War For The Kingdom (Part 8)

[dupuy 318]

The first rays of sun glinted through the second-story window of the Lothington inn, slowly waking the messenger from a light, troubled sleep. Even before he opened his eyes, the events of yesterday evening slammed into him, instilling a sense of intimidation but also fueling him with a drive to live up to the task he was expected to accomplish.

"Th' Gen'ral and sargent are awake, Sir." Bartholomew's words slowly roused the messenger to a sitting position.

"I'll be ready to see them in a moment," he answered as he began to dress. In addition to caring for the wounded, this day would be one of military planning with the local commanders and another attempt to view the enemy positions.

After a quick breakfast in the tavern, the messenger entered the same room in which he and Sir William had first met sergeant Watts in his official standing. The table and chairs had been moved away, and in their place were two cots brought from upstairs, on which Sir William and the sergeant lay. The general was practically smothered in bandages. His head was wrapped with gauze and his arm was in a sling. The sergeant was pale in the face from loss of blood, and a band of gauze lined his shirt to cover his wound.

"Good morning, Sirs," said the messenger to both the wounded knights. The Crimson Knight returned his greeting in a weak voice, as did the sergeant.

"Well, my left arm's broken and the doctor thinks I may have a concussion. No ribs broken, but I fear I'm out of commission for the time being. I'm leaving things in your hands," said Sir William. "One thing I can do is discuss tactics with the local commander, if you'll bring him to me. However, you must handle things in the field until I can ride again. I trust you to act in my place."

"As you say, Sir," replied the messenger. "I'll get the commanding officer here with you to start planning a counterattack. If you don't mind Sir, I would also like to attempt another scouting party to view enemy positions, this time better armed."

"Agreed," said Sir William. "You have power to act in my place, and I am giving you the authority of my rank since you are the officer in command." Sir William fumbled for something on the table by his bedside. "Here is my signet medallion, in case any question your motives." He handed the gold coin to the messenger. "Now good luck, umm . . . " The Crimson Knight stopped mid-sentence. "You know, throughout this whole operation, I never caught you name, messenger." he continued.

"It's Gavin, Sir Gavin of Lothington." replied the messenger.

"Well, Good luck, Sir Gavin." Sir William finished. Sir Gavin, the messenger, thanked the Crimson Knight and turned to leave in search of the region's commander, who was his own leader before sergeant Watts stopped him.

"S-sir Gavin, I want ta let ya know about Sir Rodney, th' gen'ral o our local force. The m-man's a blundering fool if e'er one existed. He be full o himself and thinks he be th' man of the 'our in every sitiation. D-don't trust 'im with too many men if ye have the choice, or he'll be a problem." Sir Gavin was surprised and a bit amused by this account. He glanced at Sir William, who smirked at the remark but surprisingly did not reprimand sergeant Watts.

"Thank you for the warning, sergeant," said the messenger. "I'll be sure to heed it."

Sir Gavin left the tavern and began his trip to the military headquarters to seek Sir Rodney with Bartholomew and the field officer by his side. Despite the new day, Lothington's streets still held an air of anxiety. The flickering torches that burned throughout the still night had been replaced with a biting north wind, which swept cold air through the empty streets, requiring anyone that planned on venturing out to bundle up well.

Sir Gavin shivered from the cold and pushed his arms farther into his tunic, for he had neglected to wear a surcoat. Fortunately, the military headquarters was not far, and he quickened his pace to reach it before he was truly frozen to the bone. After passing through another of the city's winding streets, the party of three clomped up the steps of the headquarters building.

"Wha' can I help ye with?" asked a guard at the door. He swiveled his slovenly form to block the entrance.

"We have urgent business for Sir Rodney concerning the invaders," Sir Gavin replied. The guard snickered before replying.

"Oh do ye now? Well, on'lee important people are allowed to see his Excellency," sneered the guard. He made as if to spit at Sir Gavin's feet but chose to speak instead. "Now git back to th' barracks with ye, before I 'ave a mind to chase ye away."

Fire jumped into Sir Gavin's eyes and his muscles tightened. If these were the kind of soldiers that Sir Rodney employed as his personal guards, he could only imagine what the commander himself was like. Without a word, Sir Gavin flashed the Crimson Knight's medallion. The guard fumbled, his eyes wide and nervous. After a moment of stuttering, he quickly stepped to the side of the door and practically bowed to Sir Gavin while motioning for him to enter.

"F-first door on th' left is his office, your lordship," he stammered, trying to recover some sense of dignity.

"Thanks," said Sir Gavin tersely as he entered the hall. Bartholomew and the field officer followed behind him, trying not to laugh at the bumbling guard as they did.

Even before the three knights were within view of Sir Rodney's office, they were well aware of what his favorite pastime was. Sir Gavin's face wrinkled at the putrid, overpowering stench of stale ale, mead, and barley beer that wafted down the hall, emanating from under the door of Sir Rodney's office. Bartholomew buried his nose in his tunic and the field officer wretched, holding both hands over his face to keep from vomiting. Sir Gavin knocked on the office door, which was stained, peeling, and warped. A muffled voice answered the knock, and Sir Gavin entered the room. Within it, Sir Rodney's ponderous frame lounged on a chair, his legs suspended over a small table on which a half-drunk bottle of cheap mead sat. Earthenware jugs and empty bottles covered the floor, spilling spoiled liquid and attracting flies through an open window at the other end of the dull chamber. The stench that the three men had smelled in the hallway was nearly unbearable in the room, and it took all of Sir Gavin's physical restraint to keep his breakfast down.

"Who enters me room unannounced?" mumbled Sir Rodney. He attempted to rise and knocked his mead bottle off of the table, which shattered on the floor and added to the liquid already present there. The hopelessly intoxicated knight attempted once more to rise from his chair but was too uncoordinated to even stand and collapsed back into it. A thunderous belch reverberated around the room. Sir Gavin sighed: this was going to be a lot harder than he had thought.

"Sir Rodney, I am here on behalf of his Excellency Sir William, who bids you meet with him to discuss a plan of action against the dark forces immediately. I shall take you to him directly, at the Lothington inn." Sir Gavin showed the Crimson Knight's medallion after he had finished speaking. Sir Rodney stared at it disinterested.

"Well, thar ain't no one who rushes Sir Rodney, boy, an you'd best remember it. I'lls not be forced ta see anyone if I don't wants to, and right now I don't wants to." The obstinate commander crossed his arms like a defiant child and reached behind his chair to pick up a fresh bottle of mead.

"Sir, I don't believe you understand the urgency of this situation. We have information from a reliable source that indicates the enemy may attack this city very soon, perhaps even today. It would be in your best interests to-" Sir Gavin was cut off by an outburst from the disgruntled commander.

"I said I don'ts want ta see nobody!" he shrieked at the top of his voice. "Leave me be ya meddlers!" he hurled the fresh bottle of mead in Sir Gavin's direction, and it exploded against the wall, barely missing Bartholomew. "Now get out! Get out now ye hear?! I'll get the. . . the uhh. . . the guard ta. . . umm. . .I'll. . ." Sir Rodney's slurred and broken speech gradually dropped off into a snore as the effects of his ludicrously large helping of mead settled in. Sir Gavin sighed again and turned to leave, beckoning to the field officer and Bartholomew to follow him. It was clear that he was going to have to fight this battle by himself.

[Person_Random 4,991]

Approved.

Had a few troubles with the forum earlier, but thankfully, now it's fixed and everything's running smoothly. Unfortunately, I can't say the same for the plot of the story - it looks like we're having a few problems between the knights! The splash of comic relief from Sir Rodney is simply hilarious and adds depth and character development to the story. There's also a lot more description coming into the story; oh, I just can't wait for the best of the action to come!

Edits: minor grammar fixes.

Spoiler

The comma fixes were fewer and farther between this time - good work! There's still a few of them, but just keep an eye out for any stray commas and I'm sure you'll fix them.

 

[Iron_Man 2,376]

On 10/29/2020 at 4:10 AM, dupuy said:

The first rays of sun glinted through the second-story window of the Lothington inn, slowly waking the messenger from a light, troubled sleep. Even before he opened his eyes, the events of yesterday evening slammed into him, instilling a sense of intimidation but also fueling him with a drive to live up to the task he was expected to accomplish.

"Th' Gen'ral and sargent are awake, Sir." Bartholomew's words slowly roused the messenger to a sitting position.

"I'll be ready to see them in a moment," he answered as he began to dress. In addition to caring for the wounded, this day would be one of military planning with the local commanders and another attempt to view the enemy positions.

After a quick breakfast in the tavern, the messenger entered the same room in which he and Sir William had first met sergeant Watts in his official standing. The table and chairs had been moved away, and in their place were two cots brought from upstairs, on which Sir William and the sergeant lay. The general was practically smothered in bandages. His head was wrapped with gauze and his arm was in a sling. The sergeant was pale in the face from loss of blood, and a band of gauze lined his shirt to cover his wound.

"Good morning, Sirs," said the messenger to both the wounded knights. The Crimson Knight returned his greeting in a weak voice, as did the sergeant.

"Well, my left arm's broken and the doctor thinks I may have a concussion. No ribs broken, but I fear I'm out of commission for the time being. I'm leaving things in your hands," said Sir William. "One thing I can do is discuss tactics with the local commander, if you'll bring him to me. However, you must handle things in the field until I can ride again. I trust you to act in my place."

"As you say, Sir," replied the messenger. "I'll get the commanding officer here with you to start planning a counterattack. If you don't mind Sir, I would also like to attempt another scouting party to view enemy positions, this time better armed."

"Agreed," said Sir William. "You have power to act in my place, and I am giving you the authority of my rank since you are the officer in command." Sir William fumbled for something on the table by his bedside. "Here is my signet medallion, in case any question your motives." He handed the gold coin to the messenger. "Now good luck, umm . . . " The Crimson Knight stopped mid-sentence. "You know, throughout this whole operation, I never caught you name, messenger." he continued.

"It's Gavin, Sir Gavin of Lothington." replied the messenger.

"Well, Good luck, Sir Gavin." Sir William finished. Sir Gavin, the messenger, thanked the Crimson Knight and turned to leave in search of the region's commander, who was his own leader before sergeant Watts stopped him.

"S-sir Gavin, I want ta let ya know about Sir Rodney, th' gen'ral o our local force. The m-man's a blundering fool if e'er one existed. He be full o himself and thinks he be th' man of the 'our in every sitiation. D-don't trust 'im with too many men if ye have the choice, or he'll be a problem." Sir Gavin was surprised and a bit amused by this account. He glanced at Sir William, who smirked at the remark but surprisingly did not reprimand sergeant Watts.

"Thank you for the warning, sergeant," said the messenger. "I'll be sure to heed it."

Sir Gavin left the tavern and began his trip to the military headquarters to seek Sir Rodney with Bartholomew and the field officer by his side. Despite the new day, Lothington's streets still held an air of anxiety. The flickering torches that burned throughout the still night had been replaced with a biting north wind, which swept cold air through the empty streets, requiring anyone that planned on venturing out to bundle up well.

Sir Gavin shivered from the cold and pushed his arms farther into his tunic, for he had neglected to wear a surcoat. Fortunately, the military headquarters was not far, and he quickened his pace to reach it before he was truly frozen to the bone. After passing through another of the city's winding streets, the party of three clomped up the steps of the headquarters building.

"Wha' can I help ye with?" asked a guard at the door. He swiveled his slovenly form to block the entrance.

"We have urgent business for Sir Rodney concerning the invaders," Sir Gavin replied. The guard snickered before replying.

"Oh do ye now? Well, on'lee important people are allowed to see his Excellency," sneered the guard. He made as if to spit at Sir Gavin's feet but chose to speak instead. "Now git back to th' barracks with ye, before I 'ave a mind to chase ye away."

Fire jumped into Sir Gavin's eyes and his muscles tightened. If these were the kind of soldiers that Sir Rodney employed as his personal guards, he could only imagine what the commander himself was like. Without a word, Sir Gavin flashed the Crimson Knight's medallion. The guard fumbled, his eyes wide and nervous. After a moment of stuttering, he quickly stepped to the side of the door and practically bowed to Sir Gavin while motioning for him to enter.

"F-first door on th' left is his office, your lordship," he stammered, trying to recover some sense of dignity.

"Thanks," said Sir Gavin tersely as he entered the hall. Bartholomew and the field officer followed behind him, trying not to laugh at the bumbling guard as they did.

Even before the three knights were within view of Sir Rodney's office, they were well aware of what his favorite pastime was. Sir Gavin's face wrinkled at the putrid, overpowering stench of stale ale, mead, and barley beer that wafted down the hall, emanating from under the door of Sir Rodney's office. Bartholomew buried his nose in his tunic and the field officer wretched, holding both hands over his face to keep from vomiting. Sir Gavin knocked on the office door, which was stained, peeling, and warped. A muffled voice answered the knock, and Sir Gavin entered the room. Within it, Sir Rodney's ponderous frame lounged on a chair, his legs suspended over a small table on which a half-drunk bottle of cheap mead sat. Earthenware jugs and empty bottles covered the floor, spilling spoiled liquid and attracting flies through an open window at the other end of the dull chamber. The stench that the three men had smelled in the hallway was nearly unbearable in the room, and it took all of Sir Gavin's physical restraint to keep his breakfast down.

"Who enters me room unannounced?" mumbled Sir Rodney. He attempted to rise and knocked his mead bottle off of the table, which shattered on the floor and added to the liquid already present there. The hopelessly intoxicated knight attempted once more to rise from his chair but was too uncoordinated to even stand and collapsed back into it. A thunderous belch reverberated around the room. Sir Gavin sighed: this was going to be a lot harder than he had thought.

"Sir Rodney, I am here on behalf of his Excellency Sir William, who bids you meet with him to discuss a plan of action against the dark forces immediately. I shall take you to him directly, at the Lothington inn." Sir Gavin showed the Crimson Knight's medallion after he had finished speaking. Sir Rodney stared at it disinterested.

"Well, thar ain't no one who rushes Sir Rodney, boy, an you'd best remember it. I'lls not be forced ta see anyone if I don't wants to, and right now I don't wants to." The obstinate commander crossed his arms like a defiant child and reached behind his chair to pick up a fresh bottle of mead.

"Sir, I don't believe you understand the urgency of this situation. We have information from a reliable source that indicates the enemy may attack this city very soon, perhaps even today. It would be in your best interests to-" Sir Gavin was cut off by an outburst from the disgruntled commander.

"I said I don'ts want ta see nobody!" he shrieked at the top of his voice. "Leave me be ya meddlers!" he hurled the fresh bottle of mead in Sir Gavin's direction, and it exploded against the wall, barely missing Bartholomew. "Now get out! Get out now ye hear?! I'll get the. . . the uhh. . . the guard ta. . . umm. . .I'll. . ." Sir Rodney's slurred and broken speech gradually dropped off into a snore as the effects of his ludicrously large helping of mead settled in. Sir Gavin sighed again and turned to leave, beckoning to the field officer and Bartholomew to follow him. It was clear that he was going to have to fight this battle by himself.

Astounding as always!! Keep it up!

 

Edited November 12, 2020 by Ironmantonystark