Burgundy: Origin of the Free Company: Book One

[Rictus]

Edward was seated on the eastern most tip of the village wall, in between breaks from repairing the walls and overseeing the defences. He was lovingly cleaning his sword, long strokes, not scrubbing, but gentle. He let his mind wander.
He'd lost three men in that rush for the gate, and twice that many wounded. But the effect was there, and Edward wasn't asking for high casaulties to be inflicted on the French, what he wanted was to drive them away and in that, he had succeeded. Barely. It was hit and miss whether his plan would work and right up to the moment they started to retreat, he was doubting his decision.

Walace sauntered up to him, wearing a determined expression.
"I want to have a word with yoo" said the HIghlander,

"Go on"

"Aboot Barkmier"

"What 'aboot' Barkdreg?"

"Well..."

 

[Lord Durham]

Danish King: It's a bitch when the Internet craps out for a couple of days and you lose your place.

You were in the village. If you missed the start of that go back a page or two to the map of the village I provided. The battle's over for now. If you can edit the line referring to the Captain and mention something about Edward and reinforcements arriving that would be cool.

Oh, thanks Rictus... God Bless 'Preview Reply'

 

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Morning, April 2nd. Between Orleans and Paris.

Pishtaco trudged through the forest, cursing each individual tree as he passed it. He had hoped that taking Captain's coin would mean that he had slept under his last bush. Since leaving Scotland, for every week that he had found civilized work as an assistant to a scholar or a physician, he had spent a month casting horoscopes to round out the act of a mountebank, or selling herbs and charms from village to village in company with a wandering healer. He had learnt a few things, and chief amongst these were the virtues of having a roof over one's head at night.

Surely they must be far enough away from Orleans by now. The scouts, however, would sometimes decree that the road was unsafe, and Pishtaco and Clerk would have to follow them through this hell while they showed off their woodcraft to one another.

There was a signal from ahead, and he slumped thankfully to the forest floor. It would probably be another lecture on "Hygiene Compromises one must make in the Field", or the hundredth cry of "How's that, fifty paces upwind and straight in the eye, not a mark on the pelt! Now turn him over, see if he's got any money."

Lochlan moved back towards him. "Horsemen passing on the road. We'll move out in ten minutes." Pishtaco nodded and began to curse individual blades of grass.

 

[Lord Durham]

April 1 - Night


"Well Captain," Sir Sobieski began, but was distracted by a noise outside the tent.
Bloomfielde got up and poked his head outside. There was some frantic talking, then Bloomfielde turned to face Captain and the Knight. "Time to go. It seems Wallace and Barkdreg have brought the wrath of God down on their heads. Edward should be there."

"Wrath of God?"

"Brigands. French brigands. Not sure of the numbers."

Captain shook his head. "So much for a gentle siege. Get Pohlman and his archers, you grab your men and gather the Knights. We ride for the village now."

"What about Dashart?"

"What about him? He's busy, isn't he?"


-----------------------------------------------

Just so there's no confusion, that will include Pohlman, Scherer, Alberic, Faolan, Greystoke, de Caze and Sobieski. The Fort's in the hands of the NPCs. Lochlan, Pishtaco, Clerk and Buckeye are somewhere north scouting, and a certain drunken cavalryman is making gunpowder.

 

[Forster]

Originally posted by Rictus
The last time, Forster did it, I think.

Yep, but anyone who had been following the thread should have
realized it was a typo. Sheesh!

 

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midday april 2nd

It was the screaming that finally drove him mad, the children would'nt stop. No matter how many times he had to watch them die, they would not stop screaming. He walked into the village, armed only with a knife. Five men charged him, all faceless, they were always faceless now. The first one died with Lochlans knife in his gut. He had to reach the children. The second blocked his knife thrust while the third slashed at his chest. Lochlan took a brutal cut to his ribs, but carried the second man down with him, crushing his adams apple. The fourth kicked him while he was on the ground, Lochlan groaned and tried to stand. This time the third smashed the back of his head with the hilt of his sword. Lochlan stabbed the man through the foot with his knife. He had to reach the children. The third man went down screeming, but his screem was muted as if he was only somewhat real. The fourth man laughed and kicked Lochlan in the face. He had to reach the children. The fifth man sank his sword through Lochlans back as he tried to crawl forward, He had to reach the children. The two remaining faceless men laughed as the children continued to scream.

Lochlan awoke with a start, drawing his knife and almost killing clerk who had nudged him awake.

"Sorry, he said. Force of habit." He looked around, they were in a small grove of tree's just off the road where they had stopped for a few hours to get some sleep. "Alright boys, lets go time to get moving. Lochlan glanced over to clerk, his face looked to much like...he turned away.

They had seen a fair amount of french patrols, but...something was off, there was that stillness in the air. Something bad was coming, and this was just the calm. He signaled to the group and they began to to move again, toward Ile.

 

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April 2 - Mid morning

It was already mid-morning as the sun’s first rays reflected off Lac D’Annecy. A light breeze gently touched the water creating small ripples on the surface from which the sunlight shimmered. Here the trees ran directly up to the waterfront but opened up a little in this small glade by the lakeside. Far to the east, the peaks of the Alps rose up displaying their snow-capped peaks so brilliantly illuminated by the early morning light.

The sounds of a spring morning permeated the scene. In the trees above woodland birds sang their bold choruses, some to warn off intruders and others to share information on the best feeding areas. From the lake, waterfowl went clumsily about their business chattering noisily while looking for food in the vast larder that they floated upon. The chirp-chirp of a cricket rose from the earth intermittently while, every now and then the occasional sound of scurrying from woodland animals would join the glorious symphony of sounds which, when added to the visual scene, created a wondrous picture of calm.

In the glade, by the water, sat a man. Silent and motionless you could have easily passed by without noticing him. His clothes were old and torn yet suitable for blending into the woodland features. He wore a rather weather-beaten old jerkin and on his head was a brown wide-brimmed hat. Crouching under the shade of a broad chestnut tree he gazed intently at the water, barely even blinking.

You could have watched the picture for what would appear to be an age and yet still seen no movement. If, after viewing for fifteen or twenty minutes, you were to have passed by, it is likely that there would be none. But finally there was a sudden burst of activity: it started with a gentle ripple in the water, and then in one swift move, the man would grasp onto something and leap up pulling at the wooden stick that he now held in both hands. You would possibly notice that the hands and arms were rough and browned, almost in a way that it would be hard to distinguish where flesh ended and attire began. After a brief, but ultimately unequal struggle, you would hear the sounds of frantic flapping from the lake surface as, from the thin thread pulled taut from the wooden stick, a fish emerged.

The ducks, disturbed by the noise and movement looked towards the source of the commotion. Who was this outsider raiding their food cabinet? There was an angry eruption of indignation while one or two of the braver fowl paddled towards the water’s edge in an attempt to wrest the tasty morsel from the grasp of the plunderer. But it was a rather fruitless mission as the angler gently brought his catch to the bank and placed it in his bag. Methodically, he arranged his belongings and then got up and wandered into the woods.

 

[Forster]

The young man was about 20, medium height, about 5-6, ruddy complexion, and muscular build. He looked older than his actual age, and he was already grey at the temples. He wore chain mail jerkin and metal cap. Carried a saber, and a mace was tied to his saddle. He arrived at the make-shift fort to see everyone scurrying about, making preparations. Challenged at the entry way, he stated his name was Forster, and he was looking for the Captain. He wanted to rejoin the Free Company.


Over to you LD. Boy, missed this thread for just a few days, and already it's book length. Sorry I'm late. Is there still room?

 

[Lord Durham]

Forster old friend, there's always room for you.

Lionheart: A double whammy! Interesting start. We wait with bated breath...

--------------------------

The camp was alive with activity, torchlight illuminating the fort and surrounding land as the infantry filed from the compound.

Captain, Bloomfielde, Sir Greystoke and the rest of the knights had just mounted.

The Lieutenant looked over in the darkness and saw the lone figure on a horse, moving carefully past the streaming soldiers.

"By God. It can't be."

Captain and Greystoke looked at the same time, then exchanged glances.

Sir Greystoke said, "Good God. That's Forster! I thought he was dead!"

Captain grinned, and the three of them rode over to meet their old comrade, just as Lieutenant Pohlman ran up to join them.

"Your timing is impecable, Forster. You're just in time for some good old fashioned bloodletting."

For an answer the mercenary put his hand on his mace. It was good to be home.

Meanwhile, 100 infantry, 100 archers and 60 cavalry headed north toward a nameless village.

 

[Sharur]

April 1, late evening-night, riding to the village

Scherer steered his horse over towards Captain. "What have you learned about the battle in the village?"

"Good news and bad news, Scherer. They drove the French back against overwhelming odds; but Wallace lost quite a few, and De Crecy was decimated."

"Do we have enough men?"

"I'd bet yes, this certainly isn't a key village, and if so few men could hold out that long, their force can't be overwhelming."

"That's a relief. I wouldn't want to go through another... well, I suppose it wouldn't be the same, but... I don't think I could stomach..."

"I understand, Freidrich." Captain's and Scherer's eyes locked for a second in mutual sympathy and understanding.

 

[Sgt. Bloomfield]

OOC: Forster! Lionheart! What joy! Welcome. It's great to know you guys are around. Been missing you. So much to catch up with, right? And if anyone tries to tell you about Bloomfielde and Captain's sister, well, it's a lie!

Let the good times roll!

Rath, D-King, hjarg: Great posts!

 

[Misha]

April 2

Misha could tell that Sir Greystoke was pleased. Apparently an old comrade, Forster by name, had joined the Free Company. The man looked capable, that was for sure. And his timing was impeccable, arriving just as the Company was about to move out pursuant to Captain's orders. This Forster would get a chance to prove himself right out of the gate.

But Buckeye was still unaccounted for. He had been gone for over a day & Misha was a little concerned. Plus that meant that the archers of Sir Greystoke's contingent were functioning without their leader. But when Misha had mentioned this to his master, the knight had only smiled.

"Have faith, young squire. Buckeye can handle himself. And he has trained his men to handle themselves as well. I expect when we have need of Buckeye that he will appear."

The knight headed off serenely to welcome Forster to the Company. Misha continued his preparations for departure. There was much for a young squire to do.

But he was still concerned...

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

Buckeye had to admit that this Lochlan was good - he was very, very good. Normally the woodsman would never let anyone else take the lead in such a venture, but it was clear that this man knew his business. As Lochlan broke trail, Buckeye was content to play rearguard, keeping a weather eye out for pursuers & covering the few tracks that Lochlan & the boys were leaving behind.

Clerk remained as insoucient as ever, but Buckeye was impressed by the boy's knowledge of numbers & letters. Buckeye had trouble ciphering much over 20 & had never learned his ABCs, but the lad seemed to be quite adept at these mysteries. Clerk had kept an exact count of the numbers & types of Frenchmen they had encountered so far. Buckeye could more-or-less remember them all in his head, but Clerk's notebook seemed to do the job just as well, if not better.

Pishtaco remained distant & perhaps a tad bemused by the proceedings. No doubt the city boy had a lot of book larnin', thought the scout. Normally Buckeye didn't cotton much to them types of fellars, but he right perked up when he realized that the lad knew a bit of doctorin'. Buckeye had a pain in his right elbow that sort o' comes & goes. Perhaps the lad could fix him up with some of that fancy book larned medicine, Buckeye had heard about...

All in all, Buckeye was enjoying the jaunt.

 

[The Danish King]

Meanwhile, Knud had walked to the food cabinet to look for some of his favorite food, ale! He found some and began drinking and trying to tending his arm wound, which was beginning to show it's effect.

Knud began cursing something in his native language "For fanden! Jeg hader Franskmænd!" while pouring a little bit of ale into his wound. He saw the Captain, along with the higher ranking officers greeting an apperently old comrade, Knud thought it was bad manner not to greet new-comers, so he got up, and after 7 mugs of ale, was a bit woozy and began walking towards the newone.

 

[hjarg]

April 2, morning in the village

Ash woke up when Wee Willie started screaming in his usual manner. He rubbed his eyes and stretched.

Air was filled with groans from the wounded and some dead French were still left outside the palisade. Stench here was the worst Ash had encountered so far.

Ash stood up, groaned and looked at his wounds. Nothing major, just a few scratches.

Yesterday, battle was won thanks to Edward's arrival, but if no additional help is coming, French would win for sure.

"Ahhh, i'm tired," Ash complained to himself. He knew that he could keep yesterday's pace up for some time, even the full day if needed, but after that he would collapse. Or at least sleep for 48 hours.

Ash grabbed his swords and walked to Edward for instructions.

 

[Rictus]

midday

Edward knew what Ash was going to ask before the man even approached him, but it didn't hurt to play dumb.
"Instructions, sir"

"Ash, I saw how well you fought. That was good stuff, very professional, as a reward, you pick which wall to fight on." Ash gave a brief glance to each of the short walls and their defenders huddled near-by.

"Seraphim, can we win?" HIs commanding Officer looked at him with a smile, though it contianed no warmth.

"If we can last the day, then we'll survive, when Bloomfeld or Captain get here, we can rest easy. There's nothing to worry about, I doubt they'll even attak again..."

******

Wallace fumed, his conversation with Edward had been stonewalled by his superiors refusal to get involved.
"Barkdreg is a knight, a Templer at that, I have no control over this dispute. You'll have to take it to Captian or sort it ot with the man yourself." He'd said as a parting comment.

Half of his command were dead or injured beyond help and the other half were exhausted, reinforcements were all well and good, but they weren't his Scotsmen, were they?

 

[C.N.]

This post takes place before the last post by hjarg.

---------

April 1 evening.

Duncan McD was tired, bruised and wounded. "Damn it" he tought "I should watch out better next time. Getting knocked down that way could easy be fatal in a battle." It would probably have be if he had been at the gate, and not at bit to the north from it. He had managed to retrieve his claymore while the others held of the french, and managed to cut down 3 more of the enemy before they retreated. One of them had managed to give him a cut in the arm.
He washed his would in wine and put some ashes in it to prevent infection. "Damn this hurts he tought, but its gonna hurt more if it starts rottin'."

He went over to Ash and Knud and asked if they was alright.
He asked Ash about the other book he had found.
"It is a really strange one named 'Liber Ivonis'. I don't know what to make of it. It mention dark rites and stuff from some strange religion. Do you know something about it?"
"No, I'm unfamiliar with that one."

Knud sat up drinking while Ash and Duncan decided to get some sleep.

--------

We was outnumbered 1:5, and this gives Duncan 5 kills in the battle, he has done his share but hasn't gone Rambo.

 

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April 2 - Mid mirning (half-hour later)

Moving steadily, the young man rapidly made his way into the woods along a small woodland path. The early buds of spring were tentatively appearing around about amidst the sylvan setting but as yet showed no sign yet of sprouting into the carpet of colours and hues they would shortly become.

"I can't stay here", the man thought to himself. "Too close to be safe. Too easy to get caught".

It was several weeks ago now that he had escaped from confinement in Nice and made his way into the lower foothills of the Alps. Jacques had chosen to rest awhile in this area to regain a little strength before continuing to move. But he still did not know where he was going. But where he was headed for was not important. Better first to get away from Savoy before he was recaptured and taken back to the dungeons to await what would mean certain death.

And for what? That it had been a simple accident seemed to be of no concern to the Duke. Even that he had been on business of the Duke at the time when the fateful incident occured had been ignored. Jacques was no educated man and understood little of how men of noble birth operated. Yet he had spent 4 years in prison for what he did not even consider to have been his fault. The Duke's eldest son had simply burst out of the forest at the time he let fly his arrow: no time to react. All thar Jacques knew or felt about the whole affair was that he had been dealt a grave injustice.

As he continued, he started as voices could be heard ahead. Darting behind a tree he moved slowly into the undergrowth to take a closer look and to hear the words

"Looks like we're on to him", a gruff voice spoke. "There's an old fire here and it feels warm enough to have been used last night".

"Must be around here somewhere" replied another voice. "What do we do? Wait here or keep looking around the area more"

"The Duke'll want us to keep looking but he may well come back so we'd best leave some men here just in case", said the first voice. "You two stay here and keep look out while I take the rest of you and look more around the area. Call out if you hear anything"

Jacques lay still listening intently. The steady plod of footsteps approached as about 6 men came into view down the path. Not daring to move, he waited in the bush as the footsteps got louder: the slightest motion would undoubtedly draw attention to where he lay. The steps got closer.

"What was that?" one of the men suddenly cried out barely 5 feet from where he lay. Jacques froze. Not daring even to look up, he feared that he was trapped.

"Ah, you fool", answered the gruff voice of their leader. "It's just a blackbird. We're looking for one a little bigger than that you great buffoon"

The footsteps continued and the danger passed. Jacques waited until they were out of earshot before daring to breath again.

But what now. There were two men guarding his campsite where the rest of his belongings were. All he had with him were a few things including a small knife and a short bow with some sharpened sticks. Hardly enough to take on two armed men and certainly not before the alarm would be raised.

No, he thought, rather than risk being recaptured we would have to get away from here and put as much distance from the place as possible before deciding where to go next. Slowly edging away from he went back to the path and slowly followed the other guards before, 50 yards down the path he left in and headed deeper into the woods.

 

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LD/SB: Happy to join in and try to catch up with things. As you may guess, I'm still mentally developing the character which may be a little difficult when a lot of FC boys seem to be impregnable killing machines. The problem is a that I'm suffering from a severe case of (novice) writers block so I've chosen to post little bits and to let the character develop.

Bear with me.

 

[Barkdreg]

april 2, early morning

Originally posted by The Danish King
Meanwhile, Knud had walked to the food cabinet to look for some of his favorite food, ale! He found some and began drinking and trying to tending his arm wound, which was beginning to show it's effect.

Knud began cursing something in his native language "For fanden! Jeg hader Franskmænd!" while pouring a little bit of ale into his wound. He saw the Captain, along with the higher ranking officers greeting an apperently old comrade, Knud thought it was bad manner not to greet new-comers, so he got up, and after 7 mugs of ale, was a bit woozy and began walking towards the newone.

I think this has to be edited, the Captain is still in the fort while Knud is in the village. Knud can't see or speak with men that are miles away. But hey, after 7 ale a man can see some strange things.

I'd also like to say:
Lionheart and Forster, great to see you back

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

Barkdreg awoke and felt pain everywhere. The French had given him quite a few bruises, luckily no blow had penetrated his armour.
Slowly he rose out of the hay. He grabbed his armour and started putting it on, not easy without when you're alone.

He started looking for Edward, he had to discus the defence and the positioning of men. While the mercenary looked more than capable he could probably need the help of a knight. He noticed Wee Willie standing near the church, he stood uncomfortably, probably because of the arsewound. The man looked at Barkdreg as if he was the cause of the Scottish casualties. Barkdreg decided he had to do something to regain the Scots trust, after all he had been a little rude when he started ordering the Scots. But there was no time for these social calls, it would have to wait untill after the battle. If they survived that long. But Barkdreg had to survive, who else would take care of the girl?

 

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A dose of reality...

Wallace was despondent. He had seen men die before, but never like this. He saw one of teh younger men of Wee Willie's Bunch, James Stewart, and called him over. He grasped the youngster by the shoulders and stared him in the eye.

"Lad, I need ye to do something for me. Get a message to the Captain for me. The dead men from Wee Willie's Bunch are to be sent to Antwerp, to a man known as Milton Osbourne..."

James gave a start. Osbourne? Milton? Not the Milton, from Milton's Marauders? James gave a nod, and Wallace cotinued:

"Listen, I have to do something. If I should fall in the course of doing what I have to do, then make Duncan McD the leader of the remainder of the Bunch, ok? He'll know what to do. Now, listen closely. After you get the message to Milton Osbourne, he'll take the fallen lads, and transport them across to Scotland. In fact, he'll take care of everything. Just get the fallen lads to him, all right?"

James nodded again.Wallace wiped away a tear from his eye, and shooed the youngster off, calling to him to remember what he had promised...

The French surrounding the village had regorpued after their last attack. Little did they know what a major victory they would score soon enough...

Wallace grabbed his claymore in one hand, and held a makeshift shield in the other. He began to walk towards a hole in the wall. The men there watched in astonishment as Wallace slwoly walked out of teh confines of the village. Slowly, he began to sing:

(To the theme from the Flintstones)

Wall-ace, William Wallace,
He's the greatest guy in history!
From the
Town of Glasgow,
he's from a famous family!
One day, maybe Bill'll win the fight,
Then that
Goat will stay out for the night!
When you're
with William Wallace
You'll have a yabba dabba doo time,
A great ole blue time,
you'll have a great ole time!

As he sang, arrows flew past him, one hitting him in the shoulder. He grunted, kept walking on. A bolt flew towards him, hitting him in his shield arm. The bolt pierced the shield, embedding it in his arm. He grunted again. The next 4 bolts hit him in the left leg, the right leg, the shoulder and the chest. Yet still he kept on, limping, until he fell to the ground. The weight of the claymore dragging him down. He crawled onwards. Then the final bolt hit him, in the right eye, embeddingitself in his brain. He had thought to glance up, see how far he had to go, and this cost him his life. Amazingly, the adrenaline coursing through his brain made him crawl a few more steps before his brain relayed the fact he was dead to the rest of his body. He slumped to the ground, lifeless. The men of the Company watched this grim suicide walk in shock. William Wallace, leader of Wee Willie's Bunch, was dead at the tender age of 42. Such a waste, such a goddamned waste...