The Gryphon and the Hounds

[TankM1A2 840]

 

The Gryphon and the Hounds

 

‘Twas a dark, unforgiving night that Henrik Kovachev decided to venture to the Capital of Haense, St. Karlsburg through the biting cold. Relieved from his duties due to his abdication, he often enjoyed taking strolls through the expansive Haensic countryside. Free at last, he entrusted the Duchy of Carnatia to his son, Sergei, second of his name. He allowed a content sigh to escape his lips, knowing the Duchy was within good hands, a small cloud of condensation forming, and just as quickly dissipating before him. Henrik smiled delicately as he tugged the furs of his garbs closer to him, proud of his son. He continued trudging through the snow towards the city of St. Karlsburg, a welcome sight after traversing the Northern barrens for an hour. The walls of Karlsburg stood imposing in the foreground against the cloudy grey skies. He approached slowly, inclining his head as to gaze up the gatehouse, hailing the guard on duty. There was a brief respite as he stepped under the gatehouse, shielding himself from the flurries of snow. Slowly, but surely, the portcullis was raised, and he entered the city. He offered a nod to one of the Golden Crow-attired gateguards, offering  him a warm smile.

He continued trudging through the snow, his legs moving in a rhythmic pattern as they carried him towards the square. He took a long, drawn out inhale as he took in the aroma of the stall-sold goods of the marketplace. He glanced around, overwhelmed by the abundance of shopkeepers trading, commoners bargaining, and people going about their daily business. Truly the city was alive, however, no one would be able to see what would be to come. To peruse the markets was not the reason why he intended to visit St. Karlsburg. Instead, he had come to speak to his favorite back-alley armorsmith about acquiring a new blade, one that would serve him for years to come. The exchange was brief as the smith would’ve already had a sword tailored to his arm span and fighting style. With a quick nod and thanks, he handed him a fat pouch of mina, turning to go about his way. The back alleys were clear of snow, though they were incredibly damp, splashes of mud heard as he made his way through the winding streets of the sprawling metropolis.

As he rounded a street, suddenly the scent of cactus green assaulted his nostrils. He stopped in his tracks, sniffing, only then realizing the eeriness of his surroundings. This particular alley way was devoid of any other people and life. He scanned his head from left to right before cautiously advancing through the street again. However, the silence was broken as he heard steps treading through the path behind him. Slowly, he slid his sword hand down to the pommel of his blade as inconspicuous as humanly possible. Swiftly, he spun to address the would-be stalker and was immediately confronted by three men, donning the tabard of House Brawm, though their faces indistinguishable, shrouded by the darkness and their hoods. He’d squint, trying to make out their identities, but to no avail. Henrik blurted out, “What is the meaning of this Br-”

He would be unable to finish his words, as two more hooded men stepped out from behind him, one grappling onto his shoulder as he plunged a dagger into Henrik’s back with his other hand. “Reeve Brawm sends his regards.” raspily said one of the Brawm bannermen.

“You treacherous dogs!” He’d exclaim, wincing in pain as he desperately went to draw his own sword to confront the assailants. The attacker would have already withdrawn his blade, taking a step back. Unknowing of this, Henrik pivoted and swung wildly behind him as to hopefully land a strike upon the Brawm. He staggered as his momentum failed to find its mark, thus buying time for those he originally faced to close the gap upon him.

The leader of the trio stepped forth, blade in hand, as he too went drive a dagger into Henrik’s exposed back. “Agh!” He shouted out in agony, turning to face the other group. Though, it was of no use.

The men of Brawm closed in around him like feral dogs going in for the kill. He was surrounded by five or so figures with no avenue of escape. He was to fight to the death, but it would be impossible to parry the blows coming from all around him. His furs offered him little protection, while the Brawms stood dressed in their coat of plates, staring at him with bloodlust in their eyes from the slits of their sallets. Now, from the opposite direction, a third approached, thrusting another dagger, now this one into his side. The grip on his sword loosened as he grunted once more, falling into the mud at his feet.

“Ye won’t be needin’ ‘is anehmore.” said one of the Brawms, as he kicked away  Henrik’s sword into one of the nearby gutters. Now turning his attention to Henrik, he too would ‘take a stab at it’. Henrik found himself pressed against a wall, clutching at a wound on his chest, blood quickly staining his outfit. Systematically, they took turns stabbing into the aged man, puncturing as many as 25 holes into him.

At last, he dropped, falling limp onto the street, and soaking in mud and blood. One of the Brawms spat in his direction, then crouched down, going wipe to his hands upon Henrik’s furs. They’d discarded his body there, left it to be found by anyone when the sun rose. As blood pooled all around him, many thoughts raced to his mind. His regret, not having spent enough time with his favorite son, Sergei. His love, Kynsinna, the one whom he treasured most dearly. And to all those he had the pleasure to work with, throughout his years. As his eyes slowly closed shut, he could make out the party of Brawms walking rounding the street slowly, cackling and laughing, clearly high out of their minds.

Henrik Kovachev lay dead.

[StokedOff 456]

"The hounds will be put down shortly papej." Sergei would shout towards the Brawm keep. Only four people in the keep should hear him as they are inactive and irrelevant. "Papej let you have this one" he'd shake his head

[Balthasar 2497]

(Pretty damn good read!)

[Legoboy7984 3155]

As Ser Markus Lothston sits in his chair in the Ruthern keep a messenger runs in interrupting Markus talking with some of the newly recruited men.

"M'lord, Duke Henrik is dead slain by your family."

Markus would stand up looking at the few men around him.

"Reeve, my brother... a traitor... men gather my horse, and you two come with me we ride to Carnatia to pay our respects to his lordship."

[Reno 239]

Ramsey Stafford sits along side his son, warm by the fire as they hear of the news; his once right ear covered in a black cloth "******* serves em right" 

[winterblood 11181]

Nemir's lips hinted to a small frown as she recalled her days serving the lords of Carnatia, her eyebrows had knitted themselves together and her nose faintly wrinkled.  "After years of being loyal to Sergei and his father, he repaid me with that," she said, contempt in her voice.  Her hands balled into fists, though eased as her thoughts wandered on.  "Henrik seemed different than his father, however.  Perhaps he didn't know... I hope his son is as good as he was, along with his grandfather Jan.  I'd return if I could."

 

((o7, sorry @NJBB,  you know I had to do it to em

Spoiler

 

 

[HurferDurfer1 2978]

Coltaine mourns the dead lord from his keep, Leifgaard, in Carnatia, that place he lived and Nemir didnt. He would light a large bonfire on the roof of his keep, the heat searing the stone beneath it, cracking the cobbles. "A mighty damn shame, a great, unbiased man,  the not so secret secret needs to be passed on to Sergei. The Brawms have truly miffed me now." Soon one may find the words "You forgot the Wicks." carved in the walls of the old Brawm keep.

[Thornz 549]

Mah'r Volaren would have a smug appearance shown from his facial expression as he heard that the Northerners had gotten word of Henrik's murder by Brawm bannermen.

[Andustar 4143]

Ser Viktor Kovachev would express his rage, drawing his blade for future confrontation

"I'll see every last Brawm in that fort spills blood into the snow!"

[Babadooks 566]

"Very sad." Paul would frown.

[Jentos 9422]

"They've made the Kovachevs bleed, I will not forget that, and I will not forgive that." The young Blackwood says, staring up at the hulking figure of his father; the man remaining silent. But giving the young man a nod.

[Daisy 9735]

Moved to The Great Library. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.

 

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