Orders of Arim, Part II - Open Orders

The most vital duty of the Arimite clergy is the administration of Sacraments, and thus the most vital of Mantled Orders are the Open Orders, who deliver the Sacraments to the masses.  To date, three Saints have become known as Archons by initiating Open Orders, and these three Orders form the public face of the Faith of Arim.

First and foremost, there is the Order of the Heavy Mantle, who are also called the Whites.  When a commoner thinks of the Faith of Arim, they almost certainly think of the Whites.  The local abbot who runs the village church, the Vicar of a major town, and the Bishop of a great city are all always Whites, who are tied to a particular geographic place in a very specific hierarchy.  They also administer the lands and holdings of the Faith, and have a significant amount of political power.  The Primate is almost always a White (with the recent exception of Augda, who was actually of the Black mantle).

The Whites were founded almost a thousand years ago, and are believed to have been the Browns believe they were the first Mantled Order.  Along with the Browns and the Blues, they are considered an Ancient Order, meaning their founding is apocryphal.  However, it is agreed that they were founded by St Gregor, first of the Archons, who knew Arim when the latter had clothed himself in flesh (it is tradition, but not canon, that the Archons each have had a personal vision of Arim).  St Gregor, along with St Barnabas and his cousin St Jomar, were said to have brought the Faith of Arim to the city of Tiber, and established the worship as we know it today.  In particular, St Gregor is said to have formalized the Sacraments, and the rituals and liturgy used today are called the Gregorian Protocols, for the man who wrote them down.

It should be noted that White organize slightly differently than other Orders... due to their numbers, they have multiple Bishops within a Primacy (essentially, the Primate functions as the "Bishop of Bishops" within a geographic area).  With in the Primacy of Lloegyr, there are six Dioceses: Caerlot (which is always administered by the Primate), Kenton (with parishes in Merleton and the surrounding villages), Timber (which had a parish in Roost), Lothan (with parishes in Senton and the surrounding villages), Lamark (which included Bessex and the entire Lamar peninsula), and Farpont (responsible for the entire Eastern Shore).

In contrast to the Whites, who are geographically tied, the Order of the Sublime Sea, or Blues, spread far and wide, but have few really bases of operation.  An order of proselytizers, their function is to travel into areas that do not yet tend their sparks, and convert them.  They are remarkably good at what they do: they are universally affable people, both likable and respectful, who possess a number of valuable and rare skills as well as an unshakeable faith.  Their modus operandi is to enter an area and live amongst a foreign people... learning their ways while merely demonstrating their own faith.  Through the strength of their character, they typically earn a few converts... who promptly learn to read, write, and gain superior trade craft in a field like medicine.  Most villages that encounter a Blue are turned within three years; the entire culture of the Wahla (the most recent converts to the Faith) gave up their old ways in less than ten years.

The Blues, like the Whites, trace their roots back to one of Arim's original three Archons, St Jomar.  Whereas the nature of the other two Ancient Archons means that there is a fair bit of evidence for their existence, the acts of St Jomar are completely shrouded in legend.  She is the one who was charged with the conversion of the Tiberians and actually gaining an audience for St Gregor's sermons.  He was already an old woman at the the time of the legendary Tiberian mission, and numerous local legends around the world claim a visit from her in her younger days.

The last Open Order is more recent, a development that came about in Southern Merovia several centuries ago through the work St Franna of Cutane (St Franna is considered the patron saint of Cutane, coincidentally).  The Order of the Unending Walk, or the Roses, wear pink mantles and eschew any sort of home, but rather bring the Sacraments to individuals who may not be part of a parish.  In areas with larger stretches of land, the Roses are absolutely vital, and they are also called upon to administer the Sacraments to travelers in lands where Arim has no permanent presence.  Generally, they serve as an alternative to the White mantles when establishing a church is not necessarily feasible.  They are relatively rare in Lloegyr, and are generally known only in Wahla, when there were no existing temples appropriate to the Sacraments already in existence.  

Killing or Murder?

There is no real prohibition against killing in the North.  There are, however, plenty of ways to sully one's honor while killing someone.  While it's relatively easy to avoid "murder," (that is to say, dishonorable killing), the finality of death means that certain issues of honor become much more pertinent in such matters.

There's really only two ways to violate one's honor directly by killing another person.  One is to attack through stealth or ambush, without giving the other person a chance to defend against the attack.  To a lesser degree, attacking without giving fair warning is also an Honor violation... the distinction is whether you possess an unfair advantage, or if resistance is impossible.  The other is to attempt to conceal your crime... that is to say making the death look accidental or from natural causes (this would deny your victim's family the opportunity for revenge).  Generally, if the other person knows one intends to attack violently, these are not issues.  The most common practice of dueling is not to strike until the other person's weapon is bared (this is not a necessity, but if the other person has their sword ready, it's hard to say they're not aware they're about to be in a fight).

This is not to say that killing another person is not a risky proposition to one's Honor.  This is because there are several prohibitions against violence... some stronger than others.  For example, attacking family or striking one's betters are considered sins against Honor.  Most notably, those with Unstained honor (Honor 5, 6, or 7) must consider the following:

• Are they about to do violence to another individual sworn to their liege or a priest or priestess of their religion?  Doing so would be disrespect to their liege or religion
• Are they about to do violence to another of higher status?  Doing so would be a refusal to acknowledge status.
• Are they about to attack a guest?  Doing so might violate the guest rite.

To avoid such pitfalls, there are a number of formal conventions to follow when issuing a challenge of violence.  

To avoid these pitfalls, there is a tradition of the Long Walk... a formal duel.

(Continued in The Long Walk)

The Long Walk

A duel doesn't need to be a formal affair... one person issues some sort of challenge, the other person bares steel, and they fight to the death.  However, when nobles and priestesses fight, there are more complex issues... issues that can stain one's honor if not heeded.  To avoid these issues, the tradition of the Long Walk has developed.

The Long Walk is not a necessity, but rather a precaution.  Observing the steps of the Long Walk ensure that an attacker doesn't suffer any damage to his or her reputation (if properly observed, the Long Walk ensures that a character does not commit an Honor violation).  The drawback?  It's named for the amount of walking around and waiting an individual must endure before seeing their quarrel resolved.

The Long Walk starts with declaring your intentions... to your liege.  One then goes to get a blessing from one's priest or priestess.  These two actions are vital... a liege must give his or her permission, and the religious leader ensures the action will not result in violence against the faith.

The next step is to issue the challenge... to clearly state a grievance (which can be nearly anything), a means of redress (which doesn't have to be reasonable), and a consequence (which is almost always death or injury).  It is important to realize that one may duel based upon a grievance such as "I don't like  your nose," and the redress could be "cut it off."  A common address when one merely wants to kill someone is "Your birth offends me, leap over the moon or I shall end you."  ("Leap over the moon" is a common metaphor for the impossible).

The individual challenged must address this, or be displaying cowardice in the face of danger (a level 5 violation).  Further, if the challenger does not address the challenge, they imply consent to any sort of danger you might impose on them, at any time (that is to say, any violence you do against them does not cause an honor violation).  However, they need not be in a particular rush... as long as they respond in a reasonable amount of time (generally thought to be about a day, plus the amount of time it takes the messenger to travel) the Long Walk continues.  The challenger can either fulfill the redress, or offer terms.

Terms are traditionally very specific.  They include the size and location of the fighting ground, whether armor or shields are to be used, and time of day.  Note that terms such as "first blood" do not apply... the fight continues until it stops.  However, if the individual challenged is of higher shared status than the challenger, he might name a champion (note that if two individuals don't share status, the challenger doesn't have to accept a champion).  

After the terms are accepted, the duel can happen.  There are generally no issues or limitations, and violence can occur without concern for honor.   At any time, the challenger can simply attack... and hope that their recklessness does not cost them Honor.

Orders of Arim, Part I - Mantled Orders

The Faith of Arim has grown around the acts of Saints... individuals of legendary devotion to the Faith who, in their piety, see to the prosperity of the faithful and the proper care of their Sparks.  These saints are generally of two sorts... Heroes of the Faith, which include martyrs and others who have done great deeds that the Primate of Tiber choose to recognize, and the Archons, who found a Mantled Order.

The priesthood of the Faith exists for a single purpose: to attend to the Quality of Mercy through the Seven Sacraments.  These Sacraments are the core of the faith: the reason Arim created the priesthood was to see that the Spark received the proper attention.  However, there are only a handful of priests that actually see to the Sacraments... the vast majority of priests serve some special function within the sprawling organization that is the Faith of Arim.  These functions require specific study, which is why all priests of Arim take a mantle... it denotes what their function is, and how they fit into the Faith's hierarchy.

Of note are the "Gray Mantles" which are not actually part of an order.  All those who join the Faith are Gray Mantles (called Brethren) until they join a Mantled Order.  Nearly half of all priests, however, are Gray Mantles, and they fulfill the vital functions associated with day-to-day tasks... these range from cleaning the altars to tending the gardens to manual labor to caring for orphans.  Generally, if there is an unskilled task to be performed, Gray Mantles do it.

However, Gray Mantles are not Mantled, and therefore suffer no restrictions on their behavior.  By the same token, they are not allowed to administer the Sacraments in any manner.  Instead, this privilege happens after an individual receives the Sacrament of Mantling, which creates them as a mantled priest. This (typically) requires them to give up all worldly ties (i.e. Status and marriage).  In return, they receive the ability to administer the Sacraments, and become Abbots (Status (Religion - Arim) 2)... which allows them to direct any Gray Mantle they might encounter.

Mantled Priests exist in a particular hierarchy, where Abbots answer to Vicars of their Mantled Order (and only their Order), Vicars answer to Bishops (who are generally the highest ranking individual in an Order in a given area), and all priests answer to a single Primate (who alone has the ability to command all members of the Faith).   There are exceptions... generally the Order of the Heavy Mantle (called the Whites) have multiple Bishops in a single Primacy (as Whites are the most numerous order, and most tied to particular locations).  Further, there are rarely enough priests of the Sublime Sea (called the Blues) to justify a Bishop in any given Primacy, as they spend most of their time abroad.  However, the import an thing to understand is that a White Bishop and a Black Abbot do not answer to each other... they have their own chains of command that lead to the Primate.

There are four different kinds of Mantled Orders... each will be described in a subsequent entry.

• Open Orders include the Whites, the Blues, and the Roses.  These are the only Orders that can administer the sacraments to the unmantled (and as such, they are the most common).  Priests of Open Orders almost always display their colors, and are easily identifiable as priests due to the nature of their calling.
• Cloistered Orders include the Blacks, the Browns, and the Purples.  They are different from the Specialized and Hidden Orders in that they can administer the Sacraments to any Mantled Priests (but not Brethren or common folk) and that they have to forsake personal property and relations.  Generally, they focus on esoteric knowledge (such as the Blacks and the Occult, or the Purples and the body).  
• Specialized Orders include the Golds, the Greens, the Yellows, and the Drab.  The difference between a Cloistered Order and a Specialized Order is that priests of Specialized Orders cannot administer sacraments to anyone outside their own Order, even Mantled Priests of a different Order.  They generally have a very particular function (for example, the Golds are guards, the Greens are messengers).  
• Hidden Orders include the Reds and the Silvers.  These Orders are invisible and their membership secret (to the extent that they may actually hold Status outside of the Faith).  They have very particular roles that require their identities to remain unknown.

Heorot Fealty

With the upcoming game being partly focused on fealty, it's probably a good opportunity to explain how fealty works (in the Heorot sense, at least).

The King does not command subjects directly… it's not an Honor violation to disobey your king.  Instead, it's an honor violation to disobey your liege, and the King rules by commanding the loyalty of the Earls of the Heorots.  It is the Earls who see to order within Lloegyr, and to whom most nobles are sworn (and who will keep the peasantry in line if they try to revolt). It's this relationship of fealty that give the King his power:  the most powerful individuals in the realm are bound to obey him.

Fealty is a completely voluntary obligation: a liege must offer it, and the vassal must accept.  Once accepted, the liege owes continued largesse to the vassal (which is represented by the Vassal merit).  However, the vassal may end the arrangement at any time: he returns the gifts of the lord (and mechanically, gives up the benefits of the Vassal merit, if he has it).  When a new king is crowned, the Earls reswear fealty to him (or do not… see below).

At the next game, the opportunity will be given for people to swear to the King: all you need to do is publicly make a statement of loyalty.  The king can then offer a gift… if you accept it, you are now the King's vassal (and can buy the Vassal merit).  

However, there's some important things to remember:

• To swear to the Heorot king, you really can't have another liege.  To swear directly to the king as a vassal, when you're sworn to, say, one of his Earls, is a violation of your agreement with your lord.
• You do not offer the King gifts… this is a grave insult.  The king offers you gifts, and if you accept them, you are considered bound to the king for as long as you hold that gift.  If you give the gift back, then you are free of any obligation, but it's also a pretty clear statement that you no longer support the King.
• The King is under no obligation to allow anyone who isn't loyal to him to hold land, title, or even keep his neck.  In fact, it's expected that if an Earl doesn't swear fealty, there will be a reckoning, and it will likely be violent.  If you're an Earl who swears, receives a gift, and then returns it, well, you better have your guards in place, because you can expect a visit.

Remember… there are no laws.  The King wants to control powerful Earls.  There's two main ways to do this. First, he can court powerful Earls and make them loyal, or he can make those loyal to him powerful Earls.  How he does so is a matter of Honor, and the ability to enforce his will.

Heorot Men Marry Late, and the Primacy of Player Decisions

First, the actual setting material.

Heorot men typically come of age in their mid-teens, when they are physically capable of battle.  The Heorot rite of passage is typically a test of mettle: the month of Geor is typically reserved for all kinds of tourneys and games, and when a boy competes in his first games, he is considered a man.  Coincidentally, this seems to be about the same age that women begin menstruating, and so both men and women reach maturity about the same time.

However, Heorot men typically marry relatively late, particular since the Guth War.  The heroes of that generation... Castus, Burgred, Finn, Oswulf, Walder... all started their families relatively late in their lives (in their late twenties).  The first legitimate child born to one of Castus' close friends was Aldred, who was born when Burgred was already in his mid-twenties.  The King himself was 28 when his son was born, and Ala, the King's only legitimate child, was not born until the King was 35.  The reason for this was relatively practical: until it seemed that Castus had a legitimate chance of winning the war, having heirs was of secondary importance.  Even then, there was a general sentiment that the kingdom should be won before children be had, and most men of this generation delayed starting a family.

This sentiment was passed down, in a manner, to the current generation.  The general attitude amongst Heorot noblemen who are old enough to remember the Guth war, but not old enough to have fought in it, is that one should accomplish something before he marries.  As such, the many heirs of this generation... Aldred of Timber, Nulte of Lothan, Lud of Kenton (generally those of age to have fought in the Merov War)... are unmarried.

While this was a cause for concern amongst the Earls for some time, with the death of Nulte of Lothan without issue, this has quickly become a common topic of discussion in Heorot Halls (when they're not talking about rebellions, succession, and murder, of course).  There is a prevailing attitude that it is time for the eligible Heorot bachelors to find themselves wives, and get to making new bachelors for the decades to come.

From a meta-game perspective... all of this background is about twenty minutes old as of the time this blog was published.  The facts have always been true, but there has never been a reason given for why the named characters of the setting married so late.  Instead, the dates came about from players all picking their ages independently, and when I put them on a timeline recently, some demographic information became apparent.

There's some thematic elements of this game I try to hammer home (i.e. honor), because they're vital for the tone of the game.  If players do not understand or address Honor, or hospitality, then the storyteller has to reinforce that element.  Other elements, however, I try to leave alone, and justify in the game.  This is one of them... the ages at which your characters marry and have children might not strictly reflect the source material, but in the end, it's better to allow players to define the setting, and use it to come up with interesting additions to the setting.

The Vendol Mysteries, Part II

The semi-Aelic Vendol tribes are a diverse lot... they're essentially defined as all the Vendols that speak an Aelic-Vendol creole, and worship some, but not all, of the Fey gods.  Currently, they seem to be in a loose confederation led by a strange druidic figure known as the Elhaz Cyng... this is the source of the Vendol mob that attacked Timber with some 1,000 strong warriors.  However, to characterize these tribes as a single group of people is inaccurate.  Mostly, they are individual nomadic families, hunter-gatherers that travel between various religious sites.  Each religious site is tended by a mystery cult, and collectively, these practices are called the Vendol Mysteries.

The largest Vendol Mystery cult is actually the Wahla... they grew so large that they became an entrenched culture.  However, travelers to Wahla confirm that the culture meets all the criteria of a semi-Aelic Vendol tribe: they worship most Fey gods, although Danna is conspicuously absent, they have the hereditary disposition for magic, and the Wahlan language is simply a very developed Aelic-Vendol creole.  The Wahlans, however, are a very pastoral culture, with a highly develop tradition of arts and storytelling, and a state of craftsmanship which is amongst the finest on the isle.  The contrast between the Wahlans, and say, the Wolf-Blooded, demonstrates the difficulties in making sweeping statements about the semi-Aelic Vendols.

In the Seaspur Mountains, these cultures are considerably smaller and much more savage.  They have had extremely limited contact with the Aels due to the Aelic tradition of the Rochben... essentially a group of warriors who have taken it upon themselves to range the Seaspur Mountains and keep the Eastern Slope as a buffer between the two peoples.  However, beyond the Eastern Slope, there are traditional migration patterns of small family groups, who make their way between mystery shrines that dot the western reaches.  The various cults that tend these shrines are diverse, but tend to be between a handful of dedicated priests and nothing more, to tribes of up to two hundred Vendols.

Some of the more significant mystery cults are listed below.

The Forest People - The Forest People are an example of a larger cult, numbering probably well over a hundred men, women and children, who wield tremendous influence over the nomadic Vendols of the Seaspurs.  It is likely the Elhaz Cyng is a member of this cult, although because the Forest People are typical of many small cults, it is difficult to say.  The distinguishing characteristic of the Forest People is the division of worship: they have chthonic gods tended to by male priests, and fey gods tended to by female.  This division of labor is common to the Vendols, and actually reflected in the Wahlan culture (which have noble priests and wise women).  The Forest People place a strong emphasis on animism, and the belief that their gods are present in everyday objects and animals.

The Guardians of the Unroofed Vault - This cult is typical of a group with a specific purpose... they are about twenty or so people who banded together to protect the approach of the Unroofed Vault (where the Viltem fiend called Typhon supposedly dwelt).  While they ultimately failed in their purpose, as they were recently attacked and defeated by a very small group of Aels, they show what particular type of cult looked like.

The Touched - A particular group of Vendols, constantly changing, who are devoted to aspects of fertility, death, birth, and life-cycles.  A festive and debauched group, who are usually only visited to either feast or pay homage, they are also known for their violent sprees against other Vendols.  They seem to worship some fey gods, and are obsessed with the sexual coupling of their King and Queen (and often the subsequent slaughter of said monarchs).  They are generally younger individuals, have a high turnover, recruit forcibly, and rarely number more than two dozen.

The Weird Sisters - A small cult that exists close to the western shore, and probably only ever numbers three women at a time.  This cult is extremely mysterious, as those that do known them value them for their divinations and prophecies, but outside of a handful of rangers and the Vendols, they are virtually unknown.  These small, strange cults dot the Seapspurs, and no one knows exactly how many of them there are.

The Wolf-Blooded - The Wolf-Blooded are an example of a cult that is really more of a tribe, and has taken a single god as their patron (in this case, Parza).  Numbering almost two hundred, they are incredibly insular and will attack anyone that approaches.  Naturally, many rumors surround them ranging from cannibalism to shape-changing.  However, while rare, they are not unique... there is at least one cult of Wraun somewhere deep in the Seaspurs which is supposedly even larger.

The Vendol Mysteries, Part I

That the Vendols practice a faith that is Aelic in nature but not exactly like the worship of the Dunmar-Gog is common knowledge to most Aels; that the Vendol faiths actually can be somewhat complex and sophisticated is not.  The word "Vendol" itself is inaccurate: it describes any Ael who is not a member of one of the seven Clans, and in truth, describes at least three broad categories of people.

In the same manner, the term "Ael" and "Aelic" need to be defined.  Broadly speaking, there are two methods of doing so.  First is to identify an ethnic group indigenous to Lloegyr that shares a number of cultural traits, most prominently the worship of Fey gods (Geor and Wraun are the two most common deities) and an ability to use magic that appears to be an inherited trait.  By this measure, there are Vendol tribes who are entirely not Aelic... there are small groups of people (primarily in the far North) who have no knowledge of Fey gods, and strictly worship Chthonic gods.  A second definition of Aelic is to identify the Aels as sharing a common language, and this language significantly correlates with the worship of the Dunmar-Gog.  If you refer to an individual as an Ael, you typically use the latter definition, although the most studious of the Blacks prefer the former use of the term, as it seems to be more useful.

The reason the Blacks prefer the word "Aelic" to describe the worshippers of Fey gods is because it helps define the three groups of Vendols without requiring a categorical knowledge of all the Vendol dialects.  Many tribes speak unique creole languages, and while there is an identifiable Vendol tongue, it is actually quite rarely spoken.  It is, however, very easy to identify tribes that worship the Fey gods (one can actually estimate the isolation of a tribe by the number of Fey gods they worship).  With this in mind, scholars can define the Vendol tribes as Aelic, semi-Aelic, or base Vendols.

Aelic Vendols are truly Aels who dwell outside of the established clan structure.  To have a clan, a group of Aels must produce eleven priestesses... one for each month (not counting Viltem).  Such a clan will keep the World Tale, and worship the Dunmar-Gog (literally the "Moon Gods").  If a worshipper of the Dunmar-Gog lives outside a clan, they are called Vendol, even though their way of life is almost identical to their cousins in places like Conley or Samon.  These Aelic Vendols are most common either in tribes living along the southern part of the Vendol River, or in small homesteads (typically no more than an extended family) along the eastern slope of the Seaspur Mountains.

Semi-Aelic Vendols are defined by a divergence from the traditional worship of the Dunmar-Gog.  They have a strong tendency to organize into tribes, ranging from fifty to five hundred people.  While they all deviate from the World Tale, the identifying characteristic of the semi-Aelic Vendols is the removal or replacement of one of the following gods: Danna (most common), Geor, Valka, Wraun, and Parza.  Virtually all semi-Aelic tribes will worship at least one but not all of those five deities.  They almost always speak an Aelic-Vendol creole, and their religious ceremonies typically require initiation and are tied to specific locations (and are sometimes referred to as the Vendol Mysteries).  They are most commonly found in the Seaspur Mountains, and have a reputation for hostility.  Until recently, Aelic rangers known as Rochben have generally made sure that those who dwelt in the mountain stayed in the mountain, but for some reason they have suffered significant casualties in recent years.

Finally, base Vendols keep much older ways, and are generally not considered Aelic at all.  They typically speak a very "pure" Vendol tongue, and worship the Viltem exclusively.  These tribes are found far to the North, and very little is actually known of them.

Veterans of the Merov War

It looks like the coming games are going to feature conflict between the handful of warriors in Lloegyr who have actual wartime experience.  As this is a game of tragedy and interpersonal drama, it's necessary to offer context for relationships, and as such, it's time for your intrepid storyteller to define who went to the Merov War.

The "Merov War" is a name only used in Lloegyr... it would more accurately be called the "Campaign of the Peren Hills" for the woodlands on which it was fought.  The wars between the various Dukes of Merovia lasted nearly a decade, and the forces of King Castus fought only in one summer before the Duke of Vincia, dismayed with the performance of Heorot and Aelic warriors in massed battle, turned back to the use of southern mercenaries.  His dissatisfaction was largely due to the refusal of the Heorots to either integrate with foreign mercenaries, or support themselves in combine arms tactics: they simply lacked the number to fight independently but could not be combined with any foreigners without incident.  Therefore, to a denizen of Lloegyr, the war lasted one bloody, brutal summer, and was fought without glory or victory, or even purpose.

Castus did not send a full compliment of warriors to the South, with the total contingent numbering only about five hundred men.  They were mostly men of Timber and Trademeet, as it seemed to be an opportunity for the "Little Earldoms" to distinguish themselves, although Castus also sent Oswulf, Earl of Kenton, an experienced commander, overseas at the Earl's request.  Oswulf had fought in every major engagement at his king's side, and did not believe it proper for a vassal to shy away from his king's wars.

All in all, the nobles who journeyed South were:

• Oswulf, Earl of Kenton - This man served as the commander for all Heorot and Aelic forces in the South.  His primary activity was to liaison with the Duke of Vincia's war captain, Osric, Count of Marckelle, and see to the employment of his troops.
• His Vassal, Kendell - Just as Oswulf had fought for his king in every conflict, so to did Kendell, Thane of Thanet, fight with Oswulf.  His gift for logistics and administration made him a valuable aide-de-camp.  He and Oswulf were the only individuals with any significant battle experience, apart from the handful of young warriors who had fought in the War of the Three Kings.
• Nulte, Heir of Lothan - A young charismatic noble, Nulte led the cataphracts of House Two Tower into battle.  House Two Tower sent about a hundred horsemen, but saw less fighting than then men of Timber or Trademeet.
• Draught, Illegitimate Son of the King - Draught spent most of the war with the House Two Tower Cataphracts, but was transferred by his own request to Aldred's, later in the campaign.
• Lud, Heir of Kenton - Lud, a close friend of Nulte (and known by most to be his lover), fought the entire war at Nulte's side.  He was known for his loyalty and bravery in battle, but was possessed of a more quiet demeanor than his friend.
• Lander of Thanet - Kendell's son, and another noble in House Two Tower's cataphracts.
• Merrick of House Brendane - A minor noble and nephew of Kendell, who rapidly earned a reputation for both his prowess in battle and his grasp of strategy and tactics.
• Gilder of House Drannen - Another minor noble who would later become Champion of Senton.
• Hector, Bastard of Andel - Who fought in the war despite lacking any noble backing.
• Caillech of House Drannen - A little known noblewoman who masqueraded as a man.  She was discharged from the House Two Tower cataphracts after her sex was discovered, and fought most of the war with the men of Timber.
• Pendric of House Earthspur - The Champion of Kenton, an aging warrior who traveled with his lord.
• Hadric of House Earthspur  - Pendric's son, who would distinguish himself in the limited engagements in which House Two Tower fought.
• Glenn, Heir of Trademeet - A very young man who quickly earned a reputation as a fierce warrior, Glenn led the Aelic men of Trademeet in the South.  These men numbered only a hundred, and fought on foot, and quickly earned a reputation as skirmishers.  They engaged in a good deal of fighting, but did better than most, largely due to Glenn's extensive training in infantry tactics by his kinsman, Angus, Lion of the Aels.
• Aldred, Heir of Timber - The bulk of the Heorot forces actually came from Timber, which mustered troops and sent over three hundred riders.  A large number of them were Aelic, and not adept horsemen, however, they still fought fiercely and valiantly.  Often in the vanguard, these troops suffered the most significant casualties.  Aldred was one of the only nobles of his generation to fight in the War of the Three Kings.
• Drust of the Muress Woods  - A close friend and cousin of Aldred's, Drust did not actually fight in the Merov War, but was pulled from combat at the last minute by his influential foster father, Mark of the Muress Woods.
• Faljur of the Muress Woods - Aldred's brother, a fierce warrior but inept horseman, Faljur was captured in the ultimate battle of the war, a source of contention that lasted for years.
• Conder of Merleton  - A cousin of Aldred, who was not a particularly dutiful soldier, but known to be loyal and brave.
• Erin of the Muress Woods - A woman touched by Aelic gods, Erin travelled with her cousin, Aldred, to war, to serve as a healer.  After earning a bit of a reputation for her abilities, she stayed in the South after the war.

Honor Scenarios

Often, players confuse modern legal situations for honor, and start arguing "right and wrong" with the storyteller.  While appropriate to their character's reasoning, they do not define the society of the North. Instead, Honorable is essentially defined as "living in a manner open to the repercussions of their actions"while dishonor is attempting avoid the consequences.  Lying is wrong, not because it can hurt someone else, but because it hides one's intentions and prevents others from acting against you.  The Neizjet defines appropriate interactions, not because it guarantees that people behave, but rather because it describes what an individual is due.

In order to demonstrate that... consider these scenarios...

Burgred has a coin purse.  Oswulf wants it, goes up to Burgred, tells him that he's going to take it, then kills Burgred in front of his family and takes his purse.

In this case, Oswulf has done absolutely nothing dishonorable.  He neither hid his action (allowing Burgred's kin to track him down and kill him) nor denied Burgred the opportunity to defend himself.  This is not an honor violation.

Burgred drops his coin purse.  Oswulf finds it, picks it up and takes it.

This is an Honor 8 violation.  Oswulf knows those aren't his coins... he's neither given his submission nor geld for them, and he did not earn it.  While it is not a grievous violation, he cannot be trusted to protect another's property in a consequence free environment.

Burgred has a coin purse.  Oswulf wants it, goes up to Burgred on an abandoned street, then kills Burgred and takes his purse.

This is an Honor 6 violation.  Why?  Because he is hiding his crime and minimizing the consequences. This is more dangerous than the actual crime, because there's no way to punish it.  Still, Burgred has a fighting chance, meaning it's not quite a craven act.

Burgred has a coin purse.  Oswulf walks up, threatens his life, and demands the purse... which Burgred hands over.

Burgred has committed an Honor 5 violation... he didn't defend his property... therefore he cannot be trusted to have any.  His actions mark him as someone who will cause others to do violence for him, and that he values his life more than his honor.

Burgred has a coin purse.  Oswulf wants it, creeps up on Burgred in his sleep, kills him, and steals it.

The reason this is an Honor 4 violation is because Burgred was never given the chance to defend himself.  It's not wrong to take Burgred's life... it's wrong to deprive him the opportunity of killing you.

Thoughts on Honor

A recent game saw "shit get Lloegyr," and with that, came a spat of Honor violations.  After several discussions, I realized that many players have limited understanding of how Honor works in the society of the North, and why I focus so heavily on a relatively unpopular rule.  Given that your intrepid storyteller generally tries to respond to his player's wishes, some more exploration of honor will help establish how important the concept is to Lloegyr.

The important thing to realize is that honor is indicative, and the only punishment for breaking norms and mores is enforced individually by the various characters in Lloegyr.  There is no such thing as "law" within Heorot or Kraki society, and it is indistinguishable from religion in Aelic culture.  Instead, behavior is controlled by individuals taking matters into their own hands, avenging wrongs against them and their family.  Because violence is both difficult and risky, it is the threat of violence that keeps individuals in check.  Honor is really a system of indicating who behaves, and accepts the indirect link between one's actions and the potential for violence.

At its most basic level, honor indicates who is deserving of violence... there are paragons who are so honorable, violence against them is unthinkable, and cravens, who will likely need some violence to keep them in line.  Abominations have no place in society, and ought be dealt with violently before they can transgress against whoever they encounter.  What's important to remember is that one doesn't deserve violence because one has low honor... one just gets to low honor by doing things that have to be dealt with violently.

The entire concept of "justice" as modern Americans know it is foreign to the Heorots and the Kraki and the Aels... instead, it's a matter of righting wrongs done to you.  Authority is the ability to right wrongs done against others... an Earl's authority comes from his ability to bring order to his Earldom, and a King's authority comes from his ability to control his Earls.  When someone asks "what does the law say," the answer is "ask the Earl" (or priestess, or captain, etc).  If someone asks "who does this belong to" in regards to stolen property, the answer is "ask the Earl."  This concept is independent of honor; "justice" is what the individuals capable of enforcing it say it is.  Instead, honor indicates whether or not violence is going to be necessary to enforce it.

GSN Theory in 750 Words or Less

If you designed your own rpg system, you've probably heard of GNS Theory.  GNS stands for Gamist, Narrativist and Simulationist, and was developed a little more than fifteen years ago, mostly on a website called The Forge.  We can talk a lot about GNS Theory (particularly if we want to be really geeky about our hobby), but for the most part, the people who developed it have moved on to other models, and the rest of us (including myself) just use it because Gamist, Narrativist and Simulationist are useful terms.  For the players of Ubi Sunt, these terms give us a common language to describe different perspectives on how to play our game.

A quick breakdown:

• The Gamist perspective is best described as "goal-oriented."  You have a goal, you have obstacles, and you're trying to win.  Usually, people focus on mechanics when they discuss gamism (particularly min-maxing), but I personally feel that this is terribly inaccurate: the individual who is rigorously pursuing political goals is just as gamist as the player who creates the world's greatest swordsman and fights a lot of enemies.  Both are pursuing goals as efficiently as they can.  A personal observation: amongst larpers, there seems to be a sense that the gamist perspective is less valid than other perspectives.  I think this is inherently untrue… not only are all perspectives valid, but undermining the gamist perspective ignores the fact that mutually exclusive goals are the primary causes of conflict in larps, and the gamist perspective is vital for in-character conflict.
• The Narrativist perspective focuses on story and character development.  This approach emphasizes internal motivations, and presenting situations where players have internal conflict.  When you write long character backgrounds, set up tragic circumstances, and make "bad decisions" in-character, you're dancing with the narrativist perspective.  While narrativist storytelling is apparently emphasized by most parlor larpers, your intrepid storyteller is extremely dubious of the Narrativist perspective.  Part of my personal reservations about Narrativism is the tendency to privilege "story" above other approaches, without regard for the structure of stories, or how the construction of narratives in a collaborative sense requires strong simulationist and gamist elements.  (Translation of that incredibly pedantic sentence… the difference between writing a story and playing it out in a larp is that a larp requires both strong context and game elements to work when there's multiple people telling the story).
• Your storyteller is a very strong Simulationist, and if you look under the hood, Lloegyr is an incredibly Simulationist game.  The Simulationist is primarily concerned with genre simulation: verisimilitude is the most important aspect.  An vital element, however, is that this is genre simulation, not historical simulation.  (The specific genre we're trying to recreate, by the way, is that of the HBO Game of Thrones series… your play experience should feel like those shows).  A personal opinion: Simulationists are like the middle children of the GNS world… we can easily allow for both games and drama within our construction, as long as the genre is selected to allow for this.  This is not to say we're without problems.  I would argue the individuals who get the most angry with decisions made during a chronicle are Simulationists… all it takes is for one thing to just not make sense and everything is ruined.  If you find yourself hung up on what day it is in character, and travel times, you're probably a Simulationist.  And when the storyteller handwaves travel times and what day it is, you feel vaguely unsatisfied, because the storyteller just muted your genre simulation somewhat.

Note that no player or storyteller is squarely in any of these camps.  Everyone has all three tendencies to some degree.  However, recognizing which tendencies we have, and to what degree, allows us to discuss what we like or dislike about a particular design choice, and also to agree on what sort of game we're playing.

A New Con Larp

I'm about to start writing a one-shot larp for Dundracon, a gaming convention that takes place in the San Francisco Bay Area between the 15th and 18th of February.  If anyone wants to take a California gaming vacation, I highly recommend it.  But since most of you will not see this little corner of Lloegyr, I figured I would tell you what I'm writing.

I'm about to submit Mournful Their Mood, a 25-person one-shot game that can be run in four hours, beginning to end.  It will detail the events of the last generation's Scuttled Ship, where Castus met Maegan, in the company of Burgred and Maela, and a young Jenevra and a still old Caledon.  With a bit of luck, I can spin it so I increase the Lloegyr canon, and produce plot elements for the current monthly game.

If you're interested in knowing more, click on the DDC tag... all my notes for this game will be there.

Spoiler: The Original Epilogue

So, this is a spoiler post, but I don't feel to guilty.  These aren't spoilers for this game.

Instead, these are spoilers for the previous trilogy... the game that I ran before at three conventions between 2006 and 2008.  We have sufficiently departed from the timeline to put them in here.  You won't find too many of your characters (partly because neither Vincia, nor any clan apart from the Onellons, existed in this continuity), and most of the individuals here have not been introduced.  Further, some are so far from their original concept that it's impossible even call them the same character.  But, because I think it's thematically appropriate, I thought I would put it here.

Also, it is slightly edited.  Just saying.

Anyways, spoilers behind the cut.

Soft Places

To shameless steal a term from Neil Gaiman, soft places are places where the boundaries between the Quick (or mortal realm) are less distinct from those of the Twilight Realm or Underworld.  The most common of these are the menhirs that dot the Seaspur Mountains (and are patrolled by various fraternities of Aelic rangers... but that's another entry) and barrows (which are believed to be gateways to the underworld.  However, there's a few very notable areas where the boundary is very faint, and mortals might be unsure of which world they are in.

So far, the campaign has seen two of these.  The first was the Nameless Bay, where the heroes travelled so that the Seven could descend into the Underworld.  Less well known is the Unroofed Vault, deep in the Seaspur Mountains, where it is said Typhon once dwelt.  

The strange thing is that the Viltem have been "spotted" (for lack of a better word) in or around the soft places.  It is said the Viltem walk the Quick, exiled their by the Death Lord, Wraun... and if this is the case, where else in Lloegyr might you meet one of these ancient beings?

House Two Tower

Of particular note in the heartlands is the prominence of House Two Tower, one of the oldest cadet branches of House Lamark, founded the Time of the Dragon Kings by two brothers, Loth and Sent, who travelled north from the Lamark peninsula before Vorgen fought Cullen at the Neck and the Temes clan still held the mouth of the river that now bears their name.  The two brothers fought a series of battles that essentially destroyed the Temes, whose survivors were absorbed into the Muress clan.

Since then, the House Two Tower (the House is named in the Vincian style, and is never properly called the House of Two Tower) has ruled the two cities and the land around them.  Their claim predates the Heorot crown, and one of the scions of House Two Towers, Kent, conquered the King's Woods in the name of Vorgen shortly after the House's formation.  For the last two and a half centuries, the House has ruled three earldoms, and been almost as prestigious as it's parent house.

House Two Tower is uncommon in that it has traditionally been extremely focused on maintaining strong ties, and preventing cadet branches.  Intermarriage between Lothan, Kenton, and Senton is extremely common, and most Earls have married their second or third cousins to ensure that another house does not break off and remove an Earldom from the house.

Recent events, however, have shown the cracks in the foundation of House Tower.  Walder, the late Earl of Lothan, was quite close with the House of Gunter (as was his cousin Oswulf), and served as his steward and mentor to his daughter.  His final wishes have caused the rift between him and his son (Nulte, no friend of the Aels) to affect the entire House, as Nulte used his family ties to bring Kenton to Draught's banner and attack the Aels.  Further, the death of Codder without heir means that Senton is likely to go to another House, ending one of the longest line of Earls in Heurly.

Cities in Lloegyr

I had begun to write about Caerlot, which is the setting for the next series of games and an important setting element.  However, a comment by a player suggested that I need to revisit the idea of "town" and perhaps establish the sort of society that exists in Lleogyr.

One my major struggle when dealing with anachronisms is not actually technological.  It doesn't matter very much to me if you want castles with gatehouses and moats, or stirrups, or heraldry.  You can have all of that.  What I need to maintain is the proper sense of society, and that requires me to maintain a "proto-feudal"society... one that has not yet progressed to manoralism.

At this point in time "feudalism" is little more than a pecking order between very large gangs.  There's a king, and he has lords, but power dynamic is very much determined by individual personalities.  The earls each have a space, and they stay out of each other's territory, and they each obey the king to varying degrees.  However, their influence is primarily martial... how many soldiers can they send to the king.  Likewise, the king's influence is primarily martial... what happens if you disobey him?  Taxes are still in the form of tribute.  There's not a great deal of centralized administration.  Most importantly, Earldoms are not held in the name of the king, and subdivided into regions of smaller administration.

There are Thanes and Reeves, of course, but there's not the sense that every parcel of land is an economic asset, and each parcel has to be used and directly managed.  The Heorots are not that sophisticated (yet... and the Vincian's are, so this will likely happen in a generation or two).  When land is managed in this manner, a noble can only directly manage a relatively small area (about half a day's travel from his manor), and will have to subdivide the land.  When this happens, the lord's manor becomes the center of economic and political life, and has tremendous importance.  This is also when large-scale towns begin to develop.

Lloegyr isn't at this point yet.  Towns do exist, but they are uncommon, because they have yet to become a necessity.  The towns that do exist are generally (with some exceptions in the Heartlands) political and military centers, and have that sort of character.  

This is to say that that there's probably no "tavern" in most towns.  There's a brewer, probably a number of them, and you can go to his home to buy beer, and these are probably social centers.  However, this is still a friend's home.  Similarly, inns are a relatively rare phenomenon, as travelers in small numbers aren't that numerous.  You're not going to have many shops yet.  A town like Caerlot or Senton is a unique thing in that they have a number of establishments, instead of a central market, simply because they have enough trade to support such establishments.  

Now... Caerlot is a large city.  Lothan is larger.  Farpont and Senton are both capable of having these establishments, and Bessex and Kenton are getting there.  Lamark is practically Vincian in this regard.  But apart from these places, there's probably no "Inn of the Prancing Pony," because if there's an inn there, it's just "the Inn."

No More NaNoWriMo

Alas, I did not manage to continue NaNoWriMo this year.  I am generally on top of your email, and thanks to Ephriam, we have a fully functional wiki... lloegyr.com.   Instead of fiction, I think I'm going to focus my efforts here and on the wiki... and of course, on the upcoming game.

Maybe, if I get a chance, I might tell some quick stories from Lloegyr's past... there's any stories you particularly want to hear.

NaNoWriMo Chapter 3

Chapter 3

It never mattered how far from home you were, you were never far from Meagan.  

She was old by most measures, but bore it well.  She had seen forty-five years and three children, and lived long enough to see her mate march off to war while holding her babies in her arms, and then see two of those same babies go off to war across the water, and have all three of them return, mostly.  Her hair was still the same straw color it was when she had met her mate when she was only seventeen, and her breasts and belly hadn't bulged or sagged much.  Instead, she was plump, the possessed of the same sort of pleasant curves that caught Burgred's eye all those years ago.  She looked young, or at least not yet old, and in truth the women of her family typically lived long lives if they didn't die violently.

More notable was he experience.  She was the Priestess of Danna of Clan Muress, and as such the Heorots would call her the high priestess, but they were a foolish lot who rarely used the right word for just about anything, even when they had it in their language.  Burgred, who had been her mate for nearly three decades and raised of their children in the Aelic ways, still made a mess of them.  But it was the way of things.  Aels learned to use the Heorot words in Heorot ways.  Likewise, the Heorots sometimes learned Aelic words, and also used them in Heorot ways.

In the Muress Woods, the difference between the two approaches mattered little.  When Burgred's friend Caston made him the Earl, they agreed that her people's ways would keep the forests, while in the town of Timber, he would host guests in the Southern fashion.  There was no issue, as the only Aels in Timber proper were close to her in blood, and most of the priestesses of the Dunmar-Gog cared little for the place.  And to get a Heorot in the woods would require them to either chase someone or be chased themselves, and in either case, they would exit at the earliest opportunity.

There was one issue, however.  Her spells were not for the Hall.  Burgred never slandered her ways, or begrudged her the incantations she learned from her mother.  He even, after he had his heir, let their second "son" to be taught to use his gifts (although to call a wizard a "son" struck Meagan as odd, even for an Aelic priestess so versed in the Heorot tongue).  But he knew his liege would visit, his companions would visit, and he knew that witchcraft in their sight would bring the entire peace of the Muress Woods crashing down.

In truth, Meagan did not mind.  She didn't much care for the hall anyways, and the offerings were meant for the stars and the sun.  She had her own grove, were few bothered her (for bothering a priestess of Danna is never wise), where she could practice her divinations.  Of course, she did learn something from her Heorot mate, and her grove was quite unlike those of her counterparts in other clans.

For one, Meagan realized that the Heorots despised being wet while they ate and slept, and she realized that she much agreed with them.  So there was a canopy, made by her boys out of canvas and twine, that covered the northern part, so she could be dry but still look out and see the sun.  And there were benches, hewn logs, really, because to sit on a bit of wood made her dresses last longer.  And she wore fine dresses, for Burgred liked to buy them for her, and she liked the way Burgred looked at her in the finery, and although she didn't care to admit it, she had come to admire the way she looked herself.

In any case, she was much unlike any other priestess of Danna in any other clan, and the Aels of the Muress clan were, generally speaking, much unlike the Aels of any other clan.  

On this day, it was approaching noon, and it was raining.  It was gray and dismal and already cold for the season.  She sat on her cloak, folded up beneath her bum to keep out the stump's chill, and wore a green and gold cloak, with small bits of green and glass sewn around the bosom.  Burgred had bought it, and so her chest would have been quite prominent if not for the brown scarf wrapped about her head and shoulders.  Meagan didn't like the way Heorots tended to stare at her breasts (she tolerated her husband's attention in this case), and the scarf kept her head dry, so she was relatively comfortable despite the early approach of winter.

She had worked these spells for decades, longer than anyone else since her Queen had died and Jenevra ascended to her place.  Meagan was not without pride; she knew that she had seven more years experience with the World Tale than her Queen, and a decade more than Ma Ricker of Clan Ricker.  And despite the reverence, there was a certain air of familiarity with each spell, each offering, each gesture.  She sipped tea while she said them, respectfully offering praise to each of the Dunmar-Gog in turn, from Danna and her consort, the beautiful Geor, until she reached Parza the Wild and the damned Viltem.  He hands worked a bit of embroidery when they weren't required (it was to be a gift for her daughter, Cordelia, who was to tell the Tale herself soon), and she would hum when she had nothing she had to say.  And at the end, when the incantation was complete, she smothered the fire with the remains of her tea.

Most priestesses used water, pulled from a cold brook and as clear as they could find, but Meagan knew that was rubbish… any water would do, even if it had tea leaves in it.  The gods did not care about such things.

The tea hit the fire before her and she smoothed her gown as it steamed.  And she hollered three invectives, loudly, once against each of the Three Hermits, and made the sign of the Maiden and the Mother.  And the smoke began to dance before, the steam taking shapes, and gaining color.  They began as gray as the sky above them, but they seemed to catch small rainbows in the wet air, and these tiny prisms swirled together to paint pictures.  These were pictures of the wild, of different trees and shrubs, that were also wet and gray.  But there were people there.  There were twenty of them, all wearing the earthen cloaks of Timber, but armed lightly… a bit of boiled leather here and there, and a few were wearing helmets.  They bore bows and arrows and spears and most had daggers, but there was only one with a sword, a woman, and most notably, no horses.  They were obviously Aelic, as much from their dress as the fact that fully half were female.  But there was only one woman… women were always Touched, and there was only priestess there.

Tara, far away, felt Meagan's eyes upon her, and the young priestess of Valda shivered slightly, and looked around.  She always did this, even though she knew she would not see Meagan.  It was what you did though, when you were being watched, and Meagan was always watching.  And though she was far from home, she was never far from Meagan.

Tara spoke, knowing Meagan would hear her.  She listened, even though she knew Meagan could not speak back, but because it seemed to be the respectful thing to do.  "They're beyond the ridge, but not far," she said in hushed tones, looking up over the crest of brush and trees.  "It's the closest that they've come, I think.  Ulten said so, I do not doubt him."

Ulten was one of Tara's warriors, a bit of a brute who knew the woods and would range for them when Meagan's youngest was on one of his journeys.  Tara prefered to work with Ulten anyway, and Meagan knew why, and the reason had very little to do with Ulten.

Tara was Meagan's niece, the daughter of Meagan's sister, Isa, but these were Heorot words that meant relatively little, even to the Aels of the Muress, whose priestesses had learned to mate for life from the Southerners, and who raised their own children exclusively.  It would still be more accurate to say that Tara was a young priestesses, and a champion as befitting a priestess of Valda, and so Meagan cherished her, as was the way of the Aels.  And in battle, she had been trained to lead, and so Meagan deferred to her in such matters.  But Tara had never learned her letters, and Meagan was the sort to want to know everything that occurred as soon as it happened anyway, so she never had Tara bring her a report of what she encountered.  Instead, she would sit in her grove, on her stump and under he canopy, and sip the last of her tea as she watched her niece work.

Tara, for her part, did not know what to make of it.  She could sense it when it happened, for Valda gave those touched by her a sense of such things, even as she made her voice clear and commanding and her arms strong and quick.  To call Tara a simple creature would be a sort of insult, but it would be accurate to say that she was remarkable lean, in terms of both build and character.  Her personality and interests were as focused in their intent as her body.  She was a warrior, and had received the best training of both worlds, and such a thing leaves marks.  One such mark was an absolute hatred of being watched, but she said nothing of it to Meagan, for another such mark was a near absolute belief that if one suffers, it is best to suffer silently.

She tried to look at where she felt Meagan was, but Meagan wasn't there.  It was the source of her perspective, of course, and it was impressive Tara could find it, but unrewarding, as there was nothing to see there.  Tara motioned that she was going over the hill, and without another word or gesture, three other Aels moved to go with her.

Meagan found that her hands were moving with their needle and thread, which is was good, for it comforted her at this time.  

Tara sprinted over the crest, sword drawn, and into the middle of the Vendol camp.

NaNoWriMo Chapter 2

Burgred didn't like Caldwell, and Caldwell hated Burgred, although only secretly, and in public had never been less than pleasant with him.  In truth, Caldwell didn't like the fact that he hated Burgred, and refused to admit it even to himself, for Burgred was by any honest account a good man and a fine Earl, and if Caldwell didn't take to Burgred, it probably said more about the former than the latter.   Burgred, for his part, didn't actually dislike Caldwell… Caldwell just had a rather grating voice and said some even more grating things, and Burgred far from enjoyed his company.

But both men loved their king, Caston, and both had served him for a very long time.  They had known each other when they were little more than boys, when Castus had become king after the death of his older brother, and he called together all his new earls, who had become so after the deaths of their noble fathers.  At the time, the experience was frightening and bloody, but even more so it was hungry and wet and cold and it smelt like horse shit and still water.  However, that was thirty years ago, and twenty since the last battle, and all either remember of the time is that they would never do anything in the last half of their lives like they achieved in the first, and that creates a sense of nostalgia that only the greatest of men can know.

And there weren't many such men left.  

There was Bert, of course, and he would likely outlive the lot of them, which is ironic since he nearly died during the wars at least three times.  But he was the Earl of Farpont, which was quite appropriately named, and had married a foreigner, a Kraki, so they heard from him very little.  All four of Edwin's boys, along with Kate's husband, had fallen at the Battle of Bruna.  Walder was around, or at least alive, but in ill health.  Which left Caston, Burgred, and Caldwell to reminisce about the marching times, and by now the three of them hadn't a story untold or a boast unbellowed between them.  

And, of course, there was the fact that Caldwell and Burgred didn't like each other very much, if at all.

But Burgred was Earl of Timber, and that was on the River Temesene, as far west as one could go before walking in the Marches, and to see his king, Caston, in his Hall in Caerlot, he had to travel along the New Road.  And the New Road ran through Kenton, and Caldwell was the Earl of Kenton, and so Burgred faced a choice each time he passed through… would he dine and drink with the Earl, when all traditions of hospitality suggested that Caldwell should welcome and feast him?  Or would he pass through, feeding the gossips and fools who now danced about Caston's hall?  

Burgred was an old man, and a loyal one, and he only passed through Kenton twice a year… once on his way to Caerlot, and once on his way back.  And so, twice a year, Caldwell and Burgred went through a rather uncomfortable event where they told the same stories and bellowed the same boasts, and never interrupted each other.

It was late, and the hall was largely empty.  Caldwell, for all his boorish ways, was not a bad man, and he kept decent company and even better food.  He had feasted his guest with duck and pheasant and other game fowl his hunters had back that afternoon, and filled his table with all manner of sweet breads, which Caldwell knew his young wife, Inge, adored.  And he had enough casks of beer and mead to put an army to their beds at night, and so by the time the embers of the fire approached their final moments, both men were drunk.  Inge waited up with them, as appropriate, but apart from the occasional servant and the snoring of Gilder, Caldwell's champion, they were alone.

Burgred, coincidentally, never travelled with his champion, who was a woman and Aelic, but that was not a topic of polite conversation in the halls of the other Earls.

"I heard he clutches his stomach these days, that there is a rot there."  Caldwell doused his bread in gravy as he sopped up the last of it.  Crumbs and stains filled his beard; his mouth few teeth left and his he had trouble chewing.  It did not stop him from eating a prodigious amount, but rather turned the act of feasting into a strange form of entertainment for those around him.

"I do not know, but I have heard the rumors.  And he does clutch his side.  Thank you."  He turned the last words toward Inge as she filled his cup.  The mead had dulled his senses just a bit, and it was getting chilly, so the drink warmed him.  "I think they are…"  He paused, and frowned.  "He is in a great deal of pain."

"In the stomach?" asked Caldwell.

"In the stomach." Burgred reached for more bread, more out of something to do than hunger.

"So Caston's dying, eh?"  He gave just a moment's pause but didn't wait for Burgred's answer. "Asshole.  He survived the war and will die of stomach rot.  And leave you and me behind to clean up the mess."

"The mess?"

"Draught."

Burgred took another drink.  "Draught is to be made the Earl of Bessex.  And he's about that business already."

"And doing quite a good job of it."

"He is his father's son. "

"And his mother's son.  Who is Heorot."

Burgred looked to Inge.  She had the look of a young and worried wife who did not understand the situation.  She was quite good at that look.  She looked at Burgred and managed a polite smile.  He suddenly found himself realizing that he was rather cold, and reached for his fur, which was just far enough from his seat that he couldn't quite reach it.  He grumbled, and spat out an incoherent curse, before Inge stood and brought it closer to his grasp.  "How are your children, my lord?" 

Burgred took the fur and pulled it about his shoulders.  He was a skinny man, small, always smaller than all the others.  Caldwell towered over him, and was a far better warrior, but Burgred had worked very hard to be adequate at fighting and good at battle, and had survived through a bit of cunning where much stronger warriors had failed.  But you couldn't trick the chills or outthink old age, just like Caston couldn't craft a strategy against the rot laying siege to his innards.  "They are well, good lady.  I saw my boy Aldred in Caerlot and he seems most settled in his new service."

"He doesn't fill Hengur's cloak out quite yet."

Burgred reached for his cup.  "It's a hard mantle to bear.  But he is young, and so was Hengur when…"

"Is he going West?"

Burgred's hand stopped short of the cup.  He really did not like Caldwell.  "I do not know.  I did not ask him."

The fire smoldered, and Caldwell coughed and pointed and Inge stood and walked to tend it.  A few servants came forward and she waived them off.  Caldwell called for them to bring him the last of the ducks, which he started to rip apart with greasy fingers.  He looked at the last portions of his meal, Burgred looked straight at him.

Under the furs, Burgred looked relatively small, almost ridiculous.  He kept his beard and hair short, and both were stark white, which made him look somewhat older than his forty-five years.  Caldwell still had dark brown hair, and his curled in long and nasty strands around his fat face.  Caldwell wasn't really fat… he wasn't lean, he was just big, with a big chest and big arms to go with his big stomach… but he always had a fat face.  "If he were really to take the mantle of Justice after Hengur, he should go West, where Hengur died, and finish the job."

"Winter is almost here.  If there's anything out there, it'll be there in the Spring or it'll be gone." 

"It wouldn't matter.  I hear the Beast doesn't eat Aels."

"My son isn't Aelic."

"Then he's not Heorot either, is he?"  There was a moment of silence.  Caldwell looked up to meet Burgred's eyes, and then turned away, a bit surprised.  "I mean, I heard the Beast won't eat one of Aelic blood."

"My son is of the Faith and faithful to the king.  As his sister, my daughter, and his mother, my wife."  Burgred didn't look threatening with his wizened head looking like a dwarf in his heavy fur, but he wasn't exactly trying to be.  Caldwell grimaced and pulled at the strings of meat under his nails.

"How's your other son?"  Caldwell stared at Burgred, and Burgred stared at Caldwell, and Inge looked back from the hearth at them both.  And then they both started laughing… Burgred first, a bit despite himself, and Caldwell a bit more satisfied.  "I heard he killed Sander."

"Oswulf's man?  Aye, he did."

"Your son is a great warrior."

"Oh, I know.  Believe me, I know.  He does too.  And I was once a rich man.  And my son knew that as well."

"What did it cost you?"

"Five horse, with tacts and saddle; one was a Rooster, with its saddle inlaid with bone and gold."

"Where did you get it?"

"It was mine."  Both men laughed again, Caldwell a little more, Burgred a little less.  "You don't believe that Hengur and his men were killed by a monster, do you?"

"I believe nothing that I do not see, my good friend, but I fear everything I do not, particularly in the West."  Caldwell finished the last of his mead and slammed the cup to the table.  "You do not think there is a monster?  Or are you not afraid of it?"

Burgred drained the last of his wine.  His eyes were heavy and he wanted to pull the fur over his head and sleep.  He wanted to not worry of his son's duties or of what happened in the west.  "On matters of the Marches, I believe what my wife tells me, and truly, these days, I only really fear her."

NaNoWriMo Chapter 1

The ocean doesn't care. The ocean doesn't give a shit.

It does no good to talk about it; the ocean won't listen. It sprays without notice to whether or not its visitors spit in it. It moves, but not in response to anyone else, and when it consumes it does so without pause or mercy, and the moment after its victims disappear and the last of their bubbles crack open, the ocean will resume the same casual undulations that occupied its time yesterday morning, the same ones that occupied its time a thousand years ago. The ocean is unchanging; it was here long before you, it ignores your presence, and won't remember you when you're gone.

The ocean would be the last thing Gisbert would see.

He was propped up against a rock, so that his head and shoulders could look out on the sea. It was the western shore, and if Gisbert did not have other thoughts occupying what little time he had left, he might have been struck by the fact that so few of his people ever saw this side of the ocean, let alone at sunset. But there were only a few hours left before nightfall, and while his circumstances may have caused him to forget the rarity of such an experience, the beauty of it did not escape him, and Gisbert resolved himself to linger a few more minutes to see the sun slip past the ocean.

Next to him, Finley chewed on a bit of jerky, and bounced a bit in a low crouch next to the dying man. Finley was his guide, but if the lean and fair-haired man felt any sorrow for Gisbert, his face did not betray it. He took short, stunted bites of dear meat, chewing thoroughly, and made an absent motion to offer Gisbert some, but Gisbert had a vicious wound that was spilling his innards out, and the thought of food was almost as painful as the wound itself. Gisbert had accepted a bit of his water, and few chewed roots to dull the worst of it, but there wasn't much more that Finley could do. The Beast had ripped his gut open, and it wouldn't be long.

"Will you talk to me?" asked Gisbert.

Finley turned to look at him. He talked with his mouth full of deer jerky. "What do you want to talk about?"

"I don't know." Gisbert frowned. He would have hoped to have something better to say at this point in his life. Finley took a good look at him. Gisbert had been, back in Timber, a stunningly good-looking man, with straight golden hair that looked as though it had been painted on, and a face and body that was the perfect mix of youthful beauty and potential for violence. Even now, stained with dirt and covered in sand from the beach and with his blood and intestines staining his breeches red, he was still strangely handsome. Finley wondered if he would leave such an attractive corpse. Finley often had strange thoughts like that one.

Finley got tired of crouching and sat next to Gisbert to watch the sunset himself. The ass of his trousers got damp with Gisbert's blood, but Finley spent most of his time outdoors and wasn't bothered by such things. "Do you want me to tell your mother anything?"

"I suppose I should."

"She's probably worried about you."

Gisbert took a moment to look at the Northerner. He had met him just south of Timber, near Firsforth, when he realized he had needed a guide to take him into the hinterlands for his hunt. Gisbert was relatively sure that Finley didn't like him, presumably because most Northerners didn't care for Heorots. In fairness, Gisbert didn't particularly like Finley, either. For a final companion, he would have preferred his wife, or perhaps his brother. But there was much about his predicament that Gisbert would have preferred to be different. "You know my mother?" he asked.

"No," said Finley.

"But you know of her?"

"No," Finley shook his head. "But every man has a mother." He finished his last bit of jerky and pulled his waterskin, and offered it to Gisbert. Gisbert shook his head. "You looked young enough that she was still alive. So she must be worried about you."

Finley thought about that for a moment. He was severely uncomfortable, though, and it made it hard to think of anything. Truly, he was in pain, but pain was generally a sudden and overwhelming experience, and this was a more constant experience. The best description was that it was warm and calming, like a blanket on a cold night, only that it was the complete opposite of warm and calming. "I thought this would hurt more."

"It's because you're close. It hurts at first because you're still alive, and then as you die, you feel less and less, until you feel nothing." Gisbert looked disturbed at Finley's conjecture; Finley continued, "It's not a bad thing. All the little pains you feel every day? Did the joyful parts account for them? Even if they did... if I could save you right now... you'd never walk, at least not easily. You'd never fight, and never ride a horse. You Heorots like riding horses. Would you want to live like that?" He thought about it for a moment, about his own words. "I suppose you might. If you had something else, but I don't think you do."

Speaking came difficult to Gisbert, but the sun was still a few minutes away from the horizon, and he needed something to cling to. "Why do you say that?"

"If you did you'd be more upset right now."

Gisbert thought about that. It gave him something else to think about. "I suppose that's fair," he said. He suddenly felt the urge to cry. He didn't want to die. He wanted his mother. He wanted to go home. But instead of crying, he choked a bit, and coughed, and that rocked his bowels, and he winced in pain, and he was better at fighting back tears of pain than of despair. He understood that kind of fortitude, and so Gisbert resolved himself to focus on his pain as much as possible, rather than the fact the pain would be over soon. "Do you have my sword?" he asked.

"The Beast flung it into the brush," Finley said. He thought a minute, and said a bit more carefully, "I could probably find it."

"I would like my brother, Berson to have it. He..." Gisbert swallowed, and focused on what he had to say, "he has his own, but I would have him have mine. Tell him to name his son after me, and give it to him." This helped Gisbert, he could do this. "I have a ring, a seal, in my pouch. See it returned to my father, it is his. And to my wife..." he trailed off. It was getting cold now, even though the sun was not quite set. He was tired and almost asleep when he heard Finley's words, waking him.

"What of your wife."

"I should give her something. I... I don't think I did too well by her. I'm not the best husband."

"You weren't."

"I should... I should..." he tried to find the words but they weren't coming.

"I will go through your things, and find something she would carry easily so she might remember you."

He wanted to thank Finley, but could only nod.

The sun was close now. It was red and yellow at the same time, and the sky was black behind them but in front of them, it was every color but blue. The water rippled, cutting dark lines in a perfect reflection of the sunset. For a moment, when the sun first touched the horizon, it was impossible to tell when the sky began and the world ended.

"Stay just a bit longer. You should see it." Finley nudged the dying man. "You have nothing else to do."

"I wanted to kill it," said Gisbert.

"All you Heorots do. I've seen the bodies. Not one of them got this view before they went."

"It doesn't... kill Aels?"

"No," said Finley, "or it hasn't so far."

For a moment, there was anger. A hot flare of emotion directed at the only one who could notice it. Finley should have fought it too, he had seen Finley fight, and knew the Ael to be a better swordsman. It was Finley's fault he would die. It was Ael's fault the Moorstepper came. It wasn't his fault. It wasn't fair.

And then, the anger was gone, and it was just him and Finley and the ocean and the sunset. And the sun was almost gone. It was like quicksand... it was like an hourglass... the last bits went by so quickly, the part he really wanted the most was the part that went by the fastest.

"What about your mother?" Finley asked.

"What?"

"Your mother, what do you want me to tell your mother?"

"I hadn't thought..."

"You Heorots never do." He was looking at the sunset. The sun made his face red and yellow like the sky. For a moment, he almost looked sad, and Gisbert almost thought the man was sad about his death. "I will tell her you died well, and wounded the beast." He paused. "I'll tell her you thought of her."

Gisbert nodded. "Do you think it means anything?" he asked.

"Does what mean anything?" asked Finley?

"The sunset... right now?"

"No," said Finley, "It happens every night."

And then, Gisbert died.