Author Topic: #68 - "Break, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, O sea!"  (Read 2652 times)

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Offline X-Avanil/Aubrae Avan (Thorsten)

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#68 - "Break, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, O sea!"
« on: November 29, 2010, 02:41:10 PM »
   Aubrae drew the heavy cloak tighter around her. The wind was biting cold, and whipped into her face, driven across the gray waves of the - , gathering momentum until it hit the walls of Ashien with its bone-numbing chill. From here the sea seemed calm, but she knew that once you cleared the bay and ventured into the Sea of Storms, those calm waters would roar and rise to great heights, ready to smash even the sturdiest ship into nothing but kindle that would be swept away while men sunk to a watery grave. It would be madness for even the most experienced captain to pilot such waters - yet that was just what she had ordered of the three ships weeks before.

   Each day for the past week she had come out on this balcony, clasping her cloak tight to keep her warm, while she gazed out across the waters, hoping to see white sails slashed with blue, or the Taeghan griffon proudly fluttering in the wind. Each day she had finally succumbed to the freezing cold, and stepped back inside to close the balcony door, seeking the solace of the fireplace. This day promised to be no different than the others, and as another gust of wind send shivers down her back, and the tips of her delicate fingers felt numb where the cold bit them, she sighed and turned to go back inside.

   "Sail sighted!" someone cried from one of the towers - the wind carrying his voice into the courtyard below. Suddenly all thoughts of the cold vanished, as Aubrae whirled about and strode over the to balcony, gripping the frozen rail and squinting as she fixed her eyes on the horizon once more. "Sail sighted!" the call went down again.
   Where? - Aubrae lifted her hands, wiping them on her shoulder, before rubbing them together to get warmth back into her fingers. She grimaced and cupped her hands to blow into them, scanning the waters for that tiny speck of white that heralded an approaching ship.

   Finally she saw the ships, smudges against the sea at this distance, though every minute they came closer meant that they came more into view. Two ships, a Galleon and a Caravel cutting through the waves towards Ashien. Her lips drew into a thin line at this. Only two? That meant that Taeghan sailors now graced the seafloor somewhere out in the Miere Rhuann, and that more flotsam dotted the sea, drifting with the water-currents to wash up on some foreign beach.

Minutes passed as the Princess watched the ships come closer. She shivered, and once more became aware of the cold, though she refused to step back inside until she had an answer to the question that had nagged her since the day she ordered the loyal captains to go against all normal practices and brave the Sea of Storms in winter. She stood up on her toes, as if those extra inches might give her a better view of the ships that came steadily closer, or give her a new angle on them. Then her eyes widened, and the taut lips drew out in a smile. The ships sat deep in the water.
« Last Edit: February 21, 2012, 10:56:08 AM by Avanil/Aubrae Avan (Thorsten) »
Aubrae Avan,
Princess of Avanil, Duchess of Taeghas

Diplomacy is the art of letting someone else have your way.

Offline X-Avanil/Aubrae Avan (Thorsten)

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Re: #68 - "Break, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, O sea!"
« Reply #1 on: November 29, 2010, 05:18:12 PM »
   Fifteen minutes later, a gilded carriage trundled through the streets of Ashien, accompanied by the royal guard. The tall armoured men on wide horses cut an imposing figure as they followed the carriage through the streets, breastplates shining in the bleak light of winter and glinting spears pointing towards the heavens as the plumes on the soldiers helmets fluttered in the air. The two ships where still twenty minutes out of the harbor, when the carriage rolled to a stop at the docks and a servant jumped down to open the door and assist the Princess out, as the guards dismounted and formed up – their moves showing the familiarity that comes from weekly parades as they found their ranks with a minimal hassle. Looking towards them, Aubrae lifted the hem of her rich dress and walked over, the furlined cloak trailing behind her, as she approached the captain and gently put a hand on his arm.
   ”Sir Arlen, I think it only fit that we give these men a heroes welcome. Have the trumpeteers greet them with a fanfare. Nothing too pompous, they have endured much and would probably resent such on behalf of those that could not come today, but a formal greeting no less.”
The guard-captain nodded and strode of to arrange the Princess request, as she once more turned towards the approaching ships, content to wait until they docked. Already she could see shapes – many shapes – at the ships rails, looking towards them.

   The first ship to dock was the caravel, the sails being expertly handled as they where struck, and the hull drifted the last few feet, until the deckhands threw down ropes to the waiting men at the pier, who with a unhurried speed that spoke of many years practice, secured the ship even as its anker hit the water with a splash.
No sooner where the ship properly moored, before the gangplank was lowered and set in place, and the first men began to disembark as the trumpets flared. They where a hollow-cheeked and gaunt lot. Some with wounds that had been stitched or bandaged, others with empty shirtsleeves or trouserlegs where a leg had been removed, but all as one looking about as they stepped onto land, as if not daring to believe that they where actually standing on solid land, and in Taeghas.  These where the remnants of the men Baron Arvuor Raemel Roesone had led north into Taeghas. And more than one hardened man looked near to tears.

   As the Galleon docked at the neighbouring pier, more men walked off of the ship, equally bedraggled and worn, broken in body, though the trip back to friendly territory, and the rations and spirits they had gotten aboard the ship had brought some semblance of fighting will back into their souls, they trudged down the gangplanks and formed groups of sullen and battered men who stood around and chattered, or simply slumped to the ground, to tired to stand anymore.
« Last Edit: February 21, 2012, 10:47:59 AM by Avanil/Aubrae Avan (Thorsten) »
Aubrae Avan,
Princess of Avanil, Duchess of Taeghas

Diplomacy is the art of letting someone else have your way.

Offline X-Avanil/Aubrae Avan (Thorsten)

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Re: #68 - "Break, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, O sea!"
« Reply #2 on: November 29, 2010, 05:22:04 PM »
   Aubrae watched the men, taking note of the myriad of different tabards that denoted their allegiances. Most had the white lion of the Ghiestean mercenaries, though there where both Roesoneans, Endiereans and Diemeans among the mix. Whatever she might have hoped for, this was not battle-ready units of hardened veterans as much as it was the shambling remains of a broken army. She shook her head slightly.

   ”Around seven hundred and fifty, all in all, Your Highness” someone remarked, pulling her out of her reverie.
Turning, she found herself face to face with a man in the tattered remnants of the Roesonean army. The man was clearly past his prime, though there was a hardness to him that spoke of years of experience. She guessed his name.
   ”General Brosuine?” She nodded her greetings. ”I am pleased that you could make it. Seven hundred, you say?”
   The Roesonean general bowed in return, though it was with stiff movements and obvious to all that he favoured one leg over the other. ”Seven hundred and fifty men, Your Highness.” He stated again, grimacing as pain shot up through his leg. ”It would have been two hundred more, had the Windsprite survived the journey, but it is seven hundred and fifty more than I dared hope for.”
   Aubrae nodded thoughtfully. ”How did the Windsprite go down?” she finally asked, as she scanned the crowd and took in the faces of the weary soldiers before her.
   ”She was thrown against a reef in the dark as far as we have been able to conclude,” the general remarked, following the Princess stare. ”Nesiere forgive me, but there was nothing we could do but continue with the screams of the drowning in our ears.” He shook his head. ”My appologies, Your Highness – that is hardly an image a lady should carry around.”
   Aubrae’s lips grew taut. ”But it is words a Princess needs to hear, General. Continue if you please.”
   ”Yes, Your Highness. We where forced to abandon others – those too weak to survive the forced march to the sea. Some wanted to try their luck in Boeruinean prisons, others begged for a clean death at the tip of a sword – you must understand, Your Highness, that at that point we had had little but roots and boiled leather to eat for weeks.”
   The Princess gave a sigh. ”But you have been fed during the trip?”
   ”Yes, Your Highness. I had not thought I should see grown men weep at the sight of common stew, but nonetheless the men wept like children when they found hot meals and warm liquor for them on the Taeghan ships. Many a prayer of thanks have been said, milady, both to the gods, but also to you.”
   Aubrae raised an eyebrow. ”I feed them, and they blaspheme in return, hardly appropriate, General.”
   ”Not like that, Your Highness. You have to realize, that these men, these sevenhundred and fifty soldiers, would have died an ignoble death of starvation and frostbite, if you had not sent those ships to save them. As they see it, they owe you their lives.”
   ”Don’t be ridiculous, General, they would not even be there, if not for the war between the Boers and the Avans.”
   Tael shrugged. ”Perhaps, Your Highness, but that was your fathers doing. Besides, they are soldiers. They get paid to fight and die without questioning the causes of the conflict. What you have done, is send help to people that where not loyal to you in the first place. You have made an effort to reach men who come from the southcoast, from Ghieste and Roesone, Endier and Diemed, and you have done so, heedless of the dangers this posed towards your own followers. And without having to do so in the first place. You are not their liege, and hold no obligations towards these men, yet still save them from cold and hunger – and to a starving man, that is reason enough to thank you.”

   ”Yer Highness?” As the two had spoken, a burly man wearing the white of the Ghiestean mercenaries approached, clutching a dented helmet between his grimy hands, his head bowed and eyes cast down. Spears where immediately leveled against him as two guards stepped forward to flank their Princess, and the man quickly looked up and hunched his shoulders reflexively, expecting to be struck down where he stood.
   Aubrae lifted a slender hand to push one of the spears aside. ”Let him speak” – she turned to look at the man, grimacing slightly at his smell, but otherwise not showing any sign of discomfort at his closeness. ”What do you want, Soldier?”
   ”I beg Yer Highness’ forgiveness, but I couln’t help but overhear the General’s words, an’ its true, Yer Highness.”
   The Princess cast a sideways glance to Tael Brosuine. ”What is, Soldier?”
   ”That we owe you our lives, Yer Highness. ” Other soldiers among the beddraggled lot had closed in now, and Aubrae automatically took half a pace backwards, uneasy at the sudden press of unwashed troopers.
   ”T’is true, Your Highness,” another man, this one in the tabbard of Diemed remarked. ”I can be a father to my children still, because of you.” Other voices piped in, as individuals spoke up, wishing to thank her for their lives personally. The first mercenary seemed to come to some form of decision with himself, and suddenly took to a knee before Aubrae, daring himself to finally look into her eyes.  ”Yer Highness, if you will let me, I’ll pledge myself to you.”
   
   As the Princess stood with astonishment painted in her face, staring at the burly and dirty mercenary at her feet, others took the cue and knelt themselves. One by one the battered and broken remnants of the army knelt, until at least a sea of eyes looked expectantly towards her, all – soldiers and mercenaries alike – professing their wish to serve her, and only her.
« Last Edit: February 21, 2012, 10:31:44 AM by Avanil/Aubrae Avan (Thorsten) »
Aubrae Avan,
Princess of Avanil, Duchess of Taeghas

Diplomacy is the art of letting someone else have your way.