Part One: Welcome to Calradia - Beware of RocksI finally left the caravan weeks later, ducking off into one of the backstreets of the big city it was rolling into. The caravan crew had been pleasant enough, or at least not entirely unpleasant. One of the caravan guards had made a bit of a fuss when they'd first found me, a couple of days into the journey, claiming I was a runaway bride who should be returned for a healthy sum from some greedy noble. It was evident that he thought he could get some easy money, selling me off as some fool's harem slave. He had even picked me up by the scruff of the neck and threatened to beat submission into me if I didn't agree to go back to the city with him.
Nobody ever expects a runaway bride to be carrying a knife up her sleeve. The attitudes of the rest of the caravan members changed very rapidly once they'd seen to their comrade, who was screaming bloody murder and clasping one hand to his gushing cheek by the time they managed to separate me from him. He left me alone for the rest of the journey, although I occasionally saw him glaring balefully at me out from the back of one of the carts. Not a particularly friendly guy, but I wasn't looking for friends. I'd had more than enough of belligerent guards.
I slipped away from the caravan, darting down side streets. I'd paid for my fare by keeping watch at nights, helping to cook, and had proven an all-round useful member of the team...but I'd seen some of the looks I started to get from some of the men as we approached our destination, and didn't fancy a repeat of the initial encounter. Better to slip away before someone got it in their head to tie me up and sell me away. So I'd taken one of the guards' swords as they slept the previous night, and crept away as the carts rolled in. A fair wage.
Unfortunately I was so engrossed in ensuring I wasn't followed by the caravan crew that I didn't pay much attention to the streets ahead of me. If I had, I would have spotted the man up ahead, trying to lounge inconspicuously against one wall, one hand drifting a little too readily to his sword belt. As it was, I didn't see him until I was almost on top of him - and by then it was too late. Far faster than I would have expected, his sword was drawn and already swinging towards me - not even a word of warning, just a straight-out attack. I stumbled backwards, drawing my own stolen sword, silently cursing myself. This was a dangerous man, a proper street killer, of the type that I never would have worked with in my old life - a desperate, crazed man who'd rather kill and strip the corpse than bother with the niceties of robbery and survival.
I had no choice. Fortunately, while he was strong and fuelled by undoubted madness and hunger, I was quick and had the benefit of being mostly fed and rested from the long journey. As he came in with an overhead swing, I sidestepped neatly to the right and followed it with a rapid sweep of my sword.
The caravan guards had always taken good care of their swords.
As I stood there, staring down at the corpse and my bloody blade, I heard hurried footsteps behind me. I spun, sword raised, and then lurched to avoid spearing the worried-looking man behind me through the head as he came around the corner.
The merchant, Ulric Fugger, seemed genuinely concerned...at least, genuinely concerned in that he needed the help of someone and I happened to be nearby. I was under no illusions - this man was a merchant, a greedy and self-serving merchant just like those back at home. By rights I should gut him and rob him while he slept, to send a message to all those who would exploit people in my situation...but then he started talking. God, that man could talk. I'd heard my father give sermons when I was a child that could drone on for hours. Fugger could have talked my father into pulling out his own hair.
Fugger's brother had been kidnapped by bandits. I fought down the urge to cheer and applaud their courage, particularly as he went on. These didn't sound like the old gangs of home, poor saps trying to do what they needed to do in order to survive. No, these were pure thugs, presumably funded by
someone to make Fugger's brother disappear. It didn't sound likely that he'd still be alive. Even Fugger's voice held a dismal sound of despair in it as he asked me to help him. He was a man in pain. He thought he'd lost someone important to him, someone he actually cared about.
I could understand that much.
I took his money, and agreed to round up a small band of men to track down his brother's whereabouts. Neither of us held out much hope that he'd be found alive...but I needed the money, and he needed the closure. On my way out of his house, he gave me a quick run-down of the city - Praven - that I found myself in, and warned me to stay off the streets after dark. All sorts of criminals roamed the shadows there, apparently.
How little he knew.
I headed out by the west gate, the opposite side to that by which the caravan had entered. As I walked past the local stables, I heard some noble brat arguing with the stablehand about ensuring his horse "learned discipline" - apparently the mare hadn't gone fast enough for little lord fancy-britches. No matter how hard the kid had spurred it on, slapped it with the flat of his sword or sworn at it, it had refused to carry him as fast as his old man's war charger. Something deep inside me growled with menace and, when the boy had left and the stablehand had turned away briefly, I unhooked the mare's reins and led her away before anyone noticed she was missing. She didn't fuss, didn't seem at all surprised or even fully aware that she'd just changed masters. Outside the gate, I hooked one sandalled shoe into a stirrup and hauled myself up. She hesitated for a moment, then walked onwards, bearing me away from Praven as I took stock of my belongings.
As I rode, the sun started to rise in the east, revealing long fields and pastures around me, distant waves crashing on the steep cliffs of the bay to the north. Across the bay I could see a small village, which a passing rider informed me was called Azgad, although he knew little else about it. Far in the distance, beyond Praven, I could see a band of mounted riders. Not knowing who they were, I aimed my new horse's nose to the south. I needed to gather my band of avengers.
I headed south, towards the smudge of trees on the horizon. Eventually, picking my way between them, I came across another village. Keeping one hand close to my weapon, I trotted the mare slowly onwards, until I met a man leaning contentedly over a nearby railing, enjoying the growing sunshine and watching the villagers work. I introduced myself as Ismelda, a traveller. He told me he was the elder of this village, which was named Veidar, and welcomed me with a friendly if somewhat gruff manner. He became rather less gruff when I pointedly moved my hand away from my sword belt, and asked him whether he knew of any villagers who would want to help find the brother of a merchant from Praven. It turned out that the elder had actually known Fugger, back when he was much younger, and he quickly asked around and persuaded some of the local village lads to accompany me.
OOC: For those of you wondering about the various mod options, this is where I paused and set them all up - see following screenshots. The major things are the Fog of War, which I turned on, meaning that all cities, forts and villages are hidden from my map until I've actually seen them, and the additional AI options that allow things like spear bracing, which makes polearm troops MUCH MORE DANGEROUS to horses and cavalry. No, really, MUCH more dangerous. One-shot horse kills, in effect, if they do it right, and I've seen the AI make good use of this occasionally.
I headed out, heading towards another village to the east that the elder of Veidar told me about. En route, our little band passed a messenger, who hailed me as we approached.
A tournament in somewhere called Jelkala, eh? That might be interesting,
if I knew how to fight and
if I wanted to get my skull stoved in by some nobleman's spawn. Still, I mentally filed it away for future reference - lots of rich nobles in one place at one time? Not a bad thing to be aware of.
Arriving in the village of Iyindah, I tracked down their village elder as well. He didn't know Fugger, but seeing that his counterpart in Veidar had seen fit to help out he assumed that I couldn't be that untrustworthy, and a few more men joined my ragtag group. With a small group together, we left Iyindah and headed back to Praven.
Once there, Fugger welcomed me back into his home, and was pleased to see the stout fighters (at least, to his eyes) that I'd brought with me. I didn't tell him that they were simply untrained farm hands. He'd already lost most of his hope, there was no need to dash the rest of it on the rocks. He told me that he'd seen some of the men he believed responsible for kidnapping his brother, riding around and marauding local travellers. I didn't need to hear any more. We hurried out of the city, stopping only for me to buy a cheap shield from a nearby market stall and, by some stroke of luck, ran almost directly into a weeping woman fleeing what she described as "an army of brigands".
An army indeed. Well. I turned to look at the men who, ostensibly, I now led. They looked eager for a fight, which was reassuring, as I was petrified. I'd never been in anything I could call a 'battle' before, certainly nothing on horseback. That being said, I'd fought bitter knife-fights in the slums of a city and I could wield a sword well enough to defend myself.
I swallowed, made a huge effort to keep my voice steady, and called out to my men to charge.
And charge we did.
I was foolish, in hindsight. Maybe the excitement or fear got the better of me. Maybe the mare, scenting my own tension, simply lost her head as well. However it happened, I found myself atop one of the rolling hills, surrounded by the bandit band, my own men left far behind. Panicking, I swung my sword wildly as the mare bucked and reared, and while I managed to take care of a couple of the bandits, a rock sailing through the air eventually caught me just behind my left ear. There was pain, and stars, and I remember slumping sideways off the horse and then...darkness.
I was awakened by one of my Swadian men pouring a flask of tepid water over my head. I've been woken up in better ways, but at least I woke. My men had caught up to the fight just before the bandits managed to slit my throat, and had managed to finish them off with just one casualty - a young farmer, Jonn, who'd overreached with a sword thrust and ended up having a knife through his ribs in repayment. We buried him on the hillside, marked the spot with a stone cairn, and then I interrogated the bandit leader who my men had trussed up hand and foot nearby. He was terrified, sure that we were going to kill him...but the throbbing behind my ear, and the feel of Jonn's cold flesh on the palm of my hands, had left me with no taste for murder. I promised to set him free if he told me where the merchant's brother was, and he agreed, overjoyed.
And so I set him free, as I had promised. I cut his bindings and then walked away, walking past the half dozen men he had so recently fought, past the friends and family of poor dead Jonn, walking out of the camp and behind a distant tree as I heard his pleadings start, then his screams, and then finally no sound apart from the faint, soft crunch of wooden club against flesh.
I had no taste for murder. But I could understand a taste for revenge.
As dawn came, we broke camp and rode towards the nearest village, Azgad on the bay, to bandage our wounds and to sell some of the gear we had acquired from the bandits. Afterwards, perhaps picking up a few more men there if the tale of our victory inspired them, we would head towards the kidnappers' hideout, and we would show them what happens to those who prey on the weak.
OOC: That grew to be a longer post than expected - I've played a little bit further than this. Yep, charging into battle on my own and managing to get my horse stuck against a sharp drop on one side and a tree on the other was not my finest hour. Being knocked out by five looters is a very, very long way from my finest hour. Still, one of the nice things about the Floris modpack is that it allows my men to have a decent chance at finishing the battle on their own even if I'm knocked out - which they did! No ridiculously biased autocalc for me! 
Still, not a particularly auspicious start to Isme's adventures...
Flying rocks, by the way, continue to play a part in times to come. Just a heads-up.
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Topic: An Arrow To The Synovial Joint - Mount & Blade: Warband (Floris Modpack) (Read 10121 times)