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Lordling (Vizierdrake)

For a fair amont of seconds I think to myself before sighing
"Alright. I don't want to risk unnecessary lives, but we might be too short on time. Let's send a messenger to Aussux with a letter to send to the King, and one or two to Tuwold and Stromwood."

"As for eggs and milk" I say turning to Crannic "And by that I take it you are talking about those extracted from living animals, I don't think they are dangerous. That goes without saying that if took from undead creatures, if it even is possible to do so, such products are forbidden."
Before standing right up
"Are these orders clear enough for you sirs ? If so we better hurry while we're still in control. I want the requested patrol ready in the courtyard in less than an hour, and the other detachments already down at work."
 
Your household knights nod, and if there is nothing else to be said, they bow and set off to organize your servants to accomplish your intent.

Several swift steeds are fetched from the stables, and three riders, Welton, Baxter and Clement are drawn from the ranks of your retainers (2 heavy footmen,1 heavy archer). Though they nominally fight on foot, they know how to ride if need be. They are ready to depart now.

Captain Nyren has gathered over twenty men in the courtyard. He has separated them into a few groups, the largest one for performing inspections on the Charondale residences, and the smaller one for checking the livestock of all the farmsteads. Sir Nyren inquires if the men will be moving to perform these duties in the other villages in your domain, or if your individual vassals will be contacted to do it themselves.
 
Once father Heyjah is finished redacting the messages adressed to the neighboring lordships and to the Crown, Meleagan comes assign them in person to the appointed messengers ready for departure. To Baxter and Clement, the archer, he hands the letters respectively meant for Stromwood and Tuwold.
"You two will take the path to the West, in the direction of Tuwold's castle. Clement, you will deliver your message to his lordship of Tuwold and come back to give us his answer. While you Baxter will continue down to the South until Stromwood castle with your message, then like your comrad return me his word."
He then turns to Welton, entrusting him with the letters for Aussux and the capital.
"You Welton will join the great road to Aussux, East of the lake. This message is for Aussux' authorities, but this one is directly adressed to the King. At the city, unlike us, they more than likely have birds to contact the capital. After delivering the first message I want you to convince them to let us use them for this urgent correspondence. They should be reluctant to refuse if you argue that doing so would be obstructing informations of matter for the kingdom and His majesty. Though if it isn't enough tell them we will send payment for the service."

After their instructions has been enunciated to the group in charge of taking inventory in the lordship's possessions in the perspective of a siege state, the order of starting their mission is given.
Meawhile, Meleagan calls father Heyjah to the courtyard. The lordling and his clergyman cross the door to face the soldiers commissioned for the investigation. After a brief and concise introduction, Meleagan asks Heyjah to present the proves, signs, clues, and other hints of necromantic practices to look for. After making sure the footmen understood clearly the ins and outs of their quite unusual task, the de-facto lord of Charondale finishes the speech by emphasizing on the fact that they must be careful to not alarm the populace beyond measure, that no coercion shall be enacted without proves, and any unnecessary use of violence will be punished.
Finally, he tells sir Nyren to send two of the men who heard the speech, one to Nostron the other to Pelwick, to contact Charondale's vassals in order for them to perform the same investigations and stocktakes.

Once the machine has started working, the heir of the Vizierdrake house gets back inside the keep with a deep sigh, spreading a hand through his mid-length dark hair, and ascends the stairway leading to the living areas of the castle.
 
Baxter and Clement nod, teeth gritted. These were dark times to be riding the roads alone, but they seem determined to fulfill the missions asked of them. You are their lord's noble heir, not a man to be disappointed...

Welton has the more detailed of the tasks, so he listens closely to your instructions, nodding every now and then to let you know that he is following. "Yes, milord," he replies. "The king will hear," the man assures you.

Father Heyjah tells the men to be on the lookout for excessive furnishings or equipment for alchemy or herbalism. Large amounts of glassware that could be used for potions, strange ingredients like preserved animal parts in jars, and smells akin to rot, embalming fluid or cadaver juice. He briefly goes over several symbols associated with ancient necromantic military orders and cults, though he makes a point to state that it would be highly unlikely to find overt indications of necromantic or heretical practices. He stops himself from going on any tangents and simply regaling the men, making sure they only know what they need know.

Your retainers begin their investigations, and men are dispatched to the vassal holdings. The messengers depart after making the last of their preparations.


The day winds down. Your staff are paid their daily allowance by Father Heyjah, around 72 silvers for the (garrisoned) soldiers and household servants. Working with your steward, he also keeps track of the food stores, and with a daily ale allowance of 1 quart, around 15 gallons of ale are consumed among all the men and servants. You, your family, and your officers drank around 2 gallons of sweet wine today.

--

The next day, you rise in the morning and are delivered reports on the village inspections. The patrols yielded no suspects aside from a local herbalist who was later cleared of any suspicion.

You are expected to receive word from Clement soon, and Baxter possibly tomorrow.

Welton returns sooner than expected. "Milord," he bows. "I was ferried across the lake, and rode for Aussux with great haste. But I was stopped on the great road by the servants of Lord Woodend, when I reached the village of Crosswoods. They had blocked the road with palisades, and had stationed spearmen and crossbowmen all around. I spoke with a knight from Lord Woodend's household, and he informed me that Aussux was in turmoil, and that I would be dead if I ventured further into the cursed hinterlands around the city," he informs you. "Crosswoods had already been attacked several times by roving gangs of undead, and Calfar had been overrun."
 
Meleagan has the greatest difficulty to keep his impassive face when the early messenger informs him of the situation in the south. The lordling, and more than likely most of those who learned about the crisis, already imagined this scenario, and dearly hoped it wouldn't happen. At least not so soon... After all, not farther than yesterday, the undead creatures weren't showing any sign of aggressivity. Meleagan frowns thoughtfully. He could perform some more tests on the pig they kept in the gaols. He spreads a hand over his forehead, gaze lost in nothing for a bit before looking right at Welton.
"At least now we know this thing isn't only localized around Charondale. It's no good news but we need as much information as possible, sad as much as happy ones. Good job Welton. Please go look for sirs Nyren and Crannic, they are summoned for urgent strategy meeting. If you find them tel them about what happened on the road. I'll be in the meeting hall in a few instants."


Meleagan then heads towards the dungeon, and asks the guard to come with him. He waits for the said guard to open the door with his key and follows him down in the depths of the keep's prison.
 
Things are definitely tamer in the rural domains, however, the curse seems to have brought deadly havoc to the urbanities of Calmayn. Welton nods solemnly, but is appreciative of the praise despite his mission being cut short. He sets off to find your advisors, the knights Sir Crannic and Sir Nyren.

You descend the stone steps to the castle dungeon. The guardsman on duty brings you down, where the undead pig remains behind the iron bars. As it has been deprived of one of its legs, it is mostly dormant, less excited than it had been when it was hanging upside-down and prodded at by peasants. It breathes, though the sounds it utters sound hoarse and unnatural, and at least a few flies have found their way to the beast. Black bile seems to dribble from its snout, but its wounds do not bleed.

"Quite the sight, that thing," the guardsman murmurs with a shake of his head. He makes the sign of Paragon's 'E' across his chest.
 
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Meleagan absentmindedly nods at the guardsman's comment. The sight, as the latter said, wasn't very appetizing. But to the ought-to-be lord of Charondale, the best way to defend against fear was through knowledge. And that they lacked regarding the evil curse that fell upon the country. Maybe the world. Snorting, a hand under his cloak, with the other he quickly gestured at the man with him and the bars.

"Open the cell."

He saw the rather apprehensive eyes of the gaols keeper, but didn't add any more word to his command. After the guard turned his keys inside the cell's lock, and pushed its door open with a metallic creaking, Meleagan took a step inside. His cold gaze observed the cursed carcass. He then stepped aside and glanced at the keeper.

"Slice it open, from the throat to the crotch. I want to see the insides." If the guard waited too long, the lordling would with an annoyed grunt take whatever cutting tool he had from his hands to get his owns dirty.
 
The guardsman frowns, but produces his dagger from its sheath after processing the order for a second. "Alright, let's see." He musters his courage and approaches the ghoulish pig, quickly planting his knee on the beast's neck, doing his best to keep it pinned with his iron shanks. He slices the ballock dagger across the monster's underside as it snorts and jerks, drawing forth a spillage of darkened guts and congealed blood that looks as black as the abyss. You see a few maggots squirming in the beast, though they move very slowly... some of the maggots are, in fact, already dead.

The stench is overpowering, and the gaoler grimaces, trying to steel himself against the vileness of it all. However, despite the notes of putrefaction, it doesn't smell like any 'rot' you've smelled before. It has a unique scent... oddly similar to embalming juice. You may have memories of Father Justus and Wertlin Argor making preparations for the funeral of one of your minor relatives in the past.

"Blek." The guardsman does his best to flick the blackened fluid from his steel.
 
Meleagan winces and covers his nose as the pestilential musk fills the cell and reaches his nostrils . He can't help but look away for an instant, at least a few seconds to get somewhat accustomed to the nauseant scent. His eyes then slowly glanced up and down the opened carcass. He was expecting it to be bleeding heavily with the thick black liquid that was pouring from its veins yesterday. Instead these insides were stuffed with a gelatinous matter of the same color. It seemed the blood has kept coagulating in the corpse, without dealing much problem to the undead organism.

Aside the visual informations, there was this overwhelming smell. With this obvious yet a bit surprising similarity to the funeral ritual of embalmment. He'd have to ask father Heyjah about it... but in all likelyhood, the origin of this smell for both situations was the intent to preserve the body beyond life. Could such a substance be synthetized through natural processes or would an exterior hand be necessary to craft it ? That was a weak lead, but a lead nonetheless, that deserved reflexion.

Finally the castellan gloomly noted that the creature was still quivering and struggling despite having been nearly cut in half. Now he had the confirmation of these monsters' resistance. If time of war against them would have to come, like he was dreading, all rules of combat would be shaken.
Meleagan thought about what other things could this hog teach them... but he was only seeing one left really. And if in the future other tests would be needed, they would probably have more occasions to get new subjects. Thus he ordered with the hand that wasn't busy pinching his nose.

"Now decapitate this abomination."
 
Your stout armsman is quick to oblige. He slips the dagger back into its sheath, before his hand switches to the sword hilt on his hip. You see the flash of fine iron in the torchlight of the dungeon. The guard raises his foot, stamping his boot on the writhing creature's skull. The sword is raised into the air, gripped in both hands, before it is brought down several times on the neck of the hog.
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The soldier takes a couple swings to do it, since it isn't a proper longsword or headsman's axe, but the strokes are clean enough, landing with precision. There is a small squirt of grayish fluid and pus as the undead pig's head detaches from its body. Immediately, everything below the neck seems to tense up, before going mostly still. It's twitching a bit, but no longer truly moving.

The head is different. Though there isn't much that a head can do on its own, you can still tell the beast's eyes are darting about like a fish's, its tongue moving about as its mouth opens and closes. "By thunder," the guard murmurs, almost gasping. "He's still... there, m'lord..."
 
While Meleagan does his best to keep an impassive face, he stares with utter disgust at the scene. The lordling even has to hold back some of his stomach from spilling out past his throat during the last swings to separate the monster's head from its bust. He gulps down and blink a few times, a hand still covering the lower half of his face, and his frown hardens at the sight of the gesticulating severed head. Now, there was something as filthy as it was interesting. Though he was rather expecting this decapitation to be the quietus, this was indeed a scenario Meleagan considered.

It seems clear that the head was the seat, and maybe the source, of this curse. Like the amputation test yesterday, and the decapitation test just then shown it, any part of the body whose link to the head is nullified drops dead for real. In other words, the only thing that stays "alive" past natural death is the head. And not all of the head, Meleagan was heavily suspecting. To him it was obvious that the cause of this undeadness was located in the brain. And maybe only specific parts of the organ. Maybe a single point...

They were getting close, the castellan could feel it. At least did he hope so. Time was now up for more meticulous studies. But for that, proper material would be needed. The lordling snorted, then coughed at the nasty smell entering his lungs, before he turned back while gesturing to the gaoler, tears in the corner of his eyes.

"Put the head in a cage, or something to keep it for later. Burn down the rest of the body. And call your shift earlier, you did enough for today."

Meleagan then leaves the cell, walks up the stairway and heads to the meeting hall where sir Crannic and sir Nyren should be by now.
 
The gaoler nods appreciatively. The men like to spend time with their families, or go to the inn over in Charondale Vill whenever they aren't fulfilling servile commitments. "Thank-you, m'lord." The gaoler thinks to himself for a moment on the instruction to confine the head somehow. "I'll talk to Horace, he may have a spare bird cage," he says referring to the falconer. He bows, and starts looking around for a sack while you ascend from the dungeon.

Your two household knights are waiting for you in the meeting hall, and goblets with wine have been set out by one of the servants. "Your lordship," Crannic greets. They both look rather solemn and serious, their faces much different than they were when you first saw them this morning. Both men look to you for guidance.
 
Meleagan closes the door of the meeting room behind him, a somber gaze on the table. To it he walks, and silently sit at its end, before, once he cleared his throat, speaking up looking at his household knights.
"Sirs, I take it you are aware of what is happening in Aussux and its surroundings. It already looks like we don't have much time left. We'll have to do without the King's support. I am still hoping we can contact Tuwold and Stromwood before it is too late, but even if we do, we have to be ready to rely only on ourselves. If the deads start attacking everywhere, they might want to take care of themselves before anything else. And how to blame them after all..."
The lordling spreads a hand in his hair sighing, gaze looking blankly at nothing in particular.
"Are we done inventorying the domain's foodstuff yet ? An idea of how long Charondale, Nostron and Pelwick could survive under siege ?"
 
The men nod when they are asked if they are aware of the grim situation. Word must have spread quickly. "Well," Crannic begins. "We are still sowing the spring crops. If we declare a state of siege and halt work in the fields, I believe it might be... a week or so, until the villagers run out of food and will have to start slaughtering their extra livestock. The poorest serfs will run out of provisions sooner, obviously." He takes a sip of wine. "As for the castle, we have around ten days of foodstuffs for the household servants and staff, perhaps more if we ration it carefully."

Sir Nyren purses his lips. "This won't be good if it disrupts the summer harvest. Maybe we should have lookouts; it's easy to see for quite a ways. Tell the peasants to shout alarms if need be, give them drills on what to do, where to go."
 
"That'd be the least we could do. I fear we might have to upset the habits more."
Meleagan looks at Nyren thoughtfully for a moment then resumes to the both of them
"We don't know how long this crisis will last, but caution is appropriate. It could last for months, years maybe, even more..." Maybe this is the dawn of a new world... "...anyway, we have to think on the long term."
The castellan's fingers were dancing on the stone of the table as he was more thinking out loud than giving orders so far.

"One thing is sure, I want all graves and cemetaries near the castle or the habitations to be either emptied and their corpses burnt down, or guarded until we can do so.
Let's establish a perimeter of safety around the domain, lookouts will patrol all around it days and nights. Indeed we must avoid disturbing the summer harvest as much as possible, the crop fields need to be guarded, at least when people are working in them. We still need guards to watch over the population though. We can reduce the castle's garrisson if needed.
To everyone, it is asked to immediately warn the guard at first sigh of any undead creature. Let the guards fight the undeads, and they shall always attack in number superiority. Though let everyone know that to kill an undead, the head needs to be either severed or obliterated, and that fire might also be a solution."
Meleagan glances at the goblets of wine, and to Crannic who was about to take a sip from his.
"I also want food to be rationed already, in the castle and in the villages to the feasible extent. No special treatment in such times, unless maybe cases of sickness or particular vulnerability."
He nods at sir Crannic and once again adress both men
"Do you think we can, including Charondale village and castle, plus Nostron and Pelwick, be self-sufficient in matter of food production and other basic needs ? And how much people can the castle shelter in case of an attack ?"
 
"My lord," Sir Crannic begins. "We will be met with opposition from the peasantry if we disturb those that are already buried. There's a few unmarked graves belonging to, well... paupers, and the like, but most of these families have lived here for generations. There may be an uproar."

Sir Nyren nods. "Aye. With all due respect, I may have to object to this as well. My parents are buried at the crypt in Charondale, your castellancy." The poor were often buried in the ground, wrapped in a blanket. The wealthy, on the other hand, preferred to confined to underground crypts upon death, along with several gifts. It was a common way the church raised money.


"Since every man, be he freeman or serf, will be wanting to harvest crops rather than stand around as a lookout, we may have to inform the bailiffs to set up rotating shifts," your steward points out. "We could spare a handful of men for each village, so that there are proper soldiers on standby in case things get dicey. The local knight or his bailiff could command them." Scratching his stubble, Sir Crannic continues. "As for the rationing, well, we can do so easily in our own castle. But this will likely be a simple suggestion to the villagers..."


When you ask if the villages could sustain themselves, he pauses for a moment. "If the harvest isn't interrupted... yes," he simply replies. "As for sheltering people in the castle... I ordered a check on our buttery, and there's roughly ten days' worth of food in the castle storage. Slaughtering the cattle your family owns, including oxen, could feed us for another fifty days if need be. Orson says we have plenty of salt," he says, referring to the butler.

Most castles had larger stockpiles of food than this, some being able to feed large garrisons for years. However, large stockpiles such as this are actually quite rare in Midduch these days, as it is not a border duchy. Threats to castles were few and far between... at least until recently. "There's just over threescore people living the castle right now, and we can all be fed for two months... maybe three, with rationing. We shelter sixty guests in here, it becomes a month and a half, and so on. It will become crowded quickly due to the lack of space for many guests, however."
 
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Meleagan sighs in slight annoyance. He clearly wasn't the most devout man in this castle, and while he was usually trying to keep that fact unrecognized, sometimes his words would betray the gist of his mind.
"The alternative is to guard all the cemetaries and crypts of the lordship, with the risk of losing precious soldiers' lives when the deads will rise... we can let untouched the graves where nothing but bones remains within, though I think treating each grave equally would be more just. But the fresh deads are too dangerous. If they really don't want them turned to cinders, at least obliterate the heads... And I'd rather have our fighters helping on the lookouts, preserving order in the villages and protecting the domain as soon as possible. Getting rid of all corpses now before they may come back to life, that'd give us more men for the important matters."

The lordling shakes his head "I'm not talking about suggestions, may they be genuine ones or supported by weapons. I'm talking about controlled rationing. I want to gradually establish a centralization of all food production we have, food that we ourselves will distribute in strictly necessary amount only. For now the peasants are allowed to keep what food stocks they may have in their houses, but everything they could obtain outside, it has to be under our control. Which means, no more food trade. Anyone trying to sell such will see it confiscated."
 
"Surely, a man crawling up from so many feet of dirt would be difficult to do," Sir Nyren points out. "Or breaking out of his iron casket in the crypts..." Your captain suddenly seems to have an idea. "We could inspect the crypts, and listen... if we hear them scratching," he says, "we should put them to rest. But if not, I doubt the graves of the commons are much more dangerous, except for the recent dead."

Sir Crannic hums. "Some part of the commons won't like it, but it's not the worst thing that can be asked of them. It would ensure that everyone, even the poorest cotters, have enough to eat. Though, wealthier serfs and freemen will grumble about surrendering their crops to their lord. On the bright side, if you acquire the ovens and mills of your vassals, and suspend the Ban(1), the commons will appreciate it. Your landed knights would suffer a loss of silver, though there are more important things to worry about at the moment." Your steward continues, moving onto the topic of ration enforcement. "We can establish central granaries in each village, under the control of the master and bailiff, but they'd need men to guard them. Using a local levy... may not work for obvious reasons. We'd need more retainers, men who wouldn't just pocket extra food."

Sir Nyren raises another question. "Or would they? If we're not feeding the household staff any better, our lads could do the same."

(1) Short for 'banalities'. The millers and bakers of each village are employees of the master-of-the-manor. Whenever the peasants need to use the local mill to grind their corn, or the master's ovens to bake their bread, a small tax is levied. Part of this money also goes to your lordship.
 
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Meleagan Vizierdrake slightly glances through the narrow window near his seat before looking back at Crannic "The wealthier peasants may grumble, like you stated I am their lord." A blank would follow after these unfortunate words escaped his lips. No one commented, but the gaze the castellan laid upon his household knights was meaningful enough to not speak any thoughts on the matter. Yes, he was aware that their lord was named Leogan, and not Meleagan. But, may they disagree with the latter, who could genuinely oppose the old senile man to his heir and son as righteous ruler of his domain. Particularly in these times of uncertainty and fear, a clear mind was needed at the head of the operations. The subject was then closed before being opened.

"The Ban will be suspended. Actually, I was thinking about suspending nearly all the taxes for the duration of the crisis, or until we find a sustainable functioning. I suspect requisitions will become a way more common procedure in the near future, as we will have to insure common good over particular preservation instincts. The requirement for our defensive maneuvers to be efficient is discipline, order for everyone. I won't hesitate to use forceful means if some obstructs it. And coupling it with taxes might be too hard to bear for the populace.
So, until we have a secured this centralization of food distribution, taxes are suspended, and requisition will be used when needed to ensure order."

He nods at the relevant last remark of his councilors "I may know how to take care of that. If we have full control over food distribution, which is my goal, an order of priority regarding said distribution is required. The keepers of the foodstocks and their families will be in the top part of that order to avoid them having bad ideas. If one of them steals from it, he will condemn both himself, to the gallows, and his home to food deprivation for a determinate amount of time, in addition to being downgraded to the bottom of the priority order. We shall never let the stocks guarded by less than several men. In case of such an attempt, if the other keepers do not denounce the thief, once the latter is proven guilty they and their folks shall all undergo the same treatment as the thief's family."
 
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Your councilors give stern nods when you outline your plans. Your austerity seems to surprise them a bit, but it's clearly something they can respect from their castellan in these uncertain times, as well as the fact you have chosen to relinquish some of your personal incomes. "With the right measures in place, I think we may be able to get these things done," Sir Crannic nods. "It is a fair offer to the folks, to let them keep their silver, but let their betters manage their food. So, the priority order. Yourself and your family, then the household officers and vassals, then the castle staff, then the villfolk?" he questions.


Suddenly, Baxter and Clement return from their treks to Stromwood and Tuwold castle, respectively. "Milord," Clement bows. He is the first to deliver his report. "Our baron has said that he wants our retinue to be on standby, and to have all village levies prepared to be called to arms on short notice, if needed. He has stated that Lord Cornick of Cotarhill has been... ah, remiss to his duties during these darkened days, and fears that his domains have been stricken badly. He also fears for the larger vills of Ogdencroft and Jeborough, and may eventually request that you send men." Lord Belenor Tuwold is a man known for having many fiefs and vast pastures and meadows, but few lordlings to help him manage everything.

Baxter steps forward, and now gives his report. "Your lordship, I happened upon a very strange situation. I ran into a group of rebels in the upper lands belonging to the Stromwood barony. They did me no harm, and brought me to witness a parley between Lord Edwin Harwood(1) and the rebel leader, Sir Moulton." He passes off a sealed scroll to you.
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(1) Lord of Harhold.
 
At the proposal of sir Crannic regarding the priority order, Meleagan thinks a moment. "What I had in mind looked more like this : first the ruling class, including my house, you household officers and my vassals. Then, the army, and the families of the foodkeepers. I don't need to say, of course, given what I stated earlier, that the foodkeepers must have a family. Then the castle staff. Then the rest of commonfolk, with priority to our serfs over freemen. If we manage to maintain a sufficient state of order to keep an eye on this, I want the priority to be given to the most destitute of our serfs within that last group. And, I want to immediately enact a procedural simplification in the entrance of serfdom for the free folks."

The castellan turns back towards the meeting room's door, surprised to see his messengers arriving simultaneously. He listens to Clement with a frown hardening over his gaze, eyes lowered a bit, looking at the floor thoughtfully, and a bit annoyed. "Hrrmm... I see." He held his chin in the palm of his hand, his fingers rubbing his bearded cheek "Well... I hear our dear baron's suggestions. Though, we also have people to protect. If our plans go swimmingly, we will be delighted to participate in his projects. But we don't have enough men to just send them over in such dangerous times, and I'm sure our good lord Belenor, as a man of honor and reason, understands it perfectly. We are already getting all of our forces ready anyway, if threat there is we will face it."

The lordling then raises a brow at Baxter as the courrier hands him the scroll. He breaks the seal and opens the letter, glancing over the text then reading it in silence. His eyes darken as he throws the opened scroll on the table "Paragon damnit... we were right all along. Necromancers. Hmm. At least we know they don't hide in Charondale." He shakes his head huffing of frustration "So that is the root of all evil, as this Harwood is saying. Those we must find to end it all." He lays an elbow on the table and leans his head on his wrist "This is a cause that would justify our support... But I am reluctant to confide our men to another's command with so little informations on what he plans to do with them." He stopped and slowly glanced at Nyren. "...Sir Nyren. Maybe I could send you with a detachment, to assist this Edwin Harwood, as well as keeping an eye on his doings and on our men. But we could all use your precious help here too, in Charondale. What do you think ?"
 
"This is a time when we may require allies," Sir Crannic mentions. "Especially if our... ties to our liege are rather flimsy at the moment." He furrowed his brow cynically. "Lord Belenor... well, he has many lands. If he can't keep order in them all, we certainly won't be able to." The Tuwolds were somewhat notorious for their miserly attitude when it came to rewarding vassals, having snatched up most of the pasturelands for themselves, years ago.

Sir Nyren nods. "Aye, milord. We may have to go far away... but there is honor to be won for this House, if we commit to this endeavor. I would gladly take some men," your captain declares. Though he was serving an appointment as a household offer, he still had the heart of the knight. "However... I believe we're going to have to figure out, how many men are worth sending."

"Well, Sir Nyren could always pick up some extra volunteers in the villages," Sir Crannic suggests. "The inns at Charondale usually have drifters and other sorts looking for work, and some villfolk may be interested. We'll need to hand over silver, however," he says.

"That reminds me... we have some extra equipment in the armory," the captain remarks.
 
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Meleagan doesn't say anything, but is obviously approving Crannic's thoughts regarding lord Belenor and his demands. They were but a small grouping of peasants and lowly lordlings after all, and the Tuwolds did nothing to change that, all the contrary. While he knew about the rules of essential loyalty, the said lordling was lucid on the situation. And here, the protection of the domain he was in charge of was prior to feodal servility. And the subject was closed.

The young castellan looks at the captain of Charondale thoughtfully for a few instants before speaking up again. "That's settled then. Sir Nyren, I'll sent you to lord Edwin Harwood with men in name of house Vizierdrake. Besides making this honorable quest progressing, I want you to regularly, as regularly as it would be possible, keep us informed of its advancement, but also and maybe most importantly of Harwood's doings and plans, as well as those of his allies."
He turned to Baxter "Did you see what Harwood's army was made of ? How many are they ? and in what shape ?"
 
Sir Nyren nods. "I'll keep a close eye on things, and will send heralds whenever I believe there is something you should know."

Baxter fills you in on the details of Edwin's forces. "Aye, he has around eightscore men in all," he begins. "They have a few wagons, and a marching order with banners. Most of his army are foot levies, though he does have... maybe twenty knights and men-at-arms on horse." He pauses for a moment to think some more. "Morale is good, they were having ale and celebrating in the village when I left. This was after the parley between Lord Edwin and Sir Moulton, which made them avoid a battle at Stroncrest," he says.

"So... what would our contribution to this host be?" Sir Crannic asks. "We have eight wagons, and forty-seven household men. And, of course, we could possibly bolster Sir Nyren's band with some Charondale men, if we spend the money."
 
Meleagan, as susal, takes some time to think before speaking. "Before deciding on how much retainers will accompany you, we are going to levy some troops in the villages. I want all smallholders in the domain ready to take the warpath. We won't all send them to Harwood of course, but I'm thinking about seventy men, maybe more. Volunteers welcome, but if there isn't enough there's no issue in being more insistent. Let's also gather those drifters if they find any interest in this. We'll do it while announcing all the other measures which are being enacted. Once we assembled the levy, we can see about sending our retinue."

His fingers are rythmically tapping on the table, his eyes idly laid upon them.
"I think it indeed is time we make that retinue of ours grow in size. While the levy raising is being annoucened, I want everyone to know that House Charondale is recruiting soldiers, freemen as much as serves. Families who will send men in the army will be in the priority order at the same place as the castle staff. The more men they send, the higher in priority will they be."
Meleagan then looks at his steward, sir Crannic. "Thus I want to start the construction of more housing for the retinue. It will depend on how many pledges we receive, but let's maybe start with a quarters."
 
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