The Æcyr Gréne Campaign 

Campaign Logs

Session Date: 7th November, 2005
A Day in the Life ...

Æðelred - in Eacðonofer

Morning Routines

Silence, darkness, running - running free ... no fear. Smells, scents, a whole landscape that noone else could imagine. In the distance ... the glimpse of a young deer.
The dream of the forests - the one he has returned to every night for months now - fades into wakefullness. Everything is still quiet. On the other side of the room, he can make out Cardhu quietly rising ... not even realising that the smallest sound that is made is now enough to wake him now. Groaning, he sits, looking around the still-dark room before meeting Cardhu’s gaze. “Breakfast?” ... Cardhu simply nods, and within a minute the two have left the rest of thier companions to enjoy the remainder of their slumber.

“What’s the plan for today” - as always, the first words from Cardhu. A routine that now feels as comfortable as an old slipper. And as always, the answer is the same ...
“ ’s up to Cedric, when he rises.”
“Does he have company?” - the typical retort from Cardhu, even when both know the answer ... and with a quiet laugh, Æðelred answers as he always does ...
“Does a dog have fleas? ... He retired to bed early last night.”

The two companions enter the kitchen and busy themselves preparing a light meal for themselves. In a seeming contrast to their earlier banter, the two go about their daily tasks in easy silence, each knowing the other’s routine to the point that it is rare they have to ask the other for what they need. It’s not long before the two are eating a light breakfast and discussing the previous few days events, and the upcoming challenges - a discussion the two never really shared with the others. They had never planned to keep it a secret ... the topic simply never seemed to come up.

Breakfast over, Æðelred turns to preparing a meal for the others while Cardhu busies himself caring for his weapons and armour. The meal ready, Æðelerd returns to their sleeping comrades and wakes them with their now familiar morning call.
“Foods Up ... for those that want it.” Heading back to the food, Æðelred serves out the meal between himself and the others that deign to turn up. Eating faster than the others, he then turns and makes one more meal - for Cedric - and head back to where he is still sleeping.
“Cedric - the others grow impatient, and the sun grows full. We need to start moving soon. I've prepared a meal below.” As always, he turns to go, but waits to see who (if any) had shared his Lord’s bed - it seemed at times that any fair-skinned maid could easily wheadle her way there, and this has oft disturbed him.

Once Breakfast was enjoyed, Æðelred quickly cleans away any mess created while the others start preparing for the day. With breakfast cleared away, he joins Cardhu oustide, caring for the mounts and after a brief banter the two of them ensure the horses are in good condition before Æðelred returns to check on their supplies. All his morning tasks complete, he seeks out Cedric. Finding him deep in conversation with Edyð, he quietly approaches and waits for him to finish speaking to her. As Edyð leaves the room, he clears his throat, causing Cedric to start and spin round in fright.
“We need some supplies - feed for the horses is running low, and we have only three days rations at the moment ...” With a laugh, Cedric tosses him a small pouch of coins.
“Carefull how much you spend in the Ale-hall ... I swear I’ll count them some day.” With a smile and a nod, Æðelred withdraws from the room and heads out into the village.

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Man about Town

Mid-morning in a small farming and fishing village can be a confusing time, but one which Æðelred relishes. Every person, every action had a purpose, one that carried no threat to him or his companions. The women, feeding the chickens behind their cotts; the young children playing tag and kick-ball on the village green. It all felt like home. A reasonably sized village, there are a few craft-shops to the north of the green, and he soon makes his way there. The carpenter’s sign was beautifully carved, but despite the simple skill displayed in the piece he was working on, it held little interest for Æðelred. Instead, he moved on towards the blacksmith’s workshop, the sound of the anvil and hammer ringing out accross the green. Approaching the front of the shop, his eyes toke in all the little details that others might overlook - way the awning over the front of the shop was lashed down tight, keeping the smith in the shade as he worked. Approaching closer, he looked closer at the lashings - each had a small ‘otterclaw knot’ tied just below where they lashed the awning. While such a knot may be commonly used in a fishing village, it’s use here was unlikely, and thus worthy of note. The fact that it served as one of several indicators that the person inside may be a member of the Credjuagh Niaght - a term from the old language which means (approximately) ‘Those who are brave enough to believe.’

The Otter Claw is used as an end knot for a heaving line - it is a small rope ball tied on the end. It is neat, it will endure many tosses, last long and it is easily thrown.

Entering the forge, he waits for the smith to look up before speaking. “I may have a couple of horses that need reshod - if I can pursuade the Lord of the necessity.” Nodding, the smith sets aside the plowshare he was forging and comes over, rubbing the grim and sweat from his hands on a dirty cloth. Offering his hand in friendship, he answers in a deep voice -
“I’m sure I would be able to arrange something. Do you require anything further at this time?” Smiling, Æðelred looks away briefly, and then answers.
“Perhaps. In my travels, I have noted that the otters of Coryn have begun to grow more restless. Have you seen any evidence of this around here?” The smith’s answer confirmed Æðelred’s suspicions - “ ’tis true - the change in the weather has cause many to become disturbed ... But perhaps we could talk of this in private. I will be finished here in but a few minutes, and after that we may have much to talk about.”
“Then I will return once I have got the supplies for the Lord.” Nodding towards the smith, he turns and heads out of the forge, blinking in the renewed light, and heads towards the docks. After some minutes of haggling over the cost of the goods, he leaves instructions with the caravaissaries to deliver the goods to the guest house, and returns to the Smith’s forge.

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What do Stangers Talk About?

When Æðelred returned to the forge, the smith was kncoking out a couple of iron nails, but quickly finished off once he saw Æðelred. The two retired into the rooms behind the smithy and sat down over a long glass of Ale.
“I am the Traveller, it is for me to speak.” Æðelred pauses to look at the smith, and at his nod, continues. “In the pursuit of goals not unlike our own, my Lord has crossed three Duchies, and now we return. The news I carry with me is both dangerous and intriguing - for it has much bearing upon us. The crows of war now circle this kingdom, and now is the time for us to make our voices heard.”
“What is your news, that the crows of war follow it?” The glass of Ale lies untouched at the smith’s right hand.
“The Pretender has died without an heir - and the stuggle for succession will follow this news as surely as night follows day.”
“But why should we care who rules from Pæccelburga - I have seen little difference between the rule of the Provencareans and the rule of the Æðeleode.”
“Surely you jest. Most of the Æðeleode respected the laws of the Glew Bocaré - when the Pretender took the throne with the backing of his Provencarean lackeys, they outlawed the Glew, and established the role of the Sherriff - which they then vested with the new Provencarean noble or surviving Æðeleode noble who was deemed to be acting ‘In the best interests of the Knigdom’. That was when our lot stated to become grim - these new Sherriffs were not interested in upholding the rule of Law against the deprecations of a corrupt noble - instead they merely wished to line their own pockets ... few decisions brought before the Shire Moots go in favour of the peasent.”
Nodding, the smith leans back. “Yet sometimes a mercenary noble will treat his subjects well - happy subjects are more productive. This area has thrived since the Provencarean DeChoisy took over. He seems to understand the land more than the old Lord Garrett.”
“But I do not advocate rising against the Provencareans - rather, I suggest we ensure that wneh we know what group best suits our purposes, that we can place our might behind them. And if it turns out that neither side will give us the role we require - we can allow them to fight themselves to a standstill, before falling upon the flanks of survivors and forcing them to grant to us our independence. However, it is my belief that many in the Æðeleode camp will gladly accept our assistance to ensure that the Pretender and his foul minions are expelled from this land. And in accepting our help - we bind them to our terms." The men’s talk turns to the more commonday issues of men and training - how to conceal the training of a local militia from your leige-lord, and how to face death without fear. More than an hour later, Æðelred returns to the guest house - his calm exterior hiding the racing thoughts in his mind.

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