Roleplay IV -- All's Fair
Spring slinks away under the stern yellow glare of the sun ascending to its solstice. For most youth in the city, the mischief and merriment of a mild spring have given way to the sweaty languor of an oppressive summer; but for the chosen band of young castle boys, which you call the Knights of the Keep, or "The Keepers" as the term soon devolves, the summer yields no respite. They spar and drill enthusiastically in the heat and thick humid air of the season. The thought that they might accompany their young lord on a journey outside the castle walls, nay incalculably farther, beyond their entire world to a prestigious gathering in Feroshire, full of new sights and heroic feats, gives them a sense of wonder and a commitment to the task at hand.
And the task at hand is being coached by Luther and Symeon to make a good mummery. After the announcement, the two parcelled out harmless wicker weaponry and shields to all the boys and then set to crafting a proper exhibition from what originally had been an impromptu wrestling match. To say that Luther and Symeon diverge a little in their styles and tastes would be an understatement in search of a knowing chuckle. And they had different visions for the exhibition.
Symeon extolls the need to incorporate theatrics and derring-do, bright costumes and drama, if the crowd is to be kept enthralled. You are to be cast as the ancient hero, Lodovech, facing the ancient nemesis, Goemagot. Your boys will skirmish with the giant in a most droll fashion by throwing dirt clods (and
in situ probably horse pies) at him and then scampering away from retaliation. When this has played out long enough, you will enter, give a grand speech and charge toward the giant on your pony, striking him a mortal blow with your wicker lance, designed to snap with satisfying loudness. After receiving this wound, the giant will give a despairing speech about the inconquerable puissance of the kingdom's knights. Finally you will jump atop his shoulders from the pony and strike the coup de grace.
Luther, on the other hand, does little but train you all in marching and holding a formation of pikes, or reforming one after being broken. He has little interest in speeches or motifs, or even helping you practice with the lance.
One day, Symeon comes down from the Keep with a small entourage to survey the practice, his servants and hangers-on setting out a chair under the shade of a parasol to spare his complexion, meanwhile Luther's face has turned apple-red from the sun and exertion among the boys. "Luther, whatever are you hoping to accomplish here, because this incessant infantry drill is boring. This will never excite a crowd. Has his Lordship been taught the lance yet? Are we attending a tournament of knights, or a Baabar war dance with all these spears?" His followers titter behind their kerchiefs.
To such flippant remarks from the sidelines, a tired Luther snorts in irritation, "Drill and discipline are the proper way to fight an overwhelming opponent, not foolish personal combat."
"Yes. Quite right. One wouldn't wish to witness personal combat at a tournament, I suppose. Still, I would have expected more zeal for lance and horsemanship, since others do call you Sir Hobby Horse, you know."
Luther, perhaps for the first time in your memory, appears truly nettled; and he rounds hotly on his observer. "Men acquainted with real battle, Milord Daffinois, not the pageantry of these tournaments, would appreciate a well-held line of pikemen that the giant cannot breach. The power of cavalry came to naught at Mumsford Hill, Milord. I was there in the slaughter. If there must be a demonstration, let it be of discipline, rather than of clownish antics and gaudy colours and knightly heroics. Tourneys are a relic, Milord Daffinois, a bright and flashy nothing! Perhaps that is why you presume to know so much about them!"
Symeon shakes in rage, his pale face now flush, and he claps his hands. Servants hastily fetch his furniture and join his procession back to the Keep. You meanwhile are confounded by a different conflict. In a shock to your conceptions of knighthood, Sir Luther appears to belittle the importance of mounted combat and personal duels, the very stem from which the flower of knighthood grows!
Eventually, you will probably have to express your own preferences for the mummery. Hoever, coinciding with the creative differences of Symeon and Luther coming to a boil, the summer heat also does. Tom Bastard and Morcant Collier pass out from exhaustion that day. Even your most dedicated Knights of the Keep agree that the practices must be postponed for the hottest month.
***
In the return to aimless boredom, you begin to explore the dark and narrow places of the Keep. Here you uncover and defeat the best-laid plots of hundreds of rats and spiders to invade the castle, but little else of note. Until one night, thinking to escape Nanna's search at bed-time, you return to poking around in the dark of the dusty attic.
"There you are." You jump in surprise at the unexpected company in the dark attic. They found you already, it seems, but when you scan around the darkness you see nothing. Who could have found you so soon? The sweet voice intrudes again. "You always sneak in when I least expect."
Mother! Lady Marna! Here! In the dark attic! Your desertion from your bed must really have upset everyone downstair. "I've been looking for you. I can't thank you enough, my love. For your service to me, and to Sam before me. You've always been there for us. A royal page! Such an opportunity. And he'll be safe there."
The rumble of a man's voice, muffled, issues from a hole in the chimney right near where you were exploring. He can't be heard, but Marna speaks as if right next to you, apparently nearer the fireplace in her bedchamber. "Now if only you could control your son!" Laughter. Her interlocutor comes nearer, and you hear a thick underclass accent. "Now, now, me Moll, don't ring me a peel about 'im. E'll make an upright man yet. The doxy as 'e came from was a prime article, but for 'er broken ankle."
"Is that how you spoke at the royal court, Milord?" Laughter again.
Author
Topic: Heirship: A Suggestion Game (Read 29402 times)