The Free March South

[osumanduas 1442]

 

The Free March South

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A light snow fell from the sky, his senses taking in the cold, his breath visible in the wind. He stood poised, his bow firmly in hand and his quiver strapped to his back, the snow peppered woodlands providing him protection from any discovery. Dark figures roamed the wood, stalking through bushes and scaring game away. Caribou fled, the foxes scurried from sight and the hares hid much like the Northmen from the green clad menace.

 

He cursed beneath his breath, careful not to alert the enemies treading through the forest. He had his cart nearby, though did not know what state it was left in, his oxen taken perhaps? His supplies stolen by the invaders? He didn’t know, but he was not about to leave it behind. He would wait for nightfall when the bastards slept and flee back to the Lord Vanir’s estate, his cart with him.

 

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“What have we left here? Our homes forfeit to Courland steel and our honor to wind through the knees of our cowardly King and his Raevir line.”

-          Bernard Baruch

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Courlandic forces had taken the North. By way of steel and numbers they had come to occupy all the North in no small part due to the King whom surrendered to him after their victory in Vasiland. Homesteads looted for their wealth and people displaced from their lands, farmed since the descendants ships had made landing on Tahn. The North was no longer a haven for their kind, and they would not kneel again to foreigners.

 

Having nowhere else, no free home to call their own Hansetian peoples trickled from the north to anywhere they might be had. Their Raevir lords had failed them and so they searched for new holds to call their own, new lands to grow strong. To the Westerlands and their distant Walden kin, and south through the mountain passes to the former crownlands of the Empire, to Mardon and Roard.

 

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The March was in ruins, his home hugging his late Lord’s estate forsaken, to his detriment, to ember and flame. All else was put to the torch as well. His sinuses screamed, only able to take in the vile smell of ash and burnt flesh. He stood silent however, offering a prayer to the fallen. And though he stood in a ruin he was safe, for the army had moved on in search of greater prizes. He had managed to catch his cart before, had pulled it along with him, it was all he had now that Courland had ripped his home from hand.

 

He set about looking for survivors, as surely some had ventured into the wilderness to escape the destruction. Indeed, some might have survived like him, so he combed the area in search, fleeting hope about him. He found only a handful, a Mason’s family, Fishermen beyond their prime, hungry Beggars, and the lord’s Widow. Together they set upon heading south, the mountain passes were close enough and they knew the land well enough to slip past patrols.

 

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This Northern Exodus was plain to any with eyes to see, and many displaced migrants were to be taken in. Their populations increasing with substantial number. The small island of Roard, separated from the mainland by a strait and tall cliffside, was easily able to control this flow, having the natural walls evidently needed. Hansetian numbers within the Duchy swelled to overtake previous dwellers. Suddenly the Lord of the Rock found for himself new subjects, tall, hairy, and ready to serve.

 

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Their caravan had grown since that dreary day, what remained of their homestead in ruins. Now their numbers swelled to roughly seventeen thousand. Along the way others sought to join them for the livelihood of all Hansetians seemed uprooted and in disarray. They were comprised of tradesmen, warriors, families, and few nobility and with the wind at their backs, had overcome the mountain passes and made their way past the frozen ruins of Johannesburg. With hope on the horizon and the island of Roard in sight, it seemed like their journey was over.

 

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[Eggles the Beagles 252]

Kynsinna Kovachev sighed, her hand slowly lowering the paper back to the table. Hands which shake and fumble with old age. She mumbled a pray for her countrymen before turning to look outside of her home in the Westerlands with a meek smile. 

[gandalfo 1452]

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

 

If you feel this is a mistake, please contact myself or any FM and we'll restore it.