Suzuha
Really Experienced
- Joined
- Jan 14, 2013
- Posts
- 107
In the far north of the Kingdom lay the holdings of House Drake. Like all the great noble houses, House Drake could draw its lineage back many hundreds of years but in recent years its fortunes had waned. The harvests had been weak for three years running and the ageing Lord Argus Drake was growing too infirm to watch over his commonfolk in the way he had once done. His wife, Lady Rosemary, had her hands full with care of her family and could not offer more.
Normally, a family's sons and daughters would step up, but the Drake line was spread thin. Their eldest son, William, patrolled the southern borders with the majority of Drake's soldiers to keep a watchful eye on the rising threat of House Blackthorne. The eldest daughter, Cassandra, was with her betrothed far to the south. The middle son had been born with a sickness in his lungs and though his highborn upbringing had allowed him to live to adulthood he was in no fit state to rule. The youngest son, George, had died five years earlier while hunting near the borders of House Greystoke and while no foul play could be proven this misfortune had chilled the relations between Greystoke and Drake. This just left the youngest daughter, Millicent, a woman grown but inexperienced and overburdened with the troubles of her family and lands to do what she could from House Drake's ancestral keep of Northgard.
With Drake's power spread thin, it was left to the lesser lords beholden to House Drake to manage as they could. Those in the south kept watch and offered shelter to William's forces as they patrolled. Those in the north concentrated, almost to exclusion of all else, on feeding themselves and, where they could, their neighbours. It had been a hard winter and though the spring thaw was now upon them the lands this far north were reluctant to offer up much sustenance. Much of the fresh meat came from the sea in the form of fish and, when possible, whale.
Seagard nestled in deep, sheltered bay on the coast to the east of Drake lands. Samuel Holbeck, Earl of Seagard, was lord of this fortified fishing town and oversaw the fishing and whaling fleet vital to providing food for Seagard's people and many further inland. The majority of the fleet had set to sea just two weeks ago, just a handful of small fishing vessels captained by men too old to be safe on a longer expedition. Earl Holbeck had set out with the fleet, so crucial was its harvest, leaving his lady wife Samantha to manage the town.
With the fleet at sea, Seagard was quiet despite the bustle of daily work. Many men and boys sailed with the fleets save for those whose trades were found on dry land, or those too sick or frail to be at sea.
Meredith Brook, known as Merry to her friends, liked to think she had one foot in the water and the other in the wood, as happy with sail as with sickle, but as a girl she was expected to stay in port. She'd argued with her father for almost a week to be allowed to sail with the fleets. After all, they needed all the food they could get, and every able hand should be on deck, or at least that's what she'd told him. Finally, he lost his temper at her incessant badgering and almost took his belt to her though she managed to weather his thundering reprimands sufficiently contritely to avoid that. Besides, she reflected, he'd probably not actually have beaten her, not really. Her late mother would have chastised him curtly for even considering it and she fancied she felt her ethereal hand staying his shipboard discipline.
So she sat on the dockside bundled up in a thick, fur-lined skin, red curls twisted up in a knot behind her head, darning nets with the old fish wives. She listened to their idle gossiping with one ear, but most of her attention was actually focused across the harbour on one particular boy. She should probably think of him as a man, now, but they'd grown up together and he seemed somewhat gawky in his guardsman's breastplate carrying that wide-bladed spear. Garrot Whaleson was the skinny runt of the family, but she'd always found him a kind of cute, easy to tease, and somehow safe to flirt with. She'd not actually fooled around with him, but lately he seemed like he was starting to grow into his tall frame and that cute was turning somewhat handsome and it was making her wonder... Besides, all the other boys were spoken for, or smelly, or ugly (or both), or now at sea.
~ ~ ~
Lines and timbers creaked as their longboats creeped up the coast, hugging as near to the shore as they dared without risking holing their ships on rocks. A half dozen were under her command, each bearing a full complement of hardened fighters: reavers all.
Her chestnut braid fell between her shoulder blades, over the sea-worn cloak embossed with the rose of House Blackthorne. A black and red rose pin held it tight, though her hands were on the tiller. The ship glided through the water, making good time on their incursion north. By nightfall, they should be moored safely in the lea of Butcher's Cove, not so far south of their target, Seagard.
Carla Blackthorne eyed her crew. They were loyal, to a man, but it wouldn't do to show weakness in their presence. Her strength was their strength, her caution keeping them in check 'til the time was to release their savagery. For now, she called orders to keep their course true and speed steady and the men moved with efficiency of old sea hands. Seagard wouldn't stand a chance before them.
Normally, a family's sons and daughters would step up, but the Drake line was spread thin. Their eldest son, William, patrolled the southern borders with the majority of Drake's soldiers to keep a watchful eye on the rising threat of House Blackthorne. The eldest daughter, Cassandra, was with her betrothed far to the south. The middle son had been born with a sickness in his lungs and though his highborn upbringing had allowed him to live to adulthood he was in no fit state to rule. The youngest son, George, had died five years earlier while hunting near the borders of House Greystoke and while no foul play could be proven this misfortune had chilled the relations between Greystoke and Drake. This just left the youngest daughter, Millicent, a woman grown but inexperienced and overburdened with the troubles of her family and lands to do what she could from House Drake's ancestral keep of Northgard.
With Drake's power spread thin, it was left to the lesser lords beholden to House Drake to manage as they could. Those in the south kept watch and offered shelter to William's forces as they patrolled. Those in the north concentrated, almost to exclusion of all else, on feeding themselves and, where they could, their neighbours. It had been a hard winter and though the spring thaw was now upon them the lands this far north were reluctant to offer up much sustenance. Much of the fresh meat came from the sea in the form of fish and, when possible, whale.
Seagard nestled in deep, sheltered bay on the coast to the east of Drake lands. Samuel Holbeck, Earl of Seagard, was lord of this fortified fishing town and oversaw the fishing and whaling fleet vital to providing food for Seagard's people and many further inland. The majority of the fleet had set to sea just two weeks ago, just a handful of small fishing vessels captained by men too old to be safe on a longer expedition. Earl Holbeck had set out with the fleet, so crucial was its harvest, leaving his lady wife Samantha to manage the town.
With the fleet at sea, Seagard was quiet despite the bustle of daily work. Many men and boys sailed with the fleets save for those whose trades were found on dry land, or those too sick or frail to be at sea.
Meredith Brook, known as Merry to her friends, liked to think she had one foot in the water and the other in the wood, as happy with sail as with sickle, but as a girl she was expected to stay in port. She'd argued with her father for almost a week to be allowed to sail with the fleets. After all, they needed all the food they could get, and every able hand should be on deck, or at least that's what she'd told him. Finally, he lost his temper at her incessant badgering and almost took his belt to her though she managed to weather his thundering reprimands sufficiently contritely to avoid that. Besides, she reflected, he'd probably not actually have beaten her, not really. Her late mother would have chastised him curtly for even considering it and she fancied she felt her ethereal hand staying his shipboard discipline.
So she sat on the dockside bundled up in a thick, fur-lined skin, red curls twisted up in a knot behind her head, darning nets with the old fish wives. She listened to their idle gossiping with one ear, but most of her attention was actually focused across the harbour on one particular boy. She should probably think of him as a man, now, but they'd grown up together and he seemed somewhat gawky in his guardsman's breastplate carrying that wide-bladed spear. Garrot Whaleson was the skinny runt of the family, but she'd always found him a kind of cute, easy to tease, and somehow safe to flirt with. She'd not actually fooled around with him, but lately he seemed like he was starting to grow into his tall frame and that cute was turning somewhat handsome and it was making her wonder... Besides, all the other boys were spoken for, or smelly, or ugly (or both), or now at sea.
~ ~ ~
Lines and timbers creaked as their longboats creeped up the coast, hugging as near to the shore as they dared without risking holing their ships on rocks. A half dozen were under her command, each bearing a full complement of hardened fighters: reavers all.
Her chestnut braid fell between her shoulder blades, over the sea-worn cloak embossed with the rose of House Blackthorne. A black and red rose pin held it tight, though her hands were on the tiller. The ship glided through the water, making good time on their incursion north. By nightfall, they should be moored safely in the lea of Butcher's Cove, not so far south of their target, Seagard.
Carla Blackthorne eyed her crew. They were loyal, to a man, but it wouldn't do to show weakness in their presence. Her strength was their strength, her caution keeping them in check 'til the time was to release their savagery. For now, she called orders to keep their course true and speed steady and the men moved with efficiency of old sea hands. Seagard wouldn't stand a chance before them.
