|Ledgers and Siege Weapons|
|Summary:||Isolde attempts to 'bond' with her Goodfather. (Note to self - do not mention Rebekkah to him)|
|Date:||24 Aug 2011|
|Related Logs:||Reunion in the Mire|
|Armory — Fortress of the Seven|
|House Nayland does not keep a standing army but it certainly has the capability to arm a small one. The armory is much deeper than it is wide but the depths hold a very respectable amount of weaponry. Heavy crossbows, battleaxes, spears, polearms, and swords line the walls and decorate racks in the center. Closer to the front are the racks for the personal armor and weaponry of the Guard permanantly attached to the duty of Lord Nayland.|
|Wed August 24, 2011|
Dressed in one of Nimue's constructs, a deep blue dress with perwinkle additives, Isolde is shown in to the Lord's presence where she dips a low bow, skirts pooling. Her hair has been curled and falls in rich dark waves down her back. "My Goodfather." She says graciously, her hands pressing to her skirts before she rises slowly to stand before him. "I hope all is well, my Lord. And also that you may have had some time to speak with your son since he has arrived."
Lord Rickart's presence in the Armory is not a solitary one. A few of the household Guard are checking weapons, while Rickart himself chuckles while working the complicated mechanism of a monstrous siege crossbow with a steady metallic clatter. Glancing up from the work to note the young woman in blue, the Lord of the Mire passes off the bulky machine to one of his men and greets with vigor, "Isolde! Quite well, quite well indeed. Have you ever seen one of these beasts fired? Will fly clear through a knight, horse and all," he boasts. Letting out a big breath, he squares his shoulders to his daughter in law, and wonders, "Was told Ryker had come back. Havn't seen the boy, yet."
Eyeing the large mechanism, Isolde lifts a brow and moves a step closer - yet keeping her distance. "I say that is quite a feat, father. But I wouldn't know of such things. I barely work one of them in it's smaller size, let alone that." She regards it a moment and then nods her head. "Were you going to test it?" She asks of him curiously before she casts her green eyes to him. "I shall speak with him. He has been out riding most days. I get to see him in the evening when he returns. I think we both have a right to feel neglected."
"The mechanisms must stay well oiled, my girl," Rickart explains, glancing briefly back at the siege bow. "The windlass gets dry it can lock up the draw. No man alive strong enough to draw one of those with naught but his muscle: there's a good lesson in that, girl: if your arm's not strong enough to do the job alone, use a fit tool." As for the last, Rickart sniffs once, frowning. "I know the boy dreads seeing me, but I'll not have him neglecting you as well. I mean to have grandsons, Isolde. Ryker had best do his duty by you. He's hid from duty for too many years already."
"It seems quite a commitment to something that may never be used. Has it been used, father?" Isolde asks in that way a woman will of such matters. "A wonder." She intones and when the mood shifts with talk of Ryker, she smiles faintly. "He does right by me, but I fear I see him very little. I do not think he means to leave me again though, I am seeing to that." There is a gentle smile there. "But it would do well to gather for dinner. My Lady Cousin has arrived as well and it would please me to have us all sit together." She says. "And I do remind my father, you have at least two more months to wait on the possibility of little ones." The Lady takes a step to the side to regard the siege weapon again, watching as the man attends to it.
"A shame you weren't a maiden, my dear," Rickart states plainly, voice carrying more annoyance at the delay than scandal at the statement. "Dinner, you say? Very well. Use all of your arts to make certain Ryker doesn't beg off to hide in his chambers, hmm?" As Isolde's eye returns to the siege crossbow, Rickart affects a tight smile. "They're called 'siege bows' because the damned things take so long to wind, they're next to useless in a field battle. And so heavy, besides, that without a ball mount to rest it upon, aiming is a task for half-giants. But pity the man who tries to storm my walls, reliant on armor to save his skin. Have seen a bow like this impale two men with the same bolt." The Lord of the Mire is nonspecific as to where he has seen such a thing.
"Such is the trials of a Lady born on horseback, goodfather." Isolde says and then she nods her head to his assent to dinner, already moving pieces to make it so. As the talk then turns to the crossbow, her head tilts up to look at him and she wonders over it. "Seems like your aim must be good if the it most likely offers such a delayed strike. Best to press the adversary to tight quarters and then unleash, your odds would rise then. But the island alone would be hard to take considering the unsteady ground that surrounds it." She says. "My Goodfather already has the tactical advantage there." She looks about the armory then.
"A warrior's strength is drawn alike from cunning and strength, child," Rickart relates. "Every weapon is merely a tool to the cunning of the man who wields it. The Foretress of the Sevens has never been taken, my girl, and it never will be. Part of the reason for that is the teeth this tower counts." A chuckle stirs his throat. "Say that some fool- we'll say Jason Mallister, for example- were to bring the whole of his strength against this tower. A thousand men afoot and a hundred knights ahorse. Let's say that he bent over a barrel for the stranger and struck a deal to whip up the ships and rafts needed for crossing from the mainland. If somehow he brought enough men to attempt a storming of my walls.. How long do you think it takes a man to scale a ladder, or swing a battering ram?" He smiles tightly. "I promise you, girl, it takes less time to reload that bow. Walls alone will win no victories."
"I do not question such a thing, I would not know how. But I do recognize the advantage to your terrain. Boats and rafts take time, more so than horses or by foot and can only carry so many. But enough men could very well tear down any wall." Isolde says and turns about to gaze at the rest of the weaponry. She considers a moment and then turns to face him. "I know little of warfare, but what I have seen at tourney are recounted in scrolls or records. I will leave that to your hand of course. Though I do wish to take a hand in your household, in matters I am better suited for."
"Then how fortunate for your future progeny that you have married into a House well schooled in such matters, my girl," Rickart laughs in a large voice. As for the latter issue. "Do you, now? Hmm. Your Goodmother would be glad for any assistance, I'm sure. And it is only meet that a Lady manage her own expenses. I will have a ledger prepared for you to manage the expenses of yourself and your husband, Isolde. Will you be needing a scribe for assistance?"
"Any Lady is fortunate to marrry into a House that is so prepared, as most are not meant to fight." Isolde says and then regards him with a tilt of her head. "I will speak with her then on the matter of such things. A ledger would be most appreciated, Goodfather. And no scribe is needed." She waves that off and then moves towards a rack of swords. "I always wondered at the need for certain violence. Of course laws and such need to be respected and one must always be ready. Yet open violence is quite messy and so often leads to nothing and no conclusion."
Rickart barks out a short laugh. "Ask the Children of the Forest how inconclusive violence is," the Lord of the Mire advises with a wry lilt to his large words. "Ask the Mudds and the Gardeners, and the Kings of the North. Ask them what conclusion violence led them to? Go on. I'll wait," he jests. "Though I'll be waiting a long, long while, my girl.
Rickart barks out a short laugh. "Ask the Children of the Forest how inconclusive violence is," the Lord of the Mire advises with a wry lilt to his large words. "Ask the Mudds and the Gardeners, and the Kings of the North. Ask them what conclusion violence led them to? Go on. I'll wait," he jests. "Though I'll be waiting a long, long while, my girl. "They're all as dead as the dragons. Laid low, each one by the plain and final power of violence."
At his jest at her, Isolde adjusts a wry smile and then says faintly, "My Goodfather mocks me to his like." The Lady says and then looks back to the swords, set to torches and glinting dully. "I know they are but gone, dust and bones, nothing more but words to their existence. But there is an advantage to everything, including the dessimation of ones enemies. Always something to be learned." She turns her head from the weapons. "Call it a woman's fancy, but I think it better to find words first where possible." The swords are considered again. "Mayhaps I say such things because I have no use or a sword or for war."
"Some day you will, my girl," Rickart states in a good humor at that last. "You're a Nayland now, and your sons will be Naylands. The sooner the day you see the use of steel beneath a fine word, the sooner you'll be ready to rule."
Her chin lifts to regar the hilts and then at his words, her head dips and she turns away from the weapons. "Perhaps you are right, Goodfather. There is time for that yet." Isolde says and takes a few steps back to rejoin him. "My first task is to partner to your son and my second to be a mother. The rest comes with that and in time. Patience." It is something she repeats to herself often. "I have come to enjoy the Lady Dowager's company. I shall make what I can of this dinner and if need be, tie my husband to his seat to make certain he remains." There is a faint crooked smile there, good humor and all.
Lord Rickart doesn't conceal his skepticism as Isolde speaks of enjoying his mother's company. "What's this? The Hag? Girl, I begin to worry your wits are cracked. If you keep that one's company, I pity you." The talk of dinner is met with a dry sniff and nod. "I will look for you there, then."
Amusment lights her lips for a moment as he looks to her. "Pity me?" She laughs faintly and then shakes her head, "Goodfather, we are both women, we have at least that in common." She dips a courtsey to him, hands to skirts. "Till then." She intones and then starts for the door.
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