A HOWL IN THE NIGHT: UPDATE

[northcliffpass]

A Howl in the Night

The bitter cold temperatures are here to stay, at least for the foreseeable future, but not even the cold can keep the buzz of excitement--or anxiety--out of the air. In the days following its arrival the beast on the mountaintop has been glimpsed two or three more times, riding the wind currents while surveying its new terrain like the new lord in residence. Thus far it has showed no interest in swooping down the slope of the mountain to take a closer look at the village of Northcliff Pass, but that fact does not prevent anyone from worrying about precisely that scenario. What happens if the mountain goats prove to be too difficult prey to hunt in these temperatures? What is the rest of the village to do?

Magistrate Ward calls a public meeting at the Town Hall to announce that he's offering up a reward from the city's coffers (modest though they may be) to anyone capable of either slaying the beast, or successfully driving it away from the village. "As the garrison commander and his contingent of soldiers refuses to spare any resources to this end," the magistrate states, "we have no choice but to look elsewhere for help first."

I. A Hero Arrives

A silvery fanfare of trumpets pierces the air, and the town gates are thrown open. A solitary figure stands silhouetted in its opening, the drape of a lush burgundy cloak offsetting the rare plume on an elaborately crafted golden helmet. The helmet as removed as the tall, well-muscled figure strides into Northcliff Pass, revealing a handsome face with perfect teeth, a cleft chin, sparkling blue eyes, and blond hair of such a gold to rival the metalwork of his armor.

"Fear not!" he bellows, his voice a pleasant, ringing tenor, "it is I, Sir Theobald of Haguenne, slayer of monsters and keeper of the peace, protector of virtue and the right of unwashed commoners to live a life free from senseless fear of the unknown!"

He unsheathes his sword and raises it, glinting, to the sky.

"Behold, your savior!"

Are you a witness to this display of dazzling bravado, or do you hear about it second-hand?

[part II to be revealed]

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[northcliffpass]

No sooner has brave Sir Theobald of Haguenne set off to slay the beast circling the summit of Gods' Reach, a more immediate problem arises. This particular problem is named Commander Brickenden, and in addition to being built like a brick shithouse, he's a lesser cousin of some lesser lord nearer to the border with Black Rock. Which explains why he's been handed responsibility for a regiment of soldiers.

At any rate, he's the village's problem now--specifically, anyone who happens to be inside the Hammer and Spoke.

He slams open the door and lumbers in, fists clenched at his side. He's sober (at the moment) but has a face turned red from many years of drinking his weight in ale, and a pair of shrewdly intelligent black eyes that squint around the pub interior. Then, he barks, "Where's your fucking guard captain?" at whoever is within earshot.

[infinitewatch]

One of the various people who flinches at how violently the door is opened, Lance is mid-spoonful of whatever the night's stew is when it becomes clear that this boorish soldier is looking for him.
He glances furtively at the nearest person, as if to say 'should I?', but he knows better-- immediately he gives a weary sigh and gets to his feet, loosely raising a hand to draw the commander's attention. Yep. That's me.

[ferruginous]

Fíadh blinks wildly as the commander barges into the tavern, the most startled reaction she's going to give. But just as quickly her eyes narrow. Sitting along the length of a bench with her back to the wall she has the perfect vantage to take in the massive man and the sudden situation at hand.

As he calls for Lance she snaps her gaze to meet the watch captain's. She keeps her face hardened but gives him a nod; if things go south she's going to back him up right quick. It helps that she's already handed a few of this commander's men their own asses, hopefully that's enough to make this ass think twice before causing more of a scene.

But probably not.

[northcliffpass]

There is a beleaguered looking man at the bar who volunteers as tribute identifies himself as the guard captain, and it takes Brickenden a moment to overcome his incredulity before he can summon up a response. "That's depressing," he says flatly, shakes his head, and walks right towards Lance, not stopping until he is directly in the guardsman's personal space.

He looks him over appraisingly, upper lip curled under a bushy moustache. Then, locking eyes with him: "We're going to have words, Captain, you and I, about what to do about one of your cur guardsman."

[infinitewatch]

Lance is a person who hates making eye contact and avoids it whenever possible, but has also been doing this job long enough to recognize when it can't be avoided. So he meets the soldier's gaze with quiet gravity, his expression only changing when mention is made of a Cur Guardsman.

"What," he rasps, blinking in bewilderment. There are only two other guardsmen, and if he has to discipline Deron, he might as well just jump in the river now.

[northcliffpass]

"What," Brickenden spits Lance's own monosyllabic response back at him, whether out of disbelief or the desire to mock him, who can say? Maybe a bit of column A, a bit of column B. "What do you mean, 'what'? You daft, incompetent son of a--"

He flings out a ham-sized hand back in the general direction of where his soldiers are garrisoned on the festival grounds. "I've got a lad whose meant to be fighting in a war against the duke's enemies once we muster out of this wretched pisshole of a village, and instead he's laid up on a stretcher with a bloody broken jaw back at camp. Do you know how he came by that injury? Captain?"

Contempt radiates off him; maybe that's why his face is so unbelievably red. "I want that guardsman brought to my fucking camp, and I want him flogged until he sees the bloody saints! And if he's not brought to us, I'll requisition every cow or goat or pound of grain you've got in your silos for the war effort--I'll fleece you of your gods' damned back hair if that's what it takes to remind you fucking people of your fucking place."

[ferruginous]

The situation's beginning to look dire as the commander screams and spits in Lance's face. Rage rises like bile in Fíadh's throat and red begins to tint her vision. Yes, she's yelled at Lance before but it was for a damn good reason, a place of worry and care. This son-of-a-bitch is just throwing his weight around to get off on it.

Fíadh swings her legs off the bench and slams her boots on the ground. Rising steadily, gaze never leaving the commander, she walks briskly over and stands behind Lance.

[infinitewatch]

Lance endures the diatribe in silent stillness, his eyes at one point seeming to go past the soldier as he listens, his jaw clenched firmly. He only really comes out of it when Fíadh moves, and he turns quickly and holds out his hand to still her; don't think he doesn't know about who else has been fighting the soldiers, and he won't have this escalating.

Then, he turns back to Brickenden.
"I will see to the discipline of my own men," he says in a low, careful voice, his eyes burning. Were he a mouthier sort, he'd ask what the soldier had been doing to deserve getting his jaw broken, but Lance is a man who knows a lost cause when he sees one.

[northcliffpass]

"Will that un-break my lad's jaw? Make him fit to carry a pike against the bloody Black Rock sods? Fuck off with that nonsense!" Brickenden's voice has risen a pitch or ten, and anyone who wasn't originally going to vacate the taproom has evidently changed their minds about it, and are beginning to creep out the front door lest they get caught up in a fight if fists start flying.

Brickenden doesn't notice them (or doesn't care), but he does notice Fíadh's approach; she's rather hard to miss, furious and fired up as she is, and he gestures a massive hand at her with a bark of insincere laughter. "You ought to hang up your coat and hand the mantel over to this one, she's got fury enough in her to keep an entire company of rowdy lads in line. But you--" His lip curls at Lance again, disgusted, as he looks him over. "I'd not trust you to discipline my wee granddaughter, let alone a guardsman going off like a loose cannon." Pot, kettle, black, etc. But he is a commander, and carries himself like a man well accustomed to wielding authority... and reinforcing it with violence, when necessary.

"Now, I'm asking you nicely, Captain," he growls, "and I'm running out of patience: that bloody guardsman will pay with his hide for what he took from the duke's army--or I'll take it myself out of your winter stores, with the duke's blessing, and leave your entire village to scrounge for roughage until the spring thaw."

[keenly]

With the scene being made, Colin's eyes dart between Lance and Fiadh before he ventures closer, tuning out the general din in his mind to focus in on Brickenden's mental state. He wishes he had the power of Detlef to calm tumultuous minds, but now, he does what he can with his non-magical gifts: quick thinking, lying, and looking innocent.

"I saw your man," he says. "Fighting with another of your men. I don't know what it was about, but there were no guardsmen around."

[infinitewatch]

Briefly meeting Colin's eyes, Lance shakes his head with an intensity that verges on frantic. This is not going to be solved with wit or diplomacy; he knows the type too well.

"Then I'll do it," he snaps to Brickenden, bristling like an angry dog, "come to the guardhouse at dawn and you'll have your justice." It's all he can do to keep from spitting on the man's feet as he steps away, leaving his uneaten stew on the counter. He's off to the guardhouse, or wherever he can find Lorne.

[ferruginous]

Fíadh raises her eyebrows in surprise as Colin approaches but says nothing more. At least not until Lance begins walking away. Internally she's struggling: she should walk away, she should join Lance, she should help him figure out what to do next. But her rage has hit a peak and her knuckles are itching and white with the need to pummel this man in front of her. No one treats her people like this. These are her people now.

So she explodes.

"Is this how you lead, you engorged sack of shite? You toss your weight around when it fecks with one of your men but how about us? What about your soldiers coming in looking for a fight? If I hadn't handed them back their own arses on silver fecking platters what would you have done? Anything? Of course not, you'd be too damn busy ballocks-deep in your own arsehole to care otherwise!"

[infinitewatch]

Lance turns RIGHT BACK THE FUCK AROUND

[keenly]

At worst, Colin figured he might get backhanded, a fate he would have been fine with in hopes of de-escalating the situation. He didn't expect things to sharply escalate. His eyes squeeze shut, brow tightening as Fiadh lets loose.

Well, he can always give the soldiers free baked goods. He'd just have liked that to be a negotiating point and not lawfully compelled.

[northcliffpass]

The engorged sack of shite in question stares back at Fíadh, black eyes both shrewd and furious beneath a pair of bushy black eyebrows. It's hard to tell at a glance which emotion most dominates his face: outrage over her gall, or admiration for her gumption. The bark of laughter that follows doesn't really give a solid indication either way.

"Aye, you're right on top of discipline, aren't you," he says, and though his eyes are still boring two vengeful holes into Fíadh's skull, it's clear his words are intended for Lance. He turns away from Fíadh and points a finger in the guard captain's face. "I'll see you at dawn, Captain, bright and early."

He turns for the door and does not even pause when he glimpses Colin partly in his way; either he'll get out of the way, or wish he'd gotten out of the way, while Brickenden makes his departure from the tavern. He slams the door open hard enough to leave it creaking on its hinges, still hanging open to let in the cold air after he's gone.

[infinitewatch]

Lance is in the process of returning when he's stopped short by the finger pointing in his face, and he looks at it incredulously for a moment before returning his loathing gaze to the commander again. Lance isn't a very large person, and would absolutely lose a fight against this man, but he looks like he might just try anyway if this went on a moment longer.

After Brickenden has taken his leave, Lance turns back to Fíadh and Colin with an icy glare.
"Stay here," he snaps, "or go home. I don't care. Don't get involved, or I will lock you up." This is punctuated by a glance into Fíadh's eyes; that's right, You.

[ferruginous]

Fíadh's fists clench and unclench as she stares unblinkingly right back at Lance.

"You can't just-"

But she stops herself. The source of her bullheaded rage is gone and she's starting to think again. Lance, ultimately, can and will do whatever he wants. And for once she's in a town that she actually cares if she gets kicked out of. But it's wrong this whole situation is wrong and if he would just let her-

"Fine."

The word comes out almost like a low roar and she stomps her way past Lance, muttering some very rude words in another language he should know well before going out the door.

[keenly]

Colin seems shaken already by how very close he came to making the situation worse. He nods, pale and demure now, and slips past to leave through the door.