Blood for the Fields: Day 2 - Aftermath

East Leg 


 * The riverside town of East Leg, founded two centuries ago by Yontalas Lomasa, has over time become a popular settlement area for those who have served in some capacity within the Emperor's Blades until they became too old to ride, patrol or defend against threats within and without. Old horsemen and bladesmen can often be found in the Clanging Gong Tavern, telling stories of their adventures in the Emperor's service.


 * The township hugs the northern shore of the Fastheld River, and a busy dock juts out into the jade green waters. Market Road twists northeast, following the Fastheld on its way toward the city-state's commerce district. The Aegis Road cuts west, similarly following the course of the Fastheld, toward the massive wall that envelopes the realm; and a paved way cuts east to where the mansion of East Leg's ruler lies: the Heron Hall.

Duke Kahar continues to rest quietly on the wagon, with the dead and wounded. As he waits, he tenderly touches the bloody spot of his former wound, wincing. Looking back up, Tiris spots Katriana, approaching with his breastplate, and he nods to her, indicating an empty area of the wagon at his side.

On Katriana goes, lugging the big old armor behind her, until she reaches the wagon. With an extra large heave, she places it next to Tiris, and gives a tired smile. "I am sure I will see you at Riverhold, Your Grace," she says quietly, bowing once more. "Light Bless you." She moves away and then looks around with a somewhat muddled look. "Alin?" she calls softly, brow wrinkling with anxiety.

"I've enough people to duel this week, Lord Mikin, I'd rather not add you to the list. Please, try not to speak down to me. I can't do anything for Milora right now, I was doing my best to defend this township. I have a duty, and she knows that," sighs Norran at Alin's words, shaking his head slowly as he looks with faint alarm toward Serath. "Are you alright, Your Highness?" asks Norran, shaking his head slowly and looking back down to Voreyn. "I'm sorry for the rude greeting, Duchess Zahir. Uninvited guests, you see. They've been dealt with."

The Seamel looks up at Serath, his eyes widening in concern. He reaches out to restrain the Zahir for a moment and should that prove successful, he stands moving about her to the Wildcat's side. "Your Highness?" he asks quietly, shooting a quick look over at the Lomasa before bringing his gaze back to the Prince.

Benedict turns towards the front of the wagon and shakes his head. "Like havin' a graveyard on your back," he mutters. "An' there's room for one here'n the seat if they can manage to stay upright while we get turned back t' the road for Riverhold."

Tiris leans back on the wagon, resting a hand on his recently-delivered breastplate. Looking pale and exhausted, he waits there silently, closing his eyes and muttering something to himself as his mind wanders away.

"No!" is the somewhat emphatic reply that Serath returns to Norran as that question is asked. A reply given while under duress, it seems. Various sharp-hisses of breathing can be heard as the Prince evidently attempts to downplay the amount of pain he seems to be in.

"Yeah," he earnestly and quickly continues, wincing a little as the aggravation caused by breaking certain rules wears off, "I don't think I'll (ow) be able to do that again (ow) tonight. (Ow, ow) Duke Lomasa, just (ow) see if you can find a place for the wounded I can't tend to. Make sure the Watch has (ah) found and burned all the fallen Wildlings. I need (ouch) a bucket of cold water or (ow) something."

Not much is needed to restrain the Zahir, only due to weakness keeping her from rising in a flash. She manages to sit up, flexing her right hand carefully, and although weak, it seems to be under her control again. That is about the highlight of her evening, however, and she is struck with a guilty expression at the Prince's words. Her left hand rises up to her forehead and covers her eyes in shame and fatigue, and she slumps over a bit to rest her elbow on her knee. "Sure, Your Grace," she whispers in response to Norran.

Alin regards Norran quietly, expression opaque. "Duel? You may be a Duke and I may be nobody of import, Duke Lomasa, but I hardly think it's speaking down to you to wonder why you smile and joke after your township was set on fire and people shot through the chest. “He adds, voice low and quiet, "You might be a Duke and an imperial knight, and perhaps nobody can naysay your bravery, but on a man-to-man basis, your flippant behavior is a disgusting display."

Alin nods to the Prince and Katrianna in a grave manner, then turns to walk back towards the wagon of the wounded.

"Lord Mikin," Lyddmull calls after the retreating nobleman, attempting to cut the dispute off, "Could you perhaps see that someone finds some water for His Highness while I help Duchess Zahir into the... wagon?" Glancing quickly back at Norran, his mouth set in a tight frown, the Seamel steps away from the stricken prince to move to Voreyn's side. "Shall we go, Your Grace," he asks, leaning down to her.

Katriana Nillu offers Norran a sympathetic look and a faint, if sad, smile, and then turns to follow Alin, trotting to catch up with the tall Mikin, looking up to him with a great deal of concern. "Alin..." she murmurs.

"Were I not busy tending to the wounded and giving them residence of my keep to heal them, while you /moan/ and /scream/ at someone far above your standing like some kind of an ignorant whelp, I'd actually care to discipline you. I keep my optimism. That is none of your business. Now get out of my sight before I do something I'll regret," mutters Norran in answer to Alin.

After this, he calms, giving a nod toward the Prince. "Tavern's intact, Your Highness. I'm sure you can find something there, I believe snapping my fingers and making a bucket of water appear after this are not so much in my ability anymore. I'll ensure the freelander woman makes her way to Riverhold and is tended by our healer right away."

Benedict climbs back into the seat of the wagon and helps in bringing another, lesser wounded person up beside him before beginning to turn the loaded vehicle around with the help of those on the ground to clear a way through the throng of gathered.

For a moment, it almost seems as Serath might involved in the spat between the Duke Lomasa and the Mikin. Yet, as he regains some measure of his usual reserved and indefinable graceful composure, he decides to think better of it. He came here to help the wounded after all, and that is something he has accomplished - his blood-caked and slightly smouldering hands evidence of compassion and complete task far beneath his station, and far beyond the consideration of Princes and Emperor's who have come before him. However, Serath is not a Prince ruled by the dictates of tradition and convention, and perhaps Fastheld is a better place because of it. Thus, after having tracked the Black Wildlings to East Leg, and after helping blunt the severity of their carnage and save a number of lives in the process, he decides to leave this as a mission of mercy, keeping politics out of the equation.

"You did well tonight, Duke Lomasa," he does at least offer, catching Norran's glance and nodding his respect. "Thank you."

Alin simply ignores the accusation of moaning and screaming-- In fact, he ignores Norran entirely as if the man were a non-entity, turning to shake his head to Lyddmull. "I'll see if I can find a vessel not pressed into service with the fire fighting, Lord Seamel."

The sound of the Seamel's voice so close to her ear causes Voreyn to glance up, and although her expression is quite glum and far from peaceful, she nods her head slowly and offers up her left hand to the man. "Yes," she murmurs, keeping her voice low, "I'm sure I can walk. I just--heavy armor, you know? Thank you, Lord Seamel."

Katriana Nillu looks around. To the dead bodies still lying on the ground, then up to the buildings within the township now half-eaten with flame. Dead horses, dried blood. Down to the stained red armor on her own person. No more words to anyone else as she turns to walk towards the west, unshouldering her bow as she goes, keeping it at the ready.

Smiling faintly, Lyddmull nods, removing a soot-covered glove before taking the presented hand, though his fingers are still blackened with the stuff. "Of course, Your Grace," he replies, "And please do not mention it." He grips Voreyn's hand as tight as he dares, reaching down with his other arm to support her should she need it as he helps her to her feet.

"Thank you, Your Highness. I only wish I could've helped as much as you have, but alas, I am not as fortunate as you or my betrothed. You're, of course, more than welcome to take residence at Riverhold if you desire it. We've not had the honor of a Sovereign's visit in some time. If not, Light be with you, Prince Kahar."

He performs the usual Blades Salute to Serath as he makes his way, turning now to walk toward the prone form of Ashlynn Birch. "Katriana," he speaks aloud as he slowly walks toward the fallen freelander. "Tell Lord Mikin that if he should ever do anything remotely like that to me again, I'll take the matter to Rowena. I can't allow disrespect like that to continue. Not any longer. I'll not hurt my House by accepting that for a Baron."

Voreyn does, indeed, need help, unbeknownst to her. She pushes up from the ground with her legs, holding her right arm in against her stomach as she does so. Although she does not rise quickly, the speed is enough to cause her somewhat oxygen-deprived head to spin in time to the jingling of her Chain, and she stumbles forward a step. Lucky for that, though, as her boot kicks the head of Juritale, sending the cane skittering a few inches away from her. "Oh," she mutters as she spots it, blinking rapidly to keep herself conscious. "Please, will you get that for me, my Lord? I think the Baroness would be sad to see it missing."

"I would wish you not involve me into a matter between Mikin and Lomasa, Norran..." Katriana replies, pausing and staring at the Lomasa Duke. But she nods. "Yet, I will do as you ask. I hope to call on Riverhold tomororw... to se Anlyssa and speak with you. Good night." She turns and starts to walk onward again.

Ashlynn has not so much as twitched through the town's weary efforts to recover, at least long enough to get through the night without further damage. There is a moment, when voices had been raised in stress and anger, which she tenses with a small noise - as if wracked by dream-twitching looking for escape - before she falls into exhausted silence again.

Nodding quickly to the Zahir as he helps her into the wagon, the Seamel turns about to retrieve the item spoken of by the Duchess. The young baron stoops to retrieve the dragon-headed staff, lifting it to eye level as he looks at it. He bites his lips sorrowfully as he studies the carving for a moment. With a sigh, he reaches down and retrieves the bow next to it before moving back towards the wagon.

Serath nods, returning the Blades Salute in kind, shaking his head a little as he moves to find a quiet little corner of East Leg to spend the night, free of blood and Wildlings and the Shadow and the Light. In but a few moments, the Prince of the Blood - the Avatar of the White Dragon, and brother of an Emperor slain - has vanished into the shadows of the streets of East Leg. Royalty he may be, but anonymity is quickly attained when required.

Shiningcoat seems to have followed in his wake, though no desire of recognition nor glory for deeds done and lives saved follows the path he has taken. In the service of the Light, such things are not for consideration, and recognition was never the Prince's forte anyhow, nor the reason for his actions. He acts because he can, and everything else be damned.

Now you see him, now you don't...

''Return to Season 6 (2007)