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Lordling (Harwood)

Edwin rises, the grim face of governance furrowing his brow. "It is clear to me the Raftcrass woman intended no harm, but alchemy at best has proven experimental, and at worse a cause for harm," The lordling pauses, turning to the woman as he rises to give his verdict, "She is innocent, but for now must stop her ways of ancient medicine, lest those being treated clearly understand the consequences, and possibilities these crude cures may cause," Edwin looks up to the bailiff, speaking to the man, "For your service to myself, Sir Hywell, and the people of Stromroad, I shall have it arranged your daughter be treated at a temple of the Emmortal, so she may, god willing, recover from her most terrible plight." Edwin returns to his seat, continuing to talk, "There have been rumors, rumors spurred on by dread skies and whispers in the capital, I'd wager there is... a far greater evil among us than wives tales and superstitions. The disease of this poor girl, as even good Torman considered, must be of that greater evil, and as faithful of the Emmortal, we must seek it out, and destroy it." Edwin ends his speech, dismissing his knights, pulling aside Torman to reassure the man, making plans for his daughters treatment amongst the clergy, or monasteries.

After speaking with Torman, Edwin confronts Sir Hywel, "You have been a great help here, Sir, it was not long ago my father, and your master were slaughtered by the peasants during Guy Edbans devilish revolt. Now the ugly heads of rebellion have roared again, and it is our duty, as knights of the realm, to uphold our vows. We have made peace, to march to war." Edwin pauses for a moment, realizing that his philosophical blabbering might give the wrong impression to his liegeman, "Forgive me, Sir Hywel, I am not quite used to this position we share, let me speak clearly. I am appreciative of your support, you have shown me you're the sort to serve as my master of this village. But now, friend, as we fought together once, we may fight again here soon. I need the men from here, come the morning ready your freeholders. We shall meet again before we march, so all the knights and bailiffs may be informed of the happenings. With this, good Hywell, goodnight." Edwin takes his leave for the night.

  1. Declare the womens innocence, but condone the practice of alchemy.
  2. Speak with Torman and make arrangements for his daughters transfer to a temple, or monastery for treatment.
  3. Speak with Sir Hywel, ordering him to continue the muster.
  4. In the morning, once the muster is arranged, have the knights and bailiffs gather for a meeting.
 
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The manorial court process continues. Due to the conflict of interest, you are considered to be presiding over the session in stead of the bailiff and most of the usual serf jurors, who are tangled in the affair and thus exempt from this instance. There is no time to call a new jury, so people accept their higher master's verdict, as you project a feeling of impartiality upon the commonfolk and retainers present.

The Raftcrass freemen (as well as several serfs) have to be hushed from any celebrations. Matalda nods respectfully to the parties and agrees to not practice alchemy... perhaps it was begrudgingly, but it was better than being executed. There were freemen in her clan to support her.

Your speech of possible realm-wide dread irks many present, and though a weight is lifted off the village when the inner conflict is finally smoothed out, there is a descending sense of doom about the overall state of the realm. Before you leave, you see one of your young guardsmen embrace one of the Stromroad locals, a teary-eyed woman that looks like his mother.


Speaking closely with Torman, he nods in response. "Paragon might help her. I sorely hope He does," he sighs. Torman is still upset, naturally. But he does not object to his lord. It is one thing to undermine the master of the manor, another entirely to do so to his overlord.

Later speaking to Sir Hywel, the man at least appears forgiving of Torman for the slights, not bringing anything up in court against the man. "Thank you, my lord," the young knight replies. "I will be ready, I swear it."


Food rations are given out, though some men help themselves to taverns and homes of relatives in Stromroad. Marching wages are tracked for payment upon the return to the keep. The morning comes, and Sir Hywel brings forth 4 spearmen and 8 archers (including the Raftcrass bowmen). Bailiff Torman enlists his son to follow the host. Of particular note is that fact that Sir Hywel's squire is... more akin in terms of age to a page. It is clearly the man's younger brother of about twelve years, you notice they both share a similar face and head of hair. "Morning, your lordship," Sir Hywel greets. Your other officers have also gathered.
 
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The lord of Harwood nods at Sir Hywel, and then speaks to the present officers, "Today we march for Bannon, and then towards the enemy. I owe you an explanation, men," Edwin pauses, easing into his seat, motioning for them to do the same, "Sir Moulton has raised his village in rebellion against the Baron, we are tasked as the Stromwood's sworn men to end this. I was not told many details, and parley has been forbidden with the traitors, for what reasons? I do not know. What I do know is this, the Baron of Stromwood has given us a task, and I intend to follow it, for the sake of my lord father, and all those we lost against Guy Edban! Sir Moulton fought alongside many of us, his deeds well renowned, to throw off his noble calling to this debauchery is madness!" The lordling stops, taking a drink of some watered ale, hoping his emotions are shared among his officers,

"The baron has promised us armored riders against this foe, perhaps the master of Bannon." Lord Harwood looks over to his captain, speaking "Before you ask, Sir Borren and I shall lead the vanguard of our forces, with Sir Pembry and Sir Hywel taking the middle. Sir Destrin, I trust you and your bows to hold the rear, should we form battle formations protect our archers, they are key against lightly armored peasants, but may be easily run down by a more equipped foe. This being said, Sir Moulton has levied the villages of Stoncrest and Woodwick, I doubt all the freemen there have joined his force, and the peasants under his banner can be easily cut down, my advisers told me to expect two dozen armed freemen, and perhaps dozens of peasants. They have men between here and Bannon, having injured the Barons rider who came to Harwood, but how many men? I do not know, but surely they know we are coming. To this end, Sir Borren, employ your riders to scout our front and rear, a reasonable distance so we may not be ambushed, but not so far they can not return to us quickly.

Edwin stops, thinking to himself for a moment. "Our main concern are their freemen sworn to the rogue knight, if they break, then so should the rest of his army. We have superior numbers, and shall have horses, but what I do not have is the luxury of life. I will not fight to have men of my villages die unnecessarily. We will seek a precise victory over our foe." Edwin looks around to his present officers, speaking, "You men served under my Lord father, and many know this land greater than I do. This is a war council, and as your lord, I command you council me!" Edwin smirks, issuing such an odd command, "I need information, on Sir Moulton, the villages sworn to him, landmarks, places to stage a battle, anything which will help us win. Furthermore, if you have questions for me, or any man present here, ask them, and if you have a question, or something to tell me even while we march for Bannon, let me know. Words win wars as much as swords my father always said, had we known the peasants trickery while fighting against Guy Edban things may have been much different," Edwin trails off, cutting himself short, "I have said my piece, now say yours men,"

1. Have Sir Borrens light riders scout ahead and behind the host to watch for ambush.
2. Take any questions from the officers, and gather information from them.
3. March for Bannon.
 
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The assembled levies listen to your speech. Many of them nod, it seems as though word of the event seems to have already diffused among the villages by way of the messengers you had dispatched earlier.


You later gather your knightly councilors, asking them for their thoughts on the overall plan after outlining their respective battle positions.

"Well, it's an important thing to keep in mind that most peasants don't feel like dying," Sir Borren says. "I would be mighty surprised if our first show of force did not immediately make Sir Moulton's entire 'host' change its mind about the rebellion. Then, we'd just have to decide how gently to treat them for this misstep."

"Still," Sir Hywel says. "I was just a squire during the time of Guy Edban, but I do remember clearly being unhorsed by peasants we all thought were going to surrender."

Sir Destrin shrugs. "I am aware, but these peasants all know of the outcome of that stunt. Over one thousand Serbeck serfs slain in retribution for the men we lost during that short victory. Killing one or two knights isn't worth an ashen Woodwick and Stoncrest, even if they can do it."


Sir Pembry suddenly stands up, having remained mostly silent so far. "They know all of this, yet they have rebelled anyway!" He seems furious. "My lord, my fellow gentry, we are ignoring a very crucial element! Why, by Paragon, is this 'stunt' being done in the first place? We don't even know what happened. Guy Edban had thousands of men, even castles, and he lost. And yet these peasants are willing to pull something similar, with maybe a hundred men at most?"

"Eh... nobody said that peasants had to be a smart lot," Sir Destrin shrugs. Captain Borren shoots him a look for this arrogance.

"Either way..." Sir Pembry continues. "I am very suspicious of the order given to us by the baron. I would not normally question the man. Surely, my lord, I sense you are uneasy about this as well. But I have no interest in running down peasants unless I know the reason why. That is not the way of the knight," he says, nodding at Sir Borren. "Be he iron, or stone."
 
"I agree, Sir Pembry, it makes no sense to me, I do not like it. But what option do we have? We show them our full force and hope they tuck tail and run." Edwin stops, scratching his chin, thinking.

"Perhaps the riders from Bannon will have more information. I am wary, however, trusting them so much. The Baron is far more powerful than us, and far closer than us to this rogue Knight. Why he called up us instead of his own levies concerns me too."

The lordling takes another drink of his watered ale, continuing to talk, "The Baron has left us in a hard place. Either it is a test of our loyalty, a display of his own personal disconcern for Woodwick and Stoncrest, or something much more foul."

Edwin allows his officers to reply, speaking again, "What say you lot about the issue of parley with the traitor?"
 
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The council gains a more unsettled aura when the knights are faced a dilemma beyond mere battle strategies...

"We have to contact him somehow," Sir Pembry says. "We run the risk of being in a scandal, otherwise. I think we have a right as liegemen to have at least basic knowledge about these strange events. We are ready and willing to respond to the call. Just tell us why," he sighs in exasperation.

"I don't have much interest in having my lands stripped by our overlord because I ignored a command. Baron Stromwood is our liege. We aren't men of the king, we're men of another lord, we have fewer rights. The worst case scenario for you, my lord, is that you're demoted to a knight like us, losing your properties... then, what do you say, lads? How about we all form a company of wandering knights?" he snorts. "We could go around and get farmers out of jams, fight outlaws and sleep under the trees."

"Such a life is preferable to being a potentially unjust lord's patsy," Sir Pembry mutters. "Knighthood is not about property."

"Oi, calm it down, sirs," Sir Borren says. "Sir Destrin, my friend, now is not the time for jokes, eh?"

Sir Destrin sighs, and nods. Though he sometimes slights Sir Borren's background on accident, he does not have a dislike for all commoners. Ever since the last rebellion he has counted Borren as a friend.
 
Edwin listens to the joke, ignoring it, "Seems us Harwood men are always caught in the affairs of others. We are good, loyal people, but above all we must be loyal to each other, how my father would of had it. I shall speak with the men at Bannon, and pry them for information."

Edwin stops, looking throughout his knights, "Let me hear it from you, do we attempt to parley with the traitor, or follow the Barons commands strictly? A simple vote, doesn't mean we'll do one way or another, but I want your thoughts."

Edwin allows his officers to continue the meeting, eventually dismissing them to rally the troops, marching for Bannon. He would talk with Sir Borren while riding forth from the village, in relative secrecy from the host,

"What would you make of this, old friend?" The lordling asks the distinguished captain.
 
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The bailiff of Bornbarrow, Rorrey, says he would prefer to parley before rushing into the fray headfirst. However, he points out that he, along with the other bailiffs, have less at stake than the vassals. If the lands of their masters are stripped, they may very well retain their offices anyway, so he decides to abstain. The other bailiffs do as well.

Sir Destrin votes not to parley. "Let's just be done with it," he says.

Sir Pembry votes to parley out of sheer principle.

Sir Hywel, new to the whole business of estate ownership, vote to parley. "I don't even like sitting around my manor. If the baron takes it away, so be it... but even then, I don't think he will. He would be cross with us, but not do anything drastic," he reasons.


Sir Borren abstains until he can speak with you. The rest of the officers depart to make their preparations.

"We can parley, as long as we play it carefully, Master Edwin. We should not stand behind our armies and ride out to meet them in an open parley. The baron would catch wind of that. Perhaps we accidentally bump into them and exchange a few words... Sir Moulton has no particular quarrel with the folk of our lordship, and he's not the man I think that would butcher a herald if we sent one."
 
The lordling confides in his captain, carefully listening to him. "Indeed, the Barons men would surely see us speaking with Sir Moulton, but I do like your idea of chancing upon them, of course we would not want the Baron's men to catch word of this, namely those riders."

Edwin stops, buckling a few straps, and making other preparations while talking with Sir Borren, "How do you suggest then we go about this then, Sir? He may be weary to speak, either afraid of a trap, or intending to set one himself."

Lord Harwood listens to his captains advice, as sergeants can be heard outside the manor, readying men for the march to Bannon.
 
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Sir Borren takes a few moments to think. "Well, the aggressive thing to do is try to capture one of the other sir's scouts. Bring him before you, spare his life but tell him to go back and demand a meeting with his master. Other than that, we may have to put ourselves out there, fly the flag of truce and hope that Sir Moulton parleys honorably. Though he surprised everyone with his lack o' loyalty to his lord, I trust the man's general sense of honor, personally. Sometimes more than Lord Stromwood, between you and me. He is a ratchety old knight, sometimes not pleasant, but I could not see him breaking the peace of a parley... still, since the man might been acting barmy, it might pay to be careful."

The men pack up their belongings and get back into marching order.

[33%] One of the levied free tenants (a spearman) is allowed to commandeer his family's wagon in order to carry some extra provisions on the march. He brings several barrels of ale for the rest of the Stromroad locals, aside from the Raftcrass archers. They keep to themselves and fall into their own small squadron.
 
Edwin considers Sir Borren's advice, speaking to his captain, "The issue is the Bannon men. We don't know how much they know either, there's a chance the Baron has graciously given us aid as a means to ensure his orders are followed," Lord Harwood looks around, passively scanning for people in the room, "We will need to pry them for information, not me, nor you. Hear me out on this, but Sir Hywel is our best choice, get their master, or whoever shall command the Bannon riders drunk, and pry him for information. He'll play the sob story, how Lord Harwood won't tell him nothing, and how he was hoping his new friend would enlighten him." Edwin is interrupted, a retainer at the door, mentioning the wagon, carrying ale. Dismissing the soldier, the lordling continues talking to his officer, "That solves part one, now I'll just need to talk with Sir Hywel, and make sure he does not fail me. In the meantime, have your riders, and the men for that matter, prepared to capture an enemy spy. Should I decide otherwise on my plans for Sir Hywel, one of Sir Moultons men could always, how do I put it, escape from his captivity."

"For now, however, we must march for Bannon, make sure to keep tensions down, especially among those damn Stromroad folk. Keep your riders eyes peeled, and our own forces alert, lest the trees take our lives." Edwin stands up from his table, going outside the manor he has made his temporary court. Waiting outside is his horse, which he mounts, riding for the head of his assembled host. Once accompanied by Borren, and the various cohorts in place, the small army would march from Stromroad, towards Bannon.

1. March for Bannon
2. Keep Sir Borrens riders as scouts, riding a good quarter hour from the host, to watch for an ambush, returning periodically to report.
3. Keep the peasants in line, and have the Raftcrass archers moved to the back, away from the other Stromroad men.
 
"Aye... a risky play, our little green knight will have to know how to play his part well. But he seems smart, even if he ain't good at running a manor yet. I hope he can pull it off, because I feel there is much to learn from the baron's men," Sir Borren says, chuckling as the spearmen stack the wooden kegs of beer onto their wagon.

The marching order is adjusted so that the two factions of Stromroad yokels comprising Sir Hywel's contribution to the host are less likely to sow discord between themselves. Rearguards and pointmen are also established for the security of the formation while it is on the move.


The march to Bannon is an uneasy one. Some of the men bicker about the recent goings-on, looking up at the clouds and speaking of ill omens. More desiccated animal bodies are found along the paths. Another deer with entrails a'dangling, a gutted wild cat, and a destroyed hedgehog. The men have to be quickly urged onward to avoid distraction, the clouds still casting a shadow upon all. Few people seem to be out in the fields.

The host nears the crossroads, preparing to take the upper pathway to Bannon. However, there is another scene of carnage. A man-at-arms or knight belonging to House Stromwood, clad in full mail and a perfectly good jack o'plates lies slain in the ditch by the road. His skull is completely crushed, his great helm dented and oozing with fly-infested brains. His horse is nearby, standing upright despite the fact that the beast's body has half a dozen arrow shafts poking from its flesh, as well as a javelin in its rump. Standing some yards away, it slowly sways back and forth on its four feet.

"What in the abyss is this," Sir Pembry furrows his brow, surveying the scene.
 
The march was unsettling for Edwin, it seemed the woods had eyes, and the roads teeth, as how they were littered with dead game. Usually a summer march was like vacation to Edwin, and even some of the freeholders, but this was much different, much more sinister with the clouds as dark as the omens spoke. That's when he saw it, the carnage.

"Emmortal save us," Lord Harwood mutters, the same fear the Bailiffs daughter had brought returning to his mind. The lordling simply stared for a moment, at the brutalized corpse in Stromwood armor, and then at the dead mans horse, wondering how the beast was still standing, "Make ready men! Hold your ground! Spears to the front, archers hidden behind them!", the Lordling barked at his men, hoping his officers, and various sergeants would pick up as well, and god willing forming a decent line, should those who killed the horseman still be around. "Keep your eye's peeled, we don't know who did this, or if they're still around! Sir Borren, get some men to check the damned man, and his horse, be wary of that beast, something isn't right here."

Edwin holds himself together while quickly organizing the men into a rough protective formation, "Keep your eyes focused lads, and your ears listening! We'll need to quicken our pace to Bannon, so that the Baron might know of this poor souls death, and god willing, his family be given some peace. Don't let this spook you, we're Harwood men, godly men! We've faced down men who have done worse than this and lived to tell the tale!"
 
Your host quickly assembles into fighting formation. As the scene had been spotted by the outriders first, many of the men who had been marching in the regular formation (especially towards the rear) still don't fully know what is going on, and try to peer through the gaps of the spearwall to see if the whispers of the dead man and strange horse are true. The men towards the immediate front, as well as Sir Borren's vanguard seem quite shaken by the sight, some of them simply staring at it in disbelief. Your speech shakes them out of the stupor of terror, thankfully.

"Aye, milord." Sir Borren takes his riders and draws closer to the to the armored corpse. He dismounts to survey the body while one of his other men goes to check on the horse... however, the beast begins to awkwardly gallop away from the man. It is a surreal sight as the horse gallops away, somehow still moving despite its mortal wounds.

"Looks like some arrows hit him," Sir Borren says, standing up. "One of the shafts is almost completely broken off in his armor, couldn't see it at first. But it looks like there's a hole in his neck too, they just managed to pull the arrow out. Now, I don't know why the rebels saw the need to do his head in like this, but..."
 
"These are foul acts, it is one thing to rebel, but another to desecrate a body of a lone warrior like they have done here. I will not stand for this."

The Lord of Harwood stares at the butchered horsemen, then over at the galloping beast. "Send riders after it, have them end the beasties pain, and search the saddles for anything of note, letters, seals, you get the point, should he have coin, or anything of value, that is not theirs to keep, it is owed to his family, likely a young son who will wish to avenge his father. In the meantime, I must put on my armor, I feel as if I'll want to look lordly for our friends in Bannon aye? And it will free some room in the wagon for this poor soul, so we may return him home."

Edwin breaks away from the scene of death, having pushing off some of the small tasks of the march to Sir Borren, quickly donning his armor with the help of a member of his retinue. The lordling keeps his host on guard, however allows some of them to break, weapons at their side, and centuries placed around their perimeter, also sending the unoccupied riders to scout around in pairs for any other clues. As soon as he'd be armored up, the horse laid to rest, and the slain soldier loaded into the wagon, the host would march on again, assuming no complications arose, with the host moving with greater haste towards the village.

1. Put down the wounded war horse, searching it for any clues of the identity of the rider, or his attackers. Preserve any belongings of the man for his family. Once completed, have the riders scout around (in pairs or 2 or more), looking for more clues to the happenings here.
2. Search the rider and the nearby scene for any clues of the identity of the rider, or his attackers. Preserve any belongings of the man for his family.
3. Sir Edwin dons his armor from the wagon. Once completed the fallen rider would be moved to the wagon, however kept separate from any foodstuffs and the sort, and likely covered with a blanket of some sort.
4. Resume the march towards Bannon, moving at a quickened pace.
 
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Several riders sally out to the dying horse. It takes some time to catch up, for the beast moves with unusual speed for having so many wounds, including a few to its legs. One men throws a spear into its hide, but it doesn't stop. It suffers several sword blows and spear thrusts, but keeps running. In the distance, you can see the beast stand on its haunches and let out a beastly sound, causing a few of the men to reel back in fright. It topples over, and one of the men holds his spear as if it were a huge dagger, and plants it in the horse's eye. It kicks and thrashes very violently for several moments, before going still.

The knight is lifted into one of the wagons after you don your armor with the assistance of one of your senior retainers (serving as an unofficial squire for the time being). A few footmen are instructed by their serjeants and chastised to return personal belongings that had been pilfered from the knight.

The men are put back into marching formation. Many whispers are heard, the men speculating on what occurred... some speak of the strange horse, the talk of dark omens and sorcery arising again.

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Soon, you see the village of Bannon ahead. There is the smell of smoke and seared flesh in the air. You see a levy spearman and a few peasants gathered around a bonfire, where smoke arises from it... upon closer inspection, it is a funeral pyre.

"My lord," the levy says. "The knights, they're near the village square," he says.
 
Lord Edwin smells the stink of flesh and charred wood rise through the air, filling his nostrils and leaving a harsh scent in his nose. The ride to Bannon was harder for the lordling, having donned his armor the young knight was weighed down more now, his shoulders and waste, although already toned from his past exercise, getting a good workout from the suit. Edwin heard the rumors on the road, whispers of witchcraft and evil, demons, and the dead. The horse was assuredly something, a bad omen, supernatural, akin to the poor bailiffs daughter, but worse. Edwin excused these thoughts, not having the luxury of fear or worry, rather turning his attention to the issue at hand.

The Lordling called forth his liegemen after hearing the levy point out the Bannon men, riding forward from the detachment towards the knights, giving orders for the retinue to follow and hold about twenty feet from the riders in the square. Edwin thought it odd, to burn a body in such a manner, rather than give a proper burial, but figured he would learn the truth of the situation soon enough.

Upon meeting reaching the knights of Bannon, Edwin speaks, a loud booming voice, mustering every ounce of surety and confidence in his heart, "My lord of Stromwood has called up the loyal men of his faithful cousins, and us Harwood men have answered his call, I am Lord Edwin Harwood, here to serve our Baron. Who are you? Good sirs."
 
Venturing into the village grounds, many serfs peer out of their hovels suspiciously at your armed men entering their community, corralling their livestock into fences, and seeming to be on the guard for thievery. Many recognize your flag, and although they don't shy away from you or your mounted knights, they do seem leery of your small army of regular soldiers in tow, the common folk having always been suspicious of warbands, no matter where they're from.

You draw closer to one of the small inns in the village square, where the horses are tied up. You see that the men are mostly poor knights, squires, and a few random and men-at-arms under the baron. Their destriers look old, as do some of the men (though a few are very young). A token force, but they were still able warriors, no doubt.

You are hailed by Sir Mellard Monray, the Baron's justice-of-the-peace, and chief hangman and headsman for the barony. He wears a faded surcoat with his knightly family's crest upon it, a straight dandelion with two leafs on either side, all on a black background. "Lord Harwood. Welcome," he says with a small bow. The men near him do so in kind. He says something to his squire, whereupon the boy fetches a few other men from inside the inn. Once everyone shuffles out, you count only ten of the dozen riders.

After studying your group closely, Sir Mellard frowns. "I... is Sir Roscan..." He grits his teeth, sensing something was amiss. "Did you see him or his squire on the road?"
 
Edwin nods at the bowing men, speaking in a lighter, but soothing voice, mimicking how his father spoke to him as a young boy, "Sir Mellard, I am sorry, but I believe your friend Sir Roscan is dead, butchered by the enemy. I had his body carried in a wagon, and his possessions left untouched for his family to inherit. We saw no signs of a squire, just the poor Sir Roscan and his horse. The beast was ungodly, running about despite having a dozen wounds." The lordling pauses, allowing the knight some time to digest the news.

"Sir Mellard, what was that pyre we saw coming in here? The weather is downtrodden, my men are wary and suspicious. I have seen horses defying deathly blows five times over, and even a poor girl so sick she was incoherent, her diseases blamed on witchcraft. I have heard news Aussux is in turmoil, received little commands from the Baron besides Sir Moultin is a traitor, and that I must kill him. Why has the baron called us here? Is our enemy a rebel, or is there, as many of us suspect, a deeper evil rooted in this conflict? We must know, and deserve to know, as liegemen to our lord, and faithful servants to the Emmortal. My men have not asked questions, but soon they will begin to, and that is something neither of is wish to see," The lordling speaks with a strong voice, although not the rage of a roaring bear he is still firm and brave, bolstered by his knights and bailiffs, and even more so by his entire host flanking them, hoping to intimidate in some form the tavern knight into some information, hoping to have caught him off guard.
 
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You attempt to intimidate the knight with your array of men coupled with your stern line of questioning. [75%] You see Sir Mellard seem to raise his haunches a bit. "I know as much as you do, Lord Harwood," he informs you. [Failed] "The skies are dark overhead. This land has endured strife many times throughout the years, this is no different. As liegemen, we both have a job to do, however," he says. "We should deal with our superstitions after the immediate threat is subdued."

Though you technically outrank the knight as a fully ennobled man, Sir Mellard seems to be playing the card of being the baron's justice-of-the-peace. He is also older than you, perhaps trying to assert this seniority as well. The behavior irks Sir Pembry, who has his lips almost curl into a snarl. He never liked Sir Mellard, having nearly dueled him at some point in the past over the dignity of one of his female servants.

Sir Mellard continues. "We have reason to believe some of Sir Moulton's men are in the hills to the north, but not in large enough numbers to be a threat... at least when we are at full strength. They must have circled around and ambushed Sir Roscan and his squire while he was delivering our scout report to Lord Stromwood," he murmured. "To keep Bannon safe, I have raised the levy, but they won't be able to come with us," he says. "We're ready to ride when you are, your lordship. Sir Moulton's main force was last reported at Stoncrest."
 
Edwin looks at the Barons lackey, obviously upset. "Sir, knight to knight, I mean you, nor our Baron no disrespect, but the levies are scared. My knights and bailiffs have left their villages to aid me, and the omens are disheartening. You will settle all of our nerves if you tell the truth, the full truth. We are loyal men, words are not so heavy as fear, they take but a moment to speak, but relieve a superstitious man's heart which will weigh down with concern and anguish if left untreated. My lord father died for the Baron, need be I will give my life too, but for that service, me, and my liegemen, are OWED the right to know what is going on."

The young lordling speaks with a fiery passion, not quite desperation in his voice, but genuine concern, how his father might have spoken years past. As he speaks, he looks at Sir Mellard, staring down the dandelion knight, not allowing his vision to break free from the noble, his own eyes trained on those of the hangman, the deep green of Harwood eyes sparkling in the low light, his hand rested upon the pommel of his fathers sword. "I will not allow the honor of my men to be so mistrusted, and mine own honor sir, nor the capability of the Harwood host," Edwin says proudly in his polished armor, his full force assembled to his back, and his knights and bailiffs all mounted besides him.
 
[80%] Sir Mellard is put into a spot. He is flustered, he grinds his teeth, and shifts from one foot to another. But he is unbending. [Failed] He resorts to raising his voice, pointing at you with a snarl. "I do not know what else to tell you! The Baron's intentions are being safeguarded, and he made this an item of importance to us, Lord Harwood. He has-"

"Ach! Enough," one of the other knights speaks up, taking off his great helm. It is Sir Gaines, Master of Darroworth. "What are we accomplishing here? Lord Harwood would surely understand the situation..."

Sir Mellard scowls, but then sighs... he seems to realize there's no true way to move forward without being flexible with the Baron's orders of secrecy. [Success] "We are wasting daylight... but I will brief you and your close men, Lord Harwood. Understand that I cannot entertain your entire host, or the common folk standing out here in the open. Will you join me in the tavern?"
 
Lord Edwin listens to Sir Mellard as the knight snarls at him, his face calm and flat. He hears the interruption of Sir Gaines, his comment piquing his interest, then being relieved once the Barons justice concedes. "Very well then sir, we shall follow you into the tavern, I agree, time is of the essence, it will give my men some time to break, and us some time to further discuss our plans in relative comfort and secrecy."

Edwin dismounts from his horse, followed by his knights and retainers. He talks motions for Sir Borren, talking with him about nothing particularly, just wanting the skilled warrior besides him should something happen in the tavern.
 
You follow the knight into the tavern. The closest men in your affinity, Sir Pembry, Sir Hywel, and Sir Borren dismount, following close behind as a senior squire is left in command of the host. Upon entering, you see that it is more of a large peasant lodge, with a small area for drinking and only a few beds available in the loft. With a mere look towards the tavernkeeper, Sir Mellard dismisses the commoners, who disappear outside to leave the gentlemen to their business. Only a chicken struts around on the floor.


Sir Mellard sits at the table near the hearth. "Alright, sirs. It is not easy to say this... you must do well to prevent panic among the ranks. But there is troubling news from near and far. There is a curse upon the land, one of undeath," he says, his face grim. Your knights glance at each other, and the justice continues. "The horse you spoke of, Lord Harwood... it defied the deathly blows because it was unliving."

"By Paragon. That can't be true. It's..." Sir Pembry is at a loss for words. Sir Hywel also seems to be shocked... Sir Borren just sits there, tensed.

"It is true. And you have heard of the violence in Aussux. It will very soon be overrun with unliving men. There are thousands of them. They eat women, babes, animals, anything, and they swell their ranks with the butchered. Lord Stromwood's domains are all threatened by this evil," Sir Mellard says. "He has taken it upon himself to seek assistance from those with... knowledge of undeath."

"That is unholy," Sir Pembry gasped. "Necromancy is-"

"Yes, it is forbidden. It might be the only thing stopping us from becoming truly unholy beasts," Sir Mellard snaps. "The Baron takes counsel from a... certain man, Alcort Crowley. I have seen the man's powers. He can still the hungry jaws of the wretched monsters, make them turn away. They will spare the living, but only at his command."

"And what of Sir Moulton?" Sir Borren inquires, brow furrowing.

"He has raised his tenants in rebellion. The fool would rather the undead overrun our lands, than to accept the presence of the magician at court. We must defeat him, and rally the rest of the barony to prepare," the justice concludes.
 
Edwin listens intently, his heart sinking deep into his gut at the news. It was expected, but the truth of it still stung like a bodkin. The lordling rubs his furrowed brow, a slight headache, and lightness overtaking him. He takes a breath, centering himself. "Sir Mellard, I apologize, forcing your hand like that was not comfortable, but we needed an explanation. Sir Moulton fought alongside us all during the rebellion, always proved to be a true Knight, iron or steel. Being asked to kill him without an explanation was troubling to many of us. Let me assure you, your honesty has quelled our nerves."

The lord of Harwood takes a senstive, lighter tone, focusing on the justice and his knights, "As for Sir Roscan, I am sure he was close to many of you, and I am sorry for your loss. I ordered my men to leave him, and his belongings untouched, so they may be delivered to his family. Tell me, does he have any kin here? A son perhaps? He is owed his fathers sword, a token to remember a brave knight by."

Edwin pauses, rubbing the side of his face, the news having tired him. "I understand now the Baron's choice, but he has forbidden parley. Perhaps Sir Moulton is lost, but his people need not be. If you are right, and the unholy mass moves for Stromwood then every living man will be needed against this undeath. I wish not, if possible, to lose good, living men to senseless warfare, especially with the news of late. Sir Moulton is an honorable knight, he will speak with us, especially when he sees our own force outnumbers his. If you worry I may turn to his side, worry not, Harwood men are from Stromwood stock, we are made lord through our noble cousins."

Edwin allows the justice to respond, then continues speaking, "As for the news, what do we do about it with the host? We can ill afford chaos and freight within our ranks, surely my other knights and bailiffs will demand to know, and as trusted as they are, news will leak, or worse yet, we will see first hand these undead. In fact, many men have already seen these," Edwin stops for a moment, carefully phrasing his words, stuttering slightly "th-these, undead. The bailiff of Stromroad, Torman. His daughter had eyes black as the abyss, with bile and rot seeping from her body. She was completely dazed, as if a demon had captured her soul from the warmth of the Emmortal. This, and the poor Sir Roscan, rest his soul, and his ghoulish beast further frightened them. My retinue will live and die by my side, but the freemen are common folk, they live and die by their crop, by their family. Dark clouds were enough to unsettle them, but rumors of dead men walking? That will create a panic. Please, Sirs, tell me your thoughts. "
 
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