OPEN | Civil Blood Pt. 3

[northcliffpass]

Civil Blood: Part 3

It is the beginning of March, 1313, and winter has yet to remove its miserable claws from Northcliff Pass. But it has loosened the ferocity of its grip, at least, for the sun has finally taken up more permanent residence in the sky, and the ice and snow that have blocked the roads in and out of the village since November have begun to melt. Sights are set on preparations for Springfest (which hopefully, unlike the Harvest Festival, will not be interrupted by invading ghosts), and a trickle of foot traffic heralds the return of regular commerce--which, hopefully, signals the departure of Duke Galein’s men from the region.

But first, some inconvenient plot twists.

I. Come down the mountain

(OOC: Feel free to make use of the knights and squires in threads of your own, but make sure to ping one of the admins before having them go into detail about their experiences on the mountain!)

On the first bright, sunny morning in March, the last tattered remains of Sir Theobald of Haguenne’s noble retinue come shambling defeatedly back into the village. One wouldn’t be blamed for mistaking them for ghosts at first, except for the smell. Bruised, bloody and beaten down by their circumstances, they hardly resemble the brash adventurers who had set off to slay the griffon almost two months ago. They have clearly failed in their quest anyway; the griffon itself can still be glimpsed circling the mountaintop, its occasional screech piercing enough for the wind to carry its voice down to the village.

It’s a bit odd, though. One lone griffon, however ferocious, could hardly be responsible for depleting Sir Theobald’s retinue to this degree. And the knights and squires themselves look hollow-eyed and gaunt, like they haven’t slept properly in weeks and dread even the idea of closing their eyes.

For roughly a week after their return to Northcliff Pass, the Haguennot men can be seen drifting listlessly through the village streets, or hunkering down in small groups in the Hammer and Spoke--never outright rude to those who greet them, per se, but tight-lipped about what happened on the mountain. Only one of them will speak: Sir Theobald’s young squire, Alfred. But all he will say are the same words, softly, his eyes vacant. “Je ne reviendrai pas. Je n'entrerai pas.” I won’t go back. I won’t go in.

Which begs the inevitable question, in where?

IA. Last rites

Given the circumstances--that Haguenne is far away, that the retinue is depleted and demoralized--it is not surprising that, when given the option, Sir Theobald’s remaining knights elect for a local graveside service, rather than carting their lord’s remains all the way back to Haguenne.

The service is held at dusk a day or two after the retinue has had the time to recuperate from their ill-fated trip up the mountain. A little plot has been set aside for Sir Theobald in the graveyard beside the vicarage, though the soil is still frozen far too solid for gravedigging. Instead the vicar holds a service beside the plot while Sir Theobald’s remaining knights and hangers-on gather about; some sniff with emotion, while others look like they’d just as soon spit on the man’s remains if they thought they could get away with it.

It’s a sombre (if somewhat dismal and pathetic) service, and guests are welcome to attend--or rubberneck, if that’s more your thing.

IB. So about that griffon...

(OOC: Replies to this prompt will require the occasional mod tag!)

It’s still there, doing its thing, though at present it seems to have no interest in making the village a part of its regular hunting grounds. Now that the path up the mountain is mostly clear of treacherous ice, anyone curious about the massive winged beast has nothing but their own good sense to prevent them from trekking up to investigate.

If you are the intrepid, adventuring sort, and if you choose to head up to scout out the beast’s territory and hunting patterns, you’ll likely stumble across a different discovery on your way up towards the summit: the entrance to a cave, set deeply into the side of the mountain. Possibly it could be the griffon’s lair during bad weather.

II. Service Needed

When the soldiers finally leave the mine, it might appear to some-- those who have been paying attention-- that there are fewer of them. They look as haggard and haunted as Theobald’s retinue, but with the bleak reality of war still ahead of them when they make their departure for the battlefield at the border with Black Rock.

The dwindled numbers are troubling to Commander Brickenden, but even moreso to the young men of the community, who soon feel themselves being sized up like so many pieces of meat by passing officers: if one look like they can hold a sword, there’s a chance he’ll be surrounded and pressured to fight for what’s right.

Nobody’s being pressganged, but it’s the next best thing, at least for the few days it takes for the soldiers to make up what losses they can and finally take their leave to begin the long march back down the mountain.

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