(122-06-24) Troops Arrive
Troops Arrive
Summary: Raibert's crew join the Winter Rose's Army and meet Tellur Snow and Ser Malcolm Storm.
Date: Date of play (24/06/122) (Scene takes place more than a month earlier).
Related: http://gobmush.wikidot.com/plot:something-is-rotten-at-winterfell
Players:
Raibert..Tellur..Malcolm..

Lord Carolis has stopped at a small Castle belonging to a very minor Lord under another Lord who is under the Manderlays. he was supposed to just be passing through, but events overtook him and he is now trying to move the army loyal to the Rose east, so he might lead it against the eastern raiders. As a result, various clumps of warriors are collecting in area villages. The castle itself is on the border between the hills that divide Manderlay and Bolton underbanners, and the beautiful champion grain country to the South. The Castle itself sis on One of the last good defensible hills, with fields to the South, and Woods to the North and East. in the Valley below is a good lake on a river that feeds a river that feeds the broken branch. They have good river traffic as the grain boats can go all the way to the sea from here.

Tellur holds the slightly uncertain position of being his Lord's servant - as well as occasional confidant. He is currently unarmored, though not unarmed, and is awkwardly marking up groups of men on a piece of vellum with some charcoal, pacing back and forth between the groups. Tellur is accompanied at heel by a small pack of animals - two dogs, one massive, one small, and a wolf with a collar declaring rather hopefully that it's name is 'Dog'. The biggest dog is alert, ready for a command, the smallest is playful, and the wolf is a slinking mass of 'do not look at me'.

The castle is called Raven's Eye and belongs to a very minor house called Ellyswood. Right now it is packet with soldiers. Others have been farmed out to nearby villages, with more appearing daily, as an army worth of people who had been marching North, turn east and Southerly. Lord Ellyswood is off with Lord Stark at Bolton's siege of Glover. Lord Bran, his heir, is organizing things here.

Ser Malcolm storm, with his flamboyantly striped hair is in his practice leathers and drilling troops in a way that suggests he does actually know what he is doing stripey beard and hair not withstanding.
Description set to Beard Leather.

Raibert , there as a minor representative of Bear Island, stands at the head of the men that make up his crew. A rambunctious mixture of petty knights and smallfolk, their armour is blackened and scruffy to a man, though they seem to get along well within their little knot (and even with folks outwith). Raibert, for his part, is clad in a mail hauberk and black tabard that both show the ill-use that comes from campaigning. One could also say his idea of discipline shows similarly, as he gets in on the jokes and shenanigans of his men.

If Tellur understands the concept of humour, only the Weirwood knows - but so far, it does not appear to be the case. He has no signifying tabbard, though his dire-wolf-pin cloak might give away his allegiance. Probably his irritation with his paperwork does more. He has that dogged, violent look of someone Doing A Job Needing Doing That They Hate. As he approaches Ser Malcolm - who is not too far from Raibert - people can hear him growl out "Company name and number of men!" Tellur makes the simple question sound as though he is declaring some sort of blood feud with Ser Malcolm.

Malcolm gives Tellur an easy going smile, nigh calculated to inflame the crotchety and gives the details on the batch of infantry he is running through drills. Conscripted Smallfolk from a bit further south. He eyes the Bear tabard and leaving the smallfolk to stab targets with pikes, swaggers over to the Mormont contingent. His accent is lower gentry and best and very Stormcoast as opposed to northern. "Are you any relation to the Lady Maera Mormont? I've seen her fight. Often."

The odd mix of knights and peasants may even include women, at least if the girlish giggle from the back of the group is anything to go by. Whoever it was, it earns the immediate attention of Ser Raibert, galvanized into action by the nearing Tellur, "Right lads!" he calls into his group, his voice projected well, "Heads on straight for a bit, proper lines and serious faces!" he instructs. The men, to their credit, respond smartly, going from a disorganized blob to something approaching parade order, if you squint hard enough.
To Malcolm, Raibert breaks into a grin, "A cousin!" he says, sounding very bear island indeed, "She likes her fighting."

Malcolm's smile works. Tellur glares at him, scowling like the man insulted his mother. Which would be rather unlikely - this is Malcolm after all. Malcolm's group is noted down, and Tellur wipes his forehead, leaving a charcoal-streak, and then heads across to the Bearmon…Mormonts. Cautiously. As he sees Ser Raibert, he gruffly asks "Company name and number of m…uh. Numbers?" He bears the Stark insignia, though not as a noble would. More of a…functionary.

Malcolm grins at Railbert, a thin scar making it a bit crooked and rakish, "Aye, you could say that, she's one of the most dangerous swords in Oldtown. I've seen her both in tourney melee and in tru battle, and I'd not be one to cross her if I could help it.' His dark eyes look over the troops with the air of a man who misses very little, and yet if he notices any of the soldier are women he says nothing. He gives Raibert a graceful bow, efficient of motion, very correct. There is a stillness about him: no fidgetting or fussing, no shifting about when he is not doing something specific. He has a thin Braavosi style rapier at his hip. "Ser Malcolm Storm, acknowledged of Kellington, sword sword to Lord Carolis Stark, and my grumpy friend here is Tellur Snow, acknowledged of House Stark, Master of Beasts.

"The crew of the Dubhar and associated ships, bastards without number, petty murderers and thieves to the Ironborn," replies Ser Raibert, all smiles and good natured body language to Tellur, "Under the command of Raibert Mormont, Lord of Mathan-Tor, despoiler of virgins and general scoundrel at arms." he adds.
The man returns Malcolm's bow, his grin just as broad, "That's me, that. A pleasure to meet you, Ser Malcolm, Master Tellur. I am here to carry the swords of Bear Island to your campaign," the man explains, tapping the hilt of the bastard sword slung over his shoulder, a long brutal looking blade, "You'll have to forgive the fact most of my lads have spears and axes, but they carry swords in spirit."

"But thankfully not men," Tellur says dourly on the end of his more suave friend's speech. As Raibert speaks, Tellur writes down _exactly_ what he says - likely some form of petty revenge. He has quite a few scars of his own, though with his attitude that can be little surprise "Excellent," he says, and adds "Pardon me there, Ser Malcolm - but this is ship work, I'd rather see axes and long knives. No virgins necessary, as I haven't seen any in years." He frowns, glaring out at the entire group - not just Lord Mormont's, but the whole lot. After a moment, Tellur snaps back to attention "Can your lot swim?" he demands "Can they teach others to at least get their gear off before they sink?"

Malcolm snorts, "I'd rather an experienced wench myself. I'll leave the virgins to you. Just be careful all the wenches involved want handling. We don't want extra trouble, there's more than enough to go around already, and no insulting the women of the House." More serious, "We're happy for what we can get to be honest. These Raiders are… particularly nasty. Whole villages are gone and boats left adrift. Any boats we can bring to bear when the raider fleet shows up will be a huge help."

The Bear-knight's eyes light up, "Master Tellur, my lads can teach stones to swim," Raibert says, chuckling, "Otter! Get your arse up here, you're needed." he shouts, summoning a boy barely in his late teens who snakes through the loose ranks. Dressed in light leathers and ragged linens, the boy skids to a halt in front of Raibert, who promptly gives him instructions, "Make yourself useful to Master Tellur there." and gets a mute nod in return, "Hes quiet, but he swims like a fish."
This done, Raibert nods to Malcolm, "A broken filly makes the better ride, thats true, " he agrees, laughing boisterously and nodding, "Our ships are at your disposal, Ser."

Tellur is himself little more than twenty, but has enough scars that he must have been on the losing side a few times in fights "Otter, right," he says bluntly, and then he addresses the boy "I'll give you a couple of hard hitters to go with - can you start with Malcolm's lot there - Ser, I mean. Malcolm. I want them to know just the basics - nothing more complex, if they panic, it'll all go. Just heavy things off and how to keep upright -" Tellur gives a few more instructions, then sends the boy off with a few likely lads with heavier faces to go and find out how many of Ser Malcolm's people need assistance. Tellur himself says nothing about wenches, just raises an eyebrow "…anything your lot is short on?" he asks Raibert "…my lord. I mean."

Malcolm looks Otter over, weighing him, adding to Tellur's request, "And don't get lost at the Inn!" Ser Malcolm himself, for all of his success at Tourney, is about Tellur's age, maybe a hair younger. He details men to go, and gives orders for new students to turn up at regular intervals.

Otter, who bears a passing resemblance to Raibert, what with the curling black hair, nods his head rapidly at the instructions and dashes off to do what hes told. Good Lad. He may well even come back sober!
Raibert, still smiling good-naturedly away, shrugs, "Could do with some provisioning, I suppose, gods know we could stand a change from trail food," he says, after a moments thought, "Maybe a barrel of mead if there's any going spare. Happy men fight harder and all that. The Mormont has a good many years on the other two, but doesn't seem to care a whit for that, nor for titles apparently.

Tellur marks these things down with his charcoal. His handwriting is startlingly near, as precise as any Lordling who spent time getting his letters perfect. He counts mentally, then decides "Smallbeer is available. I don't know about barrels of mead, local raiding has made it hard to get provisions, but I think we can manage bread instead of tack. I've got water being boiled for handing out…" And after a moment or two he rubs a few items out, then inquires directly "You got anyone who can treat wounds properly there?"

Malcolm adds, "You've got a title. Odds are they can squeeze you in in the Great Hall. I think there might be some cider left."

"Think they'll be happy with small beer if it comes with bread," Raibert nods, smiling, "Wounds? Aye, old Alec there, he knows his plants, and there's a couple others handy with a needle and irons." he adds with another nod.
The older man gives Malcolm a look, shaking his head, "I could, but the men'd never forgive me if I got ratarsed and left them out here on their tod, eh?" he asks.

"Close enough," Tellur mutters, then shoves teh vellum away in his pocket and says to Malcolm "That's everyone, then, at least for today - but we've got more coming." He lowers a hand to his massive dog's head and tugs her ears gently, and then he says to Raibert "Small beer and bread. And probably a few other things. They'll have to move everyone within the month or the place will run out of food. My Lord." He adds to Malcolm "Lord Bran is going to have a hell of a time."

Malcolm laughs his sunny laugh, "Aye, and who has time for such. I'm not much a one for the drink myself. It makes the arm less certain." He eyes Tellur, "We'll need to move out sooner anyway. Raiders wait on no man, and I've hopes of us having gathered enough to strike back soon."

"Aye, a host this size is like a swarm of locusts," Raibert agrees, "And we cant send them out foraging in our own lands, it'd upset the locals." he adds, shrugging. "The sooner we get moving, the sooner all these men get back to their farms and everything settles down," the man continues stating the obvious, "How many of these raiders are we expecting?"

Tellur shrugs to Malcolm, then hesitates, and finally he says "I do not know. But enough to raze a village to the point of taking out the bolts in the walls for the iron. They take the corpses, too." He glowers, and then he says to Malcolm "You don't have enough blood in you to drink. If you get some of that Northron whiskey down you, it's going to piss out through all of the holes in your hide. Are you _sure_ you should be fighting, you god damn pincushion?!"

Malcolm sighs, "Depends on if they split up or not. Three to ten boat loads." He laughs and thumps Telur on the shoulder, "If you get any of your whiskey in me, you'll be carrying me to battle. Don't worry, I'll be wearing proper armour when we face them instead of riding leathers.'

Already raising his eyebrows at the iron-theft, Raibert lets out a bark of laughter as Tellur continues, looking between the two men, "Wonderful! When is the war council meeting, I'd very much to sit in on it," he asks, shaking his head, "Somewhere between three and ten… Lets hope the fewer."

"We need oil," Tellur says, scratching at the stubble growing on his face, and staggering as Malcolm thumps him "Lay off you great big arse-kicker," he snaps back at his friend "Like that worked last time. Have you ever thought of _not_ being noble? It leads to a longer lifespan." His voice is rumbling up to match a great big rant "I swear before the Weirwood, put you in tourney armour, and a previously intelligent man of letters turns into a romantic idiot." As Raibert speaks, Tellur says "Likely tomorrow, but I may not be there." He ponders this and tells Malcolm "I heard Lord Bran calling his horse buttercup or something so asked Lord Butter how he was doing, and he got his horsewhip out. It might be better if I don't show up."

Malcolm shrugs, "If they split up it will be harder to catch and stop them. I leave planning to my Lord Carolis, who is much cleverer than I. After all, I am a simple country boy, after all." A simple country boy with smooth manners and three colours of hair. He rolls his eyes, "Is it my fault the archers were letting loose while I fought the Iron Man? And in tourney everyone gets thumped. And it's not as if your hide is scarless, Little Wolf. You have more scars than I." Ser Malcolm tsks, "You need to stop antagonizing our Hosts, lest we be locked in the tower again with no cheese for our bread."

Raibert wordlessly looks between the two for a moment, shaking his head, "Well, I need to get my lads settled in for the day, if you're free later, do come by and I'll see if I can scare up something to feed you, maybe even cheese," he says, half-turning to his men and putting his fingers in his mouth to whistle shrilly three times. On hearing the whistle, the men gather up their stuff and start to head out to their de-facto campsite, "Pleasure meeting you both, my Lord, Master Tellur."

Tellur says to Malcolm, muttering "He has had it in for me since we got here - you have seen it! Any chance!" Never mind. Malcolm might have a sunny smile, but Tellur fixes Raibert with a feral eye and grins. His teeth are white and sharp "That would be. Good. Good day, Lord Raibert. I shall see about the small beer." At least that is easy enough to get brewing for just a few days.

Malcolm snorts, "You _bit_ him Tellur. Did you expect him to like you after?" He offers Raibert a manly forearm shake.

The Mormont smiles, shakes the arm and then offers his arm to Tellur, because class distinction is something that happens to other people, "Same to yourself. Be safe and don't do anything you'll regret.. wait.. /bit/? You do not bite the hand that feeds."

Tellur eyes the arm that the Mormont offers him, as if wondering what to do with it. Fortunately, Malcolm showed him, so he shakes. Uneasily. And then he says to the man "I don't like being surprised, Lord Mormont." It comes out as a sour rumble, the sort of thing that might sound embarrassed. A bit. Then Tellur can be heard saying to Malcolm "So there's that. Look, you've a head for logistics, Ser Malcolm, if those bastards in the Southern camp keep insisting on drinking from downriver from the horses…"

Malcolm winks at Raibert in reference to the biting. "Then those bastards will all be down with the shits and the lesson will be learned…."

Raibert grins at Tellur.. and then bursts into laughter, waving to the pair as he walks off and being heard to say, "Nice lads those." to the aged Auld Alec as he falls into step on the way to camp.

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