Consolidation The War In the West: Heralds of Change

[Harrul Ulfbitenn]

Meathyn, Oirtheroch
Early Spring, 992 AWH

The troops pushed and pushed against the darkened by humidity wheels that carried forth the iron cannon barrel, while th emules struggled to pull the artillery piece out of the mud pit.
"Move! Clear the way!" the mounted knight roared, as the black stallion, decorated with the plates and red fethers of the Ulfbitenn Black Guard, reared, being stalled from its way due to the artillery wagon.
The troops, stressed by the event, pushed harder, while nearby levies rushed to their aid, until the artillery piece was finally moved down the muddy road. Some twenty knights trotted down the road, bypassing the several gun wagons that were lining down the road, all the way to the stone walls of the port city.

The port of Caladhinbhear was built on the estuary of the river that spilled down the Eilean Sea, having been the base of operations for numerous Eirish raiders, and merchants, throughout the eons. Finally, some ten years ago, Caladhinbhear was annexed by House Marletenn's forces, after a short siege. Ever since, Caladhinbhear has been hosting the Ulfbitenn fleet, while the realm underwent a number of changes and modernizations.
The winter of 921 was harsh, stalling any military activities, while both the frontiers in the West, against the Marauders, as well as the naval expenditions across the sea, had to be put on a painful stale, until the weather changed. And that change, was grinding her way...
The clouds remained grim, while occasional rains showered Eirlun throughout the day, every day. The cold wind blowing from the frozen north was making the situation all the more frustrating, for any individual with self preservation instinct....
But that, never had been the case for the brute Eirish...

From atop the stone keep, Harrul Ulfbitenn had held court, and oversaw the preparations for the coming operations. He had tasked one of his trusted vassals, Count Emathil, for seeing this project through, yet now, with the change in weather drawing close, he moved his court from Dunwyn, to Meathyn, to make sure that no unforseen delays would occur, throughout the final moons of preparation....

Upon the first dawn of Spring, with the first cackling of the travelling birds over the tower, Harrul dispatched heralds to both Vestvinfol and Vethonny. The realms had grown close, more so, ever since the sharp collapse of the Pottaun royalty, and the outbreak of civil wars all across the country. It was now the time for Eirlun to reach out to the wider world, should Harrul wished to see his rising dynasty sprout beyond the Isles...
His letters spoke of formal words of flattery and etiquette, as it was so expected of his status, now, as King. But the meaning behind them was quite simple. Feasts, there would be, yet it was no celebration why they were being invited. This, was the War Council, for what they would soon orchistrate....

Yet, diplomacy alone would simply not do.... In such times, sooner or later, the force of arms would come into play. And if Harrul wished to emerge victorious, through the near-inevitable turmoil that was set to develop.... He was in need of the mightiest of his warlords.... And the one, in whom he could forever be certain, of her loyalty....

Vassals, allies and aspiring partner realms rally in Meathyn, as the storms building in the North are felt across the West.... An opportunity to claim part of the spoils, some seek... While others... An insight to a rather promising rival....

The streets of the port were flooded with numerous troops assembled by the Eirish, opportnitsts seeking coin in the crisis, mercenaries and sellswords, as well as merchants and rogues, looking to capitalize on the already tense climate, for personal gain... The streets are dangerous, although flooded with troops. The port is treacherous, although turned solid by the fleets gathering... The folk wicked, regardless the purity of the crown's gold...
Roam, on your own risk...

 

[Marie Ulfbitenn]

Marie was quite as she walked through the halls to go and see her uncle in the council of war. She found herself strangely nervous considering the company she would be keeping. It was out of character for her. No, she knew why. It was the recent actions of her mother and the creation of those infernal machines that current consumed the Grand Duchess waking hours in a way only the Night Lords had ever done before. She would have found the situation amusing or one to be happy over had the woman used a different method to gather the parts together to build the machines.

Oh, she knew why her mother preformed the weapon’s creation in secret. Sylvia had made that clear to all of her daughters, not in just words, but in her deeds. Marie had known her mother longer than the others. She knew that this was just another shield that she was building for the family. To get out ahead when it came to the future of warfare and tactics the Duchess wanted these new weapons to remain secret for as long as possible. Her attempt to do so meant lying in ways that the Ulfbitenn’s normally didn’t do among each other. The ramifications could cause a rift if the truth were ever revealed.

She was guided through the castle by one of the guards, sighing softly to herself… as she ticked through her mind the many things she needed to report on. Including the successful start of the invasion of Sulleth by Vestvinfol. Turning her mind to her own invasion that she had to help Harrul conduct… Marie steeled herself… she couldn’t give away anything about what had happened. Any reports… anything… all that was necessary was the invasion was going well, and they needed too start their own.

@Harrul Ulfbitenn

 

[Harrul Ulfbitenn]

The chambers were lightly decorated. Meathyn was among the newest provinces of the newly emerged kingdom, and little had been done to reflect such elevation of status. Most nobles of Eirlun had yet remained the warlords they once were, prior to the unification, and so luxuries and wealth demonstrated through elegancy and complex of design were still alien to most.
As spring came about, more and more banners begun flocking around the crown, in Meathyn, as the preparations for the upcomming campaign were at the works. The Eirish, after having found a common leadership, craved for a victorious march; A glorious endeavor. Something that the King ought to deliver, should he wished to continue wearing the spiked golden element on his head, now felt most heavy...

Harrul stood like a crimson ghost, cloaked with the linen clothes that granted him his ghostly appearance, staring into the now long spent logs of the fireplace, hours dried of flame and yet still emitting the little smoke that was still imprisoned within them, over the ashes. He could recall the time he enjoyed the radiant heat of the fire. The times in which he returned to the Red Court, craving for the comforting of the hearth; No longer.
Now, the flame was a fiend which he wished the furthest from him he could possibly have it. Occasionally, he would force himself standing in the vincinity of a fireplace, only to familiarize himself with it, in case he had to be near one, before mortals. A most disgusting process, indeed...

The abysmal senses of the Abhartach itched, by the approach of the Child. A strange cold sensation that caused the Beast Within to growl. But he knew not to worry. If anything, House Vestvinfol was the most trusted of cousin houses of the Ulfbitenn, even of that of Cigoerne, as their mistress, Sylvia, was the most loyal, and renown of the Eirish warlords yet under the Crown.

"I received reports from the South." Harrul spoke, without taking his eyes from the logs. "Pottaun is boiling."

 

[Marie Ulfbitenn]

“Boiling your Grace, but it has yet to properly cook itself into the ripeness that we need as the third piece of the Northern Alliance. My sister has her work cut out for her, but she believes our endeavors on the continent will soon bare fruit.” The words slipped from the young Abhartach’s mouth as she nodded her head in respect towards Harrul. Afterall… to bow would have been against everything she had been taught as an Ulfbitenn, but Marie could not help herself in this regard. Her proverbial ‘grandfather’ was her role model, despite how much she loved her mother, it had always been the king whom she modeled herself after.

This was why the submissive growling over her own Beast Within irked her so, it was an unnecessary reaction from that part of her. The only thing she had to worry about this meeting was hiding her own guilt from lying to Harrul about anything that might have to do with Sylvia’s machines. She would have to lie about what the cannons he sent to Vestvinfol were being used for, the performance on the battlefields of Sellath and many more things. Sylvia had not just asked for any cannon, she had asked for the be made out of the strongest metals possible, citing some new tactics that would require high rates of fire… and long periods of use in fast moving campaign situations.

She wouldn’t purposefully bring them up on her own, and left the questioning about the start of the Iron Ladies newest campaign up to Harrul himself. Focusing her own words instead on the situation in Vethony, “Nora has reported that new military alliances are starting to form between Vethony and a few lesser nobles in order secure the large island off their cost. Our offer of naval support was turned down, given… they wish to use the invasion of the half of the island that won’t bow as a show of power. Any such assistance would be taken as a sign of weakness on the High Queen’s part. She has found herself in quite the awkward position I must say…”

There was a bit of a smirk on Marie’s lips as she said this, given that the Red Court was in the opposite stage of development. No, they where not fighting back a decline, they where on the rise and a quick one at that. Looking around the room the young Abhartach found herself slightly annoyed at the presence of other’s in the court. Here they had to speak as the Red Court, and she wasn’t able to speak frankly with Harrul as the Night Court. It had not escaped her notice about what he was doing standing near the flames, something she herself understood the pain of all too well.

The young woman purposefully fidgeted her left hand covered in burn marks hidden by the glove on her hand. Attempts to train her own Beast had gone… wrong… and she didn’t want to cause her mother pain by attempting it again. Her words where low so that no one else in the room could hear, and to frank one could almost mistake it for something Sylvia might say, “Uncle I don’t think that poking it so much going to make the pain any less tolerable…” If someone else heard Marie had been cryptic enough to prevent them from understanding, but she knew that Harrul would.