Online Session Recap - 14.01.2019

Tylendel makes his way from Highwind Keep towards Ironheart Tower, his stomach starting to grumble. His thoughts whirl around his decision of executing the traitors, but he concludes that he didn’t have any choice – he needed to show both that traitors would be dealt with, as well as showing that he didn’t show the locals any favour over the westerners.

At the gate of Ironheart Tower there are two guards, both looking frozen – a young man, and a girl wearing a captain’s cloak. The girl’s eyes widen as she spots Tylendel.

Girl (Lusata of Korenja): “Good day, my lord.”

Tylendel: “Good day, Captain.”

Lusata: “Can I assist you?”

Tylendel: “Why don’t you have a fire out here?”

Lusata: “The wind, it is too strong, my lord.”

Tylendel: “There aren’t any coals?”

Lusata: “No, my lord, but we have shorter periods. I’m almost done. Are you seeing someone?”

Tylendel: “Has Syr Dostan returned?”

Lusata: “He has, my lord.”

Tylendel: “Then I’d like to see him.”

Lusata: “Of course, let me… Let me help you.”

She leads Tylendel inside. The girl shakes snow off of her cloak, and Tylendel notices she is almost as blonde as he is.

Tylendel: “If we take a detour by way of some food I would be grateful.”

Lusata: “Excuse me?”

Tylendel: “If we take a detour on the way to pass some would it would be nice.”

Lusata: “Oh. You’re hungry?”

Tylendel: “Very much so.”

She looks confused for a few seconds, then…

Lusata: “Yes, of course. There is… Eh. Yeah. Come.”

Tylendel: “Is there still fruit in the fore chamber?”

Lusata: ”Uh… Probably?”

Tylendel: “Then that will do.”

Lusata: “Are you sure?”

Tylendel: “Yes.”

Lusata: “I know they- Alright.”

Halfway up the stairs the girl stumbles, and Tylendel quickly catches her, preventing her from falling.

Lusata: “Thank you.”

She blushed some more.

Eventually they reach the top landing, and she turns to ask Tylendel a question.

Lusata: “What’s it like being talked about by everyone?”

Tylendel: “I don’t know how to answer that.”

Lusata: “Oh, I’m sorry.”

Tylendel: “It’s… Good and bad. It’s interesting and disturbing. Being talked about isn’t the important bit – it’s what they say.”

Lusata: “Sorry, my lord, I was just wondering how it felt. It must be strange. Everybody talks about you. I think our lords are… Even they are looking up to you, as a hero.”

Tylendel: “When you do good things, people want to follow you.”

Lusata: “I believe that is why the Prophet raised this army as well. To do good. But now he sleeps.”

Tylendel: “He is still doing good. He is fighting to keep the hand of the Creeping God away from us.”

Lusata: “So I hear.”

Tylendel: “Have no doubt that he has been fighting a battle with a god for many days now, and he is still strong.”

In the fore chamber there are, as last time Tylendel was there, several guards. The girl stops and gestures towards some bowl of fruit that are on the table, but the captain at the door interfere.

Captain Wembert: “Excuse me, my lord. I know they are eating inside, if you want something more filling.”

Tylendel: “Then that will suit me perfectly.”

Lusata: “Thank you, Captain.”

The older captain smiles at her and opens the door for Tylendel. Tylendel enters and meets Syr Dostan and Black Jaquan. Jaquan is dressing Dostan.

Dostan: “Lord Greyoak. That was quite the meeting.”
Tylendel: “Well, we got rid of an assassin and a traitor, but… Mmm…”

Dostan: “You have, for now, at least, erased any doubt as to your abilities.”

Tylendel: “There is that.”

Dostan: “I hope it will provide a solid reason for increased morale.”

Tylendel: “Everyone should know that an assassin and a spy of the Cult have been executed.”

Dostan: “Yes.”

Tylendel: “Hopefully they will feel a bit safer. Although for some it is too late.”

There is bread, honey and apples on the table.

Dostan: “With the last of the Horvaths fallen, I suppose you are now the single commander of the remaining troops of Duke Harmond.”

Tylendel: “If they will have me I will take them.”

Dostan: “Something tells me they will, but I would advise you to gather them and speak to them.”

Tylendel: “I plan to do it. Maybe not after the burial today, but at least tomorrow.”

Dostan: “Will you attend the funeral of Count Ales as well?”

Tylendel: “Yes.”

Dostan: “Then we can go there together.”

Jaquan finishes clothing Dostan, and Tylendel helps himself to the food on the table.

Tylendel (mumbling): “And yet again I come as a penniless pauper begging for food.”

Dostan: “I told you, you don’t need to ask.”

Tylendel: “It seems my guesswork about the gods coming here is coming through. I spoke to Loronë, the Torchbearer, and she is on her way.”

Dostan: “I’m afraid I do not follow. Who is this?”

Tylendel: “Loronë. The Torchbearer, the Lightbringer.”

Jaquan: “The Torchbearer. One of the Mirovni gods is called the Torchbearer.”

Tylendel: “I believe that’s what they call her. She has been in the east as well. She’s the Lady of the Mirrors, I believe. Braek’s sister, by the way.”

Dostan: “That doesn’t sound good.”

Tylendel: “Oh, there was no love lost between them. She was happy that I had disposed of her sister.”

Dostan: “Another powerful being, then.”

Tylendel: “I am slightly worried about her coming. Then again, she is the most friendly of them I have met yet.”

Jaquan: “The Torchbearer is one of the old gods of Mirovn. They became forbidden when the Empyre took control of our lands. Our name for this god is Arbish. But it must be some other kind of god, I guess, because Arbish is a male.”

Tylendel: “As far as I know, Loronë is a woman. She has always been spoken of as a she. Well, what little I have learned about her.”

Jaquan: “Arbish was a god who lit a great torch to light a way for my people to find and found our lands.”

Tylendel: “One of the legends of Lornoë is that she led her people through darkness with a lantern.”

Jaquan: “That’s almost the same story.”

Tylendel: “Indeed. So now we know that Loronë and Parafor are coming. I suspect Arakin is close. Braek is indisposed.”

Dostan: “But very close.”

Tylendel: “Ruis is still hidden. Pentarlys, Nysal and the always lovely Gaffon is somewhere around.”

Dostan: “Lord Greyoak. Would it be prudent to have someone do a search of the Holy Hill specifically for any documents pertaining to these beings?”

Tylendel: “I’ve done a quick search myself, but yes. We should gather all the documents, everything that is found. Have someone search through them.”

Dostan: “Yes, because it seems to me that if anyone would have any knowledge about such matters it would be priests.

Tylendel: “Except that in the fate of the Lost God Found, and the Lost God, knowledge about other gods would be destroyed. I know some of them kept some papers, but…”

Dostan: “You may be right. I do not know.”

Tylendel: “As you said before, Eveninghall would have me killed for what I just said.”

Dostan: “It goes to show how much they know. Unless they keep things secret, of course.”

Tylendel: “Of course”

Jaquan: “Why would a priest ever keep anything secret.”

He grins

Tylendel: “No, you’re right. It sounds preposterous.”

One of the guards stifles a laugh. At the table, Tylendel starts lathering a slice of bread with honey.

Dostan: “That honey comes from that grove, where that noble lady was buried.”

Tylendel stops and looks down at the honey.

Tylendel: “In one day.”

Dostan: “It was brought here a few hours ago.”

Tylendel: “Then I will enjoy it even more. A gift from the Lady of Summer.”

Dostan: “That would mean that there is yet another power converging here, is there not?”

Tylendel: “Oh, but the Lady of Summer belongs here. I’m just… I don’t know if she’ll be strong enough to withstand the others.”

Dostan: “And is she a saint, or is she one of them?”

Tylendel: “Ah, now that is a question. It is said she is an ally, or at least a saint, of the faith of the Lost God Found, and she belongs here.”

Dostan: “How do you know this? Because of these gardens?”

Tylendel: “Because of the gardens, yes.”

Dostan: “I see.”

Tylendel: “The Everspring Gardens have always been curious. There has always been power here.

Dostan: “I am mightily impressed by, well, everyone from this province, that this knowledge has not found its way to the west. It’s incredible.”

Tylendel: “Well, that was, some of it was by design of the Cult.”

Dostan: “I see.”

Tylendel: “The Cult has been working with the Camreys for centuries, since shortly after they arrived here.”

Dostan: “It’s hard to imagine how deep those plans go if they have spent so much time on them.”

Tylendel: “Yes.”

Dostan: “This darkness… Is it to conceal what is going on here? Or is it just the emanation of this evil?”

Tylendel: “I don’t know. But the Dimsilver… That’s Loronë’s doing.”

Dostan: “I see.”

Jaquan: “The Lady of the Moon?”

Tylendel: “Another name for her?”

Jaquan: “It is the name of a Mirovni goddess. Yoronin. We call her Yoronin the Bright.”

Dostan turns his head and looks curiously at Jaquan.

Dostan: “Now you begin to talk about the gods of your people.”

Jaquan: “You never asked about them before.”

Tylendel: “What’s your name for the Keeper of the Dreaming Scrolls?”

Jaquan: “You know about our gods? That would be Urzurish.”

Tylendel: “Oh, I know some of them. I know about the Keeper and the Torchbearer. I know you have a Guardian and a Lady of Blood. A Dweller in Ruins and a Sleeper in the Earth. And I guess the Pale Lord, that would be Death.”

Jaquan: “Aye, that is so. In our Mirovni language his name was Bnid, which means Death. For centuries we Mirovni have been forbidden to pray to the Old Gods, but in the self-same centuries we, well many of us, have ignored the commandments of the Holy Throne, and people have worshipped the Old Gods in secret: In their homes, hiding wooden statues, small shrines. They are not forgotten in Mirovnel.”

Tylendel: “Well, the brother of our dear, and I use the word loosely here, knight Yosha Artamon, he didn’t worship in secret, did he?”

Jaquan: “I know little of this man. I know there are three Mirovni here.”

Tylendel: “He led an uprising some years ago.”

Jaquan: “I belong to the Discaya clansmen, while they are of the city.”

Tylendel: “Well, his uprising failed and he was arrested and, I presume, executed.”

Jaquan: “Yosha Artamon is known in Mirovnel. He is known as the slayer of Zmey Hvakar. People believe that he has slain a dragon. I know this is a lie. Zmey Hvakar was a leader of bandits, and I know that he is only half Mirovni. His father was from Yermish. He does not like to be reminded of that.”

Tylendel: “Well, he needs to learn some manners, that’s for certain. I guess you heard about what happened at the feast for young Esmond?”

Dostan and Jaquan: “No.”

Tylendel: “He tried to start a fight. He punched Syr Darolf in the face at the table.”

Jaquan: “A violent man, yes, if he is in the mood. That’s Mirovni for you. But I will tell you that I believe he may have deserted the Mirovguarde.”

Tylendel: “Now that’s curious.”

Jaquan: “How so?”

Tylendel: “Why would he desert a guard and come here? In search of violence, could be, but I believe most thought that when the Prophet marched east it was a march of the dead.”

Dostan: “Those without faith would believe so.”

Tylendel: “Yes, and those with military experience.”

Tylendel smiles, making Dostan smile in return.

Dostan: “Well, Jaquan, you have surprised me today, but I think we will have to pick up on this later. It is time, time to say goodbye to Count Ales.”

Tylendel: “In some ancient scripts the Lost God is known as the God of the Dream.”

Jaquan: “Because he is of the Night?”

Tylendel: “No. The Creeping God was called Night. The Lost God was called Day. Same gods, different names.”

Jaquan: “You make it sound like that, indeed. Yuzgan was the Sleeper in the Earth.”

Together the three leave Ironheart Tower and heads to House of Martial Holies. Tylendel brings another slice of bread with honey, and on the way he asks Jaquan about the names of the rest of the Mirovni deities. At the House of Martial Holies many of the Lords and knights of the Hill have gathered near Count Ales’ stretcher. Syr Gylian leads the procession to the tomb area on the north side of the temple, where the tomb of one of Count Ales’ forefathers lies. As the tomb is opened Syr Gylian steps forth to speak.

Syr Gylian: “Ales Malion was a good man. The people of Deepford loved their lord and his wife, the countess Dusika. He was a good father to three boys and three girls. He had great hopes for his eldest son, Havel. Though his father, Count Jaquin lost his wits a long time ago, Count Ales made sure that his father had the best life possible in his twilight years. It is at such a time a man wonders where the justice of the Lost God may be found. So we beg you, Lord of the Twilight Gate, humbly, to beseech your mercy, and grant Count Ales Malion peace and light against the dark, confused end of his life. He survived the Curse of the Creeping God, yet a servant of evil took away his life shortly after the sky turned silver. Only you and your host of saints can see the justice in such a death, so we pray for the spirit of Count Ales Malion.”

The tiny crowd is silent for a while, then the stretcher is laid next to the sarcophagus, and they return to the House of Martial Holies.

Gylian: “We thought to invite you for some heated wine in the council chamber, but there has occurred something that I need to discuss with you anyway.”

Tylendel: “Of course.”

Tylendel follows Syr Gylian into the council chamber along with Syr Dostan, Syr Bohumíl, Syr Comton, Black Jaquan, Syr Perron and ???.

Syr Gylian tells them that there was an escape attempt at the execution on the wall. The report tells that the attempt failed. They drink some wine and talk of the event at the wall. The Witherwillow-brothers tried freeing Syr Dalibor and Syr Yaskar – one of them is in chains and the other in the infirmary.

After talking for some time, Tylendel walks upstairs to meet the Operatives of the Purple Chalice, at Honour’s Roost. At the top of the tower he meets Despina, who lets him into the chamber where the Operatives stay. Their leader, Hillar, stands up and bows when Tylendel enters.

Hillar: “Lord Greyoak.”

Tylendel: “Gentlemen.”

Hillar: “The more I learn, the more impressed I have become. I will admit it right away. All of us. Do you want something to drink?”

Tylendel: “I just had wine.”

Hillar: “As you wish.”

Tylendel: “I do, however, want to ask you if you know about the priests with the red masks?”

Hillar: “Yes, I do. They are high-ranking priests of Evenighall. How come?”

Tylendel: “When I was taken from my mother… The man that arranged it, who took me, I presume from off the western coast of the Empyre to this province, was a priest with a red mask.”

Hillar: “You travelled thousands of miles as a baby? No wonder you’re hardy.”

Tylendel: “Well, as far as I know, my adoptive father was given me on the Drowned Knight’s Island.”

Hillar: “That would be… You’re referring to Lord Emon Ingham.”

Tylendel: “Yes.”

Hillar: “The Lord of the Copperlands.”

Tylendel: “The very same.”

Hillar: “Yes. I have come to understand that you… First you grew up with another lord of this province, am I right?”

Tylendel: “Lord Emon and Lord Samew. They were working together. They planned to raise me. I was supposed to be raised by Lord Samew’s wife, but it appears I was too much of a handful for her, so I was given into the care of one of the serving girls, or… One of the pleasure girls of Lord Samew, until I was… I was seven or eight when Lord Emon took me into his care again.”

Hillar: “And that is when you began your upbringing as a person with much skill and proficiency and knowledge. Which has brought you this far.”

Tylendel: “I had three main teachers. It was Emon himself, it was Syr Artell, and it was Kessant the alchemist.”

Hillar: “The alchemist. I haven’t heard so much of him. Syr Artell Marnen we have been told about.”

Tylendel: “Kessant, he was an intelligent person. He taught me my letters, he taught me about herbs, about law.”

Hillar: “Did he teach you to turn stone into gold?”

Tylendel: “No, that was later.”

Hillar laughs, somewhat uncertainly.

Tylendel: “I had other teachers as well. A whore taught me to have sex. There was a traveller who taught me to sing and play, to juggle and to dance.”

Hillar: “Who was this traveller?”

Tylendel: “I think it was someone from the north of the province. I think he was called a bard once, but he came into disfavour. Started playing as a minstrel, travelling from town to town, playing at taverns, at inns. Sometimes he played for knight, maybe a count or two, but… His name was Gartuan.”

Hillar is taking notes as Tylendel speaks.

Hillar: “And what about this… Courtesan, you say. Was that part of your education?”

Tylendel: “Her name was Lydia.”

Hillar: “Do any of these people still live? I guess not.”

Tylendel: “Not that I know. Lydia taught me to be charming, how to behave with women. How to be courteous.”

Hillar: “Excuse me, but… You learned courtesy from a whore?”

Tylendel: “Again, disfavour. “

Hillar: “Maybe she was more than a whore.”

Tylendel: “She was expensive, I know that. I was never told as much, but I do have the feeling that she was the pillow-mate for a few of the lords and the richer merchants in the city. She disappeared when I was… Fifteen, I think. Never learned what happened to her.”

Hillar: “I see. Hmm. Well, this is interesting, we have constructed a narrative, but there are always gaps to fill. We’ve had good help. Many people who at least claim to know something about you.”
Tylendel chuckles.

Hillar: “And we’ve tried to corroborate our findings by asking different people the same questions. The one who has been most helpful to us is a troubadour himself. Though he doesn’t… He says that he hasn’t personally been with you that much, but that he has been gathering your stories for years. I think he is writing a book about you.”

Tylendel: “Yes, Florentyn has been… Let’s say, quite taken with me, since we met.”

Hillar: “I see.”

Tylendel: “I would be careful about accepting everything he says.”

Hillar: “Hence my mention of corroborating, because… Isn’t that his job, to exaggerate?”

Tylendel: “It is.”

Hillar: “However… He does give me the impression that he is really trying to be as faithful as he can. Because, you see, it’s not just about you. He is trying to create a sort of history about everything that’s been going on here the last years. For posterity, I assume.”

Tylendel: “Yes. It started, I think, as a desire to write an epic about me. And then, well, he learned more things, and started writing about things that happened in the province as well.”

Hillar: “It’s an honourable and demanding task he has set upon himself, but who’s to stop him if that’s what he wants to do? And who’s to say, maybe this will be a good thing. It would keep memories alive when the people are not.”

Tylendel: “I believe so. I once had a dream about him, sitting at the foot of a dead oak, playing songs. So maybe that could be him bringing word about what happened here in the province.”

Hillar: “Are you saying that you see things in your dreams that come true?”

Tylendel: “Oh, it’s happened a few times.”

Hillar: “That is also interesting. Do you think there is any hope? Is it wise to stay here?”

Tylendel: “No. It isn’t. It’s foolish. But we have no choice.”

Hillar: “You’re willing to sacrifice your life.”

Tylendel: “Yes. To protect the Empyre. There is power here, power deep beneath the hill. If Parafor, the Creeping God, gets that power, I fear that would be devastating for the Empyre. As he said himself, he has no desire for conquest. He doesn’t wish to conquer the Empyre. He wants to destroy it, and to destroy every living thing within it.”

Hllar: “Why?”

Tylendel: “Because he desires destruction.”

Hillar: “Does this Crow-king share the same ambition?”

Tylendel: “Partly. The Crow-king… Well, the Creeping God’s first disciple, I would say. He wants power. He revels in destruction. But he doesn’t desire to destroy everything. His desire is to control everything. But I think he would try to grab as much power as he can before Parafor destroys everything. I don’t think the Crow-king is strong enough to stand up against the Creeping God.”

Hillar: “I understand. I believe.”

Tylendel: “He did ask me to… How should I say it, to apprentice with him. Maybe he thought that together we could overthrow the Creeping God and grab the power ourselves.”

Hillar: “Very well, very well. It’s all quite interesting, you know. By the way, we have been taken great care of here, and we are given food and firewood and… But one of use will have to, soon, leave.”

The three look at each other.

Tylendel: “Well, I’m guessing the Crow-king’s army will be here in ten days, maybe two weeks.”

Hillar: “This weather ought to slow them down.”

Tylendel: “Hmmm, yes. Hopefully. Of course, the Norochtí may arrive sooner. The wild ones, they… I have the feeling they don’t listen to orders very well.”

Hillar: “They are more like beasts, yes?”

Tylendel: “Yes. There are the smallest ones, the beasts, the hunters. Well, there are some big ones among them as well. Then there are the fighters, those that use weapons. Some of them wear scraps of armour. Then there are the priests. Those are the dangerous ones. Of course, they have a few giants as well. One of them I fought, I think it was about three times the height of a man. Hard to kill.”

Hillar: “That sounds very hard to kill.”

Tylendel: “You haven’t been told about the one that nearly killed me in Lilyriver?”

Hillar: “Well, maybe, but I didn’t expect it to be three times the height of a man. Perhaps I thought it was exaggerated.”

Tylendel: “No, he had a club almost as long as I was. If I hadn’t worn a shield I would have been dead.”

Hillar: “Riddle me this thing, though. If these people are like beasts, how come they have priests?”

Tylendel: “Oh, it’s only the smallest ones that are as beasts. The ones that wear armour and weapons, they are beast-men. They are wild, but they can listen to orders.”

Hillar: “So, they do have a measure of intelligence?”

Tylendel: “Some of them do. The priests, they control them. They don’t need to give orders. They think the orders, and the small ones follow them.”

Hillar: “So if you see an army of these things, the first thing you do is take out the priests.”

Tylendel: “Yes.”
Hillar: “Now we’re coming to the actually vital material, the things we need to report. We do have some information, of course, but… We have been expecting you and waiting for you, so that we could hear you out as well. As the one person here with the most experience with everything that’s been going on, it seems.”

Tylendel: “When you meet the Norochtí you take out the priests first. They are the ones that wear helmets. Helmets with large tusks. And… If you look them in the eye, your mind is dead and you will become a puppet.”

Hillar: “That is extremely dangerous, if this is true. Do you know anything about how close they need to be?”

Tylendel: “The only time I’ve seen it happen was when we were perhaps ten yards away from it. It was when we entered Askalant in search of Lylas Yellow-eyes.”

Hillar: “I beg pardon for my lack of etiquette. Of course, I have to ask you now: Would you sit with us?”

Tylendel: “Of course.”

Hillar: “Ask if you need something to drink or to eat, because we really need to learn as much as we can. Do you have the time?”

Tylendel: “I can spare a few glasses.”

Hillar: “Very good.”

Tylendel stays with the Operatives for a couple of hours, telling what he knows and answering questions. Hillar tells Tylendel that he thinks the Holy Swords did right in sending him there. Tylendel asks them again of the priests with the red masks.

Tylendel: “Because they knew who my father was. I believe Lord Emon knew as well. Or at least that I was the son of an Empyreal noble. But the priest… He knew.”

Hillar explains what he knows of the hierarchy of Eveninghall, but nothing to help Tylendel in his enquiries. He learns that the archpriest of Evenighall has authority on the level of the Exalted Sword and the Holy Swords, and that the current archpriest is probably the same now as when Tylendel was born.

When he finishes at the House of Martial Holies Tylendel returns to his room in the temple. Ipesthir and Pabés needs help in the Between…

Syr Gylian Urunmyst's account of the escape attempt of Syr Yaskar and Syr Dalibor on the walls of Tamolyn overlooking the Great River.


“Apparently, things took a wrong turn when they came out on the southern wall, after passing through Oldenhall. That’s when the two began panicking, I assume.
At that point, Syr Dalibor raised his voice and began pleading for them to let him go. He tried to tell ‘em that they were helping whittling down the Barosíans, heh. Said they would be better off coming with them.

According to Syr Benn, he heard Syr Yaskar whisper or mutter behind his back, so he turned around and saw the two Witherwillow brothers listening to Yaskar and he told Syr Yaskar to shut his mouth.

And then the Witherwillow brothers let go off Syr Yaskar and drew their weapons. We don’t know what he said to convince them, but we knew that one of them, at least, wasn’t happy with how things were decided here. Perhaps we shouldn’t have let them be so quick to assist in escorting them. Ah well.
The way I understand it, Syr Robond swung his spiked mace against Syr Rumos. I suppose he thought those spike would help him punch through Syr Rumos’ armor. Syr Benn was already suspicious so he managed to draw his blade to defend himself when Syr Neffir, the other Witherwillow, swung his blade. Syr Benn wasn’t fast enough, so Syr Neffir hit his arm, but Syr Benn’s armor deflected the steel. Then Syr Neffir thrust his blade toward Syr Benn’s face, but Syr Benn moved just enough that the blade glanced off his helm. Syr Robond continued hammering Syr Rumos, those nasty spikes on his mace penetrating Syr Rumos’ leg armor, but fortunately not the man’s flesh.

At that point, two Holy Harvesters on wall patrol duty arrived, having heard the commotion I suppose, or maybe they saw the struggle, I do not know. One of them’s named Astell, from a place called Kodarsa, not that I’ve heard of it. He shouted for them to stop in the name of the God. He has this wicked bill and he pointed it toward the Witherwillows. The other one was a peasant with a pitchfork, and I think he didn’t contribute much, at least not at first.

Then Syr Yaskar took a dive toward Syr Benn, wrapping his arms around his legs and toppling the man. Quite impressive feat, I must say. I believe Syr Yaskar was stronger than he looked. Syr Rumos managed to overcome Syr Robond’s attacks and began pushing him backward. Syr Benn adviced Syr Yaskar to give up but Syr Yaskar began choking him. And then at the same time there was Syr Dalibor, taking advantage of the commotion. Syr Comton wasn’t quite understanding what was going on yet, so Syr Dalibor managed to grab the hilt of a knife in Comton’s belt and snatch it for himself.
But Syr Comton is a dangerous man, and clever. Too clever for Syr Dalibor, I suppose. Syr Comton drew his two swords, and so Syr Dalibor expected those blades to come swinging at him, but instead the knight of Orlath gave the herald a hard kick, right in the guts. Syr Benn says he heard Dalibor’s hip bones break. Syr Dalibor screamed horribly, drawing the attention of men farther away on the walls.

Syr Yaskar kept his stranglehold on Syr Benn, but he’s a big fellow and he wasn’t quite afeared of going out just yet. Syr Neffir managed to weave his way past the two and past his brother and Syr Rumos as well, coming up at Dalibor’s side to attack Syr Comton. The coward went for another thrust to the face, but Syr Comton is a skilled swordsman, wielding two blades, so he decided to parry with the one and strike with the other. Syr Rumos Brysk swung his blade into Syr Robond’s left leg, sweeping him off his feet. Syr Comton wasn’t fast enough for Syr Neffir, and so Syr Neffir managed to cut across his face. That’s when things could have gotten too ugly to contemplate, with Syr Comton bleeding and Syr Benn being choked, but fortunately Astell, the Holy Harvester, seeing Syr Robond fall, punched that bill toward the man’s back, keeping him down and out of the fight.

So Syr Robond lies there bleeding and this Astell fellow shouts to the other Harvester to go get more guards, but he doesn’t dare strike toward Syr Yaskar, as Syr Benn is right underneath him. “Let me go or he dies,” Syr Yaskar shouted, and Syr Benn’s face was maybe a little more blue, according to Syr Rumos.
Syr Rumos then turned on his heel, and swung his blade upward against Syr Neffir, who was focused on taking out Syr Comton. At the same time, Syr Neffir attempted another thrust toward Syr Comton’s face, and managed to hit him again, but fortunately it was a weak hit, grazing Syr Comton’s temple.
“I am sorry,” Syr Rumos said behind Syr Neffir, and then his sword crushed into Neffir’s groin, destroying his pelvis and lodging below his navel, blood spraying.
“Move away or he dies!” Syr Yaskar shouted again, Syr Benn still struggling beneath him, clearly out of breath soon.
Then Syr Benn managed to throw Syr Yaskar off, slamming him against a merlon.
“It’s over, Syr Yaskar, look,” Syr Comton said.
Syr Neffir’s eyes had already rolled up in his skull. His brother lay bleeding and whimpering and Syr Dalibor lay in a fetal position, Comton’s knife slipped out of his hand.
“I do understand your desperation, but it is useless,” Syr Comton told Syr Yaskar. “Syr Rumos here is one of the most skilled swordsmen I know of. Perhaps even the best. He alone could handle you. But we are four. Four, you snake, and armed and armored too, unlike you.”
At that Syr Yaskar had begun whimpering. “I do not want to die, let me go, please, I swear,” you know the drill. Then Syr Benn tried to surprise Syr Yaskar by lunging for him and grab him, but Syr Yaskar was wary and stepped aside , leaving Syr Benn groping for air.
“Stand still, weasel,” Syr Benn growled.
“Not a weasel,” Syr Yaskar said. “I’m a snake.”

Syr Yaskar had deftly moved himself between two merlons and now he tried to jump up between them, most likely to try to jump down between Oldenhall and Eämhyn’s workshop. If he had managed it, who knows how quick he would be able to hide, what with the weather and all. Fortunately, our knights were aware of what he was trying to do and dragged him back before he could jump. That’s when Syr Comton said, “Well, even snakes must die.”
So they dragged him to the opposite row of merlons and pushed him up there. They couldn’t see the Novíla because of the white haze, but at that point Syr Yaskar pissed himself or so they say.
“I want to wring your neck off,” Syr Benn told him, “But I’m fine with you bouncing off the cliffs on your way down. Gives you the time to think it over, eh, to wonder if your deeds weren’t just shitty.”
And so they pushed the knight of Polodnia over the edge and he disappeared with a horrible shriek. Syr Comton went to check on the three blood-spattered men on the walkway and confirmed Syr Neffir Witherwillow’s death.
When he checked on Syr Robond Witherwillow, he said, “Still alive, but bleeding out.” He turned to Astell, the Holy Harvester, then and told him he’d done good work. The soldier then said it was the will of the God.
“Let the fucker bleed,” Syr Benn said. “I have a word or two for Syr Malor about the behavior of his bannermen. Shit.”
Syr Comton moved over to Syr Dalibor of Deepford. “And you, m’lord herald, how are you on this fine day?”
Dalibor had only groaned and breathed heavily in response. Syr Comton had made a face then. “This doesn’t look too good, herald. My apologies for the unconventional way of settling this. Falling to a knight’s blade is a good death - but you did not deserve that.”
Then they lifted Dalibor up, and he cried out in pain as his broken bones were jostled.
Syr Benn told him, “Say hello to Syr Yaskar,” and then they threw him over the wall as well. Syr Rumos said the man’s howl was almost inhuman in its terror.
Syr Comton decided that they’d wait for orders when it came to the Witherwillow brothers and said they could try to stop his bleeding.”
Syr Benn reminded the Witherwillow that they could always start that bleeding up again. Oh, yes. More guardsmen had arrived through the wind and the snow, and they helped carry the Witherwillows. Syr Comton sent a White Thorn, one of them archers of the Prophet, to tell us.”