In the Great Hall. Almeric sits with Aldred quietly, picking over his food without appetite. His head is down, his demeanour dour,  pretending to be hung over from the previous nights festivities. Whispering under his breath, he advises his lord. "There is talk of Ravens, Corbies them call them here. Ravens are the Servants of Morrigan, lord. I will draw them out, 'seek and destroy' them, gain intelligence, for hunting is what we do. We have a guide, I hope, while Fergus and Tana will be close by you, lord." Almeric is trying to be subtle, yet precise and hopes his wordplay will be sufficient for Aldred the understand, for he was not called 'The Old Wolf' for nothing.

In truth, Almeric was just as afraid of the Harbingers as Famh and Cainneach, such is the success of their secrecy, propaganda and efficiency. The Capellars engaged assassins within their ranks, for spying upon the enemy mostly. The calibre of rogues they employed were no match for the Ta'ashim Hashashin, however. These are real masters of deceit, living in the shadows, hiding in plain sight, trained from birth in the arts of stealth and death. Some Hashashin had even joined the Capellars, throwing of their feudal yoke and gaining freedom. This is the calibre of Clan Harbinger.

Almeric rises and staggers to the food tables, swaying gently "Maybe by noon everything will be put to rights!", he speaks to no one in particular. Almeric is hoping to give the impression the he, and the rest of the Retinue, are unprepared and ill-equiped. As soon as he is given his orders by the Duke however, he will spring to action; make his way to the courtyard, give the signal to assemble, donning his armour and weapons brought by Fergus, collect Vardi and leave. This is an attempt to confuse any enemy present into under-estimating their abilities, of course.

Thatch listens to the exchange of notes and information with interest, although he has little to contribute himself. “Little to add here, just an earful on how difficult it is to raise southern horses in these parts and I discovered Constable Bethany is an excellent dancer.” He smiles, then continues “it is interesting that the stories of corbies and Lord Michael both have the docks in common.  My guess it is the corbies we will be hunting, but Ori is right.  We will know soon enough.”  His head cleared from last night's festivities due to breakfast and the benefits of youth, he stands and arms himself.  Already in his leathers and traveling clothes, he buckles on a brace of shortswords, his ancient gladius on prominent display and straps his shortbow and quiver across his shoulders.  Ready for action, he follows his sergeant’s instructions and leans back, taking it easy while he still can.

Quote from Bonivant1 >>

In the Great Hall. Almeric sits with Aldred quietly, picking over his food without appetite. His head is down, his demeanour dour,  pretending to be hung over from the previous nights festivities. Whispering under his breath, he advises his lord. "There is talk of Ravens, Corbies them call them here. Ravens are the Servants of Morrigan, lord. I will draw them out, 'seek and destroy' them, gain intelligence, for hunting is what we do. We have a guide, I hope, while Fergus and Tana will be close by you, lord." Almeric is trying to be subtle, yet precise and hopes his wordplay will be sufficient for Aldred the understand, for he was not called 'The Old Wolf' for nothing.

In truth, Almeric was just as afraid of the Harbingers as Famh and Cainneach, such is the success of their secrecy, propaganda and efficiency. The Capellars engaged assassins within their ranks, for spying upon the enemy mostly. The calibre of rogues they employed were no match for the Ta'ashim Hashashin, however. These are real masters of deceit, living in the shadows, hiding in plain sight, trained from birth in the arts of stealth and death. Some Hashashin had even joined the Capellars, throwing of their feudal yoke and gaining freedom. This is the calibre of Clan Harbinger.

Almeric rises and staggers to the food tables, swaying gently "Maybe by noon everything will be put to rights!", he speaks to no one in particular. Almeric is hoping to give the impression the he, and the rest of the Retinue, are unprepared and ill-equiped. As soon as he is given his orders by the Duke however, he will spring to action; make his way to the courtyard, give the signal to assemble, donning his armour and weapons brought by Fergus, collect Vardi and leave. This is an attempt to confuse any enemy present into under-estimating their abilities, of course.

Baron Aldred nodded, " The Harbingers have always been the tool of those who would unseat power.....but I have a feeling Duke Carnasse has other uses for you....I'm afraid I may have overstated your success against The Bogie of the Dell......Gardener Jack?"

" Apparently there are traditionally cattle raids in here in the Spring but there have been earlier raids this year...and not just confined to cattle....steadings have been raided and people taken...the local Sheriff has appealed to the Duke for aid.   And I have released you for this service....to sweeten the pot."

" I've no idea what you may face out there, likely just Clansmen....but who knows for sure."

Duke Carnasse studiously ignored the Baron and Almerics conversation until it was complete then ushered Sir Almeric over, " Good Morn to ye, Sir Knight."

" I have a favour to ask ye, and your Lord has given me leave to do so, theres a place north of here called Marrowglen, they're needing a spot of help with some local colour."

" Are you and your retinue willing?"

" It will be appreciated by myself......and my family.", he finished with a slight grin.

Quote from EtyenAndiros >>

...

With this thought in mind, he looked carefully at Famh while she went on and on about baths, wondering how much she knew of Clan Harbinger and how he might keep her safe if they were attacked.  What an odd fixation.  Of course, a hot bath was nice, but these artificial things paled in comparison to the joy of a natural hot spring nestled amongst the mountains.  Had she ever been in one of those?  Maybe he would take her one day ... Cainneach remained thoughtfully silent and drew out his new armour and donned it, along with his usual weapons, arranging them as neatly as possible for presentation to the Duke.  At least his travelling clothes had been laundered and he looked quite presentable, perhaps even professional, or at least on the cusp of being so.

Quote from Engineered_Beard >>

"Bahh, I'm gonna sit here at ease but ready to smash anything that dares bug us. Besides last night showed a different side of most of us so we got some reputations to correct. Almeric says prank, I say correct first impressions. Well of me at least. You know those bakers didn't even give me a hard time this morning despite special last moment request, they treated it like they had to do it, because I said it. Horrible this is.

As far as the hunt goes, could be anything, a pest, a beast, some long lost cart. We'll know soon enough, till then it's play relax." Ori leans on the wall, big club acrossed the top of his shoulders, a hand either end holding it in place. It helps show off the arms while playing coy with the great weapon. 

Ori had the right approach, of course.  That was why he was now their sergeant.  No sense in getting worked up or indulging in anxious fantasies regarding their quarry.  They'd know soon enough and they would be ready.  Unless it was Clan Harbinger, and then they were f*%ked ...

Quote from LAXGunner >>

Thatch listens to the exchange of notes and information with interest, although he has little to contribute himself. “Little to add here, just an earful on how difficult it is to raise southern horses in these parts and I discovered Constable Bethany is an excellent dancer.” He smiles, then continues “it is interesting that the stories of corbies and Lord Michael both have the docks in common.  My guess it is the corbies we will be hunting, but Ori is right.  We will know soon enough.”  His head cleared from last night's festivities due to breakfast and the benefits of youth, he stands and arms himself.  Already in his leathers and traveling clothes, he buckles on a brace of shortswords, his ancient gladius on prominent display and straps his shortbow and quiver across his shoulders.  Ready for action, he follows his sergeant’s instructions and leans back, taking it easy while he still can.

 

 The look in Famh's eyes as she returns Cainneach's glance reassures him that she's not really talking about baths, but a world bright enough for its sun to drive away the shadow in both their hearts.  The shadow of this murder of corbies tearing all the parliaments of rooks and exaltations of larks in creation asunder, and leaving the world dark under the blood glutted shadow of their terrible flock of death (all rights reserved under Old Thulish bardic copyright law LOL)  Any doubt that she is taking this matter with the full seriousness it deserves vanishes as she replies to Thatch in a dark mutter, "I hope we won't find them both on the docks at the same time.  Those masters of death are the main reason Erewhon has had nae king longer than five years the last five hundred or so."  She also adds her sling and a pouch of bullets (borrowed from the supply the Duke's own slingers use) to the gear she had been assembling before; and after she returns from the ladies' quarters with her more presentable plaid, she is very careful to secure her needle of mending in the hem near her left shoulder where it can be quickly plucked forth. 

That done, she sits down by Cainneach and drapes her arm around his shoulders.  She sighs.  "You're right, of course.  We should follow Sergeant Ori's orders and take our ease while we may.  Did ye see he even managed to wheedle some tattie scones and black puddings from the kitchen gillies?  Have a bite, ye're so thin and peaked still from all you had to go through in Karvala's tower."  Cutting a slice off one of the sausages she referred to, she encases it between two halves of buttered scone and hands the completed bite to him solicitously. 

The remainder of the sausage somehow develops a capacity for spontaneous motion, triggered by her turning head as she redirects her attention towards Cainneach, and walks away rapidly with a slight assist from Salt 's deft jaws. 

Quote from Damian_May >> 

Baron Aldred nodded, " The Harbingers have always been the tool of those who would unseat power.....but I have a feeling Duke Carnasse has other uses for you....I'm afraid I may have overstated your success against The Bogie of the Dell......Gardener Jack?"

" Apparently there are traditionally cattle raids in here in the Spring but there have been earlier raids this year...and not just confined to cattle....steadings have been raided and people taken...the local Sheriff has appealed to the Duke for aid.   And I have released you for this service....to sweeten the pot."

" I've no idea what you may face out there, likely just Clansmen....but who knows for sure."

Almeric nods in agreement, dropping his 'drunken' demeanor. "I'm sure the Corbies will be watching, wherever we are and I'll be ready." he chuckles. "Overstated my success! Surely that is not possible!" he laughs. "Rest assured, we will resolve this in good time. Meanwhile, Fergus and Tana will attend you. They are very resourceful and will serve you well. Speak with them about the intelligence they have gathered." Almeric stands and approaches the Duke. 

Quote from Damian_May >>

 Duke Carnasse studiously ignored the Baron and Almerics conversation until it was complete then ushered Sir Almeric over, " Good Morn to ye, Sir Knight."

" I have a favour to ask ye, and your Lord has given me leave to do so, theres a place north of here called Marrowglen, they're needing a spot of help with some local colour."

" Are you and your retinue willing?"

" It will be appreciated by myself......and my family.", he finished with a slight grin. 

Shedding the 'drunken' demeanour, Almeric bows to the Duke "Good morrow, your Grace. It will be my honour and pleasure to serve." If Lady Ailsa is there, he will throw her a smile. Almeric now stands at his full height, with confidence, revealing the simple joke he had employed.

"All I need is a letter of authority from you, to the Sheriff of Marrowglen, and I can leave immediately. My fervent desire is to prove my value to you" Almeric glances directly at Ailsa as he speaks the last part of the message. Bowing deeply, he spins on his heels and marches out of the hall and into the courtyard.

===

Once out in the courtyard, Almeric gives the 'signal' to Ori, bellowing his battle cry "A-Dayne! A-Dayne!" When Fergus appears, carrying Almeric's equipment, the scribe assists the knight in donning his armour and weapons quickly. By the time everyone is assembled, a clerk arrives with the Letter of Authority from the Duke. Almeric inspects the retinue and gives orders.

"We are heading to Marrowglen, a short march north, to report to the local Sheriff. They have requested aid from the Duke to resolve a local issue. Rest assured, nothing is quite what it seems and we must remain vigilant. Sergeant, I do hope we have a guide for this trip?" he grins, looking about for Vardi. "Fergus and Tana, you will remain here and continue your duties." By 'duties' Almeric is referring to the Baron's safety, the security of the cursed Wands and their intelligence gathering.

"Form up and march on!"

Quote from OisinmacCameron >>

On hearing the Capellar's signal, either making out his words through the echoes or prompted by Ori, Famh falls into formation beside Cainneach and marches out to the courtyard with all the precision, grace and power of stride at her command.  If she sees Vardi on the way, she will try to signal what the plan is without breaking formation.

===========================

Acrobatics 24

Athletics 5

 (typographical edit)

(idk if you can see the people who subscribe to the thread, D_M, but a friend of mine by the name of NaturalBornMuse828 finds the epic tale of Sir Almeric et. al. the most delightful and edifying of literature; and wishes a quick and easy way to get a retinue fix in the midst of the trials and tribulations of life

Quote from Damian_May >>

Quote from Shankhil >>

Gregory: " Madainn mhath, Yungfru."

"Madainn mhath, Maighstir ceàrd." Vardi answers politely, looking up from the helm that she has been polishing. She places the now gleaming helm on the barrelhead, steps back then scrutinizes it in the morning light with an oddly pensive air.

Morag pats her on the arm and passes her an oatcake smeared with sweet butter. "Ye can eat while ye stare, tha' I do know!" she says crisply, then looks to Gregory and adds in a more respectful tone "We've some news, and a bit of a mystery with Vardi here, Master Gregory."

Gregory: " Usually a while before the rest of ye lot join me.......what's the matter? That looks well bra....if the helm was fussing ye."

"I thank ye for tha' expert assessment, ser, but tha's nay what my head says." Vardi sighs in frustration then explains "I've looked it over dozens of times in the last hours of making it, and it just feels somehow...Unfinished, but I've nay idea how. Tis all there, all the parts of a helm, but it's nay all there, and that lack is like a voice nagging at me ta do something, but too soft to hear proper like. Morag came in with me to help finish it, but I was already to deep into tha' work to know she was there."

Morag nods reluctantly but testifies "She was sitting holding it, staring at tha' helm, and she was speaking all quiet, same words over and over again, faster and faster til I shouted at her, and well, she came ta her senses and looked all bewildered at me." 

The puzzled Islander says in a worried tone "Ser, as ye are the tha person I learned so much from of smithwork, I have ta ask ye this afore I ask another favor of ye..." as her gaze turns from the helm and then back to the broad-shouldered man, looking him in the face as she asks "Is there a kind of madness tha only smiths get?"

 

" Madness......aye...but mostly gold and silversmiths for they use rare metals......and gold-smithing can mean quicksilver...and that'll eat your mind quick as you like.  Lead too....and tin....and others...but bear in mind there are other smiths who say that's a lot of rubbish and they've never had an issue."

" For us its usually in the dust....forge-dust can do a number on the body over time....pain in your gut that never quite leaves, itches in your extremities....trouble with catching your breath..."

He stared at her a long while.

" But your speaking more of the spirit than the flesh i feel.  If'n yer feeling a bout of anvil-cursing coming on then best be about it sharpish and get past it.......but if yer feeling something in yer blood. thats another thing entirely."

" Take a spell from the bellows, give yerself a week free o' the fire and see how you feel. Morag whispered there might be those that can keep ye occupied for a spell."

Vardi listens carefully, looking back with a gaze untroubled by guilt but racked by worry as before she answers the red-maned smith truthfully "I have heard tell of sickness in miners and smiths afore, and I have taken tha' ta heart in my own work. I know ta sprinkle water ta damp down tha coal dust, be it rock, sea or charcoal afore shoveling it inta tha' forgebed. I know the greasy sheepskins spread by tha anvil tha' ye burn down after three moons use are nay just thrift in metal reclaimed but lung-wards as well, and I know to never fine sand-polish under a roof, that it be must done in open air, nay matter the season. These ways I have learned, some from ye, some from my kin as a child. I know also tha' even all of this craft wisdom combined is nay a perfect defense against tha myriad ills tha' come with tha work."

The big woman shrugs and says in a calmer tone "I accept tha' they are part of tha price paid for tha gift of working in metal and stone, and tha' there's nay getting away from tha', even if tha dearness of tha cost can be a little lessened by good practice."

She spreads her hands in a plea as she offers "But I've never heard tell of forged metal speaking aught but pure note when struck, nor of a mortal smith being so entranced in tha work as ta try ta sing to it inta being. I am at a loss ta explain it, save madness or one of tha gods amusing themselves in perplexing me thus."

Vardi snorts in response to her own foolishness as she concludes "As I doubt that I am skilled or worthy enough to attract their attention, even in jest, madness seemed more likely of the two to happen to me, Mastersmith Gregory!"

She smiles ruefully at her far simpler plan of last night and confesses "I was intending ta ask yer leave ta go a viking afore, tha' I admit, and well, Morag's quicker of wit than me when it comes ta knowing something's afoot, particularly in matters of the heart, but tha' was last night. What happened this morn has only made me sure of three things. I must answer what riddle in that helm is racking my head with, and tha' I am fortunate indeed tha' ye have the kindness ta listen ta me carrying on and ta nay laugh at me for my foolishness."

A little while and five hastily eaten oatcakes later...

Morag smiles to see her friend assert her right to pursue the cause of her confusion, then exclaims "Oh ye daft woman, if ye were supposed to be there by first light, yer well late already! Come on, I'll help ye get yer dancing gown and petticoats on quicker than by yerself." 

As a result, it is a fully clad maid of war that steps out to seek Ori whereabouts at the castle, robed in chainmail and a long black surcoat trimmed with a dark grey border, and wearing the face of a smiling goddess wrought in polished iron and bronze over her own. The warrior woman carries a plain round steel shield slung over her back, simple in style but polished bright as any fine lady's silver mirror as she stops to ask the guards outside the hall if Baron Aldred's retainers have already been seen at breakfast, and if so, if Sargeant Ori was among them...

Morag, already realizing that now is not the time to stand on ceremony grins and says "I've got yer paperwork, Vardi, it will get sorted, nay fear. There's trouble afoot. That's always tha King's beeswax, aye? Go get on with it then!" The next few minutes pass in a blur of frantic sprinting as the troop of Ser Almeric is already on the march.

A big woman and an equally large cat fall into step next to Famh with a cheerful "Better late than never." as if they'd been there all along.

Quote from OisinmacCameron >>

Famh spins about with a startled yelp at Vardi's greeting.   She begins to reply, but before she can speak she catches sight of the cat.  Her eyes go soft and far-away instantly, and she sighs.  Dearly as she loves Salt ... for his own great heart as much as for Cainneach's sake ... it was her mother's cat who first taught her what unquestioning love and acceptance can lie hid in the innocent heart of a beast.

Before she can melt too far into reminiscences, though, she remembers that it was Vardi who spoke and not her cat.  She wrinkles up her face wryly.  "I dinnae ken how ye can be late when Sir Almeric didn't tell any of us what time he wanted us beforehand.  It was a surprise he sprang upon us all, friend and foe alike.  But I trust he has his reasons.  He's seen us through some times."  Suddenly halting in her pace and half bending as if a stone had gotten into her brogues (Stealth 21), she leans over and whispers into Vardi 's ear, "There's whispers of the Harbingers about.  But we're to distract them, I gather, not to beard them ourselves."  Straightening, she goes on as if she'd said nothing, "We're to march up north, to Marrowglen, and help wi' some local trouble.  Sir Almeric asked Ori to talk to ye, to see if you'd ever passed this way in following your guildmaster and could perhaps guide us?  And of course you'll want to talk with him as soon as possible anyhow and arrange your ... more long-term role in the retinue."  She winks.

But please do come back after and introduce me to your beautiful cat!"

 (edited for perfectionism most dire)

Famh: "I dinnae ken how ye can be late when Sir Almeric didn't tell any of us what time he wanted us beforehand.  It was a surprise he sprang upon us all, friend and foe alike.  But I trust he has his reasons.  He's seen us through some times."

Vardi smiles as she answers "A shield maid must learn ta anticipate the actions of others around them and act swiftly in defense of tha realm."  then looks a little less confident as she whispers "So I did, though I was supposed to report ta Sargeant Ori at dawn, so I was nay as swift as I would have hoped ta be." 

Famh, all quiet like: "There's whispers of the Harbingers about.  But we're to distract them, I gather, not to beard them ourselves."

The big lass makes no verbal response to the whisper, seemingly watching the sky above for signs of rain. 

Famh: "We're to march up north, to Marrowglen, and help wi' some local trouble.  Sir Almeric asked Ori to talk to ye, to see if you'd ever passed this way in following your guildmaster and could perhaps guide us?  And of course you'll want to talk with him as soon as possible anyhow and arrange your ... more long-term role in the retinue."

"Aye, tha' I have. Tha' would be Sherrif Brunn's patch." Vardi answers quietly, keeping her thoughts on the present for the moment "Couple of days on foot from here."

 Famh: "But please do come back after and introduce me to your beautiful cat!"

As Almeric joins the rest of them, Ori stiffens up a bit. "Alright, fall-in." As Ori stands in line with the rest of the members, he sees Almeric scanning the lot of them, "forget it mate, she ain't here. I seemed to have lost my touch with recruiting. Turns out she smarter then the rest of us." Hearing Famhs excited conversation, Ori turns to see what the commotion is about. Seeing the giantess standing there, looking equipped to scrap, Ori grins slightly. "I stand corrected. All acounted for, who knows we might even find where we are going now!" Giving Vardi a quick wink, he turns back towards Almeric. "Alright you lot, you heard the man, lets roll out." Ori rests his club on his shoulder and starts making his way to the exit, thankful for no sailing.

Almeric leads the retinue out, while Ori marshals them into a tight order, marching together with a natural rhythm and intent of purpose. As they march through the gatehouse, the knight looks up, to see the Constable of the Keep on the battlements above. There is an exchange of respectful nods as they exit the keep. The retinue continue down the hill towards main road north, as Varni appears and falls in behind.  Almeric grins broadly, noting Fahm's excitement at the arrival of her new best friend as the two women walk side by side and chat in the rear.

Almeric is still grinning at Vardi, when he realises that Ori is now staring at him and mutters to the Sergeant "Have you seen a Spangenhelm like that before? Magnificent" 

Raising his voice and still grinning,  "Welcome Shield Maiden! I am honoured to have you with us. I have three rules, by which I regulate the Dayne Retinue; Do your job, do it well; In private, speak truth and be sincere; In public, be your best noble self. Ori can explain anything else to you." Bursting into laughter, Almeric can no longer contain himself. "You know Marrowglen? I'd be very grateful to find out what you know of the area and of Sheriff Brunn."

Thatch looks over at the excited conversation from the party and seeing their new arrival, drops back to introduce himself.  “Pardon, didn’t have time for introductions last night. I am Thatch.”  He cranes his neck and looks up at Vardi’s height, and offers a hand that is swallowed in the other's grip.  He tries a conspiratorial whisper, but probably fails as his height only brings him up to around her waist. “Don’t mind the good Knight, he has a weird sense of humor at times, but he has done right by us this far.  I guess we are off to hunt rustlers, glad to have you along.”  With a nod, Thatch finishes the conversation and moves back out to the front of the formation, scouting ahead.

Vardi bends down to pat the walking cloud of fur and says to Famh "He has many names, but as he is a Skoggikatt, a forest cat of the far north, I usually call him Skoggi." the hastens to reassure her "He's good wi' strangers, bairns and even dogs, given a little while ta get used ta their scent."

The cat in question briefly sniffs Famh's ankles then looks up and makes an oddly cheerful "Mrrip!" sound at her.  

Thatch: “Pardon, didn’t have time for introductions last night. I am Thatch.”

Vardi engulfs the proffered hand in her own, but she is gentle in her grip as she stoops down closer to the small but swift man's level to reply politely "Pleased ta meet ye, Scout Thatch. A most honourable profession and one well respected by any warrior with sense."  

Ori: "I stand corrected. All acounted for, who knows we might even find where we are going now!"

The big lass nods, and slaps upward, one part salute, one part flipping her helm's face-shaped visor up and back to lock neatly into a small hook spring mechanism on the body of the helm. A solemn face under the laughing goddess of the visor framed by a polished mail coif becomes more visible.

"Marrowglen, ser. Usually where Beltayne trouble goes, not starts." she says helpfully, only the faintest gleam of humor in her eyes at the absurdity of the situation at odds with her earnest manner. Her reply is punctuated at the end by a loud "Marrrrrow?" from the massive cat standing next to her feet, quite calmly surveying Ori amid the bustle of the retinue.

She adds "The big fella making inquiries, as I was just telling Mistress Famh afore, is Skoggi. I cannay leave him behind at tha castle, for all he listens right well for a cat, 'Stay' is the one request he's deaf ta."

Almeric: "Welcome Shield Maiden! I am honoured to have you with us. I have three rules, by which I regulate the Dayne Retinue; Do your job, do it well; In private, speak truth and be sincere; In public, be your best noble self. Ori can explain anything else to you." 

Vardi dips her head respectfully and replies "Likewise, ser, understood, and nay doubt he will." 

Almeric: "You know Marrowglen? I'd be very grateful to find out what you know of the area and of Sheriff Brunn."

Thatch, in an undertone, while Almeric is still laughing: “Don’t mind the good Knight, he has a weird sense of humor at times, but he has done right by us this far.  I guess we are off to hunt rustlers, glad to have you along.” 

The shield maid gives Thatch an almost imperceptible nod of the head before he slips away to keep an eye on the surroundings, then unable to keep the grin of her face, turns now to offer fair directions in fair price for Sir Almeric's rueful jest "I have been there once, wi' Mastersmith Gregory and Journeywoman Andersdottir, ser. Two days on foot, or slow ox cart from here by Lord's road. We were doing tha repair run, collecting up broken battlegear and tools ta mend for tha Duke's warriors and tha folk of the hamlets on tha way. Farming country, wi' rolling hills, bit steeper round Hightoun, bit wet underfoot near Merebodl and Bunessan where tha river forks." 

=== Major Edit ===

Almeric switches his place in the marching order, to walk and talk with Vardi a little. "I'm glad you have sense of humour, Vardi. It's essential round here!" He laughs. "You've slotted right in, befriending Fahm and Ori, the two MOST discerning of people. Now let's get serious." 

"There is always a place for such as you in my retinue. If your apprenticeship is over, and you are thinking of beginning your 'Journeying', I can offer you regular work, with an equal share of our spoils. I can access Damascus steel and the best charcoals, to enable the highest grade steel to be forged into exquisite armours. I can also be your high profile clothes horse, to display and sell your wares to my wealthy contacts." Almeric strikes a mock pose. "Give it some thought." says the knight, resuming his position in the marching order.

Hearing his name mentioned by Almeric about group rules Ori changes pace to join Almeric and Vardi. "Oi, ya rules, right. So the biggest rules to remember is don't get yourself killed, try not to get the rest of us killed, and when I tell you to run, well, I won't be around to warn you a second time. So as long as you follow those group policies, fell free to kill what needs killing, save what needs saving and break chairs when needed." Ori slowly moves back to his spot in line and giving the 2 a bit more space to talk directions or general knowledge of the place they were heading. Ori was more concerned on watching the surroundings as the retinue press on. 

Two hours later......

Passing through low hills covered in crop stubble and hedgerows the companions noted scattered holdings off from the trade road. People watched the procession as they passed and small children alternately called out or watched the 'strange folk' in silence.

Five hours into the journey....

There was a small grove of pines ahead, which would give some shelter from the cold northern winds if they wished to take a spell.

They looked up at the slate grey sky threatening rain and opened a sack of bread, cheese and pickles that the kitchen staff had pressed into Oris hands as he had passed.

The land is slightly hillier here and they are slowly climbing out of the great wide river valley into the foothills of the majestic Pagans to their west.

 Almeric is showing a genuine interest in the quality and manufacture of Varni's helm. He observes the articulation of the cheek pieces, the hinge and catch of the visor. Taking the opportunity while they are at their ease beneath the pines, Almeric approaches the Shield Maiden once more.

"That's an impressive Spagenhelm you have there. Did you make that yourself? The final piece in your apprenticeship, I presume. Can I examine it?" Assuming Vardi consents, he carefully turns the helm over in his hands, appraising the rivets, welds, straps and quality of the steel. Satisfied with the result, Almeric carefully hands the helm back to Vardi.

"I am looking to upgrade my harness of armour to plates of shaped, interlocking metal, including gauntlets, a visored barbute and sabatons. Do you have any experience of that?" Almeric has a thoroughly enjoyable chat about modern armour styles while they share the repast provided by Ori.

$&!%&^ !  I didn't mean to mark my own post as spam!!!  I was trying to EDIT it!  Anyone know how to get it back?  Help!

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(edit:  ok, had enough processing time to realize there was nothing essential in that post.  i'll just redo from scratch.  apologies all for the thread clutter.)

Cainneach marched along with the retinue, generally remaining up the road a bit with Thatch and Salt in his scouting role.  There was something comfortable about resuming this role, alongside his talented friend, and, most of all, escaping the smothering confines of the castle and returning to the outdoors.  He also felt compelled to keep some distance between Salt, his faithful deerhound, and the large (at least for a cat) feline that had been introduced to the party via Vardi, the very large (especially for a woman) knight that had joined the retinue.  Salt was clearly very interested in this new animal and seemed inclined to investigate what this cat was all about.  Salt was shaggy, this cat was fluffy; Salt barked, this cat made all variety of strange noises; Salt was a noble hound, this cat was ... really fluffy?  The hound wasn't sure what to make of the situation and, frankly, neither was Cainneach.  There were mountain lions, lynxes, and bobcats roaming the Pagans where he had grown up, but nothing like this skoggikatt.

Quote from Damian_May >>

Two hours later......

Passing through low hills covered in crop stubble and hedgerows the companions noted scattered holdings off from the trade road. People watched the procession as they passed and small children alternately called out or watched the 'strange folk' in silence.

Five hours into the journey....

There was a small grove of pines ahead, which would give some shelter from the cold northern winds if they wished to take a spell.

They looked up at the slate grey sky threatening rain and opened a sack of bread, cheese and pickles that the kitchen staff had pressed into Oris hands as he had passed.

The land is slightly hillier here and they are slowly climbing out of the great wide river valley into the foothills of the majestic Pagans to their west.

Cainneach observes the weather conditions and ponders the wisdom of continuing onward versus sheltering until the imminent storm passes.  It didn't look as though the weather would turn too harshly, so he takes his portion of provisions from Ori, chats briefly with Famh, makes a quick introduction to Vardi while trying to rein in a very enthusiastic Salt, then excuses himself and wanders around the pine grove.  Stands such as these were among his favourite environments from his pre-retinue explorations:  the smell of pine, especially when a storm lingers nearby, the soft bed of needles underfoot, the birdsong echoing in the canopy.  Cainneach relaxes slightly, exhaling and closing his eyes.  He can feel Salt unwind as well and the loyal hound sits peacefully at his side.  Sleeping in this pine grove would be so much more satisfying than a dozen nobles' guest beds ... but this is not the time for sleep.  He has a fiancee now and the rest of the retinue to look after.

Perception 11