Author Topic: Lasci in Waiting (Norman)  (Read 802 times)

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Lasci in Waiting (Norman)
« on: October 01, 2017, 05:33:13 PM »
  Setting: This starts in "Lassiter Castle" a fictional stone Motte and Bailey tower like fort on a hill, with a wall around it, and a fighting yard.  (The Bailey.) Somewhat north of Bristol, the closest major Port with shipping to the Continent.  On a hill SW of St.  Arilda church, Cowhill Bristol.  Within line of sight of the Severn "River" though it's debatable at what point it turns into Bristol Bay.  (Incidentally, nowhere near the city of Leicester) Basically as a lookout for anyone (Probably Welsh) trying to invade from the river/bay. Historical note: The Swiss forces were routed by Burgundy reinforcements at the Siege of Nancy, in this timeline.  They actually retreated to Zurich, and drove the pursuit force back with reinforcements from Bern, but having proven their point, the Houses of Burgundy then took over the rest of France.  Now, they are in the process of consolidating power, and driving the Lancaster houses, back out to Normadie.  Which is ultimately why some of the family is sent to winter with the East Earls of March, allies of both the Landcasters (Against the Houses of York in London) and the Swiss Confederacy.

   Unlike Switzerlund, it's a clusterfuck of Angles, Saxons, Normans, and the few remaining indigenous tribes.  Around War of the Roses, this is just the Earls of March!  So, they do put on armor in the morning as part of their uniform, because they might actually be attacked.  The Lacy/Lasci/Lassiters are a mix of rival/allied families, blending, and fighting between the 3 main powers that eventually bred modern Brits, and are invading Ireland.  This one's not real sexually explicit, at all.  Unless you're turned on by fighting, and adventure like Milne, but I just wanted to write it.  What erotic content there is is in euphemism, or with a degree of separation, because they don't write about it.

   Written into the inside of the Illuminated (Title, with a stylized Mural of a picture) page of a book, and continuing on around the Gloss.  Eine Engelishe, as she would think it.  Better at writing it than speak it aloud, mostly from reading it in this book/letter exchange.  Only 1 half of the correspondence, the other half halfway across Europe, at this point.  Several months ride, with legs over lake, and river boats, and a ship around southern Brittain, from the Norman port of Callais to avoid the Burgundy, but the Channel is dominated by the house of York.  Enemies in the latter War of the Roses (The white ones) so the independent ship has to change flags on it's way through, then around Plymouth.  They both know the trip, so don't write, or talk about it much.

   TWs: Cani, Sade, Sodo, Best, Rape, Blut, and Mort.  Approaching Snuff territory, with some relatively social and acceptable Pedo-to-EpheboPhilae, due to the cultural substrate.  Also, some Transvestic fetishism.


   Jagr (MMfdoM)

   "Our lady, Bavard could protect until she took over.  That summer, I learned more than I had in 2 dozen years.  Over swordplay, and loveplay.  My father was a woodMann, he hunted as well, but made most of his living hauling in timber, and carving.  Not a carpenter, which he could do, but found more money and reknown with his faces, heads, and especially hair.  He showed me, how to find it in the wood, the threads that flow through it as hair.  Or water, even blades of grass, and pikes moving through the fields.

   At home, his Meisterwerk was as a table, no one would sit on, showing Hannibal driving through the fields of Airolo.  Elephant, and an army of shields with spears from the top of a stump.  The mountains, and pass down to Milan, he could see through the doors when open.  All who viewed it wanted something carved, even so simple as a walking stick, but rooted to the floor of the house.  He could not bring it with us, but that is how he could afford to raise me better.

   {He couldn't exactly do the 47 Ronin.  Incidentally, the farthest North he was supposed to have marched was St.  Bernard's Pass, which is nowhere near Airolo, so this may be local legend/marketing.}

   In Breinz, on the end of the lake, he started a model of the city which he did not finish, but I found my kraft in the hunt.  Wilst he looked for wood, to bring back, he passed in winter to a cough, and fever until he did not wake up, cold in the night.  My mother raised me as well as could, with the inhieritance we moved again to Insteltwalden.

   The bay, on a boat, I learned to rock to sleep in it, and she had plants on the deck.  Over the cabin, instead of a roof, or garden.  There is a deck, my father did not make it for her, but carved it, before he died.  She loved the see, and sailed us out here, when the ice was gone, to visit with the fishers, and loved the village.  We did not fish, but he carved the fish, and fishfolk.  Fishfrau, as her, at the head of their bed.

   I hanged, as a sausage beside the door, but it made the rocking more gentle, as I drifted off to dreamlund.

   Then, the Baron came, with his daughter, whole loved the village as well. One spring, and she was beautiful, I imagined being hers, but not that I could.  'Twas but a fantasy, but they returned with his fleet.  I had to pay, to move my hausBoot around the horn, as it has no sails, and I can not row it myself.  I am not a sailor, as some may think, living on a boat.  I can fish, but you can not stalk them, as with game.

   I prefer the hunt.  Not the kill, for all the work that comes after.  Following it down the slope, and fixing it to carry back to town, but I eat well, fix the furs, and sell leathers.  To the tailor, I knew him from Brienz, but he came to test the guard, when they came.  He told me he held back, from beating Bavard because he did not want his job.  Protecting the girl, her virginity.

   I don't want that duty, either, which put me at odds with Bavard.  It drove him mad, I believe.  You say mad for Anger, and Insanity?  Yes, first anger, then murderous rage, he had to be killed.  She beat him, with his anger.  I saw it, he saw me touching her hair, I was not told, but I knew better.  I could not resist, with her right there, my eyes reflecting in hers, and the whisp that pulled free from schwertSpiel with Balger.

   Your German is very good, my lady, but your Latan Romansh {Romance Language, literally} is better.  Bitte, und Baume.  Beautiful, your voice, light, and sweeter even than thine cousin, the lady Alberich.

   Her first time with me, she forced him to kneel in the harbor before her, and held the edgeless sword to his throat.  Then, she came to me, told me to run so she could chase me, but not to far.  She lay me down, in clover left from the spring, but no longer flowered.  For the bees, but it was by then dark, and we were far beyond the fires of the shore.

   There is a fort, an old stone fort on the spit they took from the Major. She took my by the hand, and mouth.  You know how to do this?  You never have before?  Here, let me show you, it is easy.  You will learn, quickly enough, let me just get this codpiece off.  I hate these things, but as they say.  I have never been to Rome, but this Angelund is nice enough.  It is named for the angels?  Yes, you have the mouth of an angel, just milk it with your hand.  The milk will come.

   Oh, my Yarla, yes.  This is good, yes!"

   {biLingual Note: At some point, I can't help but have my way with words.  I hope I don't have to point out the obvious puns, see/seiMann.  Romench, no longer living hand-to-mouth, but getting in a bit of a Bind, und sew fourth...  (Had to get up to Zechs.) I think in puns, can't really turn it off, usually edit them out while I'm putting in speling erors to differentiate the authors.  (When they're distinctively literate.) In this case, it's subtext, with the context of switzerLatin/Deutcshbang from being serially linebanged going all the way back to Carthage.  Not a whole lot of passes in and out of the valleys, between the ridges and peaks, try not to think about it, cause I don't have to.  Any way, he's illiterate, but telling all this to his mistress, an Anglo/Saxon Yarla (Earletess) because there's not 1 princess.  At some point, she writes it down.}


   Yarla of Lassiter (fg Mole.  That's her title, not her name.  So, also Anon.)

   It was sad.  After I read the story of Pestous of Pori, and how she met her end.  Diving from the cliffs to the low tide, dashed against the rocks by the waves, as she could not bear her man a child.  Then, he asked after his lady and I.

   "We met in Zurich.  My father had business.  He hates the Burgundi, and thought he could find allies in their enemies.  Powerful allies, and frightful.  He won't tell me, what he has heard of her family, but what little she has written."

   "Yes, the Baron is.  He enjoys discipline, in his household, army and navy.  Shameful joy." {*}

   "That is?"

   "I know not the word in Angelic, he enjoys burning people.  Cooking them alive, and raping them, especially the men.  I did not know he did this, to Bavard.  They don't speak of it, but I saw him roast a man, on a spit."

   "Over a fire?"

   "The spit, yes.  Not the man, he was bound to posts beside it, so that the iron spit could be heated, and cook him from the inside."

   "Oh, no.  We do not have words for that." {*} "The raiders, might have words for that."

   "The Norse?"

   "North of here, the fireheads, the clans of northmen.  They are fierce, and I read stories about them.  My husband, doesn't let me ous as her father did."

   "You are."

   "Nearly a score, next spring.  When my child shall come.  In Zurich I was a dozen, and 3."

   "So, she was."

   "Seven, or eight?"

   "What was she like?"

   "Mean, demanding," her Germann is soft, "Until I satisfied her." From mostly reading it.  {A history of Bern, and so forth, between letters smuggled in them.}


   "I made love to her?"


   "With a girl, it is.  It would take a while, to negotiate the words between us but simply with my hands, and mouth.  She learned to satisfy me as well, but I already knew how to that."

   "Show me."


   "I want to learn."

   {* Donatien Alphonse, Marquis de Sade wasn't born yet.  Yes, same families.  Take the historical bloodlines of Europe, and Amp the Kink gain up to 11.  Not all of them, but more than enough.  Power CAN corrupt, but absolute power does.  Absolutely, but when you're born corrupted, you can only Escalate.  Over centuries, the Alberich are pretty close to the main line of super-natural Congenital Sadistic Malignant Narcissits.  Shadenfreude, or eventually to be known as Sexual Sadism, if this branch of inhumanity wasn't going to be wiped with the rest of them.  (Again, Vesta with a follow-through by the Moon.  1-2 punch, eventually cooling to a ball coated in smooth basalt/obsidian with Kessler rings for fucking with the timeline.) Milna just happened to be raised by a cannibal.}


   Hart {Mf Preg Cons.  Fantasy, but that goes without saying.}

   "You like the stories." She lay back, fat with child.  We are snowed in here, I can rent another sledge, and one of their fur footed draft horses on the morrow.  Right now I have the woman I satisfied.  On her second child, just weaned, a bawly little brat with it's nursemaids for the night.

   Cold drafty place, on a hill.  Brilliant, with a bailey around it, but the bed is warm, and I don't feel the need to hike for the fireplace.  Just heat her up to warm her with her body, with the mulled cider already gone, and thawing out of my head, shake it, watching.

   "I learn from doing, things." I licked my fingers, "Like this?"

   "Ja," not Da, or a soft D.  "She called me rabbit.  Hartmann ever after, that first time."

   "She was not your first?"

   "Oh no, there were plenty in Breinz, und Aurnmeuhle.  Interlaken, between the lakes." I show her "Here?" on her chest.  "It is in the valley, between many peaks, but not as soft and full as these.  Snow at the peaks, always, you are without milk?"

   "Mh, yes."

   "Smq, huh!  In the summer, the lake is deep, but not this warm."

   "Mh, uh huh?"

   "So, we must dive in, and come back out, shivering.  On the spit, in front of the old fort, it is not forested, like this.  But we can warm up, in the sun, playing on the pebbles.  Running around, faster, and faster then diving in to swim around, wriggling like fishes, and kicking like running in the deep waters."

   "AhHH!  Yes, my deer!"

   "Your Stag."

   "Jah, my stag.  NghaHH!"

   "Then I came in, for the hunt.  Took up my spear, and dove back into the woods!"

   "Oh yeah?"

   "Da, not up here to the peak, but deep into the valley." She had a child, in her, she would not take another for months.

   "How deep?"

   "This deep?"

   "NjahH!  Deeper."

   "Sometimes I had to go in, and come back out, with a deer."

   "Yes, my deer."

   "Or up to the mountains."

   "Ok yes!"

   "Up to the sky where I could see over the lake!"

   "Oh yes, take me.  Take me there!"

   "Closer to God!!"



[   Yarla,

   The feast was all right.  Bavard died the way he always dreamed, only serving me, instead of his Master.  I made him Mine first, and after the Cretish philator told me about scheifzicken, I tried it on him first.  He is not the largest, and if he did it, it wasn't my virtue, but then he could not tell that another man had done it.  He was already in it up to the Bind.

   Our Lord did it to him, and it hurt.  He wouldn't talk about it, but I believe he was much younger, as squire.  So, 15, or younger, perhaps when my age, but I dismissed the Ventian.  He told me ways, it need not hurt, and one is if he kisses you first.  In the bind, as much as they can make it wet, as deep as his tongue would go.

   It worked, it didn't hurt.  I made him go slow, threatened to hang his skin over the fire, and smoke it to hang over the fire if he hurt me.  He killed the bear.  When I'm bigger, I want one, but I didn't get hurt at all playing a claw.  The Venitish is a tailor, but fights well with pike and shield, he says from Pirates.  The sees he is from are full of Pirates he says.  Corsairs, and Moreans, and the Venifzi all fighting over the waters of the old Greikes.  He showed us, the Scorpion, he calls it, except the tail is usually a whip.  A rope whip, great whip, he would need rope to tie it, but like a great flail, with a night star.  He made one when we got back, cut a rope in the middle, stuck a sharp peice of wood hirch cut for him, and tyed a knot in the other end.  A "Monkey's Fist," he called it, but gripping 3 spikes, sharp on both ends as the beams in a corner.  Only sticking out, all 6 ends.

   We practiced, the Scorpion, but for the bear Hirsch played the "Sting." With his arbalest, I finally saw him beat the arms on, string, and load it. It has these arms in the back, with strings, and claws on the end, and a stirrup for the foot up front.  On his knee, he braces it, and turns the back arms to pull the front ones back, and tightened a string on.

   Then, he turned the arms to pull the string back, and lock it, behind the bolt he put in.

   All steel, the stirrup, the arms, the plates of the side of the wood, the wheels that wind with chord when he turns them with the arms, and the knucklebow under the stock he pulls to loose the bolt.  It is very powerful, and the bear screamed.  I did not know a bear could scream, much less think I would ever hear it, but from getting a steel bolt in the face.

   Rampant, rather than clawing, stomping, and biting at Bavard's armor, and sword, he batted at the shaft in his face.  So, the Knight could step in, stab for the heart, half-step back withdrawing, and catch it half-swords.  3 handed sword, you don't have to have a 3rd hand in the middle, you swing from the top, and bottom.  Knocked the Bolt out of it's skull.  Stuck in the skull, knocked it right out, slamming it's head down into the dirt of the game-trail, form high ground, overhand, front hand slipping down to the smaller lugs in the middle of it, and smashing down like a hammer.  Only it dug in like a back-pick.

   A lucerne hammer has a back pick.  Like a beak, Bavard's sword-guard is twisted, but straight, like Alacorn.  {Middle ages term for Unicorn Ivory) Welded back together from the bars around the middle of the handles, or a 2 thirds up it from the pommel, but they have knobs on the ends where they were droawn out, and wrapped around eachother.  So, it's bigger around than my thumb knuckle, but that went through the dome of it's skull like a stiletto.

   I like to think my hart weakened it for him, but the bolt was no where near there.  It stuck through the snout, and into the eye, but did not go through.  He brought his leather sack.  Tallow stained leather, from catching blood for sausage, or fat from the skin when he smoked it out.  The best work was seing him with his little shafzMesser.  No handle on it, just metal stuck out the bottom, and curled up so it sticks in the bottom of his thumb.  And finger tips, feeling under the skin as he pulled it up, slicing it off the summer fat layer.

   He told us about that, it lost weight in the spring.  So, the skin is looser, and easier to cut off.  The leftover fat renders faster, for there is less of it, but enough to cook the outer meat.  He left the loins he cut out in the bucket, to be covered in the smokey fat.  So they would last until we got hem back down to town.  He wished he brought this, and that, all he had forgotten not planning to hunt bear, but he calls it the "Worst work." It is a lot of work, after the kill, nobody wants to listen to when he tells hunter stories in town.

   It bores them?  I find them all fascinating, especially all the ways a man is not like a bear, or deer, or rabbit.  I know, what you can see is the fur, the legs instead of arms, and the different animal legs.  The tail, but inside.  My Lord says we are like pigs inside.  Why he hangs hogs for practice, it's the best way to learn how to wound, and killed effectively.  In a fight you want to kill, but sometimes, as in Battle, it is better to wound, especially when you have the advantage.

   It's easier to wound, or you get more opportunities to, depending how well they defend themselves.  A hanging pig can't but at least they kick, and move.  So, it is not like poking a sack of flour with a stick, or a dummy with a wooden sword.  If you have numbers, high ground, or Mobility as with Cavalry, then wounding is as good as killing 2-3 men.  Now they have wounded, and it is easier to rout them.  If they flee, you don't have to kill all of them, and they tend to rout faster with the screams of their brothers in arms, than with Dead.  Dead temper their resolve, cries of pain anneal it.  A dead body might as well be the enemy's, try not to step on it, and lose your footing.  Get pushed out of line, but the wounded.  You can hear them, over the drums, and commands with enough of them.

   Fear can be a much greater weapon, even than death on the battlefield. It can save lives by ending it early.

   That's why doesn't like the gamier meats as much.  You can't taste the pain and fear, the wild musky flavor covers it up.  I can't say whether that's why I prefer it, but I don't know what bear's fear tastes like.  He was in a lot of pain, but it's such strong, dark, wild meat, I don't think I could taste either of them.

~Milne Alberich]



   After we came back, her Lord was told about her fighting, and he tried her.  The Baron is a Reknowned veteran, and duelist, won his seat in the Seige of Nancy.  I wasn't Knighted, and was allowed to skip the feast.  Not the execution, as witness, but with the spectacle of a Knight being killed, in their fashion.  I was able to slip away.  Rather than going home, I went out, to deal with the experiences as well as I could.

   I had never killed a man, and thank the Lords he didn't force me to carry out the execution.  I don't know the word, Warden?  Of the land, like Sherriff, but only over the game, livestock, and Kennel.  They had one there, and he discussed, hunting.  Before I left, I would have refused to hunt mann, like game or drive the dogs if I were able.  Instead, my Lady made a counter-offer.  For me to act as coriour.  The best, and fastest rider there, in the Breinz see area, it was said.  I did not test them, all of them, but they had fast horses, and I was allowed the fastest there.  Most of them were heavier, stronger, for warhorses in the relative peace after the Burgundish were driven back out.

   After the war, it did not come here.  Not even supplies nor messages went through the side valley, around, and across the lakes, it would have been a waste of time between Bern, and Zurich.  So I hear, I heard about it, but my Lord saw me sparring with Bavard.  He showed me some things, and sent me to Bern.  To his Armorer, who Bavard apprenticed with.  When he was squire, before the Baronet was old enough to start training with his father.

   This is why I do not trust these families.  The men, I don't know these Lankasters like the Alberich.  I heard from the Burgundy on my way around their borders, but had to hide my colors.  The Bear rampant, and snake coiled under, the spot where the Bear would come down.  From rearing, the Bear of Bern, but the Alberich.  They're the poisonous viper that struck fear in the great beast.  The city it signified, riding through there just in Envoy, I could see it.  I felt like a lord, in the worst way, how they shrank back from me not out of respect, but in terror.

   I don't want people to fear me, and I could feel it.  I am not noble, was not even raised around them.  The old lord of the Oberlast summered there, in the fort, but he was a good Duke.  From everything I heard, happy and content.  He only had a minimal guard, for his family, and most times they did not even wear swords.  I am a man of peace, I grew up in it, but the Romanizi had a saying.

   In Latin: Live for Peace, but Prepare for War.  You don't have to look for trouble, it can always find you.

   Milne looked for it, only she called it Adventure.  I wish I never told her that story, about the Haunted Abby.  I wish they had not heard of it in the Monastery in Unterseen, but it was in decline after the Lucerne Bishop came, and the Bernese took over.

   "I read the History of Bern, but it was not in it."

   "Yes, I can not read, but where did you get it?"

   "It was sent, by my girl Milne, before you.  With the last coriour, when she left for the Innerlakes."

   "Between lakes, they are actually outer, or over.  The overland, between the lower mountains.  Bern is in the foothills."

   "I see.  She sent a map, but it only showed the path, not the mountains."

   "I have another, in my baggage."

   "Stay, keep the bed warm.  What is, the Baron like, as a man?"

   "Tall, and fair.  Like Bavard, only older."

   "He still fights, and he is 60?"

   "He is?  He has no zilfer in his hair, or beard.  All gold, his son looks like him.  Only little more than a boy."

   "Why are you afraid, to talk about the Baron?"

   "Because I can't, without remembering him."

   "It hurts to remember?"

   "It's frightening.  Yes, he is a nightmare.  I still have nightmares about him."

   "Then tell me about Milne."

   "You know her."

   "I knew Bavard too." She rubbed her swelling.

   "Is he?"

   "I believe so, I had no other affairs," she looked away, "With men that moon, so.  Yes, he would have to be."

   "Your husband."

   "My husband can not have heirs, so."

   "Is he wounded?"

   "I'm, too old for him, but give me that lamp.  I have yet to read Milne's letters, so I will read them to you."

   "In German?"

   "No, in English."

   I dosed off, not my best language, but I am learning.


   Flashback (Insteldwald fort.)

   A Survivor, they say had grown "Fat." Retiring to play at admiral, but fencing a girl of not yet 14.  They say he went easy on her, but that was not the fight I witnessed.  Riding in on horseback, leather strap skirt held together with maille, and tack riveted with steel rolled thin as paper. Draped over the front pommels of his saddle, as he dismounted, he braced the left one with his kneeguard, pulling his boot from the stirrup, and dropped down, helmet cupped under his shield arm, and just dropped to his knee.

   "Yuh!" Bare-armed, he pushed down on his other knee-guard, and stood upright.  Scarred, not even a handguard, slashed with scars, and lines chopped in at the shoulder.  I asked Bavard, about the same one on his.  From the maille, wearing through the padding.  "Nothing works, we tried quilted flax under leather, under a rolled edge, but they punish that shoulder."

   Paudron, he made her a partial suit.  Maille armed, but with the large pauldron on the shoulder.  Weapon arm, opposite the shield-side, it's "Better than losing an arm."

   He helped her strap on the shield.  His Estoc, matching his Lord's he went without a shield.

   He went without the sheild, stood back, and pivoted around, pommel cradled in his shield hand, draped by the wrist over the top of the right thigh.

   I can't imagine fighting in partial armor, but he went bare arm first.  His second, Bavard came back, his squire, the Baronette watching from the platform at the back of the yard.  Court yard, in the old fort, on the nail of land, wrapped around the Insteltwald inlet.


   "Haha!" He helt the blade on his shoulder, by the quillon, forcing her to fall back, to pull it out.  Slapped her, back-handed.  "Shcneller!  Ein soldner schlagensie!"

   "That what it's for?"

   "And downward cuts." He threw his shoulder, and imaginary sword, parrying.  "The strong attacking side, is weak against the shield side, so they go for it.  Or try to."

   "Shk!" Points sliding past eachother, she gave, slipping under to push it back.  "Uhn!" Shield high to bash under her back quillon, lever over his edge.

   "WhWH!" it spun behind him, side-stepping back.  "Ober!" Smacked her point down, to stick in the ground.  Dirt, the fort, and the wall are built on rock, the rock in the nail, but the yard is filled with loose soil.  "WhCH!"

   "Uhn!" she fell back, and the pommel bounced, swinging free on the stiff blade, but stopped very quickly.

   She fell back, a side-step, gripping her arm, then her knee gave out.

   "More," he waved her up, then brought the pommel back to rest on his thigh.  At the hip.

   "This," Bavard stood up, with a tool hammer in his fist.  Gripping it right under the head, he stepped back, and set the bottom, in his palm, rested on his leg.  "Is for a Pike, or Banner."

   "I see," I got up, and pulled my knife.  His old one, instead of a pommel there is a simple cap around the end of the wood slabs on either side of the steel tongue down the middle.  A pommel would take too much weight from the tip, which is why the simple guard with Nagel.  It's not a point sword, it's a Cutter with a point, but he had a short Hammer.  About the size of his greatsword handle, I can't say which would be heavier.  The head, or the rest of the doublehander out from there, but he is fast with it.

   "Turn it, to chop with the back, save the edge."

   It put the ring on the wrong side, so the nail got in the way of my thumb of bracing in the ferule in the side.  The front of the butt cap dug into the back of my wrist, so I held it up.  Ox, with my finger pulling in front of the quillon.  Like this.

   "Good, you do not want to face stance to stance, and you don't have enough length to take advantage of the SPEER!"

   The edge nearly chopped into the top of my head from him leaning forward. Bending his leg, and gripping the pommel to straighten out the one in back, closing the distance between us, and reaching out with the full lever of the handle, whipping the tip like he showed me.  It bounced off, whipping back around, and I watched his shoulders.

   The way he taught me, to know he was whipping around the outside.  Weak side, I twisted my wrist, and out the back of my fist to the flat of the blade.  Catching his to slide down to the ring instead of the Nagel.

   Only instead of the Blade, he had a hammerhead.

   I gave, instead of facing strength with strength, I let him follow-through.  Over extended, I twisted, and slapped down, to bounce the back edge off his arm.

   "Nhngh!" He looked surprised, but grabbed my wrist, and caught the back edge of my blade between the hammerhead, and his knuckel.

   One handed, he pushed the back edge, the sharp one closer to my face, so I had to give, back step, and ran into the forge.  Unlit, but he pushed me back.

   Bent me back, over it at the waist, and he gave my this.  One handed, holding me by the chin.  Just a cut, down the middle of my right eyebrow, I could't even twist it, out true.

   I could not breathe well enough to say anything but grunts.  He proved my point, told me "I can kill you," legally, driving home the point right in front of his lord.  Once his squire, he forced my to be his.  I swore it, not at the edge of a knife blade, but right after he taught me a lesson: "Never try to use a mann's sword against him." So, I carried for him.  Most of the weapons back, and took his armor off.

   He raped me.  In the mouth, but he gave me the choice.  Which end, but he choked me with it, in the armory.  Made me eat it, and threatened to beat my teeth out with his pommel if he felt them.

   So, after he left me, I went to His lord.  I told him, I was not comfortable with the way he fucked her.

   In the bind, but he strutted around with the bear hide over his shield.  Bragging, and boasting, drinking in the dining hall, and ordering all the wine brought up from the cellar like a lord.

   I had to charge him, with Poaching.  He said that it was.  Looked over at her, then accused me in counter.  To leading me to the den, and enraging it to charge us.  Putting his daughter in jeaopardy.

   He dismissed his court, and took us into the Library.  The old family took all the books, and they had not yet sent the collection up from Bern, or Milne's.  It became her library, but he took her aside.  Asked her why she was uncomfortable, fidgiting all morning.  He got it out of her, what Bavard had done, but she didn't accuse me.  Of being her second, he sent her to chose a man from examining them that morning.

   I mostly hung out at the smith's shop.  I was in the wrong business, but the tack room.  For the horses, and the leather part of the armor.  The Baron wore full plate, in battle, even had armor for the horse, now dead.

   I got a pauldron out of it, in fact her Guard did not need Bavard's. Some idea how to use it, not Milanoir, nor Kretan Venifzen, the town-smith couldn't bend, and fold the bent edges to make another, but Leonard was not Leichtenaur trained.

   Beat the Baron, though.  In his trial bout, in a tunic, belt, and breeches.  Estocs, he parried the lord's high, pommel out of his grip, flipped it back to the quillon, and swung it, like a scythe.  The Baron stepped back, easilly dodged the tip slashing in front of his protective thorat, but the Estoc flipped again.  Like a cross, the edgeless blade slipped through his fingers, swinging up, over, out, and down like a warhammer.


   The lord stopped it, turning out of ox, and closed.  Half swords, swining the point in like backhanding with a dagger, but with his upped arm over it, whole body behind it, pushing him through the turn with his legs.

   "SWERT!" He caught his quillon on the other guard, halfSwords, but turned the other way, and gave as soon as the point was past his face.  Eye level, he turned, and tilted his head, but the Baron over-extended, and took the pommel to his hip.  Stepping back, the Alpinetti tailor, and cross dresser let go the blade, and twisted the quillon behind the Barron's knee. Forcing it down hard, unprotcted in the dirt, he yelled out.

   Left knee.  I heard, shield side, so what do you brace the bottom of the shield on when riding?  The side-pommel, and knee guard, so it doesn't bash it too much.  When riding, but when fighting, it apparently gets bashed a lot as well, so he's got a bad case of Knight's Knee.  Forward knee, in defensive stance, why he had to drop the good one dismounting in half-armor. Body, skirt, and 1 leg, he can't even wear the shield side knee-guard any more, it hurts too much.

   "My lord," he helped him up, "Are you all right?"

   "Take a knee." He winced, but held it back.  "Sir Leonard auf Venifzi." Then, they threw a real feast.

   "Candy." He stood up.  "Du Candy."



   Guard Notes: "Speer" stance is in fact derived from a Parade/Drill position for Infantry.  Pikes, Standard (Pennant) spear, or Lucern Hammer, bringing them up from grounded (Set for a Cavalry Charge.) Also a handy way to hold a greatsword, like an Estoc in the saddle, your lap is right there, and you're not fighting most of the time.  The rest of the time, you're carrying it, or sling it from the saddle.  Walking around, you can rest the back edge on the pauldron, or hang is by the quillion, pommel up. (Like Bavard did, before being roasted alive on a hot spit.  For "Poaching," instead of Tax Evasion.  Both to set an example of what kind of Lords they're dealing with, and to satisfy the particular sadistic leanings of the Baron.  The Downstroke, with the palmed pommel gripped in the fist
for maximum leverage can be found in Kendo, as well.  

As HEMA, they practice with Estocs instead of federSchwerts, but with a doppelhander, even holding up a Guard, it can chop down to bash you with your back edge, if you don't support it with your hand.  If you don't hold the Messer backwards, so the edge can be used against you, or you can practice knife play without cutting, with the blunt edge forward.  Similar to the Murder stroke, held by the Riccasso, and the blade somewhere near the tip.  While you can grip a sharp blade, "Halfswords" like that, it's another reason to practice, with trainees holding an unsharpened Estoc.  Not just a training weapon, it still has a killing point to slip through openings in their armor.  Or drive straight through the front, and back of infantry body-armor, with a ton/ne of charging knight behind it.  It serves as a good ground weapon against armor, or sidearm with a saddle to hang it off of.  

You can also wear it on your belt, but it's rather long, and cumbersome.  Why they often hang it from the shoulder, and hold it by the riccasso.  Really the best way too, but you don't usually carry it long either way.  It's a longarm, you carry one if you think you'll need it like spear, or crossbow, but you really only need it for practice, or sword fighting through armor you can't cut through.  Like any other kind of Longsword.  A good balanced one can be used 1 handed, it's just about light enough, but not for a tweenager, normally.  Unless it's custom made for her, at about Bastard length on an adult.  They came in all size from hand and half to bearer sword, as tall as the fighter, the same overall length of a Polaxe, or Lucerne Hammer.  

Also, that pauldron is a fictional prototype, with no surviving examples. Eventually developed into a German tilting armor design, over a century later, but we don't have any of the missing links that I've seen.  Nor is their any proof that the Estoc developed from the Feder practice longsword, but it might have. I don't have a picture of the Baron, and his daughter Milne, just the next best thing:

« Last Edit: November 28, 2017, 07:48:12 AM by Psiberzerker »

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Re: Ritter von Airolo (Hystery)
« Reply #1 on: October 01, 2017, 05:46:11 PM »

[  I am learning more from my Second, Ritter Leonard from Candy.  He is learning Leichtanhaur, but he beats it, easily.  "More to fight it.  I learn schools to beat them, that is my style." He acts the modest tailor, and merchant, he is a Dandy.  He dresses up when we are alone, and My Lord considers him safe.  He loves men, or for them to love him, like a lady.  Not as one, but playing the lady as a man plays the cow for the milkmaid? Yes, he has a special way, to play the mare, but everyone can take it in the bind.

   It can hurt, but if you know the proper way, and he does, then it does not.  I like it well enough, but his island.  His family has a tradition of Philatori.  Like a knight, and squire, only they have no knights.  Instead of a squire, they take from the common boys, teach them as apprentice, and love them.  Like my brother, he is squire to Our Lord, but I told him of the haunted Abbey, and our Lord agreed it would be a good trip to lead.  Scout, like Cavalry without a mass of Infantry to attack.  So, lighter, and faster until it got too steep.

   We left the horses in Grimwald, but it was nice to have him.  My brother along, and share the adventure with him.  Playing knight, but he had a pony. Not yet 10, just had his birthday, but a small freilPommel saddle, and full set of armor.  He wore the helm, breastplate, and pauldron, even had a hand and half Estoc he could use in both of his small boy's hands.  The youngest, after my mother died, my father never remarried.  Done mourning, he just switched to pleasing other appetites after he retired from the war.

   Riding breeches, he hated.  My huntsman said, in the brush, there are no roads.  Only game trails, and overgrown with Alpine thorns after the spring with mo men to clear them.  Also steep, and narrow, so there are not many, but they would only catch at the blousing of the usual pants, and doublet. Or scratch his legs under the warSkirt.  You have this, I heard.  Or your norseMann wear this cloak, Leonard called a Kilt?  Like this, only reinforced leather to cover the legs, on the cavalry saddle.  So, he sewed him leather, and made love to him that night.  He said he was so gentle, and loving.  And fair in the dress.  Wig woven in Breinz from expensive hair.  It costs a lot to bargain with the family to shear their daughter, in mourning for them, but they could not afford to pay the Cathedral for her burial without it.

   He looks like a man in a dress, so I am glad I am not a man for him.  I'm jealous, that they get to fight, and kill, and take women, but.  I don't want a woman, I like men.  Real men, like my huntsman.  He's tall, and dark, and his Romansh accent.  I love to just listen to him, and he is a great storyteller.  He does not exaggerate, or if he heard, he will admit when he doesn't know.  How many, how big, or how long.  If he heard, he told stories, and heard stories, he could make money, but prefers to trade. "Another story is worth more than even gold, because you can't spend it.  Pay me in gold, and I will spend it in a year.  Tell me a story, and I can spend it as long as I remember."

   I love him, dearly.

   Too bad I can't marry him, but if I'm lucky, I can find an Old Lord.  There are letters, going back and forth to Petcshet.  The Hapsbergs, as the only daughter I am of course the first, so I must marry up.  My duty for the family, but father likes the idea of an Old Lord, because he has more of a life earned, consolidating power with the Habsbergers.  He may die son, which brings the money to my family faster, but I want one who already has heirs.  A widower, without the blood to take me, so I have my choice of affairs to satisfy me.

   Mine hartMann satisfies me.  So much, so I may take him with me.  Or, help me find My castle, I need a summer home, and I'd rather have a castle in an abandoned valley than a fort on a lake, surrounded by stinking fisher boats.  I'm getting sick of fish, we can afford to eat whatever we like.  My tastes tend to run wilder than my fathers, he likes pork, and similar meats, even boar.  I like deer, and elk, and especially bear.  That first one, hirsh was not planning to hunt, so neglected the salt to season it, but killing it ourselves, it was the best I have ever tasted.

   If you have them, along the March, {Border, but because of the armies that March in patroll between the forts.  Hence the Earls of March...} do send your men to get some.  Roast it so the fat cooks out, and fries it, then slice the meat off thick, so it is as rare as you like it on the inside.  About the width of my thumb lets you taste it, from blackened to fried, then warm and raw in every bite.  I like to cook it, and cut it myself, to get it perfect, to my taste.  I could, stand in the kitchen, and talk the cook through it, but I am so tired of everyone doing everything for me.

   I want to do, everything.  I am not a child any more, and finally I have men who will let me.  My brother is proud of me, away from my father, he says he hated me as a Lady.  Yes, as did I.  He love Candy, I saw it.  In the last town, Grimwalden.  We shared a room, with 2 beds, and the rider changed for him.  Bent over for him to pull up his dress, but I saddled my huntsmann.  I like this, the rider.  His pommel, and I can feel his chest, his Herz?  I don't have the books to look up the word here, but his Blut, beating in his chest.  Faster, and faster, and as I catch up to him, mine beats louder in my ears than his drumming in his chest.

   HartHerz, also squatted like this he just falls out my bind.  Soft as Sheifz, another word, we did not use, when we talked about love.  When you showed me all the wonderful things to feel, mitt aus fikken.  Seifzficken, my courior should have good enough German to translate, but it is not so bad, if it does not hurt.  His Herz, trying to beat from his chest like a Harts, want to grow out my nails.  Pull back the skin, he showed me with his scharfzMesser.

   The long one is sharp, the meat knife is sharper, but he does not cut wood with it.  The smallest knife is sharp.  He can shave with it, before pulling an edge back out on it from leather.  He's pulled the edge over so many times, it shines with iron.  No stone, he won't use a stone on it, because it would only dull the edge.  I love that sound, woke up to it outside the tent this morning, but he is already asleep behind me.  My brother, and his tailor, any other time he would be my Second, but tonight, they are quiet enough.

   Strange to see, I had not even wondered how his tastes would run, he was always just a boy.  War, riding, practicing with his blunt saber.  Cutlass, his favorite, and riding as Envoy Baronet, he never took it off.  All day, but in bed he stopped trying to mount him like a hound, and curled up behind him.  Held the slip in front of him, like a codpiece while he grunted.

   "Uh, huh!" They should be asleep soon, but I'm running out of candle, and my eyes are starting to hurt.

   Wonder what I will dream about tonight?


   Berserker {Incidentally, that's "Norse" (Skandenavian, not Scots, which she calls "Norse" in Germann) for Champion.}

   "Hah!" Good morning.  Woke to wash the morning breath out from her cup, and fed her my cream.  She has played, "Milkmaid." Has gotten rather good at it, but kommen down sie Motte.  {To the Bailey}

   Met the Lord, her husband, the Jarl.  I do not know these Ranks, whether this puts them above, or below the Alberich, possibly on the same level?  Didn't ask, why he only loves her for heirs, not my business.  I learned, being around these families, not to dig too deep.  I don't like all that I find buried, but they have brown hair.  Light, and green eyes.  Her's as a gem, a Beryl {Emerald} whilst his are darker, closer to the shade of a leaf, overlicht by sie sonne.

   Clear to the wall, with huts, tents, and some houses.  Timbers, a lot of it around here, I could do with a chase.

   "Hail, SwitzerMann."

   "Zu sprechen sie Deutche?"

   "Nicht mir goot." Close enough to understand.

   "Was is it?"

   "I am the lord's Champion, he asked me to test you."

   "I am not a knight, just a good hunter.  You have a huntsMann?  Do you ride?"

   "Well, that explains your sword."

   "It's a knife."

   "I bet it messes up, what does it cut?"

   "Wood, flesh, bone.  You are the weaponsMaster?"


   "Go get it."

   "I do not fetch for the lowborn."

   "Taunting me, all right.  You boy.  He is your squire?  Yes, send him."

   "What duz et look laq?"

   "Look you.  Here, it's a grossmesser, can't miss it.  About this long." Over his shoulder.

   "The Falchon." He held up his fists, "2 Hands."

   That Bavard, sure he's an asshole, but he did know his steel.  Made me a warknife, grossMesser.  Hits like an ax, cuts like a knife, and I am working on this 2 handed fighting.  Much quicker than my axe.  Does not cut as good, but with.  "What is that?"

   "My Seax?"

   "Jeah, that.  Can I see it?"

   "A messerMann." He turned, "Ja, there is mine svert unt shield."

   "Schwert, you have fought with the deutcheMann?"



   "Why is that?"

   "It hangs on the saddle."

   "For hunting?  Nice!" Like a messer blade, but with a hilt like a basket. Of iron, but with a steel blade, with a valley drawn down the back, with a Fuller, and the edge drawn in front of it so it is hollow.  No back edge to the tip, which curves back, and can not stab.  Mein can stab, though halfSwertz is best, to put the point where I want it, gripping behind the edge.  I hold it by the pommel, so he will have to pass mine point, but with a shield, it is another thing.

   Just sparring, right.  After I fucked his Lord's wife.  "Yeahr!" All night.  "When ever you are ready," Why don't you go teach that hunterMann a lesson, maybe give him a scratch?  "Kommen, I won't bite." I won't give him any more of the defensive advantage, as She taught me, and Bavard taught her.

   Ox, I let go, and side stepped back.  "Auktz!" Switching from the riccasso back to grip by the blade, I slapped the cross right over the steel dome in the center of his "Targe?" Ringing the boss in the center with the side-ring.

   "Yes," he punched with the iron band, but I dug the Nail into the studs around the rim, guard catching on the tacks, pinning the leather to the wood, and skuffed the design tooled into the face.  Like 2 knots, curved around the sides of the dome, as the new, and dying moon, but I slipped my hilt off to parry his blade aside, and flipped it back to the grip.

   He went high with the shield, so I circled around.  That side, he can not strike through his own arm, but I saw it, buckled instead of gripped, in the center.  Hooked my blade under, and twisted.  The tip, into the back of the badge, and felt for the belt.  The leather belt, he bashed at my head with his hilt covered pommel, but I bend, and ducked behind the iron edge.  Caught the bottom of his grip, I did not see well.  Well enough to use as the fulcrum, of the lever to saw the rest of the way through the bottom of his arm strap.

   Put my shoulder into the face, and swung him away, stepping back, 2 steps as it swung just by the handle.  He threw it at me, but I ducked and parried, then he was at my throat.

   Too high, he stepped under, like a lunge, but stopped short of plunging it up behind my chin.

   I swallowed, turning mine edge down, but.  "If you kill me, I'll bring this down next." He can not pull it out of my throat, and parry high at once, I can still take him with me.

   He stepped back, Ox.  "You are more than a good hunter."

   "I never said I wasn't." Made the occasional shield, too.  "Can you spare a squire?"

   "You are not a knight."

   "Until I leave, and you have a smith here?"

   "Yes, of course." He snapped for his.

   "Boy, take this to be fixed." My edges were dulled, particularly the back of the tip, from feeling around behind the dome in his targe.

   "You cut off my shield, where did you learn that?"

   "We were locked," with that guard, he can not turn his blade, or cut with the back.  "So, I thought of something, to take away your defense."

   "You were not taught that?"

   "No, but I was taught to make shields." I picked his up, he can tack on another strap.  "Not like this, how do you fix the leather?"

   "I do not, the TargeWright did."

   "He is as a smith?"

   "He makes shields."

   "I would talk to him then."

   "He is in Brixton," the nearest port, "The pole ax you brought."

   "Just the head, did you go through all of my arms?"

   "I have not seen, such as this?" At the armerie.

   "Bavard, de Munchenmann?  You met him?"

   "In Zurich."

   "Yes, I hear he was there." On the way back from Alsace Lorraine, "He calls it a Lucserne Hammer."

   "Is like a Bec du Corban."

   "What is?"

   "This, on the back.  Like the beak of the Raven."

   "A bird."

   "A gross, black bird."

   "I have only been past Berguni, not through.  But I have seen this, on their Halberd."

   "Yes, but this blade."

   On top, "Cinquedea."


   "Hand, size blade, yes.  Give me it, see?  I can grip it here, for fencing, or as the parry dagger, out here."


   "For hunting.  See, I push it out, at the end." He had it mounted, and oiled, and sharpened.  Or did it himself.  "You are a ShwertSchmidt?"

   "ArMeister.  Ja."

   "Where is your forge?"

   "This way.  I have, a boy.  A 'prentice, smith.  You are a hunter?"

   "HuntsMaster, yes."


   "You call it that, in Engelish?


   I nodded, "How old?"

   "Almost ten."

   "Yes, I can take him hunting, he knows these lands?"

   "And the lake, he fishes."

   "I do not fish," shake my head, "Can't see what I hunt, and I will be gone before the thaw."

   "He fishes on the ice."


   "Through a hole."

   "Ah." I am old enough to be a Philator.  "Boy, he speak Germann?"

   "He can learn."

   "Yes, he is still young." Look at him.  Pull the hair from his eyes, dark green eyes.  "Yes, He can show me, where to hunt."

   "Later," he sets him to the bellows.  Having started the fire, he may be a while.  I walk by the wall.  "What is this?"


   "May I, sir?"

   "Go ahead." Like a spada di stocca, with a leaf shaped spear blade.  And a broad flat bar for the handle, but of iron.  "Can you make this, of steel?"

   "I can try."

   "Like the Cinquedea."

   "That will be heavy."

   "Yes, with the hammer, and beak.  To stop the boar, when it charges, or the bear when he rears?  Yes, like that, I can handle the weight.  And draw this out." The riccasso, "You have fullers?"

   "This is for hunting?"

   "You have lancers, yes?"

   "Of course."

   "Then for lancing.  LanzScwert?" That Munchen, Bavard.  He had too many weapons.  His squire Kaddie, is overladen bringing them back from his horse. I would rather have 2, or 3, that do all.  Than one for every fight. I am not an Armaster, but She calls this the cross-training.  However, with a boy I may carry more, and it does get cold out in the windy fields at night...




Bavard was a Munchkin, the gamer term.  Basically the Power Assertive Lawful Evil Malignant Narcissist sword nerds tend to play, in Fantasy games.  Minmaxer, and so forth, while Hirsh is The Ranger.  At some point, he has to carry everything, or the horse if he has one.  So, the opposite end of the spectrum is "Everything you need, nothing you don't." Which is why he likes multifunction tools he can use as weapons.  Like a Lucerne Hammer, handaxe, and hunting shield, he hasn't even started on yet...
« Last Edit: October 01, 2017, 05:55:37 PM by Psiberzerker »

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Re: Ritter von Airolo (Hystery)
« Reply #2 on: October 01, 2017, 06:16:31 PM »

A note on Anglo/Norman Saxony.  In Bristol, London, York and Norwich it's the early Renaissance.  However, they're out in the sticks.  A small minor lord with a stone keep, practically a tower on a Motte with a Bailey. In places it's basically the middle ages, and if you go deep enough into the woods, you'll essentially find dark-age iron, and quarterstaffs.  This is nowhere near Sherwood Forest, but that kind of heterogeneous disparity, because you've got the Angles, Normans, and Saxons fighting for Control, just like you have the Kelts, Picts, and Scotts fighting over the Highlands to the North.  Which is why there's all these anachronisms, like highland Clydestale sledges, targes, buttoned pants, and coiffed Norman buns in a motte, and bailey fort.


   Quilla deLasci (GM Sedu?  Lang/IR NS)

   The Hunter was dark, for a DeutsheMann.  I have bean learning to read it from the History of Bern, but have not Spake it much aloud.

   "Latine Loqui?"

   "Who are you, little one."

   "Comptessa Quilla du Lasci, auf Normandie?"

   "Normannish, what are you doing here?"

   "Staying deVinter mitt mine Cousin, the Yarla auf Lassiter."

   "Aquilla de Lasci?"

   "No, Quilla.  Oh, ComptessA deLasci."

   "von LakSee?"


   "You are, Bergundoir?"


   "Pardonne, mine Frankisch ist worse than mine Anglic."

   "My latineLoqui is better than my Deutshe.  You are, Milanoir?"

   "Romansh.  auf Airolo."

   "Oh, you are Hirsh Balgen?"

   "I have been called that, or Hirsch Hartmann.  You have heard of me?"

   "I have read your lady's letters."

   "She is not my lady, I am her huntsMann."


   "HuntsMaster, yes.  What have you read?"

   "All of them, since you have come.  You make my cousin very happy."

   "You know this?"

   "You asked what I have heard."

   "How old are you?"

   "A dozen, old enough to ride, in fair weather, and to hunt."

   "In that?" He laughed.

   "Of course not, I saw you fighting Seam.  The Armaster?  What is that, large saber?"


   "You cut off his shield with.  That is, ah greatKnife?"

   "Yes, it is."

   "I wish I could fight thus, but the men fight for me.  Or like Milne. Does she truly fight that way?"

   "You read all of her letters?"

   "The ones you brought?  Yes, while you pleased my cousin." Imagining what that must be like, fur Milne, she is not much older.  "Do you truly have Philatori, where you are from?"

   "Where did you read that?"

   "I told you, her letters." They sound very exciting, "I am unmarried, not even promised."

   "Is that." He stopped, looked around, "Why not?"

   "3rd daughter, not enough Dukes that aren't my cousins." {A side effect of marrying around 12 is you can have cousins, and even nephews old enough to be your father, or husband.}

   "What do you, propose of me?"

   "My escort, will come for me, in spring."


   "It is cold here, and quiet, you came over the snow."

   "It is not so cold here, I komme from the mountains, this winter is mild to me."

   "Well, it is cold to me, I may need someone, to keep me warm on the way."

   "To where?"


   "Well, I sailed from there, would you like an escort to Calais."

   "Or Bristol, we could stay there, ist much nicer than here.  I have arranged it, but my uncle said I should ask you."

   "He tying to get rid of me?"

   "He tried to get his mann, Seam to kill you."

   "He did not try enough," he laughed.

   "Sie Philatori, they mentor boys?"

   "Traditionally." He scrubbed my hair, "But I am not a traditional Philator.  I would have to ask your father, in Calais."

   "Mine mutter, she is Burgundich."

   "Well, I am not of the house of Alberich."

   I know.  "You are common born."

   "Yes, but working on.  A promotion."

   "They would try to kill you for asking."

   "That would put us at an impasse."

   "Not if you don't take me to Calais."

   "You don't like it there, either."

   "I don't like my family, they don't let me do anything."

   "You are afraid of them?"

   "Of them, finding out what I have done."

   "What is this?"

   "You know the smithSon."

   "I met him?"

   "Yes, I went fishing with him."


   "And, it was cold out on the lake." All night.  "We could had no fire."


   "Yes.  It hurt, but.  We kept eachother warm."

   "I understand."

   "So, you don't have to worry, about protecting my virtue.  But if they ask, you do."

   "I understand."

   "Kommen, let's go talk to my uncle."

   "I should tell him, I am taking you to Calais?"




   "It is said: 'Ja'."

   "Oh, Ja."

   "After you, mine Lady"

   "Where could you take me?"

   "Where would you like to go?"

   "Bern, Interlaken, deNeuchatelSee?"







   "I do not have to go back."

   "To Bern?"

   "To anywhere, your cousin has a courior, ready to go."


   "I was thinking, die interSe'en."

   "Wherem der?"

   "Varum.  Varum dir."

   "Varum dir?"

   "De Eiberin, your Latan Loqui?  My Romansch, they hast Portusch, Gibraller, Moorishe ist keine."

   "I understand, good.  Yes, die Intersee."

   "Then Roma, Siscilia, Candia."


   "Yes, maybe Pori."

   "Oh, Ya.  Ja!"

   "Warum is ein Uncle?"

   "The Jarl?"

   "In his study."

   "Thanks, back to your work."

   "Yes, Contessa..."



Latin Loqui: Okay, since the Romans, everyone speaks it in and around the Empire after it collapsed.  However, while there is some divergence between the so-called "Romance" languages, there's more in common between say Swiss Romansh, and Portugese than modern Peruvian Espangol, and Brazilica Portugues.  Because they haven't been spoken separately as long, over the 500 years between then, and now.  So, it's all fairly close to old Roman Latin from the Crusades, and Migration era of cultural mixing.  From wars of succession over the Old Roman Empire.


   Quilla (tM Scribe/Squire)

   "Mh?" I curled up in the fur, and sighed.  "Hhn!" The light of morning, shone through the canvas like a tent.  Only moving, with the gait of the Clydestale, the dull heavy hoof falls muffled by the snow.  I peeked out through the flap, out front to see the tail swinging, and cupped handfuls up to wash out my mouth.  "Hold," I called up to "Hirsch?"

   On the saddle, riding instead of leading the sledge, he stopped and dismounted, while I pulled some pants on under my nightshift.  Out across a field, I saw our tracks, climbing over the luggage, lashed to the back with leather strips.  "Shall we break fast?" He put his hand on my shoulder.  I turned to see his Knife.  At his side, like the warKnife he left at the castle in Seam's charge.  He looked down, at the side of his belt.

   I pulled at the tangle of my curls, the knots, and looked up.  Asked, "Have you anything to cut this?" He felt it, pulling at a bad snarl, where the plait twisted, and knotted at the side.  I had abandoned my coif, and with it the pretense of my family.  My family's family.  Switching to Latin, "Philator."

   "I'm not." He straightened up, with his smallest sharpest knife.  Turning to sit on the baggage, "Turn around.  I am not Cretanes, nor noble."

   "I am not a girl."


   "My mother, sisters, aunts, and cousins.  None of my family would believe me.  She showed me, on my body that I am a girl, but I have never, felt like one.  I am a boy, inside, but no one would believe me." It just feels better, to say this.

   "I do." he held my head, to his shoulder.  "My, there is no word, for this relation.  My first man, his father married a woman, who was born a boy.  Inside, as you say."

   "Azisa Toupori, I read the book you brought, and Smithson believed me as well." The first who ever had, and I was so relieved, I gave my body to him, willingly.  "It is, the most attractive thing, for a man to me.  I want to be your squire."

   "I am no knight, either."

   "Not by birth, but by skill.  You bested my uncle's best, you fight as a knight, and it would be easier for our travels, if you claimed it."

   "I have no lands." He sawed off another braid, and I sighed.

   "Then, we will make up a title for you, sir Hartmann.  You were Vassal to the Baron of Bern?"

   "Oberland.  The Bernese took over, after the Abbey closed, but I was never transferred, to them.  I was, a peer of lady Alberich, so in a way a knight."


   "Yes, I trained with her, her Armeister Bavard, then his replacement Leonard di Candy when he was killed."


   "His lord, executed him for letting her take lovers.  Then, there was a feast.  For her birthday."

   "You ate him."

   "I was not invited."

   "No, but the lord, Alberich.  He eats men."

   "So I hear, yes.  Officially he was charged with poaching.  As the Marshal?  The caretaker, of the land, I was to charge him, and there for the execution."

   "Are you cold?" He shivered.


   "You are chilled, by the memory."


   "Then talk about something else." That works for me, when I am frightened.  By a story, or a nitemare, I was always protected from all that might harm me.

   "The bear, he killed.  It was under order, by Lady Milne.  She took us up to the hills, and valleys, I as guide knowing the lands best."


   "Yes, I was vassal to the Land.  She did not want to see the land.  She wanted to.  Well, she says 'Gefechten und geficken'."

   "Fighting, and fucking."

   "Is that how you say it?"

   "Yes, in Anglic, ficken is Fucking."

   "Fucking." He nodded.

   "How does it look?"

   "Your hair?" I turned around.

   "Do I look a boy?"

   "Less, as a girl.  Your dress." He held it out.  I pulled it off.  "It is cold."

   "Then get in the sledge," I pushed him back, "And warm me up." I took his hands, and moved them down, from my chest.

   "You do not like?"

   "I hate them." Ever since they started growing.  "I want to cut them off."

   "Here," he tore the nightgown, "Let me show you, how to bind them down." Flat, yes this did feel better.

   "Oh Hirsh!" I hugged him, his broad shoulders, and kissed his mouth.

   "She does, like this.  Under her armor." He told me about fighting, and fucking.  "It is, the same for her."

   "She is harsh.  In bed?"

   "She sleeps alone, but.  Yes.  Brutal."

   "It hurts?"

   "Yes, it hurts good."

   "Then fuck me 'till it hurts."

   "I will, my boy."

   I bent over, so he could pull my pants down, as soon as I got the buttons open.



Fighting/Fucking: All right, there's no concept of Rape, because consent is not an issue between Nobles, and vassals.  Why he can outright threaten deputy guards at the gate, impersonating a Ritter, or Rider.  (Lowest rank of a Knight, not rarely lowborn as well, though he assumed the title rather than have it bestowed.) As it was with Milne, legally it isn't Rape, because she Owned him.  The threat of death, cooked to death by her father is just implied.  So, consent forced by threat of violence, torture and death are morally Rape, but legally.  Well, sex slavery, I suppose.  If you're wondering about his change in attitude, it comes with assuming the Rank.  They wouldn't believe it if he didn't act the part, basically a Power Assertive Malignant Narcissist.  Where the term "Entitled" comes from, because it was normal back then for Knights and other nobles, just like 12 year old brides were.  To this day, it's why neckbearded beta trilby wearing throwbacks say "Milady," because they grew up reading fairy tales, and imagine themselves Prince fucking Charming. Also, landsKnecht literally means Slave to the Land, or Vassal.  The fame of the Swiss mercenaries hasn't even spread yet, he's actually a bit ahead of the curve, but not on his own.


   Ritter vos Airolo (Mt NS.)

   After some venison, and sausage, I took a nap in the sun warmed sledge, while sHe led it on through the snow for Bristol.  The harbor is frozen, there will not be a ship to sail until the thaw, which should come earlier here.  At seeLevel, which should give time to earn passage on a ship for Portu?

   "My lord," he shook me, through the flap.

   Liking the sound of that, "Huh?"

   "Deputies." He stood up in my cloak, over hers.  There was no where to get boy's clothing, but buttoned and broached against the cold, her blouse didn't show even a stitch at the collar.

   "My lord," he bowed, waving gracefully to me, "Ritter von Airolo of Bern." Backed behind me, pushing furrows with his heels.  Wrapped in furs I had left lying around, I pulled on my Morion cap, and with it the air of Nobility.

   "What is it?"

   "You are entering the lands of Brykgstow, and owe Tax to enter."

   "Huh!" I nodded, snapped, "Fetch me my purse."

   "Yes, my lord." He fished it out of the saddle.

   "What manner of sword is this?" Flat bowl of a helmet, like a buckler tipped back, his crude Halberd leaned on his shoulder.  "Is it a sword, or Seax?"

   "Messer.  Uh," Scratch my head, and bend down for a hand full of snow.  "Aquillo, tell them."

   "KnifeSword." I nodded.

   "Can I see it?"

   "Yes, you saw it.  There on my saddle.  It's German." Really sick of the conversation.  The curiosity, hopefully the warKnife I left with the Guard of Lacy would get around, and people would get used to seeing a Nail.

   "German Hanger." His scribe wrote down, with cold ink.

   "What is the tax?"

   "What is your business?"

   "None of yours?"

   "Uh," my squire spoke up, "Lodging, and passage to Glascony."

   "There are no ships to Glascony until spring."

   "Right, hence the Lodging, until spring."

   The scribe thought.  "Five pence."



   "Pay it then." I yawned, and pulled out my breeches.

   "And this?" The soldner.

   "Did I tell you to touch my things?" I drew my 'hanger' from my saddle.  "I can take your hand, clean off for less.  Lowborn."

   "I must log any weapons, before you enter, my lord." I'm starting to like being called that.  I nodded.  "Is it a sword, or warhammer."



   "Yes, tuck/hammer." I slipped my knife through the loop for it in my belt, and drew it from my saddle.  "So, I don't need a longsword, and a hammer, should I encounter impudent Deputies in armor on the road.  Where is your sheriff?" I held it up, Morder grip, as a hammer.  "Are you deputies, or bandits?" The prongs of the Luscerne face ready to punch links out of his maille shirt.  As Bavard killed the bear he was killed for killing, punching through it's skull with the quillion of his doublehander, so I know it works.

   "No sire!" He shrank back.

   "Then open the damned gate, it's too early for this sheifz!" I slipped it back in it's loop, while my squire translated.  "The fick was that all about?"

   "The lodging.  The Sheriff of Bridgetown is rich from Tax.  Lowborn, so he lives like a lord since knighted.  Taxes the Hostels as well, so they wouldn't extort so much from us at the gate."

   "Ah." Smart.  "Well, hopefully we can find another arrangement, you know this town?"

   "We stayed with him, when we arrived in fall.  It would be best I avoid him, lest he recognize me."

   "You have a twin sister."

   "No sire."

   "Well, you do now."

   "Ah, yes sire."

   "We'll have to ditch the sledge." The Roman cobbles are clear, icy, but not working very will on the brass shod runners.

   "There is a stable."

   "You think we can sell the horse?"

   "Yes, sire."

   "Let's do that, then." In the city, it is more expensive even without a Sheriff to extort Tax from us.  "Then, show me to this Sheriff." Maybe we can work something out...

   He bartered for me, her money any way, but a good draft horse, almost too large to ride.  I unpacked the damned court doublet, hose, and codpiece. If I'm going to act the noble, I have to dress it, especially if I'm going to go bully the sheriff out of these taxes.

   "Huh!" Warmer, though.  Velvet, like woven swede, with brocade between the slashes, bloused around my shoulders and thighs.  I skipped the collar, draw the line at unfolding it like a fan of motley partitions, and tucked the straps back in my helmet.

   My squire returned, handed me the purse no fuller, but heavier.  "Gold?"

   "A little, you ran hounds in the Highlands?"

   "Oberland, yes." I nodded.

   "I got a draft dog, for the horse.  He had not the gold to pay in full, but she will carry our packs." He led us out.

   "SennerHund?" I did not know they had these, here.  Nor trimmed off their witer coats for some reason, these looked shorn like sheep.

   "Mastiff." And a small cart.

   "Like a baby carriage."

   "A pram." Better than the sledge over the cobbles, and muddy ruts away from the center street to the Castle, Court, and Sheriff's fort.

   "Lead on," I patted his shoulder, "My boy."

   "Yes sire."

   "To the market," I reconsidered, "We have to get you some, more appropriate clothes."

   "Oh," excited, "Yessire!" Toward the harbor, and the docks, at least they had rooves and eaves with the doors open to show the wares.

   The schneider, from Candy.  I can sew, leather, but he made dresses.  To wear, and also for Lady Milne, but, it would be nice to have him.  As a dress must be sized for his body, I would think boy's clothes would have to be for his girlish figure.  The start of hips I felt, in the tent on the sledge.

   Bent over, to take it in the bind, it hurt but like a philator, and boy, and he hopes never to carry a child.  With his small breasts bound down, that might be another problem, but not as much without growing them with a child.  "Huh!" It would be nice if Leonard was here.

   "Leather." He felt some sort of tanned hide.  I picked it up, fine, fine enough for gloves.

   "How much?" I could make him some with laces, just not as nice as the Sneider.


   Aquillo Page de Lassiter (t...)

   I announced him "Hart, the Ritter from Airolo," and bowed to let him pass.  "His Anglic is crude, I speak for my lord."

   "He is Milanaise?"

   I shook my head, "Swiss."

   He bent to the edge of my new haircut, and I repeated in English.  "Oh, His town of Airolo, was Milanaisse, now he is of Bern.  The Alpinetti?"


   "Yes, the Swiss Confederacy, have taken the mountains to the Interlachen."


   "Between the lakes, in the Swiss Highlands.  He was Vassal to the Land, now Canton of Bern."

   "Ritter, is lesser to count?"

   "Yes, lord."

   "Good." Comptette, actually.  He's a fucking Sheriff, glorified master of the guard, no better than Seam other than in his own mind.  Okay, well I lied about Hirsch being knighted, but I lied all my life, telling everyone I was a little girl.  Her old life, out with the bathwater.

   "What brings you here?" He rubbed his hands together.  Anticipating taxes.

   "What shall I tell him?" In German, nobody here speaks it.  "Trade?  My cousin, the Duke has no ties with the Swiss Confederation, yet?  Well, we just came from the castle Lassiter, but anything going there can come overland, as we did, or through here." With harbor taxes, shipping fees, billet tariffs, I could see the gold twinkle in his eyes, imagining the shower of coins as I listed off taxable things.

   "So, you will have to speak with him?" Which ment crossing the bridge, and the petty guardhouse the Sheriff pretended was his personal castle.  I yawned.

   "Of course."

   "You're related to the Lasci, then."

   "I believe my sister, Quilla stayed with you, when she came in the fall?"

   "Ah yes, I remember." Me too.  If anything, he's become even more the powdered perfumed dandy than before.

   "She told me all about you." I forced myself to smile.

   "I never touched her, nor did any of my court."

   I snorted, "Of course not." Now that I'm a boy, he seemed to show more interest.

   "Well," he annealed, "Tell your sire to teach you some respect.  Youngling."

   "Yes," I bowed, "Of course.  Are we free to go?"

   "Take them to the bridge," he waved boredly, and the buckler heads came to escort us.

   "What was that?"

   "Slap me, and shout."

   "Dummer Jungen!"

   "Sorry, sir." It hurt, but if I'm going to be a man, I have to learn to take a hit.

   "So," out in the hall, "What was that all about?"

   "I'll tell you later, but we didn't have to pay any more, right?"

   "Ja." he nodded.

   "I outed him as a pedorast.  Thought he might be, but now I know his secret.  Also, he deferred us to the Duke.  My cousin, so won't embezzle from us.  It's not his place, and he won't risk it."

   "Clever boy." He patted my back

   "Thank you, lord."

   I outranked him, but I hated being a lady in waiting.  A small price to pay for my freedom, and to be me.  Who I am, who I always was, and the chance to become a man.  I did not earn it, the pillow my family carried me around on.  This is my chance to earn it, as soon as I learn to fight.

   I am a page, and squire now.  I have never been happier in my whole life.


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Re: Ritter von Airolo (Hystery)
« Reply #3 on: October 01, 2017, 06:28:46 PM »

   "Quill, pull out the Rolls."

   "Yessir." They made us wait, again, but she was born to this.  Court, life, and it is fortunate that nobody speaks Germannish.  Latin, but that means he can do all the talking.  Out here, in the Bailey, that is what they call the courtyard where the men practice.  Fighting, the snow cleared to slates, and marked off with white scratches for the Maestro to put them through their paces.

   "While we wait." I handed him my new shieldSword.  "Ask after the carpenter, the.  TargeWright?" I nodded, that's what Seam said, to ask after when I was here.  To think, he sends away for shields.

   "What is this?" Holding it up, side down.

   "Turn it over, it is like a buckler, but rather than hanging from the belt, here is the sheathe."

   "Like this?"

   "Yes, the blade protects your forearm, but you can also learn to cut with it.  Now, show the other squires, and send the Shieldwright to me."

   "YesSir, thank you sir!" Delighted, he practically skipped off, but clumbsy with the hybrid weapon.  Hybrid shield, and sword, like the Main Gauche I saw around the borders of the Burgundi lands, but cut out to the curved quillions of the 5 finger blade, and anchored across the boss to the pommel.  Without a shieldwright, I had to hack it out of a targe, but there happened to be a damaged one handy.


   "Benifachi!" I grinned, turning.  "You are the carpenter, you make shields?"

   "Carpenter, boss smith, leather tooler, yes."


   He shook his head, "Sisceeli."

   "Good to meet you." I gripped, and pulled his hand, "Where is your workbench?"

   "Over here." I led my small cart.

   Against the wall, just a roof sticking over on poles, but dry, and even a small forge.

   A stack of bosses.  "Are these for shields, or helmets?"

   "They make them, en masse.  Stamp them out at the river, I can use for bosses, bucklers, or pad and strap for helmets." Explains the guards' fashion, "Was that a cinquedea?"

   "My squires'?  Yes."

   "Nice!  I saw one, on Siscilia."

   "You are from?"

   "Oh no, Marseille.  I fled there, then here."




   "They attach the Cinquedea to bucklers, in Venice now?"

   I shrugged, "I do not know, I have never been there."

   "Where did you get that?"

   "A friend, from Crete.  Then, I made it, stuck it to a boss I won in a duel."

   "Oh, clever."

   "Thank you."

   "What are you doing?"

   "Well," Beating my Knife on the back edge through a post.  "Splitting a handle, for this." I brought the head of my Hammer.  My true hammer, "Like a polish ax."

   "With the," He stuck out his fingers, like the prongs.

   "Luscern head." I nodded, "Instead of the back beak."

   "Axe, and hammer." He nodded.  Flipped it over, "With 5 finger spear."

   "Yes, for my squire to learn Halberd.  Have you ever seen one of these?"  My draft dog, curled up in the harness, I pulled out my hammerSword.

   "It looks like a stocco, and hammer."

   "It is, but with the pommel, I can show him, the Halberd without stabbing him."

   "The point is on this side."

   "Yes, is also a Tuck."


   "So, I don't have to carry a sword, a hammer, an ax, a hook..."

   "Yes, I see."

   "When I came here, I had no squire, nor horse.  Now I have a squire to arm.  I will need a shield as well.  You do the tooling." I noticed, the tools to work leather, the knot designs that are the fashion here, as well as the raw leather.

   "Yes, of course."

   "How do you fix it to the targe?"

   "I will show you."

   "With the forge?"

   He laughed, "Of course not, you will need rivets, for the langets on your pollax?"

   Finished cutting the handle, I nodded, held it up for length, but I can always cut it off.  "Good, thank you."

   "No problem."

   "Here is the deal.  We make 2, I keep one, you keep one, so you know how to make?"

   "Agreed." We pulled hands to make it official.  He picked up a rivet with his tongs, and the peening ball on the back of the hammer, while I held the langets over the haft.  We didn't talk while we worked.


   Lacy (tb NS)

   "What is it?" The FAQ, all around, so I showed it off.

   "Shield sword," I held it up, "Hand me one of them?" From the rack, plain old cut and thrust wooden swords, "I'll show you.  You boys know how to fight?  With the sword, and buckler."

   "Of course," some also had the Scottish dirk, which is like a knife, but little to no guard.  I braced my forearm in the ferule, and circled around.

   "Sir," HartMann was busy talking shop, we had barely begun to spar, but these reflexes aren't going to train themselves.  I grinned and winked.


   My eye blinked of his own, and he shrank back.

   "En guarde!" Easily batted his blade away with my flat, lunge-stepped diagonal, but looked back twisting to hook my edge behind the edge of his shield.  Easily slipping the tip between his elbow, and the arm strap, I side stepped, crossguards locked, and hooked my heel behind his, throwing my shoulder in behind the boss.

   "wuH!?" Shield slammed him, with his own shield, back-stepping as he turned, away, guarded from his blade on the outside, I disengaged hilts, and ran my flat up, around the rawhide banded rim, to chop across his throat, and punched him in the back with the boss so he tumbled over, gasping for breath.

   I kicked his sword away before it even finished clattering on the slatestone, and circled around, "Who's next?"

   "Khuh!" He choked, and coughed, bent over on his knees, and I kept side-stepping, as they came around.  To surround me, but cutting off their line of approach so they could only engage one at a time, I lunged, and summersaulted over his back through an opening.  Bashing one to the unprotected knee with the edge of my buckler, and sweeping the sword strike away on the other side before rounding it off, turning, and backing out while one hopped, circling around with 2 wounded to cut off their angles now.

   This many boys to fight off, I'd have this body dialed in soon enough...



   "What the fuck?" I ran out, to the commotion.  Across the yard, it took a while to get to the opposite corner, where the boys and teens were starting to gang up.  The ones that weren't running, and crying.

   And the man, 1.  I could tell by his bearing as much as his armor he must be a knight.  Just a breastplate, maille, and the flat caps that look like bucklers, he fought like one too, with a basket hilted hanger, and Targe.

   "Ahahaha!  Is that the best you got?"

   Over the boys, chanting, and pumping their fists, chanting "Fight fight fight!"

   Lasci, my squire was dueling a knight?  Just with the buckler sword, but swithching hands, and circling around his shield side.  Murderous rage, "Come on, girl.  What are you afraid of?" Taunting him.


   He over extended, and sHe blocked high.  To parry, twisting to catch the back edge in the cutout, against the blade, forcing it down as if to break his wrist with the guard of his own sword, and dodging the iron bound edge of his targe, punching at hem.


   Shink!  His blade bounced away, off his own shield edge, then sHe stabbed down.  Gripping the top edge, wickedly twisting the bands I hammered around the quillions to fasten to the concave edge on his wrist, and blood gushed out over the blade.  Dripping from a twist back,
spattering across the slate.

   "Ngh!" he fell, cradling his stump behind the shield arm, hunched over and sobbing even as his sword rolled, and the severed hand fell out.

   "Anyone else?" He wiped the blade off on the fresh swede of the breeches I made him, to fit his girlish hips, and skinny legs.

   "Come on!" I dragged him off by the top edge of the boss, to point the blade away from me, but he held on.  Followed with the blade braced against his arm.  "I did not teach you that!  How the hell do you learn so fast?"

   "Hihihihnyeah!" He giggled, frighteningly.  "I taught him, the same as I taught you.  So fast, did you think you learned all that yourself?"

   "What are you?"

   "It's a long story.  The short of it is I am the Family Curse."

   "My family is cursed?"

   "Ahaha!  Of course not, any more than deLasci!  You got me from the Alberich.  I'm just killing some time until we can go back to Greece."

   "Oh." I had heard stories, I could not believe.  "You are," looking around, they gave us all the space they could, 'basiatis?' The Demon, Vampire of Melanui.

   "No, I'm his daughter."



   When we were out, on our way to the Duke.  "He is your cousin?"

   "I said?"

   "You said 'my cousin,' not that he was the duke!"

   "Yes, Dennis Lankaster, Duke Palantine of Bristol, did I not mention?"

   "Yes, you did not."

   "Well, he does speak German, and every other language we know, so let me do the talking."

   Walking across the bridge, the Knight still wimpering and clutching at the fresh tarred stump at the end of his arm.

   "He'll live." She, the demon daughter grinned, and blinked his eye when I looked back.

   "I do not like this."


   "This, city.  It is, too many people."

   "You don't like people."

   "I do not know any of them, so it is hard to know the wolves from the sheep, and I am lost here.  In Insteltwald, and Aarmeule', I knew everyone. Even in Thun."

   "Well, there's no wolves here."

   "No, there are men as bad as wolves, but they lie, and say they are like sheep."

   "Oh, yes of course." He nodded.

   "You know the Red Rider?"


   "La finna Nonna.  The story of the grandmother, and the wolf."

   "Little red riding hood?" She laughed, "Ha!  Girl's story."

   "Yes, but in that, there was one wolf.  In the wood, if you see one, you look around for the others.  Here, there is someone around every corner, I have never been around."

   "The people, or the corner?"

   "Exactly, so I come around a corner I have never seen, and there are people I do not know, to trust."

   "You're paranoid.  In cities, okay well let me talk to my cousin, but be ready for some action."


   "He knows my family, I do not have a twin brother, my older brothers and my whole family.  He knows me, or who I was.  So, I cannot lie."

   "You have reason, to fear your family." I swallowed, nodded.

   "Not like that.  Like Milne's, but bad enough.  They do not know me, or believe I am a boy.  He would send me back home.  I'd rather be killed, or go to prison.  He can do that, Duke Palentine is much like a king, when the King is not here."

   "In London?"

   "There are 2 Kings, last I heard, the Lannister king was in Birmingham fur sieVinter."

   "Quilla, what have you done with your hair?"

   He is old, well a Duke.  Here he is like king.  "These es jor Cousin?"

   "Denny, this is Hirsh, the Ritter von Airolo."

   "My lord," I bowed, and offered my hand, cupping my helmet under my other arm.

   "Ritter, you are Dutch?"

   "Swiss/Milanese.  Alpinetti."

   "Ah yes.  Come in, I have a fire." He could roast me in, with room to spare, I did not stand too close.  It was warm enough, out of the wind blowing down the Avon.

   "I have been to Genoa, not Milan, you prefer Latin?"

   "Romansh, do you know this?"

   "Bastard latin, my Dutch is better.  I have been to Zerchen."

   "Yes of course.  I rode through, but stopped only to change horses."

   "He's gonna escort me to Calais."

   "Not until the river thaws, I hope, why is it so short?" He felt his hair.

   "I had an accident, we saved what we could."

   "I hear she wounded one of my men.  Was he making advances?"

   "Deny!  I challenged, him, and cut off his hand."

   "Did he touch her?"

   "He didn't get the chance." He spoke to me, as if he wasn't there?  "How do you have, such a young cousin?"

   "I was the firstborn, she was the seventh.  My mother was also the third, her father the sixth."

   "Oh," shrug, "Good to know." Big families.  He mentioned that before.

   "Did you hear me?  I cut off his hand!" She squeeled.

   "She did, I saw it."


   "I sheared it off against the edge of his shield, like he taught me."

   "You taught her to fight?"

   "I can not wtach her always, it was for her safety."

   "Of course." He finally turned back to him, "This does not mean you should go sporting for fights, young lady." Okay, now I see why she hates them.  I can imagine, being mistaken for a girl all my life, but this.  He ignores her, doesn't even look at him, if he doesn't have to.  "Did you talk to my Sheriff, on the way in?"


   "He could still make you a good wife!"

   "I'm not his type."

   "You're noble, your hand could gain him."

   "He likes boys." His hand snatch back, a if he'd burned him.  "What?"

   "He saw my hair, what was left after I burnt it, and he tried to seduce me.  Right there, in front of his men.  Ask the guards who came with me, they saw it."

   Oh, they do not.  It is like Itali, they do not tolerate Philatori, or Androphilae.

   "I disguised myself, after the fire as a boy.  So that I would not be accosted.  I had no way to know he was like that." At the door, he went and talked to the guards, in Anglic.  Too low to hear, but sHe chucled next to me.  They nodded, and left.

   "Yes, very clever.  Now I shall have to get another Sheriff." To me, "Would you like to stay?  If you trained her, as well as she said, perhaps my guards could learn from you?"

   "Oh, no." I put my hands up, "Danke, sehen but I hate the city, and want nothing more than to get out, as soon as the river thaws."

   "He hates too many people."

   "Too bad."

   "I would not mind training with them, however."

   "All right."

   "Can we have the guardhouse, until he is replaced?"

   "Of course, my dear." He wiped the kiss off his hair immediately.  "But, I have to talk to my steward.  If you'll excuse me."

   "Of course."


Quilla de Lasci

   "Uh!"  ::)  Of course, I'm served by girls.  I have to eat, but the guard stands watch, to make sure I don't secure any means of escape.  I considered the window, you know the story of Rubada?  {Rapunzel in German.  Yes.} Here, we have glass, so I can see out over the icy roofs, and cleared slates of the practice yard, but it doesn't open.  {Your aunt's friend, and lover, Milne had a similar window.  It also traps heat like the girdle of the Earth.}

   It would be fairly easy to smash through the motley (Pattern of diamonds) lattice holding the panes, but I don't have enough bedding, clothes, drapes, and pulls to make enough rope.  Which would mean a fall, I estimate halfway to the roof, and then the slates too far below.  I
wouldn't even consider trying to climb the wall itself, exposed, and no doubt icy from the sleet that spatters against it.

   Nor could I write about it, my plans for fear that they would be found in a search, when letters of courting are brought to me from my suitor.  Right, forged by my father, then signed, as if I know not his hand, and his every argument.  I am given enough paper, and ink to write replies, but as they consist of "Non." there's quite a bit of surplus.  I have a fireplace, so at least it is good for the chill at night, when the light fades from the western window.  My favorite, not just from the warmth, but the view down the Avon to see.  Sea, sorry, as the Suitzermann would say it.

   I know no language my cousin does not, and any papers confiscated would be taken to him directly.

   Likewise, the chimney is always hot, it's winter, and at best would get me to the kitchen, not out of the castle.  I considered it, even climbed up over the flue to find the vertical passage narrow, and sticky enough with soot, but also choking with smoke, and heat that would only get worse.  I do have black stained clothes now, even breeches sewn in my own hand which would never wash out.

   Not much else to do, I was given thread, needles, they won't allow me a spinning wheel, once I was caught trying to plait rope.  So, they also limited the material, rationed to less than half the height of the tower. It is not a prison, officially, but with these rules, they barely cover the lie.  I have 1 thing to buy my freedom, not my purity, I can not say who I had given it to, for his life, but my suitor wants me for my position.  To be an Earl, not for children, nor even my body.

   {Not his type, but you haven't noticed the guard?} He does not even look at me!  {Well, no.  He'd probably be left stocked in the slate yard to freeze to death, rather than roasted alive from the inside out, but the punishment is the same.  He fancies you, though.} How?  {Stockholm syndrome? Or reverse Stockholm, he is your captor, but you read the story of Bella Donna, and her Beast?}

   I like my voice, in my head.  If I spoke of him, I would be found mad, but they can't kill me.  If I wanted to die, it would be a simple matter of smashing the window, or sliding down the dark hot chimney to the kitchen hearth.  {Well, not that they would eat you here, but that would be more appropriate.} I want to be a free man.  {Too bad we can't call the Eagle.} ? {Sorry, that is a story for another time, a long time from now, in a land not far away.  Never mind, back to the Guard.}

   I don't fancy him, the huntsman has my heart.  {Hahahahah!} What?  {Long story, that won't get us out of here.} But he is so old, and hairy in the face.  {Yes, but have you considered that his beard also covers his face, like a mask?} Of course!  {So, it should be just a matter of getting him out of his clothes, and putting them on, once you have a beard to wear out of here.} All right, I like this plan.  {Dressing as a soldier, I thought you would.  So, if you don't have enough hair to make a rope, maybe you could to make a beard.}

   I could seduce him, I suppose.  For my freedom, he knows I am not a virgin, and it must get lonely out there.  Yes, cold and lonely out on the landing, barred away from the fire, especially late at night.  {Yes, of course.}

   I am tired, and have nothing to read.  Tell me a story.  {Which one?} Tell me of the Huntsman, and the Queen.

  {Well, long ago, and in a land far away, there was a beautiful girl in a castle...}


  • Guest
Re: Ritter von Airolo (Hystery)
« Reply #4 on: October 01, 2017, 06:59:19 PM »

   Watch the movie: Beauty and the Beast, the cartoon, only this time ignore the men, and think about at her.  The small-town Belle, dreaming of her escape from "This provicial life," using her Beauty to borrow books from the kindly old bookseller, literally waving it in the illiterate
serf's faces.  Spurning the advances of the Power Assertive Malignant Narcissist, and basically dreaming of becoming a princess on the set of The Sound of Music.  (The hills are figuratively alive, I swear to god.) Then trading up for a Sadist, with a castle!


   Donna Isobelle

   "Magie Miroir."

   "Yes, milady."

   "Why do you sit up there, on the table?"

   "It is where I have always rested," beside the rose.

   "Sit down, and tell me about the Curse." Of all the household, she always looks different.  To me, I see myself, as I was younger, when I come here.  My Lord sees only the beast, he was for all those decades.  This ancient castle, the curse older than my Father, he grew up knowing only the wood no one would go, until the castle was forgotten...

   "Well, long ago, this Province was ruled by a good king."

   "How long?"

   "I do not, count years as you do.  To the point that I can not give you a meaningful answer."

   "Oh.  You're not mortal."

   "I am the curse."

   "You were broken?"

   "I was fulfilled.  I was also a prophecy, so your love allowed me to break the confines of the curse."

   "Which is how you change shape?"

   "I do not change shape, I have none.  I am formless, so you see we as you want when you talk to me.  Bastion was cursed for Vanity, so he saw himself in me, or the wretched form he was bound in."

   "Then why do I see you as an ostrich duster with the maid?"

   "That is how she sees herself."

   "So, you show me how people see themselves?"

   "Yes, I am your curse."

   "I'm cursed?"

   "No, I am free.  You broke me free, so I am yours.  The family curse, but as I was bound to him, I can not be his.  I will be yours until his heir."

   "Oh," So that is how it works.  "So, I can bind you to someone."

   "Perhaps, if you learn how."

   "How do I learn?"

   "The books, in the library."

All right, then.  If you want to imagine Hermione playing the anti-antagonist, I can't stop you.  I'd probably cast a young Charleze Theron, and sew an A on her gowns at some point.  (And Michael Dorn as Bastion) Eventually, expect this to make it's way through the Merovingen
line to the Bern House of Alberich.  She grew up reading Fairy Tales...



   The baker, they call "Fairycake." Like the small ones she cooks, carrying the surplus around the slate yard in a tray.  Short, and plump, with a hat like the Buckler helm, only ruffling around the edge, and white as the finest flour.  Like her apron, belted around her ample middle, some of the men appreciate her soft curves, her bosom, but I am preoccupied by my squire.

   "Thanks," she pulled a napkin back from a bun, marked with a cross, still warm.

   "I baked this special for you, Ritter." I cupped it with my chilled hands, while the rivet forge warmed up.  She winked her eye, "Careful eating it."

   "I think she fancies you," the targeWright laughed.

   I shook my head, but it broke open, in my hands.  Around a folded piece of cloth, stitched with letters, I frowned.

   "Is that a love letter?"

   [Mine Knecht.] In German,

   [Don't let my cousin read this.] "Looks like," I lied, and carried it over to the light.  Shining in the corner of the wall, we are not prisoners here, but they won't let me see him.  I took a bucket to upend, and sit in the light.  Munching the soft sweet roll, I had to squint at the threads, still lighter than the yellowed cloth.  I can not say when I learned to read {*} without study, but as my eyes traced across I could hear the words in my head, even as I puzzled as the strange shapes picked out in needlepoint.

   [I'm trapped, in the tower.  My cousin holds me hostage, until I agree to marry his sheriff.  {We have the start of a plan.} Yes, I still have the Curse, and he helps me.  Stave off the loneliness as well as figure out the resources we have at hand.  {Well, mostly how to use them, not really her strong point.} Hey, I am a boy!]

   I rubbed my eyes, at the argument carefully stitched between the voice in his head.  Had I not heard it myself, felt the numbness seize my body before thrown into incredible action faster than I knew what was happening. I remember, being told later what "I" had done, having missed it.

   [I dare not reveal the details, for fear it being intercepted, but it will only get me out of the castle.  We still have to escape the city, and the island.  Secure if you can a boat at the shore, in waiting for the night.  Not tonight, but I can see you in the yard, and signal by breaking
the window.  {Well, your dogs.} I should be able to meet you at the gate, so be ready, once you have secured a boat, and some way to get there from the courtyard.

   Sealed with a Kiss,


   Returning to the eaves, I burned the cloth in the rivet forge, watching it blacken between the letters, then the stitches curl out to smolder at the ends like lampwicks until finally being consumed.

   {*Deus ex Machina: Literally, and figuratively.  The "Curse" cured his illiteracy.  Not by teaching him to read, but the Neuronano communicates directly with the mind through the language centers (And across the Corpus Collossom) Which was reprogrammed to translate letters into sounds, between Visual, and Vocal words across the hemispheres of his brain.  When he was possessed, and got used to hearing it's voice in his head.  Teaching him 4 European Martial Arts (Leichtenaur, Florentine, Milanaisse, and Venetian Cinquedea/Knife, and Buckler.) In record time, Quillon hasn't learned them yet, so "He" takes over her reactions, paralyzing her body (Side effects may include numbness, and hearing about it later because it happened too fast to follow.  The same as Airolo.}


   Lord High Executioner (Chorus)

   I found her crying, and gasping in the corner.

   "What is it?" my maid, face buried in the duster stops to wipe her eyes on the lace cuffs of her blouse.

   "Nothing, my lady.  Sorry to disturb your morning."

   It's like meeting them all anew, not that we had much interaction when she was a duster.  "It's all right, why don't you come with me," to the library, "And tell me all about it."

   "It is Chandelier."

   "Your lover?"

   She nodded, "He is so rough."

   Hard to imagine as a spindly stick bent of brass, but now he had regained his mortal form, and with it his manly vigor.  "He was not, for all that time?"

   "We could only flirt."

   Right, as animate objects, I hadn't thought how that would not work.  "I am new to such magics as curses." Had only really found the sections on the shelves, but I had to re-dip my quill.  "What did he do to you?" It took a while to get it all out of her.  She took breaks to weep, which I took to keep my nib wet, blot the pages, dot my Ts, and cross my eyes.

   Long story short, he forced her down in the corner.  "The one I found you?" Yes, tickled under her skirt, and slips until her legs gave out, then held them over her.  To pull her underclothes (Yes, Plural.) down, and mount her.

   Like a mare, thankfully "He was done quickly, so he let me breathe."

   "Oh, you poor thing." I was Exited!  My lord, can be passionate, as well. Always is in bed.  "It hurt my first few times, as well."

   "What did you do?"

   "I learned to enjoy it."

   "I do not think I can do that."

   "I can show you how."

   "I do not think."

   "Don't, then." Daylight, streamed through the open windows, so the fresh candles were unlit.  Thank you, Chandler, for doing your job, and more.  "This won't hurt, at first.  You have to be ready for it.  Feel your passion for him, and use this.  The wax is slick, and smooth, until the water of your love starts flowing..."

   {Translated to English, so Lumierre becomes Chandler.  Not just the candle-holder hanging over the dining table, but also the member of the household that has to light all those candles.  Not to mention replacing them, a candle-maker being a Chandler.  The soundtrack courtesy of Gilbert & Sullivan, (Vocalist/s) because it's a Musical!}



   "Hale guard." I turned at the thick accented voice.

   "Oh, it's you." The Ritter.  I spat in disgust.

   "Peace, mahn.  I made you something."

   "What?" A buckler, he turned his over.

   "Look, sei?  It is a bracer, with a boss." Padded on the inside with thick wool.  "How has your arm healed?"

   "I did not lose my shield hand." I backed away from the shiny surface, imagining the chunk taken out of it.  Like the moon with a shadow across it, and the broad blade between in my mid's eye.  {As a guard, he would have witnessed one of the Tetrad of Lunar Eclipses of 1475.}

   "Here, you can learn to fight with your left.  It is advantish, as alle'mann learn to fight the right handed fighter.  Give me this." He pulled at my arm, cradling the stump.  "Let me sei."

   I let him buckle it on, at the elbow.  I winced, "Does it hurt?" I shook my head, flexing my phantom fingers, and twisting the bones in my arm.  "There, know you how to fight with the knife?"

   "Of course," I took out my seax, and flipped it out.  Tried it, stepping back en guarde, it felt strange.  Like fencing my shadow on the wall, but I was the shadow.  "Comen," he led me, but on the wall my shadow faced me as a normal man, now.  With both hands, buckler and knife, I covered my knuckles with the rim.  He tipped up his moon cap, the Morion, that had become popular with the forces of York.

   "Where did you get that?" He looked up.

   "Oh, London."

   "You came, over the land in the snow?"

   He nodded, "I see your status has gone down, since you lost."

   "To a boy."  A mere welp!

   He laughed, "They did not tell you?  No," to himself, "Ich nehme an, es ist geheim.  Ahem.  That was the Lady, Quilla du LakSee, in disguise for the road."

   "She is in castle Lassiter," I had heard, "She sends missives to her betrothed, the Sheriff." Looking through the open gate, across the tower to the guardhouse.

   "No, she's up in the tower," he pointed, "Punishment for refusing his hand." I broke down, bashed my cheek with the hard rim, trying to cover my weeping eyes.

   "Oh, be not ashamed of being beaten by a girl, she's bested me, in practice.  You have heard of Jeanne de Orleon?"

   "The knight?"

   "She is possessed by her spirit.  The greatest warrior of our age.  That is why she is locked away."

   I had heard, of a mysterious girl, in the tower.  From her guard, I knew not where she came from, but his duty began the night I.  I lost my hand!

   "It's all right," he patted my back.  "Let me show you, how to use it to your advantage."

   "It is?" I looked up.

   "Dry your tears, before they freeze.  Let me show you, now my knife faces your knife." Having taken off his helmet, then rebuckled it.  Tight, but the straps crossed in the middle, to grip like a buckle.  "Your shield faces mein.  Kommon," he waved them, "En guard, let me show you."

   He cut his whiskers, or said that she did.  She likes him better, with it short, and even sleeps with them in her pillow.  So he says, he is in love with her.  The girl, who maimed me.

   "Are you afraid?"

   "NO!  No." I bit my teeth together, bitterly.  "What have I to fear?"

   "Then attack me, I won't hurt you, but you learn by doing.  Let me show you, how to fight to your advantage."

   I looked back, at the stocks.  Where the Sheriff spent the night, but survived.  Now her guard, for giving in to her seduction.

   "All right." Our steel rang, and I bit back the pain.  From the padding, on my tender wrist, but I am a man.  A warrior, I have felt worse.  I have cowered enough, cried enough tears in mourning for my hand.  She beat me, but will not ruin my life.  I won't let her.



Okay, I've got a bit of a femdoM horror/snuff/sadistic fantasy.  Watch the movie, when I ask what makes a girl do something like that?  Well, start off with someone who intellectually dehumanizes everyone around her, throw her in a castle with literally (Magically) Objectified servants, and give her all the Sexual Power in the Province.  (Because Beauty.) Now, place your bets on how long it takes her to become a Wicked Queen.


   Poudreusee {Guilbert & Sullivan - I've Got a Little List (John Reed);}

   My lady could be cruel, when angered The chandler deserved it, she called him in, and ordered a fire.  As he bent to his task, she backed me to the door.  "Look at his ass!" Bobbing, as he hummed to himself.

   The tails of his waistcoat flapping behind his spindly legs, but he had something, behind his hips.

   "I cannot see."

   "Then go for a closer look." He tucked his flint, and steel in a pocket, and knelt down to blow on the embers.  I pulled up the tail, behind the leg he held up, in front of him.

   "What are you doing?" He jumped when I goosed him, across his bottom to the codpiece.

   "Have you heard miss' Potts," she's English, "Say that sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander?" My lady laughed.  "Go on, keep blowing."

   "My lady."

   "Before it is dark, and I am not yours, you are mine."

   "Yes, donna Belle'."

   "That was not a question, but mine is not the heart that burns for you, so save your attentions for miss Poudreusse."

   "Oui, donna."

   "Does he melt in your hands?"

   "No, donna."


   "Of course, "Belle'." We are more familiar, "Sorry, Belle'." Now.

   "Does he harden in your hand?"

   "Oui, Beauty'."

   "I did not ask you."

   "Donna!" she rose, "Do not presume to be so familiar with me!"

   "Sorry, Donna."

   "Not sorry enough.  Poudreusse, make him sorry."

   "Non!" I twisted his candle.

   "Not too sorry, until I get the drips of wax!" I bit it.



Kind of illustrates in the movie how Chatels are stripped of their identities.  After most of a century being reduced to 1 job, enslaved to the house itself.  Incidentally, the "Curse" is an illusion.  Lumierre wasn't literally a brass candlestick, but it shows people what they want to
see, or see in themselves.  The duster/girl charged with fighting back dust, on every surface actually has one of the worse jobs.  It's immense, so Cinderellesque, forgotten, and ignored in the background, except at the hands of a sexually frustrated pervert.  Decades of it, incidentally this is to prevent the Lord, shown what a horrible person he is on the inside from raping, torturing, and killing his immortal servants, because he sees them as animate objects.  How exactly do you go about killing a brass candlestick?


Lord Bastion

   "What happened?" I growled.

   "The clumbsy Chandler fell, into the fireplace.  He tried to push back out, but burned his hands." The maid nodded, but kept her head down.

   "You were there?"

   "Yes, I.  Saw it, my lord." His fingers burnt off, the stench of burnt hair almost overpowering the cooked flesh.

   "I need some air." To the balcony, remembering Gaston, I chuckled,  "Guest." Looking over the stump where he uprooted a plaster spire to attack me.  In the rain, on a clear sunny day from this vantage I can remember it fondly, my wounds healing, his body tumbling down into the moat with his makeshift weapon.  The night my curse was broken.

   "Snhhh!  Huh." Shrug, "Well, I suppose accidents happen."

   I grunted, "Help me with this." I can't just carry him around, for light, much less throw him over my shoulder.  We had to drag him, to the balcony and push him over.  To slide down the roof, and off to the cliffs.

   "Hhahhn!  That's better.  Maid, clear the air in here, I can't stand the smell." The cooked flest, worst of all, "If you need me, I'll be in the kitchen." As an ox, I lost my appetite for it, then it returned, "What do we have to eat, for tonight?"


   "Hrrah," I waved it off, "What do you have to make a broth?"

   "Dried rabbit?" T "Nothing fresh?"

   "No, lord."

   "Then go find something!" I growled.

   "The snow, sire."

   "I didn't ask after the weather, go get me some Meat!" I drew my cape on my way out the door, to end the conversation.


   Rider/Ritter (C/mann Poss.)

   The window shattered high above, and fell, twinkling in the morning light like snow before falling through the shadow of the wall.

   Everyone jumped back from the brass, slotted to hold the panes in a lattice.  {Clean it up.} A chill crept up the back of my neck.


   {Recycling.  We need it for the bars.} I sighed, and led the cart over to the scattered pile.

   "CartMann," I gritted my teeth.


   "Why do you clean up this mess?"

   "{I have a cart.}" I growled, "You want to help?" He wandered off.  {I won't let it cut you.} "Wei nicht?" {By not touching the edges?  Also duh.} I just can't wait to get out of here, how long have you been back?  {Gradually, over the past month.  The hot cross buns, sealed with a Kiss?} Ah.

   "Here is a broom." The bossWright brought me a sheet of steel, cut off flat, and held it.  "You should let me polish that helm."

   I shook my head, "I like it."


   "It's green." Getting darker.

   "Ah yes, I wondered why it was brass."

   "{Bronze.}" My head shook.

   "What's the difference?"

   I shrugged, "{Tin.}" Oh.  {He's not a shmidt, either.}

   I can't wait to get out of here.  {You're under arrest?} Not exactly, I'm more comfortable here, with the men I know, but I stayed for my squire. {Oh, you love him!} Yes, I suppose I do.  I need one, to be a knight, and pass on my legasy, but.  I didn't realize.  {Well, I can feel it.} Yes, I love him.  Nodding.  {Well, he's turning 13, so they're going to do the Betrothal, for her birthday.} Fuck, {Yeah, kinda forced our hand.  Speaking of which, thanks for sending us Morton.} I did not.  {Well, then he signed up for the duty after you told him who he was.  The Duke agreed, thinking he couldn't be seduced after what sHe did to him.} He has, {Well, with a little help.  ;} What is that?  {A wink, see?  ;} Oh, yes.

   I twisted my head.  "{Uh, that should be enough.}"

   "For what?"

   "Well, you can sweep the rest down the drain?" I pointed the broom.  To the corner of the slateYard, where an iron grate allowed it to drain to the Avon, or Frome?

   "Where are you taking it?"

   "To the Glacier." {Not the recycling I had in mind, but a good lie.} He can melt it down.  {So can I, you think you can put the cart on the runners with it loaded?} It is not much, why?  {Good, because wheels on ice.  Should be easier to lower it down the bank as well.}

   We had to lead it far up-stream, to where the bank was clear, and in the shadow of the castle, still snowed over.  The dogs protested, but then my body went numb, and pushed the sledge sideways.  They couldn't hold it, but pushing the bar on the back, we were able to let it down, with them pulling. "{Gut.}" She stood me up on the runners, and took up my coachwhip. "{MUSH!}" And the reins, only with the bottom of my breastplate braced against the bar could I not fall, but it was like a Chariot from one of the old books.

   {Or a dogsled, with sledge runners instead of sharp steel blades.} The brass bottoms polished flat, and sliding over the hard ice with an indescribable sound, but we quickly made it to the bars.  Under the tunnel, I heard tinkling deep within, of glass falling, and the rasp of the Besom on the slate, though I could see no light.  Then my numb arm was lifting the stiff tarp over the box, on the runners.  "{WHOOHHHHH!}" It glittered in the shadow, sinking down, and started making tinkling noises in the glass.  Shattering, flaking, and breaking down.  {Pull it back strongly when the shattering stops.}

   "{...oohh!}" I gasped, and once again felt my arms.  Took a breath and blew into my chilled fingers, but the shattering stopped.  So, I gripped the tarp, and threw it back, like a maid stripping a bed.

   It twinkled into the light, and with blue sparkles of it's own.  Tiny arcs like lightning too small to see as the particles swirled in the dead calm air.  In the lee of the castle, under the bridge, though the stone walls supporting it could channel a breeze into a gale like when I came
down to scout our escape.

SCHßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßß ßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßz!

   It swirled around the bottoms of the bars with a sound that made my every hair stand up and shiver.  The iron and rust flaking, and starting to even glow, amazingly as they're embedded in ice.  But at the tops, growing upward as the cloud became darker, and darker with shards of iron with the glass.  Impressed, it finally filtered down to soak into the ice itself.  A shadow, creeping deeper, but to follow I had to bend up the now cooling bars.

   "Huh!" I grabbed my hammer from the cart.  I mean sledge, I had forgotten.  Hooking the head, and pommel in the bottom, I bent to the stiff steel bar between the spearpoint, and the hilt.  "HRHNNNN!" With that leverage, I was able to get it away from the bottom of the bar, already freezing back over, and step in.

   Seeing a glow inside, the sweeping stopped, but I also heard strange hollow sounds.  Finally I came to a pool.  Directly below the grate, in the corner no one saw the glow, or came to investigate.  Boiling, but the brass, glass, and iron somehow floating to the top, in the strangest shield I had ever seen.  I picked it up, and saw myself, my reflection in it's face.  It rang, like a bell, and spoke to me.

   "Come on, let's go bend the rest of those bars up."

   "Magie Mirior?"

   {Yeah, sorry.  That was my sister, Allöjer.}

   "Ah," I carried them back.


   Donna Bella

   So, we went down to the town.  First, I asked after "A chandler."

   They stared, at my husband.  The triplets, whispering to eachother, so I went to ask them.  Bastion went into the bar.

   "Where did he,"

   "that swarthy man,"

   "come from?"

   "My husband?" I looked back, "The Moorelands." Which way is south again?

   In unison, "He's your husband?" They were always jealous of me.

   "He is so tall,"

   "and Dark,"

   "and Handsome!"

   "He is your Lord, and My Husband.  Know you the Chandler, in the next town?"

   "Which one?"

   "There are three," I pointed, "There," away from our forest, "There, and there.  Go ask after a chandler."




   That never ceases to annoy me.

   "And a hunter.  Who is the best around?"





   "There are none."

   "He killed them,"

   "all for poaching."

   "Yes," I have been away so long, "Of course." I had forgotten.  Rubbing my chin, "Well, go and find the best shot in the Provence, or ask after him, when you go find My chandler."

   "Yes, my lady." I waved them off, in unison.  Any of them could find a man to escort them.

   "Huh!" I found my husband drunk.  "Come on, let's get you back to Castle."



   "My lady," I bowed, "The HuntsMann has returned with a gift."

   "Thank you, my left hand."

   I picked up my gauntlet.  She calls Cestus, and held it up.  "Let me help you with that." She needn't say that we're leaving, dressed as she is for riding.  All in black, "You have time to change."

   "We're leaving from my Fiancee's," she steeped back, putting up 2 fingers in front of her, "Court." Inched them, then let them fall to her sides.

   Hard to believe how much she had grown, in 6 weeks.  Merely the days that Finn guarded her, before she cut off his beard.

   Feeling the twisted bars of iron in front of my Boss, I wriggled the prongs, setting the splints between the bones in my arm, and tightened the strap at my elbow.


   "Yes, my Lady." Checking my sidearm, to not bash against it with the crossguard as I walked.  At her arm, she wrapped hers around it.  My good arm, stronger from training with the hand-sword.  The same one that had taken my hand, a gift for my loyalty, my fealty to my lady.  Called the greatest warrior of our age, born to it.  Refitted with a hilt as Main Gauche.

   Down the south tower of the guardhouse, intended as her new home.  She doesn't want to marry him, the Sheriff, not my commander as Master of the Castle Guard, but he presumes.  Much, I am Her guard, not his, and I detested him before I heard of his sexual tastes.  Whispered in the halls, through my career, I heard things that should not be whispered.

   About my lord, and the pageboys, with his Sheriff.  She had heard from her nephews, his own sons.  "Are you cold, my man Gauche?"

   "No," I hugged her arm closer.  "Closer here," at the base of the stairs, scraping my rim against the post in the center.  "Remember, this bottom step is lose."

   "I'm fine, you are my escort, escort me." She giggled, "At least I don't have to get used to this tower." The 8 sided one which was her home, for a month and a half, before she broke the window in a dare to her cousin.  Let her down, or let her freeze in the night, for taking away Finn.  Her lover, but we have no female guards for her.  We did not train women here, even after what happened at Orleons.

   Now, they would believe that a woman can fight, if a girl can.  She would be a formidable warrior, the greatest of our age, tall and strong at the rate she was growing, but they fed her well since she had arrive.

   Flat chested, lean, and broad at the shoulders and hips, but the baggy black pants are slimming, so she says.  With her haircut she could be mistaken for a young boy, a squire as she had when she arrived.  Claiming to be her own brother to get through the guard house, even fooling the Sheriff enough to catch his eye.  "You cloak, milady." I twisted the tips of my tines in the edge to help her into it, for the walk across the way. To the bridge, between the gates, eyeing the murder holes overhead, but where was the Hunter's cart?  His dogs, I knew they were to be part of the escape, but he just stood there in his brown leather slashed doublet, and leggings, with green panels between the blousing, to match his dulled tarnished helmet.  He straightened immediately, from resting on his strange sword.

   His svingendeSchwert in his accented Swiss German.  He hung it by the beak shaped quillion, so that the rounded face of the hammer stuck out, and the pronged pommel up.  Wrapped in platted steel wire, he called the blade Riccasso.  I had faced and handled it many times.  Rounded, not sharp with deep furrows on either side before being drawn out to a spearpoint, as broad as his hand.  Chinkwedia, 5 fingers, but tapering to stiff tip.  {The cross-section is almost a figure 8, or 2 round bars joined by a narrow fuller between.  With a cinquedea blade on 1 hand, bec du corbin quillion, and ball peen hammer opposite.  Basically a lucerne hammer pommel, the name "Svitzer swingendes swert" translates to Swiss Arming Sword.}

   "Vas ist los?" She pointed at the shield, the boss wright held up for him.

   "See your mirror?"

   "Da I kannes sehen!" My German is not real good.  But I'm learning, part of the plan, they picked it up together, and turned.  I could see the handle across the copper boss in the middle, I didn't even bother to ask what for.

   "Shall we?" She turned, standing behind me.

   Then, they started advancing to the Castle.

   Already lined by guards with shields, and pulling their handaxes.  I trained them myself, I know what they're capable of, but there are 15.

   "Let them through."

   "Or try to stop us!" she shielded them with her body.  So the rank of arbelest, and arquebus up in the gallery could shoot them.  Not with her there, I didn't feel as confident, stepping forward.

   "I said, let us pass." I looked across their ranks, locking targes, looking for an opening.

   There, a grin.  The Halberdier I recognized by his neatly trimmed red beard.  He raised it, like a staff, and let it down across his shoulder.

   "All right," some glanced back, right as he twisted.  At the body, whacking the helmets from behind on 1 side, and hooking the hafts of halberds away with his back spike on the other.


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Re: Ritter von Airolo (Hystery)
« Reply #5 on: October 01, 2017, 07:24:20 PM »

   I made sure to securely button, and brooch my cape around the Lancaster Red Hood.  Lashing the edges to my wrists.

   "You guys mind if I put on some Music?"  I'll handle this.

   "Brace yourselves," I put my hands up on my shieldmen's backs, felt up to the bases of their necks, looking down.  "There's a line, between flagstones, behind you." Their feet turned, sideways, and they leaned forward, bracing the copper back against their front legs.  I pushed as hard as I could, feeling the field swirling around us growing stronger, sensing the sympathetic shapes across the passage.

   15 identical bosses, stamped out with trip-hammers at the wheelhouse on the Avon.  When it was flowing, the field reaching them, and turning them on the soldier's arms.  Left out in the sun all day, the black surface soaking up energy, now swirling straight through me, and twisting them hard, and harder at right angles.

   Their grunts, the effort to hold them out, to protect them, even the same embossed helmets, tilting their heads, maybe strong enough to break their necks, but painfully arm.  A side effect, I just need to turn their shields parallel.

   "Lift," they raised it, in front of them, modulating it so the toriodal field started spinning, as if thrown out by the stationary record, now irresistibly twisting their arms.  I looked up, gauging the angle by eye, but now the steel barrels of the muskets, and arms of the crossbows they dare not lose with Me in the way starting to line up.  Unlike a phonograph, with a spiral grove, the face radiated outward to the edge, flattening, but in vanes where they met at the copper boss.

   {Shatter.Exe} the ferroceramic glass burst into harmless nanoparticles, falling around us in a sootlike cloud of powder.  Even as the vanes flipped, stabilized by the broad flat thin edges, and flying out thick heavy end out as ax edged darts, and sweeping the shooting gallery behind us.

   PWHFHTWH!  They fired, reflexively gripping the triggers, but all missed. I felt the field stop.  In a rough rectangle with an arc buried in the cobbles before us.

   "That takes care of the archers," I straightened, and noticed my left hand man, Gauche was out of the arc.  Stepping forward to face a terrified guardsman, his own trainee at the end of the rank, cowering, and holding his sword up protectively.

   Morton, he caught the blade, and twisted, pinning it between the wrought iron prongs of his fork, he tore it away, and slapped him aside with the flat of his Cinqeudea.  On my right, Ritter unhooked his hammersword, and went in as the bossWright pulled shieldswords from his thighs.

   I closed my eyes, holding my hands out.  Up, curling my fingers like claws, and felt the nanocloud rising to swirl around my wrists.  Stepping past the arc of runesteel shards, I called them back, shattering to be caught by the field, and adding to the storm swirling around me until the air started cycling with it.  Up the center to spread in a fountain over me, puffing out the cape, catching it, and coating the thick felted wool of the Red Riding Hood.

   "I'm gonna huff," Paradoxically feeling lighter, "And puff," my toes leaving the stones, "And blow your house down!"

   They routed, falling back as the torus fully formed.  Floating 15' off the ground, they dropped the portcullis.  Or tried to, the squared timbers bound with iron bands.  I caught it before they even fell to lock in the pyramid holes at the foot of the drawbridge.  Gripping it with My field, I pushed it back home, in the bridge between towers.  "Stay behind me," I floated over to shield them, even as the parapet opposite opened fire.  I didn't bother to dodge the bolts, and bullets, I don't have to.  They disintegrated in the swirling cloud, now a dust devil of ferroceramic, iron, pulverized lead, and neuronano.

   Clearing the gatehouse, i waited for my 3 comrades to step onto the bridge before dropping the gate, and turned.  "Pick up some shields before they reload." I turned, to face the balcony behind me.  Already fleeing, they closed the doors to either side, so I didn't have to wipe them out.  I turned, to the chains holding this side of the drawbridge.  Held the winch on on side, and reached out.  The field with it, towing a gale of abrasive to shattering grit to cut through the thick link at the top before they could pull it in.  "New plan, climb down."

   Starting to fall, I cupped the iron impregnated felt to parachute down, and back, venting through the face of my flairing hood.  Touched down, and rolled out reflexively.  Came up running, for the anchor point in the middle.  The heavy chain hanging down, my men taking cover behind the support pylon even as they raised the castle side.

   It was a bluff, I didn't want into the Castle, silly.  All I wanted was out of it, but the dog sledge was down in the "Moat." The river Frome, routed around to flow into the Avon, but frozen over.  The plan was to take the Sally Port down there, from the slate-yard, but this was quicker.  Leaping, I parachuted my cape again, and floated blindly back, skidding to a stop, and running under the bars for the tunnel.

   "Siri, Prokyon!" They jumped up, from the bear pelts draped over the wooden box that was the sledge, still harnessed to the guide rails, and dragged it to meet me.  Siri I knew, named her myself, when I bought her at the stable's kennel.  Her mate, Procyon named after Orion's other dog.  "Ready to go?" They panted excitedly.  So, I led them out, to the Frome to meet the boys.

   "Come OOOOOON!" I called up the hanging chain, "Let's go, before I leave you."

   My hunter dropped down first, for me to hug and kiss him, happily.

   "My, how you've grown!"

   "They fed me well!" I grinned in the dark, then hopped in, while he grabbed the reigns, and stood on the runners.  Cupping my hands, "Catch up when you can!" There was no meaningful pursuit all the way to the Avon, which he turned up.

   "Change of plan, I could not afford a boat to wait, at the mouth." We turned, at a ramp up the side, and climbed out to the southern side.  Across from the city.  We made it to southampton, where we could afford passage.

   He'd earned a lot, training the guard for the month, Morton, and Finn brought their life's savings as well.  It's not an army, but it's a start.

   A small price to pay to be free.


   Quillon du Lacy

   As he told the story, he took out some tools.  He showed me, what he had gotten from the trappists.  Just left out, in the courtyard when they went to play dead.  "This, is the nicest tool I ever had." He showed me, a drill. Like a spoon drill, only cut out of a spike.  Another spike on the other end was bent, so he could grip it, and twist, back and forth.  So, the sharp edge of the moon shaped cut out shaved curls from the side of a short log he was sitting on.

   A woodcutter's camp, abandoned but with stumps, and a fire circle he dug out in the center after poling it out.  They left an end, cut off round by axes, then sawed off flat, to make the log flat on the end.  Like woodcutters do, but he drilled through the side, and cut down a branch for the handle.  A mallet, for woodworking, he prefers to hunt, but his father was a woodworker, and took him out with him to work.  He just got bored and hunted, it was always more fun than watching his father whack at a tree with an ax.

   Poor Hart.  Broken by the things he'd seen, and done, and had done to him.  I keep asking for stories, I should stop.  Knowing how it hurts him, but he relaxed.  Beating at his ax to split wood, build a fire, then splitting planks for the sledge.  To make it large enough to sleep in, while we travel.  As we did in the first sledge, coming down from Lassiter. The dogs really keep it warm, but he kept his shield out.

   Also what he had wrought with the Wright.  Like a targe, only with a point on the bottom, it hides the stock of his Arbalest behind it.  It is his way, he does not like anything to do one thing, so you have to carry a shield and a crossbow.  It is heavy, for a shield that size, but not as bulky as a crossbow and a shield, he can just sling it over his back, when he's riding the horse.  Rather than leave it, the dogs only have to pull when it gets stuck, by we have to poll ahead of the horse in bad places, we don't dare try to take it over water.

   Rivers, especially, they look frozen, but.  This winter, the first one remembered where the Avon froze over, so deep you could march an army on it. Not like the Frome, which always froze, but the Avon was ice all the way to the shore.  Not the Severn, as far as Glouchester, but you can't trust that.  Especially with such a heavy horse, buckled between the leads of the sledge like a Chariot.  We burned the wheels, and he pulled the iron bands from the fire, but like his ax has a hammer.  He is a hunter, but he can work wood, or iron, but we had to fan the flames with shields.  Like he showed us, until he could bend them, and beat the spike rivets into the runners.  A cage, for the boards, and then loops to bend green branches over.

   To cover it, like a tent, we could all huddle in there, sitting up when the snow blew too much.  Or take turns sleeping, so we could stay ahead.  There was a rider, looking for me, talked to the first guard who cut his beard for me.  He went in, to talk to some farmers, and they heard, from a rider.  Especially Gauche's hand.  The buckler, and fork he uses, but looking for me.  For Witchcraft, that Alojer overdid it with the nanocloud when we escaped, but then my curse left me.  I know not who for, would that I could just ask.  I wonder that I can write about it.

   Hirsch woke up screaming again.  To think with all the things he had endured, the one that haunts him the most is Bavard.  Not his execution, he could not even stay to watch that after accusing him, but what it was in revenge for.  He is not a vengeful man, even after he raped his mouth, I know that it was rape, the way it affects him, the thing that gives him nitemares is Milne, and her father.  The Baron, he struck me as an imposing man, they for some reason overstate his age, perhaps he likes the notariety of being called Ancient, but he struck me as healthy.

   Finally, Hirsch told me what was bothering him.  He stopped, fighting his daughter, or smacking her around with the flats, and watched.  Bavard, rape him up against the cold forge.  Milne too, he just stood there, with his arm around her, holding her pauldron, finally accepted her as.  I don't know, if she is like me, but more like a son.  Finally teaching her how to fight, but she never said anything to me about being a man inside.  I had always thought she was jealous, what she always wrote about is what they get, and get to do.  Interesting things, like swords, and armor, fighting, and telling battle stories around the hall.

   Ladies get to wait.  I hated that as well, but it was somehow worse for being a boy, treated like a lady.  Whereas Milne, I don't know about her. Everyone agrees that she was born to fight, like her father, but does than make her a man?  I don't want to fight, I'm becoming a man, and that is something I'll have to do, which is why I'm learning it.  A traveling Lord is a Knight, or a commoner.  Like Hart, he was a Herald, could not read to preserve the secret of whatever he carried, and guarded, but he avoids fights.

   He fights when he must, but is not a coward when it is a good fight.  He fought for me, even through the fear of a strange city, but I like him better out here.  I just need to remember to stop hurting him by asking him to tell stories.  He's so good at it, I did not think it would hurt him, and I'm guilty of making him remember.  There's so much he'd rather forget, being forced to give up his love for Milne, though it sounds like she betrayed him.  Let Bavard rape him, but I have to wonder why she did not write of it.

   His rape, watching bavard being spit-roasted for it?  I suppose she is secretive, what little I've heard about her family, and the fear with which he speaks of it, I suppose it is understandable.

   He is recovered, and tempered for me, so I know how to make him feel better.  It always warms me up for going back out.  To the wind, and the snow, I can find out where we are, but after.

   My man needs me right now.

   I love it in my hand, and between my thighs, so I can feel it as if were my own.



Allöjer being the Fantasy alias of Mölinja "DJ Chrome Molly" Bach.
« Last Edit: October 01, 2017, 07:40:04 PM by Psiberzerker »