An image flashes into Oswald's mind, and he hesitates, then blurts out: "Sir... I think it is a fire starting... we need to put it out before it gets out of hand..."

OOC: AM I with anyone now? Or alone when i detected magic

You are with Alfidia, Arielle and Balavan.
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:24, Wed 16 Feb 2022.

"Oswald quick wake the neighbours if it is a fire as we fear it could quickly get out of hand and threaten this side of the city. I will go find the fire and see if it can be contained" shouted the knight as he ran towards the stables

Arielle woke,not looking at all well rested, her hand was gripped around her dagger.

" Morning folks. Did we sleep well?"

In reply to GM (msg # 115):

11:36, Today: Rinan The Walrus rolled 14 using 1d20-2 ((16)) vs his Attack of 15. So hopefully a hit subject to range and movement and awkward tankard etc etc

Hopefully even if it’s a close miss it will put the attacker off his game enough to delay a stabbing so Rinan can get his axe out and move to block and enter melee
This message was last edited by the player at 01:39, Thu 17 Feb 2022.

In reply to Arielle Wood (msg # 119):


Alfrida, half awake, blearily looks at Arielle with an odd mixture of relief and wariness on her face, and replies "Sleep? Yes. Well? No. Too much going on my mind for that last night. None of it makes much sense to me yet. If there is anything to it at all..." as she sits up and reaches for her backpack.

Her expression turns to one of curiosity as she looks at the dagger in Arielle's hand as she asks "Who were you planning on stabbing with that then?"

Alfrida offers her a chunk of leftover bread and cheese as she adds in weary tone "And if it's me that you want a sharp word with, can it wait 'til after breakfast?"
This message was last edited by the player at 06:49, Thu 17 Feb 2022.

In reply to Rinan The Walrus (msg # 120):

Rinan rises pushing the table over, beer spills and tankards crash to the grassy floor. Petyr the drunken knight is jolted toward a moment of sobriety as he immediately fumbles to grasp his sword handle.


“C’mon you bloody god-bothering bastard!  You’ll make a nice appetiser before the main course is served!”

Rinans tankard flies through the space between him and the priest, before hitting the knife wielding friar in the right shoulder with some force.
He slows up to a stop with a dazed and confused look on his face. He drops the bloodied knife in his left hand and grabs at his shoulder almost instinctively, then stares at Rinan.

“Aggghhh, . . . . . What, where. Who are you?” His voice is soft but he appears completely surprises but what is happening.

Petyr looks around at the priest

“Whats this”?
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:49, Thu 17 Feb 2022.

In reply to Sir Brenton (msg # 118):

OOC: this message is to provide context for Sir Brenton and Oswald in terms of what you are facing. It is a in lieu of an actual map (which I do not have).
The stables are at ‘border’ between the first and second fields. It runs along the eastern and southern corner of the field. Arielle, Alfridia Balavan and Dursturm are resting in a wooded are near the north eastern part of the field - close to where you all met the knight on the bridge.
The latrine area is all by the mid section of the eastern border of the field.
Over the Eastern wall, is the mighty River Hern:
 The temporary ‘town’ is in the first field, while a tented village housing the great and good is in the second. The border is an old dry stone wall with plenty of gaps. However it has been re-purposed as a stables. Sections are roped off for horses to be tethered, there is straw, oats and water troughs. Much (though not all) of the area is covered by tents that are  supported by stakes.
Squires, hands and stable boys sleep near the horses. There could be several hundred horses. There are a few dozen young men and boys sleeping across the stables. You can see no fire but you do smell acrid smoke. Faint at first but building. Many of the horses are quiet, some near the old wall are whinnying.

Hope this helps.
 

In reply to GM (msg # 122):

Rinan will grab the addled friar by the scruff of his cassock and interrogate him eye to eye, blustering and bellowing, half drunk and irritable as a bear woken from a cozy slumber.

“What bloody murder have you just done priest? Why were you fixing to stab this man in the back next? Did he spurn your advances eh?”

You grab the priest by his cassock, with the light of only fire braziers you cannot tell the colour, black, grey, brown. However your hands feel wet as you grab him. His cassock is sodden theough with a sticky wetness.

“What? . . . Murder. Not I sir. I am Brother Gerard out of Erinchester. I’m here for the tourney and to see the, the re . . ., the famed sword. Murder, what?”

The intensity of his stare broken by your attack, the cleric now looks utterly confused. His eyes keep darting between you and Sir Petyr and around.
Mtye knight grabs the bloodied knife, brandishing it in Gerards face.
“How do you explain the bloody knife then. You’re no holy man.” His voice and movements are surprisingly sober and calm for a man who seconds ago was dead drunk and nearly dead.

Oswald nods at Sir Brenton's instructions, and make his way to the nearest people he can rouse. He does not wish to start a panic by calling "Fire", so instead will focus on rousing the nearest stable hands by shaking them. "Have a care, lads - there is smoke here in the stables - we must get the source doused as quickly as possible. Have we a bucket at hand?"

He will look around for a bucket or anything that might hold water - preferably something with water already in it. He glances up at the sky, and prays that the Lord would make it rain...


OOC: Is the River Hern high enough that water could be scooped from it at the banks? Or is it so mighty that that would invite being swept away?

In reply to Oswald Godloefson (msg # 126):

OOC: the Hern (just over eastern wall can be reached by a steep path down). It is fast moving with plenty of white water and rapids at this section. However, as this is a stable there water troughs and plenty of wooden buckets scattered about.

I will wait to post until after Sir Brenton posts.

In reply to GM (msg # 125):

“Well Brother Gerard, why are you soaked to the skin and brandishing a bloody blade? I thought you muttering monks were more fond of letting others fight for you?”

Rinan will thrust the priest to the ground in disgust and glance sideways at the knight, curious about his miraculous recovery given the blacksmith who seems to be hammering in his own head after the night’s drinking.

“Attempting murder before midday? Butchery before breakfast? It’s enough to give a man a thirst!”

apologies for the delay

Sir Brenton quickly went among the stable hands waking then with a quick kick " UP, UP tend the horses there is a fire gather them and take them to the tourney field quickly before they bolt in fear."

With that he moved on in the direction of the smell

Having roused what stable hands he could, Oswald grabs a bucket, fills it from a trough, and sets off after Sir Brenton.

In reply to Oswald Godloefson (msg # 130):

The hands, many of whom are young teens and judging from the stench of alcohol had a good day of revelry begin to rouse from their slumber. Slow at first until they hear they hear the word fire, and like a clarion call they immediately race for buckets and water. Others check the horses.

After a shirt few minutes while folk do what is called, a bald ugly man shouts at Oswald and Sir Brenton. He wears inly a leather pair of trews. He has shaven head, stubble and scars all over body and head. He carry's a cudgel in his right hand and looks like he knows how to use it!

“Oi, you. Whadafuq are you doing worrying my ‘orses.
Yeah you cripple. Where’s this bloody fire, boy? You best speak boy, or I’m gonna beat you seven shades of black n’blue.”


A small blond haired lad runs to him,
“I cant find the fire master Hob . . .”“Dats cause there aint no fire lads, these boys here, Mr Cripple and Mr Bloody Knight, are upto no good lads.”

In reply to Rinan The Walrus (msg # 128):

“Its, its not me, not me. I swear it by God, its that thing. Its poisoned you all.”
With that Brother Gerard runs out of the tent and off to your left.

Rinan looks at the fleeing monk and decides that running before breakfast would be I’ll advised as well as undignified for a great warrior.

With a loud belch he looks around for some water to douse himself in to wake himself up for the battle ahead.


“What an odd folk you Albish are…mad monks and knights who don’t get drunk!”

Oswald looks distinctly terrified by the figure before him. He swallows uneasily, shifting his bad hand unconsciously at its mention. "There was smoke, Sir... over by the old wall. Something was happening... I thought it was fire. I came to help." He is suddenly uncertain of himself. Has he misinterpreted what he saw? The visions have never led him wrong before, but that doesn't mean he interpreted them correctly.

In reply to Rinan The Walrus (msg # 133):

Petyr looks at the brother, sharply exiting the scene. Looking at Rinan, he belches a beery belch.
“Well Walrus, are we going to finish him, or finish these?” pointing at the tankards spilled everywhere.

“My good man, what ever are you on about. Can you not smell the fire. The air is thick with its stench. I know not what game you are playing, but we are undertaking an act of merciful charity in waiting these lads and saving these fine beasts. What sort of man would walk on by, ignoring what is so plain. You are in danger, now get a move on a grab some buckets of water.

The knight, calmly challenges the angry man with the cudgel in hand.
“Oswald, lead these lads to the where the smoke is, lively now lad. No time to waste.”

In reply to Sir Brenton (msg # 136):

The bald mans face twists, almost comically into a violent visage
“I’ll no be talked down to by likes o’you. Maybe you are a knight, but these days t’wouldn’t be beneath the likes o’you to stoop to horse thieving. My stables, my horses. These lads ain’t yours to order.”.
Starting to march toward Sir Brenton, and without flinching hurls the cudgel directly at the knight.
The twisted ugly staff flies perfectly through the air hitting Sir Brenton squarely in the upper torso . . .

Dursturm tries to sleep but it seems hard to fall asleep.

OOC:
07:22, Today: Dursturm rolled 8 using 1d20 ((8)).

Obeying Sir Brenton's direction, Oswald makes his way towards the old wall where the horses were winnying. He is intent on locating the source of the smell, and does not see the cudgel being thrown, instead pressing on towards his goal...

In reply to GM (msg # 135):

“I’ve fighting to do today. It upsets a man’s rhythm to be chasing another man unless he means to split his head like a melon. The monk was clearly mad - gods touched maybe. Best count yerself lucky I’ve a good aim with a tankard eh?!”

The humour leaves Rinan’s face as he continues “But a man does start to pondering why he chose you ter be sticking with his dagger? And it’s awful early to be a pondering…”