| A Bit Of Advice |
| Summary: | Ser Quellyan Charlton gives advice to the young Flint squire about the Riverlander camp. |
| Date: | 23/February/2012 |
| Related Logs: | Unposted event Log |
| Players: |
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| Harlaw Island - The Army of the Cape, camp |
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| Near Quellyan's tent. It's cool and has everything a knight could ask for. |
| February 23rd, 289AL |
It's the morning after the Ironborn attack and the combined camp seems quiet enough. House Piper is yet to make it's appearance, but then they're not expected for a few hours yet. The dead from both sides have been removed and dealt with and the injured are presumably being seen to by those with the skills to treat them. Having managed to pick up nothing more than a bruise over his breastbone, Einar Flint has not sought medical attention, just checked on the pickets under his command and then slept. He's awake now though, and having had a debrief with those coming off watch, sent them to their own beds for a few hours before setting off to find himself somewhere where both hot water and tea leaves can be found.
Last night's escapades, were certainly exciting. And the camp is indeed abuzz with the hope of the Piper's forces to show themselves in the amassed camp of the Cape and of course Northmen. While other contingents have been drilling and setting to the pickets. The Charltons, have mainly maintained to sparring and knightly practice, as there are but twelve of them here. Truly, a fearsome force. But amongst them is the noted Blackrood. Ser Quellyan, who also managed to get himself wounded to some mild degree. However he's been seeing to the camp, or morale at least. There's a wince when he moves, though not entirely noticeable, but a keen eye could pick it up.
"Oh!" a voiced bit of recognition when he spies Einar and a raise of a hand. "Well, if it isn't Squire Flint." a faint grin there. "I am glad to see you well. I did not know how your House fared last night." Leave it to Quell to butt in when someone needs to find something.
Is distracted from his quest for tea by the sound of Quellyan's hail. Turning his head he quickly locates the source of said hail and changes direction to meet it. "Good morning Ser," he starts in greeting, before moving onto answering the unased questions. "A few scrapes, a few more bruises but thankfully nothing serious." He's relieved at that given the level of their losses so far, and it probably shows a little. "How faired House Charlton? I must admit that so far I only know the injury list amongst our own."
"That big old bear of a bastard knocked me plain down with his fucking axe. Dented my armor a little, but nothing my squire cannot handle. Like taking a fucking hit in the lists." And given the grimace that forms upon the knight's face it is easy to tell, that Quellyan cares not for the lists. "As for how we fared. No one had any serious injury." a brief wave of his hand is given as he plows along. "We had a little spat with the Terricks, but I believe that is because my good cousin likes his Ironborn dead." A shrug there. "I had meant to tell you the other day- I hope you did not find my comments about your goodsister untoward." Of course a war camp is the perfect time to bring up such trivial matters. "I hold Lady Tairyn in a high view." polite there, And his grin rises up. "I can understand how it might seem if some random knight is talking about one's family." And then he turns his head. "They surely didn't hit us with much last night did they?"And like that Quellyan is on another trail of conversation. A master of navigation-it seems.
Einar has to pause a moment before reply, his tired brain taking just a little longer than ideal to follow the thread of conversation. Or lack of it. "I'm glad to hear there were no serious wounds," he answers, keeping to good form before then raises an eyebrow curiously at the mention of disagreement. "Nothing a serious disagreement I hope?" the young man queries. "The last thing we need is fracturing within our forces before the enemy even begin to test us properly." He looks genuinely concerned about th e prospect and uses that as an excuse to not reply to the comments about his goodsister. He's still thinking that one over. "I will admit to being surprised at the ease with which they were repulsed, it didn't seem like a co-ordinated and planned assault, more like their traditional style of raids I think."
All the better for Quellyan, for as soon as it's said it is out of mind. There's a motion for the younger Flint to follow suit, as he turns "Come, I'm thirsty, and I do know we have some tea on the fire..though I am not accustomed to tea without something innit." Which would be spirits of some sort. Still, the knight does wait to see if the squire to follow over into the more Riverman populated part of camp. Apparently uncaring if someone sees him with a Northerner or not. "Oh I don't think it was entirely serious. Nothing that would cause us to be at one another's throats. Some men just think entirely different when it comes to war or prisoners." A shrug there.
When they do reach the kettle, the knight gives a gesture of more or less help yourself with the cookfire. And then he's pulling a wooden mug from a pouch on his belt. "I agree. I think it was more retaliatory.. You know, no real thought-but we are here." A look back to the young Flint. "Seemed more of peasants than actual warriors."
Einar has no objections to heading for the Charlton fire, nor indeed doing as indicated once there and helping himself to a brew. It'd be rude not to right? "I'm glad to hear that," he repsonds, although he's concentrating mostly on his newly acquired drink for now. A few sips later and his brain is obviously starting to warm up as he nods. "I saw what seemed to be a handful of trained fighters and some commonfolk. We had a scouting team out but found no massed encampment or any such so I have been wondering if they're waiting for us somewhere further inland and if last night's attack was either a rouge group, or one to try and get us moving. As you said, a 'we are here' message."
The Charlton knight looks back before he is coming over to pour his own tea. After that the kettle's replaced with some mild cursing, and his own steps as he moves to take a squat down on one of the little stones in this cairn area, for an impromptu seat. A glance is given back over to Einar. "A scouts eye you got." though this seems to be a bit more dryly than his previous words. A sip of his tea, before he is raising a brow. "Interesting..Oh, were you with the Flints that killed that priest?" an idle question which is brushed away with a loud slurping of the hot drink
"Though Einar, if I was to be a betting man-I would say that we are in Grey Gardens." a chuckle, "As they did cry it out before we slaughtered them..Perhaps we met with whatever their little village had to offer-which means we need to move inland if we can. Find this-Grey Gardens and sack it down. Likely if they know we are here, they sent someone to notify, the bigger squid.."
"We need to move, and sooner rather than later ideally," Einar opinions between sips. "We have a solid beachhead, there's no denying that, but what use is it if we just sit here and wait?" He doesn't remember the phrase 'Grey Gardens' being mentioned, but then he was a tad busy trying not to get a hand-axe buried in his chest at the start of the action. "We certainly didn't find any sort of village," he states, "nothing but a few isolated people. Although there was no cover to approach and see if they were warriors or peasants." Given last night though, I'd hazard a guess to say the latter." He's left the original question until last, deliberately due to the change in Quell's tone. "The Priest?" he asks rhetorically, "aye, I was there. I shot him."
There's isn't any sort of derision, merely questioning from the older knight. Eyes look back to the young man before he's chuckling slightly. "Unless this is the Grey Gardens..then we find ourselves amongst stone flowers. Don't you think?" A shake of his head before he is draining down more tea. "Oh a nice wine would be perfect. mulled with spice..Hot…Perfect.." a sigh before he's scratching his chin.
"So you shot him? Could you tell if he had comrades- Mind. I don't care one way or the other who dies. As long as it is not us-But I am curious. I've heard so many oaths taken because of it…Might as well hear the story for itself, if you feel like sharing?" a grin there and Quell leans in, a little. "And if you like I'll trade a tale about these whores I met in the Crownlands.."
Einar looks faintly surprised at the idea that there has been a large fallout because of his actions. He tilts his head slightly to one side, almost questioningly before then simply shrugging. "There's not a huge amount to tell in all honesty. An armed man approached out of the mists doing what seemed to be some form of pre-battle rite. There was no one to be seen behind him, but given the visability that just meant they weren't touching his back. I put him down but he got back up, started waving his cudgel around and screaming threats, so I put him down again." It's all matter of fact and unless he's good at hiding his true feeling son the issue then he certainly doesn't seem to think he did anything wrong. "He stayed down that time and when no rushing horde appeared we moved forward to investigate and found him already dead." Tale done he takes another drink and then adds. "I'll pass on your Crownlands stories, but would hapily accept tales of these oaths in exchange." He's curious. It seems things were happening in camp while he was out spying on isolated ironmen.
Quellyan looks back towards Einar and he laughs. "You all haven't noticed the looks you Northmen have been getting? As if you stepped on puppies?" A shake of his head before he's finishing with whatever is left in his cup is drained down and the small thing is placed down into his kit. Eyes settle in on the Flint squire as he keeps his focus mainly on the man. As if by staring he can glean truth from falsehood. There's a slight shrug and he nods. "Well, you probably did what any of us would do, if alone in the mists, Einar. There's no harm in it. And they have killed our own septons, so fuck them too right?"
A wave of the hand before he's chuckling. "You are missing out on a treat, my friend." Still he doesn't press. "Oh. those?" a chuckle. "Nothing more than the cursing of frustrated nobles about pissed on honor and chivalry. But we all know. In the dark when you are alone and it's kill and be killed. We .All. Do. The. Same." a grin there. "You just did it efficiently and to a cultist. And I imagine-if you knew he was alone, you would have tried to subdue him."
"If I was sure there wasn't a bloody thirsty battle line right behind him," Einar ponders with another shrug, "or if he had't been armed." The second point possibly carries a little more weight than the first. Others can compare his actions to the killing of Septons as much as they want, but how many Septons go about walking towards enemy lines waving weapons. Truthfully though, he hasn't been around the Riverlanders since that night, what with the trip out beyond the pickets and so on. The rest ofthe FLints though, those he can't speak for beyond saying that none have mentioned it to him if they have. "Possibly it's another indication that we need to get moving. If there are those that can not spend their time being more productive than finding flaws in actions they were not witness to then it says something about the camp surely." Well, beyond standard soliders talk round the fire, but he's getting the impression from Quell that there's ore to this than just casual fire talk. Oaths were mentioned after all.
If Einar was curious as to why the Charlton is letting him know this, he doesn't seem to let one, at least at first. Instead, Quellyan is watching a group of passing men at arms, before he is leaning in from his perch, his voice dropping. softer into the hoarse voice. "The reason I let you know, good Squire, is that you may inform your Lord. We of House Charlton are friends of your house. Please understand. I warn you in case some other House makes a nuisance of it. or, if they choose to shun your Lord from council, which would be foolish. Never the less, as you say, Now is no time for wasting." And he leans back, his hand coming to rub his chin before he is slowly standing. "We do things differently in the South, than what you Northerners see. Some do not understand that. I do." And he leaves it at that.
"Have you had your rest?"
Einar remains silent as the Charlton knight speaks his piece. There are times to talk, and times to listen. This is a time to listen. Once QUell is finished though he nods once, solemly. "I will make sure that Lord Anders is aware," he promises, "or my The Father judge me appropriately." He glances down to his now empty mug, then over towards where the Flint tents are located. "I have, thank you, but I can't help but feel that I should return to ensure that the Young Lord has had his." He hopes he's read the Southerner right on that one and if not, well, it's not too rude an exit surely. "Thank you also for your hospitality Ser," he adds as he makes to leave, "you are of course welcome around our fires if you should desire."
"He will. He judges us all fairly." He states with a faint grin, before he is blinking back to the young man. "I didn't know you knew the seven. Most of the Northmen I have known follow the old gods." A bit of silence on that. "Well done, Squire." And there he taps his glove to his head. "As you are around mine. Thank you for the informative chat, Einar. May the Stranger stay far away from you." And with that Quellyan is headed for his own tent. To remove his armor and rest for a bit himself.
