Bryggan sat in the Great Hall of Curaw scowling. It was not the loss of two of his field armies that bothered him; in fact he was quite happy about it. He had been worried about his client kingdom Acre, but now they were showing a willingness to fight and perhaps they could be trusted after all. No, the problem was was that he was bored. Dirk was busy running around managing the kingdom, Albus was with Dutchy and Waldo in the west, JayJrod was enjoying the pleasures of Yruma Castle and Sitvek... well, Sitvek was trying to match Albus' victories in the east. It seemed everyone had something to do except he himself. Even King James had stopped his complaining and was merrily founding chadzian monasteries and convents in the steppes while marshaling his forces to head east. Bryggan hoped the stories of the forced conversions were false, but even if they were, it was just the peasantry James seemed to be focusing on.
He needed something to do.
He jumped up off his throne, throwing his drinking horn to the ground. "Assemble my men," he yelled, "How many do I have here?"
"Just over 200," his sergeant answered, startled from his daydreaming.
"Send them to the armoury," Bryggan said, "equip them with plate and good arms, and get some bloody good horses for a change. We're going to scout the Ismirila plains."
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The next day found Bryggan and his men trekking through the forest. Though it was winter, there was no snow on the ground. Apparently the season for war was not going to end this year, as it had done the previous years. Bryggan, rather incautiously, rode at the head of his men. He let his champion courser plod along, lost deep in his thoughts. He thought of the war; the stubbornness of the Wardens, the defiance of Black Company, the retardedness of the Sloths. With the latter he had tried diplomacy, foolishly promising them he would not go to war with them, even offering them Tulga. After listening to all his arguments and pleas, they just stared at him with beady eyes and said, "Strat is ded" before shuffling off. He was tempted to kill them right there, but they were just so damned cute. And squishy faced. But oh so retarded!
He might have to reconsider his promise of peace. It would not be the first time he broke a promise.
The nicker of a horse broke his thoughts. Glancing up, he saw four horsemen, arrayed for a boar hunt. They wore the badges of the Wardens on their light leather tunics. And one of them wore the badge of the Lord Warden. It was Finnian Tiercel himself!
For half a second the men just stared, startled, at each other. Bryggan looked into Finnians eyes for the first time. Then he realized it was not the first time. Then the yelling began. Swords were unsheathed and archers hastily started stringing their bows. "HOLD!" roared Bryggan, and his plated men looked at him in astonishment.
"My Lord, flee!" cried one of the Wardens, "it is an ambush!"
"Wait," Finnian ordered, but his men did not wait. While one Warden grabbed the reins from Finnian's hands, another one smacked Finnian's horse on the back side with the flat of his sword. The horse broke into a gallop, the High Lord Warden hanging on for dear life as the other led his horse crashing through the forest. The two remaining Wardens each fired a single shot from their hunting bows before taking off behind their Lord. The arrows bounced ineffectively off the heavy plate armour.
"Do we follow, m'Lord?" his sergeant asked.
Bryggan looked at him, still somewhat dazed by the encounter. "Um. Yes. Yes, we follow."
The sergeant stared back at Bryggan, somewhat astonished. It was not often that the High King had to think twice about going to battle.
Then he turned to his men. "Right you sorry bastards!" he yelled at them, "Prepare for quick march! We can catch these sorry bastards if you sorry bastards move your sorry asses!" The sergeant wasn't one for fancy linguistics.
"Counter that order!" Bryggan said, "We march regular pace. And sheathe your damn weapons."
The baffled men paused, but no one dared say anything. Most, however, were thinking that their leader had finally gone completely mad. But they were well trained men, and they obeyed the order. Once clear of the forest, it was easy to find the tracks of the wardens. Off in the distance the actual men could finally be seen. Around 200 men as well, but not as well armed as Bryggan's men. An honour guard, equipped for dealing with bandits should they run into any on their hunting trip, but not for a well equipped fighting force.
They marched in silence for several hours, until the towers of Nova Ismirila castle came into view. "My lord, we must stop," the sergeant said, "they have reinforcements and good armour in the castle. If they launch an attack we will be lost."
"Very well," Bryggan said, his mind obviously on other things, "we turn back."
"I suggest we quick march."
"Nah, don't worry about it."
When Bryggan saw that they were not being followed, they stopped for an afternoon meal. Bryggan went to one of the pack horses and rummaged through the personal belongings he brought with him on all his campaigns. He quickly found what he was looking for.
So the Lord Warden was from Chulain before he joined the order. Bryggan remembered the day quite well. He had just come to these lands and was trying desperately to make a name for himself. He trained with axe and shield, with throwing weapons. His skill back then was quite a bit better than it was now, and he felt it was his greatest achievement to be noticed by the famous Hounds. He met Finnian on the duel server, a smiling, charismatic soldier whom, Bryggan had even thought at the time, had a natural leadership quality that was lacking in most men. They had a few duels which Bryggan had lost, but apparently was good enough, for he was soon signed into the Hounds.
And then began the most exciting and most boring time of Bryggan's life. The Hounds excelled at tournaments, especially the siege styled ones, and it felt good to be part of their shield wall. Every day he joined in the mock battles, striving harder and harder to accumulate more points. Finnian was a good friend, and he always looked forward to seeing him at these battles. Unfortunately, outside of the tournaments, life was miserable. King Bonesaw gave him a job recruiting men for his castle. Wars were few and far between, and those that did happen usually did not have throwing weapons, which was becoming Bryggan's specialty. He did not see any real chance at earning glory.
Then one night, drunk and feeling offended by the way some Hound kept going on about 'Niggaz' hitting him (in Bryggan's country that word just ain't cool), Bryggan deserted. He left with a couple hundred men, but was unsure where to go, so he sat outside Bonesaw's castle, recruiting men for himself. This was a big mistake. Bonesaw sent his men after him, and after a quick slaughter Bryggan was defeated and fled to Europe.
He had been angry then, and swore revenge. He made himself a small shiny army and went to attack Bonesaw where ever he might find him. But it was too late. King Bonesaw has already went mad and had attacked all his neighbouring kingdoms. By the time Bryggan was ready for battle, the Hounds of Chulain were gone.
Yet now they had returned. Bryggan had long gotten over his anger, and would be delighted to see his one time comrades again. But, alas, the only place he was going to see them now was the battlefield.
btw, anyone know what a 'kern' is?
