The Brotherhood of Black Banners
Knight Commander Sir Etoile Kotter
| Diplomacy | 3 |
| Military | 5 |
| Industry | 1 |
| Faith | 5 |
| Intrigue | 1 |
Expected Stat Changes: +2 Dip, +1 Mil
To those living in the Banner Holds, the known world stretches from the mighty peaks of the Massifs d'Aube down through the mighty forests of the Wood, tapering at last to woody foothills before the land grows flat in the Unknown East. It was on one such hill, overlooking a small stream and streaked here and there with rills from the last rain, that a man sat pondering the horizon. In the far distance, the great upwards curve of the world disappeared into the clouds, once the stuff of myths and folklore, but no longer. Word from beyond the borders of the Holds had brought that hazy, fantastical mirage into striking focus, and now what the Heralds of the Hall had for so long contended themselves with as the "known world" seemed little more than an island within a sea of ignorance and danger. It was only right and proper, then, that the Brotherhood dispatch a knight to take the measure of these strangers that had wandered into the Holds, and Sir Rulman l'Ours was far past the point of usefulness in more civilized climes.
Enormous, scarred hands held the elk-horn hilt of an iron knife with surprising grace, making steady progress transfiguring a bit of driftwood into a raven on the wing. The blade had been sharpened so often that it receded back from its tang like shadow receding from the light of an encroaching candle, and more than once Rulman had been chided to replace it by his fellows. It was the first thing he'd forged that his master had judged as adequate, however, so those casual jibes shattered against a bulwark of quiet sentiment. Nearby the knight, beyond the muddy stretch of a saddle blanket and the scattered detritus of wood shavings, a raven hopped over the wet grass, in search of some tantalizing morsel the knight could scarce imagine. Marcel had been his messenger for the better part of five years, and the bird's preening made for a striking contrast to the shaggy pony Rulman had been assigned for this mission. Accustomed to relying on his own feet to traverse the shadows of the Wood, the knight had never warmed to the four-legged beast, though he could not deny the wisdom of his orders. If nothing else, it was an additional companion on his solitary quest, once he thought of a name...
"I say, good morning sir knight!"
The unfamiliar voice carried up the hill, borne by a practiced art, and Rulman was all at once in motion. Surging like a wave from the sea he had never seen, he rose to his feet in a heartbeat, carving knife discarded in favor of the dull, murderous axe now revealed from beneath his black cloak. Brown eyes blazed with a suspicious fire, the match to his red-flecked black furnace of a beard, as he called down a reply.
"And a good morning to you, traveler. I had not thought to encounter another Holdsman after crossing the Senab."
His free hand gestured idly westwards, towards the last true river before the wild marches of the Holds.
"What business takes you so far from home?"
"Why, your business of course, sir knight!"
The owner of the voice with all its practiced, lilting cadence rose into view as he crested the hill, borne forward by a pony whose stance seemed an instant challenge to Rulman's own. The shaggy beast drew itself up in some approximation of pride, and for a moment Rulman felt his first pang of affection for it. Still, it was but a momentary distraction from his new acquaintance - where Rulman was a rough-hewn boulder of muscle, the newcomer was slight, his willowy grace clear as he dismounted from his saddle with a practiced flair. A deep blue cloak flapped from his shoulders in the morning breeze, revealing a finely embroidered green doublet underneath. Everything about him screamed his occupation as a dandy of Rhinnar, save for the black shine of Cinnabrine boots. Such an extravagance was rarely seen even among the wealthy of the Holds, for the cobblers of Clan Cinnabrine traded in reliability over comfort - it was unheard of for Cinnabrine boots to give out to wear, but it was said a pair required a good five years of breaking in to attain some shadow of comfort. Still, the glowing emerald dandy managed to suppress his discomfort well enough.
"Please, allow me to introduce myself. I am Cecil Merswin, journeyman Bard of the Hall of Heralds. When my superiors learned of your mission, they petitioned Knight Commander Kotter to allow one of our number to join you, and I confess with some pride that I was entrusted with the duty when she acquiesced."
He fell into a courtly bow, and was thus spared Rulman's grimace. Though the knight could scarce deny the craft of the Hall's bards, they had a painful habit of complicating situations. Still, for all his misgivings, he slid his axe back into its belt loop.
"Then I owe you an introduction myself, sir. Sir Rulman, called l'Ours, of the Brotherhood of Black Banners. An honor to make your acquaintance."
"Ah, the honor is all mine sir knight! Tales of your deeds in the hinterlands of Ferstat have featured in no few additions to our canon. Perhaps one day my account of our current adventure might join them."
"Yes. Should we survive."
Rulman's growl seemed at last to dampen Cecil's spirits, though it was but a moment before the young man's excitement returned twofold.
"Ah, and should we perish, our tragedy would no doubt touch the hearts of thousands! Lead on, Sir Rulman, to our destiny!"
Actions:
- [Military 5] Promote a Hero, Sir Rulman l'Ours (Hero 9)
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[Military] Raise 1 Unit
While the Banner Hold's reaction to the discovery of civilized peoples beyond their borders is largely celebratory, prudence eventually rears its ugly head. Uncertain of the true intentions of these new neighbors, the Council of Mayors decrees the formation of a standing militia in the Holds to augment the forces of the Brotherhood. While local hunters and catchpoles are a common sight, these newly-recruited militia members are issued Rhinnar cotton gambesons and Ferstat iron helms in addition to their broad-headed spears, creating a unified rank and file for the first time since the days of the King of Swords. It is an uncomfortable parallel for the people of the Banner Holds to confront, but a necessary one. -
[Diplomacy] Construct a refuge for the People of Myrkran (1/3) [Banner Holds to receive Favor and Reputation]
Faced with the sudden appearance of refugees from across the sea, the Banner Holds are at first divided on the proper response. Those of more cosmopolitan Holds favor the Myrkran wanderers as novel curiosities if nothing else, while outlying Holds protest the untrustworthiness of even a single unproven outsider, much less hundreds upon hundreds. This uncertainty brings the Council of Mayors to a deadlock on the situation, until the Hall and the Brotherhood intercede. In one of the rare moments of cooperation between the two pillars of Banner Hold society, heralds from the Hall and senior knights of the Brotherhood take turns exhorting the principles that the Holds claim to hold dear, the chivalric ideals of charity, bravery, and mercy upon which the Myrkran have thrown themselves. Those Mayors already disposed towards the refugees find their cause buttressed, while those who spoke against the horned strangers are shamed into silence. -
[Diplomacy] Construct a refuge for the People of Myrkran (2/3)
With the Banner Holds now united in the cause of providing a safe haven for the people of Myrkran, work progresses rapidly on temporary accommodations outside Flechebourg. Meanwhile, surveyors appointed by the Council of Mayors are escorted into the wildlands around the ruins of Dran by the Brotherhood, hoping to select a suitable site from among Dran's abandoned outlying Holds for the construction of a new Hold. While the ruins of Dran itself remain sacrosanct as a cultural artifact, a suitable site is decided on after scant weeks of inspection and debate, and soon the first Myrkran refugees are escorted to newly-built timber longhouses. Afforded the protection of a volunteer contingent of knights for their first winter, within months the Hold of Shadestone has raised their banner of a partially eclipsed crescent sun over a dark background. Their storehouses filled to bursting by donations from distant Tir Buwch, their prosperity (at least in the short term) seems assured. -
[Diplomacy] Attend the Horned Feast.
Event Sub-Actions
- Trade Prose and Poetry to Tancourt in return for Irrigation.
- Trade Prose and Poetry to the Witches of Tir Buwtch in return for Markets and Carts.
- Trade Prose and Poetry to the Storytellers of Sypressa in return for Animal Husbandry.
- [Diplomacy] Send a Diplomatic Mission south of the Banner Holds (Region 417) - 8
Non-Actions:
- Accept the People of Myrkran's offer of the intriguing technology of Masonry.
- Accept the aid of the Witches of Tir Buwch in constructing the Myrkran refuge.
News and Rumors:
- The imminent convergence of Yolym and the Winding Rose is not celebrated within the Banner Holds. In place of jubilation or expectation, those people of the Holds who follow the movements of the spheres declare a night of vigil, that all might stand watch. For the red moon has, for generations, symbolized in the minds of the Holdfolk the King of Swords, spinning contrary to all others, shining the bloody red fire of war in the night sky. The Sword Moon is the eternal foe of the Bright and the Black, which represent the innocents of the Banner Holds and the knighthood that defends them respectively. Meanwhile, erratic Yolym shines with the spirit of all those who lie beyond the sight of the Holds and the Brotherhood, those friends not-yet found who wander in lands undreamed of. That the Sword Moon should eclipse the Wanderer portends an imminent threat to all the world, a prediction taken all the more seriously for the sudden appearance of the folk of Myrkran. So the Banner Holds will stand their vigil, hearts heavy and hands resting lightly upon their weapons, for the grim terrors that flourish in the red shadows of night. It is a small mercy that the Star of Stories, the smallest of the world's moons, remains untouched - for history itself to suffer the touch of the Sword Moon would be an even fouler omen.
- The appearance of the Moon Touched approaching this night of doom is taken seriously by the Brotherhood, though they do not for a moment consider burdening outsiders with their vigil. The people of the Holds are instructed to watch for the sign, and to take no action save reporting it to their Mayor. Though some Holds suffer outbreaks of hysteria around the movements of midwives and the cries of newborn babes, the larger part of the Banner Holds masters their fear. Alas, that it is in one of these lesser holds that a new mother is set upon by a mob, and only rescued from their cruel justice by a passing knight. Sir Alain returns to Flechebourg with the mother in tow, as well as her daughter, marked by destiny - Celine.