The 41st of Ymiden, 719th Arc
The dream converges from here and here.
A grand hall sat deep within an even grander castle. Built for practicality rather than aesthetics, the bulwark sported thick walls, watchtowers, battlements, a moat and drawbridge. It was located on top of a hill overlooking the immediate surroundings. Many a siege this piece of architecture had withstood with great success, as the battle scar-like newer brickwork testified. Some claimed the castle Wentaleedl to be unconquerable, but no such thing could ever exist. There always was someone who could find a way to bypass all defenses. Still, none with that capability had yet tried to breach the walls.
For all its function over form, despite its appearance, the interior was quite comfortable. While arrowslits remained in the outer walls and towers, providing entry and exit for howling winds and cold drafts, the inner walls possessed windows. Glass fortified with metal lattice, thick curtains to keep out both cold and light, if so desired. Many of the brick walls were lined with tapestries, expertly crafted, finely embroidered, for a more pleasant décor, but also warmth. Many of the rooms had a hearth on one side, where crackling flames popped and snapped happily, especially in Winter.
In that grand hall too, a fire provided comfortable heat. There were no windows, but the large amount of lanterns fastened to the walls and ceiling more than made up for the lack of natural light. Frescos told the tale of a legendary battle. Central in the room stood a large table. It was fashioned from dark mahogany, covered in a natural resin that made the wood keep its luster. The table had exactly four corners and four sides. Each of these sides was exactly equal in length to the other ones, forming a perfect square. Around it stood several cushioned chairs, all identical, none more grand or elaborate than the others.
On one side, closest to the fire, sat a man with a crown perched upon his head. Once upon a time, his locks had been golden brown, as had his beard, though now they were steaked with grey. He had unified the nation decades ago, pulling it out of a dark century full of strife and war. Forceful when diplomacy failed to make the bickering Lords see eye to eye, he’d ushered in an era of peace. However, peacetime had not affected his figure, still as sharp and fit as ever. Age, on the other hand, did claim its toll.
That, and the situation at hand. Two idiots had started a war down in one of the Southern regions, causing the King migraines and insomnia. With great haste he had called for his loyal knights, and all had answered the summons. From all corners of his great nation, the knights had come, each and every one of them now seated at the Square Table.
King Ruhart Mille-feuille aux Fraise et Crème Glace, Sovereign of the Rabble States, rose from his seated position, standing straight. Each of his movements had a military feel to it, a result of long years of leading an army, fighting evil, and his training routine. The smalltalk around the table died out as all knights fixed their gaze on the King. On his dignified face and beard, the simple crown on his head, the fine but not extravagant attire covering his skin. Only a conservative amount of jewelry weighed him down; a heavy-looking golden necklace, and a set of rings inlaid with precious stones. Most importantly, of course, was the legendary blade on his hip. Extracaliber, the magical blade gifted to Ruhart by the Dame of the Pond, possessing an edge that put all other weapons to shame. No-one really knew how it had been crafted or what the base materials had been. LeMir, the court wizard, wise mentor, chief advisor, and good friend of the King suspected it was made from refined Stariron, and thus unbreakable. Moreover, the blade dealt six d-eight extra radiant damage to evil aligned creatures, and inflicted life threatening injuries on a natural nineteen as well as a twenty.
“Gentlemen, Ladies. Friends. My sincere thanks for gathering here today,” the King began. He did not raise his voice, but nonetheless the words carried to the other side of the room with ease. “I trust you all have heard of the situation in Buphone Avenue? Marquis d’Inverse et Contraire and Count Niais de Pendragon Épicé par le Voleur have started a war over some minor dispute. To conserve the peace of the nation and prevent the violence from spreading, we have to deal with this issue.”
There were approving nods and speculative murmurs among the Knights.
“For this very reason, one of you will have to interfere. No holds barred, but do keep in mind, both my oldest daughter and middle son are quite fond of the parties involved. One of them is to be my future son in law, I believe, so you do not have license to kill. Now, to determine who’s to stop them. Let us discuss your individual capabilities. As always, we will vote afterwards, so refrain from arguing about who you feel should be picked.”
* * *
Meanwhile, in Buphone Avenue, specifically the North-West South-Eastern side, Count Oberan Niais de Pendragon Épicé par le Voleur, Esquire had assembled his own war council. They made use of his manor, where all manner of strategies were being discussed, gathered intel was spread, and missions were planned.
Around the large dinner table which now functioned as war table, several people had gathered. There was the Count himself, of course, but also General Langere, Spymaster Gespatz, Treasurer Von Logenstein, Strategist Ponzo, and Madame Yrmellyn de la Morthe d’Aghaste. The latter had been freed not too long after her incarceration, thanks to a bold and swift intervention by the Spymaster’s men, and a sleeper agent already present within Marquis Nabero’s household.
Mother Goose had not been freed, as she had been detained elsewhere, so the Spymaster had debriefed, and making a detour for a non-priority target would have put the whole operation at risk. According to Ms. Gespatz, the waterfowl had first been sentenced to death by Rotisserie, however, the punishment had been lessened due to Lady Le Fay swaying the Marquis. Instead, Mother Goose was now kept in a cage, forced to rap and beatbox background music for Nabero at all times.
Not much was known about Lady Le Fay and her actions. For the most part, the Lady was a mystery player, seemingly aligned with the Marquis. Yet, from the act of mercy towards the goose could be inferred that she had at least a friendly connection with the creature. Count Oberan had never heard of her before though, nor had most of his war council. Perhaps Madame de la Morthe d’Aghaste had.
Either way, the war was not going as hoped. Oberan’s troops were not winning any ground, having had to leave the town of Berenbrig, near the border of North-West South-Western Buphone Avenue, under the Marquis’s control. A couple other villages had also been seized by the enemy, but now Oberan’s troops had fought the Marquis’s army to a standstill near the river Feluws. They had to destroy the bridges to accomplish this, but due to the advantageous position near Kernwidth, a major player in the field of agriculture, the stalemate would be broken soon enough if Nabero’s army ran out of food and supplies.
Naturally, they would have to cut off the supply caravans sent from Center-Buphone Boulevard -- the capital of South-East South-Eastern Buphone Avenue -- to the front, which was the operation being discussed now.
Spymaster Gespatz felt the best course of action was to send a small, elite squad of soldiers and scouts in a wide berth around Nabero’s armies. Crossing the bridges that had not yet been destroyed further along the Feluws, they could evade detection and sneak around to intercept the supply caravan. General Langere was of the opinion that such a move was too predictable, and would result in a countermeasure by the enemy. Moreover, the obvious route taken by the caravan smelled like a trap and would achieve nothing but the death of his men. Men he also needed to defend the remaining bridges, and keep Nabero’s armies from crossing the river Feluws by boat or raft. However, Ms. Gespatz’s spies had heard no mention of the caravan being bait, disagreeing with the general vehemently. The treasurer seized the moment to remind the both of them that funds were running low already, and to finance any operation, the current taxation would not suffice. Another rise of the taxes might cause the populace to revolt, which never was a good thing. Ponzo, thinking of war machines that could easily crush Nabero’s army, said nothing. He simply sat with crossed arms, still miffed that Von Logenstein had dismissed his request to build a giant, fire-spitting, clockwork dragon that would wipe out all their problems in one fell swoop.
Oberan still tried to figure out what Nabero was planning, and how Yrmellyn Le Fay fit into all this. What was her angle? Why was she siding with the Marquis, if that was indeed what she was doing. Also, had Madame de la Morthe d’Aghaste really bribed Mother Goose, thus meddling with the results of the Dance Duel? Had he won, or had he lost?
* * *
Hours passed. Evening fell, and the Knights of Wentaleedl commenced the voting round. King Ruhart was presented with the results, all tallied by one of the trusted servants. He serenely unrolled the scroll, eyes scanning the contents quickly. A contented nod of his head, and the King stood.
“I am pleased to announce that we have come to a consensus. The Knight to go deal with the Buphone Avenue Situation is… Ser Dancelot. Ser Dancelot, good luck and godspeed. I expect great things from you.”
Ser Dancelot, a true prince charming of a knight, rose from his position at the table, bowed, and strode out of the chamber, determination etched into his face. Once the Squire of King Ruhart during the wars, he had been Knighted for acts of heroism. If there was anyone qualified for this job, it would be him.
