Chapter 3B - The Falconry
Abruptly, the enchantment woven by the serenity of the ride, and Jenny’s soothing song was broken. The camp was a tangle of movement, as servants dashed too and fro about the camp, readying bags, pack mounts, and disassembling the outlying pavilions; some outlying campfires were doused, and a young page was near trampled by horse. In the eye of this storm, Lord Lyman glared contemplatively up at his mounted vassal knight, who calmly explained to him that a trio of sentries had been lost, and a four man patrol sent to find them had also failed to return. With other men at arms still on patrol, and the hunting party yet to return, this left the central camp lightly defended, with perhaps a dozen men at arms wearing House Lychester colours, and half as many sporting Blackfin and Tullison tabards.
“My lord, the trees” a man shouted, and through the gloom a ripple of movement was visible near the treeline, as a group of figures had gathered there. At first it seemed that it might be the riders returning, but these figures gave no blast of hunting horn, nor carried colours or steel wrought by the hand of men.
“Ought we not depart?” Lady Moirane spoke, her voice pitched high with worry. Her own handmaidens and men at arms had gathered to her. The women were clearly terrified, the trio of men, disorganised and leaderless, had their hands on hilts of blades and shafts of spears, glancing about as if an assassin might leap from a nearby pavilion.
“Nay Lady, with a storm brewing and men unaccounted for, it would be a fearsome risk,” Ser Lyonel replied, authoritatively, “we’d lose men and women right out of the saddle. Best to dig in.”
“Lady Blackfin and Lady Tullison, please gather your entourage within your pavilions,” the gaunt Lord Lyman urged Gwendolyn and Moirane, keeping his eyes fixed on the treeline as a terrified looking page began to buckle a longsword to his flank, though there would be no time for armour “House Lychester will see to the perimeter.”
The line of figures gathered at the tree line grew longer, and it was clear by proportion that these were neither men nor horses; instead their cast was lupine. Emerging from within the wood was a larger beast by far, the fur of its belly tickling the ears of the smaller beasts as it strode by. It marched up the line of its brethren once, like a general inspecting his men, before turning to face the camp.
“Ser Lyonel?” Lyman asked as the Direwolf howled into the stormy sky, and the lesser wolves rushed from the trees.
“Aye, Lord Lychester?” his vassal knight responded, shouldering a morning star.
“Ready the crossbows.”
[OOC – a short response here is appropriate, before we jump into the event.]
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:29, Tue 08 June 2021.