From: lrdcorwinc@aol.com (LrdCorwinC)
Date: 05 Dec 1998 21:07:54 EST
The man who strode purposefully through the streets of RhyDin Town that night was one who was immediately noticed by those who saw him. It wasn't his height, though he was tall he was not extraordinarily so for the realms of RhyDin. It wasn't his looks, though he was quite good looking. His wavy red hair and grass green eyes gave him a boyish look that was only slightly detracted from by the pair of scars along the
left side of his face. They only added a touch of the exotic to his farmboy looks, and increased his attractiveness in some ways. The first scar came straight down his left cheek, from hairline to jawline, curving only slightly. The second began at his left cheekbone and curved down his face to the point of his chin. He was cleanshaven, almost babyfaced in fact, but his real age was 27. He had an easy, almost relaxed stride, but it was obvious that
he wanted to get wherever he was going.
He was dressed in clothing of green and gold, of a very formal cut. It looked like a uniform more than anything else. The shoulders were epauletted, and what almost looked like service medals lined the left breast. His posture was very military, and the casual way his hand rested on the hilt of the fine cavalry sabre he wore at his waist. It was the only visible weapon on his person. The appearance was that he did not need another. He had the
look of a man who was dangerous with or without one.
He approached a small, rickety looking shop and opened the door. It was a very dingy little place. The man behind the counter looked nervous, frightened. It occurred to the visitor that he looked very much like a scared rabbit or a lost lamb. He laughed softly to himself at this image.
The nervous man looked up at the soldier, sweating. "Are you Mr. C, m'lord?" He was close to stuttering, but not quite.
The soldier nodded. "Yes, messire. I am Lord Carl Corwin Carson Cain Castillian of Castlerock. Lord Castlerock will do. You have a sample of the product?"
The merchant returned the nod nervously. "Your formula was correct. I have several tons manufactured already, I have a sample here for you now, Lord Castlerock."
Castlerock grinned his pleasure, saying, "Excellent, Nilden. Let me see it. If it works to my satisfaction, you will be very well paid for your work. I have to be able to defend my borders against Graydon. I am willing to pay to do so."
Nilden smiled weakly, still very frightened, or so it seemed. "Thank you Lord Castlerock. I hope it meets your approval." He placed a small rag on the desk between them, and he carefully shook a small measure of a small, dark powder onto the rag, grinning conspriatorially at Castlerock. "I think you will be pleased, Lord Castlerock." He carefully struck a match and lit the small sample. It took fire immediately, burning very quickly, a rush of
air obvious to both men.
Castlerock smiled at the burning rag, throwing it into the fireplace. He looked to Nilden. "I think I am very satisfied, my friend. How soon can you have the whole product ready? I will pay you 10,000 crowns per hundredweight. My wagons can be here to carry the casks in a few weeks."
Nilden looked thoughtful, stroking his chin. He finally answered, "Well, Lord Castlerock, I think I can have the product ready in about a month. Is that soon enough?"
Castlerock frowned for a moment, then gave another nod. "I think it should be. Graydon seems to be looking for an excuse to attack. I can make sure he doesn't find one for at least a month."
The solider turned slowly to leave, still thinking. A month here in town. That would give him time to find allies, perhaps. The Duke of Graydon was a threat to anyone else whose borders his land touched. And Castlerock was a strategic barony. It touched many borders.
To be continued
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From: lrdcorwinc@aol.com (LrdCorwinC)
Date: 06 Dec 1998 15:17:31 EST
Castillian sat in a small chair in his room pondering a course of action. It was certain that he needed allies, but whom? There were many nobles, kings, queens, kings, and princes and princesses here. But which could be relied on? When royal blood is nearly as plentiful as common blood, discretion had to be used in picking one's alliances. He dealt out a pack of cards, concentrating slightly, the facesof the
possible choices appearing on the face cards.
This was not magic, or some mental power. It was merely a soldier's mnemonic trick. He could use his discipline to make his eyes lie to his brain, and this helped him remember his choices.
One by one he considered them. Jonalyn Starfare? No. The regent seemed, from his observations, too contentious and quarrelsome. And not entirely trustworthy, according to some sources.
New Mountainside? That was a possibility. Their border was near his. If Graydon succeeded in swallowing Castlerock, he would surely look towards larger game. Castlerock had heard nothing but good about Queen Luthien, and much good about her consort, Roland Sal Roa. An ex-mercenary turned husband of a queen. As a fellow soldier, he might be easy to deal with. It would have to be pursued. At least considered. It was a strong possibility.
Atrebla? He doubted courting them would be of much use. Trade with the valley after the war, of course. Try to gain military aid from them now? Might not be feasible. He was in the right, and he was sure he could convince them. His plans for a preemptive strike, however, might disinterest them.
The various dwarven rulers? Gimmzak Stonecutter and Jeffrey Oakenshield, from what he could see, were stout fighters. But they might not function well with his forces and their newfangled tactics. Dawrves, in his experience, were quite conservative. And their toe to toe style might not fit either. A shame, really.
The Hyperion Throne? Now that offered some possibilities. And they had a representative here in RhyDin. He had met her, even dueled her. He had been quite impressed, in fact. Her mettle was something worth gaining, even if her family could not be convinced.
What was her name? Rowan? Yes. Rowan Hyperion Y'Nestral. Hmmmm. He would have to take another look. Perhaps a good look.
TBC
Date: 06 Dec 1998 15:17:31 EST
Castillian sat in a small chair in his room pondering a course of action. It was certain that he needed allies, but whom? There were many nobles, kings, queens, kings, and princes and princesses here. But which could be relied on? When royal blood is nearly as plentiful as common blood, discretion had to be used in picking one's alliances. He dealt out a pack of cards, concentrating slightly, the facesof the
possible choices appearing on the face cards.
This was not magic, or some mental power. It was merely a soldier's mnemonic trick. He could use his discipline to make his eyes lie to his brain, and this helped him remember his choices.
One by one he considered them. Jonalyn Starfare? No. The regent seemed, from his observations, too contentious and quarrelsome. And not entirely trustworthy, according to some sources.
New Mountainside? That was a possibility. Their border was near his. If Graydon succeeded in swallowing Castlerock, he would surely look towards larger game. Castlerock had heard nothing but good about Queen Luthien, and much good about her consort, Roland Sal Roa. An ex-mercenary turned husband of a queen. As a fellow soldier, he might be easy to deal with. It would have to be pursued. At least considered. It was a strong possibility.
Atrebla? He doubted courting them would be of much use. Trade with the valley after the war, of course. Try to gain military aid from them now? Might not be feasible. He was in the right, and he was sure he could convince them. His plans for a preemptive strike, however, might disinterest them.
The various dwarven rulers? Gimmzak Stonecutter and Jeffrey Oakenshield, from what he could see, were stout fighters. But they might not function well with his forces and their newfangled tactics. Dawrves, in his experience, were quite conservative. And their toe to toe style might not fit either. A shame, really.
The Hyperion Throne? Now that offered some possibilities. And they had a representative here in RhyDin. He had met her, even dueled her. He had been quite impressed, in fact. Her mettle was something worth gaining, even if her family could not be convinced.
What was her name? Rowan? Yes. Rowan Hyperion Y'Nestral. Hmmmm. He would have to take another look. Perhaps a good look.
TBC
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From: lrdcorwinc@aol.com (LrdCorwinC)
Date: 08 Dec 1998 00:07:47 EST
Castlerock was taking a walk when it happened. It really took him by surprise. He had known that Graydon was ruthless, but he had not expected the duke to stoop so low. At least, not so obviously. He had been sure that his enemy was much wiser than that.
Then again, maybe Graydon thought it was worth the risk. What was left of the Royal Army of Greff was now under Castlerock's command, in his holdings. If Graydon made a bid for the throne, he needed that army. He had failed to gain Castlerock's support. But if there was a new Lord General? That was a horse of a different color, certainly.
It was still a surprise when he saw Mongo. He had been walking back from the shop after checking on Nilden again. The man was working hard, and Castlerock was feeling quite optimistic. He turned the corner and made his way back to the Red Dragon Inn.
As he began to cross the street, a huge form seemed to coalesce out of nowhere. How could such a walking barn hide so well!? It was almost inhuman! Then again, inhuman always was a good way to describe Mongo. Very certainly.
The man, if man was a good word for *it*, was too big to look human. His lank hair was a deep black, and hung loosely down his face. Together with the beard, the long hair covered most of that face. Castlerock had seen the face before, and was grateful for small favors.
He was 7' tall, and his shoulder seemed to be at least half as broad as he was tall. He was powerfully muscled, almost obscenely so. His physique was so grossly muscled that he seemed deformed. He look ungainly and awkward.
Nothing could be further from the truth, however. Castlerock had seen him in action. Mongo moved like a cat, fast and light on his feet. The viciously serrated sword he drew seemed too heavy for a smaller man, but Castlerock had seen it too. He dropped his hand to the hilt of his own blade, drawing it slowly. He prepared himself to spring away in either direction, glad Mongo hadn't trapped him in close quarters.
"Hello Mongo," he laughed,"Still doin' the Duke of Graydon's dirty work? I thought ye were happier on a battlefield."
Mongo grunted sourly, replying, "I'm not picky. Streetfighting isn't too much worse than a nice battlefield. I admit I was kind of upset when I heard he was sending me for you. A general should die on a battlefield, not in a gutter. Especially the Hero of Harpridge. But it needs doing, I guess."
Castlerock laughed at that, his muscles coiling. "Still a philosopher, Mongo? That part of ye always surprised me. I might even miss it after I kill ye. I am going to kill ye, ye know. I am much better with a blade than ye. Ye remember, don't ye Mongo?"
The behemoth shrugged, laughing. "Perhaps, General Castillian, perhaps. I will admit you are better than me when it comes to the fake graces. I am stronger though, and I have more stamina. I figure I can wear you down and then bleed you to death. Eventually I will get in a finishing blow."
Castlerock tried hard to make his laughter sound genuine. Deep inside though, as he thought, he realized that Mongo might be right. He had best act fast. "Let me take my jacket off, Mongo?"
The big man nodded, not knowing he was sealing his own death warrant by doing so. Castlerock shrugged off the jacket, then moved like lightening, whipping it around Mongo's face, blinding him.
The following thrust wasn't as clean as it should have been, however. It should have taken Mongo in the heart. Instead it struck his belly, hard. Fortunately the blow came as a shock. As Mongo tried to rip the jacket from his face, and raise his own blade to strike, Castlerock thrust again.
This time it struck true. The blade entered the ribcage, tore a lung to pieces, and neatly punctured the heart. The big man fell forward onto a knee, coughing blood and moaning as Castlerock calmly retrieved his jacket.
"I'mm sorry about that, Mongo. I really am. I hate tae kill a good man like ye in such a foul manner. But ye were right about how tae take me. I couldn't let that happen, now could I?"
He turned away as he spoke, walking into the Inn. He needed a bath.
TBC
Date: 08 Dec 1998 00:07:47 EST
Castlerock was taking a walk when it happened. It really took him by surprise. He had known that Graydon was ruthless, but he had not expected the duke to stoop so low. At least, not so obviously. He had been sure that his enemy was much wiser than that.
Then again, maybe Graydon thought it was worth the risk. What was left of the Royal Army of Greff was now under Castlerock's command, in his holdings. If Graydon made a bid for the throne, he needed that army. He had failed to gain Castlerock's support. But if there was a new Lord General? That was a horse of a different color, certainly.
It was still a surprise when he saw Mongo. He had been walking back from the shop after checking on Nilden again. The man was working hard, and Castlerock was feeling quite optimistic. He turned the corner and made his way back to the Red Dragon Inn.
As he began to cross the street, a huge form seemed to coalesce out of nowhere. How could such a walking barn hide so well!? It was almost inhuman! Then again, inhuman always was a good way to describe Mongo. Very certainly.
The man, if man was a good word for *it*, was too big to look human. His lank hair was a deep black, and hung loosely down his face. Together with the beard, the long hair covered most of that face. Castlerock had seen the face before, and was grateful for small favors.
He was 7' tall, and his shoulder seemed to be at least half as broad as he was tall. He was powerfully muscled, almost obscenely so. His physique was so grossly muscled that he seemed deformed. He look ungainly and awkward.
Nothing could be further from the truth, however. Castlerock had seen him in action. Mongo moved like a cat, fast and light on his feet. The viciously serrated sword he drew seemed too heavy for a smaller man, but Castlerock had seen it too. He dropped his hand to the hilt of his own blade, drawing it slowly. He prepared himself to spring away in either direction, glad Mongo hadn't trapped him in close quarters.
"Hello Mongo," he laughed,"Still doin' the Duke of Graydon's dirty work? I thought ye were happier on a battlefield."
Mongo grunted sourly, replying, "I'm not picky. Streetfighting isn't too much worse than a nice battlefield. I admit I was kind of upset when I heard he was sending me for you. A general should die on a battlefield, not in a gutter. Especially the Hero of Harpridge. But it needs doing, I guess."
Castlerock laughed at that, his muscles coiling. "Still a philosopher, Mongo? That part of ye always surprised me. I might even miss it after I kill ye. I am going to kill ye, ye know. I am much better with a blade than ye. Ye remember, don't ye Mongo?"
The behemoth shrugged, laughing. "Perhaps, General Castillian, perhaps. I will admit you are better than me when it comes to the fake graces. I am stronger though, and I have more stamina. I figure I can wear you down and then bleed you to death. Eventually I will get in a finishing blow."
Castlerock tried hard to make his laughter sound genuine. Deep inside though, as he thought, he realized that Mongo might be right. He had best act fast. "Let me take my jacket off, Mongo?"
The big man nodded, not knowing he was sealing his own death warrant by doing so. Castlerock shrugged off the jacket, then moved like lightening, whipping it around Mongo's face, blinding him.
The following thrust wasn't as clean as it should have been, however. It should have taken Mongo in the heart. Instead it struck his belly, hard. Fortunately the blow came as a shock. As Mongo tried to rip the jacket from his face, and raise his own blade to strike, Castlerock thrust again.
This time it struck true. The blade entered the ribcage, tore a lung to pieces, and neatly punctured the heart. The big man fell forward onto a knee, coughing blood and moaning as Castlerock calmly retrieved his jacket.
"I'mm sorry about that, Mongo. I really am. I hate tae kill a good man like ye in such a foul manner. But ye were right about how tae take me. I couldn't let that happen, now could I?"
He turned away as he spoke, walking into the Inn. He needed a bath.
TBC
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From: rhy@aol.com (Rhy)
Date: 11 Dec 1998 17:28:53 EST
The note had come to her by surprise. "Meet me in the Arena." signed simply "A Friend". It took her a long moment as she stared at the card to decide her action. The handwriting was clearly male, with bold upstrokes pointing to a confident personality and she was piqued by it's clandestine wording. Ignoring a slight niggling wariness, she decided to check into it.
Stepping a few minutes later inside the Arena door, she did that "skimmering" maneuver Eusebius had taught her, that gave the impression of simply appearing from the shadows. There was one person at the bar, and for a moment she had not recognized him. He was tall, giving the impression of great strength, and as he turned to her, she recalled his name, Lord Carl Corwin Carson Cain of Castillian, whom she met just recently and had ruefully dubbed
the "C" man...but not to his face. One didn't tease a man with a face like that. Seasoned by hard living, his was a ruggedly a handsome landscape and a startling one as well. Lateral scars traversing from temple to jaw, the regularity reminded her of the honor scars, self inflicted by the Ventuzi warriors on the Isle of Maltoi. The sentient markings on her inner wrist had sent out near painful vibes of warning as she drew near to him. This was a man
to be careful of. Yes, indeed, she'd been intrigued.
She gave him time to speak his mind, as she listened with seeming indifference. His knowledge of St.Dominicus had alarmed her. The country was small, protected by natural boundaries to the east and west that also served to cut off most inland trade, making the inhabitants dependent upon the sea. It had been the center of Hyperion influence for centuries. His dissembling concerning the affairs of the Kingdom of Greff and the possible effect on her
own homeland had left her musing in a small tempest of concern. He was seeking allies. She was not willing to involve Dominicus at this time.
Still, the threat was plausible and she could not dismiss the implications, and The Revenant was provisioned but it's crew lay idle, and getting into trouble. Just last eve, she'd bailed John Levy from the Magistrate for brawling. John was a good man..the best first mate she'd ever had. She was not unsympathetic to his restlessness, indeed, she shared it.
With that and other thoughts in mind, she'd offered Corwin her personal support...she would sail to Greff, giving the matter her personal attention. If the situation was as described...she'd give him more. In any case, putting out to sea again was beginning to look like a solution to several problems...except for one that was becoming increasingly dear to her heart...the dark man. 'Twas not his title of course, It was just the way her inner vision
perceived his spectrum. Of countenance dour, his hands spoke eloquently of other things. They danced in and about each other shadow like moths all too aware of the flame, both too worldly wise to trust blindly the fickle brush of passions first unleashing. They were however, making small progress. Perhaps he would come with her. It was a thing to be asked.
(~tcb~)
Date: 11 Dec 1998 17:28:53 EST
The note had come to her by surprise. "Meet me in the Arena." signed simply "A Friend". It took her a long moment as she stared at the card to decide her action. The handwriting was clearly male, with bold upstrokes pointing to a confident personality and she was piqued by it's clandestine wording. Ignoring a slight niggling wariness, she decided to check into it.
Stepping a few minutes later inside the Arena door, she did that "skimmering" maneuver Eusebius had taught her, that gave the impression of simply appearing from the shadows. There was one person at the bar, and for a moment she had not recognized him. He was tall, giving the impression of great strength, and as he turned to her, she recalled his name, Lord Carl Corwin Carson Cain of Castillian, whom she met just recently and had ruefully dubbed
the "C" man...but not to his face. One didn't tease a man with a face like that. Seasoned by hard living, his was a ruggedly a handsome landscape and a startling one as well. Lateral scars traversing from temple to jaw, the regularity reminded her of the honor scars, self inflicted by the Ventuzi warriors on the Isle of Maltoi. The sentient markings on her inner wrist had sent out near painful vibes of warning as she drew near to him. This was a man
to be careful of. Yes, indeed, she'd been intrigued.
She gave him time to speak his mind, as she listened with seeming indifference. His knowledge of St.Dominicus had alarmed her. The country was small, protected by natural boundaries to the east and west that also served to cut off most inland trade, making the inhabitants dependent upon the sea. It had been the center of Hyperion influence for centuries. His dissembling concerning the affairs of the Kingdom of Greff and the possible effect on her
own homeland had left her musing in a small tempest of concern. He was seeking allies. She was not willing to involve Dominicus at this time.
Still, the threat was plausible and she could not dismiss the implications, and The Revenant was provisioned but it's crew lay idle, and getting into trouble. Just last eve, she'd bailed John Levy from the Magistrate for brawling. John was a good man..the best first mate she'd ever had. She was not unsympathetic to his restlessness, indeed, she shared it.
With that and other thoughts in mind, she'd offered Corwin her personal support...she would sail to Greff, giving the matter her personal attention. If the situation was as described...she'd give him more. In any case, putting out to sea again was beginning to look like a solution to several problems...except for one that was becoming increasingly dear to her heart...the dark man. 'Twas not his title of course, It was just the way her inner vision
perceived his spectrum. Of countenance dour, his hands spoke eloquently of other things. They danced in and about each other shadow like moths all too aware of the flame, both too worldly wise to trust blindly the fickle brush of passions first unleashing. They were however, making small progress. Perhaps he would come with her. It was a thing to be asked.
(~tcb~)
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From: lrdcorwinc@aol.com (LrdCorwinC)
Date: 11 Dec 1998 17:52:43 EST
Castlerock smiled to himself slightly as he left the Arena. He had managed to score a small success for Greff. It was not much, but it was a beginning. When she saw the horrors of Graydon's onslaught in the north, she would be fully swayed. That was indisputable. He had overrun several neighboring baronies, laying them utterly waste and butchering the residents. His understatement of Graydon's actions would serve to
make what she saw even more shocking.
He had chosen the port of Vangy for a reason. It was under siege by Graydon's forces. It might fall before she arrived. They would let her land however, and let her leave freely. But she would be able to see what was happening. That would serve his purposes excellently. His nation had to be saved. She would be willing to help save it ere long. The more she saw of the enemy, the closer she would grow to his thinking.
It was hard for others to understand, but he truly had no thought to gain anything for himself here. It was all about patriotism. No true patriot could let an usurper take the throne, and he was a patriot. The young boy with the foolish family was the rightful heir. All other claimants were usupers. And Graydon was evil.
The was a big part of it. Graydon was evil. The man had to be stopped. There was much work to be done.
Date: 11 Dec 1998 17:52:43 EST
Castlerock smiled to himself slightly as he left the Arena. He had managed to score a small success for Greff. It was not much, but it was a beginning. When she saw the horrors of Graydon's onslaught in the north, she would be fully swayed. That was indisputable. He had overrun several neighboring baronies, laying them utterly waste and butchering the residents. His understatement of Graydon's actions would serve to
make what she saw even more shocking.
He had chosen the port of Vangy for a reason. It was under siege by Graydon's forces. It might fall before she arrived. They would let her land however, and let her leave freely. But she would be able to see what was happening. That would serve his purposes excellently. His nation had to be saved. She would be willing to help save it ere long. The more she saw of the enemy, the closer she would grow to his thinking.
It was hard for others to understand, but he truly had no thought to gain anything for himself here. It was all about patriotism. No true patriot could let an usurper take the throne, and he was a patriot. The young boy with the foolish family was the rightful heir. All other claimants were usupers. And Graydon was evil.
The was a big part of it. Graydon was evil. The man had to be stopped. There was much work to be done.
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From: lrdcorwinc@aol.com (LrdCorwinC)
Date: 15 Dec 1998 12:02:21 EST
Castlerock opened the package the courier had brought him slowly and carefully. He knew what was in it, and he was very glad to have them again. Especially as he had already picked up a little smoke powder from Nilden. It would be so good to wear them again, he knew that.
He couldn't help but smile as he removed the weapons from their case. They were very well made. The stocks had been carved from cherry wood, excellent work. The nickel plated barrels were just long enough, without being too long, and perfectly octagonal. The grips were as well carved as the stocks, and they were engraved, and inlaid with gold here and there.
The weapons were a matched set. The famous, superb work of the famous gunsmith Marco Cellari, in Greff City. Antiques, they had been in his family for 65 years, and they had never failed any member of that family in all of that time. They were the well known Dragons, the horse pistols carried by the cavalry of Greff. This particular pair had been made, personally, for his great-grandfather to give his grandfather as a birthday present.
They had been used in 5 duels of honor, and the Castillian had always been the victor. He didn't expect them to need them for that here. But he might need the extra muscle if he was attacked again. Besides, he had to admit that they looked damned good on him.
He carefully fit the pistols to their harness, and draped it around his waist. He took a look at himself in the mirror and smiled slightly. He looked the way a cavalryman should look.
He made a reminder to himself. He would have to wear the full green and gold uniform, pistols and all, when he saw the Lady Rowan's vessel off. She was interesting. And that had him interested.
((TBC))
Date: 15 Dec 1998 12:02:21 EST
Castlerock opened the package the courier had brought him slowly and carefully. He knew what was in it, and he was very glad to have them again. Especially as he had already picked up a little smoke powder from Nilden. It would be so good to wear them again, he knew that.
He couldn't help but smile as he removed the weapons from their case. They were very well made. The stocks had been carved from cherry wood, excellent work. The nickel plated barrels were just long enough, without being too long, and perfectly octagonal. The grips were as well carved as the stocks, and they were engraved, and inlaid with gold here and there.
The weapons were a matched set. The famous, superb work of the famous gunsmith Marco Cellari, in Greff City. Antiques, they had been in his family for 65 years, and they had never failed any member of that family in all of that time. They were the well known Dragons, the horse pistols carried by the cavalry of Greff. This particular pair had been made, personally, for his great-grandfather to give his grandfather as a birthday present.
They had been used in 5 duels of honor, and the Castillian had always been the victor. He didn't expect them to need them for that here. But he might need the extra muscle if he was attacked again. Besides, he had to admit that they looked damned good on him.
He carefully fit the pistols to their harness, and draped it around his waist. He took a look at himself in the mirror and smiled slightly. He looked the way a cavalryman should look.
He made a reminder to himself. He would have to wear the full green and gold uniform, pistols and all, when he saw the Lady Rowan's vessel off. She was interesting. And that had him interested.
((TBC))