King Harry and the Free Company: Book Two

[Forster]

Forster looked at Frederick. With a grimace, said:

If we do nothing, there will be no free company. This bastard is trying to eliminate any who came from Italy. When he is done, there will be no leadership, no lineage, and you will all become like those marauders. If we kill this one, the Doge will send another. He evidently has a great fear of us.

We need to find out if any new people have come to town, we also need to keep track when anyone new arrives. That way we can pick up on him.
He has to have shelter and food. Someone will have seen him, and realized he was a stranger.

 

[Derek Pullem]

Originally posted by shawng1
OOC--Sean doesn't have any "expert assassins" to flood the country with...he's also never murdered anyone. He's really not Machiavelli. Really. Would he use the scouts? Some of them. I'd really prefer my character NOT be turned into evil incarnate.

Also OOC - it's really written from Frederick's point of view. He sees Guillaume and Sean as dabbling in the dirty world of politics and espionage. He's a straight forward kind of guy who wants someone to sort it out so he can get on with soldiering.

With 2,000 paid killers in the Free Company and some trained in "sneaking around in bushes" as Frederick would see it, he doesn't see why it can't be resoved eventually. Politically naive - yes.

 

[unmerged(6528)]

Returning

"Well that was a monumental waste of time." Lochlan muttered to himself as he passed through the gates of St. Malo for the second time. It figures there's nothing living out there on a morning this cold. As he neared the gatehouse he saw a small crowd. It was mostly made up of Company boys, but a few townsfolk as well.

"What exactly is going on here." He thundered out in his sergeant major voice. "Get back to your posts!" The mercenaries hurried back to where they were supposed to be. The devil in front of them was more immediate than anything inside the gatehouse. Without the Mercs there, the townsfolk dispersed quickly. And Lochlan turned a cold glare on the sentries. "Make sure it isn't like this when I come back out."

"Lochlan, that going on?" That was Diego, who had rushed out at the sound of Lochlans voice.

"Just dispersing some idlers." He said. "Whats going on in there?"

"I think it can only be shown, not told."

"whatever." Lochlan said, and followed the Castillian inside. As he reached the room and saw the crowd of officers his heart became leaden, and his eyes narrowed.

"You have my life and my blade to command." He heard edward say, and as he entered the room he saw him offering his blade to Captain hilt first. Lochlan looked around, He could see Sean, Scherer, Guillaume, Forster, and...Piet. His eyes were chips of ice. He shouldered his way through the crowd to stand by Edward.

"Captain, you have life and my sword as well." His blade came out, and light reflected from it as he reversed it, holding it by the blade, he knew blood would flow if he gripped it any harder.

 

[Lord Durham]

OOC: Part of the fun of a written RPG is the way others interpret characters by their actions, deeds, conversations and boasting. Bear in mind that what one person says reflects what he 'knows', or perceives to know about the other person, whether it's true or not. Pohlman and O'Glaigh are LT's, but they aren't neccessarily drinking buddies, so Pohlman bases his knowledge on heresay. This is a roundabout way of saying I agree with Derek's assessment of the conversation. After all, the more mysterious anyone makes their character, the more suspiciously he'll be received. If Sean has a problem with the way he's perceived, then maybe the two of them should have a beer.

I have taken all the great discussion and tied it into a single post, told from Captain's perspective. I want to thank everyone for their varied reactions. I think the experiment worked very well. It could have been on the OT Forum

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


January 25, 1420 - St.Malo: Dawn


Captain paid close attention to Lieutenant Scherer, while Seraphim remained behind the shaken veteran.

Farnese spoke first, stating his case for Venice, ending his impassioned plea with, "Captain, I suggest you take only those that would follow you to Hell and back, because that might well be where you go, if you go, sir."

As he finished, Sean O'glaigh gently approached the head, mumbling. He kissed it and departed in a quick about face, almost running into Father Wilheim, who stood at the entrance.

"Oh my!" the Father said, crossing himself at the gruesome display. He carefully and gently rewrapped the head in the packaging and said, "I will see to it that the remains are given the respect due them. This man's body is buried in Orleans, correct? I will ask the Bishop to have the body sent for so that it can be reburried here where this cannot happen again."

Forster watched Father Wilheim's back, then swung on Captain. "We've got to kill the bastard, make an example of him so no one will ever want to cross us again. Did the boy say what village he hails from? If we can find out, I'll get a squadron out to it right away to see if we can catch that damn assassin still there."

Captain nodded gently in the veteran's direction. He caught Lorenzo's eye.

Lorenzo said, "Captain, this man will be long gone from where he was, but we should send someone to investigate. Someone subtle. My guess is he is watching us now, watching to see how we react. He fights this like a battle and we must not react to his moves, but make those of our own. We must fight this battle on our terms."

Captain searched the other officers, looking from face to face for opinions. He saw Guillaume in a pensive mood.

Keeping his tone carefully neutral, Guillaume said, "Going to Italy is a reasonable decision but ... everyone should consider the effects of taking revenge on the man responsible there. We are in the service of the King of England, and he has no quarrel with our Italian adversary. Doing what needs to be done in Italy may also have consequences that will haunt all 2200 men of the Free Company for the rest of their lives."

Suddenly Scherer snapped from his lethary, trembling with rage.

"I'll kill the filthy bastard with my own hands!" he screamed, drawing a knife. Seraphim and de Bloomfielde, standing near, jumped back in alarm as the Lieutenant slammed the blade deep into the table. "How DARE he!" Scherer choked through the tears running down his reddened face. "I'll get him, damn him, I'll get him! Damn him..."

Dropping to one knee, fists clenched, Scherer closed his eyes and took three deep breaths. Then, slowly, he rose to his feet and wiped his face roughly with a sleeve. With his mouth set in a hard, thin line, and his fists clenched but still trembling, he said, emotionless, "I'm sorry, Captain, I overreacted. I think it's time we went hunting."

Captain moved to the table and removed the knife. He handed it to Scherer. "Lorenzo, be so kind as to give the Lieutenant your seat. Any one have spirits?" He asked, looking pointedly at de Bloomfielde. For once the man didn't protest and handed Fredreich a small flask. "Drink it." Captain ordered.

During the break, Ivan gathered the boy up in his huge arms and carried him from the gatehouse.

Several voices started at once, but Lieutenant Pohlan's deep bass cut in. "Captain, grisly though it is, that is just a calling card from the fiend. He wants, no expects a reaction. If we rush out and strike wildly, he will not only take his target but amuse himself with the rest of us. We can judge the level of his humour from the poor lad in the cart.

No, what we need is careful planning and some way of taking the initiative" Frederick nodded to Lorenzo, acknowledging his wise words. "We have many men here who have worked some time in the shadows at the edge of the law. Properly led and with all the information available to them...." He glared at Guillaume and looked vainly for Sean "..we can send this evil man back to Hell whence he came."

"We must also remember that our duty is to every one of the 2,000 men in the Free Company. Placing the whole Company at risk by persuing a vendetta is not sensible"

Guillaume pondered Pohlman's words, then followed Ivan out the door. His voiced instructions to the guards outside carried through the entrance. They heard Don Diego set about organising Guillaume's instructions.

Forster looked at Frederick. With a grimace, said, "If we do nothing, there will be no Free Company. This bastard is trying to eliminate any who came from Italy. When he is done, there will be no leadership, no lineage, and you will all become like those marauders. If we kill this one, the Doge will send another. He evidently has a great fear of us.

We need to find out if any new people have come to town, we also need to keep track when anyone new arrives. That way we can pick up on him. He has to have shelter and food. Someone will have seen him, and realized he was a stranger."

Captain remained silent, taking it in. He felt it best that his men should voice their opinions. He caught Sir Greystoke's carefully controlled visage. The set line of the man's jaw was all the answer he needed from his old friend. They exchanged a look of understanding.

There was a shuffle of sound to his side, and Lieutenant Seraphim was beside him. Edward drew his sword, letting it rasp against the scabbard. Voices petered out. He proffered the sword to Captain, handle first. "Captain, whatever action you should choose, you have my blade and my life to command."

There was a scuffle at the door, and Lochlan barged in with Don Diego. He walked straight over to Captain, to stand beside Seraphim. "Captain, you have life and my sword as well." His blade came out, and light reflected from it as he reversed it, holding it by the blade, he knew blood would flow if he gripped it any harder.

Captain scratched the back of his head. He waved at Seraphim and Lochlan. "Put those away, for now." He glanced at Scherer. "You OK?" He received a half nod in response. "Fine. Here's what we do, then." He looked to Forster. "Double the patrols. Check anything within sight of St.Malo that looks suspicious, though I hazard he'll be no where near here for a while. Lochlan. Get Sean. I want you two to organize a small party. If anything, the man has made one error. He's left a trail, a bloody one, but a trail. See if you can get a sense of his direction from that trail. We know of at least two farmhouses where Blu Morte practised his talents. There could be more. Be extra careful, and take Ash."

"How do you know about the farmhouses, Captain?" Lochlan asked.

"I managed to get some information from the boy before he passed out." He looked at the remaining lieutenants. "Better tell your men. The rumours will be rampant before long anyway. No sense in trying to cover this up."

Farnese blurted, "And what about this Doge?"

Captain turned steely grim. "This Doge has not seen the last of the Free Company."

 

[Blademonkey]

Lorenzo and Forster left talking new arrangements for the patrols over with Barkdreg. The big Templar had been quiet during the whole scene, looking like a man who up until this horrible moment had been very happy.

Maybe he's in love mused Lorenzo.

In his experience this type of man, Blu Morte, was no longer interested in just doing his job. A good assassin kills his target cleanly and quitely. This man was taking a pleasure in terrorizing the members of the company.

Lorenzo disagreed with the captain. This Blu Morte was close, and was watching.

 

[unmerged(6777)]

January 25th...a little later that morning

Georges paused briefly before knocking at the captain’s door.

Word of the atrocity had begun to spread like wildfire among the castle staff, filtering down through the various staff who were known to have sharp ears and loose tongues. Georges had remonstrated the servant who had come bursting into the kitchen with the news. This was not something to speak freely about…with anyone

Imagining the difficult decision that Captain faced, Georges had carefully prepared a plate of cold, sweat breakfast crêpes and had brought that, and some purloined port, to the commander’s rooms. People think better with food in their bellies, and Captain hadn’t eaten in some time – that Georges knew about at any rate. It seemed that every time he turned around the eastern woman was on here way upstairs with some concoction or other. Captain seemed to enjoy the variety, and Georges had secretly begun to taste the odd bit of the woman’s leftovers and discovered – much to his chagrin – that it was actually very tasty.

Their joint occupancy of the kitchen was very tolerable – the area was large and extremely well-equipped – and their own initial hatred of each other seemed to have settled more into an adversarial but rather good-natured banter. Fahitma’s absence today – to go and procure some unusual spices that were reportedly available in a nearby village – would be the longest time they had been apart in quite some days, and Georges found himself already missing her and was quite surprised at the emotion.

He shook his head to clear it of such thoughts as seemed to be creeping in, and knocked gently a few times at the door.

“Come,” the voice sounded weary.

“Sir, I have taken the liberty…” he began. Captain had looked up at him sharply. “I’m sorry, sir. I only thought that you might need a bit of breakfast before you do whatever else you must do today. If you don’t, you might forget.”

“Aye,” came the reply.

There was an awkward silence.

“Well, that’s all sir. Please call for me if you would like any more, or if there’s anything I can do for you. I was thinking, perhaps, that I would prepare a casserole for this evening. Nothing fancy, as I expect there won’t be many interested in what they’re eating today.”

Captain merely nodded and returned his attention to whatever he had been doing when Georges had first entered. He *did* look tired, and sad. But also determined.

Georges returned the nod and slipped quietly back out of the room.

 

[Blademonkey]

Re: January 25th...a little later that morning

Originally posted by MrT
Georges had carefully prepared a plate of cold, sweat breakfast crêpes

<ooc> Eewwww! You gonna eat that! </ooc>

 

[unmerged(4007)]

(Moved at LD's request.)

Some time later, Sean approached Captain alone.

"You left fairly suddenly." Captain said.

"I apologize, but I knew what others would be saying, and I knew they would be saying it from grief. I paid me homage to Piet, ye know where I stand already."

"And where is that?"

"Wherever ye lead, or wherever ye send me. I followed ye through the breach at Orleans, I followed ye onto the bridge. I have no agenda but the Company, no ma'er wha' anyone else says. An' I havena had one since I signed on wi' ye. Well, OK, I do have one minor piece of a personal agenda--but that's a female Frenchwoman, a topic ye'd know nothing about, I'm sure."

"No, nothing." The Captain smiled, for the first time in the day.

"Ye know ye canna leave here. Regardless of wha' they said. The bad part is, they said the wrong thing fer the right reason. Cap'n, we signed a contract, yer the leader of the Free Company. If ye go south, Harry will have no choice but to thin' we deserted 'im. An' the Yorkies will love to hel' 'im feel tha' way too. Bedford is some protection, but na' enough if ye leave here witho' permission from Harry Himself." The Captain looked at him grimly. "Na only tha', but it sends the wrong message to everyone. It tells the Doge tha' ye are panickin'. He'll thin' he is gettin' into yer head. Fer ye to come south is exactly wha' he wants."

"I'd hate to disappoint him." Captain said with a rueful grin.

"Aye, I know. But why do ye thin' I've lived all these years with the Yorks at me back? If I turn on 'em, I'd be doin' exactly wha' they want. They'd trap me before I ever got within 100 miles of 'im. The Doge'd do the same thing to ye."

"So you still say an assassin?"

"Tha', or a hand picked group of men, firs' to take out Blu Morte, then to move on the Doge when we can. But righ' now, he's got to have tightened his personal security. No one he doesna know'll git near 'im. Whatever we do to the Doge has to wait until he drops his guard."

"And if I said we're going now, and I'm going."

"Then I follow ye into the abyss. With our contract following us there. But I thin' tha's where we both would be if we went af'er the Doge righ' no.' I already tol' ye I'd follow ye anywhere. An Irishman only needs to give 'is word once."

"Very well, I'll make my decision known later."

"Aye, take care Cap'n." Sean said, walking off.

Eric was standing outside the room. "Get me Lochlan for first thin' in the mornin' laddie."

 

[Lord Durham]

January 25 - Early Morning

Captain followed Sean out the door and saw him talking to Eric. He caught the final bit of conversation, then butt in. "Sean, I talked to Lochlan after you left. He'll probably see you later. I want you two to check the trail. I was telling Lochlan that I think this bastard has slipped. He's left a road of blood. We just have to establish a pattern, or a route."

They had been walking down the castle steps while they talked. On the third landing Captain led Sean to a door, opening it.

The room inside was quite large, and had been set with several beds. Only one was occupied. It was the Irish boy. Hovering close to him was Ivan. The huge man looked up at their entrance.

"Any change?"

"Nyet, Captain. The lad's fevered."

"Will the boy live, Doctr'?" Sean asked.

Ivan shook his burly head, "Hard to say."

Captain headed to the door. "If he wakens, find out what you can. It's important."

Ivan sighed. It was a typical Hippocratic dilemma. Were the needs of the many served by the sacrifice of the one...

Back in the hall the two reached the main landing as Guillaume came in through the castle entrance.

"Guillaume," Captain began. "You probably know more about this killer than anyone. Tell me, has this Blu Morte gone rogue on the Doge? This whole episode strikes me as sloppy, but worse still, the vendetta has become personal, extremely personal. I need to know why. Surely a price on our heads wouldn't be sufficient cause to behave in such a barbaric manner."

Guillaume pursed his lips. "Let me think on it."

"Very well."

As Captain was ready to leave the castle, he detoured to the kitchen and stuck his head in. Georges and Fahtima were working uncomfortably close together. They looked up at the same time.

"That cassarole Georges, make enough for the officers. We'll all eat tonight in the main hall."

Georges nodded and glanced at Fahtima.

Captain turned to leave and said over his shoulder, "And no sweat this time, but, if you manage to find a kowtow, well, you know..."

 

[unmerged(6528)]

January 25th, Morning, St. Malo

Lochlan stalked down the corridor, a passing servant saw him, and scurried in the opposite direction. He reached Sean's rooms and knocked loudly. It was opened and he saw the Irishman's face looked much as his own must. Drawn, Cold, and frightful. He nodded to Sean as his Lieutenant opened the door and Lochlan stepped inside.

"Sean, im going to head out now. Im taking Buckeye, Ash, Corporal Hans, and 6 others from the first group. Were going to hit the first farmhouse." Sean nodded. "Also im leaving the rest of the scouts at the gatehouse for you." He saluted.

"Lochlan, be careful. Report back when you've finished." Was all the Irishman said.

When he reached the gatehouse, he grinned in a savage sort of pride. He knew his men were some of the best in the company. Well armed with bows, swords, knives, and all in excellent shape. He nodded to Ash and Buckeye.

"Everyone know the plan?" There was a flurry of nods. "Good, lets move. And remember were the free company. Death rides with us." This was answered with a low growl from his men. "Second group, wait for Sean he'll be taking the second farmhouse He nodded and bared his teeth in what could have been a smile, then turned and took off toward the first farm with a ground eating lope. The scouts followed.

 

[driftwood]

January 25th, mid-morning

Guillaume had helped Ivan in any way he could, but it quickly became apparent that there wasn't much to do. The boy was completely inert on his cot, his breathing shallow. Every so often, his brow would crease and his lips press together, but he made no sound.

With a sigh, Guillaume left and returned to his quarters. He checked the latest dispatches, and there had been no traces of Blu Morte in Paris or other nearby cities in the last few days, at least. That wouldn't have been surprising if the assassin was acting with his normal discipline, but that was probably no longer the case. Guillaume had risen far on his hunches; right now, he had a hunch that someone had heard something.

He stood up suddenly and gathered his cloak. On his way out, he stopped back by the infirmary.

"Ivan, could you please let me know if he says anything?"

The burly Rus was applying a wet compress to the Irish boy's foreheard. He shook his head, then stopped.

"He has murmurred a few things in his sleep ... he mentions the names Edward and Albrecht, and something about a game ... his accent is very hard to understand, even after hearing Sean speak."

It wasn't much help, but every little bit counted. Guillaume had never known Blu Morte to enjoy games - he liked killing, drinking, and whoring, but not games. He didn't know what to make of the names, though. Where they old friends or comrades? Other victims? Relatives? He gave a distracted thank you, and left the castle.

St. Malo wasn't much, but for the region it was the best emporium of information he was going to find. The local merchants probably couldn't tell him anything new, the pirates would all be travelling in the wrong direction, but there were other sources to be exploited.

He stopped his horse in the middle of the fishmonger's quarter. Albrecht: a German name. Edward: an English name. And the lad was Irish. A shiver went through Guillaume - he had no way of knowing for sure, but if he were right and Blu Morte had really maimed or murdered three men just for practice, then the assassin had truly gone insane. There was no telling what he might do next. He kicked his horse back into motion.

He tied up his horse in front of the cathedral. A short while later he reemerged, holding a curled scroll with a broken seal on it in his left hand. One of the caretakers later claimed to have heard raised voices, but only for a moment. Guillaume set off for Captain's quarters deep in thought.

driftwood

 

[unmerged(4007)]

Sean and Eric arrived to lead the second group. Sean had seen Lochlan's plan before they moved out, and had approved it...with one minor variation of his own.

"Johan, glad to se ye cin make it, tha' oversized contraption of yers'll come in handy if our frien' has any bowmen. He'll be expectin' light arms, I want ye to cover us when we rush the house. Understan'?" The engineer nodded.

"Good, did ye ever git those sword lessons?" The shake of the head was the entirety of the response. "Well, ye willna need 'em today. But now that we're settled fer a while, it might be useful to give ye eno' to make use of tha' sword."

"I would appreciate that."

"I thou't ye might. Listen men, remember, we rush both houses together. We're goin' to have longer in the open, which is why I requested our comrade's expertise. Other than that, there's only one standin' order. IF Blu Morte is there, no one kills 'im but me. Maim 'im, hamstring 'im. Do whatever else. But he lives...fer a while." The men nodded, Lochlan had made this clear to the others as well. "Good, let's move."

 

[unmerged(6777)]

A Quest Begins...

"That casserole Georges, make enough for the officers. We'll all eat tonight in the main hall."

Georges nodded and glanced at Fahtima.

Captain turned to leave and said over his shoulder, "And no sweat this time, but, if you manage to find a kowtow, well, you know..." and then left the kitchen.

Georges’ jaw dropped, eyes opening in stark amazement. He saw that Fahitma was suffering a similar reaction to Captain’s parting words. How in the blazes did the man know about the exotic “unicorn of cuisine”? It was unheard of…the heart-throb of ever chef in the world, the stuff that only the richest of kings and most valiant of nobles would ever taste in their lives… That Captain was even familiar with it was astounding; and presumably if he knew about it then he also knew what he was asking for: the elixir of love, the succulent flesh that would remove any resistance…Had things progressed so far with the Countess? That was practically shouting his intent to the entire world…well…actually, only to those who understood what it signified. One thing was certain, he wouldn’t be asking for *that* one to be served in the main hall.

“You know, he really could try to learn to say my name right,” commented Fahitma, wryly, when she had recovered her composure. If can even tell when he looks at me that he’s thinking “Fahtima”.

Georges chuckled. “I think it’s in his blood. Who knows?” He started to shake his head.

“And where are we supposed to get a kowtow?”

He shrugged. “We’ll figure out a way, but I suspect we’ll have to use all of our resources on this one. Combined,” he added meaningfully.

She nodded, and smiled. “And if we do, just think what will happen.” She giggled – something Georges had never heard from her before.

“Well, where should we start?”

“How should I know?”

“Well think, damn it.”

“You think.”

Silence.

“Perhaps we should pray to the gods,” she ventured.

“Well don’t start with mine,” he replied. “It’s not quite up his alley.”

“That’s blasphemous isn’t it?”

“Well, I’m not exactly a very religious type,” he responded. “How about yours.”

When at first she didn’t respond, Georges thought he had somehow insulted her. But then, quietly, she murmured “I stopped believing in mine the day that my father was cruelly slaughtered and my people butchered.”

To that, Georges had no clue what to say. “Well, we’ll just have to find another way…throw it to the fates, so to speak.”

She nodded.

***

High in the most distant, remote reaches of the Himalayas a lone kowtow shivered, as though someone had just walked on its grave. It was a sign. A sign that its number was up, its turn had been called, its fate was sealed. The extraordinary, near-mythical creature now knew that its destiny had been determined, and that the wheel of the world – the veritable call of the gods - had been set in motion and that it was finally time for it to begin the long, treacherous trek to the oven. A sacrifice to make, and it would both celebrate and rue that day.

Xanthixialix, for that was the kowtow’s name, sighed and turned westward, trying to determine the exact source of the call. It was distant, and confused. Almost as though it had been two simultaneous calls at once…but that was impossible. Never, in all of the legends of its kind, had such a thing been heard of. No, it was only the distance muddling the urgency and the need. No matter, all would become clear in time.

It gave a final, great, shuddering, mournful cry to the mountaintops…a farewell, of sorts, to the world it knew and that knew of it. Then it cast its baleful eyes to the ground and began picking its way down the treacherous slopes from the top of the world.

[OOC: to be continued…unless this is sooooo far-fetched that you'd prefer I not]

 

[unmerged(228)]

Sean’s aide Eric rused Johan from a quiet, productive day. Johan had to show up with his great crossbow, Sean was expecting a skirmish of some sorts. Johan decided to come well armed. He prepared his giant crossbow carefully, taking his time. Moreau’s sword and the diminutive crossbow pistol where buckled to his belt. Carrying on his back, was the newest of Johan’s creations, the reloading crossbow. Johan was ready for battle.

Johan had to admit to Sean that he wasn’t much of a swordsman yet. The blade was a finely balanced weapon which seemed to have a mind of it’s own. Any move by Johan evoked a response of some sort of the sword. Johan couldn’t tell, like it was magic. Off course, it was just a piece of manmade equipment, but the intent of making equipment or weapons sometimes resulted in creating a miracle, if the craftsman was suitably divine in his trade, Johan had seen enough examples of that at the Collegue.

The gates of St Malo opened, and a small band of warriors headed out, following a trail of blood..

 

[unmerged(6528)]

January 25th, noon, St. Malo area

The scouts trotted down the road, they had some distance to cover. Their information said that their goal was three days away, Lochlan was determined to make it in two. He had no idea what Captain had planned, but he was certain that when the hammer fell, Blu Morte would feel it.

The scout column passed several peasant pulling a cart, Lochlan was brooding to much to even notice, they pased other things, but he failed to see tham as well. The only thing he could think about was a head, and a goal...

 

[Lord Durham]

RJ: I read shawn's post and it sounded like everyone was ready to rush the farmhouses simultaneously, within walking distance of St.Malo. Then I read yours where it states you have a journey of 2 to 3 days. Your's is correct. Remember, they know of at least two farmhouses, but they're not exactly sure where they are. Perhaps peasants in the surrounding area would report on grisly findings.

 

[unmerged(4007)]

LD,

I never intended that. It was my assumption that we might be travelling sepeately though--thus the necessity for two groups of instructions.

Blademonkey,

As for "pereniially sober," two things. One, sobreity is a relative term. Two, He's been established as a "bit" of a control freak--control freaks don't give up "control" very easily. Would he know that's a "quirk" among his people--perhaps. But he'd probably call it a good one.

As for the language issue, a bunch of us stated a while ago that we assume some multi-linguistics going on. But that would really dampen the clarity (and thus the entertainment value) of the story.

 

[driftwood]

January 25th, afternoon

"Captain, may I come in?"

Captain lifted his head and glanced through the open doorway. He motioned Guillaume in. Guillaume shut the door behind him.

"I thought I should give you the information I have about Blu Morte, but with a caveat." He accepted the glass of wine Captain offered and took a seat.

"Please," Captain said dryly.

Guillaume smiled unapologetically. "His real name is Pietro Farricci. He must be ... oh, about 27 now. No family. No friends."

"There were always two strands to Blu Morte. On the one hand, he was absolutely disciplined when it came to his work. He wasn't the brightest man, but he had a perfect memory for learning skills or information that would help him in his ... craft."

"Is this supposed to reassure me?" Captain asked crossly. "I was hoping you would have some good news."

Guillaume assumed a don't-shoot-the-messenger expression. "The other aspect of Blu Morte was that he was a wild degenerate. He had a voracious appetite for women, mostly because he could only use them once or twice before they became ... nonfunctional. He would drink himself to the brink of death until he got a job, and then go stone cold sober until the job was done. For a man with so much income, he could never hold on to it."

Guillaume leaned back in his chair and swirled his cup. Looking down at the whirlpool of whine, he slowly continued. "I can't say for sure, but I think that the wildly insane Blu Morte has broken into the professional, disciplined Blu Morte. Has he gone rogue on the Doge? I don't think so. Why would the Doge care if he slices and dices some French peasants?"

Captain put his glass back down. He found he wasn't very thirsty, even though his throat had dried out. "Did you conclude this because of the boy?"

"Yes, mostly. The boy said a few phrases in his fever dreams - nothing conclusive - but it got my mind thinking in this direction. It all fits. When he killed Piet, you never knew he was here until the job was done. Now he kidnaps irrelevant people to play games with them? Maybe there's another reason he did it. But this is what I feel in my gut, and I've learned to trust my gut."

Captain stayed silent. Every soldier knew when to trust his gut. If he were going to trust Guillaume, he would have to trust his instincts, too. "So that's your caveat? Your information is no good because you think he's gone insane?"

Guillaume looked back up and smiled. "Exactly. But who knows? If I'm right, then now you know not to expect him to look at situations rationally. He holds all the cards right now, but that gives you an edge, too."

Captain shrugged. "I don't feel like that gives me an edge. I feel like my 2200 men give me an edge but I guess that didn't help Piet." He coughed and then continued. "And I suppose you have some plan on how we should get Blu Morte?"

"I have some ideas," Guillaume admitted, "but first let me tell you about an interesting meeting I had with the Bishop."

[OOC: oops, just saw LD's post. Hurrah for Preview Reply. I'll assume this conversation happened earlier, unless you (LD) want it to happen later. Let me know.]

driftwood

 

[Lord Durham]

OOC: driftwood, the miracle of 'delete' and 'repost'

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

January 25 - Evening


Captain stood with the Countess, watching with some amusement as Georges and Fahitma diligently wandered to and from the kitchen, checking the series of tables that had been set up in the great hall. The aromas coming from the kitchen were delicious.

Constance grabbed Captain by the arm. "Now don't forget, it's Fahitma, not Fahtima."

"Fajita."

"No silly, Fa-Hit-Ma."

"Fa-Hit-Ma."

"Very good." The twinkle in her eye disappeared, to be replaced by a cold look. "How do you think Sean and Lochlan will do?"

"Their best, I'm sure. We should know in a few days, I hope." Captain breathed in deeply. "God, that smells good. Let's try to forget about the troubles for this evening."

That would be easier said than done, as the first of the officers made an appearance.

"Will Alberic play for us tonight?"

"Let's hope so, otherwise de Bloomfielde will grab the pipes."

"You could order Alberic to play."

"I may have to... I may have to...

 

[unmerged(6777)]

Slightly later that evening...

"Did he just call you 'Fahitma'?" asked the incredulous Georges, in reference to the Captain.

"Yes. I just about dropped the serving plate I was so startled," she replied. "Did you say something to him?"

"Not a word. Honest. Maybe it was the Countess?"

.......

Xanthixialix looked, with dismay, at the deep snow clogging the pass. It was too light and powdery for the kowtow to walk across so it would have to dig its way through. With a sigh, it started to woozle.

*****

OOC: sorry LD, couldn't resist poking a little fun. But your fajita was hysterical...maybe you should have called her that for a while before eventually coming up with the right name.

Your kowtow is en route, but it might take it a little while before jumps into the oven.