Grace of Thy Lord (PT, Semi-Closed, Attn GD)

[Morrdh]

Lindun,
Kingdom of Mordent
1663

It was a mizzling damp rather than a true downpour, its icy touch managing to sweep its way in through the seems of the riders' cloaks as their mounts clattered along the cobblestone street. Pedestrians, wagons and even carriages moved to one side to permit the passage of the trio of horsemen down Framling Road. The three men wore black, wide-brimmed hats with white plumes and a red band round the base of the crown of the hat. Their cloaks and jackets were dark green, easily mistaken for black in the dead of night.

They rode until they reached an area of the city known as Trinity Ward, dismounting from their horses by the steps of a great stone cathedral that towered over the nearby houses. The few folk present hurried off once they saw the riders, sensing trouble in the air, and the trio soon become the sole human presence before that grand house of the Lord.

"Stay with the horses, this shouldn't take long." Barked one of the horsemen, the group's apparent leader, to one of his companion before striding purposely forwards and pushing open the heavy wooden doors of the cathedral. Inside, candle flames flickered in the sudden gust of wind as the banging of the doors echoed throughout the vast interior and up into the high vaulting roof. Now two in number, the horsemen strode into the nave and the leader collared the first clergyman they encountered. "The Archbishop, fetch him now!"

The two horsemen continued to stride over to the altar where they then stood and waited, glaring dismissively at their surrounds. A short while later, the clergyman came hurrying back with another man in tow. This newcomer wore the vestments of a high ranking priest, though whatever grandiose effect the man was hoping for was let down by his somewhat portly stature and the few streaks of oily hair on the crown of his head. The priest looked at the two horsemen and then demanded. "What do I owe this intrusion?"

"Blackwood." The leader of the horsemen answered. "Captain-General of the Garda."

"What brings the King's guards to God's House?"

"The King's business." Replied Blackwood. "I take it yer Gebbes?"

"Archbishop Gebbes." The priest answered. "But yes, I am he."

"I'm here to convey the King's displeasure." Blackwood stated. "It appears that the teachings o' yer church is...encouraging the peasantry ta defy His Majesty's ordinances and refuse ta pay the Crown's levy. The King demands this ceases."

"Nonsense!" Exclaimed Gebbes. "The Church only teaches the common folk the Grace of Thy Lord!"

"Do not test me priest." Scowled Blackwood. "Excisemen have sworn that they have found themselves being barred by villagers, usually under the eye o' one o' yer priests!"

"Dare ye threaten me? In God's own house?"

"God or no god, I am o' the King's Guards." Responded Blackwood. "I am the conveyor o' the King's word, the keeper o' his peace and the instrument o' his will. Do well ta remember that priest..."

Gebbes balked before replying, choosing his words with care. "The peasantry could be getting...spirited with what they take away from the words of Our Lord in Heaven."

"I see..." Frowned Blackwood. "I trust that yer priests will see ta it that the peasantry are reminded whom their lord and master is?"

"I shalt send word to my fellow brothers of the cloth." Gebbes answered. "Though tell me garda, to whom do you give praise to?"

"If ye must know, me kin still adhere ta what ye call the 'Old Ways'." Blackwood responded. "Though I intend to invoke Badhgan the most."

"The Raven Queen of Battle..." Muttered Gebbes. "Curious, but not all that surprising."

"Make o' it what ye will priest." Said Blackwood as he turned to leave. "Fer I will it the first and last time I have to visit ye."

[Morrdh]

Blackwood and his fellow garda took to their horses once more and rode with haste from the Trinity War, the hooves of their beasts clattering once more over damp cobblestones. By now the rain had ceased, though dark clouds on the distant western horizon steadily marched on the city with the threat of downpours to come. Unheeded and unconcerned by the weather to come, the three riders made their way through the city's streets. In due time their destination became clear; Lindun Castle.

The castle was built as a fortress and royal residence, though in the latter role it had been superseded by the more modern and recently remodelled Palace of Cathdown. Though its role as a military fort remained, admittedly it had ended up being used as an arsenal to store gunpowder and arms in addition to be the headquarters of the Board of Ordnance. Responsible for the upkeep of the forts and depots used for the defence of Mordent, the Board also acted as the supplier of munitions and equipment to the Kingdom's military. Also under the remit of the Board's activities was the development of new weapons, a demonstration of which the Master of Ordnance had invited the King to.

The King was already present, along with the Taoiseach and other ministers, when Blackwood and his two companions were brought through the grounds by the warders of the castle. His Majesty was talking with the Master of Ordnance, a man named Seamus Cowen, when the warders announced Blackwood's arrival. Excitedly, the King turned round and warmly greeted the garda Captain-General. "Aha! Blackwood! Just in time!"

"Sire?" Blackwood replied.

"Cowen's little show." The King explained. "Some newfangled musket, though sounds more like he wishes to rob me o' me coffers."

"Least he isn't trying to rob ye o' yer daughters as well." Replied Blackwood. "Or both in the case of Colm Callagher."

"Indeed! Indeed!" The King replied after a hearty laugh. "Though best not to tally any longer...Cowen, ye may proceed."

"Yer Majesty." The Master of Ordnance nodded, then bellowed in the direction of a line of half dozen musketeers arrayed 300 yards from a long and wall wooden board with a crude picture of a man upon it. "Shot! Make ready!"

"Make ready!" Came the response from an officer standing just off to one side from the line of musketeers, further commands came from this officer as he lead the men through the laborious process of loading and preparing their muskets. Then at last came the command. "GIVE FIRE!"

There was a sharp crack as the six muskets discharged, smoke drifting over the firing range as the musketeers made safe their weapons. Once happy, the musket officer dismissed the musketeers before Cowen pointed out a lone musketeer standing a little further on. This man had a smaller wooden target facing him, though set at the same distance of its larger counterpart. Cowen raised his arm high and then called out. "Corbec! Make Ready!"

Corbec, as presumably the man was called, nodded and make sure his weapon was ready. Cowen then lowered his arm in a slow and deliberate move as he called out. "Give fire!"

The crack of musket fire came again, though seemingly a lesser discharge from a single firearm compared to the volley that preceded it. After he'd fired, Corbec made his weapon safe before pulling out a clay pipe and then lighting it. Cowen led the King and the others over to the larger wooden board. "Note the scattering of the shots, showing a slim chance of striking a sole man."

"Hence why shot is always done in blocks yes?" Blackwood remarked.

"Correct." Nodded Cowen. "But let me show you the other board."

"A torso strike? At three hundred yards?!" Exclaimed the King when he saw the hole made by the shot. "With a musket no less!"

"Technically a 'rifle' sire, the interior of the barrel is grooved." Explained Cowen. "Gives a more accurate shot that would fell a man even at such distances."

"I can see that." Agreed the King. "Just as I can see me coffers dwindle further, surely ye'd take a daughter instead?"

"Gold sovereigns would do well enough me liege." Smiled Cowen. "These 'rifles' require a great deal of effort to make sire."

"How many a month?" The King asked, frowning as he did.

"A mere handful, compared to a dozen muskets in that same time." Answered Cowen. "We would have to engage a number o' gunsmiths to produce them in any reasonable number."

"Cowen...ye have but ta ask." Grinned the King. "Do wot ye have ta do ta produce these rifles o' yers, I'll sell me crown if I have ta!"

[Morrdh]

Blackwood waited patiently as the King asked Cowen a barrage of questions, appearing almost like a child full of wonder at a new toy. Eventually Cowen managed to halt the stream of questions long enough to make his excuses and leave, citing important work that he had to attend to. Reluctantly, the King bid the Master of Ordnance farewell and came over to Blackwood and called out. "Walk with me."

"Sire." Nodded Blackwood as he fell into step beside his liege, but let the monarch lead the way. "I spoke with the priest."

"Did he refute the claim?"

"That he did me lord." Blackwood answered. "But I may have wounded his pride...a little...and made him more amicable."

"Yer thoughts on the man?"

"He's a man o' pride sire." Said Blackwood. "He may have the warrior's conviction in his faith, but at heart he's a rogue without question."

"A rogue definitely." Agreed the King. "A warrior I would say not, he's clearly enjoyed...soft living. He bears watching."

"I have a couple o' me best watchers on him me liege, though do ye really think he's a threat ta yer rule sire?"

"His faith certainly is." The King answered. "His church has been aggressively expanding ever since it arrived on our shores, nearly every town and village bears a temple of his faith. It was his church that lead the charge in having our ancient beliefs referred to as the 'Old Ways', our deities dubbed dubbed daemons where they do not conform to his faith. Now his church has started to challenge me rule by stirring up the common folk and having them drive out me excisemen. Yes, I do think he's a threat."

"I see, what do ye intend to do 'bouts him m'lord?"

"The Dáil is drafting ordinances ta limit the power and influence o' his church."

"Me liege, given how his church has treated our laws, I fear it may stir him inta rash action."

"Another point we can agree on." The King nodded. "I fear the priest and his church will a move against me regardless o' wot course o' action we take."

"Hence the interest in Cowen's rifles sire?"

"Ya the leader o' the garda fer a reason." Grinned the King. "But yes, events both here and in foreign lands have prompted me ta consider our soldiers and the arms that they carry."

"I hazard a guess ye think some o' the clan warrior bands may have been turned by the priest?"

"No, not the bands themselves." Answered the King with a sigh. "They're loyal ta their clan chiefs, some o' whom I have ta question where their loyalties now lie."

"We can count on Gallagher and Oakenfist at least?"

"Aye, Oakenfist in particular is always spoiling fer a fight." Conceded the King. "But I need warriors loyal ta the crown."

"Ye have the garda m'lord."

"The garda can fight and fight well, but it is a band o' glorified watchmen than one o' warriors. I know that sounds harsh Blackwood, but by the gods tis true!"

"I...cannot dispute that sire." Blackwood frowned. "Tis been some time since any o' the garda has sought glory on the field o' battle."

"The keepers o' me peace is just as important as being the defender o' me realm."

"I know me liege, but there is little honour or glory ta be had in the taking o' thieves and the catching o' brigands."

"That I can understand and hence why I'm looking at expanding the remit o' the town and city watches, though that is a topic fer another day."

"Forgive me impatience, but there is a point ta this sire?"

"Yes, there is." Nodded the King. "I wish ta form a band, not o' warriors but o' huntsmen. They shalt be armed with Cowen's new rifles and answer ta the crown as opposed to a clan chieftain."

"Huntsmen sire? Who would ye recruit?"

"Yes, huntsmen Blackwood. I need men skilled in the ways o' the wild and fight like skirmishers." The King explained. "Since they currently answer ta no one at present, I'm looking at engaging the clanless. Offering 'em board and coin in exchange fer their service ta the crown."

"The clanless? A bold move, though some o' the chiefs may object."

"Let 'em voice objections all they want! The point remains that I need men that are ready ta fight at a moment's notice and are loyal ta me."

"Ye want a capable commander ta lead this band o' yers."

"The Sealgairí." The King replied. "And yes, I do Blackwood."

"Good name." Blackwood nodded, recognizing the Mordentish word for 'hunters'. "Take it ye gots somebody in mind sire?"

"How does Ranger-General Blackwood sound?" Grinned the King, clearly enjoying the look of shock on Blackwood's face.

"Me sire?!" Exclaimed Blackwood. "I'm already in charge o' the garda!"

"Which means I know both ya loyalty and skill as a leader are already proven, besides I'm sure ye can recommend a suitable man fer yer replacement as Captain-General."

"Aye, that I can sire...but this was not wot I expected when I answered yer summons."

"No, I suppose not." Replied the King with an amused look. "Come, we have much ta discuss!"

[Morrdh]

Long after Blackwood's visit, Archbishop Gebbes sat contemplating before finally grabbing some parchment and a quill. He wrote a series of missives, one destined for the priests of the parishes under his charge and others for the Catholic Church in neighbouring countries. He wrote them as a plead for aid, a call to arms. He wrote that the faith was under serious threat in Mordent and, should it falter there, the faith elsewhere would come under that same threat. He argued that a stand be made in Mordent, least Greater Dienstad be torn asunder from the grace of God and consumed by a barbaric darkness.

After writing and then sealing each missive with wax, Gebbes called for his carriage to be made ready and changed his attire to be better suited for a chilly Mordentish evening. He told an aide that, if asked, the Archbishop was out in church business and had not made it clear when he would return. Wrapped against the evening chill in a large cloak, Gebbes rode his carriage through the city's streets to the Fingate Ward on the southern side of Lindun. Fingate was a rich quarter, boasting town-houses and small estates belonging to the various Mordentish clans and wealthy outsiders. It was to one of the small estates he went, a three-story affair with an arching roof and high stone walls. His carriage pulled up by the main entrance and he was quickly ushered inside to a withdrawing room, where he seated himself until the master of the house arrived.

"Ah, Prince Cathal." Gebbes smiled as the owner of the house appeared. "Many thanks for receiving me at such a late hour."

"Yer Grace." The prince answered with a curt nod. "Though I stated me door is always open ta ye, this is must irregular."

"I would not be here if the matter wasn't important."

"I see..." Muttered Cathal and he walked over to stand by the hearth. "So wot is this matter that warranted yer visit here tanight?"

"Your uncle's hounds came to see me today, led by a Badhganite ruffian named Blackwood."

"The vaunted Captain-General o' the Garda, me uncle's right hand man." Cathal replied. "Ye should feel honoured."

"I certainly do not." Bristled Gebbes. "Least not with your uncle sending brigands to confront me in the Lord's house."

"A bit heavy handed, but me uncle does not trust ye."

"Bah! It is God's enlightenment that he does not trust!" Gebbes exclaimed. "This kingdom is doomed to fall into darkness unless a king of the faith can be the light to show it the way into the Lord's graces."

"Ye and I are in agreement archbishop, but me uncle will never see it that way."

"Then, for the good of the kingdom, you must take the crown....unless you want your cousin Princess Evelyn to take it for you."

Cathal clenched his fist and then sighed before replying. "Fer the good o' the kingdom...I must do wot has ta be done to bring it inta God's light."

[Morrdh]

One Month Later

"Give fire!"

The cry called out across the field and was answered by the sharp crack of a dozen or so long arms, smoke briefly engulfed and obscured the men holding the weapons. A series of thuds were heard a moment later as the shots struck wooden boards arrayed a few hundred years away from the men. The men made safe their weapons before being dismissed by an attending officer, then made their way over to where a camp fire had been set complete with a cooking pot suspended over the flames. The officer headed over to where a group of men on horses waited and call to them. "King Gaelin, boards ready fer yer inspection sire!"

Gaelin nodded and turned to his fellow riders. "Shall we."

There was a chorus of acknowledgements before the group rode over to the wooden boards and dismounted to inspect them on foot. After seeing two of the boards, the King turned to another of the group and said. "Blackwood, each time I come I am more and more impressed by the marksmanship o' the Sealgairí."

"Thank ye sire." Replied Blackwood. "Shows they're getting more comfortable with Cowen's rifles."

"He'll be glad ta hear that I'm sure." Gaelin smiled. "How have ye found the men?"

"Not sure if I fully trust 'em, but none o' 'em have absconded yet." Answered Blackwood. "Recruiting the clanless may prove ta be a blessing in disguise, they seem ta know a trick or two more than any o' the trained bands."

"They'll fight when the time comes?"

"I like ta think so." Blackwood said. "I gather it may be sooner then we hope?"

"It may well be." Gaelin replied grimly. "The Assembly will pass a bill ta tax Gebbes' church, it'll be sure ta put his back up."

"Suppose we'll see how he is fer confrontation."

"That we probably will." Nodded the King. "Though wot bothers me more is the recent influx of foreign warriors."

"Aye, heard there has been large number of Stevidians arriving over the past week." Replied Blackwood. "More luck fer us is the handful of Ordenite jaeger, I've engaged them o' 'em to help train the Sealgairí."

"I suspect they'll teach us a thing or two." Gaelin grinned. "Though it seems ye have things well in hand Ranger-General. But tell me, any thoughts on yer replacement as Captain-General o' the Garda?"

"Aye, I want Owen Finhallen."

"He's the sheriff o' Lindun right?"

"That he is, runs the city watch as a tight ship." Blackwood nodded. "Couldn't think who better fer the garda."

"Done, I shalt have him appointed by week's end."

[Morrdh]

Moorby
Mordent Highlands
Some Time Later

The Assembly passed the so-called 'Church Act' that enabled taxation on land owned by the Stevidian Church, though there was some uproar as pro-Church Delegates walked out of the chamber in protest. With the tax in place, no time was wasted in getting the excisemen out to make the first valuations and demands for payment. Conscious of the possible reaction from the pro-Church members of the rural communities, the Garda was called upon to provide escorts for the excisemen as they went about their duties.

It was the monastery in the market town of Moorby, located in the heart of Mordent, that was chosen as the first place where the new tax would be levied. The monastery had been built in Moorby due to the fact that it was located on a crossroads straddling the main Lindun - Fort Bainsbury road that ran west to east across Mordent, in addition to it being a market town. Moorby's location at the edge of the Mordentish Highlands also made it a prime choice for the Church to expand its influence into the surrounding countryside and establish a series of parishes in the local villages and hamlets. This had put the Church in a position where it was able to give relief to local farmers and villagers after a series of damp summers had resulted in bad harvests, at least locally making it very popular.

Normally a group of riders galloping along the muddy road didn't draw much attention, though a flash of dark green identifying some of the riders as being part of the Garda did catch people's eyes. Workers in the fields stopped and stared, following the riders' progress as they pounded along the track and eventually disappeared from sight. The lead rider carried a horn, which he blew to clear a path as the horsemen encountered carts and wagons on the road. The riders galloped until the weather-beaten stone walls of Moorby came into sight, at which point they slowed down to a canter as they drew near to one of the town's gates. A cry called out as the riders approached. "Make way! Make way fer the Garda!"

People hurried to clear the cobbled streets as the horsemen came charging through, horn blowing to signal their passage through the town. Before long the riders reached Moorby's market square and dismounted from their horses by Moorby's tolbooth (town house), one of the excisemen mounted the steps of the building and faced the marketplace. He unrolled a parchment and called out. "Here ye! Here ye!"

"By proclamation of His Mordentish Majesty, King Gaelin, a new duty is to be levied on estate owned and used by places of worship. This duty will be levied as an annual rate to the sum of ten farthings for every acre. In addition, a rate of two farthings on every tithe payment to the church will also be levied."

There was a stunned silence across the market square as the riders re-mounted their steeds and proceeded towards the monastery, though an ugly mood had taken root and began to weave its way through the town. At the monastery itself, the riders found themselves being barred from entering the grounds and a crowd of townsfolk had gathered as the Garda and Excisemen attempted to gain entry. History does that recall the name of who threw the first projectile, though it would spark an outbreak of unrest that would engulf the town for a day and a night. Later known as the Moorby Riot, the incident would be a herald for the dark days to come.

[Morrdh]

Moorby

Smoke hung heavily in the air and clawed at the back of the throat as fires smoldering, stubbornly clinging onto life. Death and despair was everywhere, from wailing families to creaking carts full of bodies wrapped in linen. Standing like a monolith above it all was the charred shell of the monastery, which had burned fiercely after somebody had torched it early on during the rioting and very little of it had escaped the flames. Many townsfolk had sought refuge in the monastery thinking that it was a safe haven, their ashes was testament to that mistake.

Blackwood had never seen such devastation before and, going by their pale faces, neither had much of the King’s party. The horses were getting agitated by the atmosphere that prevailed, but nobody dared moved. Gaelin, for his part, sat staring on his horse before abruptly stirring his mount over to the tolbooth. Despite its now half-ruined state, the tolbooth still was the seat of governance for the town and city watchmen with halberds still stood guard outside of it.

“Ye there!” Gaelin called to one of the watchmen. “Who’s in charge here?”

“Wots it ta ye?” The man sneered, his armour and face blackened by soot.

“It is me business as King.” Replied Gaelin. “Now I shalt ask again; who is in charge?”

“M’lord! Forgive me!” The watchman exclaimed, eyes wide in terror as he hastily saluted. “Moorgrave Wallace Cathmoor arrived a day or so ago and took charge.”

“Cathmore? As in the lord of County Arawn?”

“Aye m’lord.” Nodded the watchman. “Rode in at the head of a trained band sire, helped restore order pretty sharpish.”

“I see,” Muttered Gaelin. “Seems then that Moorgrave Cathmore is the man I want, I presume he’s inside?”

The watchman nodded and King Gaelin dismounted from his horse before heading inside the building, followed by the rest of his retinue. Once inside, the tolbooth was in better shape than its exterior suggested. The flames had been contained to a couple of rooms on the upper floor, leaving the rest of the building intact but at the cost of the acid tang of smoke in the air. There were a few clansmen about, each one wearing the colours of Clan Cathmore, but Gaelin noted that they stood to attention when he walked past.

It was in the tolbooth’s Council Chamber that he found Moorgrave Cathmore, dressed practically and intently studying some parchments and a map of the town. A clansman whispered something in his ear and he looked up as Gaelin entered, though it was clear that the Moorgrave was caught off-guard by the King’s arrival. “Yer Majesty, I didn’t expect ye ta be here.”

“No reason ye should’ve done.” Remarked Gaelin, noting how young the Moorgrave looked at one score years and three. “But I had to see fer meself how bad it was.”

“It was dire when I rode in the day ‘fore last.” Answered the Moorgrave. “Dozens dead and countless more injured, with at least a quarter o’ the town ravaged by flames.”

“Though it seems I have ye ta thank fer restoring order.”

“Moorby is under me provostship sire, I could not stand idly by and let it be consumed by unrest.”

“I would’ve done the same.” Gaelin nodded approvingly. “How are things bearing up?”

“Ta be honest sire, ‘bouts wot I’d expected.” The Moorgrave replied. “I have the dead ta bury and the injured to be tended ta, but I need shelter and provisions fer those people. I’ve asked craftsmen ta come forward and sent word out ta the local farmers.”

“I’ll get extra help from Lindun.” Gaelin promised. “Though I wish ta discuss the monastery, any idea who torched it?”

“None I’m afraid sire.” Answered the Moorgrave. “It was well aflame by the time I arrived, though me men still got the blame fer it. Few of the priests survived, some o’ ‘em are seeing to the wounded.”

“Just how well liked are the priests here?”

“I’m told they do a great deal ta help those in need and won’t close their door on anyone, though I have heard o’ scuffles between their followers and those o’ our gods.”

“Ye think somebody torched the monastery ta sow discord?”

“I wouldn’t discount it sire, but me concerns have been with restoring order ta the town. Besides, the Garda are better suited ta investigate the burning o’ the monastery.”

“Agreed, but ye have me ear if theres anything ye require or have a matter ta discuss.”

[Delmonte]

The Signalia bounced and buoyed against the cold waves of the Mordentian waters. She was built in the balmier, gentler seas surrounding the Grand City's environs. Runio Damiatti tapped the railing of the forecastle as he watched Mordent approach through whisps of fog.

"I prefer home too, girl." He said, lovingly addressing his personal yacht.

"But you can't go back." a voice from behind him broke his nostalgia. Runio turned to see Cardinal Tornata stalking towards him, having overcome a recent bout of seasickness.
"Did mother send you with me to chide, Uncle?" Runio inquired, turning back to face the steadily growing continent.

"Of course not." the middle-aged cleric replied, taking his place alongside his nephew. "She sent me to make sure that the same behavior that got you exiled would not also cause your expedition to fail."
The young trailblazer grimaced. "He insulted me."

"You killed him in a duel that was not supposed to be to the death."

"I under-estimated how bad he was at dueling!" Runio's uncle allowed himself a small chuckle at this before continuing.

"You'll have to build your own little Delmonte here in this new land by taking advantage of their troubles. First step is getting in good with the King."

"And if that fails, Uncle?"

"Get in good with his opponents."

"Your pragmatism never fails to amaze me." Runio looked at the alien coasts that their fleet swiftly approached as the two embraced silence between them. After a matter of hours they had made port (the majority of the fleet stayed anchored at sea using rowboats to shuffle provisions aboard). Another few days had them before King Gaelin himself.

"Majesty," Runio began, bowing low. Tornata followed suit. "I wish I could say I come on behalf of the Doge, but I cannot. I wish I could say I came on behalf of the Most Serene Republic, but I cannot. I come on behalf of myself. And my family."

He cleared his throat.

"I am an exile, sire. Having killed the Doge's cousine after he slandered me, I am doomed to leave my home and wander until I can build a new home someplace else and perhaps engender the affection of the Republic once more. That is my trial. But you also have a trial to face. Hounds are nipping at your heels. Rebels are frothed by the words of priests who preach not at the altar of God, but at the altar of violence and treachery. We can help each other. Before my exile I was being groomed to command my family's personal guard. I have five hundred of their number waiting off the coast along with some artillery. All I ask in return is that you allow me, my men, and any of your women who choose to follow them to settle on an island we located off your coast in between two of your major ports. This will facilitate trade between the Most Serene Republic and your own nation, benefiting both."

Cardinal Tornata stepped in. "I would also be at your disposal, majesty. If something were to... happen to the priests and bishops slandering you I and the handful of my assisting priests accompanying me could fill in. And our homilies would be substantially friendlier towards you. Just a thought"

[Morrdh]

Leaving Moorgrave Cathmore to continue organizing the relief of Moorby, King Gaelin and his retinue headed back outside. Gaelin dismissed most of his party save for Blackwood, who he beckoned to walk with him. They walked in silence across the market square before the King suddenly stopped and looked at the burnt-out ruins of the monastery, then he spoke. “Thoughts?”

“The Moorgrave had it right sire.” Answered Blackwood. “It’ll be difficult ta find out who torched the monastery and why. It could’ve been rioters getting out o’ hand or somebody out ta cause discord, there is no real way o’ knowing fer sure.”

“Then ye….sorry, Finhallen better send out the garda.”

“I’m certain they’ll be welcomed by the Moorgrave.”

“Speaking o’, wot are ya thoughts on the Clan Cathmore scion?”

“Seems a capable leader and a good organizer sire.”

“A good man ta have by yer side?”

“I’d like ta think so sire, ye thinking o’ asking fer his sword?”

“More considering the playing pieces on the board Blackwood.” Gaelin replied by way of an answer. “Though Clan Cathmore has normally stayed aloof during the struggles ‘tween the clans right?”

“Yes…I believe so.” Replied Blackwood a little uncertainly. “Though put it this way sire, they’ve always focused their attention on ensuring that County Arawan is free o’ bandits.”

“I see.” Mused King Gaelin. “Though we’re not going ta get much done stood here and I did promise the Moorgrave aid from Lindun.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The King and his party spent the night at the house of the Provost of Moorby, the town’s mayor, though Moorgrave Cathmore did join them for dinner before retiring to the tolbooth. The more they spoke and discussed matters, the more that Gaelin found himself liking the scion of Clan Cathmore. Both men seemed to be thinking of the future of the kingdom and a number of proposals were debated at length as the candles burnt down low. It was much to the King’s disappointment when the Moorgrave made to leave, but he reluctantly bid the Moorgrave farewell when he realized the late hour.

By mid-morning the following day, they were mounted and on the road riding back to Lindun. They were preceded by a messenger who had set out a little after dawn, carrying the King’s request for supplies to be sent out to Moorby at once. As he rode, King Gaelin mulled over the ideas and he and Cathmore had discussed the previous evening. Presuming that they were put into practice, the proposals would reform how the kingdom was governed and more robust to face the challenges of the modern era.

Though there was this business with the church that weighed heavily upon him.

This spirits were lifted when they arrived back at Lindun Castle round mid-afternoon and he was greeted by his two teenage daughters; the twinned princesses Evelyn and Roawn. Both girls took after their mother with slim builds, fiery red hair and emerald green eyes. Gaelin loved them both, and their mother, very dearly. They were his ray of sunshine on a grim and grey day, they lifted his heart when he needed it most.

“M’lord,” a courtier coughed politely. “Ye have visitors from across the sea.”

“Must ye leave us so soon father?” Asked one of the princesses, Evelyn if Gaelin had guessed right. “We haven’t seen ye fer days!”

“I regret the affairs o’ the kingdom that have kept me from ye as o’ late, but I intend ta spend every precious moment that I can with ye.” Gaelin answered with a smile. “Come, both o’ ye, and see matters that ye have ta contend with when ye both become banrighs in yer own right.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Gaelin was seated on his throne when the Demontes were shown in, the twin princesses stood on his right whilst the members of his court were on his left. The court ravener proclaimed him as Gaelin, Righ of Mordent. The use of the Mordentish word for ‘king’ was deliberate, as was the two princesses being introduced as Banfhlath Evelyn and Banfhlath Rowan. It would be curious to see the reactions of the foreigner and whether or not they understood what the words meant.

Gaelin listened to the two outlanders, as foreigners in Mordent were generally called, speak and explain their cause. Though a frown slowly formed on Gaelin’s face as the two men spoke, a frown that had deepened by the time they’d finished. Silence fell upon the chamber, broken by the cawing of a raven, as Gaelin considered his words before speaking. “I have questions ta ask o’ ye.”

“This duel…the one where ye slewed a man.” Gaelin said. “Ye say slander, but wot actually caused it? Especially as it concerned a presumably powerful man related ta the ruler o’ yer people.”

“And ye…cardinal, wot do ye know o’ our lands? Are ye aware we’re a pagan people and pay respect ta a number o’ deities?”

“As tempting as yer offer is, I wish ta know the measure o’ ye ‘fore taking ye up on it.”

[Delmonte]

Runio smiled at the King's inquiry as to the words of his slanderer.

"Majesty, you'll have to forgive me. I just don't have a very good memory for the words of dead men. Slanderous words should die with their speakers." This earned him a side-eye from Tornata who leaned in for whispered conversation.

"My boy, you know how kings can be. Just tell him or I will."

"Tell him, then." Runio hissed and turned ruefully away. The Cardinal took a shallow breath before composing himself, smiling at the King once more, and splaying his hands in a gesture of supplication. "Majesty, the words said were, I assure you, quite offensive at least in our culture. The young man, I shan't call him a gentleman, accused my nephew of being homosexual upon being introduced to his intended, with whom Runio was quite in love. As if this were not enough, when it was demanded why he said such a thing, he responded by saying that he knew Runio was homosexual because the face of his betrothed looked like a man's anus. So if he were attracted to it, he must enjoy those as well."

"The entirety of the Doge's court laughed at me!" Runio's face burned red as he remembered the humiliation, "I demanded that he apologize to me and my fiance or else grant me satisfaction in combat. He chose the latter. And then, well, I took the humor out of it for him."

The Cardinal winced. "Delmontese codes of honor granted him little alternative, to be quite honest. He had to choose between letting the boy live and showing that he could be insulted with no real recompense or kill the boy, go into exile, and try to regain his honor and come back home after the current Doge dies."

"Ten years of exile is preferable to a lifetime of embarrassment." the young aristocrat said, decisively, fingering the pommel of his rapier while he spoke.

"Do not fear for retribution. The establishment of enclaves is something exiled nobles are encouraged to do to regain favor with the Republic. And that generally involves either military cooperation or outlandish sums of money. As for my offer to give you sermons, I confess I know very little about your religious practices. But if you have one of your ministers write my sermons for me, I'll give them with my normal dramatic flare. I'll have one of my fellow priests absolve me of the sin afterwards. I've gotten quite good at saying penance over the years."

[Morrdh]

The two princesses silently giggled, though a stern glare from King Gaelin made them stand up straight again and feign innocence. Turning back to the two Delmonteses, Gaelin took a moment before replying. "I see."

"We Mordentish understand the concept o' honour, though our methods o' dealing with petty insults differs greatly." Said Gaelin. "The response is, shall we say, more immediate even if the rashness is comparable."

"If the same insult was said ta a Mordentish man, then the speaker would've received a fist ta the face and all is then forgiven." Gaelin explained. "We Mordentish like ta get straight ta the point and deal with the matter at hand. Though duelling still has its place settling disputes 'tween the clans."

"Our concept o' honour isn't going ta be an issue fer ye is it?"

"Cardinal...I believe thats wot ye said yer title was?" Gaelin said as he turned to speak to the uncle. "Probably best if ye learnt our ways 'fore ye write anything, some o' me advisors would be happy ta assist with that."

"Now, is there any questions that ye wish to ask?" Asked the King. "I ask because I wish ta get down ta business, I want ta know wot yer can do fer me."

"Ye say ye brought some warriors with ye, do ye have much in the way o' military experience?" King Gaelin asked, looking expectant. "I wish ta raise a standing army, ta better defend Mordent than rely on the trained bands o' the various clans."

[Delmonte]

Runio bowed in acknowledgment of the request made of him.

“I’m skilled enough to kill the cousin of the Doge, apparently. These men are my family’s household guard. I’ve led them in defending against two attacks by infidels against the Grand City herself. As well as in several minor… engagements. My men and I would be happy to instruct Mordentish in soldiering if that is your wish. Many military innovations have sprouted about in Delmonte of late due to our war with the infidel.”

Runio motioned to his uncle who produced a map of Mordent from the folds of his robes.

“I’ve taken the liberty of marking spaces on this map for two new fortifications: One outside of Lindun and one outside of Fort Bainsbury. They will be linked. We can use them for training as we contemplate our options. But the way we snuffed out rebellion in the provinces that the Republic occupied was by essentially building a chain of fortifications that were interconnected. It’s an option we can explore. Ultimately the army I train for you will be at your disposal to pursue whatever strategy you like.”

The Cardinal gave his nephew a small satisfactory nod.

[Morrdh]

“I see.” Muttered Gaelin. “It’ll be interesting ta see how yer innovations compare ta the Mordentish way o’ war.”

“Our soldiery, such as it is, relies heavily on the trained bands o’ warriors maintained by the various Mordentish clans. In times o’ war these trained bands are formed inta armies and supplemented by militia, but they still fight at the whim o’ their parent clan.” Gaelin explained. “This is something that I seek ta address by raising a standing army that fights fer the kingdom.”

“Ye propose linking our two major cities with a line o’ fortifications?” Asked the King. “Suppose as a whole our fortifications could do with some improvements, especially with new designs and techniques fer making cannons.”

“Ye ought ta be speaking ta Cowen here, he’s me Master o’ Ordnance.” King Gaelin said, pointing to a bespectacled man. “Fortifications come under his remit, as do the kingdom’s arms and powder stores.”

“Actually, I’m the principle officer o’ the Board o’ Ordnance.” Explained the man called Cowen. “I have officers that rank under me responsible fer specific functions; fer example, the Chief Engineer who’s in charge o’ fortifications.”

“Either way, I imagine the two o’ ye will be working together over the coming months.” Said King Gaelin. “Though whilst ye’ll have the treasury at yer disposal, bear in that it isn’t without its limits.”

---

Trinity Ward
Lindun

Cathal stepped down from his carriage after it had halted, glanced up at the façade of the cathedral for a moment before hurrying inside. Moving along the nave he spotted a handful of the faithful and low ranking priests busying themselves, he nodded greetings to them all as he passed. He steered towards his destination, a side chapel dedicated to some Stevidian Saint where an acolyte was lighting fresh candles. Cathal mumbled a greeting and then kneeled down to pray, Gebbes arrived a short while later and dismissed the acolyte with a curt cough. After checking that the passage outside the chapel was empty, Gebbes closed the oaken doors and turned to Cathal. “I received your message, what is the tidings that you wished to inform me of?”

“A man has arrived from Delmonte, a prince they say.” Answered Cathal. “Another man is with him, a cardinal apparently. Both have met and spoken with me uncle.”

“…I see.” Gebbes replied, visibly pale. “You were wise bringing this to my attention. But what did they want?”

“I’m told that they offered their aid ta me uncle, though I fear that aid may end up being used against us. This cardinal, at least, could undermine yer authority.”
“Then I shalt rally the flock against this intruder, can I count on the support of your clan?”

“Clan Kendrick stands ready, we could perhaps….influence the Assembly and undermine me uncle.”

“Then do so.” Replied Gebbes. “And let the war for Mordent’s soul begin.”

[Delmonte]

Runio and his uncle hobbled their way towards the royalist encampment awaiting them outside Lindun in a hired carriage to allow for them to review papers (an impossible task on horseback). Their retinue of soldiers and wagons tramped behind them, plodding steadily onward towards the Mordentish encampment until it came within sight. Gray, overcast skies set the tone of the encampment almost perfectly. Runio found men that, while hardy, were divided into almost separate camps with very little in the way of organization among them. His uncle gave a slight tut as the carriage ground to a halt, but he remained inside the vehicle penning a missive to Mordentish priests who remained loyal to the King. He muttered his words as he penned them.

"The liturgical calendar..." He said, "Can be amended in times of great turmoil according to a promulgation by the Holy See roughly two hundred years ago. Parishes are encouraged to prepare a homily on Romans 13:1 "Let every person be subject to the governing authorities. For there is no authority except from God, and those that exist have been instituted by God." Furthermore, you are encouraged to point out that our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ did not challenge the Roman authority..."

Runio tore his attention away from the Cardinal and climbed out of their carriage to take in his bearings. His men were standing at attention. They carried the banner of his house as well as the banner of the King. The Delmontese lion was notably absent from the column. Mordentish began to gather around them causing the Delmontese soldiers to grow restless.

"What's yer business here?" A nearly toothless, uniformless soldier spat at Runio.

"The King has sent me here to raise his army? We need to start by gathering wood for a fortification..." Runio replied, gamingly. "I... have a missive." He showed the man who promptly spat at it.

"What good does that do me? Can't read. But I don't need ta read ta know you're a foreigner and I won't be taking orders from you!" there were more Mordentish gathered now. They laughed. His house soldiers began to circle around Runio, but he stayed them with a silent hand. Runio took in a deep breath and looked around.

"I have a question. Who is the biggest, baddest motherfucker here?"

The Mordentish glanced among themselves and gradually began pointing to an enormous tower of a man. He was bald, hulking, and very probably a shitty person based on his general disposition. The man in question gave his friends a grin. He was a full foot, and probably eighty pounds heavier, than the Delmontese noble.

Runio gave the man a bow and tipped his frilly, feathered hat in his direction.

"What's your name, sirrah?"

"Gurlik."

"Master Gurlik, you are without a doubt the ugliest, and most probably dumbest, son of a bitch I've ever laid eyes on."

The colossal ogre of a man looked at Runio, first with one eye, then the other, and began to growl.

"And furthermore, if I had known that your mother would birth an ugly duck like you I never would have plowed her field in the first place. You ought to inform her that her oral skills leave a great deal to be desired so that she might expand her list of clientele in the-"

At this, the mountain of a man let out a guttural scream and began charging at the noble with two hatchets drawn. Again, Runio signaled his soldiers to stay back as this freight train ran towards him, tossing his comrades every which way to get at the young Delmontese disparager all the sooner. Runio flicked his waistcoat out of the way of the armaments strapped to his left leg and laid his right hand on the pommel of his sabre. As the screaming man approached, Runio unsheathed his sabre and parried the left hand hatchet while stepping to the right to avoid the second. Gurlik was confused but undeterred after his hatchets couldn't find a mark. He swung wildly back with the hatchet in his left hand to which Runio responded by side stepping once more and lashing out at the offending hand with his sabre. Hatchet and hand together fell to the ground. Gurlik let out an additional scream, more blood-curdling this time, and fell to his knees, dropping the remaining hatchet and clutching at his new stump in despair.

"Right, then." Runio said as he perfunctorily removed a pistol from his right hip with his left hand, cocked it, and sped Gurlik to hell with a well placed bullet in his still screaming head.

"I think you'll find..." Runio began addressing the horrified crowd as he wiped his blade clean on the part of his pants that didn't have brains on it, "That you were wrong in your initial assessment. I am the biggest, baddest motherfucker here. And I serve your King. So anyone who disobeys me is committing treason, which means I get to do this again and I assure you I do not get tired of it. Where were we?"

"Wood for fortifications." the Cardinal answered from the carriage. He had not looked up from his missive this entire time.

"Right. Wood for the King. Off you go."

[Morrdh]

Old Town District
Lindun

Prince Cathal was anxious.

His father’s family owned a townhouse in the Old Town district, typically used as somewhere to stay when business brought the various family members into the Mordentish capital. Cathal had used it himself on more than one occasion after a long day at the Assembly rather than take a long carriage ride to the estate in Fingate Ward. The townhouse processed no household staff of its own, instead a chambermaid was usually sent over from Fingate once a week to air the house out. It made the townhouse an idea place to hold clandestine meetings without fear of intrusion.

Prince Cathal was still anxious.

Hanging on the wood panelled walls, portraits of his ancestors (his father’s side at least) stared accusingly as if they knew the deed he was about to undertake. He wanted to scream at them, tell them that they were wrong. What he had to do would bring everlasting fame and fortune to the family, putting it at the very heart of the Kingdom. Yet a tiny, nagging voice at the back of his mind asked him who was he really trying to convince?

His anxiety rose.

Stood before him was the most fulsome, most wretched looking man that Cathal had ever laid eyes on. The man’s face was a cross-stitch of scars, though partially obscured by an eyepatch over the man’s right eye where a long scar ran down and split his lips. Half-rotten, crooked teeth lurked and helped enforce a grotesque façade whenever the man smiled. He was obviously some back alley fighter, but Cathal had to wonder how Gebbes found the man. Cathal strongly doubted that the fighter was a man of faith.

He brought his anxiety back under control.

The Archbishop was here, too, but sat in a high backed chair facing the fireplace. It was clear that Gebbes wanted him to do the talking, preferring to keep his involvement in the affair to an absolute minimum. After all, it wasn’t the sort of thing that a man of the cloth was suppose to be involved with and by doing it this way the blood would be upon Cathal’s hands. Though he’d brought the idea of taking the throne and becoming king, he was beginning to wonder who’d be the master and who will be the puppet.

Anxiety… Breathe deeply…

“Th-…Theres a priest.” Sluttered Cathal. “A foreign one.”

“Calls himself a cardinal, arrived with another man and some foreign mercenaries.” Cathal continued, feeling more confident as he went on. “Resides in an encampment outside the city gates.”

“Well ser…” The man replied, sticking air between the stumps of his teeth. “Ye be wanting him dealt with?”

“In a manner o’ speaking.”

“Well ser…I be doing nothing without coin.”

“Here.” Cathal said, throwing the man a bag of coins. “Five hundred gold sovereigns should more than cover yer fees.”

“Well ser, reckon it shall.” The man grinned, wider than Cathal had thought was humanly possible. “Fer me and me lads says I.”

“By yer blade or another’s the cardinal must die.”

“Well ser, he’ll be beyond the veil ‘fore the cockerel rises.”

“He’d better be Mr…ah…?”

“Darragh ser, just Darragh.”

---

Dunfalk

Falk’s fort was an ancient fort located along the coastline south of Lindun, part of a chain of forts built to help protect against Ordenite raiders centuries earlier. Each fort was named after a Clan who was granted custodianship of the fort and charged with standing sentinel over a small stretch of coast, effectively acting as the first line of defence against raiders and invasions. Dunfalk was named for Clan Falk, a minor clan that suffered ill-fortune before petering out some decades earlier. The fort stood empty and forlorn until the Sealgairí made the old fort its home.

Despite standing empty for the best part of a century, the fort was in reasonable shape but still required some work to put right. Since it was where the soldiers under Blackwood’s command would be living, it gave an incentive for them to do the work so that they could live in relative comfort. Though Blackwood hired kitchen staff from the nearby village that was named after the fort; his men were busy as it was and tended to focus better with full bellies. Though it was all well and good making sure they were fed and somewhere comfortable to sleep, they still needed to be turned into trained sharpshooters.

Enter Rudolf Grossman.

Grossman was a Jägermeister, or ‘hunt master’, from the Ordenite states. The man’s knowledge and expertise proved to be invaluable, even if it was ironic that an Ordenite was training soldiers at a fort built to keep the Ordenites out. Whether or not the saw the irony as well, the master hunter did not say and instead focused on the task at hand with true Ordenite efficiency. It didn’t take Blackwood long to make the man his second-in-command despite the grumblings of his men about ‘being bossed ‘bouts by a ruddy foreigner’.

Blackwood wondered how the Delmontee nobleman was getting on, though he had been receiving reports and rumours about the man’s training scheme. Harsh and brutal were two words in particular that he kept hearing, there had been one death already which the King had been furious about. ‘I want soldiers not corpses’ the King had exclaimed when he heard the news, though it remained to be seen whether the man took heed and relented somewhat. The man had set himself up to be hated and feared; something that Blackwood felt was a recipe for disaster.

---

Delmont Encampment

It was the night of the new moon and pitch dark, the shadows ran deeply together to form a thick, suffocating blanket of blackness. Through this oppressive darkness Darragh and his band of cut-throats moved silently through the dark woods, all had smeared themselves and their weapons with soot to help them blend in with the shadows as they approached the encampment. Up ahead the pickets of the encampment could be seen backlit by the camp fires, though only a mere handful that didn’t seem overly alert. Darragh figured the pickets were more concerned about the tents catching fire rather than an actual attack.

Their mistake.

After watching for a moment they selected their first victim, a lone picket who was swiftly taken down with a knife to the kidney and a short muffled cry. The body was dragged over to a nearby tree where it was propped in a seated position, then a bottle of ale poured out over the corpse and then placed in the corpse’s hand. It was a useful little ploy in case anyone noticed the now mortally challenged picket was missing and came looking, though as extra insurance Darragh left a couple of his men armed with crossbows.

Once inside the camp, the men split up either to cause distractions by setting fire to certain tents or take out targets of their own. Darragh had the Delmontee cardinal and sought out his tent, though taking care to stick to the shadows. At last he found the tent he was looking for, stood and listened for a moment before cutting a slit in the canvas at the rear of the tent.

[Delmonte]

Redacted.

[Morrdh]

Near The Encampment

Darragh and the other surviving members of the band regrouped in the nearby woods, though the men were wary as Darragh had a face like thunder. They’d failed to kill the Cardinal. They’d lost men as well, but Darragh couldn’t care less about that. Life was cheap for the Clanless in Mordentish society; there were plenty willing to fill a dead man’s boots knowing full well that their next day could be their last. The band would have new recruits before the week was out.

There was movement close by and the band instinctively went for their blades, much to Darragh’s approval, though it turned out to be a couple of men that Darragh had armed with crossbows. The two men had been instructed to cover the band’s escape route, effectively to slow down any pursuers as the band withdrew. There were shouts in the distance as one of the men reported. “Soldiers, coming this way! Took a handful out already.”

“Ye know the drill lads.” Darragh stated. “Shift yer arses and meet up at the Black Fox.”

There was a chorus of acknowledgement and the band split up, each man going his own way back to Lindun. A sole man was able to move more freely and draw less attention than a group, something that Darragh was banking quite heavily on. The less notice attracted the better as far as Darragh was concerned, least until they were well clear of the encampment. The Black Fox, one of Lindun’s most notorious backstreet taverns, was a good a safe house as any and served a clientele that had no qualms about killing to preserve the tavern’s privacy.

This night was a bust for trying to kill the Cardinal, but there would be other opportunities and Darragh wouldn’t rest until the foreign priest laid dead. Besides, he was oathsworn to take the Cardinal’s life and collect his wergild or ‘body price’.

---

Lindun

“Attacked ye say?” Muttered King Gaelin. “By whom?”

“A tory* band by all accounts sire.” Answered Finhallen. “Going by the garb o’ the pair that the Delmontese captured, certainly blades fer hire.”

“The two men that got captured…?”

“Dead, or wishing that they’ll be so sire.” Finhallen replied. “The Delmontese lord, Runio, was quite…ruthless in his dealing with them.”

“Not all that surprising from wot I’ve come ta know o’ him.” Commented Gaelin. “I should also not be surprised ta hear he sent his soldiers on a reprisal raid.”

“That he did sire, caused quite a ruckus with the city watch ‘til me lads in the Garda were called.”

“Yes…the city watch.” Gaelin muttered. “It seems ta me that the various town and city watches o’ our fair kingdom have increasingly proven ta be inadequate as o’ late. Tis a matter that I intend ta address.”

“Wots yer plan?”

“I want the Garda to assume and replace the various town watches, if anything ta help ensure me peace is kept and easing me mind that I have men across the kingdom who I can count on fer their loyalty.”

“Sounds like a tall order and it’ll be sure ta cause more than a few grumblings from the watchmen.”

“Think ye’ll be able ta do it?”

“Aye sire, do think I am.”

*From the Irish toiraidh, literally ‘pursued men’ or more figuratively ‘men on the run’. Commonly refers to bandits and outlaws.

[Morrdh]

Fianna Hall
Old Town District
Lindun

Fianna Hall was still a relatively new building, having only been completed 30 years earlier as a purpose built home for the Mordentish parliament. The parliament itself was bicameral, consisting of the lower Assembly and the upper Raven Chamber. Sitting in the Assembly were the so-called ‘Assembly Delegates’, elected representatives sent from the various boroughs of the kingdom and formed the main law-making body of the Mordentish government. In contrast the upper house of was made of Raveners, a appointed representative and spokesperson from each of the Mordentish Clans to act as a counter-balance to the Assembly when it came to drafting new legislation.

From the Assembly came the Taoiseach, the king’s chief minister and the effective head of the Mordentish government. Voted by the Assembly to be its leader and formerly appointed to the position by the king, the Taoiseach had to manage the king’s wishes and steer the Assembly in the right direction when it came to passing new legislation. He and a few other ministers were also charged with the day-to-day running of the kingdom, so had been granted powers by the king to aid in this. The Taoiseach is also part of the Provost Court, a body of advisors to the king made up of the monarch’s personal representatives in the provinces and major cities of the kingdom.

The Taoiseach of Mordent, Durgan Lochlan, had called together both chambers of the Mordentish parliament on behalf of King Gaelin. It was said there was to be an extraordinary vote, a measure that the King had called for and His Majesty would be present to observe the proceedings. There was a buzz of chatter as the Delegates and their Ravener counterparts gathered in the great hall of the building, the only chamber large enough to hold the assembled parliament. Lochlan stood on a balcony where he could be seen and a hushed silence fell as the Taoiseach addressed the crowd. “Gentlemen, we have been called here this day by the Ard Righ himself.”

“The King has grown increasingly concerned by the efforts o’ the so-called ‘Church o’ Mordent’ ta undermine both the stability o’ our fair Kingdom and the rule o’ His Majesty.” Lochlan announced. “A decree has been issued by the King ta disallow the Church in all urban boroughs.”

“Within the boundaries of the aforementioned boroughs, all activity o’ the Church is ta cease and Church property is ta be given over ta the Kingdom. The Church may continue its activities in rural districts, though with certain prohibitions as deemed by the Crown.”

“Yer support fer this motion has been asked fer by the King.” Stated Lochlan. “Now go ta yer respective chambers, a vote will be called fer within the hour.”

Among those gathered was Prince Cathal, there as the Ravener of Clan Kendrick. His father and Clan Chief had given him the responsibly to vote on the Clan’s behalf, he was effectively the voice of the Clan and would not suffer any reoccupations from the rest of his Clan-kin. Gebbes would expect him to oppose the motion, but Cathal’s vote would be only one out of the hundred or so cast. Fortunately, Clan Kendrick had allies within the parliament that included some of the minor Clans and even a few Assembly Delegates. Kendrick and its allies formed a powerful voting block, though Cathal had doubts whether it would be enough to sway the vote in his favour.

[Morrdh]

The motion passed.

Just.

A mere handful of votes was enough to see that the Stevidian Catholic Church in Mordent was effectively hamstringed, cut off from the kingdom’s urban populace and the Church’s major assets to be seized by the state. The cost was a divided parliament; just as many abstained or voted against the motion as they did support it. The main opposition was the minor clans and delegates under the sway of Clan Kendrick, proving how much influence that clan wielded. Those who abstained had either been coerced to do so by Prince Cathal or had their own reasons for withholding their vote.

So the motion, won on the narrowest of margins, was duly enacted.

In towns and cities across Mordent, the Garda began seizing churches of the Stevidian faith and evicting the priests found within. Though the Garda was soon confronted by the faithful, brutal clashes and riots quickly broke out in response to the perceived attack on the Church. It was here that the Garda was grateful for the extra manpower provided by absorbing the various town watches, though their methods for dealing with the rioters proved to be extreme as the Kingdom slowly slid into anarchy.

Within a week of the motion passing, Gebbes had decamped to Moorby where, before the fire blackened walls of the monastery, he issued a call for the faithful to gather in the market town. Over the weeks that followed, several thousand souls gathered in the town at the heart of Mordent. Canvas tents had to be raised in order to accommodate the mass of people, even the grounds of the monastery were used to house the crowds. As the local Lord Provost, and thus responsible for the town, Moorgrave Wallace Cathmore had sent supplies to the town under the protection of some of his clan warriors.

Gebbes’ choice of Moorby proved to be more than symbolic; laying on a crossroads in the heart of the Kingdom, the town occupied a strategic location. It had been fortified to act as a mustering point in case of invasions, as a result it hosted a large and well stocked arsenal. This fact was not lost on Gebbes who realized that an army needed arms and gunpowder, both of which were within his grasp. The task of taking the arsenal fell to Darragh and his band of killers, a shot at redemption for their failure to kill the Delmontese priest. Bands of the faithful, and foreign mercenaries hired by Gebbes, were to seize the town itself.

Come morning, the town and its arsenal were in the hands of Gebbes’ followers. The garda, and militiamen who’d resisted, were rounded up at sword-point and imprisoned in the undercroft of Moorby’s tolbooth. By noon, messengers had mounted up and rode out for all corners of the kingdom with a missive from Gebbes.

Citizens of Mordent,

By the Grace of Thy Lord, I decree a Just and Holy war against His Mordentish Majesty.

The King’s own Heathen actions have made Him an Archenemy of Our Lord and Saviour, thus leaving Me no choice but to take such a Drastic course of action to Save the Soul of our fair Kingdom. So I Call upon Thee, God’s faithful, to rally behind the Cause to Seat a Devout King upon the Throne.

Archbishop E. Gebbes.

Within days towns across Mordent were declaring their support to Church or Crown, as were a great many of the Mordentish Clans. Clans Gallagher and Oakenfist were quick to declare for the King, as was Clan Cathmore who mustered its trained bands to march on Moorby. Among those declaring for Gebbes was Clan Kendrick, bringing along a number of minor clans and notable families over which Kendrick exerted influence. There were many who remained on the fence, looking to see which way the winds of fortune blew before throwing their lot in.

With the Kingdom being torn asunder, the war for Mordent began.

[Morrdh]

Moorby

Wallace Cathmore arrived before the gates of Moorby with a mixed company of musketeers and pikemen, a hundred strong, with the intention to cower Gebbes' rebels with a show of force. There was also a dozen of Wallace's clansmen riding on horseback, all wearing better armour than the foot-troops and each carrying a blade made by the swordsmiths of Clan Gallagher. The clansmen acted as bodyguards in addition to being able to fight as cavalry or on foot, giving an extra degree of flexibility.

The main body of Cathmore's troops halted half mile short of the town, none of them were particularly eager to storm the market town's walls especially as the rebels had captured Moorby's cannons. Wallace rode ahead with a couple of his clansmen, halting just short in front of the town's heavy wooden gates. Glancing up at the men on the battlements atop the wall, Wallace called out. "I am Moorgrave Cathmore, Lord Provost of County Arawn. In the name of King Gaelin, I demand that yo open these gates!"

"We answer ta no king!" Came back the reply. "Only our Lord in Heaven commands us!"

"Is that how I am ta be repaid? After years o' aid given ta this town and fair and just rulership?" Exclaimed Wallace. "All that discard for the honey coated words o' a mere priest?"

"He has shown us the future, a future where we must unshackle from our past ta embrace the modern era!"

"Is that yer answer?"

"Aye, it is."

"Very well then." Wallace replied before turning his horse around and riding back to where the rest of his troops waited. With a sigh, he turned to his clansmen and spoke. "I need a fast rider, the King must know that we make ta siege."

"We're going to need extra supplies, troops and cannons. Another rider must go ta the clanhold at Tanwick and rouse the rest o' the trained bands."

[Morrdh]

Lindun Castle

As the crisis unfolded and engulfed the Kingdom, King Gaelin met with his advisors as a stream of messengers brought missives from all over the Mordent. Each new missive brought even more bad tidings; Fidlin declaring for Gebbes, skirmishes at Ballyowen. The atmosphere grew increasingly grim and Gaelin's shoulders had begun to sag by the time Cathmore's messenger arrived. Warily, the King glanced up as the messenger approached and declared. "Sire, I bring news from Ser Wallace at Moorby."

"Very well, speak and tell us o' the words ye bring." Gaelin sighed, steeling himself for even more bad news.

"Soon as word came o' revolt, Ser Wallaced mustered his trained bands and marched on Moorby." Explained the messenger. "The rebels refused him entry, so now he is ta lay siege. M'lord requests aid from his King."

"Bold and direct....shouldn't have expected anything less from Cathmore." Replied Gaelin before he started to chuckle. "Yer lord shall have his aid, his King shall bring it personally. Now go, go and pray me aid isn't ta late."

"Sire? Have ye gone mad?" Asked one of his advisors, Patrick Fiann of Clan Fiann and Storekeeper of the Ordnance.

"Moorby occupies a strategic position in the heart of Mordent, whoever controls the town would be able ta strike anywhere they wish and thus dictate this war. Besieging the town would at least deny its use ta Gebbes' rebels." Gaelin explained. "Cathmore has done us a huge favour. Blackwood!"

"M'lord." Nodded Blackwood, stepping forward.

"It will time take ta muster an army, but Cathmore needs our help now." Said Gaelin. "I need ye ta take yer Sealgairí and ride fer Moorby, I want ye ta harass Gebbes' forces round the town and help guard Cathmore's flanks."

"Tis 'bouts time they got some action sire, I'll ride out at once."

"Good man." Gaelin smiled, nodded as the Ranger-General departed. "And somebody find me that Delmontese Prince Damiatti, trained or not I want his army he's supposedly been training. If he won't come, tell him his services are no longer required."

There was an acknowledgement as somebody else left to carry out the King's orders, Gaelin meanwhile stared at the map of the kingdom and appeared to be deep in thought. His advisors hovered, unsure whether anything was required of them or whether it was time to leave. Then Gaelin spoke. "I need generals."

"Sire?"

"I need generals." Gaelin repeated. "Men ta leade me armies, men that I can trust. The Chieftains of Clans Gallagher and Oakenfist will do fer start."

[Morrdh]

The Hunters Ride Out

With command from the King himself, Blackwood left Lindun Castle and rode to Dunfalk to rouse the Sealgairí ready for war. After conferring with Grossman, Blackwood left the Ordenite and a small band of warriors to guard Dunfalk whilst the rest of the host rode for the Moorby Road. He was acutely aware of the fact that they would need to bring wagons full of supplies with them, so Blackwood sent a couple of outriders on to scout ahead and warn the rest of them if trouble laid ahead.

It was some hours between Blackwood leaving the King's company and the Sealgairí setting out on the road to Moorby, it had taken time for the Ranger-General to reach Dunfalk and then more time for the wagons to be loaded with supplies as the horses were made ready. Blackwood knew it was time wasted just as much as he knew that there wasn't much that could be done about it, some form of faster communication than a man on horse-back was going to be required. He made a mental note to discuss matters with the King's Chief Messenger and see whether a messenger bird would be of use.

They rode throughout the night with nought all light save for that of the moon as the horses' hooves pounded the track, it gave Blackwood the time to think and work out ideas in his head. He knew this was going to be a baptism of fire for the sharpshooters under his command, but the Ordenite Jägermeister had drilled them hard. That said, Blackwood still saw possibilities and room for improvement where he could make his force more effective. The ultimate test, as ever, would be in the field of battle.

It was just before dawn when they found Ser Wallace's camp, a farm beside the Moorby road a scant few miles from the town itself. One of the clansmen on sentry duty challenged them and had word sent to his Clan Chief. Short time later Blackwood met Ser Wallace himself in the farmhouse, recently vacated by the family who'd lived there until the Chieftain of Clan Cathmore had given them coin and sent them on their way to safer climes. Though it appeared that Ser Wallace had only climbed into bed a handful of hours before Blackwood and his men appeared, the Clan Chieftain looking unamused but still accommodated the Ranger-Captain.

"I take ye were sent by the King?" Ser Wallace asked. "Damn faster than I'd expected."

"Aye, King Gaelin sent us soon as he got word from ye." Answered Blackwood. "Wot o' the town?"

"In rebel hands along with the blasted wall guns, they have us out-ranged 'til we receive cannons o' our own."

"I see." Blackwood muttered. "Have ye managed ta have the town blockaded?"

"Me trained bands have camped on the major roads leading ta the town, but not enough ta stop supplies getting through." Responded Ser Wallace. "I have summoned the trained bands o' County Arawn, just a case o' who arrives along with wotever our King sends."

"He'll send a larger force o' warriors, but fer now ye got me band o' sharpshooters."

"Thats better than nothing." Muttered Ser Wallace. "Anything ye had in mind?"

[Delmonte]

The camp outside of Lindun was all hustle and bustle. "We've gathered plenty of lumber, ser. Purchased some too. For a good bargain."

"And you are?" Runio looked up from his maps to see a tall figure with a shock of red hair. The man cracked Runio a smile which, surprisingly, had at least most of its teeth still in it.

"Ah, Lodraigh, m'lord. Sorry to bother you, I didn't want to go in your tent."

True to form, Lodraigh was nearly an inch outside the tent, but no more.

"It's fine. Now that we have enough lumber, Lodraigh, where would you build our permanent camp. Where we will be training, our base of operations for building these fortifications."

"Well obviously..." Tornata interjected, "It should be right here. Lindun is here. We're here. We're near the King. Our permanent base should be here."

Runio cocked his head. "Lodraigh, what say you?"

"Ah, well, no disrespect to Your Cardinalness, but I wouldn't build it here."

Runio leaned back and stroked his chin. "And why, pray tell, is that?"

"Well, ser, the attack on your uncle's life came not a day after you arrived. No messenger, even on a fast horse, would have had time to go to rebel territory and come back with payment or men."

"So you think the origin of the attack was in Lindun itself."

"Aye."

"I like your powers of assessment. This is why clerics should leave military matters to men like us. The camp is going to be at the exact place we're building the first fortification. Between the Eldraigh Quarry and Lindun." He glanced over at Cardinal Tornata who was stewing in his crimson robes. The Cardinal set down the missives he was writing to rural parishes.

"If you think I'll be joining you in the middle of nowhere you have another thing coming."

"You won't. Stay here, move into the palace where you'll be safer from assassination attempts. Take your Ecclesiastes with you. You can offer your services to the King however he sees fit to use you."

Tornata couldn't deny the appeal of staying in one place and left off his verbal attacks. Runio turned back to Lodraigh.

"What's your background?"

"A tailor. But I've also been the Captain of my town's militia for ten years."

"What have you done in that capacity?"

"Killed any bandits dumb enough to fuck with me, ser."

"Good enough. You'll be my Sergeant, which is what I suspect you had in mind."

"Oh, ser, I thank ye-"

"That's enough of that. Here, take this." Runio tossed the man a crimson sash as his badge of office. "I've also got one last question for you. About that lumber you bought at a 'bargain'."

Lodraigh sheepishly produced a small pouch from his pocket and extended it to Runio.

"Maybe not so much of a bargain... Your take, m'lord."

"I see. What percentage is this?"

"Even split, ser."

"From now on keep seven tenths. I want you to stay motivated. Start preparations for moving camp, as well as our precious lumber, to hill I marked on this map. I want us to leave in a day."

"Yes, ser!"

"I'll start writing a letter to the King." Tornata announced.

---

Your Mordentish Majesty, Dear Sire;

Due to multiple factors, including the attempt on my life, I am requesting permission to take up residence in the Palace. I will have my own guards to see to my security, although they were admittedly lacking, a few nights ago, and I have sufficient gold to pay for the cost of my stay. For the duration I am with his Majesty I will also offer my services to Him however He may desire.

My nephew for his part is embarking on constructing the first fortification for His Majesty which I'm led to understand involves securing a source of stone and a source of more lumber.

Your Friend and Ally,
Cardinal Tornata

---

[Morrdh]

A Shot In The Dark

Blackwood organised his men in short, picking small bands of volunteers and despatching them into the night. Each hand-picked band had been given instructions by Blackwood and then sent to various spots round the town of Moorby under the cover of darkness. These spots, overlooking the roads leading to the various gates of Moorby, the men were instructed to lay low during the day and watching both the roads themselves and the stout town walls. The next night they would be relieved by another band of men, Blackwood's intent being to rotate the men on a nightly basis.

The rest of the company stayed close to the farm claimed by Ser Wallace and step up camp, though Blackwood deliberately selected a spot clearly seen by those on the walls of the town. Aside from normal camp duties, Blackwood had his men drill throughout the day. They fired their flintlock rifles arrayed in an atypical line and they practised with their blades against tree trunks. There was also sentries posted round the camp, keeping watch on the nearby town and roads. Blackwood also sought those with experience in horsemanship and sent them out patrolling, circling round the town where they could receive word from the bands positioned around Moorby.

All this was in aid of a two-part plan, the encampment gave something for Moorby's defenders to focus their attention on whilst Blackwood secreted men in the surrounding countryside to spy on the town. He wanted to get the lay of the land and figure out what routes were being used to keep the town supplied, all to enable him to then strike to sever those routes.

---

My Esteemed Cardinal,

I have graciously decided to accept Your request for residence in Cathdown Palace, in light of recent events I can understand Your want for solid stone walls round Your person. As for Your guards, I shalt match their number with some of my own Clansmen to help ensure Your safety. I shalt look forward to what Council You can offer.

I bid Your nephew well and the blessings of the Gods for success in his endeavour.

His Mordentish Majesty,

Gaelin.