilled in magic with the power of God behind them."

"This will not be an easy task," Darcy said.  "The stairs are steep and narrow.  Father Columcil, it will take both of us to carry him down the stairs."  He turned to the innkeeper.  "Can you find us a hand cart to move him to the church once we are down?"

When the innkeeper looked as if he was about to object to the task, Aliset added,  "It will get him out of your inn all the quicker."  The innkeeper nodded curtly and headed down the stairs. 

"Love," Darcy said.   "Would you fetch my sea bag and that scarf you were wearing then we were searching for the fortress?"

"Of course," Aliset responded.  Darcy remembered the scarf she had been wearing?  He was such an odd man, sometimes.

When Aliset returned with both items, Darcy set the scarf on the bed beside Washburn and then pulled a coil of light line from his sea bag.  Carefully he slipped an edge of the scarf between Washburn's hand and his chin and pulled it loosely over the hand.  He secured it gently by winding one end of the line around Washburn's wrist.

"Father Columcil, can you hoist his chest up a bit so I can slide the line around him?" Darcy asked.

The priest looked puzzled, but he lifted Washburn just enough so Darcy could pass the line across Washburn's back, underneath his free arm, and across his chest, securing it to the man's other arm, effectively immobilizing the arm and hand holding the ruby.

"I don't fancy his hand being jostled and the flash from that ruby sending us tumbling down the stairs," Darcy explained.  "I'll take him up under his shoulders; Father Columcil, you grasp his legs and guide us down."

Columcil nodded and helped Darcy roll  Washburn onto his back.  With careful maneuvering, and a grunt or two from Darcy, they soon had the knight slung between them, Columcil facing forward with Washburn's ankles held securely.  Darcy stood behind Washburn's back, one arm under Washburn's free arm and the other over the bent arm, his hands clasped securely  across the knight's chest.

"Let me go first," Father Michael volunteered.  "I can help break your fall if needed."

"Pray it does not come to that Father, but thank you," Darcy said.

"Oh, I will, son," the village priest responded, and Columcil thought he saw a ghost of a smile on the man's face. 

Aliset and Fiona formed the rear of their small procession.  Columcil started down, but Darcy hesitated at the top step.

"A bit slower if you please, Father," he said.  "He's no lightweight, and I can't see my feet or the stairs from behind him."

"Darcy, feel the steps with your senses," Aliset urged.  "Just as you felt for the workings of the lock when we practiced."  By this time, Aliset was sure Father Michael had guessed they were all Deryni and would not be dismayed by the suggestion.

"Aye, now that's a good thought!"  Darcy took a deep breath and focused on the stairs.  "Off we go, Father Columcil!"

To their joint relief, Darcy and Columcil carried Washburn down the stairs safely.  A few villagers watched them as they carried the knight across the room to the door; more onlookers watched from outside the inn.

Once they were through the doorway, Darcy did not see the hand cart he was expecting.  Instead, a sturdy boy stood beside a large, wooden wheelbarrow.

"Is that the best you could find?" Darcy asked the innkeeper angrily.

"It is what was available; the carts are in use," the innkeeper responded coldly.  "The villagers have work to be done today."

Judging by the size of the small crowd that had gathered in the street, Darcy doubted that much work was being done at the moment, but he held his tongue.  Instead, he looked at the boy.

"Hold the wheelbarrow steady while we lift him inside," Darcy directed.  The boy stepped up to the handles and took a firm grip.  Darcy and Columcil moved Washburn beside the wheelbarrow.  "Father, on the count of three, lift him up and we'll swing him in as gently as possible."  The priest nodded and tightened his grip on Washburn's ankles.  "One, two, three!"  They heaved him up and swung him into the wheelbarrow, which wobbled dangerously as Washburn settled inside, his head against the closed end over the wheel, and his knees bent at the open end, leaving his feet dangling.

Fiona moved to Washburn's side and tried to adjust his position so he might be more comfortable.  Darcy shook the wheelbarrow slightly and was not pleased by the obvious wobble, muttering something impolite under his breath. 

"Keep the wheelbarrow as steady as you can," Darcy told the boy as he stood beside it.  Columcil stood on the other side, ready to lend a hand if it tipped.  Fiona decided to walk beside Columcil, and Aliset moved to Darcy's side.  Father Michael nodded and began to lead them toward the church.

((Will they move Washburn safely to the church without incident?
Jerusha !roll 1d6 (at disadvantage, since the wheelbarrow is wobbly.)
1421 Jerusha rolled 1d6:3 <total 3>
Oops.))

The wobble of the single wheel seemed to  increase as they moved down the road.  Fortunately, they did not need to travel far to reach the church.  The boy seemed unable to decide which of the two lovely women in front of him he should let his gaze linger on, so he was not giving his task his full attention. 

Suddenly, the wheel stuck in a deeper rut and the wheelbarrow started to fall toward Darcy.  Darcy drove his shoulder against the side of the cart and braced his legs to support the weight.  Columcil grabbed the other side and hauled it back toward him.  The boy grabbed the handles tightly and brought the wheelbarrow fully upright.

Aliset held her breath, expecting a string of seaman's curses from Darcy directed at the boy, who looked like he expected the same.  Darcy flexed his shoulder and then turned to the boy.

"Take better care," he told the boy quietly, though his voice did not lack sternness.  "A job well and proper done is what it takes to impress a girl.  You won't get far this way.  Tackle it again, and keep the wheelbarrow steady this time."

The boy's face went from pale to red.  "Yes, m'lord," he said hastily and began to move forward, looking straight ahead and concentrating on the road and wheelbarrow.

Aliset studied her husband for a moment; Darcy had managed to surprise her again.

They reached the church and stopped at the bottom of the wide stairs.  Father Paulos swung the doors open.

"Come," the Torenthi priest said. "Bring your burden inside."

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on July 31, 2020, 04:28:36 PM
 The village church is larger than most. Given it's proximity to Valoret and that many priests and pilgrims stop in the village. It must be able to handle an influx of visitors.

Father Paulos leads those carrying Washburn to a small room and opens the door. The room is about 50 foot square. A make-shift cot is available but almost nothing else. No windows and only one way in or out.

"Lay him gently there." Father Paulos says pointing to the make-shift cot. "What has happened to him?"

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on July 31, 2020, 10:48:44 PM
(https://www.rhemuthcastle.com/gallery/18693_25_07_20_5_55_59.jpeg)

Here we see Father Columcil and Darcy carrying Washburn down the stairs in the inn. Looking on concerned are Lady Aliset is in blue, and Lady Fiona  in the saffron gown. Out the door of the inn the sight of many villagers and a rickety wheelbarrow has caught the eye of our team. A Wheelbarrow? Oh Dear! Not quite a mood of transportation for the son of a duke.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on August 02, 2020, 01:21:28 PM


""Lassie, whit wuid ye be daein?" asked the grey hare of the linx in Washburn's arms.

"I'm protecting him!" The linx growled low in response to the hare.

"I am fine, sweet lady," Wash tried to explain. But the linx brushed her whiskers against his check with a concerned purr and then she leapt from his arms to stand beside the St. Melangell hare.

The hare seemed to shake his head at the slender feline, then turned back to the knight with deep concern in his eyes. "Ach, laddie," the hare said as he came close to Washburn's side.The eyes looked up into Washburn's eyes but didn't seem to see Wash looking back at him. "What has befallen ye?"

"Columcil, surely you know as I know, that this is merely a dream." Wash tried to laugh, yet found that the eyes of the animals around him were too serious to attempt to extend the jest. "When I wake, I will have a grand story to tell."

Simultaneously, the two eagles missed their wing beats and dropped several feet in the air before flying upward again. At the same time the long pointed ears of the hare turned abruptly to the side.  And the lynx's fur stood up on the back of her neck. All the animals seemed to jump nervously to the side.

"What is it?" Wash asked, confused.

"None of us was expecting that," called the white shouldered sea eagle.

"Expecting what?" Wash requested. He looked around him for something that might have happened.  He saw that the lion stood unmoving behind the crystalline wall, simply watching him. Whatever it was did not phase the beast as it did everyone else. Washburn's animal friends could give no explanation. Instead, they turned to watch the priestly rabbit make several jumps  completing a full circle around Washburn's feet and then he made the circle in the opposite direction.

"Held in thrall..." was the answer that the hare told to the linx and the eagles above.

"You are not making any sense," Washburn cried out. "Why are you not talking directly to me? It is my dream after all. I don't even think that I am hearing all that you are saying to one another. You talk only to each other, yet you look at me like I am a lost soul!" Wash exclaimed, turning his head from friend to friend. None of them seemed to acknowledge his growing despair. Wash turned around in the mist. "Which way will get me free of this? I think I should be leaving."

"Returning to Rhemuth?" drummed a deep voice far above the Lendour knight's head. A wave of sulfuric heat blew Washburn's hair back over his eyes. "King Kelson banished you from Court. You have nowhere to go. I too was once banished from Court as you are now. I had displeased my prince by doing that which I knew that I must do, against his orders.  Do you remember why you were banished?"

"... by dark magic," the hare continued to claim.

"Foul, Dark magic!" a voice echoed through the crystal.

But Washburn was not stunned by that revelation. Instead his full attention was upon the great dragon who came to land before him. Massive wings flipped once and then folded themselves neatly across the scaly crimson back. The long neck of the dragon arched and eyes of shimmering red crystals came down level to Washburn's face. "The king will keep you away from court permanently, if you do not find a way to defeat this dark magic and regain all of your memories."

"I have guessed that," Wash said, backing down from the stern gaze of the dragon. "I have fought this evil for what seems like time-eternal. This is not a dream, is it? I have lost this battle, haven't I? Are you here to finish it?" Wash looked from the tall fence that kept him from the animals caged within and then turned to the lion-beast who now prowled the far side of the crystalline wall, and then looked back at the dragon squarely in the eyes. "I'm going to die.."

"Oh, quite likely you will, son. Quite likely indeed." Washburn's head shot up. The dragon and the knight searched each other's eyes for answers. "All who are born are destined to die. I see from your memories that even I did not live as long as I had wished. But death is not a spell upon this ruby. That much I can discern."

"Ruby?" suddenly Wash understood. He whirled around, seeing the crimson landscape for what it really was. "I am enthralled...! Captured within the stone. Your stone, Father. The Lendour  Great sword belonged to you before Kelric gave it to me at my knighting. Is this what you're doing? You and Kelric have finally found a means of removing a son and brother whom neither of  you thought good enough to carry the Morgan name?"

"NO...!" bellowed the dragon. His sulfuric breath filled the air.  Washburn had to cower from the sound and the smell. "Those are your false memories talking to you. You know that is not truth. Think about it my son. Your capture was not my doing! Neither is the spell that holds you here." The great dragon spread his wings wide, but then quickly folded them upon his back. "I love you, Washburn Alaric Cynfyn Morgan! From the day you were born, to the days that I fell deathly ill,  and then I awoke to find my family's love. I remember when I too was enthralled in a red mist and then I awoke to rejoice in the life I had. I recall not very long after, a little boy ran through a crowd of knights to ride with his papa on parade. I was proud of that boy. Never doubt my love." Wash stood in shock, he did not know what truly was real anymore. This was far more than just a dream.

"Son, I put my love in the rubys of all three Lendour swords. I told Kelric that the swords of Lendour were for you. He fulfilled my wish, did he not?" The dragon nodded to the sword tied down to Washburn's belt. Wash put his hand over the smaller ruby on the short sword hilt. For the first time- yet he knew he had felt the feeling before- he could feel the love from the man who was his father."

"I don't understand? Then why can you not free me from this dark magic?"

The dragon shook his head. He leapt up into the red mist. The dragon circled once with strong wing thrusts.The misty air stirred around them all, but the dragon did not completely disappear from sight. Frustrated, the champion dragon again landed before the knight. "I am trapped here, just as you are. I can not go beyond the mist. Not even into the clearer parts of the crystal where my love was originally placed. Spells upon spells of magic overlay every part of the crystal. I put my love in the gems and my cousin blessed them. But this dark magic was unexpected." The dragon glared at the beastly-lion who watched but could not intervene.  "Son, here in the mist, I can protect you, I can protect your friends and your caged memories. Call your companions to your side. Then climb my foreleg and settle between my neck ridge.  Bishop Duncan blessed this gem once upon a time. In the center of the mist we will find hallowed ground. There we will hold against the darkness."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on August 06, 2020, 08:45:25 AM
Father Paulos held the door of the church open wide to allow the men to pass through. Father Michael led the way as Darcy and Columcil carried the knight into the church  along the nave to the rood screen. He turned to the side and led them through a door into a small room bare except for a cot in the center.

"Lay him here." Father Michael indicated the cot. The two men laid Washburn gently on the cot, straightening his legs and making his position as comfortable as possible. Wash did not stir. Fiona and Aliset followed them into the room.

Darcy turned to Columcil. "Help me remove the line binding his arm and hand." Columcil nodded and moved to the knight's side. Darcy untied the line securing the hand holding the ruby and began to coil it up. He passed it over the knight's chest and under his free arm. He nodded to the priest who gently lifted Wash's torso to allow Darcy to remove it from under him. Columcil lowered Wash back onto the cot. Darcy then removed the line and scarf from the hand clutching the ruby.  He handed the scarf back to Aliset and put the coiled line on the floor near the door to be retrieved later. He then stepped back to allow the three priests to move closer to the cot.

Father Michael spoke first. He turned to Father Paulos and indicated the newly arrived priest. "This is Father Columcil who just arrived from Arx Fidei Seminary to try to aid this young man and his friends. He knows them well. The knight had fallen into what appeared to be a deep sleep from which they could not arouse him. As you know, I was summoned to the inn where he lay by the innkeeper who had become alarmed at their inability to awaken the knight. He was afraid that whatever was affecting his guest would become known and frighten others away from his inn. He was loud and demanding with the young man's friends, and some of the villagers could hear his demands.  I felt it best to remove him from the inn and bring him to the church where he could be protected while we try to determine what is happening. As you have knowledge of magic and are experienced in  its use, I also wanted your assistance in discovering what has occurred and the best way to help him."

Paulos nodded solemnly. "It is true that I have knowledge and experience in the use of magic gained from my priestly education in Torenth. As a Deryni I also have certain powers. At my ordination I pledged to use both my knowledge and my powers to both serve God and help those in need. Above all I pledged never to use my powers to cause harm. I have kept my pledge. If you will trust me, I want to assist you in helping this young man."

Darcy looked at his companions. They nodded that they accepted the Torenthi priest's words. "We will welcome your help in freeing our friend and restoring his mind." he said.

Father Michael then continued. " The innkeeper had heard the words 'dark magic' and immediately decided it was dark Deryni magic and demanded the removal of the knight from his inn. He was quite loud. The villagers picked up on those words and, not understanding what was happening,  were beginning to become afraid and agitated. I reminded them of what you taught them. It is not the magic itself that is evil but the heart of the person using it. I thought it best to move him here to the church where we could have privacy while we did what was needed. That would calm the fears of the villagers and we could keep him safe. That young man," he pointed at Darcy, "does indeed carry a writ signed by the king commanding him to protect the knight."

Father Paulos looked at Darcy and nodded his acceptance of the young man's duty to the knight. With an expression of concern, he addressed his fellow priests. "Were you able to examine him there at the inn? What did you find?"

Father Michael answered first. "He did not move or respond to anything we did. Father Columcil moved his arms and legs . There was no resistance in the legs or the free arm. I was warned not to try to move or straighten the arm that is bent up under his chin. I did not think he could be shamming, but I dropped a heavy candlestick. The sudden loud noise elicited no reaction."

Darcy interjected. "Earlier I tried to open his hand and remove the gem you can see clutched there. The jewel flashed and gave me a nasty shock. It did not seem to have affected him. I stopped right away and did not try again. We thought it best to leave it be until help arrived."

Fiona spoke up. "I could not leave it there without trying to help him. I tried to move his fingers and grasp the stone using special gloves to protect my hands. The stone did attack again. It did not harm me, but he seemed to wince and moaned a little. I was afraid to touch his hand again."

Paulos turned to Father Columcil. "What did you find on your examination, Father?"

"His breathin' was slow and deep like a man deep asleep. He appeared relaxed. However, when I opened his eyes, they did nae react to th' light as they should. I was able tae move his legs and the left arm easily wi' nae resistance. Ah had been warned aboot th' other arm. Ah did not touch his hand.  Ah did try to straighten th' arm at th' elbow but there was great resistance there. Ah cuid find nothin' physically wrong that Ah cuid heal. When I tried to probe deeper, I cuid nae get past his shields. All Ah can say is that he is held in thrall by dark magic an' th' source appears tae be that ruby."

Aliset spoke up. "I probed the ruby once we realized it was the source of the problem. I did not need to touch it but could examine it with my senses. I found layers of spells embedded and entangled in the gem. I was unable to determine what they were, their purpose or who placed them there. I was only able to dispel the outermost spell which kept us from remembering where and when Wash found it."

Father Paulos looked around at the others gathered around the cot. "I will certainly do what I can to help. I would like to do my own examination. It may be that I will be able to find something that you missed. I have studied Deryni magic and spells in Torenth where I became a priest, and I have knowledge that I hope will be of use in helping this young man. Do any of you object to my examining him?" The friends looked at each other then shook their heads. They stepped back a little to allow Father Paulos to conduct his own examination of Sir Washburn.

His physical examination of Wash was very similar to that done by Father Columcil. He repeated all the same steps that Columcil had done. To complete his investigation of the knight's condition, he reached for the arm that was flexed up under his chin. The priest tried to straighten it at the elbow as Columcil had done with no more success. He then reached for the hand holding the ruby. He began to try to pull the fingers away from the gem. Darcy cried "Look out!" but almost immediately there was a crimson flash, and Father Paulos jumped back with a cry of pain. He stood rubbing his arm and flexing his fingers, a little shaken by the ruby's attack.

"We tried to warn you." Darcy looked at the priest with concern in his eyes.

"You did." agreed Paulos, "but I wanted to see if the stone attacked anyone who tried to touch it or only certain people. That definitely answered my question."

After a brief pause to allow the pain to subside, he again approached Wash. "I am going to try to probe deeper that Father Columcil was able to do. I need to see if I can get past his shields and discover more about what is happening here." He knelt beside the cot and, as Columcil had done, he placed one hand on Wash's forehead, covering his eyes, and the other on the back of his neck. Paulos was very still with his eyes closed, taking deep slow breaths and appearing to enter a trance. He remained very still for what seemed a very long time. As had happened before, there was no change in Washburn, not so much as the flicker of an eyelid. He continued to breathe slowly and appear relaxed.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity to Fiona, Father Paulos removed his hands from the knight, rose and stepped back, taking several deep slow breaths. He then turned and sat on the side of the cot. He did not try again to touch the ruby, but he stared at it intently for a long time without moving. Finally he stood and moved away from Wash's side, beckoning the others to follow him.

He stepped just outside the room and they gathered around him peppering him with questions. "Were you able to probe past his shields?

" Were you able to discover anything about the nature of the spells that are holding him in thrall or who placed them?"

"Is there anything we can do to dispel them? "

Father Paulos held up a hand to silence everyone before answering. "I was not able to penetrate his shields either. The shielding around his mind is extraordinarily strong. However, there may be another way to determine what is happening here. Do any of you know anything about the ruby, its origin or whether it has any known connection to Sir Washburn?"

Aliset answered him. "It was originally in the hilt of the Lendour greatsword, one of three weapons that made a set that belonged to Wash's father, Alaric Morgan. The heirloom set was given to Sir Washburn when he was knighted. Wash had the great sword when he was kidnapped. The sword was later recovered from a room where Wash had been held but the great ruby was missing from its hilt."

Father Paulos was quiet for several minutes as he considered what Aliset had said. He then sat down on a bench in the nave near the door, exhaustion and concern crossing his face as he looked up at the others.  "Given what you told me about the origin of the stone, the way it attacks anyone who attempts to remove it, and the state of Washburn's shields, I believe I may know the nature of the spell we have to deal with."

He paused and caught his breath as if reluctant to even name the type of spell. "It is indeed the darkest of magic, the kind of magic that makes humans fear and hate us. I believe it to be an ancient Torenthi magic trap. Very few, even in Torenth, remember the spell or would know how to set it. The one who set this is brilliant and unscrupulous."

"This spell lures its victim into an almost trance-like state, then springs the trap. Fortunately, the spell does not kill,  but the victim is left helpless until the trapper retrieves him. The trapper often uses an object of value to the owner that was previously taken to lure them into the trap and set the spell. The ruby meets the requirements for such an object." Father Paulos looked back at Wash's sleeping form and crossed himself. The others followed suit.

Father Columcil pulled from under his cassock the book about spells used on gems. "Ah found this in th' library at Arx Fidei, oan a  high shelf which held books on magic includin' Deryni magic. Happen it micht contain somethin' to hep us." He handed the book to Father Paulos. The good father took the book and  thumbed through the pages then returned it to Columcil. "I do see a few spells that resemble what I saw in the ruby but none assembled and entangled in the way these are. As I said, this is an ancient Torenthi magic trap, and I do not think that the book can help us.

"Then what are we to do?" Lady Aliset studied the Torenthi priest with great concern. The others appeared equally worried. "There must be some way to help him!" Fiona cried.

Father Paulos addressed them. "Together we may be able to dispel it. I am familiar with the theory that underlies it and how it works. There is mention of such a ritual being performed in the past, however, I have never seen it in practice and trying to dispel it may prove dangerous.  At the least it will be long and tiring and will require the energy of all of us to complete it. It will be difficult but possible. It may be our only chance to help your friend. Are you willing to take the risk and assist me? "

Fiona leaned forward eagerly." I am not well trained as the others are but I am willing to do anything I can to help Washburn."

Father Columcil indicated that he was willing to assist in any action that would free his friend and restore him to his former self.

Darcy spoke quietly to Aliset. "I know you want to help Wash, but I am concerned that it will be too dangerous for you and the bairns you carry. I will gladly take part and assist Father Paulos in any way I can. Maybe you can help me in doing what is needed."

Aliset replied forcefully. "I will not be left out of this! Other than Father Paulos, I am the one with the most training, and I feel that I am needed. I cannot let Washburn down out of fear. I will ask the father what I can do that will not endanger them but allow me to support him in freeing Wash. I am sure there is a way."

The two of them approached Father Paulos and indicated their wish to assist but told him of their concern about Aliset's pregnancy. They did not want to endanger the babes she carried. The good father smiled at both of them. "We will raise wards that will supply strong protection, and I will further instruct you in how to avoid any threat to you or them."

Father Michael was also anxious to assist in the ritual but Father Paulos discouraged him. "It is best that you do not take part.  I need you to reassure the villagers that there is no danger to them and that it is a healing ritual that is taking place here. They trust you and will be reassured. Also, If anything were to go wrong, I would not wish to leave the village with no priest." Father Michael indicated that he understood and agreed.

"We will need a warded space in which to attempt it in order to protect those involved. This room would suit our purpose well as it is seldom used and unlikely to be visited by any of the parishioners. All involved will need the protection of the wards."

"Come" said Paulos to the rest of the party as he led them back into the room where Washburn lay. "I will tell you what we will need to set the wards and what you will need to do in order to help me to properly carry out this ritual."

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on August 06, 2020, 10:35:57 AM

The room has been swept clean. Candles have been placed at the compass points.

Father Paulos and Lady Aliset are charged with walking the circle and raising the Wards as the two Deryni with the most training.

Lady Fiona, her firey spirit easily seen by Father Paulos, is given the task of guarding the inside of the circle. She is given one of the blades carried by the others in case a doorway needs cut in or out of the circle at any time during the Ritual.

Father Columcil will bless the undertaking and say a prayer for the success of it.

Washburn and the cot are kept in the center of the circle. Father Paulos will sit on a stool where he can place one hand on the clenched fisted ruby and the other on Washburn's forehead.

Once the circle is completed and the Ward is raised. Then everyone, except Fiona who must take her position with the sword, will sit so they are in physical contact with one another. And finally they must sit with someone in physical contact with Father Paulos so the link can be formed to draw any energy needed from the companions in order to attempt to free Washburn during the Ritual.

Father Paulos does warn them that this working may not succeed. No matter the outcome, they will all be exhausted at the end. And with the Grace of God, Washburn will be free.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on August 07, 2020, 11:30:35 AM
"If my memory of legends serves me at all," Washburn started to remark with a tone of off humor. "I believe our beloved Saint George slew a dragon, saving a princess and a kingdom, and earning legendary status. I don't recall any legend where a dragon is ridden like a destrier."  He cocked his head in appreciation of this new experience before placing his foot upon the extended knee of the great  creature before him.

"Ah yes, George, the patron saint of your famous Cathedral of Rhemuth. That knight was poorly informed about the true nature of dragons," stated the massive crimson dragon with nonchalance.  "I will say that George did have a certain advantage with lance and armor. Plus, the dragon he is said to have slain was no larger than the horse he rode upon. For certain, it could have only been a dragonet who had not yet acquired the breath of fire." A swath of sulfurous flame spewed from the opened mouth of the great beast. When the flame dispersed,  the scaly lips turned upward in a grin. "Careful young knight, you have neither lance nor armor, and as dragon legends would state, once peeled of their outer shell, knights are quite tasty."

Washburn's hand stayed in mid air halting the hold he started to take on the dragon's neck ridge. The dragon shook with a deep belly laugh, a sound that instantly brought back the impression of childhood and his father laughing at some subtle jest.

"Father?" Wash hesitantly asked.

"Yes son?" the dragon responded with loving compassion.

Wash shook his head. "What a dream I am having. You know, I never once before dreamed of dragons, nor riding on a dragon's back."

"You are not the champion rider that you think you are until you have done so." The dragon winked his crystal eye at the knight, then lowered his head to the animal friends around Washburn's feet. "All of you climb up too. Where we go is not far, but it can not be reached by walking."

Wash leaned down to lift up the Melangell hare and place him on the neck ridge. He bent down again to reach for the lynx, but the cat made a swift leap to the dragon's foreleg and then to the neck ridge and found an indentation to sit upon. Wash leaped up to sit behind his friends, his arms reaching forward to surround them and hold firm, his fingers grasping a forward turning scale, and his feet finding scales to press into and hold firm. The eagles took flight protecting Washburn at his side. Then the dragon spread forth his massive wings and jumped up for a vertical ascent.

Nothing had prepared Washburn for such a thrill. He had ridden good horses and ones that would threaten to buck a man off. He had ridden oxen and even a camel once upon a time. But the exhilaration of flight was far greater than any he had experienced before. The crystal floor dropped away from sight; the red fog swirled over and under the outstretched tenuous webbed wings.  There was not a true wind, but there was a passage of air, and distance seemed to extend on immeasurably.

Wash settled into the flight as did his friends. The eagles kept a steady pace flying above him. He smiled at them envious of their feathered wings.

Unexpectedly a dazzling flash of light streaked through the crimson surroundings; it illuminated and danced off the wisps of fog. The dragon veered sharply in a turn to the right. The knight held his seat with the strength of his legs.  The hare and the lynx slid from their seats.  "No you don't!" Wash yelled out. His arms encircled around them both and settled them back against his chest. "What was that?" Wash howled over the sound of a thunderous rumble.

"Someone tampering with the ruby," the dragon bellowed.

"Friend or foe?" questioned the knight.

"Impossible to know," the dragon replied. "We will find protection on blessed ground and see who comes to rescue you. If they aren't friends or family, they will have to contend with me," declared the dragon. Dragon wings flattened from the turn and the wedge shaped head pulled back, mouth opened wide and a belch of flame incinerated the fog bank that had obscured their way. Before them lay a solid red floor, at its center was a cross that stood the height of a man. The dragon back winged before the cross. "Bishop Duncan's blessing will hold us safe until we are sure who tampers with the ruby's spells."

Keeping his friends close in his arms, Wash slid from the dragon's back. He landed square on his feet, lowered his friends to the sparkling ruby floor and then he bent down on both knees before the cross. He crossed himself and then put his heart into a prayer. Fervently he wondered if his prayers would be heard in this state of isolated dreaming. "I really would like to wake up from all of this," he whispered at the end of his prayer.

"I will protect you until you do, my son," the dragon replied.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on August 14, 2020, 01:48:59 PM

The details for the casting of the circles is taken from Deryni Magic, Casting the Circle, pp. 285 - 287.


"Are you sure I can't talk you out of this?"  Darcy Cameron asked his wife, pausing in the process of unbuckling his sword belt.  They stood by the door to the room in which Washburn lay unmoving and still.

"Darcy," Aliset began, the sharpness clear in her voice, though she kept it low.  She looked into her husband's ice-blue eyes and checked her response.  The concern was clear in his eyes, as was a love he did not try to hide.

"You mean more to me than life itself," Darcy continued.  "There is not a sea I wouldn't sail, no matter how dangerous, to keep you safe."

"Darcy," Aliset said again, but this time her voice was gentle.  "I know you would, but I must do this. Washburn came to my aid after Alister's death.  He did his best to save me from my cousin's cruel hands.  He rescued me  from Lord Jaxom and the evil man who controlled him.  If it weren't for my need, none of this might have happened.  I must do my part to set Washburn free!  If I do not, and if Father Paulos fails, I will never know if I could have  made the difference.  I will carry that blame for the rest of my life."

Darcy nodded reluctantly and then took both of her hands and enclosed them in his larger, calloused ones.  "Then we will do this together, side by side."

Aliset smiled at him.  "Yes we will, side by side."

Darcy released her hands, unabashedly kissed the tip of her nose and then unbuckled his sword belt and wrapped it around the scabbard.  He set his sheathed sword against the wall beside the door; no extra weapons would be allowed within the ritual circle except those that were required.  He moved to the small table altar that had been placed between the eastern wall and Washburn.   

Father Michael had provided the table which was covered by a white cloth.  Father Paulos had placed his own Eastern crucifix with the body of Jesus carved in low relief on the table, and it was flanked by two red votive candles.  Father Michael had added a thurible and aspergillum from the church.  Darcy removed his dagger with the onyx stone set in the handle and laid it on the table beside the aspergillum.

Father Paulos surveyed the room. A small stool had been placed by the cot on the opposite side from the altar table, near Washburn's head.  Father Columcil and Fiona stood together on one side of the doorway. Father Columcil appeared resolute; Fiona was doing her best to control her eagerness.   Darcy and Aliset stood together on the other side of the doorway.  Darcy pushed several strands of pale hair away from his face, which was carefully composed to reveal nothing of his inner thoughts.   Aliset stood with her hands clasped over her abdomen, quietly determined. 

Father Paulos had instructed them on the ritual they were to perform and their duties within it.  Actions and words were committed to memory.  Aliset, the only one of them ritual trained, would be Mistress for the ritual.

"I believe we are ready," Father Paulos said.  "Father Michael, you may leave us now.  Thank you for all you have done to assist us."

Father Michael bowed his head in acknowledgement and left the room. The flames of the candles placed at the four cardinal points flickered as the door closed.

Father Paulos motioned for the others to join him and stand facing the cot and the table altar.  He nodded to Aliset, who took a deep, steadying breath and moved around the cot to stop in front of the table altar and dip her knee.  She picked up the aspergillum containing holy water mixed with a small amount of pure salt that Father Paulos had prepared and blessed earlier, so she could purify the circle with Water and Earth.  She  walked purposefully around the table altar toward the east wall where she would begin the circle.  Once there, she saluted the East Quarter with a sprinkle of holy water and a brief dip of her knee.  She turned clockwise toward the South Quarter, defining the circle as she continued to sprinkle the ground before her.  She paused at the South Quarter to salute it with an extra sprinkle and a dip of her knee and then continued on toward the West.  As she walked, she began to recite the Twenty-third Psalm, her voice quiet and reverent. 

Fiona watched Aliset as she continued to mark the boundary for the ward.  Would it protect them from the spells that kept Washburn in thrall? Water and Earth, the realm of women. She would do all she could to set Washburn free!  As Aliset spoke the words of the Twenty-third Psalm, she echoed them in her mind.  The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.... She drew on that strength.

Aliset repeated the ritual for the West and North Quarters before moving on to complete the circle at the East.  She returned to her companions and sprinkled each with holy water to purify them.  She turned toward the cot and sprinkled Washburn before handing the aspergillum to Father Paulos, who purified her.

Father Paulos returned the aspergillum to the altar table and bowed before picking up the thurible.  He passed his hand over the top to ignite the incense and moved to the East Quarter.  There he saluted the Quarter with an extra swing of the thurible to consecrate it with Fire and Air and bowed.  He turned toward the South Quarter, retracing Aliset's steps while gently swinging the thurible.

Darcy wrinkled his nose at the pungent scent of the incense.  He had never liked the smell; it reminded him of funerals.  Now that Aliset had restored his memories, he knew that the funeral he remembered was his father's.  He had been too young to clearly understand at the time. He had hoped that at the end of the service, his father would be standing alive and well outside the church door. Perhaps not with a welcoming hug, but at least a comforting pat on his shoulder. He had sobbed in despair when his hopes were dashed.

Father Paulos saluted each Quarter as he followed the circle until he reached the East. As Aliset had done, he returned to the group and censed each in turn, again including Washburn, before handing the thurible to Aliset to be censed himself.

Aliset returned the thurible to the table altar and picked up Darcy's dagger, which she would use to cast the final circuit of the magical circle.  She approached the East Quarter and raised the dagger in front of her in salute.   As she turned clockwise toward the South Quarter, she pointed the dagger toward the earth.  The tip of the dagger began to project a quasi-visible beam of bluish-violet energy that hovered just above the ground along the circle's path as she walked.

As Father Columcil watched  Aliset continue along the path of the first two circuits, he again felt the conviction that his own footsteps had been guided since he had left the ancient shrine of Saint Melangell.  So many twists and turns along the path they had followed—almost as if they were following the leaps and bounds of Saint Melangell's hare—and yet so many revelations! God willing, they would see this through together and restore Washburn to his former self.

Again Aliset saluted each Quarter, finally completing the cast in the East.  Now she moved the dagger slowly upward toward the centre of the ceiling. The energy aligned along the circle rose upward, forming a ward of protection above  them.  Aliset returned the dagger to the table altar, suddenly noting that the onyx stone in the handle displayed a very faint bluish-violet glow. Darcy's mysterious dagger. She suppressed a slight smile as she returned to stand with the others.  Father Paulos nodded, and those who would call the Quarters took their positions.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on August 24, 2020, 12:05:52 PM
((You, my dear readers, are in for a treat. The Ritual we offer is a collaboration of all of us. For my part, I combined elements from Saint Camber Chapter 3 and those from the Harrowing of Gwynedd Chapter 29 to create the words of the ritual. For all else in this scene, I give thanks to Revanne for the moving accounts as told by Columcil and Aliset; to Jerusha for our dearest Darcy's wonderful telling; and to DerynifanK for our beloved Fiona's enriched partaking of the Ritual. Thank you ladies, in this you have touched my heart.))


A dome shimmered in an arc over their heads. Proof of the ward's protection against any force wielded by mortals, human or Deryni, outside of their circle. As Mistress of the Ritual this day, Lady Aliset stepped across to Father Columcil and took both of his hands in hers. "Dearest Father Columcil, you stand in the Eastern Quarter as our Healer. The Ritual words that I have shared were taught to me by my grandmother. While the boys and men trained for knighthood, it was she who felt that the only girl child of her son should have the lore and knowledge of our heritage. She told me these ways had been handed down in secret from the time our family fled to Meara to escape the Harrowing. You are the most caring of us, a true father figure for us all. I am honored that it is you who shall begin our plea for protection and for Healing from the energies that we will call forth this day." Her hands slipped slowly from his hands. She smiled and nodded approvingly, then back-stepped into the place at the South compass point which she would hold during the invoking of the Quarters.

Columcil stood very still for a long moment, then reaching into the neck of his cassock. He brought out the chain on which hung his medallion of St Melangell and the Shiral which had been his grandfather Duncan's gift to his beloved Maryse. Slowly, reverently, he brought them together to his lips and kissed them in homage, invoking the trinity of human love, Deryni power, and the Saint whom he had served for so long, that all that they had made of him might not be now found wanting. Then even more slowly he crossed himself invoking that greatest and most holy of all Trinities asking that his will, his emotions and his actions might be judged worthy of divine protection. "In nomine Patris, Filii, et Spiritus Sancti." It was the greatest of all invocations and the most powerful of all magics but it could not be owned only implored. And most humbly, with all his being, he implored that the divine mercy might be poured out on Washburn.

"We stand outside time, in a place not of earth.  As our ancestors before us bade, we joined together and are One."

"By Thy Blessed Apostles, Matthew, Mark, Luke and John; by all Thy Holy Angels; by all Powers of Light and Shadow, we call Thee to guard and defend us from all perils, O Most High. Thus it is and has ever been, thus it will be for all times to come. Per omnia saecula saeculorum."


"Amen," echoed the voices that surrounded him.

"I call the mighty Archangel Raphael, thou who art the Healer, guardian of Wind and Tempest. Life-giving one, veiled in the wings of wind and storm. May we be guarded and healed in mind and soul and body this Day. Fiat, fiat, fiat voluntas mea."

A breeze, gentle yet utterly powerful, moved through the room and there was the sense, hidden even to Deryni sight but there nonetheless, of a mighty presence.

Columcil had never before remained standing in the presence of the powers of heaven, and he had almost physically to lock his knees to prevent himself from falling prostrate but, with an inner prayer that was both thanksgiving and humble apology for presumption, he turned towards the southern quarter and bowed completion of his part.

Aliset locked eyes with Father Columcil again just briefly then bowed her head breaking the contact as she dipped her knee in acknowledgement. Then she inwardly stilled herself, she must put aside all concerns other than the task in hand. Her anxieties that Darcy and Fiona would fail in the playing of their parts was unworthy of her and unjust to them. All of them loved Washburn and none of them would fail him. Though her back remained straight, her hands went instinctively to cradle the lives within her, the seed that she bore of her family's inheritance, the promise of life from the midst of danger and death. With all of her heart and soul and mind and strength she pleaded that Washburn, her living link to her beloved Alister, be freed from the evil that held him and that he might become godfather and protector to her children.

"I call the mighty Archangel Michael, the Defender, thou keeper of the gates of Eden. The consecrated One, veiled in the flames of all that is eternal. May thou lend thy fiery sword to give strength and protection this Day. Fiat, fiat, fiat voluntas mea."


Without her knowing Aliset's hands had moved to be outstretched, palms upward in the ancient gesture of invocation, and as she finished speaking, red flame danced on her palms for an instance before being drawn upwards to make a burning sword blade. Behind her a presence stood alert and ready, the stance of a warrior as befitted the Prince of the hosts of Heaven.

In her mind's eye a darkness formed, only to be cleaved in twain by a mighty sword. The hand that wielded it wore the Gryphon signet, which she knew for the one she had seen on the hand of Kelric, Duke of Corwyn. Her heart told her that the hand that now bore it, the hand that wielded the sword was not Kelric, rather his and Washburn's father, the mighty King's Champion, who had laid down his life in his sovereign's service.

She turned towards Darcy and bowed the completion of her part. They were not alone, and strength beyond their own was being granted to them.
   
Darcy bowed solemnly to his wife, awed by the archangel she had called forth and then squared his shoulders.  He needed to get this right!  He braced himself as if about to guide his ship through stormy waters.  A thought from his wife touched his mind.  I have faith and trust in you, my dearest one. Humility in its way, can be inspiring. She was right, of course.  He took a deep breath and stilled his mind, imagined calm seas and warm shores.  Light dancing off long swells.  The sea had been his home; he would speak from the heart.

"I call the mighty Archangel Gabriel, The Herald, who didst bring glad tidings to Our Blessed Lady.  The purifying One, veiled in the coolness of the seas and lakes and summer rain. May thou cleanse the path and let knowledge be born of water here this day. Fiat, fiat, fiat voluntas mea."

The smell of summer rain filled the small chamber. Instinctively, Darcy held out his cupped palm and drops of water soon filled it.  He thought he felt a raindrop roll down his nose and off the tip.  A mild reprimand perhaps, for his earlier bravado?  In the next instant, the rain stopped, and his hand was dry, but the strong presence of the archangel remained.  Would knowledge born of water enable them to free Washburn?

A favourite verse from the Saga of Sigrun came unbidden into Darcy's mind.

    As the water flows from the sea to shore,
    My spirit will follow and guide me home.

    As the waves rise up from the waters,
    My soul will be lifted from sorrow.

    As the tide turns and the water recedes,
    My heart will cross the sand and be whole.


Darcy had his answer.

Fiona watched and listened intently as each of the others invoked the guardians of Quarters. She could sense their mighty presence though she could not see them. She was in awe of the power she felt and a little fearful for she had never before participated in a Deryni ritual. But she was determined to carry out her part. She had come to care greatly for Washburn, and her greatest wish was to see him released from the thrall that held him.

Fiona dipped her knee to the West toward Darcy, crossed herself and sent up a brief prayer.

   "Please shine the light of God's wisdom into our hearts."

"I call the mighty Archangel Uriel, Who callest all at last to the Nether shore. The Stabilizing one, veiled in the gems and caverns of the deepest places.  I thank God for bestowing his wisdom upon thee. May thou bestow your wisdom upon us to endure the darkness and I pray you will shine the light of God into our hearts to thwart our fears and cure our hurts this day. Fiat, fiat, fiat voluntas mea."

Fiona felt a rising breeze stirring and a tremor in the earth under her feet. She held forth her hands and upon her outstretched palms there appeared a large book. As she gazed, the pages began to turn, and she knew somehow that this was the Book of Wisdom of the Ages. Light immersed from the pages and the air seemed to quiver with power all around her. She bowed her head in thanks. Surely this was a sign of divine blessing for their effort. She then dipped her knee to Columcil signaling completion of her part.

All turned to look to the east where Father Columcil stood. His knees might be slightly bent in humble reverence, yet his face and his heart were filled with companionship and joy. Acknowledging each person around the circle, he gave each a small nod. His gaze looked beseechingly at Father Paulos who stood beside the cot where Sir Washburn Morgan lay. Then he looked down at the man who was friend and kin, and in desperate need of their help. Filled with compassion, Father Columcil knew they would all gladly do what they were able to do. Columcil raised his hands upward and completed the ritual with solemnity.

"Now we are met. Now we are one. Regard the Ancient Ways. We shall not walk this Path again. So be it."

"So be it," echo the four voices as one.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on August 24, 2020, 07:04:27 PM

Father Paulos sits on the stool and says a little prayer in the Torenthi liturgical language of Greek and crosses himself in the eastern manner before placing his hands on Washburn. One on his forehead and the other grabbing the fist holding the ruby.

The others sit on the ground with Aliset first providing the mental and physical link between Father Paulos and the others. They ease into the link. Warm and inviting. A sense of worry and danger that the ritual might fail as Father Paulos has never actually performed this ritual himself and only has passing knowledge of it. But there is confidence too that grows as the others slowly join the link beside Aliset.

Now only Lady Fiona is outside the link. She is to be their physical guardian and watch over the circle. Something that Father Paulos believes to be absolutely necessary for this working.

Once the rapport is fully formed Father Paulos gives a wary smile and exhales centering himself and begins the energy manipulations needed for the ritual to reach its end.

His mind tries to find an opening, a crack, or shatterpoint in the magic of the ruby. Minutes pass that seem like hours to those in the rapport of the circle. The priest's disciplined mind eventually changes tactics. Instead of probing here and then probing there, he splits the energy into multiple streams and connections all at once.

Instantly drawing the additional energy needed to maintain the balance through the physical link of Washburn's companions. The needed draw of energy pushes those closest to Washburn ever deeper into a trance-like state. Physical sensations become numb and distant. Sounds become muffled and physical sight becomes almost impossible.

To those in the link time becomes meaningless.

For Fiona standing watch with the sword she is unaffected by the draw of energy. Even so those within the circle truly stand outside of time and she is unable to gauge how much time is passing.


<bynw> !roll 2d6
<GameServ> bynw rolled 2d6: 6 3  <Total: 9>

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on August 28, 2020, 08:25:15 AM
As the summoning of the archangels that guard the quarters drew to a close, Fiona senses their mighty presence and feels awe and wonder at what has occurred. The dome of protection shimmers over their heads. They are safe from interference by anyone outside the circle, human or Deryni. She watches as her companions turn toward the cot where Washburn lies and draw close to his side.

A stool has been placed at the head of the cot where Father Paulos will sit in order to be able to place his hands properly on Washburn. The rest of them will sit on the floor near Wash where they can join together to provide the power Paulos will need for the ritual.  He has remained standing at Wash's head during the invocation of the Guardians of the Quarters. He still stands quietly with his head bowed as that part of the ritual is completed. What are the proper places for the rest of them to occupy in performing the ritual? Fiona watches intently and a little nervously, not knowing what to expect next or what her role will be.

Aliset steps over to where Fiona is standing and stands in front of her. She reaches forward to take one of Fiona's hands in hers. "My dear, we are protected from any interference from outside the dome. But we do not know for certain what will happen inside the dome as the ritual proceeds. As  we enter trance and as it deepens, we will lose awareness of what is happening around us. We will be vulnerable to any attempts to tamper with the process or to harm those involved. You recall what happened when we tried before to remove the ruby from Wash's hand. We cannot be sure what spirits, benign or evil, we may invoke. Even Father Paulos is not completely sure what will happen. We need someone to remain outside the ritual chain, not entranced, who can observe and even, if necessary, protect us as the ritual is carried out. I am asking you to fill this role, and I am giving you this dagger, Darcy's dagger, to use in our defense if needed. It would be very dangerous to carry out the ritual without this protection, and without it we might lose this chance to free Wash.  Are you willing to fill this role for us?"

Fiona hesitated. "I desperately need to be part of freeing Wash. I want to lend whatever power I have to strengthen and support our efforts. I wish to be part of the chain of power giving strength to  Father Paulos during the ritual."

Aliset smiled at the young woman. "I know how much you care for Wash and want to help him. This is the most important contribution you can make. Without an observer and protector it would be too dangerous to continue with the ritual. I am giving you this dagger in order that you can use it to defend us from attack or to open a gate in the ward if necessary."

Fiona looked doubtful. "I have no idea how to go about opening a gate in the ward'.

"I will describe it for you. It is not too difficult." Aliset smiled at Fiona reassuringly.  "A gate should be opened only in great necessity. You take the magical weapon, in this case the dagger, and salute the area where the gate is to be opened, kissing the blade. Facing the area where the gate is to be, draw the blade across the edge of the circle to either side of the intended doorway  then from the left sweep it upward, to the right and then downward in an arc narrow enough for a person to pass, all the time willing your intent that a gate should open. The area within the arc of the gate should become clear. Do you think you could do it?  We really need you to do this for Wash and for all of us to have the best chance for success."

"I will do as you ask." Fiona takes a deep breath, reaches out and takes the dagger from Aliset. She holds it in both hands, pointing it at the floor. There is a spark in her eye, her lips are firm and her expression is determined.. "I will do all I can to ensure that there is no interruption of the ritual!"

Aliset pats her shoulder briefly then returns to circle around Wash's cot. Fiona watches closely as the participants  find their places in a circle around the sleeping man. Father Paulos sits on the stool at Wash's head and reaches out to place one hand on his forehead and takes the hand with the ruby in his other hand. Aliset settles on the floor on Darcy's folded cloak next to Father Paulos and places her right hand on the Father's arm, the one that is holding the hand with the ruby. Darcy takes his  place next to Aliset and clasps her hand in his right hand. Father Columcil sits on the opposite side of the cot beside Wash. He takes Wash's wrist in his left hand to monitor his condition as the ritual unfolds. With his right hand he reaches across Wash's chest to clasp hands with Darcy. The chain is complete. The ritual can begin.

Father Paulos bows his head and intones: "In nomine Patris, Filii, et Spiritus Sancti"  followed by a few words of Greek which Fiona does not understand. He crosses himself in the Eastern manner then takes a deep slow breath and closes his eyes. He breathes slowly and deeply. The ritual has begun.

As Fiona continues to watch, she sees that everyone's eyes are closed. The breathing of each one slows and becomes deeper. The room is very quiet. No one stirs. They appear relaxed although they maintain their physical contact with each other and with Father Paulos through Aliset's hand on his arm. Fiona stands inside the dome, behind Father Paulos and Lady Aliset, holding Darcy's dagger in her two hands alert for any sign of danger or attack from the ruby. She is not conscious of time passing. Although she does not stand outside time as those who are part of the ritual do, even for her time seems to stand still. As she stands her guard, she prays passionately for strength for her friends and for the ritual to succeed. She prays for Wash will be healed no matter how much time it takes.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on August 28, 2020, 06:35:26 PM
A pool of crystalline red waters filled his eyes, his ears, his sense of touch. He was engulfed by the gem in all his senses. It was calming and quiet, a world all unto itself. He felt no reason to fight it, for there was no fear here, no hate, no abuse. There was nothing here but an encasing serenity that kept the real world at bay. Why would he want to escape that?



The real world is harsh and forces itself abruptly upon all of Washburn's senses. Pain, hunger, and restraint. He has been abused again by his tormentors. Only in his dreams can he escape from the dungeons of Lord Valerian's Mearan stronghold.

Chained to the wall, naked, and shivering cold Washburn comes out of the serenity of his own mind. Fatigued and near exhaustion, even with what little sleep he might have squeezed out, he is no match for anyone. The guards have routinely beaten him just for the pleasure of doing so. He has heard them talk about the triumph of the Mearan rebellion against the hated Haldanes. Boasting that about which Haldane Lord has died and in want gruesome manner fighting against the superior might of a free Meara.

Washburn raises his head towards the door as the silhouette of a helmeted guard blocks the light through the bared window. The door opens as a  shadow walks in like someone on a garden stroll. The door doesn't close behind the shadow.

"This has gone on far too long. It must end." The shadow speaks and despite the constant ringing in Washburn's ears the voice is all too familiar. And as the shadow conjures a aura of golden handfire to illuminate himself, Washburn's fears are all too real. The shadow is his abductor, the scholar.

The scholar turns up his right hand and reveals a small winged dragon that flies from his hand to the chains holding Washburn prisoner. There it hoovers and breathes a fiery breath on the chains and they melt away and all Washburn can feel is the pain that the caused subsiding. The dragon's breath is cool and refreshing to him and only harmful to the chains.

First the right and then the left until Washburn is completely free of the chains that held him to the wall in this dank dungeon. The dragon grows in size to that of a man and breathes his fiery breath on all of Washburn.

He is now bathed, refreshed, and in clean clothes, as the dragon flies through the ceiling and not seen again. Even the Scholar watches as the dragon flies away with a bit of awe on his face.

"I'm sorry you had to go through this torment. But it was the only way to save your life. If Lord Valerian had a glimmer of your true self when he decided to have you abducted you would have been killed. And that would be a tragedy for our people. So the web of deceit needed to be put into place without your knowledge or even consent."

The Scholar looks around at the dungeon. "It is time for you to leave this place." He reaches out his hand and grabs firmly a hold of Washburn. And they are no longer in the dungeons and now stand on a hill overlooking Coroth Castle where Washburn played as a child with his older brothers. A happy memory and place indeed.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on August 29, 2020, 08:15:00 PM
Lightning flashed across the ramparts of the crimson world. A father's love in the form of a great red dragon stood as protector from the assault upon the ruby. Even if the father was no longer among the living, long ago, he charged the crystal with a portion of his energy; energy that was filled with love. Whether friend or foe, the dragon would hold his protection for Alaric's son.

The flashes continued, here and there. Then they stopped and there was a long pause. In anticipation Washburn held his breath. Then it hit.  An explosion of magic, both deafening and blinding. The knight the dragon protected collapsed under the stress of it. The dragon arched his neck and breathed his fire to scorch that which appeared before him.

A priest walked forward through the flame, untouched by it. "You are a good protector," the priest said quietly. "I am not here to do harm. I am here to heal. Let me pass, so that I may touch the mind of the man who needs me."

The dragon lowered his head to look the man in the eye. "I sense you are a good priest... in your outer shell... but your inside, that which you hide, is contemptible. I will not let you pass."

The priest laughed. "My contempt is great, but it is not aimed at you. The piece of you that is here in the ruby is but a shield to protect your son. I commend that. In fact I don't need to defeat you. Instead I need you to do what your spell was designed to do. SAVE YOUR SON!" The priest's hands danced, then turned palms outward, and swooped the dragon into his grasp.

The world shifted. All that was red was gone, replaced by cold stone and chains. The dragon's son awoke from his nightmarish dreams, he was naked, bruised and beaten with wrists encased in iron cuffs attached to chains on the wall. Was everything that had happened in the past weeks just a fantasy? Had his mind played games with him to hide from the brutality of it all? Had he never found escape from this dungeon? His bones ached and his flesh was cold, it had to be true.

The door to his cell opened and there was the silhouette of a guard in the opening. "This has gone on far too long. It must end," speaks a man, his face cast in shadow from the torch light behind. A man in priest's garb walks from the shadow, only his face is known to Wash and it is not the face of a priest.  The scholar of Washburn's greatest fear opens his hands and lets forth a tiny red dragon. The dragon fulfills his purpose, he flies to the chains to burn them away and to save Alaric's son.

******************
"It is time for you to leave this place."

*******************

The hillside was so beautiful, the sky was so blue,  the grass so tall and so green, the castle on the cliff near the bay was so majestic and proud. Ships in the harbor proved the industry of their people and the world seemed as if it had never been compromised.  After so long in captivity, how could Wash not rejoice in his freedom? The animals around him rejoiced in their freedom too. Every variety of creature moved free along the hillside. Then with loving care, each one stepped closer to Washburn, each one allowed his hand to touch them. As he petted fur, or feather, or scale, the animals became magic energy which he absorbed with his touch. Washburn's mind filled with memories that had so long been separated from him. Some happy, some sad, it didn't matter, they were real memories, they were his memories. He let them fill him up until he was whole. The last was a Gryphon all green and proud, it bent down to let Washburn touch his great head. 

Two brothers, both older and wiser than himself, stood at either of his sides. Both held forth branches like swords. They stood in the tall grass and teased him. "Show us what you have learned, little brother. We challenge you to take us both on."

"I can handle you both, and you know it," boasted the nine year old boy. Wash held his stick two handed and lunged at the first brother who came near. There was laughter as the youngest brother sparred with the two men, both of whom were already Duke and Earl in their own rights. The fight was a good one with much clacking of the sticks. Then there was a yelled "Ouch!" as Wash made first contact across Kelric's sword arm. Brendan laughed that Wash had bested Kelric and then found himself under a barrage of youthful attacks. "I told you he was good," Kelric jested to the eldest brother and then happily laughed as Washburn pushed the adult Brendan back against a tree. Brendan lost his footing on a tree root and fell backward. "I win!" The youngest Morgan yelled in triumph. "I yield! Now help me up," the eldest half-brother said with a half-groan. The three brother's dropped their sticks and all clenched their hands together to raise up the Earl of Marley. There was a warm hug and ruffling of Washburn's hair and then together the three brothers looked over the hillside and took in the full view of their homeland.

At the periphery of Washburn's vision, four animals held their distance. Two eagles swooped at the grasses but came no closer. On the ground in the sprigs of barley wheat there stood a rabbit and a large cat watching him. Washburn held out his hand to them, yet they came neither closer nor moved away. Wash looked around, his brothers were gone. He was no longer a boy but a man full gown. As much as he knew that this moment had been real when he was young, he too knew that it was merely a memory.

A shadow fell over the hillside. An all too familiar fear tensed every muscle in his body.  A touch he knew he would never forget swept across his mind.

Evil incarnate had breached his shields. A frightful prospect indeed. There was no numbing feeling, so he could not be under the influence of any Deryni specific drugs like the last time he was being manipulated by the touch of this shadow. He tried to lash out at the man behind the shadow. But the man in priestly robes had him in his grasp and he was compelled to do the man no harm. He could not attack, yet that did not mean that he would yield. Washburn strengthened his most inner shields. The ones protecting his deepest thoughts and his secrets.

((15:29 <•Laurna> One roll for Wash against the scholar using 3XP to get a 4,5,6 on a 1d6roll.
15:30 <•Laurna> !roll 1d6
15:30 <GameServ> Laurna rolled 1d6: 6 <Total: 6> Success!))

The scholar had breached his outer shields, and likely the foreign master had the power to kill Wash in this moment. Yet Wash knew that the scholar had held this power several times before and had never availed himself of it. Whatever it was the scholar wanted, Wash was determined that unless he was drugged as before, he would never again yield to the scholar's compulsion.

The scholar felt the defiance, he smiled and said, "Sir Washburn, I just freed you from the constraints over your mind and returned to you your memories. Does that not please you? You are now the man you were always meant to be."

Wash clearly remembered being freed from Valarian's dungeon. But it had nothing to do with the scholar or dragons. "It was not you who rescued me! It was Lord Iain and his brother, Darcy and Lady Aliset. Father Columcil was teaching me that my memories were false and that I could move past them. I will not be your prisoner any longer!"

"You were never my prisoner; you were bought and paid for by the youngest son of Teymuraz. Do I need to repeat myself, I am sorry you had to go through this torment. But it was the only way to save your life. Grand Duke Valerian would have happily killed the son of Morgan, and that would be a tragedy for our people."

Wash stood his ground, knowing that the scholar could not breach his inner shields at a whim. Yet he was perplexed by the Scholar's words "Why? I was nothing but a job to you, a means to gain money. What care do you have that I survive?"
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on September 01, 2020, 09:50:14 AM
As he sank deeper into trance Columcil's awareness of the physical world became faint and shadowy. All of him had become mind, soul and heart and all of that focused on the man lying flat on his back and the fellow priest who strove to free him. One part of himself only was he consciously aware of and that was the hand that lay lightly on Washburn's wrist; through many years of praying for healing for others monitoring what was happening within those others had become as automatic as his own breathing. Though then he had not known it to be his own power, but regarded himself as merely St Melangell's instrument for healing, the techniques he had almost blundered upon had been the same.

The wrist he held was cool but relaxed. Suddenly it tensed as though the man it was a part of was bracing himself; it became clammy to the touch and the pulse, until this point beating rhymically beneath Columcil's grasp, began to race. The calm of Columcil's trance began to be threatened. A thought intruded itself; had they unknowingly committed their powers to bring about Washburn's death? Then as suddenly the wrist relaxed and the pulse regained it's normal rythym, the skin once again cool and dry to the touch. It was Columcil's own skin that now felt the chill of fear; though he would not break faith by breaking the circle, the shadow of the terror which he had sensed in Washburn was not entirely banished.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on September 02, 2020, 06:34:50 PM
Aliset Cameron sensed her husband's initial caution as he opened his mind to join her in rapport. None of them knew if the Torenthi priest would succeed or fail, or what the price of either outcome would be.  Tentatively Darcy's mind reached out to hers, and once the contact was made, she felt his growing confidence.  And a strong sense of protection.  Darcy would follow her to hell and back if she asked it of him.  In a moment of insight, she realized she trusted him to do  that, even though trust did not come to her as easily as it once had.  He would never betray her as others had done, and he would never hurt her. He would remain steadfast for all of his days and beyond.  Just as he had promised when Father Columcil married them.

She felt Father Columcil join them in rapport and knew as he grasped Washburn's wrist that the link was now complete.  Father Paulos smiled warily and exhaled, centering himself to begin the energy manipulations. He began to probe the gem, and Aliset shared the memory of Washburn holding a ruby the size of an egg sparkling in the sunshine after he had discovered it at the old well. Paulos nodded and continued to probe here and there but found no weakness in the gem.  Now he changed his tactics, splitting the energy into multiple streams and connections all at once.

((Will Aliset be able to follow the multiple streams of energy as Father Paulos continues the ritual?  She is ritual trained.  Roll a standard roll with success on 4,5 or 6.
jerusha rolled 2d6: 4 6  <Total: 10>
Yes!))

Aliset felt the increased pull of energy needed for the multiple streams.  Farthest from Washburn, she was the least affected  and was able to focus on what Father Paulos was trying to achieve.  Small bursts of energy flashed from the gem in response to some of the connections, but if there was any pain, Father Paulos absorbed it.  As one of the streams crossed the center of the gem, Father Paulos found what he was searching for —a single flaw!

The streams of energy danced around the flaw before swooping inside of it.  There was a moment of calm and then a single, sudden flash of energy sprang from the gem.  Paulos' hand around Washburn's fist contained the blast, but through the link she felt Washburn tense and his pulse begin to race. For what seemed an eternity it continued, until Washburn suddenly relaxed and his pulse returned to normal.

Another spell had been dissolved from the ruby. 

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on September 03, 2020, 08:22:14 AM
The Ritual goes well as Lady Aliset follows it and the energy drawn by Father Paulos is enormous on everyone. Spells placed in layer upon layer within the ruby are beginning to crack and crumble as Washburn's heartbeat rises and falls as the ruby defends itself.

-----

The Scholar sits on a nearby large rock on the hillside. "My Order practices an ancient Deryni art of divination. And our seers are very accurate. They predicted that the youngest son of Morgan would become something special one day. We waited and watched. Visited the halls of Coroth Castle as we have since the days of Duke Stiofan."

"Then Lord Valerian makes his plans of conquest of Meara and his Festilic birthright of Gwynedd. And he comes up with a plan to abduct the youngest son of Morgan. To use him in his quest for power. So we accept his contract to bring youngest son of Morgan to him."

"Because we knew already where your loyalties were to King, to Country, to Family. And if anyone else would have accepted the bounty to bring you in. Lord Valerian would have killed you because you would be useless to his plans and only as good as any younger lordling as a hostage to bargain with despite the fact that you are a Morgan."

"You hadn't fulfilled our seers vision yet. And being dead at the hands of Valerian before you could reach your destiny was not something we were going to allow. The task fell to me. So I altered your memories. I made you loose your loyalties to King, Country, and Family. Enough that you would pass any scrutiny of Valerian mind-seeing you."

"But your real memories. I didn't destroy them. I hid them behind many locks and in corridors of your mind were no one would ever look for memories to be there. They are safe ... "

He pauses and takes a few breaths. "This is taxing to maintain. And you fight against me. All of your memories have not been restored only a fragment of them before you slammed your Shields tight. And without the drugs I used on you when we first met. I cannot get past your Shields to restore those memories to their rightful place."

"The controls are still in place. If I order you to lower your Shields. You will eventually obey but you can fight me the entire way. And that could be harmful to many. So I ask you. Let me restore your mind to where it was after you left Culdi and before you reached Rhemuth while you escorted Lady Aliset to the King's Court. Nothing will be lost and you will be whole once more."

----

Father Paulos draws more energy from Washburn's companions pushing them deeper into a trance than most of them have ever been. The energy transference is causing the Father's brow to drip with sweat. But it can be sensed he is making some progress for the ruby clenched in Washburn's hand is vibrating and sending some bolts of lightning outward.

Though in this state Father Paulos was ready for such an attack and his own Shields are absorbing the energy being released so that it doesn't harm anyone within the Ritual. But a few strike out beyond them and into the circle. Missing Fiona by inches only to hit the Ward of the circle and dissipate harmlessly in a display of energy across the Warded circle.

(( a follow up roll to Aliset's earlier roll while following the ritual:
bynw rolled 2d6: 6 2  <Total: 8> ))

Aliset continues to follow the Ritual the best she can. But the trance is pulling her ever deeper. And something isn't right. Her training in ritual magic screams at her from the increasing distance of conscious awareness that is fading quickly.

(( Aliset needs to make a Standard Test to stay at this level. If she fails she falls deeper into trance due to the energy drain being used by the Ritual.
bynw rolled 2d6: 6 1  <Total: 7>
And she manages to stay aware for now))

She fights to stay at this level without going any deeper despite the energy drain to herself caused by the needs of Father Paulos and what she must spend herself to stay at this level of awareness.

She can sense the others pulled deeper into trance and losing any awareness of themselves or others at a conscious level to act.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on September 04, 2020, 01:00:24 PM
Fiona watched closely as the ritual continued. She sensed that there were changes occurring but whether they were what was intended or not she did not know. She wished that she knew more of what was expected. She noticed signs of strain in Father Paulos. She could see muscles in his hands and arms bulging as if his grip had tightened on Wash's fist and the ruby. The priest appeared pale and she saw sweat dripping from his face.

She looked closely at the others and also noted changes in them. Columcil was gripping Wash's wrist more tightly than he had before and he also appeared pale. She noticed creases in his forehead as though he was thinking very hard. Darcy continued to maintain his clasp of both his wife's hand and that of Father Columcil, but she noted no increase in the tightness of his grip. He also appeared a little pale.

Aliset seemed to be the least affected. She kept her hand on Father  Paulos' arm and continued to clasp Darcy's hand in her other hand. Her breathing remained slow and even. Her eyes remained closed.

Fiona had noticed occasional brief flashes of red light from the ruby but had seen no response from those in the link to indicate that they felt any pain or discomfort from them. She hoped that these flashes meant that the gem was trying, unsuccessfully, to fight back against the shattering of the spells it contained.

Suddenly there was a stronger lightning bolt from the ruby. It escaped from Father Paulos' clinched fist and shot outward. It missed Fiona by inches and dissipated against the wall of the ward. It caused no harm, but it frightened the young woman standing so near where it struck. She found herself trembling, and her hands were shaking, barely able to maintain her hold on Darcy's dagger.

She quickly scanned her friends, looking for any changes. She saw no visible alterations in their positions or attitudes. But she thought, "Such a bolt of power could kill if it strikes one of us. Is there anything I can do to prevent that?"  She thought of opening the gate in the ward. But Aliset had said she should do this only in extreme need. She was not sure what constituted extreme need, but she didn't think this was it.

Although the ruby had shot out a few bolts of power, they did not appear to be a concentrated attack aimed at Father Paulos or any of the others in the chain. She thought they were more defensive than offensive. In order for the gate to be used, one or more of those involved in the ritual would have to be aroused and convinced to break the chain and leave the warded circle using the gate. This might make them safer, but it would end any chance of freeing Wash or defeating whatever evil held him in thrall. She was certain that none of them would agree to do that based on what she had seen thus far. She was not conscious of any evil spirit that had materialized within the dome.  She did not feel that the random attack justified opening a gate.

Fiona  took several deep breaths and resumed her position behind Father Paulos and Aliset, standing straighter and adjusting her grip on the dagger. She would not give in to fear. She would continue to keep watch and be prepared to take action if any more definite threat appeared
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on September 05, 2020, 10:41:06 AM
"You speak of divination like it is a real thing." Washburn's tone expressed incredulity. "Seers? Like Oracles of the mythology of ancient Byzantiun? Such magic doesn't exist,"  Wash studied the scholar's face.  He saw no indication that the educated man thought this an outlandish idea. "If such magic does exist...and I am not saying that I believe it.. why name me? This is insane! Your seers can not be as accurate as you claim them to be. They named the wrong Morgan. The youngest son of Kenneth Kai Morgan was the man who held mythic qualities. Alaric Morgan was King's Champion. It was he who saved the throne of Gwynedd by empowering Kelson Haldane. It was my father who had great abilities to shrug off the hate of his race and turn it to advantage. He was the first Healer to be found in centuries. It was he who slew the traitor of Torenth, Teymuraz,  even when he had been challenged to an unfair Duel Arcane. A Duel Arcane that I presume your order did not want my father to win. It was you who told me that it was members of your order who supplied the youngest son of Teymuraz with a means to cheat my father out of his victory and his life."   Washburn scowled at the man sitting on the rock.

The Scholar merely watched him with a confident calm. "The wrong Morgan was not named," was all the man replied.

Wash walked in a circle, treading down the grass below his boots. "You abducted me weeks ago. You have controlled me from that moment forward.  You were the one who told me how Valerian killed my father. You were the one who placed me within reach of that very same man, and you stoked my need for revenge before you did so. You manipulated me to be a weapon that could take Valerian down. It almost worked as you planned. I did survive Valerian's torture. But not in the way you think." Wash stopped his pacing and looked straight at the scholar. "What really saved me from his hate of Morgans was his greater hate of Haldanes. He didn't have time for me. After you dropped me in that hell hole, he didn't come for me as you thought he would. He had a battle to win, and he was distracted enough to allow another man who had infiltrated his nest to assist me in escaping. If you had thought I would have been strong enough to have killed Valerian when we were nearly nose to nose as we escaped, then you should be disappointed. Even for vengeance sake, I did not kill the man who murdered my father. I failed your compulsion to do so. And in that failure, I started down the path to become my own man!" Washburn nodded his head, confident his thoughts of what really happened were deep behind his inner shields.  "I have heard rumors that Valerian took his army to Laas and fought battle there for a full day. Because of you, I was denied the use of my skill with the sword to join my brothers in that battle. I am certain that it was their strength combined with the mighty strength of the Haldanes, which turned Valerian and his army away. I can only hope they track him down and take him before our king to be found guilty for his crimes.  Proper justice done is the only revenge that I need."

Wash turned to look at the city nestled beside the harbor.  His hand shot out and pointed toward the castle. "That is where my loyalties lie. Memories or no. That is what is in my blood. I am loyal to kingdom and king, and to family and friends. The love of my friends has allowed me to rediscover my true self. I stand by my knightly vows to protect the weak and the innocent. King Kelson upholds the law, which states that no freeman shall be taken or imprisoned, or be disseised of his freehold, or his liberties. He will not be condemned but by lawful judgement. I believe in the king's laws. I abide by lawful judgement. I am not a weak man. My hand can bring down justice upon a man lawfully condemned as a criminal, and I will battle to defend my homeland. But I believe after all my ordeal that I would prefer to Heal those who are injured or fallen into harm's way." Wash took a deep breath and opened both hands to stare at them. The joy of Healing was the greatest gift that could be bestowed upon a man. That was his future whatever lies the seer of the Black Order of Death might claim.

"Above these things, you think I am special, I am not. You say you will give me back all that you have taken away from me. I do want them back, I do want to be fully whole again, but at what cost? You say I should submit myself to your manipulations to become the man who fulfills your seer's destiny. I am not sure I want to own that destiny. Only if the choices of the future are my own to make, and not some compulsion set by another."

There was movement in the grass around them. A Golden Eagle flew over to land between the scholar and Washburn. The Sea Eagle walked through the grass, his wings outstretched as though the energy to fly was too great. Nevertheless, the great bird came to stand at Washburn's side. The Grey Hare jumped very close to Wash and sat looking up at him with wide pleading amber eyes. The lynx walked forward with her hackles raised. She stopped a few steps back between  the scholar and the Golden Eagle.

Washburn looked at each of them in turn.  And anger in his heart melted from their love. They were here to support him. More than anything, he wanted desperately to get them out of this mess. This huge mess he had dragged them into, all begun by some lousy false prediction.

((12:52 <•Laurna> Save test, Wash using 6XP disadvantage success on 3-6
12:52 <•Laurna> !roll 1d6
12:52 <GameServ> Laurna rolled 1d6: 1 <Total: 1>  REALLY? We are now calling them The Scholar's cured dice))

Worry crossed his mind. How was he going to protect his friends and his honor through this confrontation, when his shields wanted to open in Rapport and let his friends within?
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on September 06, 2020, 08:47:04 AM
As Wash's inner Shields roll back for his friends the threshold is quickly filled by the Scholar. "Your friends cannot follow us where we are going only you and I can go."

The touch of the Scholar's mind is gentle and soothing as he invites Washburn to accompany him.

Before the pair is a colossal knot blocking the pathway. "These are the controls that others have used to prevent you from acting. Valerian, Lord Iain, and even your friends have used this to restrain you." Without a word he draws a sword and cuts the knot to pieces.

Washburn can feel the change instantly. Only the Scholar can control Washburn now. He can feel that control still in place.

The Scholar shows Washburn where he has hidden his rightful memories. Truly in place no memories should be located. It would have been near impossible to find them without a deep and prolonged Mind-Seeing scan. "Now I will give you back all that I had hidden from you." And with a touch Washburn's memories come flooding back, almost taking his breath away. They replace the hate, the mistrust, the scorn all with love, trust, and gentleness.

His father wasn't a harsh taskmaster. He was given praise by his teachers and brothers. Washburn wasn't just a 3rd son worth nothing. He was everything.

As these and other memories and emotions flood into Washburn's mind and take their rightful place the Scholar stops at his own controls and whispers into them before leaving Washburn's inner mind and again sits on the rock on the Coroth hillside.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on September 06, 2020, 05:00:56 PM
The Scholar waits for Washburn's memories to resettle into their rightful place. "You are restored now. All of the memories I hid from Valerian are in their rightful place. And you have the memories of what happened to you. Any of your friends or even yourself can blur them if they are too painful."

"Again I am sorry that this happened to you. But I could not have told you the truth or asked for your permission. Valerian is very skilled and could have detected the deception. And we would both be dead now."

"Our seers were right about you. You are indeed special. The first healer-blocker since the Thuryn's and the Great Orin before that."

He bows at the neck towards Washburn. "I will take my leave of your mind soon. The controls that I hold have been reset. In a few hours they simply wont be there as I have released all of the reinvorcements that they had."

"I usually stay in the Free Port of Concaradine under the guise of a merchant. Ask around I am known there by the name Feyd."

"In the east, just across the Southern Sea from Corywn you can find me in the Forcinn Buffer States. There I go by the name Collos Feyd d'Chameaux of Vezarie. Any one can point you towards my family's land and estate."

Feyd gets up from the rock he has been sitting on and again bows towards Washburn. "If there is anything I can do for you. Name it. And if it is in my power to do so I shall have it done. Just as I had that idiot cousin of Lady Aliset disposed of so she could be free from his influence."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on September 08, 2020, 01:43:38 PM
Darcy Cameron's mind seemed to be enveloped in a calm, grey fog.  He could see no stars, nor could he see the moon.  He felt no discomfort, no need to try to break free, but he felt tired.  He knew he needed to get his crew to the shore and across the sands to where all would be healed.  But how could he chart his course through such a thick fog? 

He sensed rather than felt the soft drops of rain.  He felt refreshed for a moment, but the fog did not clear.  How was he to find his way?

He knew Aliset was beside him, although he could no longer feel her hand in his. She had more experience in this than he did, and she would find the way to shore.  And he would follow, trusting her completely.

The grey fog swirled around him and pulled him deeper into its gentle embrace.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on September 11, 2020, 06:43:13 PM
"It's wrong!  It's wrong!  This is not the way it should be!"

All of Aliset Cameron's training in ritual magic was screaming at her that something was very wrong, but the screams were growing weaker.  She could feel herself being pulled deeper into the trance as the demand for energy grew.  If she could not resist, she would soon lose all sense of awareness and any hope that she could discover what had gone wrong.

She centered her powers more deeply, tapping into her own energy to counter the demands of the trance. 

((Will Aliset be able to maintain her awareness?  Standard roll of two dice, with success on 4, 5, or 6.
jerusha rolled 2d6: 2 1  <Total: 3> Cursed  dice!
I cannot use XP on behalf of Evie, but Bynw has allowed Aliset a second roll for a better outcome.  I have waited 24 hours for the bad karma to dispel.
jerusha rolled 2d6: 5 1  <Total: 6>That's better!))

Aliset felt the pull of the trance lessen.  For a moment, she was afraid that she had broken the link, but she could still sense Darcy and Father Columcil's presence. They remained united as one.   She looked at Father Paulos and saw that he was sweating profusely now.  Of course!  Redirecting her energy for her own use was denying it to Paulos, but that meant he was drawing more heavily on Darcy and Father Columcil.  She would need to work quickly before their energy was drawn down to a dangerous level.

She focused on what Father Paulos was doing.  He was scrying for the spells cast upon the ruby.  This was a simple enough task; the energy expenditure should not be this high. By maintaining the multiple attacks against the ruby, he had increased the energy required, but it still seemed out of proportion to her.  The trance she had pulled free from, but which still held Darcy and Father Columcil in its embrace, was too deep for even the multiple attacks. 

And what of the ruby itself?  How was it able to resist Father Paulos, not to mention being able to fight back?  If only they had been able to scan it more deeply, but they had run out of time.  Washburn could not be left in this coma state much longer.  Soon his body would begin to waste away for want of water and food, and even the most skilled Healers could not prevent that.

Was the problem Father Paulos?  Perhaps he was not as skilled as he had led them to believe.  He was a Torenthi priest after all, but to believe he had played them false because of that would be the same as believing all Deryni were evil!  No, they  had no cause to not believe in his skill, and his desire to assist them had been genuine.

((Test to try to discern what is wrong with the ritual.  Aliset rolls a standard test; the total result must be greater than the roll the Scholar made to prevent it.  Roll was done off-camera, so the Scholar's results are unknown.
jerusha rolled 2d6: 3 5  <Total: 8>
Not bad, but Bynw says not good enough.  Aliset will reroll tomorrow to see if she can do better.
jerusha rolled 2d6: 6 3  <Total: 9>
Better, but Bynw says still not good enough.  GRRRR.))

Aliset had examined the problem from every angle she could think of, but to no avail.  She was now certain that the problem was not Father Paulos.  Something had been hidden within the ritual, but what that was continued to elude her.

Aliset turned her attention from Father Paulos and suddenly realized that, while she had been concentrating so hard to discover the source of the problem, the energy drain had stabilized.  It was still significant, but it was no longer increasing.  The trance would remain deep, but not dangerous.  Father Paulos must have moved past another spell, but she could not be sure.

She could only watch, wait, and pray that this would end well.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on September 14, 2020, 10:54:48 AM

"You confirm my suspicions about Lord Oswarld."  Wash pursed his lips together. "Such dealings are not in line with my beliefs. Not that I deny the agreement I made with you, nor do I regret the outcome. He murdered Aliset's family! I think I would like to have skewered the man on the end of my sword. Then Healed him, to see him sent to the king's dungeons and buried there. I try to be a good man, but understand, I am not a priest with endless forgiveness, so I will not deny that your way has its merits, within certain lines.  I think we shall just have to let this one go. It does prove one thing, that an agreement with you is binding. I will remember that, and I will be more careful in my dealings with you in the future."

"Duly noted," the scholar simply replied.

"Am I to presume from this that I do have a future? You've known I am a Healer, you probably knew it before I did. Those seers of yours.  But you couldn't have known weeks ago that I carried this Blocking ability. How could anyone even imagine such an ability? I have used it twice, and not in the manner which is prescribed in the scroll. Are you here to punish me for that? The only defense I have was that it was in self-defense. One of those instances I can reverse, if I ever see her again. Do you know anyone else who can do this... thing?" Wash looked straight at Feyd. The scholar's eyes were non-committal, as expected. But Wash did note a little awe in the upturning of the man's lips. "The scroll which you intended to use to lure me to the library portal, did you know the full content of it? Now that I am not so deluded by drugs, I presume you had little trouble deciphering it yourself. I also assume it was just a copy, since you burnt such an informative document. Was it your order who coded it?"

"I have deciphered the scroll. And I knew you were a Healer." The Scholar replied from his seat on the stone.  "I thought the first parts would interest you enough to get us to the Deryni Library behind the gardarobe where the portal lay. That other business with Aliset? That was not my business. Later when you were in a drugged state, I enjoyed your request to have the scroll. Deciphering that drunken script was a perfect waste of your energy and time. It got us through most of that very long day. I really didn't think you would solve it, not to its end. I am surprised that you did, you don't exactly have a reputation for scholarly study. I have seen your memories. Denis Arilan's assessment of your ability for academics may have been unwarranted, but you did not exactly give him reason to believe otherwise."

Washburn bowed his head low as he replied. "It is my regret that I can no longer make amends with His Grace, Bishop Arilan. I do intend to make amends with my uncle Duncan." the knight looked back up at the scholar. " I owe him much for standing by me all these years.  I have learned that I have much yet that I need to learn. That scroll would be prized at the Schola; it summarizes the full extent of a Healer's abilities.  Yet you burned it!"

"I burned it.  But it was a mere copy. An exact copy, mind you. The original was spell-scribed more than two hundred years ago to hide that last ability from the wrong eyes. The original scroll is a family heirloom, we know it is a summary of the writings of the Green Protocols of Orin. From your expression I see you have heard of those."

"My mother has spent a lifetime in the quest for Deryni knowledge. She has long searched for the Protocols. Saint Camber was known to have had them. They were lost with the Harrowing."

"Scattered. Hidden. Lost? Maybe, maybe not." The scholar smiled at Washburn's piqued interest. But on that subject he would say no more. "Our seers did not have the wrong Morgan. When time has passed, we can meet again."

"You are a complicated man, of many secrets. I am a simple man, secrets don't bide well with me." Wash rubbed his face with both hands. "I am exhausted from all of this." Wash looked around at the animals near him and saw that the eagles and the hare had settled into the grass appearing sleepy. Only the eyes of the lynx stared back at him with deep concern.

"What is going on here? Have you harmed my friends? I will not have their lives on my hands." The scholar had breached his shields, yet that did not keep the knight from tensing every muscle in arms, legs, and chest. He had a great need to seek beyond the scholar to touch the minds of his friends to ensure they were safe.

((14:48 <•Laurna> Rolling a dice to see if Wash can mentally touch his friends and learn they were in Ritual around them. 6XP success on 3,4,5,6
14:48 <•Laurna> !roll 1d6
14:48 <GameServ> Laurna rolled 1d6: 4 <Total: 4>
14:48 <•Laurna> That is something positive at least. ))

His mind breached the edge of the ruby and touched on the openness of an unfamiliar priest. There was also a second priest in the link, one much more familiar, but Wash could not touch his cousin's consciousness. As he sought through the deep Rapport of minds, he found one who gained awareness of his presence.

"Washburn, are you with us? I can sense you there," The young lady called out.

"Aliset!" Wash called back. But the window that he had opened started to fade and close.

((19:54 <•Laurna> Wash has made a brief contact with Aliset, can he hold the link open. 6XP Success of 3,4,5,6
19:54 <•Laurna> !roll 1d6
19:54 <GameServ> Laurna rolled 1d6: 5 <Total: 5> ))

"Aliset, stay with me. You seem so distant. Are you all right?"

"Wash, we have found you at last." Her voice had a nervous excitement but it was weak in strength. "The ritual is taxing. If it is working, then it is worth the risk."

"Risk? Ritual? Lord above, don't risk yourself for me!" Wash called. Even as he said this, he knew his friends were doing that very thing.

Wash knew the Scholar was still in control of whatever it was that was happening. "Khardasha!" he said with gritted teeth. "Please, let them go!"

"The task is nearly complete, but if you push my efforts backwards the extra time to correct what was wrong could do them harm." The scholar stated. "You need to let me finish what has begun."

Wash purposefully took in a deep long breath. He had to calm his nerves and keep his shields from pushing at the mind who held him in thrall. "I will do as you say to save my friends from further danger. But before I fully submit, I have two requests to make of you. I urge that the first be taken care of before my friends do something untoward. I need you to take back and to destroy that potion that causes devastation and madness. The blue fire in the green topped bottle that I wear around my neck, the same that was used to kill my father.  No one should have that power. Take it and be rid of it.  Secondly, if you still have it, I would like my Camber medal back. You probably would not understand what that small token means to me."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on September 14, 2020, 01:15:32 PM
"I make a promise to you Washburn. Your friends will not be harmed. Their lives will not be in danger. Although Lady Aliset seems to be going against the plan. She is a clever and dangerous girl. She her skill and will are stronger than we believed. She complicates the working."

"I cannot take back the BlueFyre that I gave you as an option to free yourself. For I am not physically present to do so. Pour it out on the ground. Make sure the area is dusty and dry. Don't pour it into any stream or water. And rinse the bottle with the strongest of spirits. Nothing diluted. Do this several times to make sure none of it remains in the bottle and then you can use it for anything else or simply dispose of it."

"The medallion that you speak of is safe. I can see to it that you get it back. I certainly don't want it."

Again Feyd pauses and briefly appears to be catching his breath. "Maintaining this link is taxing. Fortunately we are almost done. Let us complete it."

----

Aliset felt the touch of Washburn's mind for a brief moment and then it was gone. It was a joyous experience. Washburn was alive and well as far as she could tell. But the link faded and the continued out pouring of energy is getting over whelming to stay with it. She would not be able to initiate that link to Washburn on her own.

But there was something else. Father Paulos, herself, Father Columcil, and her beloved Darcy are all in a Rapport with one another. And for a brief moment Washburn had entered Rapport with them.

And within this brief moment as it closed. Aliset discovered that there was a separate mental link. A feather light touching of another mind on the Torenthi priest's mind. A Rapport so subtle it almost went unnoticed and even Father Paulos might not be aware of it at all. It must be using the ruby.

Yet it is the source. The energy being pulled by Father Paulos is being siphoned off through the secondary Rapport like water through a drain. 

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on September 18, 2020, 03:47:22 PM
Aliset Cameron drew a sharp intake of breath.  For a brief, joyous instant, she had shared  Rapport with Washburn!  But  as the Rapport closed,  she had felt another presence linked with Washburn, and she was sure that presence was also linked to Father Paulos.   It was so subtle, almost feather-light, that she had not sensed it before.  It had to be the cause of the energy drain! This person, whoever it was, was siphoning off the energy they were supplying to the Torenthi priest and using it for their own purpose.  That purpose must lie within the ruby.

Aliset felt her awareness begin to dull.  She could not give up now, not when she might discover the source of the additional mental link! 

((Test roll to see if Aliset can maintain her alertness.  Standard roll with success on 4, 5 or 6.
jerusha rolled 2d6: 6 3  <Total: 9> Way to go, Aliset!))

Aliset stilled her mind, took a deep breath and drew back from the brink of  the deep trance that held Darcy and Father Columcil.  She could sense their presence and felt their support.  She could also sense the twin heartbeats she carried within her.  She would not risk their safety.  Darcy's hand tightened ever so slightly over her own.  To succeed, she must find the source quickly, for the pull on their energy resources had increased again.

Aliset focused on Father Paulos' mind and that secondary, feather-light touch.  Both minds led her towards the ruby held so tightly in Washburn's fist, but did not draw her within the flaw.  Instead the secondary Rapport separated and  seemed to swirl around the gem, following the last spell that remained. Father Paulos halted his probe of the gem, and Aliset slipped in to take his place to try to follow the path to its source.

((Test to see if Aliset can discover the source of the secondary Rapport.  Roll a standard test, success on 4, 5 or 6.
jerusha rolled 2d6: 5 5  <Total: 10>There's that 10 I was looking for before.  Whoot!))

An image began to form in her mind. The image was distorted, as if she was having trouble focusing her eyes to see it. It was a man in conversation with another. She concentrated harder, and the image became clearer. The man was a foreigner, wearing a scholar's robes.   She had seen this face before, and she shuddered as the memory suddenly came back to her.

She had been cradled in Washburn's arms, helpless from the drug Jaxom had used when he had abducted her.  She could not move, but her head rested in such a way on Washburn's chest  that she could see the man approach Washburn from behind. 

Is the Lady alright? he had asked. 

The man  had then jabbed something into Washburn's neck, directly in front of her face. She had felt Washburn tense, and he pushed her from his lap.  She had heard a brief struggle and then Washburn was gone.

Aliset saw the man clearly now and was sure this foreign  scholar was the source of the secondary link.  Suddenly, she knew he saw her as well, and his presence filled her mind,  causing her to gasp.

"Desist, woman! Or you will harm the man you so desperately want to save!

"You are the man who captured Washburn!  You are the one who caused him such pain and suffering!" Aliset shot back, not trying to temper the anger she knew the scholar could feel through the link.  "He still suffers because of you!"

"On the contrary, I saved his life," the scholar corrected.  "But I have no time for further discussion.  Washburn can explain all to you when he awakens.  I have restored his memories; now I must finish what I started.  If I do not, he will never achieve the destiny that is his and his alone."

"I'm sure he could have managed that without your interference," Aliset snapped.

"See for yourself that Washburn is unharmed."

A new image formed in Aliset's mind.  It was Washburn, sitting on a hillside under a clear blue sky, gazing at a harbour Aliset did not recognize.  She sensed no distress, no struggle within....

"Thank you, Lady Aliset, for your momentary distraction," the scholar said. 

"No!" Aliset felt his presence in the link begin to withdraw.  It pulled away from the ruby, rejoined Father Paulos' Rapport and was gone.

"Oh, Washburn!" Aliset cried out in mental distress.  "Have I failed you?"
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on September 19, 2020, 04:53:39 PM
Wash nodded to the scholar as the man agreed to find a way to return the Camber medal to him.
The scholar took in a deep breath and said.  "Maintaining this link is taxing. Fortunately we are almost done. Let us complete it."

Wash felt a little disoriented as all the pieces of his life filtered back into their rightful places in his mind. "I think I need to sit down," he replied as his knees bent on their own accord. He caught himself and sat not too gently upon the grassy hill.

Twenty four years of memories righted themselves in his mind: they tumbled over each other to become full and complete. The tainted memories were mostly gone, only a few remained because those few had affected how he had made decisions which caused him to act badly in the last few weeks. They were there like bard's tall-tales, ones full of mis-truths, ones that were known to be false stories, but the stories could not be denied completely once they had been witnessed.  Wash pushed those to a separate place in his mind knowing them now for their falsehoods. Also knowing he needed to apologize and make right the things those false memories had caused him to do. "Can they ever forgive me?" he asked of the blue sky and the castle on the cliff below.

Could his brothers ever forgive him? They must be worried sick about him.  And his mother. How was he going to face her? Those thoughts were overwhelming, they obscured the conversation the scholar was having behind him.
The words, "Thank you, Lady Aliset, for your momentary distraction,"  pulled Wash from his reverie.

"Oh, Washburn!" Aliset cried out in mental distress.  "Have I failed you?"

"Aliset?" he called, but he did not see her. He swore he had heard her, but as he turned, no one was there. The scholar was gone too. Only the animals remained and they moved closer to him. Columcil the rabbit leaned his twitching nose into Washburn's palm. The two eagles came close to his side and the lynx walked before him, her amber eyes looking at him beseechingly.

"My friends, you have not failed me. You are the best part of me. Will you be here when I awake from this dream? I am so tired, but if you promise to be here, I will sleep now and awake a better man.  I make that vow to you. I will be a better man."

Wash curled on his side and fell into an easy sleep
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on September 20, 2020, 01:14:55 PM

Sometime in the late afternoon.

Father Paulos breathes out sigh and opens his eyes. Before him lies the Knight Washburn. Sleeping, but his sleep has changed. No longer held in thrall to a magical sleep. He is sleeping on his own.

The Torenthi priest moves his hand from Washburn's head and uses it to help guild the hand still clenched in a fist around the ruby. Setting it hand gently on Washburn's body before the priest releases it.

Within the minds of those engaged win the Ritual. They slowly begin regaining their awareness. Besides regaining their awareness of themselves and the others as the mental link dissolves. They are aware of how exhausted they all are from the working.

Father Paulos still sits beside Washburn. His head bowed and his hands together in prayer. Using the Greek of the eastern churches as his language of choice. He finishes his prayers as the others seem to be looking at him for guidance. He crosses himself in the eastern manner and turns to them.

"I believe we are successful. His sleep is that of any man and not magically endued. We are all tired and should let him sleep until morning as we all should do. If we are successful. Sometime during the night his hand will go limp and release the stone allowing it fall. And it will be just a stone at that point."

He looks to Fiona. "My dear. Thank you for your service in watching over us through this ritual. When the others release the ward. Go fetch Father Michael so we can have a room here in the church prepared for all of us. I doubt highly that inn keeper will appreciate any of you back there for the night."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on September 23, 2020, 09:19:13 AM
As Fiona continued to watch, she began to notice subtle changes occurring in her friends.  She looked carefully, studying them more intently. She noticed changes in their breathing. Instead of very slow and shallow as it had been, the rate of their breathing increased and became deeper. She thought she saw Aliset's eyelids flutter. Columcil's head was no longer sunk on his chest, his chin rose and his neck straightened.  Darcy's right hand appeared to tighten on his wife's.

She heard a deep sigh from the head of Wash's cot. She turned to observe Father Paulos and saw that his eyes were open. He returned her scrutiny with a slight smile.  "I believe our ritual has come to an end." As she watched, he removed his hand from Washburn's forehead and placed it on top of the hand holding Wash's hand. Gently he guided Wash's hand with the ruby to his chest and laid it there. There were no flashes of light or other responses from the ruby. Did that mean that the spells had been cast out and Wash was no longer under their thrall?  Did it mean that the ruby no longer has the power to attack them if they tried to move it?  Did this mean that Wash was free?

As she kept her gaze on Father Paulos who remained sitting at Washburn's side, he bowed his head and clasped his hands together. She heard him murmuring words in prayer although she could not understand them.

Fiona turned away from her study of the priest and returned her gaze to her friends. She saw their eyes open and they began to stir. Father Paulos' voice ceased and he crossed himself in the Eastern manner. He raised his head and looked around the circle. Aliset had removed her hand from his arm, and all of them released their hand holds. Darcy removed his hand from Wash's chest where he had clasped Columcil's hand. Only Washburn did not stir. They all turned their eyes toward the priest.

Father Paulos returned their gaze and smiled. "I believe our ritual has been successful." he said.

"But Washburn still sleeps. He is not arousing." Fiona sounded concerned.

The priest responded. "But this sleep is different. He is sleeping naturally. He is no longer under the spell on the ruby. This is healing sleep, to counter the fatigue we all feel. We are all exhausted from the effort to free Sir Washburn from his coma."

Father Paulos addressed Aliset who was regarding him with a steady gaze. "My lady, if you will release the wards, I will ask Lady Fiona to find Father Michael and ask him to have a meal and beds prepared for us here in the church where we can rest safely and restore our energy."

Darcy spoke up, "Are you able to do this,  love? I know how tired you are. You mustn't push yourself too far. I am sure Father Columcil will assist you in releasing the wards" He eyed her with concern.

Aliset felt his love and worry for her. "Banishing the wards is much simpler than raising them and requires very little energy. As the operator responsible for the wards, I need to be the one to lower them. But Father Columcil, will you please extinguish the candles at the four corners?" The good father nodded, rose and went to each of the candles, extinguishing them each in turn.

She then turned to Darcy. "Will you help me to stand?" She began to rise from her seat but was shaky and had to grip the side of the cot to keep from falling. Darcy quickly rose to stand beside her and provide support. She turned to face the ward which still pulsed around them. He moved behind her so she could lean on him without any interference in what she was doing. Aliset raised her arms with her hands palm upwards. She took a deep centering breath and intoned. Ex tenebris te vocavi, Domine She slowly turned her hands palms downward. Te vocavi, et lucen dedisti. "Out of darkness have I called thee, O Lord. I have called thee, and Thou hast given light"

" Nunc dimittis servum tuum secundum verbum tuum in pace. Fiat voluntas tua. Amen "Now lettest thy servant depart in peace according to thy will. Let it  be done according to thy will."  As Aliset lowered her arms, the doming light faded and died. She swayed with weakness, and Darcy lowered her to the floor onto his folded cloak. She took a couple of deep breaths and leaned back against him as he knelt behind her.
(Source of the incantation to release the wards: Deryni Magic, pg. 160)

"I will find Father Michael and tell him of your requests for a meal and beds for the night." Fiona dashed from the room leaving the others to envy so much energy. It did not take long to find Father Michael who was in the sacristy checking vestments and other items needed for mass.  He smiled at the young lady who hurried up to him. "Does this mean that the ritual has been completed? I hope that all went well and that your friend is again himself, no longer in that magic sleep."

Fiona curtsied and answered. "Yes Father. Although Sir Washburn is not yet awake, Father Paulos assures us that the ritual was successful, and that he will awaken fully in possession of all his powers. But everyone is very tired and drained from the energy required for the ritual. Father Paulos says that we all need food and then to sleep through the night to restore our energies. He asks for a simple meal to be served and beds made up here in the church so that we may sleep safely through the night."

Father Michael nodded. "I am glad that you have gotten the result you so much desired. I will ask cook to prepare a meal and serve it as soon as possible. While you are eating I will have beds made up for you so that you may get the sleep you need."

"But what of our belongings left at the Inn?" Fiona asked. "Should we not hire someone to fetch them?  I'm not sure what the innkeeper might do with them. He was quite angry and wanted us gone as soon as possible."

"Don't worry, my lady. I had your things brought here from the inn. The innkeeper is not a bad man. He was just concerned with the reputation of his inn. After all, it is his livelihood." Father Michael  smiled gently at her.
"Thank you, Father. I had best return to my friends now." Fiona curtsied and left the room.

She had not been long back when a servant came to the room where the ritual had taken place. She curtsied and addressed Father Paulos. "The food you asked for is ready, Father. If you and your friends will come with me, I will show you where we have laid a table for you."

Father Paulos nodded at her. "Bless you, my child."

He gestured to the rest of the group. "Come with me." he said and they all followed him to a nearby room where there was a rough table with benches on either side. He indicated that they should take their places.and after they were seated, he stood at the head of the table and said grace. He then indicated to two young deacons  that they should serve the meal.  Each person was given a bowl of hot, savory stew along with bread and cups of light ale. A platter of apples was placed in the center as well as another platter with more bread. "Help yourselves to more bread and fruit" he said.

"But what about Washburn?' Fiona asked anxiously. "Doesn't he need food too. Shouldn't we wake him so he can eat?"

"He will benefit more from undisturbed sleep right now. I will see to it that there is food kept warm for him,  and he can eat when he awakes. Please, go ahead and eat. Do not worry. We will see that Sir Washburn is cared for." Father Paulos gestured toward the food on the table. The friends picked up their spoons and began to eat.

After the meal was eaten, they returned to the room where they had carried out the ritual. They saw that pallets had been prepared for each of them. Washburn was still sleeping on the cot in the center of the room. There was a pallet set up near the door where Father Columcil could sleep and be near him. Father Michael had also asked a young deacon currently serving in the church to keep watch over Washburn during the night. Darcy, Aliset, and Fiona were shown beds in an adjoining room which had both a door and a window, providing ventilation. Father Paulos would sleep in his bed in the rectory.  He went over to the cot, accompanied by Father Columcil and they examined Washburn. "He continues to sleep naturally, his breathing and pulse are good. I think it would be best to let him wake up on his own. Father Columcil, as the healer,  will be near and Deacon Andras will also remain with him should he need anything. He will know where to find me if needed. It is time for Vespers if you wish to attend. After that, I suggest all of you lie down and get your much needed rest."

Columcil, accompanied by Fiona, went to Vespers. By the time they returned, Darcy and Aliset, their beds drawn together to be side by side near the window, were already asleep. Columcil went to his bed just outside the door. He almost collapsed onto it and yawned hugely. "Ah cuid barely kep awake fer ta service." He stretched out and his eyes closed. Fiona's bed was near the door which was left slightly ajar to promote ventilation.

Fiona lay down on her bed but she was restless. She had not experienced the energy drain as the others had and found it hard to settle. She listened to the deep breathing of those around her. It was very quiet. She thought about all that had happened. Although she trusted Father Paulos, she was still worried about whether Washburn would be fully restored when he awoke. She tossed and turned for some time then managed to doze off.  She awoke some time later. It was still very dark but the moon sent some light into the room through the window. She had no idea what time it was. She thought about Wash and wondered if he was waking up. If he did awaken, he would not know where he was or what had happened since he fell asleep at the inn. That would certainly disturb him. She thought she should slip over to the room where he slept to check on him. Very quietly she got up and tiptoed into the next room and over to the cot. The young deacon stirred in his chair. "Who is there?" he asked.

"It is only me, Lady Fiona, his friend. I couldn't sleep because I was  worried about him.  I felt I needed to come check on him."

"He has continued to sleep quietly, my lady and has not stirred. I have not noticed any change in him. Father Paulos told me that he needed his sleep and not to disturb him. He needs to awaken on his own. If he does awaken, I will arouse the Father sleeping in the other bed. I am told he is a healer and will know what to do if there is any problem."

"That is true and we are grateful for your willingness to help watch over him. I will return to my bed now. I am sure that if anything occurs, Father Columcil will let us know, Good night." Fiona slipped from the room and went back to her own bed. Aliset and Darcy slept on, undisturbed by her movements. She lay down but continued to be wakeful, watching the patterns of moonlight and shadow on the floor of the room and still listening for any sounds from the nearby room where Wash lay
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on September 26, 2020, 06:24:07 PM
((Sunday 16:55 <bynw> during the night Washburn can make a test.
16:59 <bynw> its to see if you wake up in the middle of the night instead of in the morning.))

((Wednesday 13:02 <•Laurna> Ok, guess I put this off long enough. Do I add XP to this?
13:02 <•Laurna> I think I will add 3XP to this 2dice roll to make a success on 4,5, or 6
13:03 <•Laurna> !roll 2d6
13:03 <GameServ> Laurna rolled 2d6: 4 6 <Total: 10>
13:03 <•Laurna> Nice, now what does that cause. LOL))

The fog of dreams faded away. The stress of uncertainty eased from mind and body. The awakening to life and hope progressed in slow easy steps.  Like a bear waking from hibernation, Sir Washburn Morgan first stretched his spine with a slow extension of his neck and straightening of his back, followed by the opening of his fingers to relieve the cramp in his hands.

((Bynw "when his hand releases the ruby, does it drop to the floor?" 
10:10 <•Laurna> 1d6roll 5,6=Ruby drops on his chest where Wash finds it, 3,4=ruby drops on the cot Wash doesn't see it, 1,2= ruby drops on the floor and makes a sound
10:10 <•Laurna> !roll 1d6
10:10 <GameServ> Laurna rolled 1d6: 4 <Total: 4>))

Something rolled away and fell into the blanket which had been laid over the sleeping knight. Whatever it had been, it was gone in the rumple of the wool. Once gone it was forgotten, for a different kind of urgency propelled the knight to full wakefulness.

Washburn opened his eyes, for a blurry few minutes he saw nothing but full darkness around him. Slowly, a stream of faint light filtered across the length of the stone floor from an opened door on the far side of the room where he lay. This was a large room, not a sleeping room at all. And it most assuredly was not Rhemuth, the place he most clearly remembered being last. Wash sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the cot; his bare feet met the cold stone and with the chill of it, his mind began to clear. This wasn't Rhemuth. That was weeks ago. The capital of the kingdom was forbidden for him to return. Much, too much, had happened to him in the weeks since he had been there last. Most recently, he had been in an inn with his friends. This was not the inn, most definitely not. Where was he? Captured and prisoner again? But the man in his dreams had told him he would be free.  Damn it all, but he needed to pee.

Eyes adjusting to the dark, he looked around him, he wasn't alone. There on a chair a young man was hunched over in sleep. Good, don't wake him, Wash said to himself. Near the chair's feet a round vessel shone in the faint light. That was Washburn's need. Silent as a mouse he stood, snatched the vessel away, and then, bare feet to the floor, he quietly padded to the back wall where he found a space to relieve his urgency.

((Bynw- Any sound "might wake up that deacon (disadvantage test for him) but it wont wake up his companions who are totally exhausted"
10:47 <•Laurna> Disadvantage roll does the Deacon wake up at any sound
10:48 <•Laurna> !roll 1d6
10:48 <GameServ> Laurna rolled 1d6: 4 <Total: 4>
10:48 <•Laurna> He sleeps.))

So much better, Wash said to himself as he returned to the bed and slid the lidded chamber pot under his cot. He then looked closer at the young man in the chair. He did not stir from the faint sound that Wash had made. His attire was that of a church novice, a deacon by closer inspection. So this was a church, a functioning church. Not a ruin. Where was he?

The big door beside where the deacon slept was closed. That would surely awaken the young man if Wash attempted to open it. He did not relish the idea of keeping the boy asleep with his powers. Using his powers to influence anyone, even in a benign fashion, seemed morally reprehensible to him. He hadn't always felt this way, but his recent experiences were tipping his perceptions between what was benign and what was steadfastly wrong without good cause. Escape would be a good cause if he had a need for it. But at the moment, he did not feel trapped or a prisoner as he had been before.

Wash looked toward the smaller open door where the light came through. He tip-toed toward the door on raised toes. In the shadows beside the opening was another cot and another person sleeping soundly there. All he could see was the back of this man's head and a small spot of smooth bare skin at its top. Clergy for certain, yet something about him was very familiar.  Curiosity got the better of him and Wash cupped his hands to make a faint hand fire. He bent over the man and let the light shine for just a moment. With tremendous relief, Wash recognized his second cousin once removed. A smile came to his lips as he extinguished the light, but then he frowned, wondering how it was that Father Columcil was here. Had he not stayed behind at Arx Fidei Seminary? What had happened? So many questions, like just how much trouble had he caused his friends this time?

More than ever, Wash wanted answers. He thought of waking Columcil, yet the man was sleeping so soundly that he thought better of that idea. There was a breeze accompanying the light through the open door. Seeking the good air, Wash stepped through it, into a smaller room with windows, one of which was swung open. A half-moon was the source of the light and its brightness shone down on the double pallet of a couple asleep, cradled in each other's arms.

Wash smiled at Darcy and Aliset. Their love was a good love, maybe contentious at times, but it was a good contention, one that built a strong foundation for the future. His eyes moved to the blond girl sleeping on the other pallet and his heart skipped a beat. Would he ever find that kind of love for himself? His companions were as Columcil was, sleeping from the exhaustion that he surely had been the cause of.

He turned back to the window and the moonlit sky. Could he say for sure that he would be the better man that he had promised in his dreams? He would try. But was he so sure he was free of the taint and the controls of another. He didn't know. That was a fear he was forced to live with. He would have to trust others to give him a thorough reading, but who would trust a Blocker to get that close to him. Special, the seers had said. Special could be benign or special could be frightening. He had to make the vow to himself here and now, to use the gift he had for the good of the people and not for selfish advancement.

Before the half-moon, he softly spoke the words of that vow. Here in this church he was secure that the one who mattered had heard his pledge.  With a nod to himself,  his eyes drifted down to the road leading from the church down the hill. There, in the near distance by the old well, his eye caught a shadow moving. Washburn held his breath as the shadow moved beyond the well without stopping. It continued to the road that led toward Valoret. Then the shadow was gone in the faded moonlight behind the trees.

Washburn heaved a sigh as if the greatest of weights had been lifted from his soul.

Fingers brushed his arm then. And in the light of the open window he looked down to see the wide eyes of a girl looking up at him. At that moment, all he wanted to do was kiss her. 

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on October 02, 2020, 10:29:51 AM
Fiona stirred. She had not been deeply asleep, only dozing. A slight sound had roused her. She opened her eyes, looked up and gave a small gasp. Standing by her bed looking down at her was Washburn. He was awake! His eyes were clear and intelligent. He was no longer in thrall to the spell as he had been before. The ritual had worked! As she gazed up, the knight started to lean down toward her but in her excitement she jumped up, nearly bumping heads with him, and threw her arms around his neck. As his arms started to tighten around her, she realized what she had done and jumped back, quickly freeing herself from his hold.

"You are awake! You have returned to us! Our ritual was successful; the spells that held you are gone!" She spoke excitedly but in a loud whisper.

Wash stepped back and looked at the young lady with a puzzled expression. "What is this spell of which you speak? Where am I? In my sleep, I was having a most extraordinary dream, which I cannot as yet banish from my mind: red mists, a fire breathing dragon and many other creatures. One in particular stands out in my mind, an agile feline of gracious beauty." He looked down at the pretty lady with wide round eyes, and he bit his lower lip. "It is slipping away from me now. It was only a dream, but it was so vivid." With a deep breath he let the memories of the dream fade. "What I remember before the dream was lying down to rest in my room at the inn. This is definitely not the inn. How did I get here? How did Father Columcil get here and why did he come? And who is that young churchman sleeping in the chair in the other room?"

Wash was not speaking loudly, but she still feared they would awaken the sleepers. Fiona took his hand to lead him out of the room. "Come, I will try to answer at least some of your questions but not here. The others badly need their rest as they are drained from the energy needed for the ritual we were part of. We are in the church in Windyner, and we can move to the nave where we can talk without disturbing them."

Fiona tugged on his hand, pulling him into the anteroom toward the door that led into the church nave. Wash resisted, pulling back toward the room where Father Columcil still slept. "This is not proper. We should not be alone together in the dark church. I will wake up the deacon and ask him to come with us as chaperone. I would not, for anything, tarnish your reputation."

Fiona stomped her foot. "I really do not see that it is necessary."


Wash just shook his head and slipped over to the chair where the young man slept. He was preparing to shake the sleeper lightly when the boy's eyes popped open and he sat up. "Sir Washburn, you are awake! How are you? Are you in need of any help? Shall I arouse the healer sleeping over there?" The young deacon hopped up from his chair.

Wash responded. "No, I am well. Lady Fiona and I need to talk together so she can tell me what has been happening, but we do not wish to disturb our sleeping friends. We propose to go into the nave, and I ask that you go with us to serve as chaperone. Will you come?" The young man nodded in agreement and followed them from the ritual room into the darkened nave.

They took seats on a bench near the anteroom so they would hear if any of the sleepers stirred. Their chaperone took a seat on a nearby bench, close enough to see what they were doing but not close enough to hear what they were saying. They sat near each other so they could speak  quietly and not disturb the others. Their legs and arms touched lightly. A shiver ran through Fiona as she felt the warmth of his touch. Fiona spoke first. "Washburn, what is the last thing you remember before you awoke here in the church?"

"I remember going into my room at the inn to prepare for Compline. I felt very tired and thought I would have a brief rest so I lay down on the bed and closed my eyes. The next thing I knew I was waking up in a large dark, cold room. I knew it was not my room in the inn. I have no idea where I am or how I got here."

Fiona reached over and took his hand. "It must be frightening to wake up in a strange place with no idea how you got there. And it must be especially difficult for you after what you have been through."

Wash clasped her hand. "It is hard but I feel that the more I know, the better I will be able to deal with what has happened to me."

Fiona settled on the bench and began. "Darcy entered your room at the inn intending to get ready for Compline. He found you asleep and when you did not wake readily, he decided it would be best to let you sleep. When we returned from Compline, you were still deeply asleep so he decided not to wake you. The rest of us would sleep in the other room. However, the next morning he was still unable to awaken you. This did not seem like normal sleep. You did not stir or react to anything we tried.We had noticed the ruby clasped in your hand, and Darcy suspected it might have something to do with this coma-like state you were in. When he tried to remove it, he received a painful shock from the gem." 

"Aliset was able to examine the ruby without touching it, and she found layers of spells layered and entangled in it. She was only able to remove one of them, after which we were able to recall you finding the ruby by the old well but nothing else about it. We didn't know what to do. Aliset managed to reach Father Columcil and, in rapport, tell him what had happened. She entreated him to come to our aid and as you see, he did so."

"I can not believe that Columcil left his grandfather's side. I know how worried he was about the archbishop's health after he collapsed in the church," Wash interrupted her.  "I do hope the archbishop is well, otherwise, I will have His Grace's health on my conscience in addition to my concern for what all of you have done on my behalf."

"Columcil assured us the Archbishop is recovering and the Magistra from the schola had arrived to oversee his continued improvement. He was also very concerned about you after we told him of what had happened. You must understand, we were so worried about you, we needed the Father to help us. The innkeeper was becoming uneasy about your failure to arouse. At first we put him off by telling him the problem was too much strong drink. But he became more agitated, demanding to be allowed to see you. Darcy held him off, but the landlord sent for the priest to find out what was going on." Fiona continued her story of the events that had occurred during the time Wash was unconscious.

"Father Michael came, arriving at almost the same time as Columcil. Together they went in to try to determine what was wrong and to reassure the innkeeper.  Aliset told them of your falling into this deep sleep and of being unable to rouse you. They agreed that this was not just deep sleep, but that a spell or spells held you in thrall. Father Columcil mentioned dark magic. The innkeeper heard his words and was becoming quite agitated and fearful about black magic being involved. We did not want to excite fear among the villagers so Father Michael proposed that we move you to the church where you could be cared for safely and where Father Paulos could assist us. He said  it would require both priests and God's power to reverse the magic. Father Columcil agreed so we did move you to the church."

Washburn sat quietly beside her, holding her hand. "That must have been the ride on the back of the dragon that I took," Wash whispered with a faint smile. He then took a deep breath and looked into the sweet face of the young lady beside him. He could feel her care for him.  "This must have all been quite frightening for all of you. I am sorry to have caused such distress. I do not understand what happened, but you say the ruby was the cause of all. The ruby was an heirloom once in the hilt of the Lendour sword left to me by my father. My captor had taken it. It must have been he who placed the spells on it and then placed it by the well for me to find for his own purpose. I hope it did not injure any of you."

Fiona reassured him that except for the shock to Darcy when he first tried to remove it, there had been no injury to any of them.  "When we reached the church, Father Paulos, the Torenthi priest directed us to put you on the cot in a room at the back of the church where no one would disturb us. There he and Father Columcil examined you. Father Paulos attempted to move the ruby and, like Darcy, received a shock. After a more in depth examination, Father Paulos was able to identify the spell holding you in thrall. He told us that he knew of a ritual that might dispel the magic that held you. He had never actually participated in this ritual but he did know the theory behind it and how to carry it out."

"We all agreed that it was critical that we free you from the spell. You could not continue without food or water; your body would begin to fail. Under his direction, we first raised wards in the room around your cot and then summoned the guardians of the quarters to protect us during the ritual.  I stood in the north to summon Uriel. I was in awe of their presence, and then the Book of Wisdom of the Ages appeared in my hands. I could hardly believe it. Once this was done, Father Paulos sat at the head of your cot and the others formed a circle around you, holding hands to create a chain by which they could share energy with the priest as he carried out the ritual to release you. Aliset placed her hand on the priest's arm to provide their link with him"

Wash frowned. "Were you part of this chain? You do not seem as drained as the others."

Fiona squeezed his hand lightly. "Father Paulos said it was important that one person remain outside the ritual chain. We could not be certain what would happen during the ritual or what spirits we might call up. The others would be deep in trance, unaware of what was happening around them and unable to defend themselves if needed. Someone had to be awake and alert to meet any threat that might occur. Since I had the least training in magic of the group, Aliset chose me to be the guard. I was willing to do anything that would help secure your freedom from the spells.She gave me Darcy's dagger and even showed me how to open a gate in the ward if needed. Once I was prepared, they all took their places, touching each other hand to hand and entered the trance. I watched them very closely as they sank deeper into trance. As the ritual continued, I watched for any changes in their breathing or any movements. This seemed to last for a very long time, and I was worried about the amount of energy being taken from them. But at last I began to sense changes, as though they were beginning to awaken."

"Father Paulos gave a deep sigh and opened his eyes. He said the ritual had come to an end. The others also opened their eyes and stirred. I was worried because you were not waking up but both priests reassured me that you had changed, that yours was a natural sleep, not magic, needed to begin to restore your energy and health. Father Paulos told us that you should be allowed to awaken naturally, that this sleep would most benefit your recovery.

Fiona continued. "Father Paulos said that we all were exhausted and needed food and rest to restore our energies. He asked Father Michael to provide food and beds here in the church where we could rest. After eating the food he provided, we all settled down to sleep.That exhaustion is why it is so important that the others be able to sleep undisturbed until morning."

"I had not experienced the energy drain that they did, so my sleep was much lighter, and I felt I needed to check on you even though Father Michael had instructed one of his deacons to keep watch on you during the night." Fiona smiled happily at the knight. "Now, at last, you are awake and restored to us!"

Wash looked at the young lady beside him with feelings of deep gratitude and affection, and perhaps more than affection. She had been willing to take great risks to help him as had the others. How could he ever repay them for what they had done for him? He didn't know but he would find a way.

While they had been talking, he had started to notice a change in the light coming from the open door to the rooms where the others slept. The darkness was less deep, objects began to be dimly visible in the nave. Wash released Fiona's hand, stood and stretched. She looked up at him, and he smiled at her. She gestured toward the rooms where the others still slept. "Perhaps you might want to lie back down. You have only been awake a short time, and I think it might be good for you to have more rest, at least until the others wake up. Then you will be able to learn more from them and from Father Paulos."

Wash nodded his agreement. Although he was wide awake, he did not want to prevent Fiona from returning to bed to get a little more rest. He was sure that if he stayed up, she would also.
He took her hand and pulled her to her feet, then turned to gesture to the deacon, indicating that they were returning to their rooms. The deacon stood to follow them. When they entered the anteroom, the young man returned to his chair while Wash saw Fiona to her pallet. They stood quietly together for a few minutes. Again, he felt that almost irresistible urge to lean down and kiss her, but he did not, feeling that he would be taking an unfair advantage. He would wait until this was all sorted out, and then he could approach her and tell her how he felt. He wondered wistfully if she had feelings for him. Fiona lay down on her pallet. He said a soft goodnight and returned to his cot. Fortunately, none of the others had stirred or awakened.

Fiona lay on her pallet thinking about all that had occurred. She thought of waking and finding Wash awake and standing over her. When he had started to lean down she had thought he might kiss her but she had been so excited to see him, she had jumped up and that was the end of that. Again when he had stood quietly beside her pallet she had hoped he might kiss her then but he had not. The thought of being embraced and kissed by the knight caused a frisson of excitement to run through her. She had admired him ever since she had first seen him at her uncle's manor. He was a man such as she had dreamed of, and as she had gotten to know him better, her feelings for him had grown. She didn't know exactly what love felt like, but she thought that love might be what was growing between them. She wondered if he had any feelings for her. She did not expect to sleep, but she drifted off.

Washburn lay on his cot, thinking about Fiona and his increasingly tender feelings for her. Might he ever find love with her such as that shared by Darcy and Aliset? He also thought of what she had told him about what had happened in Windyner.and wondered what the morning would bring for him. He also drifted off into a light sleep. All were again asleep.

When Wash again opened his eyes, it was daylight and sunshine was streaming in through the open door. Columcil was stirring, sitting up on his pallet and looking around. He looked over toward Wash's cot and saw the knight sitting up and swinging his legs over the side. "Och, laddie, are ye awake? Ur ye yerself again? Do ye remember any o' whit happened?" Columcil jumped up from his pallet and went to sit beside Wash on his cot. "Ouch!" he exclaimed, "Whit is this hard lump in yer bed?" He stood up again and felt under the blanket on the bed. "Aha!" He rummaged in the covers and withdrew his hand, showing Wash the red ruby he had found.

Washburn looked at it but did not reach for the stone. "Khadasha! Be careful with that! It might still be enspelled. It might harm you!"

"Aye, but it seems innocent enough noo. We hae touched wi' nae shocks or attacks. Seems tis free ay evil noo. Whit will ye do wi it noo?" Columcil still held it in his palm. Washburn had not attempted to take it from him.

"I am not sure. It belongs in the hilt of the Lendour broadsword, an heirloom left me by my father. I would like to return it to its place, but should I take that chance? I can't be sure that it is entirely clean and innocent now. I will have to think about what I should do with it. Father, can you help me; do you know of a way that the stone can be cleansed and innocent again, just a gemstone?" Columcil nodded. "Ah weel think on it, and look again at th' book I brought from Arx Fidei. How do ye feel noo? Are ye more yersel?""

Washburn answered Columcil. "I feel rested, and I feel restored to my normal self, a feeling I have not had for a long time. My memories have been restored to me. However, I can not say if I am truly a free man. I will need you and Aliset to help me determine that. I do not know everything that happened to me, but I hope to figure it out. I awakened during the night, and Lady Fiona and I talked for a short time. She did tell me some of what befell me following our arrival in Windyner. I suspect there is more to this Ritual that she talked about." Washburn left that subject hang in the air. When Columcil seemed hesitant to fully explain, Washburn sighed. "I have a great debt to pay to all of you. I don't think I will ever truly be able to repay it.  And also to Father Paulos without whose help I would still be under those evil spells. I must thank him specifically when he comes into the church for morning mass."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on October 05, 2020, 06:50:51 PM
Darcy Cameron opened his eyes to the bright light of a new day and gently disentangled himself from his wife.  He stretched and felt the familiar, satisfying crack of his spine.  It was a good omen for the day, but Darcy had long ago realized it was no guarantee of good fortune.

He stood up, retrieved his sword from where it lay on the floor beside the pallet and fastened the belt around his waist.  He turned at a sound behind him and found that Fiona had also risen and was looking at him with barely suppressed excitement.

"Darcy!" she said, trying to keep her voice low so as not to disturb Aliset.  "Washburn is awake!  He woke last night and is restored to his normal self!"

"How can you know this?" Darcy asked with a touch of skepticism in his voice.

"I spoke to him last night, and he...."

"You did what?" Darcy looked at her incredulously

"Washburn woke up and came into our room," Fiona replied, trying to be patient.  "He was standing here in our room, looking out the window.

"And you didn't think to wake me?"  Darcy's voice rose a bit in volume.  He crossed over to the door leading to the ritual room, which had been left ajar overnight, and closed it.  He turned to face his cousin again, hands on his hips.

"You needed your rest after the ritual," Fiona said stubbornly.  "Father Paulos said it would be best if you all slept until morning."

"I think I am a better judge of how much rest I need," Darcy said sharply.  "How do you know he is restored to his normal self?"

"I spoke with him.  He had no idea where he was or how he got here, so I explained all that had  happened to him here since he fell into his coma."  Fiona looked at her cousin defiantly.  "He needed to know."

"You explained it all while he was in here, and I slept through it all?"  Darcy looked at her aghast.

"Of course not.  I went with Washburn into the nave of the church, where we sat on one of the benches so as not to disturb anyone."

"Alone in the church?" Darcy almost thundered.

"Washburn asked the young deacon to accompany us." Fiona's voice had risen as well.  "I didn't really think it was necessary, but Washburn insisted."

"At least one of you was thinking clearly," Darcy growled.

"She was chaperoned and by a churchman," said a familiar voice from behind Darcy. 

Darcy turned around to look at Aliset, who was sitting up on the double pallet they had shared.  "Aliset, I am sorry.  I didn't mean to wake you.  You should rest some more to make sure you are fully recovered from yesterday."

"I think I am a better judge of how much rest I need," Aliset quoted.

Darcy sighed.  "Defeated by my own words."

Aliset rose and approached Fiona.  "You spoke with Washburn last night?  How did he seem to you?"

"At first, very confused as to where he was and why he was here.  Which is why I felt it was important to explain it to him," she said as she gave Darcy a confident glance.  "When I finished, he regretted that he caused us so much trouble.  I do believe he has recovered."

"We would all like to believe that, but we can't be sure yet," Aliset said gently.  "Several things happened in the ritual that I was not expecting."

"What happened?"  Darcy asked.  "I must admit, I remember the start of the ritual, but I soon sank into a grey fog, and I remember very little until the fog cleared and the ritual was over."

"There is much we need to discuss, but it would be best if we are all together so we can share what we know, especially Father Paulos."   Aliset gave Darcy a direct look.  "I think we should see Washburn as soon as we can.  If you could allow us a few minutes to freshen up first?"

"Right," Darcy said.  "I'll step outside and be back in a few minutes. When I return, we can all go in to see Washburn together."  He placed firm emphasis on the word 'together' and left by the main door into the nave.

"Must he always be so difficult?" Fiona asked, her voice sounding piqued. 

"It's part of his charm," Aliset replied with a smile.

"And always so suspicious of everything!"

"Fiona,"  Aliset said gently.  "Darcy has seen far more of the world than we have, and it was a rougher world than ours has been. At least most of the time," she added.  "His caution has likely kept him alive."

"And so protective!"  Fiona plopped down onto her pallet.  "I am hardly a child!"

"Of course not, but Darcy and I are both well aware of the standards of propriety to which the queen holds the ladies of her court in Rhemuth," Aliset replied.

"I am not going to Rhemuth to be a lady of Queen Araxie's court!"

"No," Aliset said.  "But you do hope to attend the Schola there under the patronage of Dowager Duchess Richenda.  I know you would do nothing untoward, and neither would Sir Washburn, her son."  Aliset thought it wise to remind Fiona of the relationship.  "You just need to be careful, and consider the consequences that might result from your decisions."

"Right now, I would like to make sure that all is still well with Sir Washburn!"  Fiona stood and turned toward the basin of water that had been set in the room the night before.  "We should make haste."

Aliset sighed. 

***

Darcy opened the door of the ritual room slightly and rapped on the door.  "Sir Washburn, may we enter?" he asked.

Washburn looked up from the cot where he sat beside Father Columcil.  "Of course!" he replied, though he felt some discomfiture at the formal title.

Under other circumstances, Darcy would have let the ladies enter first.  Instead, he pushed through with the ladies at his back.

"How do you fare this morning?" Darcy asked.  He nodded to Father Columcil, still seated on the cot.

"Well enough, but still searching for many answers," Washburn replied. 

Darcy caught Columcil's slight nod and strode forward, arm outstretched. "Bloody good to see you  free from the gem!" 

Washburn reached out with his own arm, and the friends shared a firm grip of friendship. Darcy clasped Washburn's shoulder with his other hand.

"You gave us an awful fright.  I've never seen such a thing before," Aliset said as she came forward and threw her arm around Washburn's other shoulder and hugged him.

Fiona followed Aliset, but remembering her words of caution, merely gave the tall knight a radiant smile. 

"I'm still trying to understand it myself," Washburn replied to Aliset as someone knocked on the outer door of the ritual room.

"May I come in?" asked Father Michael as the young deacon opened the door.

"Of course, Father," said Washburn.  Father Columcil stood to welcome the priest of Windyner's church.

"It's good to see you up and about," said Father Michael.  He looked around him and his brows creased in puzzlement.  "Is Father Paulos not here?"

"Nay," responded Father Columcil  "I have not seen him since he left for the rectory after the ritual."

"I awoke in the middle of the night," said Washburn.  "No one entered after then."

Father Michael looked toward the deacon.

"I confess I did sleep a bit after Matins," the young man admitted.  "But I woke just after Sir Washburn did, and Father Paulos has not been here that I know of."

"Strange," the priest of Windyner said, perplexed.  "He was exhausted when he returned to the rectory, and went immediately to his bed.   I checked on him this morning before coming here, to make sure all was well.  His bed had been slept in, but was empty.  I assumed he had come here to check on Sir Washburn."

"We've seen no trace of him," Darcy said.

"If you will excuse me, I'll look for him.  He may have retired to one of our side chapels for prayer."

"I'll come with you, Father Michael, if you don't mind," Darcy said. 

Father Michael nodded, and Darcy left with him to enter the nave.

They looked throughout the church, but there was no sign of the Torenthi priest.  They returned to the refectory to see if Father Paulos had returned.  The room was undisturbed.  Darcy went to the small chest at the side of the room and opened the lid.

"Should you disturb his property?" Father Michael asked, somewhat taken aback.

"Father Paulos is missing," Darcy said quietly.  "And so it appears, are his belongings."

The opened chest was empty.  A quick search of the room revealed that nothing had been left behind.

"This is very unusual," Father Michael said.  "He has often returned to Beldour and his duties there, but he always informed me of his leaving.  And of his intent to return, though there was never a specific date."

They returned to the church and the room where the ritual had been conducted. 

"It appears Father Paulos has left us," Darcy announced.

"Without even checking to see if he had succeeded?" Fiona asked incredulously.

"So it would seem," Darcy replied.  He walked over to the table altar at the side of the room.  Father Paulos' eastern crucifix was no longer there.  "He has taken all of his belongings with him."

"I saw something, or rather someone, last night," Washburn said thoughtfully to Darcy.  "It was when I went to your room, drawn by the moonlight in the open window.  I saw someone, not more than a shadowed form, walk past the old well and on toward the road to Valoret."

"Could you see who it was?" Aliset asked.

"Nay," Washburn replied with a shake of his head.  "The moon was not bright enough, and the trees cast too many shadows.  All I saw was the shadowy form of a man.  He may have been shouldering a pack, but I cannot be certain."

Darcy rubbed his jaw, feeling the scratch of its unshaved surface, as he considered their options. "I don't think it would do us any good to try to find him," he finally said.  "We can't be sure which way he went once he reached the main road,  we don't know that it actually was Father Paulos, and we don't know that he didn't have a good reason to leave when he did."

Father Michael looked at the group before him.  "Perhaps he will return to us in his own time.  He has been a good priest and a good friend to us in Windyner;  I hope he does come back to us.  Now, I must prepare for the morning mass." 

"Father Michael, would you mind if I conduct a private mass for us?"  Father Columcil asked, indicating his friends with a sweep of his hand.   "Perhaps I could use one of the side chapels." 

"Of course, Father Columcil.  If you need anything, my deacon will be able to provide it."  Windyner's priest nodded and left the room, the deacon following close behind.

"Father Paulos seemed to be a good priest,"  Columcil said thoughtfully.  "I saw nothing to indicate otherwise."

"A good priest he may be," Darcy said.  "But his sudden departure without telling anyone seems suspicious to me.  Could he have left to prevent us from learning what he discovered in the ritual?"

"We have no way of knowing, at least not yet," Aliset said after a moment.  "But without Father Paulos here, it will be very difficult to reconstruct all that happened in the ritual.  Many things happened that I do not fully understand, and I was hoping he could help."

"Perhaps Father Paulos will return soon," Columcil stated, though he did not sound confident. "Now I should go and prepare for our mass. I believe it will be a comfort for all of us."

Washburn nodded.  "Aye, and it will be a greater comfort if we can cleanse the ruby back into a simple gem, and ensure it can do no more harm to any of us."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on October 05, 2020, 07:50:41 PM
As signs of activity at the church begins as parishioners enter for the morning Mass service. One of them is a young stable boy. Poorly dressed, no shoes, and even a bit dirty. He enters the church frantically looking for Father Michael and no one else will do.

The boy speaks with Father Michael for a bit and takes something from the boy. Just before the morning Mass begins. He sits through the morning Mass before heading back to the stables.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on October 09, 2020, 03:26:43 PM
Father Columcil went thoughtfully into one of the side chapels intending to prepare for Mass but his sense of unease was growing. Why had the Torenthi priest disappeared so suddenly and what had happened during the ritual? Genuflecting before the presence lamp he sank to his knees feeling utterly out of his depth, as he far too many times since he had left the blessed calm of his beautiful stone church amidst the folds of the hills and the presence of St Melangell. He reached into the scrip that he wore attached to the belt of his cassock intending to withdraw the book he had brought with him from Arx Fidei so that he might search for a ritual which would cleanse the ruby from any last taint of evil but as he did so his hand brushed against the phial of Holy Water from St Winifred's well that his Grandfather had given him before they left Rhemuth. Leaving the book where it was, instead he brought the phial to his lips kissing it it slowly and reverently. Nay he was nae ritualist, mebbes Aliset or one' o'the other clever yins could do summat wi' it, he would instead ask for the blessing o' the sainted lasses he thought of like kin and trust tae God. Almost speaking his thoughts out loud, so clear was this determination, he was visited by an equally strong conviction. He wouldna celebrate mass here but in the wee room where the ritual had taken place and trust to the presence o' Christ Himself tae dispell any lingering evil.

The deacon was a bit taken aback to be asked to provide linen and candles and a suitable table for Mass when there was a perfectly good altar here in the side chapel but he had been bidden to be obedient to this visiting priest; besides which, in his opinion, which he was wise enough to keep to himself, this group of visitors were all a bit uncanny and best not crossed. He asked too, for a thurible and incense, he was certain that Wasburn would have been an altar boy in his time, all noble boys were, and it would be good for him to have an active part in this ritual.

Columcil finished the reading of the Gospel which he had chosen then retold it again it his own way, telling the tale of the poor soul who had been possessed by a legion of demons who were driven out by the power of Our Lord and sent into a herd of pigs who then hurtled to their deaths over a cliff. He did not add out loud, but he hoped that the demons who had been cast upon Washburn would at this moment be driving those who had wreaked such harm to an equally unpleasant fate. He spoke directly to Washburn "Ye need ha'e nae mair fear, ma son" and then made the sign of the cross, in part blessing for the young knight and in part penitence for his own thoughts unseemly for this holy rite.

As the gifts of bread and wine were placed on the altar Columcil placed the ruby into the silver baptismal shell that he had requested from the bemused but still compliant deacon and making the sign of the cross three times over the phial of holy water "in nomine Patri et Filii et Spiritu Sancti" he poured the water over the ruby repeating the blessing and the invocation as he did so. Then he glanced at Washburn who came forward with the thurible, bowed to the altar then censed both the gifts on the altar and the ruby. He looked just once at Columcil as he did so and the latter was relieved to see that there was only gratitude in the other's eyes, and no shadow of fear. Then laying aside the thurible he went to join the others as they knelt around the table and Columcil began the words of the Mass with that great invitation to praise and thanksgiving:

Sursum corda

"Lift up your hearts"
"we lift them up unto the Lord"

Columcil raised the sacred Host

Ecce, Agnus Dei qui tollis peccata mundi
"Behold the Lamb of God who takest away the sin of the world".

None of them had made confession, nor followed the prescribed fasts but as he saw the the others bow in reverence it was not in him to deny them the body of the Lord as healing for all that they had gone through and food for whatever journey lay ahead. Breaking the Host into five he first received himself and then communicated each of the others before returning to kneel before the makeshift altar in humble prayer and gratitude.



Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on October 14, 2020, 12:31:25 PM

Humbly, Washburn stayed on his knees for a time, even after the others stood and moved around the room to help Columcil put away the items he had used in the mass. Wash was introspective, considering how his experiences had changed him from the man he had been a month ago. He used to be so sure of himself. Never a thought that he might lose a tournament, or that there was a better man at the trials who could beat him. Arrogant he had been, a duke's son born to privilege, a little brushed aside perhaps for always playing shadow to his brothers, but he had rarely played shadow to anyone else. He had yet to earn a title, but that usually came after settling down and marriage. He most certainly had not been ready for that. But he had always thought himself worthy. Humble was not a word that anyone would have ever used to describe Sir Washburn Alaric Morgan. Yet... that was exactly how he felt on this fine morning after Columcil's service, humble that he still lived. Humble that the men and women around him cared for him so much that they would risk themselves to stay by his side and see him through these trials. Father Columcil was undaunted and truly humble. Lord Darcy was courageous and unswerving. Lady Aliset was powerful and stouthearted. Lady Fiona was fearless and persistent. Good people, every one of them. Wash's bare fingers picked the ruby from the silver shell. He held it close for a moment and was so grateful to feel nothing at all from the ruby. It was merely a gemstone, without power. And that was the most reassuring feeling he had felt yet on this strange morning.

"Dear friends. This is not quite a confession, for I make it to all of you, and I am not looking for absolution or penance. I just... want you to know... that without all of you, I would have been a dead man weeks ago,  or worse, a man controlled to do someone else's bidding. You have saved me from that horror.  I owe you everything. I owe you my life, my honor, and my loyalty, save only to the vows I have made to my king. It is a debt, I will spend a lifetime repaying."

"I think Aliset offered to blur my memories, but I do not want that. I want to remember what it was like, and I want to find others who have been where I was and help them rediscover themselves and their honor. I am not sure I will ever regain honor among my family and the royal court, but that is trivial, for it is the love of these four people around me that strengthens and supports me."

"Thank you friends. Now and forever."  Wash brushed away a tear from his eye.

"Now, now. Don't go getting all mushy on me." The knight favored everyone with a bright smile as he stood tall and brushed back the hair from his eyes. "I am still an arrogant knight and a beast in the arena, but I don't have any reason to prove it. Unless one of you needs a champion. Then I will be at your service and do right by your cause."  That smile proved the youthful Morgan charisma might be humbled, but not gone.

Washburn's hand put the ruby away in his coin purse, he pulled out a few coins before he tied the purse to his belt. Then his fingers brushed the leather thong that hung around his neck. He pulled it away from the chain that also hung there, the chain kept his mother's coin beside his heart. This leather thong, however, held something he had been bidden to keep on his person until now, and now that he was free of that compulsion, he knew what he had to do and he had to do it soon.  He pulled the small flask with a green thread cap out for everyone to see. "This is power... and poison, and madness to anyone who drinks of it. The man who gave it to me did so because he thought it the only way I could survive. If I had succumbed to madness that part did not seem to phase him. All he could think of was that I needed to stay alive." Wash took a deep breath and looked around the room at the people who cared for him.  "What that man did not count on, and what I nearly forgot myself, was that I have made friends. Men and women who stood by me when I needed them, and who called on their brother," he looked at Darcy, "and their father and grandfather," his glance fell on Columcil, "to see that I did not need this travesty of a magic potion.  I have survived because of you, not because of this!"

"Now, I can rid the world of this temptation. Collos Feyd showed me how, and yes, in this I do trust that assassin.  What I need is a garden trowel and the strongest spirits this town can produce. Where do you think I can find these things?" Washburn held out the gold coins hopeful that he could buy what he needed.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on October 16, 2020, 08:40:40 AM
Lord Brioc de Paor restlessly paced the walkway behind the parapet of his keep. He had been anxious for news from the battlefield since his men had joined the army of Grand Duke Valerian to participate in the planned attack on the old Mearan capital of Laas. He had planned to go with the army himself but was not sufficiently recovered from the injury inflicted on him by Feyd. There had been no word since their departure. The evening before, just before sunset, three of his men had appeared at the gates of his fortress asking to be admitted. They identified themselves as two of Brioc's knights, Sir Bruce MacCallan and Sir Angus MacKay, as well as John Dowd, one of his men-at-arms. All three appeared battered and exhausted and two had visible wounds, roughly bandaged. Their horses appeared hard ridden, with drooping heads.

Brioc ordered that they be admitted immediately. The gates swung open, and grooms ran to take the bridles of their horses and to help them dismount. Bruce MacCallan appeared to be the worst wounded, almost falling off his horse and having to be helped to the hall by a young squire. Brioc ordered that food and wine be brought to the hall where he joined them. He sent for his surgeon to attend to their wounds. He had been anxious for news of the assault on Laas, but they did not appear to be bringers of good news.

"What is the news? How goes the battle?" He asked of the men..

Of the three men, MacKay appeared the least injured and knelt to Brioc. "My Lord, the battle is lost. Most of the army has been captured and is held by the Haldanes. Duke Valerian is dead. We barely managed to slip away to ride for home to bring the news."  The man bent his head in shame."

"How is this possible? What happened?" Brioc demanded.

MacKay replied. "My Lord, the attack was going well at first, the portcullis had risen and the ram was at the inner gate. Suddenly the portcullis slammed down again and the ram was trapped. A storm the like of which I have never seen moved in from the sea and battered us, and then the Gwyneddan army was upon us. The men at arms who were to come by ship never arrived. Duke Valerian ordered us to retreat to the north toward the mouth of the Kilardin River.. We reached the fortified walls of Castleroo which is loyal to the rebellion. From there we moved toward the walled town of Kilardin, but that town is loyal to the king so we turned south before reaching it. We intended  to cross the Mearan plain toward Ratharkin to regroup there. We were riding toward two mountains rising in front of us when suddenly the grand duke fell from his horse and lay unmoving on the ground. Those near him quickly halted and dismounted to assist him. One of them called out that he had been struck by a bolt from a crossbow, but there were no more shots. They picked him up and put him across his horse. Instead of searching the mountains for the assassin, we retreated in some disarray to Kilardin. The Gwyneddans surrounded us there. We were told that the grand duke had died and  the army surrendered."

"The three of us managed to slip away in the confusion and ride to Ratharkin. But when we reached the city, we found that it had also been retaken by the king's men and the viceroy was again in control. We skirted the walls of the city and rode here to bring you the news." The man fell silent.

Brioc felt both rage and despair rising in him. He glared at the three men before him. He was silent for several minutes. With great effort, he managed to bring his anger under control. There was no point in berating or punishing these men. They had been faithful and had managed to reach the fortress at great cost to themselves. "Rise." he told the man kneeling before him. "The three of you have done well. Once your wounds have been tended and you have eaten and drunk your fill, go to your beds and get some rest. I must consider what you have told me and what to do next."  Brioc turned and left the room.

Brioc retreated to his own solar and sent a squire to bring him wine. Once the squire had brought the wine, Brioc dismissed him. As the door closed behind the boy, he took a sip of his wine then leaned back in his chair. He had some serious thinking to do. He had not expected such a debacle. With the loss of Ratharkin as well as Valerian's army, the rebellion was effectively over.  The leaders would be arrested and tried in the king's court for treason. There was no doubt of the outcome of such trials. They would be sentenced to hang as traitors and their lands seized.. As one of the principal leaders of the uprising, there was probably a price on his head already.

And his daughter was still a prisoner, held in Rhemuth by the king. He had hoped to be able to free her and, following success at Laas, to be able to install her as ruler of an independent Meara. That dream was also dashed, at least for now. His focus now had to be survival.

He took stock of his position. Unfortunately, the location of his fortress, which had previously been a well-kept secret, was known. An agent of Kelson had managed to penetrate the fortress, posing as one of his guards, and had freed Valerian's prisoner, Washburn Morgan. In escaping, the two men had kidnapped his daughter and taken her with them. Valerian's men had been unable to determine where they had gone or to find any sign of them.

Although he had not foreseen such a defeat, especially with Valerian taking leadership of the rebellion,  he was a man who tried to prepare for any contingency.  He had a refuge known to only a few of his closest supporters. It was located in the wildest part of the Ratharkin Mountains, at the edge of Trurill lands, lands that had once belonged to his family until the loss of the last Mearan War. It was a series of caves that led deep inside the mountain. The entrance was well hidden and difficult to find.

With the help of his long-time steward and a few faithful retainers that he could trust absolutely, he had stocked the caves with food, blankets, medicine, and, of course, wine and ale. There was even a. small stream that ran into one of the caves where it ended in a pond that provided fresh water. He had hidden a stash of weapons in one of the smaller caves. If he could reach the caves undetected, he could remain there safely for quite a long time.Here he could plot how he would free his daughter and find ways to again stir up the Mearan separatists

He rose from his chair and rapidly packed his saddlebags. He summoned his two most trusted lieutenants who entered and bowed. "You summoned us, my Lord?"

He nodded briefly. "We must leave this fortress. Its location is known to the Haldane, and I am sure it will not be long until he sends a force to capture us. Most of my fighting men were with Valerian and are now either dead or prisoners of the Haldanes. Only a small number of household guards remain, and there is no way we could defend this keep or avoid being captured. We will leave before dawn and  travel to a hideout I have prepared. We will be safe there while I make plans. You must say nothing to anyone. Our only hope of escape is to slip away and ensure that no one here has any idea where we have gone. Go and pack your saddlebags as quietly as possible. Meet me at the gate just before dawn. We will be long gone before anyone realizes we have left".

"At your service, my Lord. We will do as you order." The two men bowed and left the room. Brioc settled back in his chair, sipped on his wine, and considered what morning would bring.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on October 17, 2020, 03:40:23 PM
"Washburn, there is no need to spend coin for a trowel," Aliset Cameron said.  "I noticed that the rectory has a fine garden.  Whoever looks after it should be willing to lend us a trowel for the morning.  On a fine day like this, now that mass is over, I'm sure I can find someone working in the garden."

"I'll come along," Fiona said.  "I'd rather be doing something than waiting."

Darcy reached out and took one of the gold coins from Washburn's hand.  "I'll go to the tavern and purchase a flask of the strongest spirits they have.  I'll do my best to bargain for a better price than a full gold coin."

"Don't worry about the price," Washburn said hastily.  "Getting rid of this vile poison is worth any price I have to pay."

"Nevertheless, I will do my best.  The Quartermaster would be disappointed if I did not. Shall we meet back at the front of the church when all is secured?"

"Aye," said Father Columcil.  "I would like the chance to thank Father Michael for his assistance.  He will be busy for a wee bit after the mass, so I'll wait a bit before I look for him."

"This shouldn't take too long," Darcy said to Washburn as he and the ladies left the ritual room.  They joined the villagers leaving the church after the mass and parted ways at the bottom of the church steps.  Darcy paused a moment to ensure Aliset and Fiona were safely on their way to the rectory before heading to the tavern.

Darcy scanned the tavern as he entered.  There were a few customers breaking their morning fast, but the room was mostly empty.  The tavern keeper looked up from behind the counter as Darcy approached.

"I should like a flask of your strongest spirits," Darcy said pleasantly. 

"You start your day early," the tavern keeper remarked.  "The strongest I have is Old Ballymar, but my stock is low."

"How much for a flask?" Darcy asked.

"A gold mark," the tavern keeper replied.

"That's a bit steep," Darcy said, ready to try to bring the price down.

"It's not easy to come by, and as I said, my stock is low.  Take it or leave it."

"I'll take it then."  Darcy would have haggled longer, but he did not want to keep Washburn waiting.

The tavern keeper turned to a small cask behind him, picked up a flask and filled it until the cask seemed to run dry. 

"It's not a full flask, probably only half full at best," the tavern keeper said as he held out his hand for the coin.

"The flask first, so I can judge how full it is," Darcy replied, reaching for the flask. "You have enough customers this morning to stop me if I run for the door," he added when the tavern keeper looked like he was about to refuse.

"That I do," the tavern keeper replied and handed Darcy the flask.

Darcy judged its weight and nodded.  "An honest pour; half a flask it is.  Two royals for the half?"

The tavern keeper shook his head.  "A gold mark."

"That's what you wanted for the full flask!" Darcy said, aghast.

"I'm now out of my best, and I will have unhappy customers when they find out."  The tavern keeper grinned.  "But I'll make you a deal.  We'll call the extra two royals a deposit on the flask.  Bring it back when it's empty and I'll give you back two royals."

Darcy, aware that he had drawn the attention of those within the tavern, sighed.  "Very well then.  Two royals back when I return this."  He nodded and left, certain the Quartermaster was rolling with dismay, or more likely laughter, in his watery grave. 

The tavern keeper watched him leave and wondered where a young nobleman had acquired a seaman's rolling gait.

***

Darcy returned to the church and rejoined Aliset, Fiona and Washburn just as Father Michael approached them, Father Columcil at his side.  Darcy discreetly clasped his hands, one of which was holding the flask, behind his back.

"I'm glad I found you," Father Michael said in greeting.  "I have news from Father Paulos."

"You have?" Darcy asked, surprised, and then quickly added, "Good news, I hope?"

"I believe so," responded Windyner's priest.  "The stable boy who spoke to me this morning gave me a note from Father Paulos.  The gist of the note is that Father Paulos was awakened by magic  in the early hours.  It was a frantic, magical cry for his return to Torenth.  An unexpected matter at home made him decide to leave right away.  He quickly packed his things, went to the stable and got his horse.  He wrote the note in haste and gave it to the stable boy with his apologies for leaving so unexpectedly."

Washburn gave Father Michael a puzzled look. The figure he had seen, and it would have been at about the same time, was not on horseback.

"Yes, it is a bit odd," Father Michael said in response to Washburn's gaze.  "I am much relieved, however.  I will write to Father Paulos' bishop in Torenth to ask if he can do anything to help him.  Paulos has been  a good friend to Windyner.  I will pray that things will be resolved by God's will in due time."

"He will be in ma prayers as well," Father Columcil said. 

Father Michael blessed them and turned away toward the rectory.

"Well, at least now we know where Father Paulos went," Fiona said.

"Not necessarily," Aliset replied carefully.  "It would not be difficult for a skilled Deryni to 'suggest' to the boy what he needed to see and to deliver the message.  I did much the same to Squire Robert, but only because it was absolutely necessary and did him no harm."

"We could check the stable to see if Father Paulos' horse is really gone," Fiona suggested.

"How could any of us know which horse was his?" Darcy said skeptically.  "I doubt the stable  boy would point it out to us even if it was still there."

"Something is amiss, and I cannot put my finger on it.  Later; we can discuss it later,"  Washburn said firmly.  "Now I need to get rid of this poison." 

Aliset handed him the trowel, and Darcy passed him the flask.  "Old Ballymar," Darcy said.

Washburn raised one blond eyebrow.  "Nothing but the best, eh?" 

"Let's hope there's a wee nip left," Columcil suggested.

"I make no promises," Washburn said as he led them away from the church.  "I must make sure no taint of the poison remains in the vial."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on October 18, 2020, 01:33:41 PM
With a flask of borderland whiskey in one hand and trowel in the other, Washburn led his friends along a footpath away from the river, the farmland fields, and the church gardens.  Before he reached the tree line leading into the forest,  he stopped and stepped aside just off the footpath. The others curiously gathered around him. It was obvious to Wash that the others had some question concerning his true intentions, whether he was a free man or still under some compulsion, for they kept to a slight distance, only Darcy remaining in arms reach. Wash didn't have the answer, what he was doing was not a compulsion, exactly, yet still, it was something he had to do.

"I think this spot will suffice," Wash said.  The rise in the hill gave them a good view of the town and at this juncture there were no fields, nor visible water, and the trees were still several paces away. He handed the flask of spirits back to Darcy to hold. With both hands firm on the handle, he drove the trowel into the dirt and started to dig. "Don't want this blue fyre to get into any food stuff. Would not want this to be consumed even in the smallest of amounts."

"What is blue fyre?" Fiona asked, feeling like she had joined the group late and had missed some critical information that she ought to have known. When she saw the other's perk up at her question, she realized maybe she wasn't the only one who didn't know.

Wash stopped digging, looked across at Fiona and nodded. She was an inquisitive girl that was for certain. "Master Collos Feyd... that's the name of my captor...had prepared this potion before he handed me over to Grand Duke Valerian to be his prisoner and his lackey. He expected me to use the power this potion bestows to escape that dungeon where Valerian had me chained. I presume he wanted me to reenact the spell Valerian had used to murder my father." Wash slammed the trowel back into the dirt, breaking up the hard ground with no little anger. After a few shovelfuls, he said, "Darcy, I thank the lord for your brother, and it's thanks to you that I recognized him as such. If Iain had not found me in that dungeon, I surely would have drunk the blue fyre and with the amount of anger that swelled in me, I would have blown that whole fortress to smithereens and its occupants with it! Maybe I should have done that. It would have saved the kingdom from a nasty rebellion. At least that is what Feyd believed when his guild seer's told him I was "special", and needed to live long enough to fulfill my destiny."

"Iain did say you were very angry and unpredictable," Darcy recalled.

"That is an understatement," Wash claimed with a huff.

"If you had drunk the potion, you told me before that it would have driven you to madness," Aliset countered.

"Aye lass. My not drinking it actually proved my arrogance. I thought I could best Valerian without taking such risks. I realize now that if I had drunk it, I could have saved my kingdom from the war we are in. But I didn't, because Feyd had also taken away my love for my family, my king, and all of Gwynedd. Therefore, I was selfish and not willing to martyr myself for the cause. He actually forbade me to take my own life in any way. I did try a time or two to end it without success. I do find it curious that he saw nothing wrong in my going mad once my destiny was fulfilled." Wash paused in his shoveling, shook his head, and then went back to digging the hole deeper. "He thought that destroying Valerian was my destiny. But my destiny was very different. A good father from St Melangell started me on the path I would follow. He taught me Healing. Because of Columcil's teachings and Iain's rescue, and I have to give thanks to Feyd for lending me a certain scroll and time to read it, the path I walked along was far different."

"Do you know that Feyd was in my mind while I was enspelled by the ruby?" Wash looked around and saw that only Aliset nodded. "We talked for some time in my dreams. Maybe he really was here, in hiding, during your ritual. Maybe he was the shadow I saw going west and Father Paulos riding east on his horse is a different man.  I can not say. I did not sense Paulos in the ruby with me, only Feyd. Feyd did say that as he was not physically here, he could not take the blue fyre away, and therefore he gave me instructions to rid the world of it. For once I had failed to destroy my father's murderer with the power Feyd gave me, there was no further use for a potion such as this. Rather I found a different power that came to me through my parents' connection with the distant past." Wash knew his friends were aware of his blocking ability, yet still they did not run in fear from him for it. He hoped to continue to live up to this new destiny that Feyd had proclaimed that made him special. "I am curious indeed about this link between Feyd and Father Paulos."

Satisfied that the hole was sufficiently deep, Wash held out his hand for the flask of strong spirits. Darcy handed it over. "Old Ballymar you say." Wash released the cap. "The tavern owner did not cheat you by diluting this did he?"

"No, I watched him to be certain of that." Darcy perked up, "My quartermaster would truly roll over in his grave if I had let that happen."

Wash smiled, but then took a sip from the flask just to be certain, "Smooth," he said with a sigh."The best borderland whiskey out of Cassan. Distilled in small copper stills then aged in oak barrels for a whiff of smoke and rich spiciness. Your father," Wash said as he looked at Columcil, "would have my head for what I am about to do to his finest spirits."

Before he changed his mind, Washburn lifted the green capped flask from around his neck, unstoppered the green cap, and poured the contents into the hole.  He then poured Old Ballymar liquor into the smaller flask, swishing it around to rinse the inside of Feyd's flask, then promptly he poured that too into the hole. He repeated this several times, using the very last of the Cassan malt barley private label before he was satisfied.  Then he fervently filled in the hole to cover what he had poured into the ground.

Wash noticed Columcil's frown when he handed back to Darcy the empty tavern flask. Almost giddy with relief that the potion was no longer a temptation, Wash chided the good father, "You have connections in Cassan that few others can boast of. I think we will see more of Old Ballymar in our futures. Especially on cold nights telling stories around a warm hearth. That is if we can ever rectify our reputations and safely get back to Rhemuth."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on October 20, 2020, 12:14:20 PM
Darcy Cameron shook the flask that Washburn handed to him, hoping for the sound of at least a small amount of the borderland spirit sloshing at the bottom.  Nothing.  He sighed.  The flask was as dry as the hole Washburn had dug.  At least before he poured the spirits into it!

"I am famished," Washburn announced.  "Shall we proceed to the tavern and break our fast while we discuss what to do next?"

"I could do with food myself," Aliset said and looked toward her husband.  "If your stomach is as empty as mine, it's just as well there isn't any of that left."

"He had a sip," Darcy responded, waving the flask in Washburn's general direction as they started toward the tavern.  "He walks a straight enough course."

"No point in crying over spilt Ballymar, cousin," Fiona said with a smile.

"Tis worth shedding a tear, lass," Columcil said with mock gravity.

Washburn wondered if they knew how much their good-natured banter lightened his heart.

Once they reached the tavern,  Darcy headed for the counter to return the flask and reclaim the two royals he was owed. He set the flask down sharply and the tavern keeper turned toward him.

"Returned as we agreed," Darcy said.  "I believe you owe me two royals."

The tavern keeper picked up the flask and looked at Darcy in disbelief as he confirmed the flask was empty.

"You are still standing?" the tavern keeper asked incredulously.  "It's not even been a half hour since you bought this."  He looked toward Darcy's companions who were now seated at the table in the far corner of the tavern.  They looked none the worse due to strong drink.

"Of course I'm still standing," Darcy replied.  "I've brought the flask back and you owe me two royals," he added resolutely.

"You drank all of this?" The tavern keeper shook his head.

"Well, I would hardly pour it out on the ground, now would I?  It's a fine treat this time of day."  Darcy managed to look affronted, though he was starting to enjoy himself.  Maybe he could manage to get back three royals, instead of two.  "If you doubt me, you can give me back three royals for impugning my character."

The tavern keeper snorted and slapped two silver royals on the counter.  Darcy scooped them up.

"Could you send someone over to our table with food?  Old Ballymar works up a good appetite!"  Darcy nodded and moved toward the table, barely resisting the urge to add a bit of unsteadiness to his gate.  Aliset would not approve.

"Bloody drunken nobility," the tavern keeper muttered under his breath.  "Good riddance to them!"

"Do you realize how well your voice carries?"  Aliset chided Darcy as he sat down beside her. 

"It's all my years at sea," Darcy replied.  "You need to be heard over the crash of the waves against the bow."

Washburn looked around the room.  Several customers quickly turned back to their food.  "I thought we were going to regain our good reputations."

"They will have forgotten all about us within a week of our leaving," Darcy said and moved to one side so the server could place a platter with bowls of good, thick porridge and a plate with bread and cheese on the table.

"No pitcher of ale?" Darcy asked.

"The tavern keeper thought you had enough this morning," the server muttered.

"Ach, lad, the rest of us hae not," Father Coluncil cut off Darcy's reply, which might not have been polite.  "A pitcher for the rest o' us would be welcome."

"Bring five cups," Darcy growled.

"It's your own fault, Darcy," Aliset said as she reached for a bowl of porridge. 

"Usually," he said as he passed the plate with the bread and cheese to Fiona. "It keeps me humble."

Aliset gave an unladylike snort as the pitcher of ale and five cups were brought to the table.

***

They allowed the food to claim all of their attention until they were feeling pleasantly full.  Darcy finally turned to Washburn and asked in a quiet voice that could not be heard beyond their table,  "Where are we bound for now?  Do you still want to travel to Lendour?"

Washburn looked thoughtful for a moment and then shook his head.  "I've no reason to go there now.  My memories are restored.  I need to return to Rhemuth, but I cannot do that until the king is convinced I am no threat to him, the kingdom or my family.  I'm surprised he's allowed me my freedom for this long."

Darcy suddenly took a long drink of ale, draining the cup.  Washburn's eyes narrowed.

"You didn't find me by chance, did you?" he asked, with just a hint of the old anger in his voice.  And then the anger was gone; he was no longer that man.

"Aye, I was sent.  To make sure you could not be forced into some treacherous act." 

"Even if it meant taking my life?"

"Aye, though I prayed long and hard that it would never come to that.  I would have done penance to the end of my days if it had."  Darcy held Washburn's gaze, certain he would know the truth of his words.

"Ah was sent along with him tae do what ah could to try to Heal you, so it would nae come to that," Father Columcil said. 

"I joined them, so they would have access to my Deryni knowledge," Aliset added.  "Who better to protect you than your friends?"

Washburn nodded slowly.  "Now I must put the king's fears to rest.  Father Columcil and Alset, you tried to get through the barriers in my mind before.  They are now gone; would you be willing to try again?"

"Ah would certainly be willing, but there is another who would be the better choice," Columcil said.  "Archbishop Duncan is still at Arx Fedei.  He can verify yer memories are returned and true better than anyone else." 

"The King would take his word for it without question," Aliset added. 

Washburn nodded. "If he is well enough and willing, I agree."

"Ah canna see why he wouldn't be," the priest said.  "He was doing better when ah left him in Magistra Helena's care.  And ah think it would be very difficult tae prevent him from trying." 

"Are we agreed to ride to Arx Fedei?" Darcy asked. 

"Yes," Fiona said eagerly.  "It's only a half day's ride.  We can be there by early afternoon if we set a good pace."

"We'll set a normal pace," Darcy said firmly with a glance at his wife.  "No need to stress the horses or the riders."  He glanced at his empty cup.  "We'll also pick up a few provisions so we can have lunch along the way."

"The tavern keeper is out of Old Ballymar now," Aliset reminded him.

"No plan is perfect," Darcy replied.  "Besides, it's probably wiser not to smell of borderland spirits when we greet the archbishop." 

"Unless you brought along a wee dram to share," Columcil said, and they all smiled.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on October 22, 2020, 01:56:31 PM
"It is already midmorning." Fiona surveyed her companions around the table. "We need to finish our preparations and take to the road as soon as we can."

"There's no rush, lass." Darcy smiled at the young lady. "We've plenty of time."

Fiona tapped her foot impatiently. "We need to buy provisions for the trip, return to the church to pack and retrieve our things and take leave of Father Michael, and then saddle our horses and be on our way.. You know we have to reach Arx Fidei before the gates close at sunset."

"That is true." replied Darcy. "But it is still high summer and sunset is quite late in the evening. It doesn't set until after eight so we have more than enough hours, even if we stop for a meal on the way.."

"But something could happen to delay us. We can't be certain of an uneventful trip. In fact, we seem to have more eventful trips than most travelers. I feel it is important for us to allow additional time just in case something comes up." Fiona looked quite determined.

Aliset patted Fiona's shoulder. "We actually have no deadline for reaching Arx Fidei. Even if the gates are closed by the time we arrive, the weather is fine, warm and dry. It would not be a hardship to spend the night outside and enter in the morning."

"We are hoping that Archbishop Duncan will do a deep reading on Washburn and be able to reassure the king that his memories are restored, his mind healed, and that he is no longer a threat to any. What if we take too long and when we do arrive, he has recovered from his weakness and left Arx Fidei? He might have returned to his duties in Rhemuth where Wash cannot follow. What do we do then?"  Fiona looked very concerned.

"Ah cuid try to Rapport with the Archbishop tae tell him of our impendin' arrival an' ask if he cuid delay his return tae Rhemuth til we can meet wi him." Columcil looked at Fiona reassuringly.

Fiona brightened and asked excitedly, "Would you, Father? That would be most helpful."

The friends all looked at each other. Although Washburn had not indicated great anxiety about reaching Arx Fidei and the Archbishop, he did seem eager to reach Duncan and have the reading that would reassure the king that it was safe to allow Wash to return to Rhemuth. There he hoped to renew his allegiance to the king and to restore his honor as a knight and as a Morgan. This was very important to him and the principal reason for their going back to the great cathedral.

Aliset spoke up. "Fiona is right. We do need to be about completing our preparations for leaving.  I will request provisions for a meal on our way. Darcy, will you and Washburn saddle our horses and meet us at the church?  Father Columcil, will you try to Rapport with the Archbishop and let him know of our coming and our need for him?  You could accompany Fiona to the church where I am sure you can find a suitable place where you will be undisturbed to establish the rapport. Fiona, will you proceed to the church with the good father and gather up our belongings so we may pack quickly? I will join you as soon as I have obtained food and drink for our journey."
 
The friends all rose and separated to go about their various duties

[/]center......[/]

Church
Windyner
Half hour before sext.

Darcy and Washburn, mounted on their own horses, led the horses belonging to the other three members of their party, now saddled, up to the church and tethered them before the entrance. Both men dismounted and entered the church looking for the others. Fiona and Aliset appeared at the entrance to the rooms where the ritual had been carried out and where they had slept. They saw Darcy and Washburn approaching.

"The horses have been fed and watered and are waiting saddled at the entrance to the church." Darcy informed them.

Aliset replied."We have gathered up all our belongings. Each person needs to pack their things in their saddlebags and carry them out to the horses. I have a bag packed with meat pies, fresh bread, cheese, apples, and a flask of ale for the trip. The innkeeper was generous with the provisions and did not impose a heavy charge. For some reason, I think he was glad to see us go." Aliset giggled.

"Where is Father Columcil?" Washburn looked around.

"Here." The priest emerged from a side chapel accompanied by Father Michael.

'Fiona curtsied to the priests then turned to Columcil, asking eagerly. "Were you able to Rapport with the Archbishop? Is he aware of our coming and our need to meet with him?"

"Aye, lass. He is still at Arx Fidei although he intended tae return to Rhemuth verra soon. He is anxious tae hear what we hae tae tell him and tae at last be able tae talk wi' Washburn and learn what has befallen him since his kidnappin' an' escape. He will be waitin fer us."

"Oh thank you, Father!" Fiona again curtsied.

The others looked relieved to hear the news. They quickly stowed their belongings in their saddlebags and carried them out of the church. They loaded them on the horses. Father Michael stood on the church steps as he watched them prepare to leave. Each of them paid their respects to the good father.

Darcy spoke for them."Our thanks for all of your help and support.  We would not be leaving here today with our friend freed from his enthrallment and restored if you and Father Paulos had not come to our aid. We will all pray that the emergency that recalled him to Torenth is quickly resolved and that he will be able to return to you here. When you write to his bishop, please ask him to convey our thanks for all that he did to assist us. Father, we ask your blessing on the journey we begin now, and we pray that all will be well here, both for you and for the village"

They all bowed their heads as Father Michael gave his blessing. He made the sign of the cross. "May you travel safely to your next destination. May God keep his hand over you and guide you. In nomine Patri, in nomine Filii, et Spiritus Sancti." They all mounted and turned their horses toward the old well and the road to Valoret as the church bell rang for sext.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on October 23, 2020, 12:33:25 PM
Washburn appreciated the path that angled from the church to the main road, for it bypassed the inn where Wash felt some reticence to get too close. He had succumbed to a spell there and he had been cast as a drunkard and a ne'er-do-well nobleman. Darcy's intimation of them drinking the half flask of Old Ballymar, though quite entertaining as a personalized joke, had further cast him and the seaman as drunkards. Darcy would ride out of this village with a straight back and head held high. The seaman would defy the villagers to think them drunkards. Washburn would all together prefer to avoid those harsh stares and the glaring eyes at his back. His reputation was tarnished, by far more than the incidences here in Windyner, and he no longer had to prove that it wasn't. That didn't hold power over him the way it once had.

Actually, the path of travel really had not been his nor Darcy's choice. It seemed Lady Fiona wanted to lead their group out of town and she took the shortest route that would get them to the main road. Wash smiled at the proud young lady as he brought Shadow to ride beside her.  She had a glow about her now that she was on the path that would ultimately lead to the schola. She smiled at him, but then assertively lifted her chin proud to be leading the party forward. Maybe that was all she really wanted, maybe Wash had only ever been a step for her to get to Rhemuth.  Well, a whole lot of steps and not all of them in the right direction. He had trouble reading her at times. Perhaps he should accept that his feelings were one sided. Wash kept his smile wanting to be hopeful, but his eyes descended to the ground before his horses' hooves. They were nearly upon the old well that sat in the middle of this path on the way to the main road. His thoughts changed to think about the shadowed figure he had seen pass this way in the moonlight. Curious, he studied the ground; would he see the man's footprints, or any evidence that the shadow form had been real?

He and Darcy had questioned the stable boy when they were there saddling their horses. The boy was telling the truth as he saw it; Father Paulos had turned toward Torenth when he left, not toward Valoret, and he was riding, not on foot. Very curious. Wash could not explain it. The shadow had walked right past this old well. What was it about the old well that made Wash want to investigate it. The ruby had been hidden here. He had been enthralled by spells on the gem long before he even sighted it's gleam between the stones at the well's base. At the time, he had not considered just how the ruby had gotten into that position. Maybe there was still a clue here that had not yet been discovered.

Compelled by curiosity and a need to understand better, Washburn pulled Shadow's reigns to a halt abreast of the old well. He ignored Fiona's huff at the unexpected stop and he leapt from the saddle, feet squarely hitting the ground. He looked hard at the crumbling sides of the ancient well and started to circle it recalling just where he had found the ruby. The stones there were still tumbled just as he remembered. 
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on October 23, 2020, 12:48:15 PM
"Whoa!  What the hell are you doing, man?" Darcy Cameron exclaimed anxiously as Washburn stopped his circling at a spot in the crumbling wall of the old well.

"Darcy!" Aliset hissed, though sharing her husband's dismay at Washburn's return to the well.

"Sir Washburn," Darcy said, moderating his tone, but not by much.  "What draws you back here?  If you spy another grand gem, don't touch it!  Remount and we'll ride hard and fast out of here!"

Washburn squatted in front of the spot where he had found the ruby.  He pulled his dagger and poked among the stones.  There was nothing else there, nor did he expect there to be.

"Relax Darcy," Washburn said as Darcy dismounted and came to stand beside him. "I was not drawn here by anything other than my own curiosity.  I still wonder how the gem came to be placed here, and only I saw it flashing in the sun."

Darcy looked at the sky and recalled the day they had arrived.  "It was no ray from the sun that caused it to flash," he said thoughtfully.  "It was just after noon when we arrived.  The sun was directly overhead, and you had to pry the gem out from the stone.  Bright as the sun was, the light would not have penetrated into the recess to strike it.

"Then I must assume it was one of the spells cast on the gem."  Washburn stood and replaced his dagger.  "Master Feyd accepted the stone as payment for eliminating Oswald as a threat to Aliset.  He would have been the last to have it."

"Washburn," Aliset said, appalled.  "That was a high price to pay for my freedom.  Yet I am deeply grateful to be forever free from him."

Darcy drew a deep breath, not wanting to dwell on what might have happened if that price had not been paid.

"If your captor did nae place the gem here," Columcil said.  "He had tae give it to someone he could trust or control tae place it here."

"I suppose it could be any one of the travelers that have passed through here," Fiona said.  "There would be many wanting to attend Bishop Arilan's funeral."

"I wonder how long Father Paulos has been here," Darcy said thoughtfully.  "Father Michael said he often left to return to his duties in Beldour.  Maybe he brought it with him after one of his journeys." Darcy stopped and a startled look crossed his face.  "Sweet Jesu.  We've been assuming Father Paulos was helping to remove the spells.  What if he was activating them instead?"

"That's preposterous!"  Fiona exclaimed.

"Maybe it's not," Aliset said quietly, thinking of all that had happened in the ritual.  "If Father Paulos was activating the spells, that would explain the excessive energy draw.  In the end, once Feyd completed what he needed to do, it was over and Wash was free.  Perhaps our energy was all that was needed with Father Paulos directing it into the gem."

"And now the priest is so conveniently missing," Darcy said.  "Too convenient, for my taste."

"We may ne'er know for sure wha' happened," Father Columcil said quietly.  "I do not like tae question Father Paulos' motives or actions, but there is room for doubt."

Washburn looked at his friends.  "Maybe it doesn't matter.  I am free from his control and my memories are returned. Is the 'how' really that important now?"

"I don't like puzzles I can't solve," Darcy said.  "But you make a good point."

"We should be on our way," Fiona said firmly.  "We can mull over all of this at a later date."

"Aye, Fiona, you are right," Darcy replied.  "Best we move on."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on October 23, 2020, 02:23:45 PM
Wash looked at the well disappointed that it did not give him any answers. Thoughtfully he said, "I don't think it matters what part Father Paulos played. During the Ritual, Feyd was able to Rapport with me. Aliset, I would guess that was the cause of that extra energy consumption you felt. As the ritual ended, my memories were returned. Since then I have been trying to piece together Master Collos Feyd's intentions.  First, he needed money so he took the job that was well paid. But his seers said I had a destiny. I am not sure how much of that Feyd believed, but if I could prove that I was worthy enough to escape the Mearan abduction and survive Valerian's grasp, then he would see that I stayed alive. Early on he had said we would meet again. Know that if Feyd had truly wanted me to be Valerian's pawn, he would have wiped my mind clean and made me utterly subservient to the son of Teymuraz. His drugs had me completely powerless. He could have turned me into a full traitor had that been his intentions. Darcy, if that had happened, well, I can only praise you for having the courage to accept that order from the king. It is what I would have wanted, rather than betray crown and family."

Wash took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He could not lift his gaze to meet his friends' eyes watching him. Instead he focused on the darkness within the old well, feeling how close he had come to being like this old useless structure. "Even though Feyd had the power, he didn't whip my mind clean, he hid my memories behind a demon beast where Velarian would not find them." Wash looked into the shadow of the well, almost feeling like the demon beast was hiding down there. He leaned both hands on the crumbling top stones and looked down inside, it was at least the height of two men before the darkness consumed whatever was at the bottom. "When I was free, at least of the influence of the son of Teymuraz, I felt a compulsion to come east. I didn't realize it, but it was to come here. Feyd was here, in the ritual, I don't know how, by using spells through the ruby he released my real memories and he reversed what he had done. So, is the 'How' really that important now? As to the 'Why,' I think there will be something in my future that I must do to prove myself worthy of this much effort. That is if you believe in prophecy. Which I don't."

Washburn started to look up from the depths of the well when his eyes passed on a torn piece of some cloth. Maybe the well did not have demon's but something had fallen into it. He took out his sword and leaned over the edge snagging the tip of the sword on the cloth caught on the rocks, and brought it into the light. It was black wool, looked to be torn off of a garment. "Father what do you make of this?" He asked Columcil as he handed the cloth up to the priest still on his horse.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on October 25, 2020, 12:24:54 PM
Columcil took the cloth from Washburn. He repressed a shudder, the cloth stank. Not physically, it had not been in the well long enough to have absorbed any of the smell of dank mustiness which hung around the ancient walls and was only slightly damp with the residue of the dew of a summer morning. But he did not even need to extend his senses to feel a malign something - was it pretence, treachery, or - God forbid no! - killing.

He could not resist, nor did he wish to, blessing himself with his free hand, then he ran his thumb feeling the pile of the nap catch a little on the rough flesh.

"Aye, this is frae a priest's cassock right enow. The weaves not just what ye would find wi' cloth made from our yowes, I'm thinking there's maybes a wee bittie goat's yarn mixed wi' it, but aye a bonnie clout fer a priest. A man would nae feel the chill o' an auld kirk in this.

He ignored Washburn's hand outstretched for the return of the cloth and said slowly,

"Whyfore would any yin put a guid bittie clout down yon well?"

His gaze swung round to Darcy and he was about to speak when he heard Fiona shift impatiently. She said nothing but he could well imagine her irritation with him. He spoke to her with a sharpness she had not heard before in the priest's voice,

"Aye Lassie. I ken that we maun gang ta Arx Fidei but we cannae leave like this."

Once again he caught Darcy's eye,

"Darcy, ma lad I've nae dout ye climbed up and doon enow when ye were at sea. I've nae the skill and Washburn shouldna, sae it's up ta ye."

Darcy knew an order when he heard one.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on October 28, 2020, 12:31:16 PM
Darcy Cameron knew an order when he heard one.  The idea had already been forming in his own mind, so he did not hesitate or offer any objection.  He looked over the edge where Washburn had found the cloth and yelled "Yo!" into the darkness below.  The echo that returned was very faint; it would be a fair distance to the bottom.

"Right then," he said and moved to Sigrun to retrieve his sea bag.  Father Columcil and Aliset dismounted and after a moment, Fiona dismounted as well, still frustrated at the delay in their departure, even if it was for a good cause.

Darcy withdrew his trusty line from the sea bag and after a moment's hesitation, his spare shirt.  He looked about for something to use to secure the line, but there were no trees nearby or a big, sturdy boulder.

"We can tie the line to the pommel of my saddle," Washburn said.  "Shadow is strong enough to support  both your weight and mine."

"Just mine this time, but good to know nevertheless," Darcy replied.  He passed one end of the line to the Lendour knight and unwound the rest as he returned to the well.  He passed his end of the line around his chest so it rested under his arms and secured it with a strong sailor's knot. Standing at the spot below which Washburn had discovered the cloth, he placed his folded shirt on the stone wall where the line would rest.

"Aliset," he said.  "If I could have your assistance here?"

"Of course." Aliset came over to stand beside him.

"Once the line is taut, make sure it continues to rest on my shirt.  It will keep the line from chafing against the stone.  Everyone else, pray stay back a bit from the wall so as not to disturb any of the rocks and send them down on top of me."

Darcy sat down on the top of the wall and swung his legs over.  Washburn ordered Shadow to stand firm.  Father Columcil said a brief prayer for a safe journey, and Fiona crossed herself.  Aliset laid a hand on Darcy's shoulder.

"You will be careful and not take too many chances." She said firmly.  It was not a question.

Darcy patted her hand and then lifted it to his lips and kissed it.  "You are the best good luck charm I know of."  He gave them a seaman's salute, gripped the rope in his gloved hands and braced his legs against the inside of the well wall.  "Back soon," he added and carefully played out the line to begin his descent.

"Well I'll be damned," he said.  His chest was even with the top of the wall.  "Sorry, Father," he added.  "There are handholds and footholds built into the wall.  I couldn't ask for a better ladder.  I think the black cloth must have gotten snagged on one of them."

"Don't ye be lettin' loose 'o that line," Columcil instructed. 

"I don't intend to, Father, but this will make the descent easier."  Darcy began to climb down carefully, testing each handhold or foothold before moving lower.  Once it became too dim to see clearly, he paused, secure enough in his position to conjure hand fire.  He directed the bright, silver sphere to a spot beside his shoulder to light the way as he descended again.  He would have preferred to move it closer to his feet to see what was below him, but it was too dark to see that far, even with brightly glowing hand fire.

Darcy became aware of the cold as he moved on, and it began to penetrate his clothing.  He had dressed for the warm summer weather, not the inside of a cold, dank well!  He estimated he had descended close to 30 feet when his boot touched the surface of water.  He moved his hand fire lower and saw it reflect off of the dark, murky surface.

He had established Rapport with Aliset  shortly after he started down.  No point in wasting breath to call up to report his progress if he didn't need to. Aliset had shared the Rapport with Columcil, Washburn and Fiona, so Darcy would not need to expend the energy.

"Aliset," he sent.  "I think I've reached the bottom, but it's covered with water.  More like murky bilge water, actually.  I can't tell how deep it is.  Could you find a rock, maybe large enough to fit in your hand, and toss it down?"

"Just a minute," she replied.  "Fiona, will you watch the line while I find what Darcy needs?"

Fiona nodded and moved to stand beside the line.  Aliset quickly located a rock of the right size and moved back to the well.

"I have one," she sent to Darcy.

"Drop it down from the side farthest from me,"  Darcy instructed.  "I'd prefer it if you miss my head."

Aliset could not suppress a smile as she moved around to the other side. She would also prefer to miss his head. She held the rock out from the wall and released it.

The stillness was oppressive as Darcy waited for the stone to appear.  It was well away from his head and hit the water with a splash that tossed dirty water up to his knees.  Aliset has chosen well; the stone was large enough that he heard the "thunk" when it hit bottom.  The water was less than a foot deep, and the floor sounded solid.  Nevertheless he took a firm grip on the line with one hand as he descended the last foot into the water to touch the bottom.  The last thing he needed was to step into quicksand and not be able to haul himself back out.  The water reached almost to the top of his boot, but thankfully no farther.  He'd have to be careful not to slosh or his feet would get wet.

"I'm down," he sent to Aliset.  He moved cautiously.  "No sign of a body down here; it would be floating if there was one.  Darcy felt Aliset's stomach churn through their Rapport.  "Sorry, love," he sent.

((Will Darcy discover anything in the well?  Roll one die at disadvantage, add 2 XP for an additional die and 3 XP for success on 4, 5, 6.

4:24 PM <jerusha> !roll 2d6
4:24 PM <GameServ> jerusha rolled 2d6: 4 5  <Total: 9>

After my roll, Bynw informed me you can only spend 2 XP to add the extra die on an initiative test.  But since either die by itself was successful with the 3 XP added, Bynw said I could count this roll as success. Whew.))

Darcy realized there was a better way to search and extended his Deryni senses as he moved toward the centre of the well. He paused as he felt solid stone underneath the silt, and he used his foot to probe for the edge. He froze as a voice suddenly spoke in his mind.

"Sweet Jesu!" he exclaimed softly as the message ended.  In his mind an image formed of a green stone tower, a black stone tower, a vermillion stone tower, a gold-yellow stone tower and a royal blue tower.   He felt a strange tingling sensation from the stone beneath his feet and then it was gone. He tried to sense it all again, but found nothing.

"Darcy!  What is it?" Aliset sent urgently.  "What have you found?

"I'm not sure.  A voice spoke in my head and right after an image formed.  Then a stone on the floor beneath my feet tingled in a strange way that I have never felt before.  I have not been able to sense it again."

"Do you think it's a Portal?" Washburn asked.

"I don't know what a Portal should feel like."  He sent his memory of the feeling to Aliset.

"Yes, that is a Portal," Aliset said eagerly.  "What was the message and the image?"

Darcy shared the message:

"Washburn.
The Order is more than you think it is.
It can be your key, to glory, wealth, power, your future.
And your past too."


He followed it with the image of the five stone towers.

"I'm going down!" Washburn announced
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on October 30, 2020, 11:34:28 AM
As the vision shared by Darcy faded, Fiona heard Washburn declare "I'm going down there!"

"No!" she cried. She grabbed at his arm, twisting his tunic sleeve in her fingers and holding tight. "It is not safe! You said we needed to be sure that there was no one down there who needed help. Also we needed to be sure there was not a body down there. Darcy has found neither.  He has answered those concerns. Instead we have found a strange message intended for you, and a transfer portal that is live and could take you anywhere, even without your consent. The piece of cloth, the hand and footholds inside the well and the presence of the portal indicate that this was constructed by someone for a specific purpose. We have no idea what that purpose is. But I have a bad feeling about this. The person who constructed it put a lot of effort into it, and I am sure he expects to profit by it."

"Why take such a chance?  We need to move on now. We have done our duty, and Archbishop Duncan is waiting for us." she continued.

"I know, Lass, but I know those towers we saw. They are part of Coroth Castle, my family home. I don't need a key to glory, wealth, or power. Those things are for others. They may have once been a boyhood dream, but no longer. I have experienced enough to see the real world for what it is, and those things do not tempt me.  Yet, something here involves my brother's home. I will not take the portal, but I need to see for myself this imagery of Coroth in the portal message. I promise to do nothing rash, but if my family is in any way involved in this, I must know of it. Surely you can see that." Wash looked at the young lady as if beseeching her to understand.

"But what if it is all a trap, just as the ruby was a trap? Your friends took great risks and expended much energy to free you. Was that done  just to see you fall into another trap?" Fiona looked really angry but there was also a sheen of tears in her eyes.

Wash took her hand gently. "I understand your concern. And I do know what my friends have done for me, and I am very grateful. If it involved only myself, I would not risk going down the well. But I must know the meaning of this vision if it affects my family. I cannot walk away as long as there is a chance of any harm to them. You must see that!"

"What if you step on that portal and it is trapped and you vanish? How would we find you? We could try to follow you, but do you really think that would  be possible?  And what would happen to anyone who succeeded in following you through the portal.? Have you been rescued only to be lost to your captor again?" Fiona turned away and buried her face in her horse's mane. He could see her shoulders shaking. He put a hand on her shoulder to try to soothe her but she shrugged it off and moved away, dashing tears from her cheeks with her hand.

"Fiona....?" Wash again touched her shoulder.

"You are going to miss your chance to have Bishop Duncan read you and advise the king that your mind is healed. I know you said he would wait, but I am sure he can't wait indefinitely."

Wash shook his head. "I do appreciate your feelings but I must go down the well and see the message and portal for myself. I promise to be very careful, and I will not use the portal. I will take care not to step on it. However, you must see this is something I have to do."

He released her and moved away back to the opening of the well. He put on his gloves and, sitting on the edge of the well  grasped the rope with both hands. He looked around at his friends, locking his gaze on Father Columcil. "Fiona suspects this is likely a trap, Father. As she may very well be right, I have no intention of letting go of this rope. Keep Shadow steady for me."

Then he called down. "Darcy, I am coming down to join you. Keep your handfire lit to help me see the way. I don't want to land on your head. I will be very careful in my descent."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on October 30, 2020, 04:26:02 PM
Washburn had been perfectly polite, a little brusque perhaps, but only as a friend would speak to another when there was need of prompt action, and he had been both courteous and kind to Fiona but as he finished speaking something inside Columcil snapped. Perhaps it was lack of sleep, perhaps the long days of fear for Washburn, or maybe his own desire to get back to his grandfather but suddenly he knew he was having nothing to do with this crazy idea. He whirled round to face Washburn and let fly.

"Are ye quite oot o'yer skull ye blethering gowk. D'ye no ken, or mebbes it's that ye dinna care sae much, hae worrit we've been fer ye. Aye an' ma grandda waiting there in Arx Fidei wi' his hairt near breakin' speirin' that he's let doon the son o' the man he loved maist in a' the world. An' this is a trap, an' 'tis sae as like as nae, a rope wilna save ye. Fer the sake o' the Lord Christ will ye nae use the wits ye were born wi'.

Washburn stood torn between shock and bewilderment. He had once seen his cousin Dhugal in a rage, and, by God, Columcil ran true to his blood. He was being given a tongue-lashing no doubt of that; the trouble was he couldn't understand more than half of what Columcil was shouting at him. Suddenly he was struck with the absurd desire to laugh and he turned away but not before Columcil had seen the tell-tale twist of his mouth.

Columcil's rage died as soon as it had come, and he laughed a tad self-consciously before he spoke again this time doing his best to somewhat temper his dialect with the accents of Rhemuth.

"Aye, laddie, laugh and be welcome. And I beg your pardon, I ken right that you'd no do anything wi'out thinking on the risk. But lad, your family is no yon towers that ha'e gone lang sine – aye an' wi' the taint of forbidden magic aboot them. Your family's honour lies wi' your sibs and ye an' the task that ye must now do is to gang ta see his Grace th'Archbishop an' then ta his Majesty in Rhemuth. Please, my Lord, think what ye are aboot."

Columcil finished with deliberate formality hoping thus to remind Washburn of his next duty, then he put a hand briefly on the other's arm before backing away to leave him to make his decision.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on November 01, 2020, 01:45:35 PM
The smile faded from Washburn's lips. There was a choice here to make, and his friends had worthily expressed their opinions. Lady Aliset only looked at him briefly, then her attention went back to the rope and her husband at the bottom of the well. It was clear she did not like Darcy down there. She too would like it less if Wash went down the well, too.

For what purpose? There was no one stuck down there and no dead body. Only a portal that called to HIM specifically.

Damn the vision of the Coroth Towers. That was the thing that trapped him. Those five towers around Coroth had stood tall for a full five centuries. Damned if they would be going anywhere today. Besides, his family was in Rhemuth just now and his brothers were at war. Columcil had the right of it. To his mother and his siblings were where he needed to go. Not to stand on some wild trapped Portal. The thought that a portal might get them to Rhemuth a week faster was tempting. But not tempting enough to take such a risk. Horses most certainly could not jump down the well.

Suddenly, Wash laughed at the absurdity of the idea and then laughed harder at Master Feyd's attempt to trap him; he wondered at the oddness of it. It really made little sense. He had been under Feyd's controls for weeks. Feyd could have called him to go straight down into the well when they first arrived in this village. His friends would have been blindsided by the sudden irrational move of his descent into an old well. He would have been on the Portal at the bottom before they had even dismounted from their horses. So why all the charades of the Ritual and freeing Wash of all controls, if Feyd was just going to trap him again?

Unless...

Unless...

Wash looked up at Columcil who held his cross in one hand and held his eyes open wide, asking the knight to make the right decision. Washburn bit his lip as he turned his gaze back to Fiona. Her cheeks were wet with tears, she was truly afraid for him. Yet she held her voice, hoping he would make the choice she desired. Yet there was more in her eyes than just the desire to move forward, he saw real concern in her gaze.

Going down the well was not truly a trap, it was an invitation! He could make a choice here and now for his future. Go back to family and his old way of life or strike out to be something larger, to discover the secrets of the Eleven Kingdoms, and join the Order.

Feyd needed him to make this choice to go to the Order with his own free will. They would not take him as a slave but as a free man.

Wash nodded, finally understanding. Knowing what mattered most to him, he turned his back on his friends and put his hands on the edge of the well... and then his booming voice called down to reach to the bottom, thirty feet down.

"Darcy! Get your bloomin' ass up here and out of that God forsaken well. I have an appointment at Arx Fidei!"
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on November 04, 2020, 08:13:05 PM
Darcy Cameron stood at the bottom of the well, his arms crossed across his chest and his hands under his armpits to try to keep them warm.  Darcy was no stranger to the cold; he had sailed the Northern Sea for too many years to not be accustomed to it.  But at least when standing watch in the cold on a ship, there was plenty to do to keep the body moving and the mind sharp.  He shuffled around a bit in the bilge and muck, but the cold seeped into his bones anyway.  He had resisted the urge to stamp his feet vigorously; his clothes were already splashed with enough muck.  He looked up toward the top of the well, hoping for a sign that Washburn had finally made his decision.

"Darcy!"  Washburn bellowed from above.  "Get your bloomin' ass up here and out of that God forsaken well.  I have an appointment at Arx Fidei!"

"Saint Nicholas be praised!" Darcy muttered.  "On my way!" he shouted to those above.

"I can hear you just fine. You don't need to shout," Aliset sent.

"It warmed me up a bit," Darcy sent back.

Darcy checked that his line was still secure around his chest. His hands were stiff from the cold, but that would not be a problem.  His concern at the moment was the muck he was standing in.  It would make the soles of his boots slippery.  He climbed up the first handholds and attempted to scrape off as much muck as he could against the foot holds he was standing on.  It was an improvement, but....

"Aliset, make sure Washburn keeps the line taut as I come up.  There is a chance my footing will not be secure."

Washburn moved to stand beside Shadow's massive head.  He would lead the horse slowly away as Darcy climbed.

The climb up was a bit easier with his hand fire lighting the way above instead of when climbing down into what had been twilight at best.  He had not gone far before his climbing foot slipped off the foothold.  He was safe enough, his hands and supporting foot were secure, but his shin hit the foothold sharply.  Nothing serious, but he would have a fine bruise.

"Darcy?  Is something wrong?" Aliset asked.

"Nay, just a little misstep.  Just keep the line secure and I'll be fine."  Darcy carefully resumed his climb.  This was not the time to rush.

Aliset looked toward Washburn, who nodded.  She estimated that Darcy would soon be halfway to the top of the well.  She concentrated on  the line and made sure Darcy's shirt stayed put beneath it.  Columcil and Fiona stood at the far side of the well, safely back but close enough to watch for the approach of Darcy's head.

Startled, Aliset turned as a young boy appeared at her side.  He was probably six or seven years of age, just old enough to start working in the fields with the men. She had been focused on Darcy and had not been  paying attention to anything else.  She looked beyond the boy and saw the men in the far field.  Someone had likely sent him to find out what was going on at the old well.

The boy leaned over the edge of the well.  "Is someone down there?  I've never seen a torch shine like that before."

"Stay well back!"  Aliset said sharply.  When the boy didn't move immediately, she grasped his shoulder to pull him back.  The boy shook her off, putting one foot against the top of the well for better leverage. The movement dislodged a large stone; it teetered for a moment at the edge and then fell into the well."

"Darcy!  Look out!'" Aliset sent urgently along with an image of the stone hurtling down.

((Can Aliset deflect the stone away from Darcy?  She is ritual trained and has telekenisis, so a standard roll with success on 4, 5, 6.
4:13 PM <jerusha> !roll 2d6
4:13 PM <GameServ> jerusha rolled 2d6: 2 3  <Total: 5>
Crap.  You're on your own, Darcy.))

Aliset focused on the stone to try to deflect it with her powers, but it was falling too fast and disappeared too soon into the darkness.  She could not move it if she could not see it.

"Hold the line!" Darcy sent as he gripped the line and kicked away from the well wall.

"Hold!" Washburn commanded the great destrier.  Shadow planted all four legs and stood firm.

Darcy slammed against the far well wall as the stone plunged down.  As he began to swing back, he climbed hand over hand to get higher. Almost too late he saw the stone, and he barely had time to kick it away.  The impact spun him sideways and he came to rest along the side of the handholds.

Darcy said a silent prayer of thanks to Saint Nicholas as he grasped the closest handhold and planted his feet firmly on two lower down. 

"Darcy!  Are you hurt?  Are you all right?  Say something!" Aliset sent urgently.

"I'm fine.  Just need to catch my breath.  Give me a moment."  Darcy needed the time to calm his racing heart.  His shoulder ached mightily from the encounter with the wall, but nothing seemed to be broken.  He hesitated to release his grip on the line, but it needed to be done.  He took a deep breath and began to climb again.

Washburn moved Shadow forward to take up the slack in the line.

Aliset whirled on the young boy.  "I told you to stay back!"  she shouted at him.

The boy gave her a frightened look.  Father Columcil hurried to Aliset's side and the boy looked to him for protection.  Instead he saw a scowl as dark as a thundercloud.

"Get ye back over yon where ye belong and stay there!"  Columcil commanded.

The boy turned and ran, certain there were demons at the well despite  the presence of a priest.

Aliset turned her attention back to the well, and realized that she was shaking.  She was relieved when she saw Darcy's fair hair shimmering in the hand fire which floated just above it.  Now it was light enough that Darcy extinguished the silver light, and soon both of his hands gripped the top of the well.  Columcil took a firm hold on Darcy's upper arm and helped him climb over the top.

Firm ground had never felt so good to Darcy.  He stretched his back muscles and hoped his shoulder would not stiffen up too soon.  Aliset came to stand before him, looking him up and down, noting the muck on his boots, the splatter of filthy water on his hose and on the hem of his tunic.

"Must you always be so hard on your clothes?" she asked, sounding angry.

Darcy bristled.  "Beg pardon, but...."

That was as far as he got before Aliset wrapped her arms around him, ignoring the potential harm to her own gown, and hugged him so hard he almost couldn't breathe.

"Don't fret, love, I'm fine.  No great harm done," he said gently as he hugged her back.  Aliset drew away after a long moment and wiped tears from her eyes.  Darcy looked over her shoulder and saw men approaching from the far field.

"We'd best be on our way quickly before we are asked questions we don't want to answer," he said as he began to untie the line around his chest.

"Finally!" Fiona said and started toward her horse.  She hesitated and stopped beside Darcy.  "I'm glad that you are safely returned and unharmed," she said.

"Thank you, lass," Darcy replied and smiled at her.

Washburn brought the other end of the line to Darcy and clapped him on the shoulder.  Darcy winced and began to wind the line around the length of his forearm.  Washburn helped Fiona to mount as Columcil gathered his horse's reins.  Darcy stowed the line in his sea bag and Aliset handed him his shirt. She reached forward and examined the tear in his tunic along the back of his shoulder.

"At least there is no blood this time," Darcy said cheerfully. 

Aliset shook her head as her husband helped her to mount her horse.  Darcy removed his sword belt from the pommel of his saddle where he had left it and buckled on his sword.  As he hoisted himself on to his saddle, he saw that  the men  were approaching rapidly.   

They turned their horses toward the road, and Washburn gave the men a jaunty wave in farewell.

"I don't think we have improved our reputation with the villagers,"  Darcy said.

"I don't think I care," Washburn replied.  "I won't be wanting to return to Windyner any time soon."

"And I won't be wanting to return to Windyner any time at all!"  Darcy stated as they turned onto the road that would take them  to Arx Fedei.

They urged their horses into a canter, and none of them looked back.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on March 03, 2021, 02:29:42 PM
Columcil was by now a good enough rider that he was able to slip his right hand from Spean's reins to cross himself in thanksgiving for Washburn's decision. They were a bonnie group of companions, all of them, and whatever his grandfather intended for him he hoped that he would not altogether lose contact. Whatever befell, it was going to be he that baptised Aliset and Darcy's bairns even if he had to ride halfway back across Gwynedd to do so.

He had allowed himself to drop back a little as he mused and, glancing forward towards the others, he saw that Darcy was favouring his injured shoulder. Not that the seaman would say anything, doubtless he would rather suffer agonies than admit to being in pain. And if he suggested that they stop, Fiona would doubtless protest that they risked being locked out of Arx Fidei. He couldna blame the lass for her anxiety but if Darcy continued he risked worse damage; besides it went against Columcil's instincts as a healer to allow hurts to continue without cause.

Maybe, though, there was a solution. Columcil had been in contact with his grandfather rather more frequently than he had let on to the others. He did not conceal his formal contact with the Archbishop but the growing  warmth of their personal relationship he had not thought it right to disclose. He hoped he was not presuming upon it, but he knew well enough that no one in Arx Fidei would bar the gates against a party that the Archbishop had given instructions were to be admitted and made welcome. And a decent meal would be more than welcome at the end of a ride.

The horses had settled into a steady pace, the track was broad and smooth underfoot and Spean was not a horse to spook easily. The steady beat of the hooves was in itself mesmerising and helped Columcil to relax as he sank into a trance and reached out to his grandfather. ( 2d6 3xp success on 456, 3 and 5. Success).

There was no time to make a long story of it, besides this was Washburn's tale to tell. It was not fitting that another should tell of his hesitation at the well, but Columcil told enough for Duncan's relief to flow out to him coupled with warm affection. Columcil then told of the need to heal Darcy, knowing that the healer whose heritage he shared would have no cavil with that.

I'll make sure you are not locked out for the night. I'm not that brave a man that I would like to admit to Duchess Richenda that her beloved son had been rescued from the powers of evil only for me to keep him camping on the ground outside my window.


Columcil was relaxed enough that he allowed his mental laugh at this to be heard by his grandfather and then he hesitated. Duncan knew that hesitation well.

Out with it son, what is it that you are not quite sure whether you should ask? No let me guess. I'll have a meal bespoke for you all from the Abbot's own kitchen, no use having an Archbishop for a grandfather if you can't make use of him.  I can hardly blame you for not welcoming the bread and cold pease pudding you'd likely be offered in the guest house at such an hour.

Columcil felt slightly abashed to have been read so easily but only slightly, he was too grateful for the thought of a good meal. So murmuring Amen to the blessing that Duncan shared he allowed himself to come gently back to his surroundings. Darcy was definitely favouring that arm; Aliset had noticed too but for her to say something aloud would wound her husband's pride. She would speak if she had to, but Columcil had enough experience of Aliset and Darcy out of sorts with each other to prefer finding a different way. He murmured into Spean's ear urging the horse to catch the others, then pulling alongside Washburn he called,

"Your pardon, my lord, but I need to ask ye to stop fer a wee while".

Washburn looked wary at being addressed so formally,

"Am I due for another scolding Father? If so I'd sooner have it as we ride."

Columcil had intended his courtesy by way of a tacit apology but realising his mistake replied hastily,

"Nay lad, it's no' ye but yon Darcy. He'll no' say a word aboot it but he canna gang much further wi' his arm hurt like tha'. If we stop, I'll see if I can no' heal it."

Washburn looked at Darcy and saw at once that Columcil was right, and more, that by inviting him to give the order to stop, the priest was allowing him to reclaim his rightful authority.

He pulled Shadow Dancer to a halt, and called out to the others to stop. Shadow danced the steps that had given him his name, impatient of the interruption of his pleasure at once again stretching his legs with his master in his rightful place atop him.

While Washburn was issuing his commands, Columcil had edged Spean around so that he was within reach of Fiona's arm. Alert for the reaction that he was sure would come, he saw her stiffen and open her mouth to speak. Before she could do so he placed his hand on her arm, gently but firmly enough that she stopped in mid breath.

"Wheest now lass, Ah ken that ye're worrit that we maun gang oor road wi' nae mair delay, but see noo, yon Darcy is mair hurt than he'll be letting on. Ah maun try and see if he'll gi'e me his leave ta heal him, but Ah'm thinkin' that he'll nae be very happy aboot it. An' if ye gi'e him an excuse tae argue his way out o' stopping he'll jump on't.

Fiona looked as though she might be ready to argue but she both liked and trusted the priest and so, before continuing with her protest, she glanced quickly at Darcy. That was all she needed to see that all that Father Columcil said was true. Darcy was not sitting with his customary ease, his back was held stiffly as though trying to protect his injured shoulder.  More in character was the mutinous set to his face as he listened to Washburn without making the slightest attempt to dismount. She turned her head towards Columcil, nodded her understanding, dismounted and led her horse towards the river bank saying loudly.

"You have the right of it, My Lord, we should take time to allow our steeds to drink while we are alongside fresh running water."

Darcy however was having none of it. It was clear that his injury was paining him; it was even clearer that this, coupled with his absolute refusal to acknowledge it, was having a detrimental effect on his temper. He sat like a statue on his horse, meeting Washburn's gaze with a glare which said that he was spoiling for a fight and intended to have one.

"I'm all for caring for our beasts, though maybe it's not for the likes of a mere seaman to dare to disagree with a noble Knight over such things, but if your Lordship thinks that I'm about to allow my wife to sleep on the ground so that your horse can drink his fill..."

Darcy broke off as Aliset moved her horse pointedly in front of his as if to cut off his escape. She said nothing, she probably would say nothing for the next hour, the next day, the next week. God, how his shoulder ached. And now they were all looking at him as though he had lost his wits.

Washburn wisely said nothing, taken aback by the implication that his returning confidence had been so misinterpreted. Thankfully Columcil decided that it was time he intervened and slipped off Spean's back. Preoccupied as he was, he offered up a quick prayer of thanks that he could now do so without fear of an undignified tumble and a more fervent plea that he would be able to calm Darcy's agitation and heal his pain.

"Calm yerself laddie, there's nae question o'ony o'us sleeping outwith Arx Fidei the nicht. We mebbes look like something the cat brought in but gi'e his Grace th' Archbishop a wee bittie credit fer Christian charity, e'en were the twae o'us no' his kin."

He smiled up at Darcy, who nodded acceptance of the truth of what he said but still made no move to dismount.

"Laird Jesus g'ie me thy wisdom and compassion," Columcil silently prayed as he realised that he would have to broach his intention to heal Darcy outright. He feared this would not go well. He was right. Darcy said nothing. Columcil said nothing further but continued to stand by Darcy's mare, preventing him from riding her forward towards the river. Finally Darcy said with an edge of irritation in his voice,

"Well, as we are here, I may as well give this lass a drink, so if you would step aside Father or if you have something else to say just come out with it."

Columcil could put it off no longer,

"Listen lad, why d'ye no come doun and let me heal yer arm fer ye. Ye're a canny braw lad, but there's no shame in admitting that ye're hurt and nae sense in bearing pain wi'out need neither."

Darcy stiffened, his normally calm seaman's gaze flashing cold fire at the priest. Columcil was right of course, but after all that had happened in the past few days, Darcy felt that he preferred to have nothing further to do with anything smacking of magical powers, however well-intentioned. His shoulder hurt like hell, the pain coursing down his arm, but nothing that he could not endure if needs be until they reached Arx Fidei, when some bandages and Old Ballymar would suffice. And Sir Washburn was grating on his nerves; it was entirely correct that he should once again take charge, but where did that leave him? Well done my good man and thank you. You'll find your proper place back there. Washburn had said no such thing, and Darcy knew he had not so much as implied it, but it was true all the same.

"I'm just fine as I am, thank you Father, and the better if you'd leave me be. Now excuse me"

Darcy moved his mare a few steps forward, forcing Columcil to back away, then he dismounted. He handed the reins to Aliset then walked towards the river, moving upstream away from the shallows where Washburn and Fiona were watering their horses until he stopped by the edge of a deeper pool where he stood staring moodily into the clear depths.

Columcil sighed. He knew that help could not be forced,but he felt that he had failed Darcy.

"I'm sorry," he said to Aliset.

"Don't blame yourself,  Father, he's as stubborn as a mule sometimes,and then it is best just to leave him be."

Washburn had come up in time to hear Aliset's words and he offered, "Maybe I should try. If anyone can understand being wary of magic, then I can." Not waiting for a reply, he strode off towards the riverbank and Darcy, leaving Aliset and Columcil looking dubiously at each other.

Never one to do the expected thing, something that had got him into more trouble than he cared to remember, Washburn suddenly knew that to prevent his relationship with Darcy from crumbling under the weight of his own restored status, something drastic was required.

The early morning mist had long since burnt off and the sun shone hot as it neared its zenith. The worst they risked was female disapproval.

Wash did not trouble to hide the sound of his approach, he knew Darcy was in no mood to turn. The water was clear enough for him to see easily that there were no hidden dangers and depth enough for what he intended. Walking up behind Darcy he placed his hand in the small of his victim's back and pushed.

Darcy rose to the surface spluttering and coughing; the cool water was indeed pleasant rather than otherwise, had he chosen to go for a swim. Which he had not. Furious, once he had regained his breath, he turned to look for his attacker only to see Washburn laughing down at him. There was no malice in his face, only a mischief which lit up his eyes. Suddenly Darcy's anger evaporated. In three strong strokes, he was at the bank, and, hooking his uninjured arm around Wash's ankles, he toppled him into the water. Maturity and rank forgotten, like a couple of hound puppies they wrestled together in the water, laughing and splashing, oblivious both of Columcil's startled blessing of himself and the glance of disapproval shared between Fiona and Aliset.

As they larked about, Washburn could see that Darcy was sparing his injured arm. After a short time he feigned breathlessness and swam to the shallow farther edge of the pool. He climbed out and sitting on a flat rock, gestured to Darcy to sit beside him.

"It is thanks to you, as Captain of this crew, that I am now restored to my brothers and my King. But you will always be my brother, the one who stuck by me when I believed I was alone." He put his hand out, palm uppermost and, after a moment, Darcy grasped it tightly.

"And now, my Captain", Washburn continued, "is it really sensible to set sail with your mast askew and your rigging torn, when there is the means to mend it. We have assurance that the gates of Arx Fidei will not be closed on us, and if I know our good father, he will have bespoken us a hearty meal."

He gazed down into the water for a moment then added. "Magic is like water, a force that is given to us for good but can be used for evil, as I know only too well. All I can tell you is that when I have joined with Father Columcil in healing, it has seemed like the water of life itself flowing into that which is hurt to bring healing. There is no harm there, I swear on my soul."

"He speaks naught but the truth my son."

The voice was Columcil's who had obviously waded through the shallows further downstream and made his way down the bank to join them.

"For m'sen, ah was healing puir folk lang afore ah kenned I was Deryni, trusting that t'was the guid Laird Himself and bonnie Saint Melangell and e'en noo that has no changed. A' that is guid comes frae God an' if some folk aye choose to misuse such gifts, be sure they will answer for it. Ah dinna ken what yon twisted yin was aboot, but ah swear ta ye tha' ah wish only ta help ye."

Darcy looked at both his friends and knew he had nothing to fear. Fear of the unknown was wise, no seaman with sense sailed headlong into uncharted waters but in Columcil and Washburn he had better than charts.

"Sorry, Father, for my rudeness back there," he began, but Columcil shook his head with a smile to forestall the apology.

Darcy briefly bowed his head as though receiving absolution, but when he spoke again it was to Washburn.

"Thank you, my brother, and as my brother I would ask you to share in the healing."

Washburn looked towards Columcil, hoping that the water that gathered in his eyes at this evidence of trust would be taken for river water. Columcil nodded and gestured to Washburn to stand beside him as together they placed their hands gently on Darcy's shoulder and entered into healing trance.

(Roll for Columcil to heal Darcy 2d6 5:3 total 8, success Roll for Washburn to share in healing 2d6 4:6 total 10,success. Roll for Darcy to be healed 1d6:6 success).

Darcy felt a slight sense of disorientation as if he had missed a step, quickly replaced by a warmth which moved from his shoulder blade, round across his collar bone and down his arm. Tentatively he moved his arm feeling surprise that there was not even a shadow of pain. Then with a grin of pleasure he swung his arm in a great circle behind his head, causing Columcil and Washburn to jump back out of reach.

Columcil watched with unconcealed pleasure, waited until Darcy's arm was still and then put his arm on Darcy's shoulder,

"Come awa' noo, lad we'd best make oor peace wi' yon lasses an gang oor way."
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on March 07, 2021, 08:27:05 PM
"Come awa' noo, lad we'd best make oor peace wi' yon lasses an gang oor way." Columcil followed by the two other men turned toward the women and the horses.

Only, Aliset was standing firm on the ground with her fists on her hips. The tone of her voice was like a mother berating her wayward sons, "Don't you think you boys might be forgetting something?"

Wash looked perplexed and dared not say a word.

"Ah did th' Laird's work, as fast as Ah cud," the good father stated, not understanding what the lady was implying.

"My shoulder is good now. I don't need to rest up any longer," Darcy added perplexed.

Aliset only raised her eyebrows and stared at them. "You intend to ride six more hours like that?"

Fiona whispered into Aliset's ear and then giggled, particularly looking at Washburn.

Darcy and Colucmil looked at Wash, neither understanding what Fiona found amusing. "Cousin, what are you going on about?" At Darcy's comment the young lady only giggled more and turned away.

"It seems," Aliset said in a way of an answer, not giving in to Fiona's giggle, "if we were to have a wet tunic contest the first place would be a tie. At least if Lady Fiona and myself were the only judges." She held her breath for a moment but then could not help herself, "Father, if you want to break that tie, might I suggest you go swimming too."

The shock on Father Columcil's face was enough to break Aliset's stern facade. A laugh escaped before she held open her hands for forgiveness. "No, no, father, don't go swimming. Looking at the two of you in wet clothes is enough merriment for both us "Lasses" especially on a nice day like this. I am sure your wet clothes above the waist will dry in the sun. But what about...." She paused. "I mean to say... I will not be dabbing healing herbs on saddle sores where wet cloth rubbed skin raw. Not tonight. If you get my meaning."

Instantly the two men who'd gone swimming looked at each other with surprised expressions. Sure enough, wet shirts were still clinging to chest and arms and breaches suddenly were uncomfortably wet in the legs when neither had noticed it at all the moment before.

Fairly quickly, Wash took his sword belt off and pulled his tunic and shirt over his head. Darcy was about to take his own shirt off when he saw Fiona's eyes open and her lips smile as she watched the knight disrobe. Darcy held up a hand. "Hold on, I think the ladies better turn away."

There was rebellion in both the ladies eyes. It was Father Colucmil who stepped up to the women and took both by the arms and turned them to look over the river. He voiced a prayer, which forced both lasses to lower their heads to share in his words. The two men were quick to race to their saddlebags and search for fresh clothing before stripping the rest of their wet clothes from their bodies. At least the horses acted as a shield for some parts.

Wash had dry britches on and was tugging his only other linen shirt out of the bottom of his saddlebag, when his father's journal caught on the fabric and came out of the bag into his hands. He thought nothing of it as he held it and dug deeper into his bag for his grandfather's blue tunic. The tunic and shirt he laid across one arm preparing to place his father's journal back in his bags, when he realized the journal was loosely open, a piece of fabric seemed to be stuck in the pages. "When did I rip my green cloak?" he asked to no one in particular.

"You haven't had a cloak since the ruins," Darcy answered; his memory for such things was not something to be questioned. "Besides, the cloak you had before that wasn't green. Didn't your mother tie the journal in a green ribbon?"

Wash opened the journal holding the page with his thumb and displayed a folded patch of green wool, frayed on the edges and looking rather tattered and old. As he went to pick the fabric up, Darcy yelled, "That is not yours, let me!" His voice alerted the others and they quickly came  to surround Wash and the book.

Aliset called, "Carefull!" even as Darcy lifted the patch off the open page. The green fabric was folded over and opened up to reveal the embroidery of a white hand, palm and fingers open, with a green blotch in the center of the palm. As Darcy pulled the fabric flat, the blotch turned into a star with eight points. Darcy looked quizzically at it, for he had not seen such a design before.

Columcil held out his hand and took the patch from the seaman. He examined it, turning it over. "Tis gey auld. Ah speir ah saw a drawing in ma grandfather's office that looked akin ta this. But ah didn'a ha'e time ta ask him aboot it. Ye say that ye havn'a seen this aye afore?" He deliberately kept the fabric out of Washburn's long reach.

"Wash, we have seen you read your father's journal, and we can all agree that this has been placed in the book since the village, but why?" Darcy asked.

Columcil opened his senses to the fabric, "There's nae aura whereby we might ha' kenned how 'twas placed in the journal," his eyes unfocused as he looked deeper. "There's a wee bittie sense of violence, some yin deid afore his time... some yin affeard... traumatic... mebbes in battle."

(( Can Wash detect anything in the cloth
21:09 <•Laurna> !roll 2d6
21:09 <GameServ> Laurna rolled 2d6: 2 1 <Total: 3> Nope))

Wash touched the fabric then, but he could not sense even what Columcil could sense. There was no evil enspellment upon the fabric. Wash was glad of that much.

"I know this heraldry. My mother discovered it in an alabaster painting found at Grecotha. It was the badge of the ancient Healers, the ones who studied at Saint Neot's. That is a ruined abbey north of Corwyn, which was destroyed during the harrowing. She had embroidered one for my father, though I think she said he did not wear it, having not been a student at that abby." Wash held the fabric then declared. "The colors are wrong. At least not that as I saw in the painting. The painting was a green hand with a white star."

"You found this in the journal? Did it mark a page?" Aliset asked.

Having forgotten he still held the journal, Wash opened it up to where his thumb held the page. He briefly read though both open pages. "I read this part before. My father was in the royal library desperately looking for answers to help him with the verse King Brion had left behind. The magic that would help Kelson at his crowning." Wash looked up and bit his lip. "I am not sure how much each of you know about the empowerment of our king. I am not sure it is my place to say. But as I have nephews and nieces of the Haldane line, I know something of what is involved. Though I have never been a part of it. In the time that Kelson became king, such information was known by only the king himself and my father."

"Does any of that have to do with the ancient Healers?"  Fiona asked.

"Not that I can guess." Washburn then read the passages on the open page.

"If only I could find some clue: a significant marked passage, some notes from when Brion concocted the ritual verse, some hint as to how the problem should be approached. It was, of course, possible that we would be able to figure it out without help. But I hated to be less than certain on something of this importance.
Because the ritual verse Had to work. If it didn't, Kelson was doomed, and Duncan and I with him. Nor was it possible for us to do Kelson's fighting for him. Occult practice simply would not permit it.
If only I could remember more about Brion's reading habits, that might give me some better idea of where else to look. I knew that there had to be a link somewhere, that Brion must have left something, if only as a reassurance for the friend he had known would come looking for such a thing. Perhaps the clue was in the verse itself.
Wearily, I sat down at Brion's reading desk and propped myself up on my elbows. Somewhere I must find the clue; I knew it must exist."

"That is what is written on the fore page," Wash said. Then he continued to read the facing page.

"As my eyes scanned the room once more, the gryphon seal on my left forefinger caught my attention. I had read once of a Deryni lord who had used a similar ring as a point of focus for deep concentration-- the Thuryn technique, named for Rhys Thuryn, who had first made it a part of the Deryni arsenal. I had often used the technique in the past, though never for something like this. But it had always worked well before. Perhaps it would work again.
Focusing all my attention on the ring, I began to concentrate, willing my mind to put aside all outside worries and relax, to shut out superfluous sounds, sights, sensations. As my eyes drifted closed, my breathing slowed, became more shallow. My tense fingers relaxed.
As I concentrated on keeping my mind clear, I permitted an image of Brion's face to form in my thoughts, tried to put himself into that image, to fathom what had been there concerning what I now sought.
Suddenly the image of Brion winked out of existence, to be replaced by swirling blackness and dizziness. I had a fleeting impression of a man's face surrounded by a dark cowl, strange, yet hauntingly familiar, a feeling both of urgency and reassurance-- and then the moment was past. Then there was nothing but a stunned me sitting rather foolishly at a desk in a library with my eyes closed." *

((*Deryni Rising quote from Chapter 5 - changed to first person point of view))

"Curious?" Columcil stated. "His Grace, yer farther was a gey guid writer. Ah wuld like ta read sich a bonnie words m'sen."

Washburn looked a little protective of the journal. "If my brother approved, I could lend it to you."

"Could the Healer's badge be associated with the man's face in the Dark cowl?" Fiona asked.

"I imagine so." Wash replied. "It is the same face, I saw one night when I was held captive. It was in the moonlight. I felt the presence of Saint Camber protecting me."

"You showed me." Aliset said, nodding.

"Saint Camber has a strong affinity to Healers as we have both seen him during deep Healings." Wash said and Columcil agreed.

"Saint Camber died in battle did he not?" Fiona added. "Was this his?" She pointed to the fabric.

"Nay," Columcil injected. "Ah dinna think sae." But then he was unsure.

"We need to get to Arx Fidei," Darcy suddenly said while quickly tossing his dry shirt over his head.

"I am with you on this." Washburn took the fabric, placed it back in the journal, and carefully put it back in his saddlebags.

With a dry shirt and tunic held in place by his sword belt, Washburn assisted Fiona to her horse. When all were in the saddle, the five horses were given their heads to make quick work of the ride back to Arx Fidei.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on March 10, 2021, 06:43:16 PM
Darcy Cameron and his companions were making good time on the road back to Arx Fedei.  Darcy and Washburn rode side by side leading the group, though Shadow Dancer sometimes grew impatient at Sigrun's shorter stride.  Aliset and Fiona rode behind them, and Father Columcil was content to bring up the rear.  Fiona would rather have ridden beside Washburn, but Darcy insisted the women should travel behind him and the skilled knight.

"While I don't expect to see any bands of rebels this far east, I'd prefer to be over-cautious than careless," Darcy explained.  Father Columcil, busy checking one of Spean's hooves, had not heard the explanation.

They had travelled for almost two hours when Columcil noticed that Darcy kept them well clear of other travellers on the road and sometimes dropped back to position himself between other riders and the ladies.  Darcy was always protective of Aliset, but this was beginning to seem a bit obsessive.

"Are ye lookin' for trouble, laddie?"  Columcil called to him as Darcy began to move his horse forward to rejoin Washburn in the lead after a small group of riders passed.

"There is a rebellion in progress in Meara," Darcy replied dryly.  "And though we have been a bit preoccupied of late, I have not forgotten about it."

"Mebbies ah forgot to tell ye it's over," Columcil said ruefully.

"WHAT?"  Darcy pulled up Sigrun so sharply that Aliset had to rein in her own mount to avoid running into him.  Fiona managed to guide her horse around him.  Washburn, realizing the others had suddenly stopped, quickly turned his destrier around to return to them.

"What's wrong?"  Washburn asked, confused by the startled look on Darcy's face.

"The good Father has forgotten to mention the rebellion is over," Darcy replied, shaking his head to clear the confusion in his mind.

"What?  It's over?"  Washburn looked from Columcil to Darcy and back again.  ""When did you learn this?" he asked the priest.

Columcil sighed. "Ah'd a wee talk wi' Archbishop Duncan afore th 'ritual. Ah speired he shud ken that ah'd reached ye safely. He didn'a gi'e muckle detail, just tha' Prince Javan'd defeated yon Valerian at Laas. I'm thinking he was worrit that ye'd mebbes be haring off ta Meara ta redeem yer honour.

Washburn snorted.  "He knows me too well, I think."

"So it's really over?" Fiona asked.  "Were there many losses?" she added, concerned for her cousin.  Aliset reached over and laid a supportive hand on her arm.

"Ah dinna ken nae mair," Columcil replied gently. " Forbye he'd ha'e told me an the news was bad fer any on us."

"We should press on," Darcy said and moved his horse up beside Washburn. "The sooner we get there, the sooner we'll find out more.  We'll make better time now that I don't have to keep such a tight ship."

"Lead on, Captain!" Washburn said.  "We'll let the wind fill our sails and be there in no time."

"Just don't push the Captain overboard again," Aliset quipped.  "I think you both have run out of dry clothes."

Columcil chuckled, relieved that his piece of news was delivered without causing offence that it was late.

***

It was dusk by the time they reached Arx Fedei.  Columcil dismounted and was just beginning to raise his hand to ring the bell beside the door set into the gate, when the gate opened and a lay brother motioned them all to come inside. 

"The Archbishop asked that we watch for you, Father Columcil, and admit you and your party upon arrival," the lay brother said. 

"Thank ye, good brother," Columcil replied as several other brothers joined them to take their horses.  Columcil and the others quickly removed their saddlebags so the horses could be led away to well-deserved food and rest.

"I see you took your time getting here!" announced a familiar voice as the Archbishop of Rhemuth strode toward the dusty group in the courtyard.  There was no hesitancy in his steps, and it appeared he had made a full recovery since Father Columcil had left for Windyner.  Magistra Helena followed a few steps behind. 

"Your Grace," the travellers said as they paid their respects and kissed the archbishop's amethyst ring.

"That's enough formality," Duncan said with a smile as he embraced first his grandson and then his nephew.  Then, with one arm around Columcil's shoulders and the other around Washburn's, he turned them toward the guesthouse.  "I have not forgotten that I promised you a satisfying meal and comfortable beds for the night.  Come with me and we can share news while you eat your fill."

***

Darcy stood in the courtyard studying the stars.  Despite the long and arduous day, his mind continued to mull over the information the archbishop had shared, and he had been unable to settle down to sleep.  Aliset and Fiona had been given a room together, and he was sharing another with Washburn and Columcil.  Rather than have his tossing disturb his companions' sleep, he had decided to find comfort in the stars. He sighed; he would have preferred to find the comfort of his wife sleeping beside him. 

The rebels had been defeated at Laas and Ratharkin retaken.  Valerian, thankfully, had been killed. Brioc's fate was still unknown. Fiona's cousin had acquitted himself well, and Jaxom had fought well, or at least lucky.  Darcy admitted to himself that Jaxom probably had fought well, but it would always be difficult for him to tolerate the man.  He would keep his oath to Earl Brendan, but would try to avoid Lord Peacock whenever possible.  In the end, they had not lost anyone dear to them.  If it had not been for the skill of a young Healer though, that might have turned out otherwise.  Father Columcil's words echoed in his mind: A' that is guid comes frae God.

Columcil's words seemed to still Darcy's mind, especially as he thought of Aliset and their wee lassies.  With a smile, he turned back toward the guesthouse.  Arx Fedei  would awaken early, and he really should get some rest.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on March 12, 2021, 06:17:57 PM

The room was safe, the bed comfortable, Washburn slept very little. He didn't rise in the night as Darcy had, he had too much running through his mind to consider the space around him.

The rebellion was over!

He had missed it all: the strategy, the marching, the battle, the hunt for the rebels, the vanquishing of Valerian, and the recapture of a lost city. He, who trained daily for battle for most of his life, had lost the opportunity to prove himself. It rankled his pride. Not, however, for quite as long as he thought it should have. Soon enough he realized he didn't carry the pridefulness that he had had in prior times.  In the wee small hours before dawn, his outrage dampened and was replaced by concern for his family. How much had his brothers endured to protect the kingdom, and to protect the family, himself included?

Kelric and Brendan had been in the thick of it. One at the battle of Laas, injured while holding the walls, the other at the recapture of Ratharkin, steadfast in bringing the Rebellion to a close. Finally, Washburn understood why he had neither seen nor heard from either brother since the time of his capture. The king had forbidden them to seek him out. Washburn had been a threat to family and kingdom. King Kelson would not take that chance, and he had kept his brothers away. After all that had happened, he wondered if he would be able to redeem himself in their eyes.

He had been a prisoner, but he did not think of himself as Valerian's pawn. It had come close, far too close, but he had smite Valerian and locked his powers away from him, breaking his bondage and escaping. He knew now that King Kelson had allowed him to roam the countryside to keep him out of his family's reach. He could not say if he was angry or grateful to his king for pushing him away. He suspected the latter. Now if he could just prove to the king that his mind was again his own.

It is time to tell your story, without embellishment, without pride, and hope that uncle Duncan can vouch for your safe return to Rhemuth. Washburn made this agreement with himself as the dawn broached the east facing window.

*****


"And that is how my father saved me." Washburn placed the ruby on the table at arm's length between himself and the Archbishop of Rhemuth. "I rallied my energy with a remnant protective spirit of Lord Alaric in the guise of a great red dragon that had been cast upon this ruby a score of years ago."

"I am amazed,"  was Uncle Duncan's reply. The archbishop stared at the ruby, "I recall assisting Alaric in the placement of that spell. We never imagined then how it would come to be used."

"It helped me keep my sanity," Wash said quietly, then his voice rose up. "I will not downplay the efforts of the men and women at my side, to whom I owe my life," the knight nodded to the two men and the two women who sat along the table's length with him. "I have tried to tell you some of what has occurred and all that they have done for me. Know that my trust in them is complete;  they have seen me through the impossible and into healing. I am hopeful that you can confirm that it was all worth the effort. I need to prove that I am no longer enthralled and that I am whole."

Washburn looked from Uncle Duncan, to Magistra Helena, and to Bishop John Nivard, the three who sat across the table from him. He tried to read their expressions.  Bishop John, who had been so emotional at Bishop Denis's funeral the week before was now cool headed and truthreading Wash through the whole hour long story. Wash had told no falsehoods, Bishop John confirmed that. But Washburn's capture might have contributed a good deal to Denis Arilan's stress, which ultimately brought about the beloved bishop's demise. His grace said nothing, but Wash feared it would be a long time before he could gain Bishop John's trust again. Magistra Helena was wholly on the other side of compassion. She listened intently to Washburn's story and she nodded and dabbed her eyes from the tears that fell from time to time.

Duncan was like Helena, but in far better control. He had listened with concern taking it all in. At last he spoke. "I am glad that it is I who can receive your story. Your mother, God bless her, has been held back by the king until I can assure him, and her, that you are truly healed and your own man once more. There is one more thing we must do to prove it. I must request that I perform a mind reading."

"Yes, I expected such," Washburn said pushing back his reluctance to have others within his mind.

Duncan understood and nodded to the magistra. She produced a brown vial with a green cap which she set next to a wine goblet. "We have something that will make the task easier for you." his uncle indicated the vial. "We don't have to do this in front of everyone, we can seek out privacy, if you like?"

Washburn didn't hear Duncan's last words. His eyes went wide, his back tensed, he leaned away from the table wanting desperately to escape. "I have been controlled by drugs far too many times. Can we do this without drugs? That looks very much like that which I poured onto the ground. I don't think I can willingly drink it."

The magistra of the schola looked him in the eyes and calmly explained,  "It is a mild sedative, it will help you open your mind, so that no harm will come to the one who reads you."

"We will not take a risk that your mind still holds a trap for the Archbishop of Rhemuth to blithely walk into," Bishop John said coolly.

To Washburn's surprise all four voices on his side of the table burst out in rejection at once.  They were stalwart supporters and he could see that uncle Duncan did agree with them, but he also could not go against caution.

Taking a breath and deliberately relaxing muscles that had reacted to his momentary terror, Washburn held up both hands in submission. "I know why you ask this of me, I understand, I don't like it, but I will submit to it.  I don't need privacy. I need all of you to find it in your hearts to accept me back into the realm." Wash reached for the vial and the wine goblet, but it was Duncan's ringed fingers which stayed his hand.

"Perhaps I should be the first to open my heart and my trust. Do you promise to open fully and not attack me when we are in Rapport."

"Your Grace, I will swear upon the holy relics of Saint Jorian that I will submit to you fully mind and body."

"Very well," said Duncan. His gaze stopped the rebellious outbursts Helena and John were about to make. The archbishop stood and came to stand at the back of where Morgan's son sat. Father Columcil remained at his left side easing his hand over his wrist. John moved his chair to sit at Washburn's right side. He too took Washburn's wrist, but gripped it with unease. The magistra sat opposite watching with concern.

Wash bit his lip, and whispered, "Dear father, may I show them that I am Healed.That I am no longer a pawn"

"You are like a son to me, I vow that I will be as gentle as I can. Lean your head back, and trust me."

"Your grace, I trust you fully. If there is even a remnant of the scholar left in my mind, I beg that you dig deep and tear it out. I will not be a betrayer, on my life, I do swear!" With his words, Washburn tilted his head back against the archbishop's cassock and he dropped every vestige of resistance to let the other's mind sweep through his.

Duncan was thorough, he took his time and his energy leaving no leaf unturned. He had to do this because the kingdom of Gwynedd needed to be certain that Washburn Morgan was clean of all taint. For Washburn, memories flashed, everything that he had been and done were revealed. The recessed corners where a beast had once staked his territory were again swept through to be certain that no triggers remained.  The conversations with Feyd both literal and imagined were carefully gleaned. Duncan was meticulous and fully in control. When the Archbishop came to the juncture where Wash held his secret talent, Duncan was caught by his own curiosity, more curiosity than he should have likely shown. When he learned how Washburn had turned off Grand Duke Valerian's powers, he did look for the trigger spot in Wash for himself. After some struggle he could not find it. Upset with himself for making such an attempt, Duncan apologized, I hope I didn't abuse your trust, just now, that was wrong of me.

No, I do wish that someone else would learn this thing. So that it would not be all upon my shoulders.
Washburn responded humbly.

Perhaps your brother will have better luck than I.

Time passed, although Wash was unaware of the length. He could feel tendrils of John and Helena in his mind along with the comforting thoughts from Columcil. Even Aliset, Darcy and Fiona were on the edge of his perceptions with their compassion. 

At last, coming out of Rapport, he heard Duncan's soft voice as the priest stood over him.

"I am happy to announce that I find nothing hidden or lingering in the mind of the youngest son of Alaric, my cousin and dearest friend. I profess that Washburn is in good health, mind and body, though the mind may need a bit more time to come to terms with all that has happened to him. I would blur his memories, but he has declined, wanting to find his own path back to full healing. I will inform the king and request that Washburn and his friends join us on our travel back to the capital. There they can present themselves to the king and the queen, and to Gwynedd's court, who are longing for this reunion.

Wash didn't remember much more that morning. Only that he was assisted to his bed where he  was allowed to fall asleep without the nightmares that had haunted him for so long.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on March 15, 2021, 06:37:53 PM
The deep reading by the archbishop had been completed with the result they had all hoped for. Duncan had found no residual taint in Washburn's mind. He was clean and free of the Scholar's influence.He was fully in control of himself again. The archbishop would be establishing contact with the king to relay the good news and request permission for Washburn and his companions to accompany Duncan and his party back to Rhemuth.

Washburn appeared exhausted after the reading. He had not slept well the night before and had been nervous in anticipation of the process. Darcy and Columcil assisted the knight back to his room where they put him to bed for much needed sleep. Duncan returned to his quarters to attempt rapport and report to the king. Bishop John went to the church to consider and pray about what he had seen and heard. The two ladies of the party, Aliset and Fiona, strolled out into the garden to get some fresh air and to discuss what might come next when they reached Rhemuth.

As they walked along the paths, Fiona spoke first, asking Aliset, "What do you think will happen when you and Darcy meet with the king? Do you think he will confirm you as heiress to Meriot and settle the estate on you and Darcy? He might even make Darcy a baron. Will you settle at Meriot and will you continue with his deryni training when there is time?

Aliset laughed lightly. "What a lot of questions. I'm not sure what will happen when we reach Rhemuth. I am confident that he will acknowledge me as heiress to the estate, but I think both Darcy and I will have to explain our actions while we were absent from Rhemuth. A lot happened during that time, and we will need to explain our decisions. That is especially true for me. Noble young ladies are not supposed to disguise themselves as men and leave court without permission even to join a rescue mission. I think we will have some work to do to regain our king's and, especially for me, our queen's confidence in us."

"But what about you?"  Aliset smiled at her young friend. "Do you still intend to pursue your desire to attend the Schola?  I know your first plans were disrupted by what happened at Bishop Arilan's funeral. Are you still planning to ask Washburn to introduce you to the Duchess and to seek her support for your entry to the Schola? "

Fiona replied. "I have given it some thought. The duchess will be anxious to be with her son at last and to spend as much time as possible with him. She will want to reassure herself of his well being after all he has been through. This is probably not the best time to approach her about sponsoring a strange young woman for entrance to the schola. After all,  she does not really know me. I think I would need to wait for some time before meeting her or making such a request."

"Then what will you do? Have you an alternate plan in mind and if so, what is it?"

Fiona looked at Aliset earnestly. "I do have an idea. Both Magistra Helena and Bishop John are here now, and they are the ones who make the decisions about the schola. I would be afraid to approach Bishop John, he seemed rather cold and stern in the meeting, but why shouldn't I speak with Magistra Helena while we are here?  I have said that I want to have a say in my own future, and the Schola is an important part of that future.  Iain did approve of my request to attend the schola but with everything else, he has had no time to do anything about it. Do you not think that Magistra may take me more seriously if I speak for myself rather than depending on others to speak for me?"

"I can see that you have given this some careful thought. You may very well be right. I can see no harm in asking if you may speak with her about possibly becoming a student at the Schola. She seems a very kind person and I think she will at least listen to what you have to say."

"Might we seek her out now?" Fiona entreated, looking anxiously at Aliset. "Would you accompany me? I know I said I need to speak for myself and I intend to do so, but your support would mean a great deal to me."

Aliset nodded her agreement. "I believe I saw her headed for the library. Let's try there first." They reentered Arx Fidei and hurried toward the library. When they reached it, they did not immediately see the person they were seeking. There were students scattered about in the carrels with books and scrolls, studying. At a desk to the side near the main door, a young man was seated studying a scroll and making notes. He looked up when they stopped in front of the desk. "May I be of some assistance?" he asked courteously, rising from his seat and bowing.

"We are seeking the Magistra from the Scola in Rhemuth, and we have reason to believe she might be within, although we do not see her. Have you seen her?"

The young man smiled at them. "You are in luck, I saw her come in not long ago. She often spends time in the section where the oldest, historical materials are. If you go all the way to the back and bear to your left you will find the alcove where they are kept. I think you may find her there."

The two ladies curtsied. "Thank you for your help."

He bowed. "You are welcome."

They quickly walked toward the back as he had directed them. They found the alcove but at first it did not appear that there was anyone there. There was a table in the center with one or two scrolls lying on it but they did not see anyone. "Magistra!" Aliset called out softly but there was no reply. They were turning to leave when the lady they sought came around the end of one of the book cases. She was carrying a large book which had been unchained for her. Clearly she was someone who was both trusted and respected here. She looked at them curiously. 'Are you looking for someone?" she asked.

"Magistra." Both young ladies curtsied. " I am Lady Alsiet de Cameron and this is Lady FIona McIntyre. We were seeking to talk with you if we could."

Helena immediately recognised the ladies as two of Sir Washburn's companions from that morning. "Is there something I can help you with? Is Sir Washburn alright?"

"Yes My Lady. He is sleeping. We wished to speak with you about the schola." Aliset indicated Fiona." My friend is most desirous of entering the Schola. She is Lord Iain Cameron's cousin and ward. He gave his permission for her to attend but with everything that has been happening with the rebellion and rescuing Sir Washburn, he has had no time to broach the subject with the Schola administrators. She is hoping that she might talk with you about it while you are here if you can spare the time."

Helena studied the young ladies before her for a minute or two then said, "I have a small study that has been placed at my disposal while we are here. Perhaps we could go there where we can talk without disturbing the other students." She smiled and motioned for them to follow her. They left the library and followed her to a small but comfortable room with a sturdy oak table which served as a desk and three comfortable chairs arranged before a small fire burning in the fireplace. The Magistra lit two large candles on the mantle above the fireplace and two sconces on the wall. She indicated the chairs before the fire, "Be seated and tell me how you think I can help you." She looked first at Aliset then at Fiona.  "Lady Fady Fiona, perhaps you should begin."

Taking a deep breath, Fiona spoke. "I am Deryni but I have had little chance to learn about my powers and how to use them. Each time someone would begin my instruction something would happen to interfere." She told Helena about her father's death in battle when she was eight then her mother's illness and death not long after. She told of being sent to live with her aunt who was Deryni but who had little opportunity to work on her training due to her own illness. Finally she told of being sent to live with Lord and Lady Stuart who treated her as a beloved niece but who were not Deryni. There had been no one at the manor who had the knowledge to continue her training. Due to Lord Iain's duties to the king, she had seen him seldom and there had been no opportunity for training there either. "I know I have powers but I don't know exactly what they are or what I can do with them. I have been reluctant to try to use what power I am aware of for fear I will do something wrong and harm someone. I have so longed for the chance to learn about my powers. I want to be able to use them responsibly to help others as well as myself. I know I could be useful if only I had the chance to learn!"

Helena smiled at the young lady sympathetically. "I can understand your frustration. And the king's purpose in founding the Schola was to help Deryni who had been deprived of the opportunity to learn about their powers, often by family who were trying to protect them from those who would harm them just because of what they were."

She then turned her gaze on Aliset, studying her silhouette.  "What is your role in this?  I don't think you are also seeking to enter the schola. It appears that you will soon have other matters to occupy you. How can I serve you? Are you also seeking Deryni training?"

Aliset replied  "I am here to support my friend in her quest. I am also Deryni, but I have had the advantage of training from my family, primarily my mother,  including spell training. She ensured that I understood both how to use my powers and the responsibility involved.  During our travels after Fiona joined our group, she told me of her wish to learn about her powers. I was able to work with her a little, and I found that she is very determined and learns quickly. Even in the little time we had, I was able to teach her one or two skills. I think you would find her to be an asset if you were to accept her as a student."

Helena studied the two young women before her. "Lady Aliset, what were you able to observe ? What skills was she able to use and with how much difficulty?  And Lady Fiona, what powers do you feel comfortable using without supervision? Lady Fiona, would you answer first."

Fiona took a deep breath. "I have shields and I am able to raise and lower them when needed. My mother did teach me how to control my breathing, calm my nerves and help myself to sleep.. When either walking or riding, I have been able to cast out and determine dangers in my path. I can make hand fire. I can sometimes sense when someone is lying to me, although I am not entirely comfortable with that. Those are the only powers I have used with any comfort."

Helena turned to Aliset who answered.""She possesses a few of the basic skills but has used them little. She readily had no opportunity to practice to be adept. As she said, she has shields and is able to control them at need. She is able to create handfire, She has some ability in truth reading, at least she can often detect when someone is lying to her. I was able to teach her to use telekinesis to some degree; she was able to move an object a short distance with her mind. She also participated in the warding of the room where the ritual to free Sir Washburn  took place.  I think she has a lot of potential but has not had a chance to develop her abilities. " Aliset fell silent, awaiting the Magistra's comments.

Fiona was also silent, her eyes scanning the woman's face anxiously and her fingers twisting in her lap.

Helena spoke. "From what you tell me, Fiona appears to be just the sort of student for whom the Schola was intended. However, there are things that must be done before she can be admitted. I would like to do my own assessment of what traits she has and her level of skill and ability." She looked directly at Fiona. "That will involve allowing me to do a mind reading, not a deep reading such as the one you saw this morning, but one sufficient for me to establish both your motives and what training you do have. Are you willing to allow this?"

Fiona nodded eagerly. "Oh yes, Magistra. I would do whatever you asked."

"After that is done, we will need to approach Bishop John who is the Director and has the final say over who is to be admitted."

"Oh must we?" Fiona appeared very reluctant to approach the Bishop. "He appears very cold and stern. I would be afraid to talk with him."

Helena reassured her. "The Bishop is a kind and understanding man as well as a very fair one. Do not be afraid to talk to him. I am sure he wiIl give impartial consideration to your request to enter the Schola."

"We will also need to discuss your admission with your guardian, Sir Iain. I know that you said he had given his permission but we will need to meet with him. We would need to hear his feelings on this matter. We can address this when we return to Rhemuth as I understand he is currently in residence."

A bell began to ring in the church. "It is Sext, time for noon prayer and the noon meal. Come to me here after you have finished your meal and I will do the assessment reading if you still wish for it." Helena stood up.

Fiona and Aliset also stood and curtsied deeply. FIona spoke. "Thank you for speaking with us Magistra. I will return this afternoon for the evaluation you require. I see this as my first step toward the education I so desire." The ladies followed the Magistra as she left the room.

The two ladies returned to their room to freshen up and prepare for the noon meal. As they approached the door to their room, they saw Darcy and Columcil. Father Columcil was leaning against the wall while Darcy was pacing the hallway. He did not look happy. "Where have you been? We came to escort you to the great hall for luncheon and there was no answer to our knocks. I did not understand your absence as you had not mentioned any plans. What captured your attention this morning?"

Aliset had started to bristle at Darcy's tone. It wasn't like him to question her like this. But then she saw the concern in his eyes for them. She had gotten wrapped up in the meeting with the Magistra and had not thought about the need to let the men know where they were. She should have sent a page to inform them of the meeting. She put her hand on his arm and spoke to him quietly. "We sought out Magistra Helena, and she was willing to meet with us this morning. That is where we have been. I am sorry that we caused you concern, we should have sent word to you of what we were doing. I did not intend to worry you."

Darcy smiled at her. "I might have known the two of you were off on a mission."

Father Columcil said they would wait for the ladies and escort them to the hall. They readied themselves quickly and the four of them went in to lunch. Once they were seated, Fiona told them about her meeting with the Magistra and of her intention to return to  Helena's study that afternoon. Her excitement showed as she described their meeting. "Too often opportunities to learn about my powers escaped me. This time I decided to speak for myself. I think I have taken the first step toward actually being accepted into the Schola." She bounced in her seat and her eyes sparkled. She.was very pleased with herself and looked forward to her next meeting with the Magistra,
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on March 20, 2021, 04:08:39 PM
Sir Iain Cameron, Baron o' Isles, paused before the doors to King Kelson's withdrawing room.  He had sent a page to notify the king that he had returned from Meara as soon as he had arrived in Rhemuth Castle's courtyard.  He had barely had time to turn his horse over to a stable boy when Robert appeared at his side, advising that the king would see him immediately.  Iain would have liked to clean up a bit first, but it was not as though Kelson had never spent time on campaign in the field, so perhaps he would not find the odor of horse and sweat overly offensive.

Robert knocked quietly on the door and opened it when the king called for them to enter.  "Sir Iain Cameron, your Majesty," he announced.

Iain stopped half the distance to the wide oak table behind which the king sat, thinking it best not to approach too closely.  He  bowed and as he straightened, saw that the king was studying him closely.

Instead of the normally dapper Baron, the king saw a short, dusty man-at-arms in a worn leather tunic and stained hose.  The pale hair was drawn back into the customary border braid, but a week's growth of pale beard covered the lower half of his face.  Kelson also noticed that his boots, although equally dusty, were very well made.  There were some things Sir Iain would not compromise on.

"I almost wouldn't recognize you," Kelson said, and Iain noticed a slight quirk at the corners of the king's mouth.  It did not last long.  "Tell me what you have learned about Brioc de Paor's whereabouts."

"Unfortunately, very little," Iain responded.  "Earl Brendan and I returned to the fortress.  It was still secured by the earl's men, and no one had attempted to use the Portal or enter the gates.  Earl Brendan and I did manage to remove Valerian's trap on the Portal and install one that will prevent unauthorized use. I will provide you the details."

"We can get to that later," Kelson replied.  "You have no idea where de Paor might be?"

"I won't say I have no idea, but it will take a long time to find him.  I have been scouting the area around the fortress in the guise you see, posing as a man-at-arms who might not be too scrupulous about who he works for.  I had a few interesting offers, but nothing that even hinted at Lord Brioc."

"If you think any of those 'offers' worthy of investigation, let Lord Seisyll know," Kelson interrupted.

Iain nodded. "What I did learn was that the mountains where the fortress is located are riddled with caves; some are quite large.  If prepared with supplies, Lord Brioc and a few trusted men could hide in one for quite some time.  Even if he were to run low on supplies, with all of the mountain streams, fresh water would not be a problem, and game is plentiful.  He could remain hidden almost indefinitely.

"And if he waits long enough, he could quietly reappear after we have grown tired of searching," Kelson said thoughtfully. 

"One or two men could be left in the area, to continue to watch and report. There is no guarantee of success, however," Iain added cautiously.

"Meanwhile, Brioc remains a significant threat,  especially if he gets his hands on his daughter," Kelson said after a moment.  He looked up at Robert.  "Robert, find us some refreshment.  I suspect Sir Iain might be thirsty after his travels."

Robert nodded, bowed and left the room.  Iain waited patiently for the king to continue. Something was on his mind he did not want Robert to hear.

"That leaves us with the question of what to do with his daughter, Lady Sidana," Kelson said quietly.

Iain wondered if the king meant the royal "Us."  He certainly hoped so.

"As I see it, we have three options."  Kelson paused and sat back in his chair, his eyes on the man who stood before him.   "The first option is to execute her as a threat to the realm.  Not my preferred option, but I have done it before."  His thoughts turned briefly to Judhael.  It would be no easier now than it had been then.  Iain's face remained impassive.

"The second option is to retire Lady Sidana to a remote convent.  Unfortunately, there is no guarantee her father or other supporters would not be able to find her and set her free. Loris proved it is not impossible."  Kelson's gaze did not move from Iain's face.

"It's not likely Lady Sidana would ever take vows," Iain said, remembering his time spent with his recalcitrant guest.  "She would spend her days there as a prisoner."  He held the king's gaze. "And the third option?"

"She accepts you in marriage."

Iain felt his stomach tighten in a knot.  "I might not be the best choice.  If I remember my last conversation with her, she despises me."

"I don't see another viable candidate."  The king raised one hand and ticked off each point on one of his fingers.  "First, you cannot produce an heir.  A male heir would be disastrous,  and  a daughter would be equally dangerous, as we know from Lady Sidana.  Two, there is no location more remote and isolated in Gwynedd than Isles;  it is accessible only by sea with only one safe harbour.   Sidana will be secure and out of sight from the rest of Gwynedd.  Third, you are a highly trained Deryni, and you can control your wife if you have to...."

"The third point is not acceptable, your Majesty," Iain interrupted  firmly. 

Kelson  stopped with his finger poised to tick off a fourth point.  "This is a problem?"

"Yes, Sire."  Iain took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  "I placed controls on Sidana when Sir Washburn and I captured her.  She made life very difficult, and we were all miserable. As a temporary solution, controls have their merit, but they should not be permanent.   I can live with a woman who does not care for me, or  treats me with disdain.  I can't live with a woman I have enslaved."

Kelson gave Iain a considering look.  "You are aware her powers are still blocked.  Is that also a problem?"

Iain thought for a moment.  "Perhaps not, though I don't like it as a permanent solution.   It would reduce risk, and give me a chance to make some sort of peace with her.  Assuming that is a possibility," he added dryly.  "It seemed you had one more point to make, Sire?"

"I have sent you on enough missions to believe that you are incorruptible.  I need not worry that someone will tempt you to give her up." 

"I won't say I might not be tempted, Sire, but I would not give her up.  The consequences would be too grave."  Iain made a slight bow, and the king nodded his acknowledgement.

"It will be Lady Sidana's choice to make," Kelson said with finality.  "Let's  hope she makes a wise choice."  There was a knock on the door.  "Ah, here is Robert with our wine."

Robert entered  and set a tray with a carafe and two goblets on the table.  He poured wine first for the king and then handed a full goblet to Iain. 

"To wise choices," Kelson said as he raised his goblet.

"To wise choices, Sire," Iain replied and lifted his goblet in salute. He took a very deep drink of the wine.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on March 21, 2021, 03:20:48 PM

The Episcopal entourage left the courtyard of Arx Fidei at mid morning, after mass and much adieu. Wash thought they would never leave; so excited was he to finally be heading home. Twenty riders, the archbishop's carriage, three wagons and a dozen servants made up the large assembly of travelers. The carriage remained empty as they left the gates. At first Duncan chose to ride a quiet grey palfrey that matched the color of the archbishop's hair. The speed was sedate. Far more sedate than Shadow cared for. The stallion on occasion slipped into a jig which Washburn controlled only after a few paces. Eventually even the stallion gave in to the slow walk, put his head down, and walked with quiet grace. As the travelers came upon the town of Ramos, the archbishop transferred to the carriage with the windows open. Wash was a little surprised that the riders formed up like a procession and they traversed the town from end to end with the villagers forming along the roadside. The archbishop of Rhemuth, the second highest church leader of Gwynedd waved to the folk and called out blessings for the people. The war was over and the people rejoiced.

When they were clear of the town, Duncan stayed in the carriage and used the time to take a nap. At mid afternoon, food was sent forward from the wagons by deacons. They rode up and handed Washburn and his friends meat wraps followed by small berry tarts. There was no reason to stop, so everyone happily ate as they walked on. If a rider disappeared into the treeline for a moment, his fellows simply marked where he had gone and made sure he returned. They were not moving fast enough to leave anyone behind.

The magistra had joined the archbishop in his carriage as the food was passed out. An hour or so later she returned to horseback. Wash took this opportunity. He dismounted from his steed, handed the reins to Father Columcil and approached the episcopal carriage. His long stride easily matched the carriage's speed. "Your Grace, may I ask permission to approach."

"You have it, my son," Duncan said with an easy smile. "Better still, come sit beside me, so that I do not have to yell out the window." He opened the carriage door and Wash easily stepped up and sat opposite, facing backwards. The two men looked upon each other for a time, but when Wash did not speak what was on his mind, the archbishop spoke for him. "You are wondering what penance I would place upon you for your many colorful deeds that I became aware of yesterday?"  Wash didn't say anything, his eyes lowered to his hands held together on his right thigh. "Your deeds of youth were spent as any young man would spend them. You have sought absolution for the worst of these in the past. The lesser deeds of youth don't weigh on your soul. Believe me, I saw nothing yesterday that was worse than what I or your father did in our youth. In fact, I would surmise that your father was a bit more recalcitrant in his early darkling phase than you. He defied the rules of nobility, somewhat casting himself away from them. You, on the other hand, may have bent the rules from time to time, but you were always steadfast with authority and to your loyalties. I suspect you spent too much time trying to impress your brothers than to be contrary." Duncan saw the slight nod as Wash agreed. "That is why it hurts so much, isn't  it? You have been forced to think ill of those of whom you would never have contemplated ill before?"

Duncan looked out the window, for passing villagers had yelled out "God be praised!" and Duncan called back to them, "God bless you, my children!"  Then he returned his gaze back to the diffident knight. "There are a few choices made during your imprisonment and escape which I would like to hear you talk about in your own words, in your own time. Then we will deal with each circumstance individually. I will take consideration as to why you did as you did. Namely the two uses of your new power and also an agreement you made with your captor. In the confessional we will deal with these. Perhaps this evening before we retire, come to me." Duncan again looked out the window and gave a wave to a family who stood on the side of the road to watch the archbishop pass by.   "It will take time to heal. Not all healing can be completed by a touch to an open wound. This is not that kind of wound. It will take time and compassion, not just from others but from yourself."

Washburn looked up at the man he called his uncle though in truth was a cousin once removed. The relationship did not matter, he was family. Wash trusted him implicitly but as yet could not find the words to speak. "You might ask why we didn't take a portal to Rhemuth to stand there before the king this morning? I would answer, that a war has ended, that the people need to see that we the church love them and wish to be seen by them. We will parade before them and give them our blessing and they will be happy and return to their good lives. But also it is a time of healing. We are in good company, we with those we love, and with those who love us. Take these days of travel to put your heart at ease. What was done to you, is gone. It happened and it must be lived with. But it does not rule over you. If you have earned penance it will not be great. You are free. You may not be able to return to the man you were before, but you can remake yourself into a new man. I see a yearning for learning that wasn't there before. Fiona won't be the only one to ask the Magistra for admittance into the schola of Rhemuth, I am thinking."

Washburn perked up at that. "Fiona asked the Magistra? Was she admitted?"

Duncan laughed lightly at this sudden light-hearten expression of the knight's face. "Why don't you ask her for yourself."

"There has been so much to do, we have not had time to talk." Wash said ashamed that he had missed the hints she had made.

"We have a week, there is plenty of time. Use it wisely."

Washburn knew that Duncan was not just talking about talking to the attractive blond who made his heart leap."Healing comes from many sources. I think if you open up to several of those who travel with us, you will find them helpful to you and you to them."

"I don't understand what you mean, how can I help them?"

"You may have noticed that one of my bishops has fallen off course from his normal compassion. I think if you were to share his grief over the loss of Bishop Denis, perhaps he will come to understand that Denis's last days were spent out of loyalty to his kingdom and love for his friends. His stress was not your fault. John needs to come to this conclusion on his own."

"I have been avoiding him, and he me."

"Don't! Talk to him, you have more in common than you might imagine. We have a week. Both he and you can use it to heal."

Wash nodded, he bent his head and kissed the extended hand with the archbishop's ring. In the next moment he found himself with the arms of his uncle tightly wrapped around him. "I am so happy to finally have you back." 

A few minutes later, Wash left the carriage brushing back tears.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on March 22, 2021, 07:48:05 AM
GotP on the road.  Fiona and Washburn

Prologue: 

Fiona was so excited that she could hardly contain herself. She had returned to Magistra Helena's study that afternoon for the mind reading the Magistra had requested as a prelude to admission to the Schola. Helena explained what she was doing." I do not intend to invade your privacy, I wish only to gain an understanding of what Deryni traits and abilities you possess and what, if any, training you have already had. If you are admitted, this information will be important in planning your course of study."

Fiona nodded her understanding. She trusted the magistra and was not afraid. Helena made sure she was seated comfortably and instructed her to close her eyes, breathe deeply and relax. Fiona  followed the directions given her. Helena placed a hand gently on her forehead, and Fiona lowered her shields. The reading was quickly accomplished, and Fiona came out of her trance and faced the magistra who smiled at her.

"Lady Aliset was correct. You do have great potential although what little training you have had appears to be very sketchy as one would expect with the frequent changes and interruptions. I also saw your deep desire for this training and your intention to use your powers for good. I will recommend to Bishop Nivard that you be admitted after we have consulted with your guardian and gained his approval. He may still wish to speak with you himself, but you should not be afraid. He is a fair and kind man, and I see no impediment to your admission.

Fiona was almost bouncing in her seat as she addressed the Magistra. "Oh thank you!. Iain had already approved my request to study at the Schola. I am sure he will consent to my entering the Schola,. I can't wait to tell the others!. She curtsied to the magistra and quickly left the study.

The evening of the first day on the road:

Fiona was frustrated. She had met Aliset in their room and told her of the reading and its outcome. She was practically admitted!  But she had been unable to talk with Washburn. The archbishop had called them together before the evening meal that day to tell them that he had reported the results of his deep reading to Kelson, and the king had given his permission for Washburn to return to Rhemuth. Their party would accompany the archbishop and his entourage. Bishop Duncan intended to leave the next morning after mass so they must be ready. "I have been too long absent from my see, and I must return to my duties there."

After that, everyone was fully occupied with their packing, checking on the horses, and preparations for leaving the next morning. There had been no opportunity to seek out Wash or tell him her news."

She had hoped to have a chance to tell him the next day but again, he was occupied with other things. There had been no stops for food; they had eaten as they rode. Also, Wash had spent  part of the afternoon in Bishop Duncan's carriage with him. As they passed through villages and towns, the people had lined their route, calling out to the Archbishop and cheering and receiving his blessings. There was no opportunity to talk with Washburn alone.

Finally, late in the afternoon, they reached St. Swithin's Abbey where they had bespoken shelter for the night. The abbot and several of the brothers came out to meet them. Duncan was escorted to the room allotted to him. Bishop Nivard, as well as the ladies in the party, were also given rooms inside the abbey. Duncan's escort, along with Washburn and Darcy, would camp in the abbey barn while the deacons and Columcil were given beds in the dortoir.  A meal would be served within the hour, followed by vespers.

Again Fiona had no chance for private converse with Washburn. Finally, as they exited the church after Vespers, she found him standing near her as Duncan gave a final blessing to all.   
She placed her hand lightly on his arm. He looked down at her, smiling. She stood on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. "I must talk with you. I have news." He nodded and led her away from the church into a corner of the Abbey garden where there was an arbor and a stone bench where they could sit.

After he had seen her comfortably seated, he sat down beside her, Wash turned to her. "After I have heard your news, I have a question for you."

Fiona was bubbling over with her news. "I have met with Magistra Helena and she has agreed to recommend me to Bishop Nivard for admittance to the Schola!"

"When did this happen?" Wash looked at her quizzically.

"Yesterday afternoon before we left Arx Fidei. After the reading by Archbishop Duncan was over and you went  to rest, I spoke with Aliset. I told her that I needed to have a say in my own future, and since both Bishop Nivard and Magistra Helena were here within reach, why should I not approach one of them about my wish to be admitted to the Schola?  She agreed to go with me to lend her support. I was very hesitant about approaching the Bishop, he seemed cold and hard, but I thought the Magistra might listen to me. We found her in the library, and she agreed to listen to my request. She led us to her study. There I told her of my background and my long held dream to attend the schola and learn about my powers. Aliset supported me, telling the magistra what she knew of my abilities. The magistra said I sounded like the kind of student the Schola was intended to serve. But she asked me to return after the noon meal and allow her to do a reading to assess what traits and abilities I had. I did so, and after the reading she said she would recommend to the bishop that I be accepted. They will need to meet with Iain as my guardian to get his final approval, but he had already agreed to my request. With everything going on, there had been no opportunity to do anything about it.The Magistra says Iain is in Rhemuth and they will meet with him as soon as we return. I know he will agree."  Fiona gave her characteristic bounce of excitement. "I am practically admitted already!"

Washburn grinned at Fiona delightedly. "That is wonderful. I am truly happy that your dream is coming true. You will be the best student in the Schola. And you will have achieved it on your own," he proudly declared.

He continued. "I also hope to be a student there. Uncle Duncan says that when he did my reading, he sensed a desire for learning that he had never felt in me before. It is known that I have the healing trait, and I hope to be admitted for healer's training. I think he will support my admission.  Perhaps we will be fellow students. And I am hoping that Father Columcil will also join us to further his healer training. "

The two young people sat quietly for several minutes, contemplating the opportunity to achieve their dreams.  Washburn's hand drifted over and rested lightly on the back of Fiona's hand.She did nothing to pull her hand away. Fiona looked at him. "You said you had a question for me. What is it?"

"You have already answered it. I know where to find you once we reach Rhemuth" A pair of deacons crossed the garden and instantly their fingers parted. " It is getting dark and Aliset might become concerned. Allow me to escort you to your quarters."They both stood and Fiona placed her hand on his arm. They walked sedately back to the Abbey, and Wash left her at the door of the room she and Aliset shared. Both Wash and Fiona would have happy dreams this night.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on March 30, 2021, 12:23:33 PM
The barn at St. Swithin's Abbey was not wholly uncomfortable.  The Archbishop's non- clerical retinue, about fifteen in all, were given cots in the central work space of the barn, so it was not like they were bedded down with the sheep. Wash and Darcy had slept in worse locales. Wash took it in stride, and Darcy might have too, if not for the fact that he didn't have his wife at his side. He said nothing, but he tossed and turned through the night and then was up before the break of day, before even the servants and guards were up. Wash decided it was useless to try and sleep even though it was not yet light, so he too dressed and joined Darcy on his way to the abbey church. At this juncture, Darcy went his own way, likely to await outside the guest quarters for the women.

Wasburn, instead, looked for the solitude of the Lady Chapel.  He lit a candle and then knelt before the altar rail in prayer; he had a lot to think about. During the last evening, he had talked at length with Uncle Duncan. Part of their talk was in confessional; Wash expressed his guilt for the death of Lord Oswald. He had made a contract with the scholar during his time as a prisoner that placed that death square in his lap. He was not sorry in the least that the man was dead. After what Oswald had done to the de Mariot family and might have done to Aliset, Washburn believed Oswald's fate was justified. But it was not the king's justice, far from it! This conversation opened a flood of grief Wash had not expected. He had not yet had time to grieve over the death of his friend Alister. When Aliset was in the guise of her brother, Wash had dared not allow himself to grieve for fear it would affect his dealings with his friend's twin sister, and later... well until now... and now he was ashamed that he had not accepted Alister's death sooner.

After expressing his grief, he returned to the subject of his confession. "I will not repent that the murderer of Aliset's family is dead, only that I made a contract with an assassin to have the deed done. I am very aware that I made such a contract, and that it is not the way of the king's laws. My only defense is that I did not know the details, but the devil is in the details. Evil twists our desires to its own path. So I have learned the hard way."

In the artful manner of a good priest, Duncan let Wash talk. A softly placed word here and a comment there stirred the conversation so that emotions were released and the truth was brought forth. Wash forgot for a moment that Duncan had been inside his head already, and he knew how this contract with his abductor had come to pass. Washburn's guilt and grief had overshadowed the truth. It took Duncan's gentle prodding to get Wash to speak the exact words of his dealing with the scholar.

"Very well, I will repeat the exact words I said to Feyd-- I ask to make a contract with you. If you save the Lady Aliset de Mariot from wherever it is that she is being kept and return her safely, and alive--not mad like I will be-- into the hands of Lord Darcy and Father Columcil, then I will pay any price that is within my means to pay."

"You do see it, do you not?" Duncan asked after a long silence. "Your contract was to save Lady Aliset, for her safety and her return." Duncan reached out and placed his hand on Washburn's shoulder. "You would do anything to see Aliset safe. You could not know that she was already safe. I suspect Master Feyd did not know in that moment where she was, either. He wanted your cooperation, so he took your contract. In time his informants would have told him Aliset was not in the clutches of Lord Oswald. It could have ended there. It was he who took it further, it is not directly on your hands." Duncan sighed, "Nevertheless, it appears he chose to relieve your distress over Aliset and make a permanent solution. I wonder if he thought it would buy your trust? You must learn from this. Some men have their own codes of honor which do not meld well with the Knight's Code."

"Yes, your Grace, this I have learned."

Wash continued to kneel and give The Lady a second prayer. He looked up and saw the light of the morning sun brighten the eastern rose window. Standing to leave, Wash became aware that another had arrived at the chapel. He felt chagrin as the footsteps turned away ostensibly to not disturb him. "Nay, do not leave. I have taken up enough of the Lady's time." Wash turned as he spoke and saw the retreating back of Bishop Nivard.

"Wait, your Grace, I am glad it is you. Could I impose on your time? For just a moment?"

It was clear that the bishop was uncomfortable and guessed the knight's request. "His Grace informed me you would be asking for admission to the Schola. Come to me when we are in Rhemuth where we can discuss this at length." Again Bishop Nivard began to walk away.

Wash never knew John to be curt, and it came to Wash that he had not properly grieved over Bishop Arilan's death, much as he himself had not grieved over Alister's. Duncan had said to take this week to heal, and this was a relationship that required healing.

"Father John, don't go, please!" He opened his palms upward apologizing for the familiarity.  "Like a lot of young men, I'm afraid I've been a bit oblivious to others and how hard things must have been for them. I hope I've learnt a bit better now. The trials of the last weeks have not all been my own. The price has been high, too high, for many. I want to give you my sincerest condolences for the man who was first among us to turn the footsteps of the Deryni onto the path of light." John had turned and now he stepped forward, but he was conflicted by his own emotions and did not respond. "Denis Arilan was your mentor as well as Duncan's, I did not appreciate the Bishop of Dhassa as I should have. I understand that his ordination was a miracle. That miracle allowed men with true vocation to find mentors in the church. Archbishop Duncan and yourself were among the first Deryni priests to be ordained in two centuries. Forgive me, I never asked before. How was that possible? It must have taken enormous courage."

The bishop's eyes had been on the chapel altar, but at this he looked up at the knight, hesitant at first, then feeling Washburn's openness and genuine interest, he decided to answer. "Come kneel beside me as I say morning prayer. And then I will tell you something you may not know about Bishop Arilan."

Wash accepted the invitation without pause. He allowed John to kneel at the altar rail and then knelt down beside him. John's prayer was mesmerizing, the bishop's depth of feeling for his vocation and for Denis Arilan could be keenly felt as he began to talk about his early years in minor orders before he discovered he was Deryni. The learning of his race dashed all hopes and raised his fears of discovery. Before he met Denis, he was prepared to risk death for his love of God. Then at his ordination, Bishop Denis was present and he, John Nivard, was alive and a priest. Fulfillment of his deepest heart's desire was accomplished because of a miracle in the name of Denis Arilan. He understood then the true meaning of compassion.   

John talked until Swithin monks began filing in the church for service. "We must start our morning or we will never get on the road to Rhemuth," said John. He then stood and brushed his cassock smooth.

Wash stayed on his knees for a moment longer. "Thank you. I did not know. I must apologize for my youth, there are many things that I did not understand. And I know there are many things that I still need to come to understand better. Your words help me see." Wash stood then bowed and then turned to leave the chapel.

John's voice stopped him, "I too need to open my eyes and see better, understanding requires compassion.  His Grace the Archbishop was right, as always."

Wash cocked his head confused, then bowed. He left the church knowing Bishop Nivard watched him go.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on April 11, 2021, 07:01:28 PM
"I think I could use a short walk," Aliset Cameron said as her husband helped her dismount from her horse. 

"I think we'll be here for a while," Darcy replied.  "The archbishop doesn't appear to be in a hurry to continue on, so we have a little time to wander."

They had stopped for a mid-afternoon break to relax and rest the horses before continuing on to where they were to spend the night.  Darcy nodded in the general direction where Archbishop Duncan, Magistra Helena, Father Columcil, Washburn and Fiona stood together a short distance away from their tethered horses and the archbishop's carriage. 

"I would wager they are discussing the Schola again,"  Darcy said as he tethered their horses in the shade of one of the trees set back from the road.

"Fiona takes every opportunity to learn more about it." Aliset said and then sighed. "I must admit, I wouldn't mind travelling a bit faster."

"I could race you to that other tree down yonder," Darcy replied. "I'll even give you a head start."

'You know that is not what I meant!"

"I can never be entirely sure," Darcy said and held out his arm.

Aliset laughed as she settled her hand on his arm.  They strolled toward the tree Darcy had indicated, taking their time and listening to the late summer birdsong. 

"I think your tree is a pear tree," Aliset declared as they approached it.  "I wonder if there are any ready for picking?  I think a pear would taste very good right about now."

Darcy, pleased that his wife's morning sickness seemed to be on the wane, left her side to study the tree more closely.

It was an old, sturdy pear tree, one which had likely provided fruit for travelers for several generations.  The main trunk had several gnarled branches reaching out from it and many more spreading upwards. 

"I think the lower branches are all picked clean,"  Darcy said.  "Maybe we should have travelled faster." 

'Oh well," Aliset replied.  The disappointment in her voice was clear.

"Not to worry," Darcy said quickly.  "I'll just climb up a ways and get you one."  He stepped back and studied the tree to find the best route upwards.

"No, no!" Aliset said quickly.  "I don't want to ask Columcil or Washburn to put you back together again this soon."

"Don't fret, love; I've never met a tree I couldn't climb and return in one piece!"  He climbed onto the lowest, thick branch and walked along it to start his way upwards.

This may not end well, Aliset thought to herself.  Yet she saw that, even as Darcy made quick progress, he tested each branch carefully to ensure it would hold his weight and studied each next move carefully.

"Here we go!" he shouted down at her.  "I think there are about a dozen within easy reach."

"I only need one," Aliset called back.   "And one for you as well."

"What do you think Columcil would say if we returned without one for the archbishop?  We'd best bring enough to share."  Darcy gazed down at her for a moment.  "How well can you catch?  Besides being a good catch, of course."

"I manage quite well, thank you," his wife retorted, ignoring his last remark.  "And mind you, I throw just as well."

"I'll remember to duck.  Here's the first one."  Darcy picked the first pear and carefully dropped it toward Aliset.  He watched it slow before it reached her and land neatly in her hand.  "Some might call that cheating," he said and shook his head in mock reproach.

"Better than bruising the pears," she replied and placed the first pear on the ground.

Shortly the pile grew to the dozen pears Darcy had promised.  "That's the best I can safely do," he announced and began his descent.  Once he reached the ground, Aliset let out the breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

"I told you I would be safe," Darcy said and kissed her cheek.  "But I'm not sure how best to carry them back.  I left my sea bag on Sigrun."

"We do this," Aliset said and grasped the skirt of her dress, lifting it just enough to create a nest for the pears.

"Maybe we should keep to the tall grass so no one else will see your delightful ankles," Darcy said as he placed the pears on her skirt.

"My ankles are encased in sturdy riding boots, so you need not worry!"

Darcy grinned at her, and they turned to return to the group.

"We wondered where you were off to," Fiona said as they returned. 

"Actually, I wondered what you were doing,"  Washburn added.  "I didn't see Darcy, but I saw Aliset dancing around the base of that tree." He looked at the fruit nestled in Aliset's skirt.  "Now I understand!" 

Darcy chuckled.  "She does dance well, doesn't she?"

Aliset gave him a stern glance and moved forward to offer Archbishop Duncan the first pear.  Darcy watched as she offered the remaining pears to everyone nearby.  When she was finished, there was one pear left and Darcy was empty-handed.

"You should have this pear, Darcy," Aliset said quickly.   "You did most of the work."

"Nay, love, you were the one that wanted a pear, and I'm sure the lassies will enjoy it too."

"Darcy," she began again, but Darcy shook his head.  "Then we'll share!"  Aliset drew out her eating knife and slit the pear lengthwise.  She gave it a firm twist, and it separated into two halves.  With a flick of her knife, the core came free.  She handed one half of the pear to her husband.

Darcy nodded his thanks and bit deeply into the fruit.  The flesh was sweet and totally satisfying. 

"May all of the things we share taste this sweet," he said to his wife.

Aliset blushed to the roots of her brown hair and tossed the pear core at Darcy.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on April 13, 2021, 09:45:12 AM
As they came near to Rhemuth the mood in the group travelling with Archbishop Duncan changed. Fiona looked excited and eager for the new experiences the city with its royal court and longed-for Schola would bring, but Washburn could see that Aliset and Darcy looked somewhat anxious while Columcil seemed uncharacteristically glum. As for Washburn himself, he felt a sick apprehension, and for a moment he allowed himself the fantasy of touching his spurs to Shadow's flanks and taking off across the fields. Which would, he knew, achieve nothing. The meeting with the King was vital if his honour was to be cleansed in the sight of the Kingdom. If only he knew what the King intended, what his reception would be. Would he be left grovelling on his knees while the King poured reproaches upon him and only grudgingly restored him to grace?


Suddenly the company stopped and Washburn was forced to pull Shadow up short to avoid running into the back of the Archbishop's carriage. What was happening? He saw that one of the grooms was leading a horse up to the carriage and Archbishop Duncan was being assisted to mount. The carriage moved off and, seeing his opportunity, Washburn urged Shadow into a brisk walk and moved up to travel alongside the Archbishop.


Duncan smiled warmly at him, then said with an air of self-deprecation, "Pride is the deadliest of all sins, but if I arrive back in a carriage I'll be coddled and fussed over and made to feel like the sick old man I am, and would so much rather not be." 


Washburn felt  his mouth drop open and made haste to close it, but could think of nothing to say in reply which was neither obviously untrue nor impertinent. Seeing his discomfiture, Duncan spoke again, this time with an almost painful catch in his voice.


"Your pardon. I almost forgot I wasn't speaking to your father. You remind me very much of him, you know, and he would have been so very proud of you."  Then briskly he added, "And he would have had a very trenchant comment to make about the idiocy of self-pitying old-men, which you are far too courteous to utter."


Washburn blinked away the hot prickling behind his eyes but found himself unable to think of anything to say. Duncan did not seem to expect anything, however, and they rode on in a comfortable silence for a while as Washburn nerved himself to make his request. He had been emboldened by the unexpected words of approbation, but he wanted to avoid sounding like a child asking for someone to hold his hand. Then he laughed inwardly as he recalled Duncan's words about pride, and decided that one less sin to confess would be no bad thing.


"Your Grace," he began but was interrupted by Duncan saying, "Have you been taking lessons from my grandson? He only "Your Graces" me when he's either feeling guilty or wants something. Well, I've no doubt as to the thoroughness of your recent confession so it must be the latter. Out with it, and I'm still Uncle Duncan to you in private, my lad."


The gentle teasing was the boost Washburn needed and, returning Duncan's smile,he began again. "Uncle Duncan, would you come with me when I'm summoned before the King? He'll make no objection to your presence and ...and...." His speech trailed away then he finished in a small voice, "The truth is, I'm scared of what my reception will be and if you were there to vouch for me..." Again his voice trailed off.


Duncan reached out and grasped Washburn's wrist with a grip both firm and gentle. "Of course, I will. But there was no need to ask, His Majesty has already made the same request. Don't suppose that you are the only one unsure of this meeting. I will not break another man's confidence, but mind this, he has to make decisions as King, but he feels them as a man. Both for the sake of the Kingdom and for his own sake, he wishes all to be well with you."


Washburn struggled with the idea of this powerful monarch, already in his lifetime surrounded with the aura of legend, being nervous of anything let alone him, but it was enough to know that he need not face him alone. Though he did not wholeheartedly believe Duncan, he murmured his thanks,and bent to put his lips to the hand that still lay on his wrist. Then keen to break the mood, he asked and received leave to move off ahead and urged Shadow into a brisk canter.








Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on April 13, 2021, 02:18:08 PM
Hoof beats pounding upon the road, horse mane tickling his cheeks as he leaned lower to gain more speed, Washburn relished this momentary freedom. The farmers are out in the field working the late season summer crops. Harvest time would be starting soon. The road bent away from the flat land at the river's edge and curved around a short hill to the south ultimately ending at the Bishops Gate. Wagons and carts were on the road ahead of him. Wash knew the road all too well and he knew the hill beside him, and he knew he should stop and turn back to his traveling companions before they walked in the midst of the populous. Instead, the urge to see the capital city walls captivated his senses. He dodged an oncoming wagon and leaped Shadow over a cattle fencing. He raced Shadow across the pasture, through a herd of milking cows, and up the far hill.  He knew this hill and he knew what he would see when he breached the top. A spot cleared for a beacon-fire was on a rock ledge at its very top. Wash jumped from the saddle, tethered Shadow to a tree, and climbed the rock face steps to the very top where a bonfire was set to burn in emergency. This wasn't an emergency, though the knight's heart was racing like it was. The view was more breathtaking than he had ever remembered. Rhemuth lay before him in all its beauty and glory. A sight he had been sure he might never see again.

It was a while before he came down from that place. At a more sedately pace he rode his destrier back to the Via Romana road, where he fell quietly back into place behind the Archbishop and his friends.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on April 14, 2021, 06:43:01 AM
Fiona knew they were nearing Rhemuth, and she was most anxious to catch her first glimpse of Gwynedd's capital city.  She was sure it would be soon as they stopped briefly to allow Bishop Duncan to change from his carriage to horseback. That must mean they were indeed very close.

They had been riding along the south side of the Eirian river. As they rounded a deep bend in the river and followed the road which had turned due west, she noticed increasing traffic. The road was wider and smoother, paved with stones. They now shared it with a variety of travelers on foot, driving carts, and on horseback. The river  flowed wide and silent on their right.

As they continued, she noticed many groups of soldiers and horses on the other side of the river. She saw tents and colorful pennons flying. Horses were being led to lines set up to one side and she could see smoke from some campfires already going. It appeared that they were setting up camp across the river rather than crossing over and entering the city.

Fiona peered ahead. The traffic got thicker and she was sure the city must be just ahead. Then suddenly, there it was, rising out of the river mist almost like a dream. Fiona reined in her horse and sat staring into the distance at the great stone walls before her. Soaring above the walls were the spires of what must be the great cathedral and above all, on its plateau rose Rhemuth Castle with its parapets and turrets, the golden lion of Gwynedd flying from the highest point. It was awe-inspiring; she had never seen anything like it.

"You can see why  they call it Rhemuth, the Beautiful." said a voice in her ear. "However, we  need to move on. I am afraid we are becoming a traffic obstruction." She turned her head to find Sir Washburn at her side and blushed, realizing that she had pulled up in the middle of the road to gaze at the sight before her. She could hear the laughter in his voice. And she looked around to realize that other travelers were having some difficulty passing them. Their party was continuing toward the city gate ahead. She urged her horse forward to catch up with them. Wash rode beside her.

"Who are those soldiers setting up camp across the river?" She asked him.

"I expect those are units of Prince Javan's army returning. They will camp there until their leaders release them to return to their homes. There will probably be a ceremony where the king recognizes their success in defeating the rebellion and thanks them for their service. Most will then be dismissed to return to their own lands.

They approached the arched Bishop's gate on the east end of the city, the archbishop and his guards in the lead. The gate was wide enough for several riders to pass through abreast and was topped by a gatehouse. Round towers with slit windows and topped by short turrets stood on either side of the gate itself which was guarded by men in scarlet Haldane livery. The guards saluted the archbishop as he entered, and the rest of the party followed him into the city proper.

As they continued toward the castle, they entered the square where St George's Cathedral  dominated its surroundings. Fiona was gazing at it with wide eyes, and again pulled up at the side of the square. She noticed many men in cassocks and clericals striding around the square and passing in and out of the massive doors of the church. Both clerics and commoners stopped and bowed as the archbishop rode past, cheering as he blessed them and continued toward the castle.

"That is St George's Cathedral, the principal place of worship and ceremony in the city. That is where the coronation takes place as well as royal weddings and other ceremonials." Wash told her. "You will have other opportunities to see it, but we'd best keep up with our party. It is easy to become separated in all the hustle and bustle, and I don't want to lose you. He smiled at her and they again moved forward after the rest of their party.

As they entered the busy, main marketplace, people stood aside to allow the party to pass and bowed or curtsied as the archbishop passed. Fiona could hear him calling out blessings to them, acknowledging their cries of greeting, just as he had as they had passed through villages on their way. The war was over and life could return to normal.

As they passed through the marketplace and began to ascend the road that led to the gate in the castle's outer wall, Fiona asked Wash, "Where is the Schola? I have seen many great buildings but I have not seen it. Where is it located? I am anxious to see it."

He smiled at her impatience. "You will see it soon. It is located within the grounds of the castle itself, part of St. Hilary's Basilica. I will point it out to you as we pass." They followed  the curving road toward the castle sitting high on a plateau to their right. They approached the  first gate piercing the outer curtain wall where they entered without challenge. The road became steeper as it mounted to the second curtain wall. They traversed the open, rocky  zone between the two walls, a defense designed for the ease of archers placed high on the wall to defend the castle. They entered the second gate then moved on to pass through a third defense inner-wall gate. They transited through a long gatehouse passway which led to the courtyard proper.  In front of them, Fiona saw the stone steps which led to the imposing  bronze doors of the Great Hall.

The party began to dismount. The archbishop was assisted from his horse, and a groom led his horse toward the stables.The archbishop's party dispersed to the stables and their various quarters. Grooms came to take the horses of Sir Washburn and his party. He assisted Fiona to dismount and she handed her horse to a waiting groom. She was scanning the various buildings surrounding the courtyard, obviously seeking something in particular.

Wash came up beside her. She turned to him. "Where is the schola? I don't see it. You said I would see it."

Wash turned her to the right and pointed to a path that led from the castle slightly downward past a gate that led to the gardens and on to a stone church with a porch sheltering the doors. To the left of this church she saw a range of buildings attached to it, the precincts of the former abbey which now served as home to the schola and its faculty and students.  This area was  a center of activity as she saw young people entering and leaving. "That is the schola. It is here in the castle grounds for both ease of access and safety. It is under the protection of the crown as well as the church. Duncan was the first deryni cleric to serve as rector of the schola and has done much work to help it grow. They have attracted many excellent teachers and we will be able to learn much from them."

Fiona looked up at the tall knight beside her. "We?"

He replied. "Yes, we. I hope to be admitted to the schola to learn about my healing powers and how to use them." He grinned. " I hope we will be fellow students here. But now we must attend the king and find out what he has in mind for each of us."  He held out his arm to her. She placed her hand on his arm and allowed him to lead her toward the stone steps and the great bronze doors behind which their futures awaited them.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on April 15, 2021, 04:48:50 PM
As Columcil watched Fiona and Washburn he murmured a prayer that the future that they foresaw in Rhemuth would truly be everything they hoped. Washburn had confided in him that, once his honour had been restored by the King, he too hoped to be admitted to the Schola to train his healing talent. Columcil knew, too, that he also hoped that the proximity to Fiona would allow other feelings, not confined to Deryni, to blossom and eventually find fulfillment. And bless them in that, he thought, as in all their endeavours. With all the cruelty and heartache in the world it was good to see such open-hearted and noble-spirited young people.

And he was committed to spending at least some time in the Schola with them. His grandfather had talked him into that. But, sweet Saint Melangell, riding into Rhemuth felt like riding into a beautiful cage. This was not the place for him, he knew it in his guts. Seminary had not been a happy experience for him, with his superiors eager to knock the rough corners of the wild border lad. Well, to be fair he could admit, looking back, those corners had needed rubbing off, but that didn't make it any less painful. He needed the training the Schola could offer, he was not so arrogant as to deny that, but God forbid he should not one day, and may that be soon, be riding out again to bring healing to the poor folk of this land. His blessed little grey church up in the borders was lost to him for ever, he knew that, but there were other needs. Deep in his heart he hoped that his father might find a place for him up in Ballymar, though he had not yet dared to broach that wish to his grandfather.

He chastised himself mentally; he had allowed these dark thoughts to cloud his manner as they drew near to the city. He knew these others, who were now so dear to him, looked up to him as a priest, though they were inclined to overstress his virtues, he must stop wallowing in self-pity and be a least an imitation of the priest they believed him to be.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on April 17, 2021, 08:32:07 AM
The friends, led by Archbishop Duncan, ascended the steps, and the great bronze doors swung open. Royal Haldane lancers stood by either door.  They passed through the doors and the entrance to the great hall was before them. A squire in Haldane livery stepped forward to lead them to one side along a passage to the king's withdrawing room.  He knocked at the door and on hearing a voice invite them to enter, the squire opened the door wide and ushered them inside. Bowing deeply to the king, he announced. "Archbishop McLain and his party, your Majesty." After all had entered, the squire closed the door and stood beside it.

The king rose from the chair where he had been seated behind a large table. The archbishop bowed to the king then continued around the table to stand at Kelson's side. Duncan spoke quietly in the king's ear as he studied those before him. The men bowed deeply and Fiona and Aliset curtsied to the king.

Fiona's eyes were wide. She had never seen Gwynedd's king, or any king. She saw a tall man with black hair now threaded with gray.  His tunic was red with the golden lion of Gwynedd embroidered on the chest. His hair was clubbed back in a warrior's knot and a narrow gold crown studded with gems encircled his brow. He did not look stern or angry as she had feared he might. His expression was grave as he cast his gaze over those before him. Then Fiona noticed a slight twitching at the corners of his mouth and a twinkle in his gray eyes. She sighed.

The king addressed them, allowing himself to smile.  "We are pleased to see all of you returned safely to Rhemuth. We are aware that you encountered and overcame many obstacles, and we are anxious to hear about your experiences. However, you are tired and need a chance to rest, eat and remove the stains of travel. Quarters have been chosen for you and these pages and squires stand ready to escort you to your accommodations to allow you to complete these tasks. Your saddlebags will be delivered to your rooms. You will be summoned at a later time to meet with us individually to share what you have learned in your encounters during your escape and discuss your futures."

"Lord Darcy and Lady Aliset, you will be staying in Lord Iain's apartment. His squire will conduct you there. Robert!" Robert stepped forward, bowed, and motioned for the couple to follow him.

Darcy however hesitated and addressed the king. "Your Majesty. May I ask, is my brother not in Rhemuth? I am anxious to see him."

The king smiled and answered. "Your brother is in Rhemuth but currently housed in another part of the palace. He is also eager to see the two of you." Darcy and Robert bowed and Aliset curtsied and they followed Robert from the room.

"Lady Fiona, you will be housed in the Queen's tower. The Queen will welcome you and her ladies will see that you have anything you need.  Iona here is one of her ladies in waiting and will escort you to your rooms." A young woman with smiling brown eyes and dark curly hair covered by a green gauzy veil stepped forward and curtsied. Fiona looked a little hesitant, nervous about leaving her companions.

Duncan understood and told her, "Do not worry, Lady Fiona.  You will all be reunited for the evening meal and all will be well. Just follow Lady Iona and she will show you to your rooms so you can refresh yourself."  Fiona took a deep breath, curtsied and followed Lady Iona from the room.

That left Washburn and Columcil. Normally, when in Rhemuth, Washburn stayed with either his brother, the duke and his family, or with his younger sister and her family. However, with the imminent return of Prince Javan and Duke Kelric from the war, the king was reluctant to impose another person on either of the households. And there were issues between Kelric and Washburn that would need to be resolved. Therefore, he had decided, with Duncan's  agreement, to house both men with the archbishop for the time being.

"Archbishop Duncan is willing to house the two of you in his apartments. I am sure you will be comfortable there. These pages will show you the way to the rooms prepared for you. Bishop McLain will join you shortly." He summoned two pages with a gesture. "Conduct Sir Washburn and Father Columcil to Archbishop McLain's apartments. " The boys bowed to the king as did the two men then Washburn and Columcil exited the room following the two pages.

Kelson resumed his seat. Duncan took the chair beside him and after a great sigh of released strain, the archbishop announced, "I have brought them back to Rhemuth as you have requested, my prince. Be gentle with them for they have endured much."

The king nodded gravely, grasped his hand over Duncan's wrist and requested of his old friend, "Show me."

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on April 18, 2021, 06:44:50 AM
Kelson opened his eyes, eyes wet with the emotion which to all but a few he must conceal as King. The man beside him was one of those few, and perhaps the only man alive now to whom he could be truly himself.

"What must I do Duncan? Will he ever forgive me?"

"He is the true son of his father and his loyalty is as absolute as was Alaric's, but you must restore his honour and give to him the dignity that he deserves and I fear that he has never received." Duncan sighed as he said this. " I am as guilty as anyone. We were so busy directing the child that he was when Alaric died that we missed seeing the man he could become. He will forgive you for what you had to do as King, but if you wish to gain his love as well as his allegiance, do not seek to brush aside the hurt that has been done to him. Shall I go and bring him here? He will be eating his heart out and it will not be well done to keep him waiting."

Kelson did not reply for a long moment then said decisively,

"No. I understand the need, but another half hour will not hurt and give me time to prepare properly. In the meantime perhaps you could tell the page out yonder to find a sturdy squire or two and we can get to work."

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on April 19, 2021, 11:35:57 AM
"Did a hurricane hit this room while Ah was in the bath?" asked the voice of Columcil from the door archway.

Washburn let out a deep sigh and dropped the latest garment he had pulled out of his clothes chest that the squire had brought into the room for him. He dropped his head as he turned around to face Columcil in shame. "You will think me as vain as a peacock, but I know not what to wear when I come before the king."

Columcil entered the room and closed the door behind him. "I dinnae understand ta trouble. Tisn't what ye wear that weel concern ta king. Tis what's in here," he pointed to his head, "an in here," he placed his hand on his heart, "that weel concern ta king. Wear wha ye always wear an ye will be fine."

"No, you don't understand." Wash looked at his garments in the color of black and tossed them back into the chest. "In the eyes of the king and the court, I am no longer the protector of Lendour, I can not wear the red stag..."

"Then wear ta green tunic," Columcil offered as he looked into the belongings of the chest.

"Corwyn green? I can not! I am disinherited from Corwyn. I would bring shame on myself and family if I tried to falsely claim a right I no longer have."

"Ah'm certain Duncan culd gi'e ye a white tunic, tae stand fur a new beginnin."

"No!"  Washburn shook his head and sadly laughed. "I am not a young naive knight. I have brought shame on my house and kingdom. Do not ask me to wear white, I have a taint on my name, so white will not do. And I can not wear black, because I desire that taint brushed away."

Father Columcil walked over to the bed and pushed aside several clothing items piled there. He smiled as his hand pushed aside Washburn's turned up travel bag and the dirty clothes that had traveled with them for the last weeks. His hand came away with the teal blue tunic he knew the Lady Richenda had placed in the bag some weeks ago. "Ye ar' a Morgan. Ye hanae lost yer name nor yer knighthood. Ye ar' as yer grandfather was, a steadfast knight, loyal tae a Haldane. Ye can wear this wi' pride."

"Aye, you are right, but it is dirty from the road. I can not go before the king and the royal court in an unwashed garment." Wash looked despondent. "I swear, I have never had this concern or been then nervous before."

Columcil laughed. "Forgif me, but we ar' Deryni, ar' we nae? Surely ye main ken a guid cleaning spell ur two."

"I tampered with that in my youth, but I never mastered it. I fear I will only destroy the item I want to clean."

"We shuid call Aliset."

"Oh no! She has her own concerns now that we are back in court. I will not trouble her."

"Then let us gie it a try afore his Grace returns an finds us dabblin' in tae arts."

Given encouragement, Washburn held up his grandfather's blue tunic. "I could use your hand for encouragement to keep me from destroying this garment." Wash asked with a lopsided smile to his friend.

"Aye, agin I say, 'Ye are a Morgan', Show yer pride in th' Morgan name by treatin' a Morgan tunic wi' care."

So tempered in mind and spirit, Washburn cast his cleaning spell upon his grandfather's treasured tunic.

((09:28 <•Laurna> Washburn performs cleaning spell. using 6XP success on 3,4,5,6. don't want to mess this up LOL
09:29 <•Laurna> !roll 2d6
09:29 <GameServ> Laurna rolled 2d6: 4 6 <Total: 10>
09:29 <•Laurna> Yeh! We are learning to be Deryni!  LOL))

Fog condensed around Washburn's hands and then a rumble as the two fogs clouded together to become a storm. Rain dropped from the fog and tiny water droplets pelted the wool tunic.  "Nae too much, " Columcil chided. "Wool dinnae lak too much water."

Wash concentrated on a travel stain and a small wave of water cleared that way. Then the water ended and a small cyclon of wind whirled around the turnic and whipped the fabric dry.

"What are you doing in here?" Came a curious elder voice from the quickly opening door.

The wind subsided and Wash wrapped the tunic over his arm. "Just getting dressed, uncle."

"Well see that you do. The king may be calling for you soon."

"Thank you, Uncle Duncan, I shall be ready."  The door closed and Wash looked at his friend sheepishly. "Say what you will, but at court I fear we are all peacocks. Can you help me get this over my head. I hope I didn't shrink it."

*****


A light meal had been set out in the guest suite of the Archbishop's quarters and, once Washburn was dressed he went to the table where Columcil was already making a hearty meal. The pear Aliset and Darcy had foraged for each of the travellers, though sweet and juicy enough, scarcely provided adequate recompense for the exertion of the journey. But Washburn could barely manage to remain seated, let alone eat. His throat and gut seemed to have seized up and when he tried to lift a goblet, wondering if the wine, excellent by the look and smell of it, would calm his nerves his hand shook so badly that he was forced to return it to the table.

"Himself'll no' eat ye, and he didn'a seem ta be fashed wi' any o'us. An' ye tellit me that His Grace will be there. Ah dinna think that ye've any need ta be sae feared. Ye are a Morgan, can ye no' get that into yer heid"

It was as well that Washburn had come to know the depth of Columcil's friendship and concern for him or he might well have bitten the other's head off at these words. Easy enough for one to say whose calling was secure and whose honour had not been challenged.

((DeryniFanK was great help with Columcil's brogue, Jerusha has good inspiration, and Revanne has added a many words to the end of this scene.))
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on April 20, 2021, 11:44:54 AM
"Thank you, Robert," Darcy Cameron said as Robert unlocked the door of Iain's apartment and handed him the key.

"I will see that hot water is sent for you and Lady Aliset," Robert replied.  "It may take a little while, since so many have returned and wish to freshen up from the road."

"We understand," Aliset said.  She hesitated for a moment.  "Robert, I need to apologize for planting suggestions in your mind against your will.  It was wrong of me, even though I felt a pressing need to do what I did."

Robert smiled at her.  "Apology accepted, my Lady.  I have occasionally assisted Sir Iain with similar matters, and understand the need can sometimes be urgent.  And the king did read the apology you left in my mind, though it did not seem to mollify Queen Araxie and Duchess Grania.

Aliset sighed.  "It appears I will have more apologies to make."

"Now that the war is over and Prince Javan and Duke Kelric are returning safe, you might find them more forgiving, my Lady." 

"One can but hope," was all Aliset could think of to say.  Robert bowed and left them.

Darcy opened the apartment door, entering first and striding to the window to open the shutters.  "What do you think?"

"Well," Aliset began as she entered.  "It is certainly nicer than some of the places we've stayed."

"Look at the best part," Darcy said as he motioned toward the curtained bed along the left wall of the room.  "A real bed!"

Aliset chuckled and she shook her head at him.  She noted that there was nothing in the austere room to indicate that Sir Iain spent any time here.  The table set before the window was bare, except for a small piece of parchment.  There were no wall hangings or other decorations.  Two chests positioned on either side of the small hearth were closed, but their locks hung open.  She moved to the window and looked out into the courtyard.

Darcy picked up the parchment and read it aloud. 

Darcy Solveig:

I have left you a few things in one of the chests that you may make use of while you are here.  I regret that I could not provide a few things for Lady Aliset as well. We need to talk privately; I will contact you.

Iain Reyvik


"Sir Iain does not waste words," Aliset said as she turned from the window and sat down in the chair nearest her at the table.  Her expression clouded and she gazed at the bed without really seeing it.

"You are troubled, Aliset."  Darcy sat in the chair across from her and leaned his arms on the table. 

"You have no misgivings about our meeting with the king?"

"I wouldn't say that," Darcy admitted. "Before we knew the rebellion had ended, I was concerned that I would be sent back to Meara as a man-at-arms to serve whatever lord needed me most.  Not that I mind doing my duty," Darcy added hastily. " But I hated the thought of leaving you again in Rhemuth, despite any assurance the king would make that you would be safe this time.  Fortunately, that is no longer a concern."

"I had that concern as well,"  Aliset admitted.

"That's not what troubles you now, though.  Darcy looked earnestly into her deep brown eyes.  "Tell me what distresses you."

"I think I worry most about Caer Mariot," Aliset finally said.  "What if King Kelson decides to grant it to someone else?"

"You are the rightful heiress of Mariot; I can't see him doing that."

"Darcy, I did not exactly follow the protocols expected of a proper heiress," Aliset replied.

"We've set all of that straight, as the king commanded.  We are properly wed; you have nothing to be ashamed of," Darcy said firmly.

"I'm not ashamed, not at all," Aliset said thoughtfully.  "But my marriage could have been used to advantage in Meara.  It could have enabled an alliance that would have strengthened Duke Rory's position in Meara, and therefore benefitted the king."

"An alliance with a nobleman of suitable status and reputation and not an unknown seaman with a sketchy background," Darcy said dryly. "At least I am not three times your age and only interested in a broodmare."  Darcy saw the look on her face and hastily added, "and I have all of my teeth."  He smiled broadly to assure her it was true.

"Spare me the full disclosure,"  Aliset said sternly, but she could not resist a smile of her own.

"I am not without means, Aliset, besides being the Heir 'o Isles, and the king is aware."  Darcy paused at Aliset's look of surprise.  "I set aside a tidy sum of money while I was at sea.  Enough to buy my own ship once I had my Captain's papers, with enough left over to hire a crew and tide us over until we began to make a profit.  I pledged it as your dower, if the king would entertain my suit for your hand when I returned from our quest for the fortress.  If I did not return, I asked that he make sure it went to you nonetheless."

"Oh, Darcy!" Aliset said softly.

"Of course, I had no idea you were coming with me at the time," he said and smiled at her. "The reputation may still be a bit sketchy, but I've done nothing I need to be ashamed of and nothing that will put a rope around my neck."

"Well, I'm glad to hear that!"  Aliset paused, not sure she should ask the question she needed to ask.  "Do you regret that you'll never have that ship?"

"No, not a bit," he replied immediately.  "My life is here now, and I think somehow I knew that I would never be going back to the sea once I landed ashore that last time."   

Darcy reached across the table and took her hands in his.  "We've both made the best decisions we could with what we knew at the time. Or sometimes on what we didn't know at the time.  There can be no fault found or blame laid.  Sometimes life is a crapshoot, and you work with the roll you've been given."

"Columcil might have said that differently, I think."  Aliset smiled at him.

"I'm sure he would have," Darcy began, but stopped at the knock on the door.  He rose and opened it.

"Hot water for you and your lady," a youth said.  He was accompanied by a second lad, and they carried in three steaming buckets of water and dumped them into the bathing tub.  Two more buckets were carried in and set along the wall, ready for rinsing when required.

Darcy thanked them and shut the door, being careful to lock it.  "I'll let you go first, love, unless you'd like to share."

Aliset looked doubtfully at the tub.  "I don't think there is room for both of us."

"That's the advantage of being an Isles' man!"  Darcy declared.  "We're not as tall as some, which means we fit in quite nicely!"

Aliset cheeks turned a deep, crimson rose.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on April 20, 2021, 06:08:13 PM
A quiet knock came at the door of the Archbishop's guest quarters which the one outside opened without waiting for permission, as befitted a page bearing a royal summons.


"Sir Washburn? My lord, the King requests that you are to present yourself without delay in his royal presence. You are to follow me, my lord"


The page bowed on completion of his message, well pleased with himself for his mastery of the proper courtesies and, despite his anxiety, Washburn had to suppress a smile at the youthful pride. He got up at once and went to the door, turning then to say to Columcil in a voice of entreaty,


"Pray for me, please Father."


"Ye'll be just fine, but, aye, I'll be to ma prayers." As evidence  of his intent he got up from the table, pushed away his unfinished meal and turned towards the prie-dieu in one corner of the room.


The thought of his good friend's prayers helped steady Washburn as he followed the page through the Castle's passages; there was another who was doubtless also praying for him but he could not allow himself to think of her. If this did not go well, what would he have to offer her, if even his self-respect had been stripped from him?


The page had been punctilious in his courtesy. Was that a good sign? The Haldane Lancers at the door of the King's withdrawing room snapped to attention and saluted, but they made no attempt to follow him in as he was ushered by the page into the room and heard the door shut behind him. He was not about to be put under guard then, surely  another good sign. Then, waiting as protocol demanded, just inside the door he looked up and flickering hope vanished.


The table behind which the King had been sitting had been pushed to one side but Washburn paid it scant notice, his whole attention focused on the King. At the end of the room two shallow steps made a narrow dais and on this had been placed a heavy carved wooden chair like a throne, draped in Haldane crimson, on which sat the King, majesty personified. Beside him stood Archbishop Duncan in archepiscopal robes holding the great Haldane sword, symbol of royal authority. Neither smiled.


Washburn supposed miserably that he was about to suffer the full weight of royal displeasure, all he could do was to endure it with as much dignity he could muster. He bowed, stepped forward three paces and bowed again, then he walked to the foot of the throne. He knelt on the lower step, his head bowed and waited for the King to speak.


The King spoke, but neither his words nor the tone in which they were expressed were anything like those he had been expecting. Quietly, kindly, he heard the King say,


"This cannot be easy for you, but I would ask you to look at me."


Washburn's head jerked up, but the eyes he sought were those of the Archbishop. Now Duncan was smiling, and he gestured Washburn gently to do as the King had asked. His alarm somewhat assuaged,  but feeling a sense of dizziness in his mystification, Washburn reluctantly met those piercing grey eyes to find that they were smiling down at him, but with a deep sadness behind the smile. The King held out his hands as though he were preparing to receive homage, but stopped the answering gesture of Washburn's hands with a slight shake of his head.


"When you rendered me homage, you promised loyalty and faith, and these you have fulfilled at what cost I can only begin to imagine. Duncan has shown me that you have never willingly broken faith, nor besmirched your honour, and even when your will was captive to the blackest treachery you fought with courage to free yourself. In all this you have shown yourself a worthy son of your father."


Washburn could scarcely take in what he was hearing, so very different was it from even the best of his imaginings. But the King had not finished and was continuing in a voice thick with emotion. "It is I who have failed you. When my hands closed on yours to receive your homage, I promised you loyalty as return for your loyalty and our royal protection. Instead, I allowed you to be taken from within this very castle, and you have paid dearly for my negligence. I cannot ask your pardon for the actions I then took, for I must think first and always of the Kingdom, but for my failure to you, my faithful knight, I ask your forgiveness and in token of that I dare ask you again to place your hands within mine as together we renew our faith.


His eyes blinded with tears, Washburn obeyed and felt his hands taken and held in the warm grip of his liege lord.  The words he spoke seemed to flow from the deepest part of his very soul and he knew that he meant them with a passion he had never felt before.


"I Washburn Alaric Cynfyn Morgan, knight of the Kingdom of Gwynedd do affirm myself as your liegeman of life and limb, and of earthly worship. Faith and truth will I bear unto you, to live and to die against all manner of folk, so help me God."


He would have bent to kiss the King's hand but found that he could not take his gaze from the grey eyes. Not that there was any compulsion of his will by another, simply the deep compulsion of his own heart. He did not want to miss a word of those spoken in return, knowing that they were imbued with a like significance.


"This do I hear, Sir Washburn Morgan, and I, for my part, pledge the protection of Gwynedd to you, giving loyalty  for loyalty and justice for honour. This is the word of Kelson Cinhil Rhys Anthony Haldane, King of Gwynedd so help me God."


Now Washburn bent to kiss his King's hand and then he was being lifted to his feet and embraced, first strongly by the King, and then in a frailer, but no less warm, grip by Duncan.


As Duncan withdrew from the embrace he retained hold of Washburn's hands, allowing a sense of peace and calm to flow into the young man, and enabling him to regain something of his composure. Vaguely Washburn became aware of movement behind him where two squires were lifting the table into the centre of the room. Wine cups and platters were being placed on the table and another squire came in bearing a tray piled with something which he could not see but which smelt good. Very, very good and, by all the saints, he realised how hungry he was. The King must be preparing for another audience and Washburn turned towards where the King now stood in the centre of the room and awaited his dismissal,  hoping that Columcil had been long enough at his prayers to leave him something to eat. Instead of dismissal, however, the King gestured Washburn towards the table where he saw that a stool and two chairs had been arranged around it.


"There are certain practicalities which we still need to deal with, and we can as well do that while we eat. I doubt any of us were much inclined for food prior to this meeting."


The King smiled, and Washburn found himself smiling back as he waited, as courtesy demanded, while King and Archbishop seated themselves in the chairs which befitted their age and rank, before seating himself on the stool. He was soon eating hungrily the hot venison patties, while a part of his mind still reeled at how unlikely it surely was that, instead of being chastened, he was sitting at table with the King eating one of his favourite foods.


After a while he realised that neither of his companions was still eating and, mortified at his breach of protocol, he stopped himself just in time from reaching for another of the delicious morsels. But the King pushed the platter in his direction saying,


"We are alone here and I am sure Duncan will forgive our breach of protocol. We have both been hungry young men in our own day, and besides just for the present I only need you to listen"


The King went on to speak of his pleasure that Washburn was to be enrolled in the Schola, and of how pleased and proud Alaric would have been at this emergence of healing talent in his younger son.


"Although, I confess to being alarmed at the potential of this blocking ability. I have no quarrel with the use to which you put it, but in the wrong hands it could be disastrous, which is doubtless why it has been allowed to fade from knowledge. However, that does not need to concern us at this moment. What does concern us is that you should be known to be fully reinstated in our grace and to your rightful place amidst the nobility of this Kingdom."


The King turned to look fully at Washburn, a challenging but not unfriendly look in his eyes, and Washburn knew that he was both being reassured that the past misunderstandings would not be held against him but also warned not to dwell on them himself. Then, unexpectedly, the King continued in a less formal tone.


"You may recall a certain Manor on the road to Arx Fidei which, owing to the prompt and heroic action of a ragamuffin band - Kelric's words, not mine - is now free of its traitorous Baron. It answers directly to the Crown, and we have a competent and loyal steward in place, but the Barony should be in the hands of a man I can trust. The grant will be confirmed and your allegiance sworn in open court as soon as is possible"


Washburn knew that he must look half-witted as he stared in dumb amazement but there was a limit to the number of shocks a man could sustain: The King asking his forgiveness, his favourite food just happening to appear, and now a Barony.


"I take it you accept," the King said drily as Washburn continued to stare. "It need not interfere with your studies at the Schola, but it gives you rank and an income and a home of your own." The King paused, then added blandly but with a glint in his eye, "All of which will be useful should you think  of wanting to start a family."


Then he was on his feet, barely allowing time for Washburn to rise to his, before he went to the door and opened it, turning at the last moment to say,


"Duncan, of your goodness, take this exhausted nephew of yours back to your quarters and put him to sleep before he collapses on his feet."


Then he was gone.



















Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on April 25, 2021, 06:47:06 AM
Fiona walked beside Lady Iona along the corridors toward the Queen's Tower  escorted by one of the King''s squires. Fiona did not usually suffer from nervousness even in new situations, but this time she was going to be presented to the Queen. She was not at all sure what Queen Araxie might have heard about her from the Archbishop or the King. Her behavior in disguising herself in Michael's clothes and running away from her uncle's manor was hardly that expected of a properly brought up lady. What would the Queen be thinking of her?

As she continued along the corridor toward the Queen's Tower with Lady Iona, Fiona thought of her friends and wondered how they were faring with the king. Although she had been focused on her own goal of reaching Rhemuth and being admitted to the Schola, she had not been unaware of the concerns of her companions, especially Washburn. She was well aware of how anxious he was about his reception by the king and what the king had in mind for him. She so wanted things to go well for him. She was also concerned about what would happen to Darcy and Aliset and whether Aliset would be recognized as heir to her family's barony. Would they be able to return to her family's home?  These thoughts ran around in her head like a squirrel in a cage.

Lady Iona noticed that the young lady had seemed hesitant to accompany her to the tower, and had said nothing since they left the king's withdrawing room. Iona remembered her own shyness the first time she was presented to the Queen to become one of her ladies-in-waiting. Her mother had prepared her for her new position, and she did know one of the other girls who was joining her for training with the queen. She had still been nervous and Lady Fiona had no such preparation and must be wondering what to expect.

"Don't be afraid." she said softly. "The queen is very understanding, and she is anxious to meet you. You will find her to be very supportive and she will help you to learn what is expected at court . She expects us to behave properly, but she also has a wonderful sense of fun and laughs a lot." They rounded a corner and there before her was the entrance to the queen's tower, guarded by a Haldane lancer.

The squire bowed.  "Lady Iona with Lady Fiona McIntyre, who is to be a guest of the queen and is expected." The lancer recognized Lady Iona, saluted and opened the door to permit them to pass. The squire ushered them through the door which closed behind them.  Lady Iona gave Fiona's arm a reassuring squeeze as she led the way to a tall door on the right. She knocked softly and was bidden to enter. She pushed the door open..

The room inside was flooded with light from three tall, arched windows along one wall.  On the opposite wall was a fireplace with an elaborately carved mantle. Drawn up near the windows were several comfortable seats. Two ladies shared a cushioned bench with a high back while they worked at embroidery frames. Opposite them, a slim  woman sat in a high back wooden chair with crimson cushions.  Lady Iona led Fiona over to where the woman sat and curtsied,  "Lady Fiona McIntyre, your Majesty."  Fiona curtsied deeply.

The woman's light blond hair was dressed in an elaborate arrangement on her neck and covered by a gauzy, green veil held in place by a gold coronet that circled her brow. Her skin was very fair, and when Fiona rose from her curtsy and looked into her eyes, she saw that they were a clear light gray. The queen was smiling warmly.

"Lady Fiona, I have been looking forward to meeting you. I have heard something of your adventures both from Lord Iain and from the king. I know that Rhemuth and the court must seem strange to you, as I understand you have never visited the capital before, but I hope we will be able to make you comfortable here. I know that you hope to enter the Schola. Until your acceptance can be accomplished, I hope you will feel secure here with us."

The queen paused, then continued. "I know  that you are anxious to be shown to your quarters so you may refresh yourself. Your belongings have been delivered and we have ordered hot water brought for you to bathe. Iona will show you to your rooms. If there is anything you need,  let us know." The queen smiled as Fiona curtsied deeply then followed the young lady-in-waiting from the room.

They traversed a short hall then ascended a flight of stone steps. At the top of the steps, they turned to the right along a corridor to a door which Lady Iona opened to usher Fiona inside. The room was pleasant with a curtained bed in a far corner. On the wall nearest the door was a fireplace where a cheerful fire burned. On the opposite wall were two carved chests with gay cushions on them. A cushioned bench was placed at angles to the fireplace and there she saw that her saddlebags had been placed. A young maid had been busy unpacking her belongings and folding or hanging them up. She turned as they entered and curtsied to them. Lady Iona  gestured toward the young maid. "This is Alice. She will assist you with whatever you need. I will return in an hour to show you the way back to the solar. If you find that you lack anything, just tell her and she will fetch it for you."

Fiona could hardly wait to submerge herself in that hot water and wash away the dirt of travel. Alice assisted her to remove her clothing and she stepped into the tub and sat down, allowing herself to lean back until submerged in the water. Alice handed her a soft cloth and bar of soap. She quickly lathered the cloth and began to wash. She ducked her head under the water and washed her hair. Alice helped her to rinse her hair, pouring water from a pitcher she had been keeping warm near the fire. It felt wonderful to be clean again.

She dried herself with a big thirsty towel the maid handed her then wrapped the towel around her body. She relaxed on the cushioned bench near the fire while Alice dried and combed her hair. She closed her eyes and let herself drift under the maid's ministrations. Finally she shook herself and stood to dress herself in the only gown she had  with her. She braided her hair and pinned it around her head in a coronet. She felt she was as ready as she was going to be to face the king. "I wish to be alone for a little time before I rejoin the Queen." she told the maid. Please leave me but return in half an hour." Alice curtsied then left the room.

Fiona had noticed a Prie-dieu in a corner of the room. She went to it and knelt to pray that her friends were faring well in their meetings with the king. She said a prayer for each of them to attain their heart's desires.She said a special prayer for Washburn who had been so brave and endured so much, that the king would realize his value and receive him back as the noble knight he was. She then arose and returned to sit by the fire until Lady Iona returned to show her the way back to the solar.

In what seemed to be a very short time, Lady Iona returned to guide her back to the Queen's solar. She followed Iona into the room and curtsied. "Lady Fiona, your Majesty." she said. As Fiona rose from her curtsy, she noticed that a younger woman had joined the Queen and sat near her in a high back chair. She had beautiful red-gold hair dressed in  an elaborate knot at the back of her neck and covered by a soft green veil. Her eyes were clear blue and her skin was fair. She wore a gown of darker green trimmed in soft white fur.  Behind her, in a chair pushed back to the right of the fireplace sat an older woman whose red gold hair was frosted with silver under a white veil banded with silver. She appeared rather thin and fragile and her gown of blue was trimmed in silver embroidery. Fiona wondered briefly if she might be the queen's mother or an older relative.

Queen Araxie smiled at Fiona and indicated the lady sitting beside her. "Allow me to present my daughter-in-law, Duchess Grania Haldane." She spoke to Fiona beckoning her to take a seat on the cushioned bench opposite her. "Come, sit and be comfortable. We are anxious to hear of some of your adventures as you joined with Sir Washburn and the other members of your party to reach Rhemuth. I know that you left your uncle's manor near the Mearan border alone to try to warn the king of treachery related to the uprising. That was a brave action to take."

Fiona took the seat indicated and glanced around. She began her story in a soft voice., "I didn't feel so much brave as desperate," she said. "My uncle and my cousin had been having increasingly violent arguments. My cousin had fallen in with a few other young men who were being flattered by separatists who wanted them to join their cause. My uncle was staunchly loyal to the king. I overheard a plan to seize the manor and to restrain my uncle. They planned to hand over the manor and all its assets to the rebels and to join their cause. I knew I had to do something but I didn't know where to turn. How could I get word out of what was happening here? I didn't want to involve the servants. Our former steward had retired, and my uncle had hired a new man whom I didn't trust. I thought him sneaky, and I was always finding him where he had no business to be. He made me uncomfortable. I couldn't be sure who remained loyal and who were turning their coats to the rebel cause."

"After much thought, I decided that my best course was to try to reach my guardian, Lord Iain. He would be able to inform the king of the plots being hatched against him. I could try to reach Iain's steward,  Sir Roland. He and his wife minded Iain's retreat in the mountains not far from my uncle's manor. If I could reach him, he could contact Iain who could then inform the king of what was happening."

The queen and her ladies had been listening with fascinated attention. Fiona paused for a moment and turned her gaze to the queen who spoke, "Please continue. We are all most interested."

Fiona continued. "I planned to sneak out of the manor after dark, take a horse and ride toward Sir Iain's holding. To avoid being recognized, I dressed in some of my cousin Michael's clothes, to appear to be a young man. If stopped I would pretend to be meeting friends for a hunt.  Just before dawn, I crept out, took one of the horses and trotted away from the manor. I made it to the main Cuilteine road and rode toward Droghera."

"Weren't you frightened, riding out alone in the dark?" asked one of the ladies

"I was fearful but I felt I had to reach someone who could warn the king. I could not choose to do nothing. I was more frightened of the rebels and what they might do."

"About mid day, I halted near a stream to water my horse and eat a little of the food I had brought with me. I returned to the main road, but I had only ridden a short way on the main road when I noticed movement in the thick bushes beside the road. Three rough men came out of the bushes and moved to block the road. Two were mounted and one was afoot.

One of them looked at me threateningly "What's a youngin like you doin ridin alone. Ye can see, we need another horse. We'll take yours. Don't resist an ye won't get hurt."  I could see that they were armed with knives, and I knew I had to escape them.  One of them grabbed for my bridle while reaching for his knife.

I had backed my horse away and was able to pull his head around and spur him onto a narrow track I had just passed. I rode as hard as I could but my horse was not bred for speed. He was a farm horse. The track led down into a valley and ahead I saw a lake with ruins rising from it. Beside it I saw what appeared to be soldiers. I rode toward them crying out for help.

The lord in charge of them heard me, shouted some orders, sending soldiers after the men chasing me. I was able to reach the camp near the ruins. I was safe for the moment but what was I going to say to the Lord in charge of these men? He asked what I was doing out alone, but then he said not rermoving my cap showed a lack of respect for my superiors. He reached out and pulled it off. My braid came down and he was shocked. He was not dealing with a squire but with a woman! "  Fiona again paused, cleared her throat and looked around.

The queen spoke. "You must need something to drink to relieve dryness of your throat." She spoke to a page who left the room and returned quickly with a tray of pastries and another page who carried a tray on which were a pitcher and cups. Thankfully, Fiona took a cup and drank. She also realized she was hungry and took two of the pastries. The pause also gave her a chance to gather her thoughts. After she had consumed her refreshments, she took a deep breath.

The queen asked, "Do you feel able to continue? We are all anxious to hear more of your story."

Just then there was a knock at the door, and a squire entered and bowed to the queen. "Your Majesty, Sir Iain Cameron asks to speak to you."

Queen Araxie inclined her head. "We are pleased to admit Sir Iain. Have him enter."

The door opened wider and Sir Iain Cameron entered and bowed to the queen. "Your Majesty, I am here to escort Lady Fiona to the king. I will return her to your protection after her meeting with his Majesty."

Fiona jumped out of her seat and ran to hug him, unable to contain her excitement. "At last, I am so happy to see you!" She added. "Sir Iain is my cousin as well as my guardian and, for all my efforts, this is the first time Ii have seen him since I left the manor!" Then she faced the Queen and blushed, realizing she had allowed her excitement at finally seeing Iain to overcome her manners, and before the queen.

Iain gave her a brief hug then once again bowed to the queen. He smiled. "She tends to get a little excited at times." She managed to stand still beside him for a moment. He then turned to her and held out his arm. She placed her hand on his arm. She curtsied to the queen and Duchess Grania. "By your leave, your Majesty."

The queen inclined her head in assent and they left the room. After the door closed behind them, there was a buzz of conversation as the ladies discussed what the young lady had told them.

Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on May 02, 2021, 08:16:59 PM
Fiona walked sedately through the  castle passages toward the king's withdrawing room with her hand on Sir Iain's arm. "What do you think he will ask me?" she asked Iain.  "What will he think of my running away in boy's clothing to try to give warning of the treason at the manor?" He heard an underlying tone of nervousness as she spoke.

Iain reached over and patted her hand. "I think he is happy to have loyal subjects who are willing to take actions to protect the kingdom. And he may have become somewhat accustomed to determined young women who do whatever is necessary to spring into action when needed, including disguising themselves as young men and riding off without chaperones. You are not the only lass who has done so."

As he finished speaking, they reached the doors to the withdrawing room, guarded by two Haldane lancers who snapped to attention and saluted. "Baron Iain Cameron and Lady Fiona McIntyre to see his Majesty." Iain stated. One of the lancers knocked on the door which was opened by one of Kelson's squires. He saw the two at the door, turned to bow and announce them.

"Have them enter." She heard the voice of the king.

They entered the room and took several steps forward. Before them, sitting in the same high backed, elaborately carved oak chair sat the king. Iain bowed and Fiona curtsied deeply. As she rose from her curtsy, she looked up and met the king's eyes. He was smiling and the twinkle she had noticed earlier was still there. She felt the tension drain away. 

The king addressed her warmly,  "We are happy to welcome you to Rhemuth, Lady Fiona. Your reputation precedes you." Fiona's heart almost stopped. Iain squeezed her hand. The king continued.  "You set out to warn us of treason being planned near the Mearan border . Not only did you manage to convey your warning, you were a key factor in the capture of a rebel leader and you led the effort to rescue your uncle and free his manor from the rebels. That prevented the rebels from gaining a toehold in Gwynedd, a service for which we are grateful even if your methods were somewhat unorthodox."

"You also were a part of the group of friends who helped and protected Washburn until his mind could be healed. And you participated in the ritual that restored his memories and has given him back to us. Another  reason for our gratitude."

The king smiled widely. "We understand that you have been seeking to reach Rhemuth because you desire admission to the Schola. You are hereby invited to become a student at the Royal Rhemuth Schola. I am sure you will be an asset to them. I understand that you have spoken with the Magistra and she supports your admission . We will discuss it with Bishop Nivard if Sir Iain approves."

Fiona turned to Iain and grabbed his arm, quivering with excitement. "Oh Iain, you do agree don't you? Please, please say yes!"

Iain smiled at her. "Who am I to oppose my king? Fiona, you have pursued this goal for a long time and you deserve to gain it. I very much approve."

Kelson nodded as he brought the audience to an end saying, "Once we have spoken with Bishop Nivard and Magistra Helena and found what additional arrangements are needed, we will see that Sir Iain is informed. Hopefully you can begin your studies soon.  In the meantime, you will continue to reside in the Queen's Tower where you can become acquainted with some of the other ladies currently residing in the castle."

"Thank you, your Majesty" Iain bowed and again offered his arm to Fiona. Fiona curtsied deeply and placed her hand on his arm. Together they left the withdrawing room accompanied by one of the king's squires who was to conduct them back to the queen.

As they made their way back toward the Queen's Tower, it was all Fiona could do to match Iain's pace. She was so excited, she felt like she was about to burst. She clung to Iain's arm and after a few steps she gave a little skip. "He was so kind, not at all stern or displeased as I was afraid he might be. Was I dreaming or did he really invite me to become a student at the Royal Rhemuth Schola, a place I have dreamed of for so long?"

Iain laughed. "Dear cousin, you were not imagining it. He actually said he would sponsor you himself."

They reached the entrance to the Queen's Tower and  the squire announced them to the guard who opened the outer door to allow them to enter the tower. The squire led them to the door to the queen's solar and knocked softly.  He then opened the door, announced them and stood aside to allow them to enter. They stepped inside, far enough to allow the squire to close the door, then Iain bowed. "I have returned Lady Fiona to your protection as I promised, your Majesty." 

The Queen smiled at both of them. "Thank you, Lord Iain. I hope the King reassured you of his gratitude for the resolution of the uprising. It caused him much pain and distress; he values and is grateful to those who contributed to the successful conclusion. We have heard that Lady Fiona was one of those who made a difference. She had begun to tell us a little about her adventures when she had to leave for her meeting with his Majesty. I trust the meeting went as you hoped."

"Oh yes, your Majesty. It has long been my dearest wish to be able to attend the Schola, but I could not find a way to achieve it. Now the king has invited me to become a student at the Royal Rhemuth  Schola. He even said he would sponsor me himself!" Her excitement overcame her and she was bouncing on her toes, unable to be still.

The Queen smiled at her. "He will be pleased that you are so excited. I expect you will learn much there, and I hope it meets your expectations."

She then addressed Lord Iain. "We have been awaiting your cousin's return to hear the rest of the tale she had started.  You are welcome to join us. Lady Fiona, will you resume your seat here near me?" Fiona curtsied and moved to seat herself as directed by the queen.

Iain bowed. "Thank you, your Majesty, but I have duties I must attend to. I will leave my cousin with you where I am sure she will be safe. I will hope to see her and the rest of her party at the evening meal." The page opened the door to allow Iain to exit. He passed through and was gone.

The queen sent the page to bring some light refreshments, and the ladies settled back comfortably in their seats prepared to hear more of the story Fiona had begun earlier.

"I believe I had escaped the ruffians who tried to steal my horse and had reached  the soldiers' camp near the ruins. The young lord who was in command accused me of disrespect because I did not remove my cap. He reached out and snatched it off. My braid tumbled down and he discovered that I was not a squire, but a young woman. He was quite shocked.  What was a young woman doing on the road alone?"

"I quickly told him about the treasonous plans I had overheard and my need to reach someone who could warn the king. I was trying to reach an older friend of my family who could help me. He insisted that I would now need to remain with his party for my own protection. He could not allow me to travel alone nor could he divert his men from their assigned mission. I thought I had failed."

One of the younger ladies looked at her with wide eyes. "What could you do?"

"I  was imploring him to help me find a way to relay my information when a new small party arrived. I felt so relieved! The leader was Lord Iain, my guardian and the very person I was trying to reach! But he didn't seem to recognize me and while he looked like Iain, he didn't act like Iain. And he and the young lord, Lord Jaxom were very antagonistic. I found I was feeling very confused and not sure what to do. Then I discovered that the man I thought was Iain was actually his brother Darcy, thought to have died as a young boy. He and his companions were on a special assignment from the king."

"Lord Darcy and Lord Jaxom met there on the road? Did they try to kill each other?" exclaimed one of the younger ladies who had not spoken before'.

"No, but the tensions were very high. I didn't know what might happen. Fortunately, the Earl of Marley and his men arrived.  He appeared to be in charge and was giving the orders.  I was able to talk with him and tell him of the planned treason at my uncle's manor that had led me to run from the manor to try to find a way to reach the king. He listened to my account of what was happening and agreed that it was vital to discover exactly what the rebels were doing at the manor and what their intentions were.  I also told him of my concern about what was happening to my uncle, the baron. He could not turn aside from his mission, but he agreed to send Lord Jaxom and his men to the manor to discover what was going on and to provide aid to the baron.  I felt uncertain when the Earl was unable to go himself and instead ordered Lord Jaxom to take his men to the estate. I felt less confidence in Lord Jaxom. "

"So I implored the Earl to allow me to accompany the rescue party. I told him that I had valuable knowledge which I knew could help Lord Jaxom to ensure my uncle's safety and free the estate from the rebels. I was immensely relieved when he took time to listen but while he agreed that such knowledge would be helpful, he could not allow me to ride with a party of men without a chaperone, and he had no one who could fill such a role. In addition, Lord Jaxom, who was to lead the mission, was not at all receptive to having a young woman added to his command."

"What could you do? How could you overcome such obstacles?" asked Lady Iona anxiously. The ladies were eying her with concern. She noticed that the older woman who sat near the queen was leaning forward with rapt attention and nodding slowly as if in approval.

The older woman was reminded of a time many years  earlier when she had sought to accompany the king's army to battle to try to prevent the treason of her first husband and to assist the king to victory.

Fiona continued. "I thought for a few minutes, then asked the Earl. "Could not the priest who accompanied Lord Darcy act as chaperone?"

The Earl considered what I had said then agreed that it was a possible solution that would allow me to travel with and assist Lord Jaxom. "But I have no right of command over the good Father. I can only explain the situation to him and ask for his assistance. I will speak to him and inform you of his decision."

"I was very anxious. I felt that it was vital to the success of the mission that I accompany Lord Jaxom's party, but I was very doubtful that it was going to be possible, even with the Earl's support. So when he called us to his tent, I was very worried, but he had resolved the dilemma. Jaxom had received his orders and instructions, including accepting me as one of his party and paying attention to the information and suggestions I offered. He had agreed with some reluctance, but he had agreed. Father Columcil had consented to come as my chaperone. I was so relieved, I had at least achieved that much. The Earl required that we all pledge to put the mission first and to  put aside any antagonism to focus on its success. We swore to do so."

Fiona paused and the queen looked at her with concern. "Is this tiring you?" She handed Fiona a cup of wine. "Drink this. It will help refresh you."

Fiona accepted the cup with a smile and took a sip. " I hope I am not boring you."

The ladies hastened to reassure her that they were not at all bored but anxious to hear the rest of her tale. After drinking a little more of her wine, Fiona continued.

"The light was fading when we reached the point where we turned off the main road toward the manor. There was a clearing and running water nearby so I suggested that we stop to water and rest the horses while we planned our approach. At first Lord Jaxom did not want to halt but after some discussion, he did decide to halt for the night, take time to plan, then advance on the manor the following morning just at dawn. I drew him a map showing the house and the outbuildings as well as the grounds. He decided on his dispositions and made sure each man knew where to go."

At this point, Duchess Grania spoke, "I am impressed that Lord Jaxom accepted your presence among his men and considered your suggestion. His attitude toward women, especially independent women leaves much to be desired."

Fiona ducked her head and bit her lip. She decided it would be best not to mention her true feelings toward him. "He had sworn his oath as we all had, and he was honoring it although it wasn't easy for him"

The queen then added. 'We, the king and I, did receive a full report from the Earl of Marley after the incident was resolved. From my understanding, the young lady is being quite modest about her role in resolving the incident at Baron Stuart's manor." 

Fiona ducked her head and blushed at the queen's words."I felt I had to do whatever I could to help my uncle and free his manor." Then she continued.

"We were preparing to ride out the next morning when we heard a horse trotting toward us from the direction of the manor. It was Gavin, one of our newest pages. He was trying to seek help from the nearest manor as he told us my uncle was locked in one of the far attic rooms and injured from a blow by a newly arrived rebel leader. He didn't know what had happened to my cousin."

Fiona continued. "When we reached the manor house, dawn was just breaking and the servants were just stirring and preparing for the day. Lord Jaxom and his men surprised them and were able to quickly round up the men and confine them to a fenced paddock. I was then able to point out to him the men I didn't recognize as our retainers and who were most probably rebels. He also confined the steward, who was also suspect. These men were locked up until they could be questioned.  The manor had been secured, but the rebel leader described by the page had not been found."

"We began a search of the house and in a very short time found my cousin who was locked in his room. He quickly described what had happened after the rebel leader arrived while leading us to the attic room where the baron was confined. He was unconscious, lying injured from a blow to the head from the rebel leader but fortunately Father Columcil is also a healer and was able to heal his injury and help him recover."

One of the ladies exclaimed, "How fortunate that you had one who is a healer as well as a priest with you!"

Fiona replied. "Yes. we were fortunate that things had so far gone well. Lord Jaxom had regained control of the manor with a minimum of blood shed but there was one remaining problem;  the rebel leader was still missing."

"The next major goal was to find and capture the missing rebel leader. This is where things became more difficult. When I proposed that I help question the prisoners or help organize the search for the missing rebel leader, Lord Jaxom told me he felt that he had all the information he needed to complete his mission and he did not need any more help from me. If he found that he did need my help, he would send for me. But for now, he ordered me to return to Father Columcil and to remain with him.  I was angry at being brushed off but there was little I could do about it."

"Father Columcil remained with the baron, treating him for his injuries.He was not in need of my help either. So I took it on myself to tend to the horses the good father and I had ridden. I also thought I might check the stable to see if the man's horse was still here. After all, it was not certain that he had not escaped in the confusion of our initial arrival, and Jaxom's men had only done a cursory look through initially."

"The horse was still there and unfortunately so was he, hiding in a little used room at the back. He tried to seize me and was nearly successful. I tripped while trying to run from him and almost fell. Fortunately two of Jaxom's men heard the noise and came to my rescue. The rebel leader escaped and Lord Jaxom was angry, demanding to know what I was doing in the stable unattended. I told him that as neither he nor the priest required my services, it had seemed that caring for our horses was the least I could do. I had not expected the rebel to actually be there. Perhaps he should have posted a guard there since, if the man wanted to escape he would need his horse. Jaxom replied haughtily that he had intended to post a guard there as soon as he had finished searching the house."

"He then demanded that I return to Father Columcil and that I give my word not to leave the house without an escort.He couldn't risk the rebel capturing a hostage to aid his escape.  And the worst part of it was, when I told Father Columcil what had happened, he agreed with Jaxom! I had taken too big a risk without thinking it through."

The elderly lady sitting near the queen spoke up. "Heavens, child, you could have been killed. I hope you remained safely with the priest until the horrible man was found." Fiona had the grace to look embarrassed as she continued the story.

"I was so frustrated. The enemy was still at large on the estate and I could see no way to help solve the problem. Then I remembered Trevor, my uncle's head huntsman who had retired and lived on the estate. He knew the grounds like the back of his hand. He would be the best one to track down this rebel. I sent the page to ask him to meet me in the dairy. He did and I told him of the need to track down this rebel.  But Father Columcil would not agree to my going with Trevor, even if he also went along.  He pointed out that we had no weapons with which to subdue the man if we found him nor were we  trained for such tasks."

"Trevor volunteered to go out alone to see if he could find traces of the man without alarming him. He did find signs of where the man might be. Columcil persuaded me to go to Lord Jaxom with Trevor to tell him what had been found. Jaxom sent two of his men with Trevor to seek out their quarry. He then ordered us  to stay together in the manor house where it was safe.

Fiona took a deep breath and continued. "The good Father wanted to return to check on my uncle. I thought we should have some food so I said I would go to the kitchen and get a tray for us. Columcil called to me to wait for him, but I was impatient and went ahead calling him to follow. I was just outside the kitchen when I saw a figure disappearing down a nearby passage. I walked that way and was passing an alcove when an arm of steel reached out, grabbed me and held me pinned to his chest. I felt cold steel at my throat."

"Weren't you terrified? I would have fainted dead away," one of the ladies said

"Yes I was. He moved me step by step toward the door to the outside. Lord Jaxom had heard my cry when the rebel seized me and came running with his sword drawn, but the man threatened to kill me so he sheathed his sword.. I didn't know what was going to happen."

"Suddenly the man staggered backwards as he was attacked. Columcil had managed to release  the dogs and set them on the man. One of them bit his arm causing him to drop the dagger while the other caused him to stagger backwards. I twisted away from him and ran toward Jaxom who had drawn his sword. Father Columcil caught me in his arms and held me while Jaxom held the point of his sword at the man's throat. He summoned two of his men and the rebel was bound and confined. The threat was over. The last of the rebels, and the most dangerous, had been caught."

There were  sighs and comments of "Thank the Lord" as the story ended. The queen smiled at Fiona and the other ladies were shaking their heads in admiration.  The queen told her. "You were very brave."

"Thank you, your Majesty, but I don't really deserve your praise. I let my pride get the better of me.  I was so angry at Lord Jaxom for brushing me aside and refusing to consider my suggestions, that I decided I would show him. I would find the rebel leader before he did. I did not think I could capture him, I wasn't that foolish. But I wanted credit for finding him. And I could have caused the mission to fail if I had remained his hostage. I was ashamed of my behavior. I thanked both Columcil and Lord Jaxom for coming to my rescue, and I hope I have learned my lesson about not allowing pride to drive my actions."

The Queen rose from her seat.  "You had quite an adventure, Lady Fiona and I am pleased that you have learned from it. That was a most exciting tale." Just then a page entered the room and announced' "Your Majesty, Sir Washburn Morgan has arrived and seeks to speak with lady Fiona."

The queen excused the ladies then turned to the older lady who had been sitting at her side. "Your Grace, I don't believe he knows you are here. You and Lady Fiona may remain here in the solar where you will have privacy so that you may finally be reunited with your son." The queen gestured to the page to admit Sir Washburn. She then left the solar, leaving the three of them together.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on May 04, 2021, 12:03:17 PM
King Kelson of Gwynedd sat in the heavy, carved wooden chair on its dias in his withdrawing room.  The table had been moved back from the centre of the room and placed at his right side so that a small stack of rolled parchments were within easy reach.  At the knock on the door, he removed the top parchment from the stack and set it beside him.

"Enter," he said.

Robert opened the door.  "Lord Darcy Cameron, Heir of Isles, and Lady Aliset Cameron."  He stepped aside so the pair could enter and closed the door behind them, remaining inside to assist the king if needed.

Darcy bowed and Aliset curtseyed within a few steps of entering the room.   They rose and moved forward.  Darcy wore an Isles' tunic, and Aliset wore the blue linen gown that she had been married in, still slightly wrinkled from being packed for travel. Her hair was worn up and  covered by a newer looking blue veil, as proper for a married woman. They stopped a short distance from the king; Darcy knelt on one knee, and Aliset curtseyed again.  They waited for the king to give them permission  to rise.

"You may rise," Kelson said.  He took a closer look at Aliset as she stood.  He had enough children and grandchildren to suspect when a woman might be bearing.  They hadn't wasted any time.  "Would you prefer to be seated, Lady Aliset?" he asked.

Aliset gave him a startled look.  "I am comfortable standing, your Majesty," she said.

"As you wish," Kelson replied and tapped the parchment beside him.  "With this charter, Lady Aliset, We acknowledge you as the Lady of Mariot, responsible for the barony and the well-being of its people, until such time as your heir comes of age, when lands and title will pass to him."  Kelson paused to gauge the reactions of the two who stood before him.

Darcy's face was an impenetrable mask, so very like the one Sir Iain used to disguise his thoughts.  Aliset flushed slightly, whether in anger or distress Kelson could not tell.

"You have both served Us well, but you have also been the cause of much consternation.  We feel you need to grow into your responsibilities for the barony, so We are giving you that opportunity.  Secure the lands for Duke Rory, regain the trust and loyalty of its people, and return Mariot to prosperity.  When you succeed, We may be inclined to adjust the terms of this charter for the title of the barony."

'On my honour, we will succeed, your Majesty," Darcy said quietly.  It was said without a trace of boastfulness.

"And mine as well, your Majesty," Aliset added firmly, united with her husband.

Kelson resisted a smile.  No argument, no bluster.  The gauntlet had been thrown, and they had picked it up; he doubted either one could forgo a challenge.

"Once Our troops have returned, We will send a small force with you to ensure you will not be met with any overt trouble in Mariot.  They will remain with you until you have your own men in place."

"Thank you, your Majesty," Aliset said. 

"Lord Darcy, I trust you still stand behind your pledge for a dower for Lady Aliset?"

"I do, your Majesty," Darcy replied.  "Lady Aliset is aware of the pledge, and I will ensure the holders of the funds are authorized to transfer them to her once I am gone."  Aliset paled slightly.

"Seamen entrust their money to others?" Kelson asked.

"Aye, your Majesty.  We can't take much with us to sea; ships need room for cargo so a profit can be made."

"You put considerable trust in the holders of your funds," Kelson said dryly.

"They would have no customers if a single coin was lost, your Majesty, and they have many customers from the seas."

Kelson nodded; it made sense.  "If there is nothing else?"  he let the question dangle.

"There is something else," Aliset said.  Darcy gave her a questioning look.

"Proceed."  Kelson wondered what else needed to be discussed.

"Your Majesty, my father advised me of my dowry when I became old enough to marry.  Fortunately, he was in no hurry for that to happen.  The dowry will now become Lord Darcy's."

Darcy looked like he might protest, but subsided when he saw her determination.

"The dowry is a lovely manor, with fertile land for crops and good pasture for grazing,"  Aliset continued.  "He may manage it independently as he sees fit."

Kelson gave her a sharp look.  "And have an independent income."

'Yes, your Majesty," Aliset acknowledged and smiled.

Kelson thought he should have expected this.  Cleverly, she had made sure her husband would have independent standing in Mariot.  Well played.

"As you wish, Lady Aliset." Kelson handed her the charter.  "I believe we are now finished.  Lady Aliset, Queen Araxie would like you to attend her in the Queen's Tower."

Aliset blanched, and Darcy stepped closer to her.

"Lord Darcy, Sir Iain would like to have a word with you.  Robert will take you to him after you have escorted your wife to see the queen."

Darcy bowed and Aliset curtseyed before backing away from the king.  They did the same once more before turning to leave.  Darcy held out his arm for his wife, and she laid her hand upon it. Together, heads held high, they left the withdrawing room with Robert.

There was no applause this time, as there had been once before after Darcy had felled Jaxom.  Yet the same resolve and determination were clearly present.  If he had thought to have Robert pour him a glass of wine, Kelson would have raised it in salute.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on May 10, 2021, 06:48:43 PM
Aliset Cameron walked in silence beside her husband with her hand on his arm.  Darcy said little as he guided them toward the Queen's Tower.  Robert walked a couple of paces behind Darcy.  The walk was shorter than she wanted it to be, and they soon stopped before the two guards standing at the heavy oak door of the tower.

"It will go fine, love," Darcy said as he turned to face his wife.  "And just remember; if the queen decides to throw you in the dungeon, be assured I will come and rescue you."

"Why thank you, Darcy!"  Aliset replied tartly.  "That does so much to ease my mind!"

Darcy grinned, raised her hand to his lips and kissed it.  "Go forth and conquer!" he sent.

"Lady Aliset Cameron, Lady of Mariot, is here to attend the queen as requested," Robert announced to the guards.  One guard nodded, opened the door and stepped to one side so Aliset could enter. 

Aliset removed her hand from Darcy's arm.  He really was not being helpful!  She straightened her shoulders and walked resolutely through the door.  Or maybe he was.  Cheeky man.

An older page, possibly old enough to be promoted to squire at the next Twelfth Night Court, bowed and escorted her to a large study across from the queen's solar.  The door was open, but he knocked on it softly.

"Please join us," Queen Araxie said. She was sitting in the largest of the cushioned chairs arranged around a low table.  Duchess Grania Haldane sat nearby, while a younger woman stood to one side.  Light from the large, open window behind them filled the room with sunshine.

Aliset entered and curtseyed deeply.  Queen Araxie motioned for her to rise, and the young woman came forward to direct Aliset to one of the empty chairs near the table.  Aliset sat on the edge of the chair, posture perfect and respectful.  She did not lower her shields, but kept them as transparent as possible.

"You may go, Lady Jennelle," the queen said. "I will send for you when we are finished here."

Jennelle curtseyed, and the page closed the door behind them as he accompanied her out of the room.

The queen motioned to the tray of sweetmeats that had been placed on the table.  A carafe and several small goblets, already filled, were arranged beside it.  "Please help yourself, Lady Aliset," the queen said.

"Thank you, but I think I'll pass for the moment," Aliset replied.  She wasn't sure whether her stomach was uneasy due to her pregnancy, or whether it was nervousness as she sat before the queen.

"Oh?" Queen Araxie asked, raising one blonde eyebrow quizzically.

Aliset felt herself blushing as she returned the queen's gaze.  "The morning sickness is less now, but not entirely gone."

"Then I need not ask if the marriage has been duly consummated." 

Aliset felt her back stiffen, but managed to answer demurely, "All is as it should be, your Majesty.  Our twins are due in the spring."

"Twins!" the queen exclaimed.  "You will be busy!"

"Boys or girls?" the duchess asked.  "Or perhaps one of each?"

"Daughters," Aliset replied, and expected the next question.

"Is your husband disappointed?" It was the queen who asked.

"He might have been for just a moment, but then he decided 'wee little Alisets' would be just fine."

"That's a good start," the queen said and paused to study Aliset.  "How have you adjusted to this marriage that was decided for you?  You did not leave us much choice."

"We have both adjusted well enough, your Majesty,  and the decision was not for me alone," she added pointedly.

"No, it was not," Queen Araxie conceded.  "But you were under our care, and your reputation became our concern.  Men recover quickly from indiscretions; women do not."

Duchess Grania decided to turn the conversation in a different direction. "Tell us, how did you  come to employ Lord Darcy?" she asked.

It took Aliset a moment to shift her thoughts.  "You are aware of what happened to my family at Caer Mariot.  I was the only one left alive, and somehow I had to make my way to Rhemuth to seek justice...."

***

Aliset de Mariot, wearing the guise of her twin brother, Alister, pulled up her horse at the tavern beside the road to Culdi.  It was not a tavern her father and brothers would normally have frequented, but she wanted to avoid anywhere her cousin Oswald might be looking for her. The desperate energy that had fueled her when she escaped Mariot was nearly gone.  It was well into the afternoon, and her throat felt parched; she needed to stop for a moment. 

She dismounted and tethered Papillion alongside the horses at the side of the door.  She entered the tavern and paused in the doorway to allow her eyes to adjust to the dim light inside.  The large room reeked of stale ale and onions.  There were long tables with benches in the center of the room and smaller tables with stools toward the back.  While the room was not crowded at this time of day, several groups of men sat at the tables with tankards of ale.  She did not recognize anyone here, though she did note a young man sitting alone at one of the tables in the back.  He had the most remarkable pale blond hair she had ever seen, drawn back in a border braid. 

Aliset turned her gaze away and found an unoccupied spot at the end of one of the long tables. It was far enough away from other customers that she felt she would not be disturbed.  The tavern keeper brought over a tankard of ale, and Aliset laid a silver penny on the table.  The tavern keeper returned one copper farthing and started to turn away.

"Wait," Aliset said quickly. "You owe me another farthing."

The tavern keeper looked at the young man before him, dressed well enough to be a nobleman, but carrying only a dagger in his belt.  Not much of a threat.  "Are you saying I cheated you?" he asked harshly.

"I am only saying that you may have miscounted the change," Aliset replied firmly, giving him a chance to make good his mistake without implying any wrongdoing.

The tavern keeper did not see it the same way.  "I say you are calling me a cheat!"

"I don't believe he called you a cheat," said a voice beside Aliset.  "But I will."

Aliset turned to see the blond man from the back of the room standing beside her.  He spoke loud enough to be heard throughout the room.  "The first tankard you pour is true, but the next tankard is watered down."

"That's a lie!" the tavern keeper growled, but looked warily at the other customers.

"I've been twelve years at sea; trust a seaman to know if the ale is watered or not!"

"I thought this was not quite right," bellowed a man towards the centre of the room, waving his tankard in the air.

"Aye, the seaman is right!  I want my money back!" another man said, rising from his seat.

"Drink up," the blond man said softly in Aliset's ear.  "Now would be a good time for us to leave."

Aliset took two hasty swallows of her ale, but she certainly could not finish it all that quickly.  The man beside her took the tankard, downed the rest and motioned her toward the tavern door.  He moved to  her left side, ensuring a clean draw of his sword if needed.

They untied their horses and mounted quickly as the voices inside the tavern grew louder.  By the time the argument erupted into the street, they were cantering down the road toward Culdi.

They slowed to a walk after they had put some distance between them and the tavern.

"I really did not want to cause trouble, but thank you," Aliset said to the man.

"My pleasure," the man responded.  "You looked a little out of your depth back there.  Was it worth the farthing?" 

"Perhaps not," Aliset admitted and sighed. She studied the man riding beside her.   He appeared to be only a few years older than she was, and his pale blue eyes glinted with just a hint of amusement.   There was an easy confidence about him, a sense of capability; he was a man who could look after himself.  She made a snap decision.   "I am travelling to Rhemuth to settle a matter of some importance.  I don't suppose you are going the same way?"

"I haven't decided yet," he replied.  "I'm at a loose end at the moment, if truth be told." 

"Perhaps you would be willing to accompany me?"  Aliset knew she was taking a risk, but travelling on alone would be riskier.

He looked at her and smiled. "Well, if you are looking to hire yourself a man-at-arms, I could travel to Rhemuth, assuming the price is right."

Aliset hesitated a moment and then named a price that must have been adequate.

"Master Darcy Cameron, at your service, my Lord," he announced, and bowed slightly in the saddle.

***

"That was a big risk to take, Lady Aliset!"  The queen did not look impressed. 

"I had several days of travel before I would reach Culdi," Aliset responded.  "I did not know yet that Sir Washburn was being sent to meet me there.  I could only make my decision based on what I knew at the time." Or didn't know, as Darcy had said.

The queen's voice remained cool.  "That may be, but once you reached Rhemuth and were safe under our protection, you ran away once again."

"I did not run away, your Majesty,"  Aliset replied, her voice steady and assured.  "I ran towards."

"Pray explain, Lady Aliset!"

"Capable as Lord Darcy is, he was ill-prepared to deal magically with a man as highly trained as Grand Duke Valerian, and some of that training would likely be dark!  I only had time that afternoon to try to teach Darcy a few basic skills, and these would not defend him against Valerian.  Father Columcil was to accompany Darcy, but although he is a  Healer, he had little formal training in magic either.  Only I could help them both, and the only way I could see to do that was to become Squire Robert, take his place and travel with them."

"Lady Aliset  is not alone in making rash decisions," Duchess Grania said quietly.  "Maman did much the same when she portaled on impulse to try to reach my brother.  While she did regret the worry she caused us, she did not apologize for her decision."  She smiled wryly.  "I suspect neither will Lady Aliset.  Love is a powerful motivation."

Queen Araxie gave Aliset a considering look.  "Did you love him then, Lady Aliset?"

Aliset thought for a moment.  "I honestly don't know, your Majesty, but I was desperate to keep him safe. He had endured much on my behalf; I could not remain behind and do nothing."

The queen sighed and looked at Duchess Grania.  Aliset suspected a private conversation was occurring between the two women.

"We will acknowledge what has occurred and move on," Queen Araxie finally said.  "Your marriage to Lord Darcy has eased the situation.  I trust that, with your responsibilities as the Lady of Mariot, you will be a bit more cautious in the future."

"I shall do my best to act with more foresight, your Majesty," Aliset said gravely.  It was not a promise to do nothing.

There was a knock on the door.  The queen gave permission to enter and Lady Jennelle entered carrying a fair-sized bundle.  The page followed her into the room.

"You are starting a new life, Aliset, and we would not send you off empty-handed," the queen said, her voice now friendlier, less formal.  "We collected the possessions your brother  left behind in his quarters, knowing you would like to have them.  Since we know you have been travelling light, we have also included a few necessities we thought you will find useful, including the green gown and caul you wore when you were here before.  Please consider them a wedding present."

"Thank you, your Majesty!" Aliset responded, surprised, but grateful. The gown and caul were beautiful, but a shift that was clean would give her the greatest pleasure right now!

"You are welcome, Aliset.  My page will escort you back to your quarters."  The queen smiled, and Aliset rose and curtseyed.  Jennelle handed the bundle to the page, and Aliset followed him through the door.  She was not sure how well she had done, but at least It was over!
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on May 19, 2021, 06:18:49 PM
"Uncle, tell me truthfully, am I dreaming?" Sir Washburn, soon-to-be Lord Washburn, stood in Uncle Duncan's residence within the king's castle, certain that what had just happened had not been real.

"Son, you are not dreaming," Duncan replied. His smile was warm and reassuring. His hand firmly grasped Washburn's arm and then gave a light squeeze. "You've had enough bad dreams to last a lifetime. Be assured, you are back in the real world."

"I'm... I mean to say... I don't know what to say." Wash finally admitted as Father Columcil entered the solar. His cassock was wrinkled at the knees. Had he been praying this whole time, Wash wondered, and if so, he was ever so grateful. He wanted very much to assure his friend, but could not find the words before Columcil burst out in a heavy brogue.

"Ye waur gain a lang time. Ah started tae fash yerse. Laddy, ye swatch a wee bit dazed. Whit happened?" Columcil's concerned gaze moved past Washburn to look at his grandfather for reassurance.

"Let us sit down," the elderly archbishop called to both younger men. "Let me pour the wine, and then I think we shall let the baron tell you all about it."

"Baron!?" Columcil exclaimed. "Och noo, haur is a story behin' thes 'at Ah main hear."

"I am not a confirmed lord, not just yet!" Wash backtracked as he fell into the chair.

The shock of his meeting with the king eased as Wash told Columcil the tale. The king's savory luncheon, followed by uncle Duncan's fine wine, finally began to settle the newly made lord's nervous jitters. The men laughed and teased until they all eased their backs into the comfort of their chairs. At length they continued to make small jests at the expense of the new Baron's future. Wash did not mind it at all.

Somewhere in the waning conversation, Lady Fiona's name came to the forefront, and instantly Washburn leapt from his chair; with a nervous long stride, he began pacing the room. "I have to tell her! She will want to hear the news to settle her worries. I need to tell her now!" He stopped and his shoulders drooped. "But the queen...? Will she let me into the tower? There will be a score of other women there. I don't need their gossipy little eyes, and I cannot wound Fiona's reputation further." Deflated, he plopped himself back down on the chair. "I might never be able to see her again."

If Wash had been watching, he might have noticed the questing look his uncle gave Columcil and Columcil's barely perceptible nod. "Go, son," he heard Duncan say. "I am certain the queen will give you a fair moment to tell Lady Fiona your news. Go now, before you drive us both mad."

"Oh! I didn't mean to..." Washburn's shields slammed firmly down, as he realized, here in the closeness of family, he had let them loosen and his feelings for a certain young lady had filled the room. "Pray forgive me," he said with a bow before he dashed to the door. "Thank you for tolerating me, I will be more circumspect in the future, I promise." And with a second hasty bow he was out the door and running through the castle halls towards the queen's tower.

But for the guards, he might have burst in, but the two guards, firm in their duty, brought back his sense of propriety. "I wish to ask the queen if I might speak with Lady McIntyre," he blurted. To Washburn's amazement, the guards did not even blink at the rashness of his request. They merely opened the door and a page announced him. In five long strides he was in the queen's solar and there was the ever so lovely Fiona standing at the window with the sun on her hair like a halo. In that moment, he saw an angel.

He rushed a few steps into the room, his left hand reaching for the girl's hand, "Lady Fiona, I have news that I must share with you."

"Would you willingly share your news with your maman, as well?" said the voice of an older lady, a voice he knew very well. Shocked, he whirled around to see his mother rise from her chair and step toward him. Lady Richenda was a thin wisp of her former self, she was biting her lip and wringing her hands for fear she did not trust them to not instantly grab her son in a desperate hug.

Today seemed to be the day for Washburn's reactions to betray him, for again his mouth dropped open,  his eyes widened, and for a moment he was struck dumb. Then he was on his knees, his head ducked down. He had looked into his king's eyes but he could not dare look into his mother's eyes. "Forgive me for all I have done to disgrace our family, Maman. I beg of you to forgive me." He would have let Fiona's hand go but she did not let him. She stood tall at his side even as he knelt before the Dowager Duchess of Corwyn.

Awaiting judgment, he expected the Banshee of old to take him down a peg. But in the ensuing silence, he could hear his mother's tears. "You are returned to me, and that is all that I had asked of your father's spirit. He said he would bring you back to me, and as he always did, he has kept his word." She took her son in her arms and hugged him as a mother would.

"I saw father," he said in soft tones. "I swear that I did. But not as a gryphon as one would expect. Rather, instead, he came to me as a huge red..."

'Dragon!" Richenda finished his sentence, knowingly.

"How did you know? There was no mention of a dragon in his journal. And no one ever told me of this persona."

His mother smiled warmly. "That was something between your father and me. I don't believe Kelric even knew, though Grania may have learned of it that time your father was ill. I dare say her insights into this family are keen, I think she knows each of us deeper than we may even know ourselves, that is her special gift. She assured me that you would be true and between us, we did our best to defend your honor."

"I know that you did," Wash said, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly. Finally he was able to relax and stand at ease before his mother. "It is because of you and what you have done for me that I am able to tell you the news that I came here to tell Fiona. The king has decided to bestow a barony upon me. One whose title was forfeited due to the rebellion. I am to become a Baron and have land of my own."

Richenda was as surprised as Fiona. Both ladies hugged him, but then Fiona stepped back fearful that she had overstepped protocol.  And Wash knew he had to make amends quickly. He pulled her closer to his side, stood tall proudly, and then faced the young lady toward his mother. "Your Grace, may I present to you Lady Fiona McIntyre. For many weeks, I have wanted to present her to you to request a favor. Would you be the one to sponsor Lady Fiona for admission into the Schola?"

His mother was looking thoughtfully between her son and the young lady. But it was Fiona who spoke up. "It is alright, Sir Washburn, I already have a sponsor."

"You do?"

"Yes, I do," she said. Her face brightened with a warm smile. "The king said he would sponsor me."

Wash looked from Fiona to his mother and saw agreement. "She is right, but that does not mean I can not offer her my full support. I have rather taking a fond liking to this young lady, she has wonderful stories to tell."

"Oh," Wash grinned, he didn't think he could be happier. "Did she tell you about the moment we first met. This lithe girl, brave as any warrior, and aye, a little insanely jumped between my sword and Lord Jaxom's sword; I did swear to wreak justice upon his soul for the abduction of Lady Aliset. Yet, I found myself instead, inhibited by a barrier of a pretty maiden. At first I thought she was defending Jaxom, but then there she was defending myself and Lord Darcy to her uncle. He was ready to throw us in with the other rebels, and in truth, once I had calmed down, I would not have blamed him had he done so. I suspect Fiona had a little something to do with his hospitality after that."

His mother gave an appreciative nod to the young lady. "I trust we will hear more of your story in the afternoons to come."

"I will do my best to tell it fairly, your Grace."

Richenda nodded. She again took hold of her son's hands, so happy to finally have him in arms reach. "Come to me when you can in the next few days. We have much to discuss. I have word that your brothers are returning; possibly as early as tomorrow. I believe Kelric will have had orders from the king and may already have a proclamation for you, but I will leave that for him to declare. Oh my son, I am so happy you are here. Now, I will leave you two young people to talk for a few moments, but then we all need to prepare for dinner, so don't be too long."

Richenda could not resist another hug and then she left. Wash thought he saw her wiping tears from her cheek. Stress relieving tears, he hoped.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on May 21, 2021, 12:39:36 PM
Robert O'Malley set the dress tunics of the Cameron brothers on a spare bail of straw and looked toward the far corner of the practice field.  He had brought Lord Darcy to the practice field as Sir Iain had instructed.  Sir Iain had produced two padded practice tunics and leather helmets.  Darcy, ever game for a workout, had needed little urging to test his brother's skill at arms.  Iain had taken Darcy to a far corner of the practice field, where they were in full view of the squire and others on the field, but out of earshot.

The brothers faced each other, armed with dulled swords and slightly dented shields.  Lord Darcy hefted the shield a bit awkwardly, as if he was unaccustomed to it.  Which was probably true, Robert thought.  He doubted that a seaman fought often with a shield at sea.  At first the two tested each other with routine blows easily blocked by the shields.  Sir Iain followed the proper forms of course, while Darcy's strokes were less formalized, but equally effective.

As Robert watched, Sir Iain seemed to say something to his brother.  Lord Darcy stopped dead and stared at his brother, and Sir Iain lost no time in using the blunder to his advantage.  Almost too late, Lord Darcy blocked the wrath blow aimed for his head with his shield and followed up with a flurry of well-aimed blows that drove his brother backwards.  But not for long.  Sir Iain aimed a series of high blows at his brother's head, and Lord Darcy had no recourse other than blocking them with his shield with little chance to land a blow of his own.  Until he slipped his arm from the straps of his shield  and propelled it into his brother's face.

Sir Iain threw up his own shield to block his brother's, but it also blocked his view.  Lord Darcy switched his sword to his left hand and grabbed Sir Iain's exposed shield arm.  He jumped to avoid the shield on the ground and landed behind his brother with the tip of his sword securely placed in the small of Sir Iain's back.  Sir Iain dropped his own shield and swung his arm to deliver a middle blow to Lord Darcy's side, but his brother's grip on his arm was still firm and he pulled the knight off-balance.  Sir Iain was skilled enough to still deliver the blow, and if the sword had been sharpened, it would have bit deeply into his brother's side, but only if Lord Darcy did not put his full weight behind the thrust that would have severed Sir Iain's spine first.

Robert saw Sir Iain stop his blow and say something loud and long to his brother.  Robert could not quite catch the words, but he was pretty sure there was nothing courtly about them.  Lord Darcy was openly grinning at his brother. 

Sir Iain lowered his sword, and Lord Darcy released his brother's arm, though he watched his brother warily.  They stood for a moment, breathing hard and then Sir Iain nodded.  Lord Darcy nodded back, and they retrieved their shields and started back toward Robert.  Once they reached him, they handed their equipment off to others and Robert handed them towels.

"Iain," Lord Darcy said as he mopped his brow and pushed back the stray hairs from his face.  "I also have news.  Aliset is bearing."

"Excellent,"  Sir Iain replied as he draped his towel over his shoulders.  "An heir for Isles!"

"Not yet.  Aliset carries twin lassies."

Iain gave his brother a startled look.  "Girls?" he asked incredulously.

Lord Darcy bristled.  "Sorry that you are disappointed....."

"Disappointed?  Have you gone mad?"  Sir Iain gripped his brother by both shoulders.

"What?"  Lord Darcy responded, confused.

"Good God, man!  There hasn't been a girl child born to the Camerons for over a hundred years!"  Sir Iain shook his brother's shoulders for emphasis.  "Isles will go wild in celebration!  The watchfires will burn blue for days!"

"Burn blue?" Robert asked, curious. 

A dim memory surfaced in Darcy's mind.  "The watchmen use powdered minerals to change the colour of the flames.  Blue is for joy; green is for death."

Sir Iain released Darcy's shoulders and rubbed his hands together.  "They will have to be properly dowered of course, but that will be no problem."

"Aliset and I can manage that quite well, thank you!"  Lord Darcy gave his brother a stern look.

Sir Iain threw his arm around his brother's shoulders and began to lead him away.  "No need to worry about that right now.  Robert, please have hot water brought to my quarters.  Darcy and I have much to discuss!" 
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on May 25, 2021, 03:34:34 PM
Duncan smiled as the door shut after the departing Washburn, there was no stopping a young man in love. Columcil, watching him, thought there was a reminiscent sadness in his grandfather's eyes. Perhaps, once again, he was reminded of Wash's father, Duke Alaric, and his great love for the beautiful Richenda; a story which even in the Duke's lifetime had been celebrated in song by minstrels and poets and had been given added poignancy and popularity by his heroic death.

But Columcil was wrong. It was his own love story that Duncan was remembering; Maryse with her beauty and bravery, echoed in both these young lasses who had shared in Washburn's rescue. Maryse who had borne him his son, the son whom he had welcomed with such astounded joy when the young borderer's true parentage had been revealed. And whose own early gotten son now sat across the table from him.

Columcil, of course, knew nothing of this. He simply saw the sadness in his grandfather's eyes grow deeper and a grey weariness creep across his face.

"Och, ye're still no' well. We should a' be shamed for no' thinkin' that ye need ta rest. I'll be awa' - there's a bonnie wee garth out yon tha' Ah can sit in a wee while while ye rest yerself."

He made to get up from the table but Duncan reached out a hand and prevented him.

"Thank you. I am tired but we need to talk and now is as good a time as any. I am truly grateful that you have agreed to spend some time here at the Schola, but where is it that your heart is calling you?

Duncan feared that he knew all too well what the response would be, and this conversation was the last thing he needed after the emotional drain of the morning, but it could not be postponed much longer.

Columcil's hesitation came not from any prescience but rather a long-established fear of presuming. Finally, after a long pause, which tore painfully at Duncan's nerves, he said simply.

"Ah've been thinking that Ah'd like ta gae ta Ballymar, ta work wi' the fishers an' crofters. I thought mebbes, t'would please ma Da ta have one o'his ain kin carin' fur his ain folk."

Priest for over fifty years, a highly skilled and trained Deryni, surely, thought Duncan,  he should be able to control his emotions better than this. The best he could do was to stop the tears that were prickling behind his eyes from falling. Dennis Arilan had reminded him  long years ago of the wisdom of the church's prohibition of procreation for the clergy, but rarely had he felt its force so keenly. He did not know how long he had been silent, only that Columcil was beginning to babble apologies. He cut them short, saying as gently as he could,

"You will be a great blessing to whomever is privileged to have you work among them, but it cannot be Ballymar. There is no easy way to say this, but Dhugal now thinks it best that things should remain as they were in the past."

Columcil said nothing. It might have seemed that he had not heard except that his hand moved to fumble with something in the breast of his cassock. Bringing out the shiral crystal, warm and polished from the contact with his skin, he began to unknot the leather thong from which it hung.
"He'll be aye wantin' this back then."

Duncan moved his hand to take his grandson's and clasp it around the stone, keeping his own around it.

"It's yours to keep, that at least Dhugal and I agree on." He sighed. "Try to understand. There was no time to think when the two of you met, but now he has had time to reflect it all seems more difficult than it did at first. To tell your first born son that he is not the first born. He is worried how that will seem to Duncan Michael." Columcil started to speak but Duncan gestured him to silence. "He doubts you no more in this than I do, but Borderers make less of wedlock than other folk, and a son is a son..."

Duncan's voice trailed off. Looking into the tired sad face of the man who had always supported him, even before the strange fate of these past weeks had thrown them so closely together, Columcil realised with complete certainty that his father's rejection, if it was rejection and not simple common sense, did not matter to him. It was what his mother had wanted after all, that he should be able to pursue his calling but not at the cost of embarrassment or hindrance to the man who had unwittingly sired him. What did matter was the love of this man here, who was both revered father-in-God and increasingly beloved grandfather.

"Ah'm thinking Mither had the rights o'it, fur ah canna say that ah've ivver felt the want o' a da. But Ah'm gey blessed ta have the blessing o' ma grandda, even if there's few folk will ever ken the rechts o'it." He took his free hand and placed it over his grandfather's and the shiral glowed gently beneath the warmth of their hands.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on May 30, 2021, 10:19:02 AM
Thanks to Jerusha for pointing out that May 27th is the feast day of St Melangell. This is in her honour, if a little late.


As Columcil and Duncan came out of rapport, Duncan was the first to speak.

"I think we can count on an hour or two's peace before Washburn returns. We are likely to have a busy few days once Prince Javan's army returns so I suggest we both get some rest."

Columcil was only too glad to comply; despite his matter of fact acceptance of Duncan's news he felt emotionally drained, and there was the nagging worry of where he could find a permanent home.

He stretched out on the bed in the guest room attached to the Archbishop's suite, offering up a prayer of profound gratitude for its comfort and focused on stilling his thoughts which, as they quieted, slowly changed to a dream.

He was sitting on a low stone wall outside his beloved grey stone church, in the warmth of a glorious May morning. The roughness of the stone, the song of the birds in the hedgerows, the sweet, almost overpowering, scent of the white drifts of blossom on the thorn bushes - may as the country people called it - was all achingly familiar. He had sat there so many times, savouring a moment of stillness, the preparations for St Melangell's feast day all finished, as he waited for the children to return with their baskets of wildflowers gathered in her honour.

Something was wrong though. He knew, with the odd certainty that comes sometimes with dreams, that the church was closed to him. The children would come, Mass would be offered and food gladly shared as spring plenty returned after the privations of winter, but he would not be part of it. Yet still he sat, unsure what he was supposed to do.

He sat so long and so still that they came. Not children but St Melangell's own creatures, rabbits, a dozen or more of them and a beautiful golden hare. They moved closer and closer to him as they grazed the green turf, sun studded with golden buttercups, seemingly oblivious to his presence. He watched them, mesmerised,, unaware of the clouds that had come up from the west, precursor of a storm to come. The lightning, when it came, was so vivid that it half-blinded him, and the thunder which followed was surely enough to awaken the dead. Columcil blinked dazed, opening his eyes just in time to see the last of the rabbits disappear into their burrow at the base of the hedge.

But the hare remained longer, almost as though it was waiting to make sure of his attention, before galloping in a blur of golden fur away up the opposite hillside to where - and Columcil rubbed his eyes to make sure of his vision- sat a young woman , her long skirts flowing around her feet. As the hare reached her, the heaven's opened and the rain came down in torrents. The young woman lifted the hem of her skirts and the hare disappeared beneath them, safe from the danger of the storm. Then she looked straight at Columcil and he understood. If he held fast to his courage, rather than simply bolting for the safety of what was familiar, then his beloved Saint would not, after all be lost to him.

The comfort he felt then was still with him when he awoke. He would face his time at the Schola with courage, knowing that somewhere a sanctuary was waiting for him.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on June 09, 2021, 12:48:36 PM
"Don't touch it!" Aliset Cameron admonished her husband.  "If you touch it one more time, you'll have it hanging from your ear!"

Darcy Cameron clasped his hands behind his back and glared at his wife.  "It doesn't feel right," he said, petulantly.

Aliset straightened the circlet of hammered Isles' silver on Darcy's brow. It was not wider than the tip of her little finger, but it kept the stands of pale hair from falling across his face.  That was likely the problem; he was so used to pushing his hair back that he did it without thinking and kept knocking the circlet askew.  He actually looked quite handsome wearing it, but she would never admit that to him.

"Now leave it alone," she stated firmly.  Darcy sighed.

"Good heavens!" exclaimed a familiar voice.  "Aren't you the handsome pair!  You're not getting married again, are you?"

The pair turned to face Washburn as he strolled toward them.  They were standing in front of a bench to one side of the steps leading up to the doors of Rhemuth Castle.  Aliset was a vision in the emerald green silk dress she had worn to dinner upon their first return to Rhemuth.  Her brown hair was captured securely in the bejewelled golden caul.  This time, though, she also wore a sash of green and blue wool that crossed her breast and was secured on her right shoulder with the pewter eagle's head broach that had been her brother's.  The ends of the sash trailed along her right arm.

Darcy came close to outdoing his wife.  He wore a kilt woven in the pale blue, sea green and dark grey plaid of Isles. His shirt was sea green and over it he wore a black argyll jacket.  The buttons on the front of the jacket and on the sides of the cuffs were crafted from the same beaten Isles' silver as the circlet he wore.  He looked uncomfortable, and Washburn was reminded of a fish out of water.

Darcy glanced at his wife, who nodded.   "Nay, it's not us, Washburn; it's Iain who is getting married," Darcy said quietly.

Washburn looked startled.  "I thought he was a confirmed bachelor!  Who is the lucky woman?"

"Sidana de Paor," Darcy replied.  He did not look happy.

Washburn felt his jaw drop, probably all the way to his knees.  "Sweet Jesu, why?  He'd be better off marrying a stenrect crawler!"

"A what?" Darcy asked.

"It's a magical beast, quite hideous, and its sting is deadly," Aliset explained.

"At least Sidana is not hideous, but other than that, you are probably not far off the mark, Washburn," Darcy said dryly.

"This was the king's idea," Washburn stated, realizing that this must be the king's solution to the threat Sidana posed to the kingdom.  Kings had hard choices to make, but his one felt disconcerting.  "Why Iain?" he finally asked.

Aliset motioned to the bench behind them.   "Sit with us, and we'll tell you what we know."

Washburn sat down heavily and Darcy and Aliset sat on either side of him.

"Iain told me the king gave Lady Sidana three choices," Darcy began.  "Execution, exile to a remote convent, or marriage to the man of his choice, Baron Iain Cameron 'o Isles."

"She would never take the first choice," Washburn said.  "I don't see her taking the second, either.  While no one could force her to take vows, it would not have left her with much of a life, especially set apart from the religious community there."

"So that left Iain." Darcy leaned back and half-moved his hand toward his head, caught the look in his wife's eye, and stretched his arm along the back of the bench instead.  "It's still exile. She'll never leave Isles, but she'll have a better life there."

"It can be a good life," Aliset interjected.  "The expectation is that she will accept the duties of both wife and baroness.  She can live that life as fully as she chooses, within a few constraints, of course."

"But what happens when she produces an heir?" Washburn asked.  "That will cause the same problems all over again, once the child is discovered.   You can't keep an heir to a barony hidden forever."

"You certainly can for a while," Darcy responded, thinking of his twelve years at sea.  "But that won't happen.  Iain can't produce an heir."

Washburn nodded slowly. It seemed the king had thought of everything.  Except one small matter.  "I blocked Sidana's powers," he said.  "I need to set that right before she is whisked away."

'You can't Wash."  Aliset laid a hand on his arm, knowing this would not sit well with his conscience. 

"No, I must," he insisted.  "It was the right thing to do at the time, but it would not be right to leave her that way."

"If her powers were restored, she would be a potential threat to Iain,"  Darcy said carefully.  "Isles has many Deryni; it's conceivable she could find someone to train her, and that person wouldn't realize the danger that would put Iain in.  Or maybe they might; there are always a few like my stepfather."

"The only way to prevent that, would be for Iain to place controls on her."  Aliset looked into Washburn's eyes.  "You of all people would not want that for her."

"Iain made it very clear to the king that he would not live with a woman he had enslaved,"  Darcy added.  "Iain knows it's a risk, but it will at least give him a chance to make some kind of peace with her.  If that's possible."

Washburn sat back and stretched his long legs out in front of him.  He remembered how difficult Sidana had been at Iain's hide-away, even with the controls Iain had placed in her mind.  Iain knew what he was facing.  "Why did Iain agree?"  he asked.

"I'm not entirely sure," Darcy responded.  "I think he feels a responsibility for her abduction."

"He does not bear that responsibility alone," Washburn reminded him.

"Maybe not," Aliset said.  "But think what her life would have been like if you had done differently.  If she survived, she would be on the run with her father, living in who knows what awful conditions.  I don't think Brioc would try to put her on the throne of Meara again, so he would find someone to marry her and produce heirs.  It would probably be someone like Valerian, willing to use her and any children to achieve his own ends."

Washburn sighed.   "And it would not end well.  How do you feel about it, Darcy?"

"I don't like it," Darcy answered.  "But I understand why it needs to be.  I just wish it didn't need to be Iain."

"It is a poor reward for Iain after everything he did to rescue me," Wash said quietly in reflection. "I am in his debt. My conscience will no longer wrestle with how I treated Sidana. She is in better care than she may realize. I hope for Iain's sake she will settle into her new life.

Robert appeared in the castle doorway and moved toward them.  "Lord Darcy, Lady Aliset," he said and bowed.  "You're needed now in the Royal Chapel."

The three of them rose, Darcy holding out his arm for his wife.  Darcy had a sudden thought.  "Wash, there will be a small wedding feast afterwards in the king's private withdrawing room.  Please join us; I think Iain would welcome your support."

Aliset managed a smile.  "Fiona will be there; I'm sure we can arrange a seat for you beside her, can't we Robert?"

"I'll see to it, my Lady," Robert replied.

"A funeral would be more cheerful,"  Darcy muttered.

"Hush," Aliset admonished him gently.  "You're standing up with your brother as you should be. Try not to scowl at the bride as she approaches."  She squeezed his arm gently.  "All we can do is pray that it all turns out well."

"Amen," Washburn said softly. 
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on June 24, 2021, 04:07:49 PM
Columcil  lay quietly, savouring both the peace of the room and the renewed peace within his soul. Then the door was pushed open and he knew that the former, at least, was at an end.

Washburn came in, immediately went across to where his clothes were stored and began to rummage through his tunics.

"Och, th'guid laird save us, laddie, ye're no' goin' through yon carry on again."

Washburn ignored his good-natured jibe and reached for the dress tunic which declared him to be a restored member of a ducal family. He stripped to his braies, then pouring water from the jug, which a servant had placed ready for their use some hours ago,  plunged his head into the filled basin before emerging sputtering to grin at Columcil.

"Surely you'd have me look my best at a wedding feast, Father?"

Disappointingly, Columcil refused to rise to the bait, but replied placidly, "I ken well it'll no be yer ain, so mebbes ye'll be guid enow,  m'laird, ta tell me wha's afoot."

Washburn suddenly turned serious and, tunic in hand, he sat down on his bed. He told Columcil all he had learnt from Darcy, realising that he was glad to share his misgivings with the priest. "I understand why I cannot restore Sidana's powers, and I'm awed by the depth of his Majesty's mercy. She has been given the chance of a good life, better by far than she would have endured with Valerian, even, God preserve us, if she had gained the crown others wished for her."

He added, with a sudden burst of insight and pity, "especially if she had gained the crown. Once she had borne an heir to Valerian, I doubt he would have had much more use for her." Washburn ran his finger around the embroidered gryphon on his tunic, symbol of loyalty and honour, then raised his eyes to Columcil. "But, I promised myself when I blocked her powers that I would restore her, and sits ill with me to break a promise, even if only to myself. This is a fearful power, Columcil,  and a man could easily be lead astray by it."

"If your eye causes you to sin, pluck it out.^

Washburn was startled by the stern austerity in the priest's voice, the solemnity accentuated by the absence of his usual brogue. Unsure as to whether it was he who was being censured, Washburn opened his mouth to speak but was forestalled by Columcil, who, thankfully, sounded more like himself.

"Yon lassie, has had nae chance ta learn ta use her powers fer guid. When we pray to th' laird ta no' lead us into temptation then we mun accept tha' tis doun tae us tae make sure tha' we dinna lead others into temptation. T'would maybe seem mair honour t'ye to no' go back on yer ain word, but 'twould be the greater sin."

Columcil leant forward and traced the sign of the cross on Washburn's  forehead, then, in a swift change of mood, he clapped him on the back.

"Ye're a guid lad, an' ah'm proud ta call ye friend, but unless ye're intending ta woo a certain young lassie in naught but yer braies ye'd best get a move on."


















Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on June 25, 2021, 12:30:52 PM
There are many similarities in this scene to the marriage of Princess Janniver and Sir Jatham in King Kelson's Bride.  I didn't plan it that way initially, but that's the way it went.  I give full credit to KK for the original work.


Archbishop Duncan McLain adjusted his purple cassock and smoothed the fine fabric into place.  Never before had he felt such relief in shedding his wedding vestments after a nuptial mass; it was unsettling.  And so unlike the last time he had attended a secretive wedding in the Royal Chapel.  The only other time, actually.

He had attended the wedding, but not presided.  Bishop Nivard, who had been Father Nivard then, Kelson's private chaplain, had that honour.   Princess Janniver had been nervous as she walked down the aisle on Kelson's arm, but once the king had given her hand to her groom, Sir Jatham Kilshane, the nervousness had fallen away and was replaced  by the mutual joy they shared.

So unlike today.  As Lady Sidana de Paor walked down the aisle on Kelson's arm, there was no nervousness.  She showed no emotion at all. She might have been a statue, one made of cold, hard marble.  She looked the part of a noble bride, wearing a gown of pale blue silk and a crown of white roses over the curling hair that cascaded down her back, but the gown was not the same costly silver samite befitting a royal princess that Janniver had worn. The pale blue may have been a nod to Isles,  but it was also a statement that Sidana would no longer be considered the Princess of Meara.

Sir Iain was calm and contained, dressed identically to his brother except that he wore the coronet of the Baron 'o Isles.  His face gave no sign of the inner turmoil he must be feeling as his bride approached.  Lord Darcy, standing up beside him, watched her warily. He stepped to the side only at the last moment after the bride reached them.  Duncan would have sworn Lady Aliset looked relieved as she accepted the bouquet from the bride.

Neither Sidana nor Iain's expression softened as the king joined their hands.  Duncan had the feeling he was joining duty and pride instead of man and wife.  Emotionlessly, they had reiterated their betrothal vows and exchanged their wedding vows.  Iain's shields were tightly raised; Duncan had to wonder how many Deryni in the chapel were truth-reading the bride.

Once the nuptial mass was completed, the bride and groom turned and formally paid their respects to the king and queen.  It was very quiet in the chapel as Iain escorted his wife back down the aisle.  They stopped only long enough for Sidana to lay her bridal crown of roses at the feet of the statue of the Virgin before striding through the chapel doors to wait outside for the others to join them. 

For a moment, no one moved; it was almost as if everyone was holding their breath.  Then it was over, and Duncan sensed a collective sigh as the few guests followed the king and queen from the chapel.

***

Sir Washburn Morgan tugged the fabric of his green tunic to straighten it as he waited outside the open door to the king's private withdrawing room. Pages and serving staff from the kitchen were in and out, finishing the final preparations  before the wedding party arrived.

Robert arrived and stood beside Washburn.  "They are on their way."

"There were no objections to my joining the feast?" Washburn asked.

"We managed to squeeze you in," Robert said and grinned. "There was a moment of consternation when the queen realized you would be the thirteenth guest, but Sir Iain waved that aside and stated I could be considered the fourteenth, since we have worked together so often."

Washburn nodded but said nothing more, as the wedding party was approaching.  Both bowed as the king and queen passed, and the king nodded his acknowledgement.  They straightened and inclined their heads as Sir Iain and Lady Sidana followed.  Behind them Princess Araxandra and Duchess Grania walked together.  Dowager Duchess Richenda was escorted next by Archbishop Duncan.  As Darcy followed with Aliset's hand on his arm, he reached across and squeezed Washburn's shoulder briefly with his free hand, grateful that Washburn was attending.  Last came Fiona, and Washburn was surprised to see that she was escorted by Laird Seisyll Arilan.  Perhaps the king had felt the need to include someone from his council.

Pages were directing the guests to their seats at the long trestle table as Robert and Washburn entered.  Four chairs were arranged along the long side closest to the royal bedchamber for the king, queen, Iain and Sidana.  Iain took the place of honor beside the king with his new wife on the other side.  Araxandra, Grania, Richenda and Duncan took the places at the ends of the table, leaving five seats along the other long side.  Aliset, Darcy and Fiona moved to fill the middle seats.  Seisyll stopped for a moment at the chair beside Fiona, but Robert discreetly directed him to the chair on Aliset's left, leaving the vacant chair beside Fiona for Washburn.  As they stood at their places waiting for the king and queen to be seated first, Washburn realized Sidana was surrounded by some of the most skilled Deryni in the kingdom.  He was sure it was not by accident. 

Pages began to bring in the meal, assisted by some of the serving staff who brought the heavier trays of meat.  Venison, roast fowl, poached salmon and savory pies were served.  Archbishop Duncan said the blessing for the feast, after which the pages began to serve the guests fine Vizairi wines from silver pitchers. 

"Only half a goblet, if you don't mind," Aliset said to the page serving her wine.

"Please also bring her a small pitcher of water," Darcy added.  The page gave him an odd look, but bowed slightly in acknowledgment.  He was young, and probably new to serving the ladies of the court.  After serving Lord Seisyll his wine, the page left and returned quickly with the water.  Darcy added the water to Aliset's wine, and Seisyll gave him a knowing look.

Initially, everyone gave their attention to the food, saying little other than giving compliments to Araxie on the excellence of the meal.  No one dared even minor pleasantries such as, "Has Sir Iain told you much about Isles?" Or, "You must be looking forward to setting up your household.  Isles has been without a baroness for some time." Even worse would have been, "I'm sure you will both enjoy many fine heirs."

"I can't think of a thing to say," Darcy admitted to his wife quietly.  "Somehow discussing Isles' long, cold winters and short summers does not seem helpful.  We have nice sheep, though," he added.

"I'm sure Sidana will appreciate that," Aliset replied.  "It may be the only thing she appreciates."

Darcy was pleased to see that his wife was eating well.  She seemed to especially like the poached salmon.  He placed a second portion on her plate.

"Make sure there is enough for you as well," she quickly said.

Darcy smiled.  "After all those years at sea, I've had enough fish.  I'll stick with the venison and meat pie."

"You haven't had much of your wine, though," she observed.  "If it doesn't suit you, you may add some of my water to it."

Darcy gave her a horrified look, and Aliset suppressed a giggle.

"I've got to manage to stumble through the toast to the groom," Darcy admitted.  "How do you wish someone a long and happy marriage when you are hoping the bride doesn't smuggle in her eating knife and murder the groom in the bridal bed?"

Lord Seisyll looked across at Darcy.  "The ladies escorting Sidana to her groom will take every precaution that such an incident cannot occur." Darcy took a long sip of his wine.

It was Araxie who finally found a surprisingly safe topic as little cakes and honeyed dates were served.  "I'm glad we've had this chance to enjoy a quiet celebration."  Kelson raised an eyebrow at his wife; she smiled and continued on.  "These next few days will be filled with welcoming our returning men and hosting the celebrations."

"Yes," Richenda said, picking up the gauntlet.  "We'll barely have time to think. One event seems to lead right into the next, and so on."

"I'm not sure we can fit everyone into the Great Hall at once," Araxandra chimed in.  "There will have to be a lot of careful planning."

"As if they haven't already been at it for days," Washburn whispered quietly to Fiona.

The conversation went well, until Sidana asked the king,  "Will there be any prisoners returning with your men?"

"No, Lady Sidana," the king said directly.  "Lord Brioc remains at large."

For the first time, Sidana smiled.

The king abruptly stood.  "As is customary, it is my honor to toast the bride. But first, there is the small matter of a wedding gift to celebrate this new union."

Darcy, noting the king had not said "happy couple,"  looked expectantly at the king.

Robert handed Kelson a rolled scroll adorned with pendant seals along its edge.  "It is my pleasure," the king continued, "and with total endorsement from the Duke of Claibourne, to raise Isles to an earldom.  Not only will the earldom include Isles proper, but the nearest baronies that lay along the northern shore of Claibourne will owe fealty to their new earl."

"Justly deserved," Lord Seisyll said as they all stood to toast the new earl and countess.  As Darcy raised his glass to his brother and then began to drink, he suddenly realized what this meant for him and Aliset and choked.

He did not recover immediately, and Washburn set down his own goblet and  pounded him on the back until Darcy raised a hand for him to stop.  "Beg pardon, your Majesties," Darcy  gasped.

"Don't worry, little brother.  I plan to live for a very long time," Iain sent.

"You damn well better!"  Darcy snapped back.

They remained standing for Kelson to toast the bride and pages topped off their wine.  The young page that had brought Aliset her water nervously filled Washburn's goblet, sloshing some of the wine on the table.  The page looked  mortified,  and Washburn gave him an understanding smile. 

"To Countess Sidana Cameron, may you grow to enjoy your new role."  Kelson raised his goblet to the bride and the rest followed suit.

Well done, Washburn thought as he raised his goblet to his lips.  He was startled when he unexpectedly felt the touch of metal against his front teeth. He lowered his goblet to peer inside, but the red wine obscured anything hidden.  Discreetly, he dipped his index finger into the wine and felt a metal chain.  He scooped his finger around it and pulled it out. He heard Duncan gasp sharply as Washburn held up a medallion.

He stared at it in disbelief, but his Deryni powers recognized it, allaying any doubt.  Suspended from his hand, dripping small drops of wine into his goblet, was his Saint Camber medal.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on June 26, 2021, 06:40:32 PM
Washburn was mortified as his Camber medal swung slightly back and forth from the slight shake of his hand.  He let the chain slip down some, so that the medal was further from the tips of his fingers.

((08:12 <•Laurna> Does Wash pull the chain from his wine goblet without touching the St Camber Medal? success on 5 or 6
08:12 <•Laurna> !roll 2d6
08:12 <GameServ> Laurna rolled 2d6: 4 6 <Total: 10>
08:13 <•Laurna> Yes, very good, solves that problem.))

He had not touched it, he was sure of it. But could his proximity to it set off whatever spell was upon it? Could he have already succumbed to it? In the dreamland that was not a dream, it was the one thing he has ask to be returned to him. Feyd had said that he would comply when he was able to do so. But what mischief was Feyd intending by having it delivered to him in this way, at this time?

Washburn's maman stood near, but her eyes were upon the king and the bride. She did not see his disquiet. Uncle Duncan was the one who gasped as droplets of wine fell from the medal and splashed back into his goblet, yet the archbishop was paces away and out of arms reach. Light as a dove's wing tips, Wash felt fingers brush his wrist. Standing beside him, with a deep sense of concern, Fiona looked up from the medal into his eyes and caught his gaze with her charisma. "Oh, what is that you have found? I have never seen anything like it. Please may I see it?"

Wash hesitated, it is not a thing he would dare let her risk, yet she placed a hand on his arm with assurance. "Please, let me take it from you, Wash. We know not where it has been. Let us not trust it until we are certain." She gave him a look of calmness and caring. She took her linen napkin from the table and wrapped it about the medal, hiding the silver face of the saint from his sight.

((12:47 <derynifank> Dice roll. Fiona convinces Wash to give her the Camber medal.  Fiona has Trait charismatic, she gains Advantage when attempting to convince someone of something or otherwise influence them.!3d6
12:47 <derynifank> !3d6
12:48 <derynifank> !roll 3d6
12:48 <GameServ> derynifank rolled 3d6: 1 2 6 <Total: 9>))

Gently, with an fearless smile, the young lady pulled the chain from between his fingers. The moment he had released it, Wash felt he could breathe again. It may not have been from a manifestation of power, but the anticipation of it had frozen his core. Fiona squeezed his hand with warm thoughts and reassurance. She wrapped the chain further in the napkin and slid it in the small pouch attached to her belt.

"Bravely done!" Lady Richenda said across the table's corner. "I thank you for understanding the danger."

"Yes, your Grace, I shall always do what I can."

The dowager duchess reached across the table's corner grasping both her son's hand and Fiona's hand and giving them both a squeeze. At that moment she was reassured that no harm had come to either of them from the incident.

When Wash looked up, he saw those across the table staring at him.  The king, Iain, Darcy and Aliset were concerned but relieved. In contrast, the bride Sidana was hotly angry. Her eyes bore into Wash and Fiona like a cold storm. This was her day and it seemed to Wash that she was again about to scream RAT at him for taking the attention away from her.

To win back everyone's attention, she lifted up a candied berry from off the bridal cake icing and held it up to her new husband's lips. "To our union, may we live long happy lives on Isles." Iain ate the fruit with some hesitancy. In respect to her gesture, he offered his bride a candied apple slice from the next spot on the cake. "To my countess of Isles, may we prosper." He said this as she ate what he offered. Everyone was outwardly pleased by the turn, but inwardly at least one if not more worried that the 'we' as spoken by the bride was a royal We and did not refer to the newly wedded couple as the groom did try to imply. But no one dared to share their concerns.

When the bridal feast had ended and the bride was swept out of the room by the duchesses of the kingdom to be prepared for her bedding, the men did then all turn to Wash and Fiona. As the king requested, Fiona gave her pouch across to Seisyll who upended it onto the table before the king. The part of the Camber medal poked out from the linen folds.

"Is this indeed yours?" the king asked of Washburn

"Yes, sire, I am certain that it is."

"Where did you last see it?


"In the darkness of the place I was held before I was in the ruins; I had used it to pray to the good Saint for someone to find me. My abductor may have taken my powers, but he had not taken my faith. Though, he did try to take that too."

The king sighed as he bit his lip. "You never lost your faith, this is but a symbol of it and I see someone has seen that it be returned to you. When we are certain it is clean, it will be yours again." The king waved for Seisyll to take up the medal; meanwhile the page that had served Wash his wine was brought forth. The boy was clearly shaken. "Do not worry young lord, Lord Arilan will see you to your room and see that you are well cared for for the evening." With a nod, Seisyll pocketed the medal and put a gentle hand on the page's shoulder. "Let us talk!" Seisyll said as he led the boy away.

Duncan stepped over to the side of his king with deep concern. "I know not if there was a spell upon the medal, or no, but what concerns me is that Feyd was able to have it delivered to your solar, in the very heart of the royal sanctum."

Iain braced himself as he answered the Archbishop, "I fear I know all too well the skill of those of the Black order of Death, Feyd is a master. I am not surprised that he chose to show his prowess to you in this way. If Feyd doesn't want to be discovered, he won't be."

"I hear what you are saying, Earl Iain Cameron. Know that We will take heed!"  the king responded. "But I release you from making this your concern. Men and Ladies! One more toast to the groom, and then let us sing him up the stairs to his bridal bed.

"Hear, hear!" called all those left in the room.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: DerynifanK on June 28, 2021, 09:07:44 PM
The day dawned sunny and cool. Fiona was awakened by sunlight streaming through her windows. At first she thought she would snuggle down under the covers, then she remembered. today was the day of the Victory procession and the beginning of the celebration! The king had declared it to be a day of thanksgiving for their delivery from the Mearan revolt. The day would begin with a solemn mass of Thanksgiving in St George's Cathedral. The mass would be followed by a victory parade as Prince Javan and his army returned to Rhemuth. They would march the length of King's Way until they reached the King's Green, just below the castle, where they would be received by King Kelson and his court. This ceremony was to be followed by a day of feasting and merrymaking.

The excitement made her jump from her bed and run to the window to look out at the courtyard. Already preparations were underway for the celebration to be held today.  Banners were being unfurled and hung from the castle walls. She could smell the scents of roasting meat and baking bread being prepared for the feast. In the distance she could hear music as those who would entertain during the celebration practiced their tunes. There would be jongleurs and acrobats and every sort of amusement

The rebellion was crushed, most of its leaders confined to dungeons until a final decision as to their fates was made. The last units of Prince Javan's army had reached Rhemuth the day before and made camp on the banks of the Eirian across from the city gates.

The prince himself, along with his principal commanders, had arrived the day following the wedding and had been closeted with the king and his council, reporting on the battles and their outcomes. The rebels had been defeated at Laas, Duke Brecon had already begun repairs of the damage to the city walls. Grand Duke Valerian had been killed trying to escape and return to Ratharkin, and the remnants of his army had been rounded up by Prince Javan's men. Ratharkin had been freed from rebel control and was once again under the rule of its viceroy. The Duke of Corwyn, who had suffered a life threatening wound in the battle for Laas, had been healed and had returned with the army. There was much to be thankful for.

Fiona hurried to wash and dress and to prepare herself to join the royal party from the castle that would ride down to St. George's for the mass of Thanksgiving. She reached the courtyard where the horses were saddled and waiting just as the members of the party began to mount. She reached for her bridle and a hand held her stirrup to assist her to mount. As she settled in her saddle, she looked around expecting to see one of the grooms, but it was  Sir Washburn smiling up at her. He swung himself up on Shadow, and remained beside her as the King and Queen led the way from the courtyard to begin the descent from the castle.

Once they reached the cathedral, the king and queen were conducted to their places with the others following behind.  As Fiona watched from her place further back, she saw Washburn seated between his mother, the Dowager Duchess of Corwyn, and Duchess Araxandra, his brother's wife. Fiona took her place beside Aliset with Darcy on his wife's other side. The procession began led by the Thurifer, followed by the choirboys singing in their angelic voices, and two servers holding candles side by side followed by an acolyte bearing the cross. The line of servers continued until the deacon of St. George's entered, preceded by the Archbishop of Rhemuth who was celebrating the mass. Fiona was awed both by the cathedral itself and the procession. She had never seen  anything comparable. As the mass proceeded, she felt a sense of both joy and relief  as they offered thanks to God for their deliverance from war.

After the mass, the entire party returned to the castle to break their fast. Washburn was seated at the high table, again beside his mother with Archbishop McLain on his other side. Fiona was seated with Darcy and Aliset at the far end of the table opposite Wash. From her position, she could at least see him as he ate and talked.

"Are you alright?" Aliset spoke to Fiona. "You have hardly said a word since we returned from the cathedral and you are not eating. There will be a fine feast tonight after the parade, but you will be hungry before then. Is something troubling you?"

Fiona turned  to answer. "Oh no. It is just that I have never seen such a grand ceremony as that in the cathedral, nor have I ever experienced anything like the victory parade that will soon commence. I want to see everything. I don't want to miss a minute of the celebration."

"Are you sure that it is the ceremony that holds your attention or is it the presence of a special person?" Aliset had noticed the direction of Fiona's gaze which frequently focused on Sir Washburn and his companions.

Fiona blushed. "I am just concerned that Sir Washburn is himself and has suffered no ill effects from the return of that medal he found in his wine at the wedding feast. I well remember the terrible effects of that ruby he found and how difficult it was to free him of its evil influence. I do not wish to see such an effect on him again."

"Your quick action in convincing him to give it to you and persuading him that it should be examined by others before having it returned to him helped protect him from any spell that might have been placed on the medal. The Dowager Duchess was quite impressed by your action and I think you made a very favorable impression." Aliset smiled at her. "I am sure he will find an opportunity to spend some time with you during today's festivities. Now eat your food. We don't want to miss the beginning of the procession."

Following their meal, they returned to their rooms to freshen up before gathering to take their places to watch the army as it marched through the city and entered the King's Green where the King and his court would wait to formally welcome them home. 

There was a tap at Fiona's door and she opened it to find Darcy, Aliset, and Iain standing there ready to escort her to the Green to view the arrival of the army led by Prince Javan. Fiona looked past Iain."Where is Sidana?"

"She has decided to remain in our quarters and rest.  She does not relish the idea of watching this victory parade as it celebrates the defeat of the revolt."  Iain offered his arm to Fiona. "Let us  proceed to the Green and get a good spot from which to watch all that happens. I know you don't want to miss anything." Fiona placed her hand on Iain's arm, Aliset took Darcy's arm and they set off for the King's Green.

From the gate in the outer curtain wall, they could see the throngs of people assembling along the way from the Market Square toward the castle. Bright pennants were flying from major buildings and they could hear music in the distance. They turned and followed the path along the wall, past the entrance to St. Hillary's and entered the King's Green just a short way beyond the gate. They could see that a temporary dais had been raised at the end of the Green. Here the King and his court would stand to review the returning army. Iain found them a spot near the edge of the dais not too far from the king's great chair which had been carried out for him.

The members of the court assembled to await the arrival of the army. The king and queen had arrived and taken their places at the center of the dias. All were aware that the procession was drawing near as they heard the sounds of the trumpets and the increasing cheers of the people. As they looked back along the street, they began to see bright pennants and hear the sound of approaching horses. The first units approached led by Prince Javan, mounted on his big, white destrier with Prince Albin at his side and followed closely by his standard bearer, holding up proudly the golden lion of Gwynedd. Mounted knights and men-at-arms afoot wearing Haldane crimson livery filed onto the Green after the prince.

The Haldane levies were followed by men in the green and black of Corwyn led by their duke garbed in a green tunic with the Corwyn Gryphon on his chest. As Kelric led his men onto the green, he scanned those on the dais. He quickly spotted his mother and his duchess, but his eyes still scanned until he saw what he was seeking, his younger brother standing there as an honored member of the king's party. Corwyn's duke gave a big grin. At almost the same time, Washburn's eyes met those of his brother and he grinned back, happy and relieved to see Kelric fully recovered from his wound.

More and more units of the army filed onto the green led by their commanders. Washburn espied the blue and gold of Marley as the Earl of Marley led his men to their place. Among them he noted the pennants of Jaxom of Trillshire as well as that of Fiona's cousin, Michael Stuart. It appeared that both young men had reformed, carried out their duties well under the Earl of Marley and earned a place in good standing in his service.

Fiona also noticed the blue and gold of the Marley men. Among them she was overjoyed to see Michael's pennant flying. He must have reformed and made amends for his previous mistakes.The Green quickly filled with men and horses until it was a sea of color and sound. Fiona was nearly overwhelmed. She gripped Iain's arm tightly as she watched with eyes as big as saucers. Never had she dreamed of such a sight.

As the last of the men took their places on the green, the king stepped forward to the front of the dais. The men gave a rousing cheer for their sovereign, pounding shields with swords and shouting as loud as they could. The king stood silently for several moments until the noise began to die down. He was an imposing figure in a long crimson tunic embroidered with the golden Lion of Gwynedd, and his cloak trimmed in ermine. Archbishop McLain stood at his side clothed in episcopal purple, holding the Haldane sword.. The king wore Gwynedd's crown on his brow, the Eye of Rom glowing red in his ear, and the Ring of Fire on his right hand. He held his hand up, signaling for silence and the crowd quickly responded

The king looked out at the army assembled before him and spoke: "You have fought bravely and the Kingdom owes you a great debt of gratitude. With your courage and determination you turned back a critical threat from those who sought to tear the kingdom apart to seize part of it for their own elevation. We mourn those who were lost in battle, and We recognize the sacrifices that each of you made in answering the call to defend home and kingdom. We appreciate your eagerness to return to your homes and families, now safe, thanks to your endeavors. We wish you godspeed as you return home. Return now to your encampments, and in the coming days your commanders will release you from the king's service with the crown's profound gratitude for all you have done. Archbishop McLain will now give you our blessing."

The bishop made the sign of the cross, "In nomine patris, et filii, et spiritus sancti.  Dominus custodiet vos; et salvi revertentur ad domos vestras."

The army then began to disperse in order, led by their commanders, to return to their camps. The king and his court turned to return to the castle to rest and prepare for the night's feast. The people would continue to celebrate in the streets far into the night. Fiona was quiet as she held onto Iain's arm and allowed herself to be led away. Her head was full of all she had seen this day, and she needed some quiet time to think about it all. When she had left her uncle's manor many weeks ago she had no idea that it would lead her here to the king's court and this splendid celebration.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on June 30, 2021, 03:20:59 PM
As the royal entourage walked back from the King's Green to the castle proper, they passed the doors of St. Hilary's Basilica and suddenly Washburn had an irresistible idea. Fiona had not yet seen the Schola. She was admitted as she had dreamed, but as yet, she had no notion of what the Schola looked like or how it ran. Perhaps too, he could show Columcil parts of it so that the priest might not be in such a great hurry to leave.  Feeling his youth, Wash tapped Columcil's shoulders,  "Follow me!" and then he raced back in the line of castle residents to find Fiona with Aliset, Darcy, and Iain.

"I want to show you something," he said to Fiona, then corrected himself with a bow to the new Earl. "My lord, would you allow me to show your cousin the buildings where she will be attending the Schola; Darcy, Aliset and Columcil will chaperone us. I swear we will not be gone too long."  Iain looked none too pleased, but then Iain had not looked pleased about anything for days.

"Go, but be back before her cousin is sent to join the vigil for the night at the Cathedral. I am sure she will want to say encouraging words to Michael before he goes."

"We promise," Washburn said, including everyone in that promise.

When the five had turned away from the walkers to climb the steps of St Hilary's, Fiona said, "I don't know what I am to say to Michael. How do I forgive him for what he had done to Uncle Mac?"

"It appears he has turned a corner and is finally walking a straight path. Your heart will tell you that family forgives when the one who strayed has turned around."

At the top of the steps, Fiona turned to face Washburn. "I will remember that, if you will remember it about your own family." Wash didn't say anything. Perhaps that was why he chose to make this detour into the Schola, to avoid facing his brothers now that they had returned.

"This way," he said as he led his friends into the church, which was silent with everyone at the festival. After his friends had gotten a look around at the basilica, he led them through a side garden into the Schola proper. They entered a long hall with periodic doors that opened into classrooms.  The rooms were bright with sunshine with the clerestory windows facing the south. The walls in the room Washburn chose to show them were adorned by student artwork. "If you open your shields, you can feel the tangible magic in the air."

"There is no one here doing magic now, how can you feel it?" Darcy asked, always skeptical when it came to magic.

Wash didn't have to say anything, he turned to see if Aliset could explain. But she was looking in awe at a silk-thread embroidered garden on a wall tapestry. "I swear that if I look through the sides of my eyes, the butterflies and the bees are flying from blooming flower to blooming flower, and I can hear the birds in the trees singing." She was smiling and then started humming with pleasure as she touched the tapestry and felt the magic that made it appear to come alive.

"Aliset gets it," Washburn said with a smile.

"I don't feel it," Fiona said in dismay.

Aliset reached over and took Fiona's hand. She had her touch the tapestry on a pink flower with an embroidered yellow and black swallow tail butterfly frozen in place over the bloom.  "Take in a deep breath and focus on the flower."

Fiona concentrated, there was nothing at first, but then she let out a squeal of joy. "It flew!" She exclaimed. "I can feel the magic in the whole hanging. How did they do that?"

"My understanding from my oldest sister, Briony, is that her dormitory, the first for women, spent a year embroidering this."

"I am amazed," Fiona called. She spun around happily, trying to see everything else in the room at once. "I am really here! My dream has finally come true!"

Wash let the ladies enjoy the moment, and then he waved for everyone to follow him. But before he got to his destination, Magistra Helena approached. "There you are. Duncan said you might have come this way."

"Duncan knows me too well, Magistra." Washburn bowed.

"Of course he does, and that is not a bad thing." Helana replied. "Your mother is asking for your presence in the garden. Your family is gathering and you should be there."

Wash felt like a truant squire. "I shall go at once."  He bit his lip but then straightened his back. "I thought I would show Lord Darcy and Lady Aliset the portal at St Hillary's. I know that it is not trapped like the library portal and that not everyone should learn its coordinates. But honestly, I can not go near the library portal myself, not any longer, and I feel that my friends, at least  should know how to get back to Rhemuth in an emergency. Columcil has already been shown. Would you be opposed to the Lord and Lady of Caer Mariot learning this portal for themselves?"

The Magistra would have instantly said no to such a request, if it had been made by any other student. But these five people had proven themselves of loyal character in the most challenging of tests. She changed her mind and smiled. "I will do that, but you need to go along to the garden."

"Yes, Magistra?" Wash said. He bowed to his friends, feeling guilty for leaving them. But he knew the Magistra was a far better teacher at Portaling than he. And it was something that experience told him was an important skill to know.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on July 09, 2021, 04:06:23 PM
Magistra Helena looked at the small group that remained behind at the Schola after Sir Washburn left.  "Using a Portal is not difficult, but there is some danger involved for the inexperienced."

"I am trained to the ritual level, Magistra," Aliset said.  "I only need the signature of the Portals to be able to successfully transfer."

Darcy gave his wife a curious look.

"The archbishop gave me initial training, and Ah have successfully completed a couple of jumps, but Ah am nay expert,"  Columcil said.

"If Archbishop Duncan trained you, I am sure you will be fine."  Helena smiled at him.  "Fiona, it is a bit early in your studies for you to start Portal training.  However, I can take you through with me to our destination at St. George's. It can be an introduction to the concept for you."

Fiona took a deep breath to hide her disappointment and then nodded her acceptance.  "Thank you, Magistra Helena."  It would not be helpful to start off on the wrong foot at the Schola.

"And you, Lord Darcy?" Helena asked.

Darcy hesitated a moment before finally admitting, with a hint of defensiveness in his voice, "I know what a Portal is, since I found one at the bottom of a well, but that's all I know." 

"Darcy only recently learned he is Deryni," Aliset explained.  "I have had very little time to provide training in anything besides the basic skills.  Once we return to Mariot and things have settled down, we'll resume his training."  She smiled at her husband, who was looking just a touch rebellious.  "It won't take him long to catch up."  Darcy's look softened a bit.

"Will you bring him through, then?" the magistra asked Aliset.

"Perhaps Father Columcil might be a better choice, for this first time," Aliset replied.  At Columcil's startled look, she sent to him quickly, "You know how protective Darcy is. He just might accidently interfere, or not be able to give me complete control.  Since he is familiar with your Healing touch, he might be more at ease with you."  She did not add that Darcy might not be completely comfortable surrendering control to his wife.  Men could be so touchy!

"Ah have no objection, if ye don't, Darcy," Columcil said. 

Darcy, who had no idea what using a Portal involved, was perplexed by his wife's suggestion, but nodded agreement.  Maybe it was because of the lassies, he thought.  Aye, that must be it.

"Each Portal has a specific pattern of energies; no two are alike.  We call it the Portal's signature," Magistra Helena began.  "To move from one Portal to the next, you need to know the signatures of both Portals.  Once you are experienced enough, you can learn a Portal's signature by simply standing on it.  For those who are just starting to learn, it is best to place your hand on the Portal; this physical contact allows you to better feel the distinctive pattern of the Portal's energies.  Let me demonstrate with Fiona, if she is willing."

"Oh yes, Magistra!" Fiona responded eagerly.

"The outline of the Portal is often seen as a distinctive pattern in the tiles on the floor, as you can see here."  Helena motioned to a pattern of tiles on the floor that was different from the rest of tiles.  "Kneel beside it, Fiona, place your hand on it, and tell us what you feel."

Fiona did as she was instructed, closing her eyes to more intensely focus on what she might find.  She felt a tingling sensation in her hand, and the pattern of the energies became apparent. 

"My hand tingles," she said carefully.  "In my mind, I can now see the pattern of the energies."

"Excellent! Now stand and allow me to confirm you have read them correctly."  Fiona rose and held out her hand to the magistra, who held it briefly to verify the signature Fiona now held in her mind.  Helena smiled as she released Fiona's hand.  "I see you will be an excellent student.  Aliset, would you go next?"

Aliset nodded and stepped onto the Portal.  "I have the signature, Magistra."

Columcil went next, kneeling as Fiona had done to place his hand on the Portal.  He soon stood and stepped aside for Darcy to take his turn.

Darcy was not surprised at the tingling that spread through his hand; he had felt the same sensation in his feet when he had stepped unknowingly on the Portal at the bottom of the well.  It was the pattern of energy that caused his quick intake of breath.  It was so clear!  He opened his mind to commit it to memory and probed a little deeper, wondering at how the Portal had been constructed....

"Darcy!" Aliset said, a bit sharply.  "You just need to memorize it, not determine how it was put together!"

"Sorry," Darcy said guiltily and quickly stood.

"Perhaps Lord Darcy will someday come to the Schola for more advanced Portal training.  May I verify that you have the signature memorized correctly?" Magistra Helena asked.

If Darcy was slightly affronted, he hid it well.  He placed his larger, calloused hand on the magistra's and allowed her to see the signature in his mind.

"Well done!"  Magistra Helena smiled and then continued.  "In order to transfer between two Portals, you have to know the signature of the portal you are leaving and the one you are travelling to.  If you don't know both clearly, you may never reach your destination and reappear.  Never take Portal travel lightly."  She looked at each of them gravely; Aliset returned her gaze calmly, Columcil nodded, Fiona looked startled and Darcy looked at her warily, his jaw tightening.

"That is the warning we give to all of our students," Helena continued in a lighter tone.  "But with training and practice, it becomes almost second nature and nothing to fear."  Her students relaxed, except, perhaps, for Darcy.

"The other point to remember is that only one person can shift the energies from the Portal you are starting from to the energies of the destination Portal.  In order for two people to transfer together, one must control the jump and the other must surrender completely to the other's control.  If you interfere in any way, no matter how slightly, you may not reach the destination."

Aliset looked toward Darcy and saw his pale blue eyes cloud with concern.  She sighed inwardly, knowing the concern was not for himself.  Yes, it was good he would make his first jump with Father Columcil.

"Before I take Fiona through, I will share the destination signature with Aliset.  Father Columcil, I believe you are familiar with the sacristy Portal?"

"Aye, Magistra,"  Columcil replied. "T'was the first Portal signature Ah learned."

Helena extended her hand to Aliset, who placed her own hand on it to accept the signature.  After a moment, Aliset nodded and withdrew her hand.

"Let us proceed, before we miss all of the festivities.  Fiona, please step onto the Portal and lean backwards into my arms.  Lower your shields and allow me to assume psychic control." 

Fiona took a deep breath and followed the magistra's directions.  Suddenly, they were gone from the Portal. 

"Sweet Jesu," Darcy muttered.

"I'll go next," Aliset said quickly before Darcy could think too much about what he had seen.

"Are you sure it's safe?" Darcy asked, holding out an arm as if to stop her.  "You're sure about the destination?  How will I know you arrived safely?  What about the lassies?"

"Don't worry,  I'll let you know I made it safely," Aliset said, moving toward the Portal. She could not resist adding, "And I assure you, the lassies are coming with me!"

"They bloody well better be!" Darcy snapped.

"Easy, son," Columcil admonished gently. 

Darcy said a hasty, mental prayer to Saint Nicholas as Aliset stepped on the Portal, concentrated for a moment and was gone.

Darcy held his breath until he heard her soft words:  "I'm where I should be, and all of us are well."  "She's safe," Darcy said with relief as he turned toward the priest.

"Aye, ah was feelin' much the same way when my grandda took me through on ma first jump," Columcil said briskly, in the most confident tone he could muster.  "All ye need ta dee is ta open your mind ta me  wi'oot holding back any o'it, and allow me ta tek control o'the transfer."

"That's all?" Darcy asked dryly.

"It's not so different from allowing me to Heal your injuries,"  Columcil said reassuringly.  "Ah ken it took ye a wee bitty ta be comfortable w'it, but  ye trusted me then, and ye can trust me noo, if ye are willing ta."

Darcy hesitated. It wasn't so much a matter of trust; he had learned to trust the grizzled priest who had also become a good friend.  But to give control of his life to another? 

"I'll owe you a tankard once you get us there," Darcy finally said.

"We'll no find a tankard in the sacristy, but Ah ken where we will."  Columcil stepped onto the Portal, and Darcy, after taking a couple of deep breaths, joined him and leaned backward into the priest's arms.  Columcil could feel his friend's nervousness, but after a moment, Darcy's shields rolled back and he relaxed against Columcil's sturdy chest.

Darcy felt a vague, stomach-wrenching shift and then it was over.  For a moment, he, who had never been seasick a day in his life, experienced a surge of vertigo. He felt his wife grip his arm to steady him, and he hastily opened his eyes, relieved to see solid walls and the others all present and accounted for. 

"You can move now," Aliset said and smiled.

"Wasn't it amazing?" Fiona asked, clearly delighted with the experience.

'You could say that," Darcy replied.  "We are indeed in St. George's Cathedral?"

"We are," Magistra Helena replied.  "The festivities are right outside in St. George's Square." 

Darcy quickly calculated the distance and looked appreciatively at the magistra.  "Quite a feat, indeed.  How far can you travel, using a Portal?"

"That depends," Helena replied.

"That could explain it, though," Darcy said thoughtfully.

"Explain what?" Aliset asked.

"Despite its isolation, Isles is a busy place," Darcy began.  "People come and go all the time, but it takes a great deal of time.  When I was a wee lad, my father used to travel frequently, but he never seemed to be gone as long as others were.  Not that I was very good at calculating time then.  All I really needed to know was how long it took to sneak into the kitchens, sprint to the platter of fresh fruit tarts, grab one or two and escape before Cook could catch me."

"Were you good at it?" Aliset could not resist asking.

"Let's just say we were often a bit short of tarts at dinner.  But my point is, Isles must have a Portal. It makes sense to me now.  I'll have to talk to Iain about it."

"Aliset," Helena said thoughtfully.  "If you want to continue Darcy's Portal training before you leave, I can give you the signature of the other Portal we use for training.  We normally avoid using this one so no one suddenly pops in on the Archbishop vesting for services!"

"Thank you, Magistra," Aliset replied.  "I fear we will be quite busy once we return to Mariot. It would be good to continue his training while what we have done is still fresh in his mind."  Not that Darcy ever forgot anything!

"Well," Darcy said, rubbing his hands together in satisfaction.  "I promised Father Columcil a tankard of ale if he got me through safely, and I am a man who keeps his word!  Shall we join the festivities?"

"An excellent idea," they all agreed in unison.

"Lead on, good Father," Darcy said jovially.  "I'll stand for the first round!"
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on July 11, 2021, 12:13:50 PM
Washburn walked the path from St. Hilary's to the king's garden alone.  He was both upset that he was alone and glad for it. He would not have been able to talk to anyone that walked beside him, for his thoughts about finally seeing his brothers were a mix of pain, regret, and relief. But mixed in there too was vulnerability, fear even.

"I am afraid," Duke Alaric had claimed a long time ago. At the edges of Washburn's restored memories. "...I won't cry when I'm afraid. I hold my fear in here." His papa had pointed to his chest. "I use my fear to make certain that I have considered every possibility. Fear keeps me from becoming complacent..."

"Comp play ent...?"
Wash had tried to say at that very young age.

"Aye, son, that is a big word. Complacent... it means to become self-satisfied, to be prideful, to think you are better than everyone else. If you think that, then someone will try to prove you wrong. You must be the best that you can be, promise me that, but don't ever be prideful. And don't ever become complacent, son. Always know that there is more to learn, no matter how good you are, and that there are bad people out there who will try to beat you down.  Use fear to keep your edge sharp, to stay alert." Alaric's finger touched the child's nose. "Now, the thing with fear is that there is a balance, too much fear will stop you, it will blind you. How can you stay alert If you eyes are full of tears?" The warrior's eye's softened with empathy for his adult son. "You are a Morgan, Morgan's face their fears. We don't let fear blind us. When I come home, I will help you be the very best that you can be."

"Thank you, papa, for coming home to me when I needed you most," Washburn responded to the precious memory.

As Wash walked past the hedges and the gate that bordered the royal garden, he saw family members seated under a thatched arbor with lattice walls and climbing roses covering the lattice. This was his mother's favorite spot to enjoy the flowers of summer. Seated under the arbor were his maman and Uncle Duncan. Grania was there embroidering something. An embroidery frame was resting on her belly which was starting to really show under her gown. Her son, Prince Kenneth, was playing quietly at her feet with a wooden knight that looked like his papa. Prince Javan would be with the army until evening.  Brendan was here too. What the heck had he done to his hair? And most telling was his Grace, Duke Kelric. Kelric looked so much like the portrait of their father, now that the disciplines of war had hardened his jaw line and thickened his brows. Wash's step hesitated for a moment. Then gathering his courage, he walked up the path to stand at the edge of the arbor.

Lady Richenda smiled and stood. "At last!" she sighed. "I have all my sons in one place." She grabbed the youngest son's hand and pulled him over to where his elder two brother's sat. She took their right hands and placed them all stacked upon the other. "My family is whole again. Amen!"

As the two brothers stood, Washburn felt shame. He dropped to his knees. "I am sorry for what I did, and what I didn't do, and mostly what I thought."

"What did you think?" Kelric requested. "I mean what thoughts were really yours, not those placed by the other, that would require you to apologize to me?"

Washburn hesitated, he was very ashamed of the thoughts that the Scholar had placed in his mind, but he had already reconciled which thoughts had not been his. Still there were a few of his own making which brought him grief and shame. He ducked his head, unable to look his brother in the eyes. "I had the notion that no one was trying to find me. I thought I had been abandoned."

Kelric gritted his teeth. "Just because neither Brendan nor I could find you, did not mean you were abandoned. I want you to know that we both tried. And when each of us got too close, we were warned off. I swear that it tore our hearts to have to come away empty handed and leave your rescue and care in someone else's hands."

"Your Grace... Kelric.... I mean brother, I.... I know why you were warned, and now I am glad of it. What if we had met back then...?  When I could have done something.... Treasonous?"

"You didn't do anything... treasonous!" Kelric tried to reassure.

"Heavens, No!"  Washburn called out, "You would be burying me in a traitor's grave, and rightly so!"   He buried his head in the extended hands of both of his brothers, thankful that it had not come to pass.

"Then stand up, little brother and give me a hug.  Do I have to make it an order?"

"No," Washburn said as he stood and found himself embraced by his loving brother, Kel.

"Thank Camber!" Brendan yelled out.

"Amen to that!" Kelric answered.

Brendan came forward for a brotherly hug, but Wash held him at arm's length for a moment asking, "What did you do to your hair?" His elder brother's curly mud colored hair was a shock to see, especially the carrot colored roots showing at the scalp.

"Tried to disguise myself to come after you! What do you think? At least I didn't cut mine off."

"Is my haircut that obvious?" Wash had to ask.

"The tonsure that Father Columcil let slip that you had? No. But the hand-width length cut off all around is kind of obvious."

Wash accepted that truth with a smile. "At least mine will grow back to normal.  I am not sure that you can do anything with that color for a long time. You could cut yours all off too."

"You, little brother, would think that is funny." And before Wash could agree, Brendan ruffled Washburn's short hair and then captured him in a bear hug.

The brothers laughed more just for the joy of being together and then they all finally sat and drank filled tankards of ale.

"Cassan's best ale. Did Dhugal send this?"

"Not exactly," Branden replied. "A hoard of the stuff was found in an inn in the middle of town. The owner paid off his tax debt to the kingdom by giving a portion of it to the king. So it really is a gift from Kelson."

"I have missed a lot, haven't I?"

"We will have time to catch you up," Brendan said, raising his tankard to Washburn.

"Grania, are you embroidering something for the baby?" Washburn asked his sister.

"No, this is for you, silly." She held up the framed green fabric and Wash could see the white hand, palm-out, that she was adding to his new banner pennant.

"But that's...?"

"The Secular Healers Badge," Duncan answered. "I found a reference to it in the scrolls in the library.  The Gabrialite Healers were a green hand with a white star, whereas that piece of fabric you brought to me proved to be the badge of the secular Healers: a white hand with a green star. I thought it fitting that our healers should start displaying this distinction to show their commitment to the healing art."

"And I thought," Grania proudly declared, "that as the first one to display it, it should be part of your banner." She waved the nearly completed banner for everyone to see.

"Wait," Kelric spoke up. "I am glad of the Corwyn green base, but you have to tell me, what is it that made you pick a red dragon? Not a red Gryphon or a green stag, but a dragon? It is not quite right for the Morgan name."

Wash looked at Kelric puzzled. "Did papa never tell you the story?"

"What story? Don't tell me there is a family secret I am not privy to?"

"You don't know, do you? Grania, you know, tell our brother about the time papa fell from Grace, then I will tell you of the dream vision that I had, It involved flying on the back of a great red dragon."

"Grania, what is he talking about? You can not leave me in the dark,"  Kelric reverently asked.

"You remember the time when papa fell ill?" Grania said as she began her story all the while her fingers embroidered the white hand onto the green banner.

Washburn was happy to hear his sister talking and then when his time came, he described at length the rescue of his subconscious by a large winged dragon who smelled of sulfur and spouted flame.

His brothers were in awe and clapped Washburn's shoulders, and at the end of the telling, he wrapped his two brothers in a warrior's embrace.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Bynw on July 13, 2021, 11:44:47 AM
Within Rhemuth Castle there are many dignitaries, guests, their servants, men-at-arms, and countless others within its walls and gardens. All there for the coming celebration ceremony by King Kelson to officially commemorate the end of the most recent Mearan Rebellion.

Courtesans and lesser known lords and ladies mingle about. Some taking refuge in the library, the gardens, some in the padded window casements overlooking the various gardens. Sitting to read a scroll, book, or letter.

A small group, obviously from the Forcinn given their manner of dress. And being more openly Deryni during this grand period of enlightenment in Gywnedd. Discuss the Gywnedd's Schola in the windows overlooking the Royal gardens.

Unknown to most of them they get to be witness to reuniting of the sons of the late Alaric Morgan. Although one glances out of the window to the gardens below and smiles as Washburn Morgan is raised back to his feet and welcomed by his brothers.

The discussion continues for a time and the group moves to other areas of the castle waiting for the celebration. Lost in the crowds.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Laurna on July 13, 2021, 01:09:23 PM
((I want to thank Jerusha, Derynifank and Revanne for helping me flush out this scene and making it a true ceremony of Rhemuth))

The velvet tunic was too warm and the cut was a little off; the shoulders were wide and the girth was tight. Had he changed that much in just two months. Standing at the side of the crowded Great Hall, Washburn straightened his back and pulled in his gut.  He dared the rumor starters to say he had gained weight. Damn if it was not true. The result of non-existent training sessions and recent celebrations of life with friends and family through good food and ale. And yet to come was still another grand feast, the one that would follow this recognition ceremony. It was planned to be as lavish as Twelfth Night. Washburn took note of his tight belt and was thankful it would be the last grand feast until winter. He purposely lifted his arms running his fingers through his hair. The shortness of it no longer bothered him. However the movement allowed the waistline of his tunic to slide up under his belt to somewhere that the cut of cloth was a bit wider. When he put his arms down, the fabric looped a little over his knight's belt. But never mind that, it was much more comfortable.  Columcil at his side looked at him oddly. Washburn simply  laughed. What would a priest know about the current fashion of close fitting garments?  Under priestly robes the cleric could eat to his heart's content, adding pounds, and no one would be the wiser.

Wash looked up from his tunic, which was all in Corwyn green- or now he could consider it Healer's green- with the Morgan-styled edging in gold and new badge on his left shoulder of a white hand with a green star centered on the palm. Before him stood Lord Darcy who was fidgeting even more than he. Once more the seaman was in his formal dress plaid as Heir of Isles and his lady wife, the lovely Aliset, wore her emerald silk gown with the Mariot plaid sash over her right shoulder, pinned with the broach that had once belonged to her twin brother. Washburn smiled at the back of the couple before him. Darcy was just barely enduring Aliset's hold on his arm, presumably she was keeping his hand from brushing back the Isles' silver circlet off his head.

A hush fell across the Great Hall. Wash looked around to see everyone's eyes were on the king and the young men he'd called forward for knighting as a group. This was unlike Twelfth Night. Many of these men had earned the accolade, not through peerage, but through heroism and loyalty on the field of battle. They could not have afforded knighthood, but their deeds had brought them to the forefront; barons, earls, dukes, and princes alike sponsored them to stand before their king. It was a great honor for men of common heritage to receive the accolade. A change of fortunes for many.  The festivities in the streets of Rhemuth had heightened with cheers for these young men the night before, as they had entered the Doors of Saint Georges Cathedral to begin their vigil. Now after the morning's parade from cathedral to castle, the young men stood proud before their king. Their sponsors bent down to place spurs upon their candidates' boots and then the candidates spoke their vows to the king in one voice. As a group they all knelt before each of their sponsors, proven knights of the realm all, they received their dubbing. Twenty swords moved from the right shoulder over the head and then to the left shoulder to affirm the knighting of each candidate. At the end, Kelson reasserted his vow, naming each of them in turn and the archbishop followed by giving a group blessing. What followed was a huge cheer in the hall; for many families this was a new beginning.

As the families rushed up to hug the new knights. Wasburn was surprised to see Fiona was one of them. She raced up and hugged a young man.

"Who is Lady Fiona congratulating?" Washburn asked of Columcil, hoping he did not sound jealous.

"Ye saw heem earlier oan th' King's Green. That is her coosin, Michael Stuart. Ah am glad he has earned th' accolade." Wash nodded. If it had not been for Michael's now forgiven transgression, Wash might never have come to be acquainted with Lady Fiona. He must be sure to greet the young man and offer him training.

Fiona rushed up to Michael, hugging him tightly. "I am so proud of you, I'm about to burst. You must have worked very hard to earn such approval from the Earl of Marley that he was your sponsor for knighthood. Look at Uncle Mac and Aunt Olivia as they give their gratitude to the earl, I dare say they are both so very proud of you."

Michael returned her hug, grinning hugely. "I did put forth every effort to learn from Earl Brendan and to meet his expectations. I plan to remain in his service and to continue my endeavor to become an honored knight of the realm as he is. He has agreed to retain me in his service and to continue my training. I couldn't have a better mentor." Michael turned to exchange hugs with his mother and father whose pride and happiness shone in their faces.

Fiona was so very pleased with her cousin's new future, but there was another she was seeking who certainly must be somewhere in the crowd. She stood on tiptoe, trying to see through the hundreds standing in the great hall to find that other person who was close to her heart and was also being honored today.

When the hall finally settled, the king rose to address those gathered before him.  "There are many We have honored for their bravery in suppressing the Mearan Rebellion.  In order to leave time for the celebratory feast to follow," several heads nod in appreciation, "some of the transfers and confirmations of lands have already been bestowed. However, since We would not want to deny anyone the public recognition they so richly deserve, they will be called forward to present themselves for your acknowledgement and congratulations."

The third pair of names that were called made Washburn smile broadly.

"Lord Darcy Cameron and Lady Aliset Cameron, please step forward," the steward called. 

Darcy held out his arm for his wife's hand and brought her forward at his side.

"Lord and Lady Cameron, you have been pledged to take responsibility for the Barony of Caer Mariot; care for the land and for the people. Your mentor shall be Duke Rory Haldane of Meara and the laws of King Kelson of Gwynedd shall guide your hand," the steward announced.

Darcy turned his wife toward the king, and they bowed and curtseyed.  Kelson nodded his head in acknowledgement, but Darcy caught the slight smile at the corners of his mouth.  By rights, Aliset should have been announced first, but the king had chosen to ignore that protocol.  Darcy doubted that anyone in the hall would recognize the significance of Aliset's plaid sash.  As she had at Iain's wedding, she wore it across her chest and fastened with the eagle's broach on her right shoulder, signifying that she wore the plaid of her family, rather than that of her husband's.  As rightly she should, as Lady of Mariot.  Father Columcil gave him a questioning look; the border priest was aware of the significance.

They remained standing in line as the others were called forward.  There were twelve in all who were awarded rights to lands and manors. Some of them had been among the newly dubbed knights, and the faces of their families, and a few sweethearts, glowed with pride.

With a sweep of his hand, Kelson acknowledged the group.  There was much clapping, and Washburn gave an enthusiastic cheer, causing both Darcy and Aliset to smile.

Darcy escorted Aliset back to a good vantage point to watch Washburn receive his honors.  How well deserved they were!  In time, he and Aliset would earn the honor of the Barony of Caer Mariot, of that he had no doubt, but in truth, right now he didn't give a dolphin's nose about it!  The greatest honor the king could have bestowed upon him had been her hand resting on his arm.  That he had wedded his heart's desire, his beautiful, intelligent Aliset, still amazed him. As if reading his thoughts, she turned to him and graced him with one of her loveliest smiles.  Darcy felt smugly content.

Wash gulped, knowing he would soon be called. Indeed, the steward called out clear as day, "Lord Washburn Alaric Morgan, Please come forward and present yourself to the king."  As he stepped forward, so did his standard bearer step out behind him. He had not yet seen the finished banner of his new heraldry, as his sister had been still embroidering on it the day before. He dared to glance at it:

Vert, dexter chief couped right hand argent, pierced in the palm with VIII pointed star vert,  Dragon passant wings elevated gules, double tressure fleury-counter-fleury or.

(https://www.rhemuthcastle.com/gallery/18693_11_07_21_11_51_14.jpeg)

Washburn walked forward with pride.

At last Fiona heard his name called and saw Washburn step forward to kneel before the king to receive acknowledgement. She was so excited and happy for him that she could barely contain herself. She watched, hardly breathing, as the ritual proceeded.

"The king has resolved to bestow upon you the barony once called Buckley, located on the Cuilteine road west of Arx Fidei Abbey.  Your request to rename the Barony, Morgan Manor, has been granted and the name duly added to the treasury records. You are hereby given full privilege of the peerage of the Kingdom of Gwynedd and all the responsibilities this entails. If you accept this duty, then kneel before your sovereign and accept the writ of lordship from his hand."

Washburn was overwhelmed. He knelt before the king and gave his vow as baron to watch over the people of his land and to in turn collect and pay tribute to the king. It was a blur with the king's strong hands enfolding his, and then there was a strange intake of breath made by several people in the great hall. His standard bearer made the greatest exclamation. Washburn looked back just in time to see the pennant waver and the emblem of the dragon pull himself free of the fabric and take flight. It breathed fire into the air, and then circled the hall, came to hover before the king, then alighted with talons touching the scroll the king held outward. Then the little dragon breathed fire again, lifted into the air, and vanished, leaving behind only his likeness on Washburn's banner.  The king laughed as did most of the Deryni.

Washburn was mortified!

"That is a good spell," Kelson declared, as he looked back over his left shoulder. 

Seated at the queen's feet, young Prince Kenneth smiled gleefully. "Isn't it wonderful, grand-mama!" the boy cried out. "I just knew it, that dragon can fly and breathe fire, just like in the story!" Everyone who heard, could not help but laugh.

Kelson started again as he handed the writ of the barony across to Wash. But then it wasn't just Kelson's hand on the scroll. A hand shimmering in a ghostly hue, with the signet of Corwyn on one finger and the ring of the king's champion on another finger, encompassed the scroll. Wash sucked in a breath as he looked up to see the form and face of Alaric Morgan, a little aged from his last portrait, standing just to the right and slightly behind the king, as he had done so often in life. Kelson bit his lip, looking back to see the essence of his dearest friend and a tear slid down his cheek. "I am not the only one proud of you." Kelson said very quietly to Wash. Then the writ had passed into Washburn's hands and the ghostly figure was gone. Wash bowed with a step back and he was being congratulated by friends before he remembered to take in a breath.

"Did you see that?" he asked his brothers.

Kelric thumped his back, "The dragon? Of course we did. Everyone who is Deryni saw it."

"No, the other..." Wash asked, but Kelric and Brendan did not know what he meant. 

But then he looked up at his maman and saw the tears in her eyes. She nodded and beckoned him to her side, "I just saw your papa, and he whispered to me- "My beloved banshee. I will always love you and I am proud of all our children." Richenda could barely breathe for the tears that rolled down her cheeks. "I can not explain it except as a manifestation of your papa's enduring love for you and for all of us," she said softly.

Wash gave his mother a hug and tucked his head into her shoulder for a moment. "I can not explain what I saw either, but I know papa has been watching over me, and that is the explanation l feel is right."  he said quietly. Then he brushed back the wetness at the corner of his eyes and held her hand as the steward of the ceremony called forth its last recipient.

"It is with pleasure that King Kelson wishes to have it known that the Barony of Isles has been elevated to an Earldom and the coastal Baronies of Naver, Weis, Loch Ness, and MacIntire have been incorporated under the Earldom of Isles.  Pressing business in Isles has made it necessary for Earl Iain Cameron and his Countess of Isles to return there at once; they have left Rhemuth for this purpose."

Washburn was upset over the news of Iain's leaving. He had intended to ask the new earl, now that he was officially a baron with a manor and income, for permission to court the Lady Fiona MacIntire. This was not a subject he could not have broached before now and he did not want to put in writing. But when would he be able to stand before Iain again to make such a request. Washburn's dismay was interrupted by the murmurings of the people near him. He heard whispers of, "Who is the countess?" "When did Lord of Isles become married?" "She must be from some foreign lands in the east to make peace with the Torenthi for that fiasco of the Tolan Fleet." "You must be right, who else would live in the harsh climate of Isles but a daughter of Tolan."

No one knew the truth, and they would not hear it from Washburn's lips nor from anyone who truly knew. But Wash had to agree with the timing of the Countess of Isles being whisked away before such a truth could even be guessed.

Then it was over and everyone was milling around the great hall, gossiping about the new knights, the end of the war, and the new countess.  Washburn stood his ground, taller than most, looking over heads for the one prettiest girl in the hall. He couldn't find her at first, but then he turned to finally see her coming toward him, her cheeks flushed rosily, smiling happily with hands outstretched. He took her hands in his and squeezed them. "I am so proud of you!" she exclaimed a little breathlessly. "You are now a baron with a manor of your own. That is so exciting. And how did that dragon move off your banner and breathe over the writ and the king as he handed it to you. It was almost like a sign of approval. Can dragons do that?"

Fiona bounced a little on her toes not waiting for his answer. "I can hardly wait to start my studies at the Schola! There is so much to learn! I hope that we will also be able to see each other as we attend classes. I know yours as a healer will be different from mine, but surely we will see each other."  Wash wanted to hold her hands tighter and answer her with assurance, but his brothers and sister were gathering around, and Fiona excused herself to return to her own family. He watched her move away to where Michael stood with the Baron and Baroness, delighted with their newly knighted son. Washburn was happy to see them here appearing so pleased.


Food, wine, music and Dancing were planned to follow, filling the afternoon and night until the rise of dawn. He would find a way to dance many dances with the beautiful Fiona.
Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: revanne on July 13, 2021, 06:57:46 PM
Columcil was content to stand on the sidelines as others around him relaxed into the informality of the late evening, a welcome reaction to the intense emotion of the army's return: the pride of those honoured by the King mixed with sadness for those who would not be coming back.

He had watched with joy the honouring of his friends and now, nursing Darcy's promised tankard of rich brown ale, he allowed his gaze to follow them as they danced together. He wished them happiness. In a while he would slip away to the Archbishop's chapel and offer the night office of Matins for their well-being.

He watched another with rather more complicated emotions, not all of them conducive to his spiritual well-being, and he was more than irritated with himself that he seemed unable to ignore the man's presence. Jaxom was there, how could he not be? His sins and crimes were forgiven, at least outwardly, and he must have acquitted himself well enough in his Highness's army, or he would not be there tonight. Nor, as Columcil watched, could his conduct really be faulted this evening. Jaxom had congratulated Fiona's cousin Michael on his knighthood, as was only proper from one borderer to another - one miscreant to another said the censorious voice in Columcil's head - but made no attempt to push himself forward or draw attention to himself. Perhaps the man really had learnt humility. What had started out as a tedious ride to assist some strangers on his father's behalf had turned into something far more profound.

But what of himself, thought Columcil. What had he gained from this journey? Perhaps many would feel sorry for him as his companions seemed destined to pair up and find love with each other. The poor celibate priest, condemned to his cold and narrow bed, only ever watching from the sidelines at human happiness. Or worse, snatching at any illicit liaison out of sheer desperation. Columcil almost choked on his ale as he remembered some of the stories his grandda had told him of his own narrow escapes from the more rapacious manhunters. How could you explain the joys of the priest's life to those who thought only of the satisfaction of human appetites? Not to mention that narrow beds might be cold but were blessedly free of someone else's snoring.

No, what he had gained was friendship. Friendship with those who were far out of his station, and whom he would never likely have met had God not shaken him out of his comfortable life. Comfortable, but perhaps lonelier than he had realised, without those with whom he could share a common story and even kinship. He was content that his kinship of the flesh with Archbishop Duncan and Washburn could not be acknowledged publicly, for they shared the deeper spiritual kinship of their healer's calling. He realised that he was glad that he had set out on this road, and as he did so he heard, just at the edge of hearing, a soft, kindly, but distinctly amused laughter which could only be that of St Melangell.


(Still not quite the end.)



Title: Re: Ghosts of the Past
Post by: Jerusha on July 16, 2021, 01:32:49 PM
Laurna, revanne, DerynifanK and I collaborated on this scene; it is definitely not mine alone!

Darcy Cameron looked at the Earl of Marley's men who were readying to return to Marley and sighed.  They took up the largest part of the Rhemuth Castle courtyard, as was their right.  Darcy, Aliset and their horses, along with the men who would ride with them to Morgan Manor and Caer Mariot, had moved to the back of the courtyard.  They would start with ten men-at-arms travelling with them; four would stay with Washburn at Morgan Manor, and six would continue on to Caer Mariot with them.  It made sense, Darcy thought with an inward smile.  Washburn was worth at least two men-at-arms just by himself.

He had wanted to leave Rhemuth earlier, but he had spent a day with Aliset, learning how to safely transfer by Portal.  He felt quite confident in his newly-learned skill.  He had hoped to leave at first light this morning, but Aliset had slept like a rock after the day's training and was in no mood to rise early. By the time their horses were saddled and they were ready to go, Earl Brendan and his men had already claimed the courtyard.

Washburn was now standing with Earl Brendan, no doubt wishing him well on his journey home.  Fiona was with her cousin Michael, probably doing the same.

"I'm glad you are safely returned to me," Aliset said softly.

"Why, thank you, love!" Darcy responded.

Aliset stopped stroking her horse's soft muzzle and looked at him.  "I was referring to Papillon."

Darcy grinned.  "Aye, I knew that."

Aliset gave a somewhat indelicate snort and then turned to look as the Earl's men began to mount up.  She noticed a familiar figure turn toward them on his horse.

"Bloody hell," Darcy murmured as he recognized the man who approached.

Lord Jaxom Trillick stopped his horse before them.  "Lady Aliset, Darcy," he said in greeting.

Aliset felt Darcy bristle.  "Lord Jaxom," he responded.

'I understand you are returning to Mariot.  Your travels will bring you very close to my father's manor.  I have a letter for him, explaining that I will be serving with the Earl of Marley for several seasons.  Would you be so kind as to deliver it to him?" Jaxom asked.

"Certainly," Aliset answered when Darcy hesitated to reply.  "After all, it is on our way."

"I'm sure my father will be happy to offer a night's lodging in return."  Jaxom leaned forward to hand the folded and sealed piece of parchment to Aliset.

Darcy reached forward and intercepted the letter.  Jaxom scowled as Darcy added the letter to an internal pocket in his sea bag.  "We'll deliver it safely," Darcy said cheerfully.  "Safe journey," he added.

Jaxom straightened, nodded, and turned his horse back to the Earl of Marley's men.  As he did so, a peacock in one of the castle gardens let loose a loud, indignant scream.  Jaxom's horse shied from the noise and took a few rapid steps forward before Jaxom could settle him.

Aliset giggled, Darcy broke into a wide smile and Father Columcil, who had waited to join them until after Jaxom left, whispered, "Mea culpa."

Washburn clasped arms with his elder brother then pulled him into a bear hug. Then he stepped back as Brendan mounted his horse. "Safe travels!" he called as the earl turned his horse to join his men. "We will meet again soon."

Fiona gave Michael a last hug as she also said farewell. Michael mounted his horse and urged him forward, following the earl. She stepped back away from the men and horses who were forming up and beginning to move out in columns of two toward the Bishop's gate and the road home.

Washburn drew Fiona away from the departing men toward where Darcy was assembling the men who would accompany both of them north toward their newly acquired manors. To one side of the courtyard there was an arbor under which there was a stone bench. He led Fiona over toward it and seated her. He remained standing close. "You can watch us depart from here without being in danger of being stepped on by one of the horses. They are milling about and are not careful where they put their feet. Your feet are much too pretty to be bruised by a careless hoof." He grinned at her as she blushed.

She looked up at him with a disconsolate expression. "It is hard to watch all of you ride off and to be left behind. I shall miss you so. We have been together constantly, and I shall feel quite lonely with you gone."

Wash smiled at the young lady sympathetically. "Come now. Where is all that excitement you have been showing us? You will be busy preparing to move into the dormitory at the Schola, you will need to unpack the things your aunt brought as well as the things you had with you and settle in. You will also be meeting fellow students and teachers. There is much to learn and you will be too busy to miss us too much. Think of it! You have achieved your dream, you are here and ready to start on your journey of learning about your Deryni powers."

Wash continued. "I am traveling to view the manor the king has bestowed on me and to meet the steward there. I also need to make myself known to the people and to let them know I will be a fair lord who will consider their needs and to begin to discover what those needs are.  I need to begin to build trust in my rule. I will miss you also, but I will be back before you have time to think and miss me."

"I know that it is important that you learn about the manor which is now yours. I know you will be a splendid lord," Fiona responded. But she still was not her usual bubbly self.

She reached up to touch his face. Wash took her hand and kissed it. "I must get Shadow and join the others or our captain will be cross with me. But I will be returning to join you and Father Columcil at the Schola. We will meet again soon. Until then, farewell and pay attention to your lessons. When I return you will already have outpaced me."

Wash was musing about the soft touch of the girl's fingers on his cheek and his subsequent kiss of her hand. If only there were not so many people about, he would have stolen a kiss. At least in his dreams.  A little dazed by the crowded courtyard, Wash was instantly relieved when he found his three friends standing to the side with two horses. Wash came over to them and Darcy immediately asked. "Do you plan to walk there?"

"It is the first I have thought of it, but I think I am going to need a squire." Wash jested. "Hold up while I get Shadow out of the stables."

"Ay'll join ye," Columcil said as they both walked to the stable where their horses waited. Wash settled the bridle on Shadow's head and looked over to see the good father giving Spean a brushing in the next stall.

"Cous'," Wash stopped himself at his cousin's sharp look. "Sorry, Father. Will you be coming with us?"

"Nay! Not today, but ma Spean is worrit wi' all the mither, an' I want ta mek sure that he kens right enow tha' he is biding wi' me."

"You don't have to stay behind. You can be my first guest at my new Barony."

"T'would be an honour m'laird." Columcil bowed. "But no' jaist yet. Sister Helena askit me ta spend some time wi' her afore the maist o' the students come frae their homes. There's not so many of the young ones that ha'e an interest in th'herbs that the Guid Laird gave tae us fur healing, and the sister speirs tha' mebbes the twae o'us can learn from each other."

Wash came behind his horse and clapped his cousin on the shoulder. "Give me until after the next full moon. I will have the hearths cleaned, the beds freshly stuffed and the larders well stocked. And that includes good ale and good mead. Then you have to come to Morgan Manor; I will not take No for an answer." Columcil ducked his head not wanting to commit.

"Oh no! You will come and we will ride out to the small church where you married Darcy and Aliset. And I want to hear the whole story this time."

"Ye ken well enow yon tale..." Columcil began.

"Those pursed lips and secretive smile that Uncle Duncan made when last the subject came up... means there is something that someone isn't saying. And I just have to know what it is."

Columcil pursed his lips in a secretive smile. "Naught else happened."

Wash just laughed, "I promise you that the mead will be very good and plentiful on the day we visit the church. You will tell me a tale and then I will tell you how I attempted to attract a rabbit into my reach but somehow your sweet lady Saint must have put her hand out and silently said, 'Not my Rabbits'."

Now Columcil really did smile. He nodded and finally agreed. "Th'mead better be gey guid, and aye, I'll be there. I gi'e ye ma word on it ."

He would be there of course, there was never any doubt, but it did no harm, thought Columcil to tease these Morgans a little. Or at least this Morgan. The Duke was a different matter. He wondered if Washburn knew yet of his brother's hopes.

He returned to brushing Spean, allowing his mind to return to the previous night. He had slipped into the empty Chapel and offered his prayers, as in duty bound, for the King, then for his grandfather, and for his friends out of love. He rose from his knees, genuflected, and was about to gratefully seek out his bed when a hand clasped his shoulder and a voice spoke his name, almost causing him to stumble. A second hand grasped his arm and steadied him before continuing,

"I ask your pardon for startling you, but I needed to talk in private. This is not the first time a chapel has served such a purpose for us."

The hands were withdrawn leaving him free to turn and Columcil did so, sinking to his knee as he recognised both face and voice.

"Yer Grace, Ah'm gey honoured, but Ah dinna ken..." His voice trailed off and he got a grip on himself. One did not maunder on in brogue before a Duke of the realm. He began again, "At your service, Your Grace."

Kelric, Duke of Corwyn, smiled and bent to raise the man before him.

"I hope that it is I who can be of service to you. You have been a good friend to my brother, when he had few enough." Kelric's face hardened and Columcil sensed both anger and regret before they were quickly veiled and Kelric continued, "and Morgans do not forget those who have served them. I know that the kinship of the flesh we share cannot be openly acknowledged - Duncan has spoken to me, in a confidence I shall not break, so do not fear - but you and Wash share something deeper still, a kinship of the spirit."

Columcil said nothing, his experience of dukes, limited as it was, had not inspired him with confidence. He knew that Washburn's memories of his brother had been twisted but he was still a little wary. Perhaps Kelric sensed something of this because his next words were reassuring.

"It matters deeply to me that Washburn should not only have been freed from evil but that he should flourish in the use of the gifts he has been given. And our family would be truly honoured if you were to share in that. I know that Washburn intends to invite you to stay with him at his new manor, and has thoughts of asking you to be his Chaplain. I am asking you to accept when it is offered and not to allow your pride to stand in the way."

Kelric looked a little embarrassed before continuing, "Forgive me for being direct, and even impertinent, and I would ask you not to repeat this, but though your father has not made you free of his name, I sense he has endowed you with a full share of his stubbornness."

Columcil could not hide a smile at the truth of that, but knew he must voice his hesitation and not allow himself to be swept on to assuage a Duke's conscience.

"Begging Your Grace's pardon but I am a healer not a chaplain."

"And so is Wash a healer, though he must be lord of a manor too, if he is to have an income and raise a family. My hope is that, with your help, Wash can remain true to his calling as a healer. Perhaps even make of Morgan Manor a place of pilgrimage and healing, if God so wills it." He added so softly that Columcil was not sure whether he was meant to hear, "I think our father would have liked that. He was forced, as I have been, to be a man of war, but his heart was that of a healer." Then he said briskly, "Now I must go, and leave you to seek your bed. But please think on what I have said. And once again you have my thanks and that of my family." He bent and kissed Columcil's brow, then quietly slipped out of the door leaving a somewhat bemused country priest behind him.

Columcil gave Spean a final brush and firmly returned himself to the present and the patient  Washburn.  The cousins clasped shoulders and then hugged like brothers. After a calming hand on Spean's shoulder, Columcil left his horse in the stable and followed Wash and Shadow out to the courtyard to join their friends. Fiona had moved from the arbor and now stood closer to where Darcy and Aliset were preparing to leave. She felt someone standing near her. She turned her head to see Father Columcil now standing beside her. His presence was a comfort to her. At least they were not all leaving her here alone.

"We'd best be getting started, or we'll lose the day we have left," Darcy said briskly.  Washburn nodded, and Darcy moved to check Papillon's saddle girth.

"Darcy, that is the fourth time you have checked it." Aliset said and rolled her eyes heavenward.

"Once for you," Darcy said as he straightened.  "Once for me, and once for each of the lassies."  He moved to help her mount, but she stopped him.

"Wait," she said.  "Father," Aliset said.  "Would you be so kind as to give us your blessing for our journey?"

"It would be mah pleasure," he responded, and Washburn, Darcy and Aliset arranged themselves before him, heads bowed.  Fiona, unobtrusively side-stepped next to Washburn,  and bowed her head as well.

It was from the very depths of his heart that Columcil spoke the words of the old border blessing:

May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind always be at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face;
The rains fall upon your fields and until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of His hand.

Colmucil made the sign of the cross on each forehead as they lifted their heads.  Suddenly, Aliset threw her arms around the priest and hugged him tightly.  She had no sooner released him when Darcy gripped his forearm and reached around him to hug him as well.

Washburn was a little more restrained as he gripped the priest's arm after Darcy moved back.  "I'll be returning.  Keep an eye on Fiona for me?"

"Aye, have no fear o'that," Columcil replied, and Fiona smiled.  "Now off with you and Godspeed!"

Darcy helped his wife up onto Papillon's saddle and then mounted his own Sigrun.  Shadow Dancer and Washburn stood ready.  Their men were mounted and waiting.

Darcy, without the slightest hesitation, raised his arm and signalled for them to move out.  Washburn grinned at Aliset, who smiled and shrugged. Washburn turned in the saddle to glance back.  He saw Fiona standing beside the good father, waving, giving them a bright smile.  Wash could not help but to return her smile and wave.  To send them on their way, Columcil sketched the sign of the cross as a final blessing.  Fiona tried to hide her distress at Wash's leaving; she wanted him to think of her often, but not to worry about her.  She waved until they were through the courtyard gate.

They wound their way down from the castle and turned toward the Bishop's Gate.  They had only a short wait at Ferry Landing before crossing the Eirian River. Once their men-at-arms were all across, Darcy gave Washburn a chagrined look.

"As Baron of Morgan Manor, it is your right to lead us," Darcy said quietly.  "I overstepped my bounds."

"Are you not still our Captain?" Washburn asked in reply.  "Since when do you not lead us?  I think we had this discussion before, and settled the question to our satisfaction!"

"Then let's go!" Darcy gave the knight a smart seaman's salute.  He signaled the men and turned his horse north to follow the road, Aliset riding at his side and Washburn close behind.

Back to where it had all started....

Back to new beginnings....


And so our journey ends.  Thanks to all who followed us along every twist and turn, shared moments of joy or moments of sheer terror!  We hope you enjoyed it as much as we did.  When we ride again, we hope you come along too!