AFTER BATTLE REPORT FOR FRIDAY 28/11 Francis Castelle was astounded at the chaos hed caused. The outskirts of New Breton were a veritable riot; peasants were looting what they could and fleeing when they were caught, a few buildings had ended up aflame, the Breton garrison was trying to re-establish order but got caught up in the twisted mazes of the cramped streets, and he and his orange-outfitted supporters were moving ever closer to their eventual destination in the fortified heart of the city. Sure, there had been some casualties, and hed quickly learned that these Black Talon fellows would sooner flee a large group of soldiers than stand and fight, but once hed gotten the hang of when to run, theyd made decent progress. Francis did notice that his army wasnt really listening to his instructions, especially after his potato-sack disguise plan ended up with two people incapacitated by a nasty-looking man with a halberd who was evidently not taken in, but the soon-to-be heir thought this was just because of the battlefield situation. Of course theyll obey me once Im the next du Bastonne, he thought, theyll have to. Soon he lost track of it all in the swirling chaos of the attack. The motley force had made it to the wall marking the edge of the old city, and as hed expected, the gates were barred, and the wide gap between the buildings and the wall stood before them. This was no deterrent to him, though, because by this point he was in way too deep to call the con off. So with nary a backward glance, nor a look up at the battlements, he strode up the steep hill over the open ground to the huge oak gates. He became very aware of a stillness behind him, as though everything had stopped and the whole world was staring at his audacity. He could feel it in the very air. This was a tipping point. He was standing at a pivotal moment of history, and his acts now would become the stuff of legends. He pounded his fist against the gate, holding his now battle-damaged papers high, and yelled as loud as he could. OPEN UP! MAYBE YOU AD A LAUGH BEFORE, BUT YA CANT DO I AGAIN! THIS ERE PAPER SAYS IM THE DEAD DUKES HEIR, AND ALL IS STUFF IS MINE NOW! IM ERE TO CLAIM ME BIRTHRIGHT! THE PEOPLE SUPPORT ME! JUS LOOK AT THIS ERE POPLAR UPRISIN- He swung about to gesture to his colleagues in the orange, who had been standing by the building behind him. He could see, from his vantage point on the top of the slope, that his popular uprising was much further down the street, and running.currently in the process of loading up the last of their three wagons with whatever valuables they could take from the deserted shops and homes. The other two were already leaving, bouncing down the cobblestones; the first with a small group of confused peasants, newly liberated from their lords, and the second positively overflowing with stolen potatoes. Francis Castelle looked up at the battlements, and the archers manning them. Most of them were too busy laughing to do anything about him now and he had half a mind to run, but one of them, a slightly built Ranger in leather armour, stopped long enough to stand up and spot him. Francis could hear his heartbeat in his ears, and the world narrowed down to him and her. Time slowed, and everything came into focus. He saw her push her dark hair back under her green hood. He saw her wipe the last tear of laughter from her eye as the smile fell from her face. He saw her pull an arrow from her quiver and nock it in one fluid motion. He saw her draw it back all the way to the fur on her shoulder. Francis Castelle never heard the twang.
Posted on: Sun, 30 Nov 2014 12:27:13 +0000
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