Brother Steven
LCC. LC10. Spreading The Word
THE STORY.
The frozen gales and salty air blasted against Sir Angus's face as he sailed over the rolling, foamy swells in the seemingly never-ending, icy ocean.
He stared forward, motionless, with his mind racing far away, focused on the horrible tidings he had heard. Not two days ago, on his furlough in the far South of Garheim,
He had been accosted with account after account of tales that war was hot upon the land, spreading like wildfire in the provinces of Loreos and the counties of Lenfald.
When he returned, he knew precisely what to do. He and his faithful bagpiper set out from the harbor of Rothburg into the restless, misty expanse of endless sea.
Fear was encroaching on his own mind, and concern was beginning to creep in that his own beloved nation of Garheim would be pulled in... or, heaven forbid, swallowed... in this contention.
His train of thought was dashed to pieces as they descended the great swell. A spear of craggy rock was suddenly exposed as the wave receded.
Awakened from his reverie, Angus quickly brought his attention back to the task at hand - survival!
"Hard to starboard, Jack!" He cried as the little boat was wrenched hard sideways. They just grazed the menacing boulders.
Then Sir Angus gasped as more rocks rose up. "Hard port, hard port!"
"Aye, Milord!" The sturdy wee bagpiper answered.
The boat swerved again, nearly throwing Angus off-balance.
The waves began to calm as they neared their target. Then, out of the mist, high above the water, a fiery red beacon gleamed over the sea.
"Land Ho, Jack!"
"Thank goodness, Milord!!"
As they approached, a voice called down from above. "Who be down there!?" A crusty old voice inquired.
"Yalmar, It is I! Sir Angus."
"What be this month's password, my friend?"
"Behold, the Doose have horns!"
A chuckle. "That be correct. Welcome, Sire!"
A rope was tossed down after this greeting, allowing them to tie up their small craft. Soon the two highlanders were up on the high plateau.
"Glad to see you, Angus! Come, let's be gettin' ourselves inside before we freeze."
As they approached the great lighthouse, Sir Angus got straight to the point at hand. "I'll take both birds this time, express."
"I can do that. Where to?"
"From the fishing village of Greng to Port o' Grandhaven."
Yalmar's eyebrows rose. "Why such a great journey, milord, if I may ask? Surely not another crusade! They called one not a fortnight ago!"
"Hostilities this time, my old friend."
"Loreos and the Outlaws AGAIN?!!"
"Nay, but Loreos and Lenfald... and potentially Garheim."
"Ooh, that is news."
By the time Angus was finished informing Yalmar of what was afoot, they had ascended the staircase and were atop the lighthouse's balcony.
The high railings did and excellent job keeping out the frosty gusts, and the three men could work comfortably in the great blaze of the beacon fire.
Yalmar hobbled over to a small cage in the corner of the tower, put on some heavy gloves, and unlatched the cage door. The men beheld two majestic gray-and-black spotted
falcons!
"Great Scott! Falcons?" Jack gaped at the graceful birds of prey.
"I'll explain later lad, we have work to do." Sir Angus seated himself at a small wooden table and began to write the missive.
MESSAGE: WARNING! LOREOS - LENFALD HOSTILITIES GROWING! NO WAR YET, BE PREPARED.
Thirty copies were written. Ten for the northern-bound falcon, and twenty for the southern-bound, who had a larger territory to cover.
"They'll deliver a message in each village on this side of the continent in less than nine hours. Are we all set?" Asked Yalmar, with the great beasts of the air in each hand.
"Ready! Let them fly!" replied Angus, his heart thrilling at the sight.
Yalmar loosed the birds with a gentle thrust, and they took wing, rocketing into the sky with the wind at their backs, vanishing into the misty heavens.
All three men watched silently for several minutes. Then Yalmar turned with with a grin on his wrinkled visage, and inquired "So... what should next month's password be, then?"
THE TOWER:
This firm lighthouse is conveniently situated on a island, fifteen miles from the harbor of Rothburg. Surrounding it is a large maze of razor-sharp rocks, making it impossible for large boats to approach. And even if they could, the only way up is by rope ladder, making this fortress incredibly defendable. And with the carrier falcon express line, if the city of Rothburg was ever attacked, in a matter of hours, the entire east half of Garheim would know of the attack.
THE CLIFF FALCONS:
Highly unusual birds of prey, these intelligent, majestic birds build small nests on the sides of gigantic cliffs, which can be found very easily with a built-in homing device twice as strong as the common carrier pigeon. Besides, that, they are much less vulnerable than the smaller pigeons.
HISTORY:
Legend has it that during the first colonization of Garheim, a clever knight discovered the falcons had this homing instict and used them to his great advantage against a clan of horrible outlaws. Thus, he made his symbol from these majestic animals - and today, we have the sign of the Falcon as one of Garheim's primary standards.
Brother Steven, C&C welcome!
LCC. LC10. Spreading The Word
THE STORY.
The frozen gales and salty air blasted against Sir Angus's face as he sailed over the rolling, foamy swells in the seemingly never-ending, icy ocean.
He stared forward, motionless, with his mind racing far away, focused on the horrible tidings he had heard. Not two days ago, on his furlough in the far South of Garheim,
He had been accosted with account after account of tales that war was hot upon the land, spreading like wildfire in the provinces of Loreos and the counties of Lenfald.
When he returned, he knew precisely what to do. He and his faithful bagpiper set out from the harbor of Rothburg into the restless, misty expanse of endless sea.
Fear was encroaching on his own mind, and concern was beginning to creep in that his own beloved nation of Garheim would be pulled in... or, heaven forbid, swallowed... in this contention.
His train of thought was dashed to pieces as they descended the great swell. A spear of craggy rock was suddenly exposed as the wave receded.
Awakened from his reverie, Angus quickly brought his attention back to the task at hand - survival!
"Hard to starboard, Jack!" He cried as the little boat was wrenched hard sideways. They just grazed the menacing boulders.
Then Sir Angus gasped as more rocks rose up. "Hard port, hard port!"
"Aye, Milord!" The sturdy wee bagpiper answered.
The boat swerved again, nearly throwing Angus off-balance.
The waves began to calm as they neared their target. Then, out of the mist, high above the water, a fiery red beacon gleamed over the sea.
"Land Ho, Jack!"
"Thank goodness, Milord!!"
As they approached, a voice called down from above. "Who be down there!?" A crusty old voice inquired.
"Yalmar, It is I! Sir Angus."
"What be this month's password, my friend?"
"Behold, the Doose have horns!"
A chuckle. "That be correct. Welcome, Sire!"
A rope was tossed down after this greeting, allowing them to tie up their small craft. Soon the two highlanders were up on the high plateau.
"Glad to see you, Angus! Come, let's be gettin' ourselves inside before we freeze."
As they approached the great lighthouse, Sir Angus got straight to the point at hand. "I'll take both birds this time, express."
"I can do that. Where to?"
"From the fishing village of Greng to Port o' Grandhaven."
Yalmar's eyebrows rose. "Why such a great journey, milord, if I may ask? Surely not another crusade! They called one not a fortnight ago!"
"Hostilities this time, my old friend."
"Loreos and the Outlaws AGAIN?!!"
"Nay, but Loreos and Lenfald... and potentially Garheim."
"Ooh, that is news."
By the time Angus was finished informing Yalmar of what was afoot, they had ascended the staircase and were atop the lighthouse's balcony.
The high railings did and excellent job keeping out the frosty gusts, and the three men could work comfortably in the great blaze of the beacon fire.
Yalmar hobbled over to a small cage in the corner of the tower, put on some heavy gloves, and unlatched the cage door. The men beheld two majestic gray-and-black spotted
falcons!
"Great Scott! Falcons?" Jack gaped at the graceful birds of prey.
"I'll explain later lad, we have work to do." Sir Angus seated himself at a small wooden table and began to write the missive.
MESSAGE: WARNING! LOREOS - LENFALD HOSTILITIES GROWING! NO WAR YET, BE PREPARED.
Thirty copies were written. Ten for the northern-bound falcon, and twenty for the southern-bound, who had a larger territory to cover.
"They'll deliver a message in each village on this side of the continent in less than nine hours. Are we all set?" Asked Yalmar, with the great beasts of the air in each hand.
"Ready! Let them fly!" replied Angus, his heart thrilling at the sight.
Yalmar loosed the birds with a gentle thrust, and they took wing, rocketing into the sky with the wind at their backs, vanishing into the misty heavens.
All three men watched silently for several minutes. Then Yalmar turned with with a grin on his wrinkled visage, and inquired "So... what should next month's password be, then?"
THE TOWER:
This firm lighthouse is conveniently situated on a island, fifteen miles from the harbor of Rothburg. Surrounding it is a large maze of razor-sharp rocks, making it impossible for large boats to approach. And even if they could, the only way up is by rope ladder, making this fortress incredibly defendable. And with the carrier falcon express line, if the city of Rothburg was ever attacked, in a matter of hours, the entire east half of Garheim would know of the attack.
THE CLIFF FALCONS:
Highly unusual birds of prey, these intelligent, majestic birds build small nests on the sides of gigantic cliffs, which can be found very easily with a built-in homing device twice as strong as the common carrier pigeon. Besides, that, they are much less vulnerable than the smaller pigeons.
HISTORY:
Legend has it that during the first colonization of Garheim, a clever knight discovered the falcons had this homing instict and used them to his great advantage against a clan of horrible outlaws. Thus, he made his symbol from these majestic animals - and today, we have the sign of the Falcon as one of Garheim's primary standards.
Brother Steven, C&C welcome!