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 The Field of Flowers (Naslatha/Open) 
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Post The Field of Flowers (Naslatha/Open)
OOC: If you have concerns about the direction of this thread please contact me so that I may explain the general plot idea

IC:

The morning sun was rising over the mountains casting its golden light across the snow-covered peaks making them sparkle like diamonds. Bran stood a few hundred yards from camp drinking his morning draught of kaf – specially made for him by the Master Mage. The kaf was treated with a special combination of herbs. He had spent most of the night with his chief scribe dictating a letter to the Lords and Ladies of the lands of Tonan. He had wrestled with the idea at first, but then he had remembered an old saying of his fathers.

Measure twice, cut once. It was time to measure.

His plans were well formed, his advisors thought him crazy, but he knew what he was about even if they did not have the foresight to see it. Bran enjoyed his solitude, mornings where especially poignant to him as it reminded him of the mornings spent with his father on their small farm. It was amazing how time can shape a man, and how far that man may move up into the world.

He wrapped his hands around the steaming mug and leaned against a nearby tree. All around him the forests and fields were awakening and their music solidified his resolve, nothing this beautiful should be marred by battle if at all avoidable.

”Excuse me, Lord Bran. I have the final copy of the letter that you dictated to me last night. My scribes have worked all night to copy in the quantity that you wanted but before we send it out by courier I would ask that you approve its content one last time.” said a voice from behind Bran.

Bran sighed in annoyance. Everyone was so cautious now, not that he was any different. Since crossing the mountains there had been many close calls and even some surprises and they could not afford many more.

”Go ahead Iago, read me the letter one last time.” Bran said as he turned to face the Chief Scribe.

Iago cleared his throat a few times, checked that his crystal eyes where in place and began to read:

Quote:
To the Lords and Ladies of Tonan,

I greet you today in the spirit of shared wonder and excitement. The world is a beautiful place full of mystery and magic, yet it is this chaotic nature that beckons us all to explore its fragility. I am a humble man, a man of few words and great dreams.

I dream of a time when the lands are no longer at war, they are no longer tossed form one hand to another in a vain attempt to have it all and in the end no one has anything. I come from a place of green pastures, wild rivers and serene mountain passes. I wish to make all of the world a place like my home, a magical place where anything is possible and our children can dream of a better life than constant warfare.

I ask each of you to travel the short distance to the Field of Flowers in Southern Tonan, outside the town of Glouchesterton. There I have assembled many tents, servants to see to our needs and a quite guildhall where we may discuss at length the differences that separate us one from the other.

I beg you to please consider this invitation and make every effort to attend this historic meeting.

Sincerely,

Bran Feargahal
King of Naslatha


Bran laughed as Iago finished reading the letter.

”Iago, the letter is perfect! Like a bee to honey the other Lords and Ladies of Maxim will flock to our Field of Flowers and be welcomed into our embrace. It will truly be a historic event!

Iago laughed nervously with Bran. He knew the real reason behind the letter and it was times like these when Bran laughed in that way and his eyes took on that glint; that Iago wondered if any of them knew the man at all. He wondered if he was truly touched by Isonia as some of the soldiers said.

”Very good sir, I shall return to my scribes and have them to begin sending the letters out by courier. By your leave. Said Iago as he turned and walked back towards the camp.

Bran leaned back against his tree, the mug of kaf no longer steaming he poured it out on the ground. He was silent, staring at the mountains and the sun rising above them. In his mind though he heard the maniacal laughter of a mad man, the legacy of too many memories that where not his own. To many voices fighting for a chance to speak.

He was going to have to get more of that kaf, it was the only thing that seemed to keep the voices at bay and then only for a little while.

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Thu Mar 04, 2004 8:09 pm
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Granger led his horse over the rise and beheld a sea of multi-colored tents and banners flapping in the wind. He had received Lord Bran's message a fortnight ago and its sentiment had intrigued him.

He motioned to his soldiers arrayed behind him and one of them moved his horse beside that of Granger.

My Lord, what would you have of me? Said the soldier.

Take my cloak and a few of the soldiers with you into the camp below. When they ask who you are tell them that you are Lord Granger of Tismad and you are here to see Lord Bran. Once you have settled or been settled into a camping spot, send one of the soldiers back for us and we will come down. For the rest of the trip Donato, you are Lord Granger and I am simply your aid.

I will be your Donato for a chance while you can be the Lord of the manor.
Granger said as traded cloaks with Donato.

Donato passed over his sword and shield to Lord Granger and donned his Lords cloak and accouterments. He turned to the soldiers under his care and called out five names. The soldiers assembled before him and after a bit of explanation, Donato led his small troop down into the camp.

Lord Granger sat with his remaining soldiers, waiting. He had no fear that he would be recognized in fact he hardly ever left the walls of his keep without a disguise or face covering of one kid or another. This time he had opted to travel as himself, without a mask as it might disturb his planned switch with Sir Donato.

He was worried about this meeting of the faithful, all the faithful. It wasn't the first time such a meeting had taken place but it was the first time he had heard of this so-called King Bran. He had been most intrigued by the letter that had been sent and had set in motion his own spies and informants to discover who exactly this Bran Feargahal truly was.

The returning reports, when they had been delivered, were spotty at best. It seemed that the area that he had came from the Greensward had suffered some kind of civil war, a war removed from the other conflicts that assaulted the lands of Tonan. Apparently the "Lords of Naslatha" had been the winners of this civil war and were now stretching their wings so to speak and approaching the other powers that be in the lands of Tonan.

The only problem Lord Granger had was that while he could get a general idea about who or rather what the "Lords of Naslatha" were his spies could not pinpoint a person who had anything to say about this so called King, not to mention the Lords and Ladies who already rode with him. It was almost as if they had materialized within the Greensward out of the ether.

These were questions he hoped to answer in the upcoming days, but for know a bit of subterfuge was necessary to see that he was protected as well as to guarantee that he had every available opportunity to investigate these Lords of Naslatha for himself.

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Thu Mar 04, 2004 9:45 pm
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Palaver, a word that means to speak idly or profusely a word not to be tossed around as if it has no meaning. Palaver, an archaic word used by few today but its meaning was no less important. To have a palaver was to come to an agreement or to work out a problem. Lord Felldon had been to many palavers he had seen his share of honest men and not so honest men. He had answered the summons from Bran; he refused to give the man the honorific king as he was a heathen, and had been most intrigued by it.

A Dardanite asking for a meeting of the Lords and Ladies of Maxim, did he think them a fool? Lord Felldon had journeyed many miles from his keep on the border of the Twilight Forrest. His home was a place of shadows and sorcerery, a land of mist and magic – but that was how Lord Felldon liked it. For many long years he had served Foret with all of his heart and soul, his youngest son had perished in a battle against a Dardenite uprising in his own kingdom and yet he had come to the Field of Flowers.

For three days they had been in the tent city outside of the town of Glouchesterton. It was a testament to the organizational skills of these so-called Lords of Naslatha. Yes, Lord Felldon had heard of them before, in the old stories that his Milk Mother had told him, not all of the history was forgotten. He knew that what he did know about the ancient Lords of Naslatha were nothing but myths and legends handed down from father to son and mother to daughter, distorted by the telling but still holding a grain of truth in the telling.

He had not met this Bran Feargahal yet, a problem that he hoped to remedy as soon as a few more of the followers of Foret appeared, a strong show of force would go a long way to turn aside any plans that this so called king might have toward conquest. He had no clue about why they had been called here but he was sure it was not to talk about peace.

Outside of his tent he saw a group of men passing by, quickly he went to the tent flap and peered outside. What he saw raised his curiosity immensely. Lord Granger, acting like servant to some other man, wearing the Granger house colors. He had known the Granger family for many years, long before the previous Lord Granger had jumped faith and become a follower of Isonia. Truth to tell, Lord Felldon had a hand in the circumstances that led to the Grangers change of alliegance, not that he had truly ment to kill the girl. Hester Granger had been a fragile girl to begin with, how was he to know that she had a heart condiiton and would not survive his rather, streniuous activites.

” Follow them, I want to know what Granger is up to now. I want to know who is with him, what they hope to gain and more importantly what his relationship is with this Bran Feargahal. Do. Not. Get. Caught.” Said Lord Felldon turning to his assistant Hymdal.

Hymdal bowed to his Lord and then exited the back of the tent.

Lord Felldon contented himself with a drink of brandy and then he turned his attention to other matters at hand.
”Hello my dear, sorry to keep to waiting, all tied up with no where to go. It’s a shame really. Have I introduced you to my new toy? I call it my tongue because it will lap at your flesh and drink at your blood. What the shinny pieces? They are just bits of metal and glass, don’t worry your pretty little head about it – it won’t hurt much.”

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Lord Felldon
The Hawk
"Once the game is over, the king and the pawn go back in the same box."
-Italian Proverb


Sun Mar 07, 2004 1:17 pm
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The mud sucked at Tygil’s shoes as he walked through the tent city. It had rained the night before and the sun was just rising to cast its light and heat across the day to drive away the clouds and dry up the puddles. His robe whipped about him in the wind as he approached his destination, the makeshift temple of Isonia.

It was of equal size to the other two temples, Foret and Darden respectively, but this one was a brilliant blue canvas fringed in purple. Two stone guardians stood at the entrance to the tent, they were large stone carvings of the mythical hippogriff. A person had to wonder how they got there, Tygil could have told you that they had ridden in his pocket and it would have been the truth. These statues had magic in them.

The statues were not the only safeguard of the tent. The canvas fabric that it was made from wasn’t exactly canvas and it would not yield to even the sharpest blade, not even the legendary Excalibur that had been wielded by King Artur. Tygil knew this for a certainty because he had once witnessed the long dead king try to do just that to another tent of the same material.

From outside the tent looked rather small, covering an area of maybe 1000 square feet, but looks are deceiving. Inside the tent reality was stretched and there was enough room in there for more than 2000 people to pray and worship together. This morning though, the only petitioners were Tygil and the blind priest of Isonia that minded the candles and the incense

Tygil walked through the brightly lit temple and knelt before the altar, prostrating himself before it. It had been a long night of consultations with many of the Lords and Ladies who followed the Axe Maiden and he felt the need to commune with his goddess in search of guidance.

Omnibus precinata Isonia golina vetabula crinthis Tygil said as he began to pray.

The words coming falling form his lips modulated from very soft to very loud as he chanted out his prayers to Isonia. A calm descended over him and his words trailed off as he entered into a trance of communication with his goddess.

Hours passed, new petitioners came and went while Tygil lay before the alter, his head cradled gently in his arms. Many thought him to be asleep and had approached to chastise him for his disrespect. They soon retreated though when they saw his wide open eyes glazed over and his lips moving to the words of a conversation that they could not hear.

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Naslatha


Mon Mar 08, 2004 12:17 pm
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Move that chair over there, no not there –THERE! Ah yes, Master Hwin it is a beautiful table. Yes, yes; have your men set it in the middle of the tent. Excellent!

Bran stood in the middle of the Meeting Tent, directing the servants and tradesmen where to place furnishing and such. Master Hwin, the Carpenter had just delivered the crowning piece to the Meeting Tent; a great round wooden meeting table.

The table was made of inlaid ironwood. In the center of the table was the symbol of the Lords of Naslatha. Radiating from the symbol in the center of the table; in three different inlays of cherry, oak and maple were the symbols of the three gods, Foret Isonia and Darden It was better than Bran had imagined when he had commissioned Master Hwin to make the table.

He was distracted watching the servants putting the finishing touches on the Meeting Tent and did not see the servant at his elbow at first. The servant was carrying a silver tray upon which rested a scroll tied off with a purple ribbon.

Excuse me Sit, but this message just came for you. Said the servant.

Bran turned to the servant a perturbed look on his face and took up the scroll, and untied it. As he read it a smile crossed his face, it seemed that one of the visiting Isonian Lords, Lord Granger, wanted to meet with him.

What an excellent opportunity, thought Bran to himself as he finished reading the scroll.

Rottig, that is your name correct? Bran asked the servant who nodded his head once in acknowledgement.

Excellent, I want you to run and find Iago the Head Scribe for me and send him here. I need to send a reply to this letter. I need you to return here as well so that when Iago has finished writing the scroll you can take it to Lord Granger post haste. Off with you now, do not dawdle. Bran said to Rotteg as he tapped the rerolled scroll against his bottom lip.

Rottig bowed to his King and then exited the tent. Soon afterwards he returned with Iago in tow. Both the messenger and Iago bowed to Bran and then Rottig went to sit in a chair by the door of the tent while Iago set up his portable writing table and set out his parchment and quills.

Now Master Bran, you wanted a letter written? Said Iago.

Yes Iago, I want a letter written to Lord Granger, an Isonian lord from around the city of Tismad. Use whatever salutation you deem appropriate, I trust your judgment on this, and begin the letter like so:

Quote:
Lord Granger it would be an honor to host you for a productive lunch. I usually break my noon day fast with my soldiers and you are most welcome to join us in the tent set aside for the officers of my security force.

Do not be alarmed as none o them will be armed since the dictates of courtesy demand that each and every tent be safe guarded from danger to me or any guests. In the main meeting tents that we will be using, enchantments have been cast to persuade anyone attempting to bring a weapon into the tent that it is the wrong thing to do. I hope you will join us on the morrow, and please bring a handful of your own men if you feel it is necessary.

The key to our very survival may depend on the things that are decided at this meeting here at the Field of Flowers.

Well met and welcome, please send word by the Messenger Rottig of your intentions for the morrow.


End it with the usual, seal it with my crest and have Rottig there take it to Lord Granger. Bran said as he paced back and forth before Iago and his portable desk.

Very good sir, I just need to spread a little sand across the page to blot it and then we will send it on is way. Iago said as he sprinkled a handful of writer’s sand across the freshly inked parchment. He held it for a minute and then carefully blew it from the page.

Rottig, please take this scroll to Lord Ganger, Lord Bran will be expecting a reply so wait for it. Iago said as he rolled the scroll up. Heated some wax and sealed it with the impression of the signet ring of House Feargahal.

Is that all M’Lord? Asked Iago.

Yes Iago that is all I have for now. You may return to what you where doing before I interrupted you. Bran said to Iago as he turned his attention back o the servants and tradesmen working in the Meeting Tent.

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Fri Mar 12, 2004 11:58 pm
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Granger received the letter from Bran in the early morning of the next day. He and Donato were sitting in the confines of his tent, far on the outer edges of the Field of Flowers discussing the way in which they would be replying to the letter.

Well Donato it seems that our subterfuge is working. Lord bran has agreed to the meeting, I would have liked a more private venue with which to discuss my concerns but that is of no matter. Should we go to this meeting? You will be in as much or more danger than I will be since you are "Lord Granger" for all intents and purposes. Said Granger as he spoke to Donato and poured himself of a mug of burgandian ale.

Well, I have not been able to spend any time out and about with the soldiers. You have my Lord and I have to ask, before I can give any kind of council one way or the other, what the soldiers are saying about this Bran. Donato said as he accepted a mug of ale from Granger.

From what I have been able to gather from the soldiers, he is a well-respected man in his own right. Amazingly enough he comes from peasant stock and through destiny or the desire of Isonia he has been raised to such prominence. I also hear from others that he is calculating and devious, although those are very few and far between and seem to have some kind of personal grudge against the man.

I am of a mind to meet with this Bran and perhaps we can come to an agreement. For some reason I feel like I have to meet him, regardless of the danger, even the danger I might be putting you into Donato.
Said Granger as he sat his mug down on a nearby table.

M'Lord I am willing to lay my life down for you, you have but to ask for it and it will be done. Donato said as he dropped to his knee before Granger.

Get up man, I thought we had settled all of that nonsense years ago when I fell out of that apple tree and you caught my hand as I slipped. If anything I owe you a life. I think though that we shall have to meet with Bran, so Donato my brother, you must once again pretend to be me and I will be your Donato. Granger said as he pulled Donato to his feet.

The two men clasped wrists and then prepared for their journey across the large camp to the tent of the Naslathan Officers. Donato put on Granger's sword belt and cloak, Granger put on Donato's helm and sword and together they walked out of their tent, and into the throngs that milled about the tents.

Granger felt like something momentous was meant to happen here and all of the deception and misdirection would in the end prove itself prudent.

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Old and Cantankerous
Companion of Lizards


Sat Mar 13, 2004 11:51 am
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