The Rhoswenii Hunt, 1763

[Draeris 3124]

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE RHOSWENII HUNT

OF RICHARD VICTOR HELVETS & LAURENCE AUGUST PRUVIA

 

13th of Owyn’s Flame, 1763

 

It was a peaceful day in Kaedrin: the afternoon sun ascending over Mont Catherine as a comfortable breeze drifted through the grassy fields. Most had opted to spend a lazy day in the sun, the epitome of the Rhoswenii agrarian dream. Two young men sought a different pastime however, interrupting the serene silence covering the demesne as a warm blanket. 

 

“Get ‘m!” Laurence exclaimed, Richard aiming to hit the Pheasant with his crossbow. It would be the first of many pheasants, squirrels and geese populating the Kaedreni plains. The galloping of horses, the chatter: a jolly duo getting acquainted through the most refined of Kaedreni hobbies. “Off we are then” Richard chuckled, galloping his steed after the antagonized bird. Laurence had struck it in his wing, but failed to cull it. In a burst: Richard halted his horse and fired at the Pheasant, hoping to kill it instantly. 

 

The Helvets had failed as well, promoting Laurence to enter a hot pursuit of the Pheasant. Despite his best efforts, he missed once more. “By the lord” he would exclaim “That’s one stubborn lass”. Richard was less entertained, snorting “blasted bird!” as he pursued her to the bushes nearby. “I’ll hold her steady this time” Richard then groaned, preparing his contraption to end the pursuit after this illusive pheasant. Laurence smirked, holding the reins of his horse tightly. Even with the steadiness of a marksman: Richard failed to slay that dodgy lass, prompting Laurence to reload his crossbow again. “Perhaps we can spook it to flee?” Richard inquired, nodding towards Laurence as he dismounted to come closer. Without saying a word, Laurence shot a bolt: finally slaying the pheasant. 

 

As Richard went to mount his steed, Laurence looked towards the contours of the Falstaff estate. “Shall we venture deeper into the woods?” he asked, with Richard puffing “Fair, down to the Rills perhaps”.  As both ventured past the Falstaff estate into the swamp, a conversation had erupted. “Say, Richard.” he’d turn to him “If I may call you that?”. “Ay, of course.” Richard replied, halting his horse “It gets dull to stand on ceremony”. Laurence slightly closed his eyes in satisfaction: inquiring “You mentioned that you were married earlier. To whom? If I may be privy”. The Count tilted his head “Lorena Antonia, His Majesty’s daughter”. 

 

“Happily married?”

“It’s tiring, but rewarding,”

“How come?” Laurence would chuckle, thinking of his last passion in Helena

“She requires.. A great measure of support. But I suppose in any type of partnership that is the case.”

“I salute any man that endures the complexity of women.” he chuckled, simulating the tipping of his hat to Richard “While I certainly miss it, clerical celibacy has its boons.”

“It takes a fair bit of weight off your shoulders, that I do expect.” he answered Laurence, his eyes darting between him and a bird flying past. 

“Truly.” Laurence chuckled “though it has been hard to adjust to clerical life.”

“How recently did you come upon them.. The Cloth?” Richard interjected, tilting his head. 

“S-Several days?” Laurence answered in an insecure fashion, fiddling with his crossbow.

“How peculiar.” Richard laughed in response, albeit reassuringly “We will grow in kind then”. 

His gaze turned to the lake ahead, beckoning for Laurence to follow: “Now let us find that bloody goose.”

 

Their horses reached the lakeside: decorated by lush plantations and the sounds of hectic geese. Laurence was the first to spot a nesting in the green: “Over there, do you see it?”

“A wee blur, the habitat is thick with green” Richard admitted, sneaking forward as he placed a bolt in the chamber of his contraption.  “Shall we go for the seated goose, or the male one swimming about?” Laurence went on his knees, readying his contraption “I believe it is prudent to leave a mother and her ilk.” Richard answered, sneaking towards an opening “It’s a clearer shot anyhow.”

As both aimed their crossbows at the drifting goose, Laurence winked at Richard: “I’ll leave this one for you.” as he lowered his own. The whistle of Richard’s bolt broke the peace of the lake, its hit on the upper back of the bird turning its white feathers quickly red. The goose began to flutter as its essence leaked into the lake below. Richard calmly readied his crossbow once more, going for that elegant finish. “Bugger me, if this silly goose was instead the Lord Selm: it would be a wider target at least.”

 

The duo chuckled, although the young Laurence had not acquainted himself yet with the intricate history of political prominents, waiting patiently for Richard to finish his shot before asking. He missed his shot however, sighing: “It appears I’ll have to borrow one from you dear Bishop: before this blasted bird gets away.” Laurence immediately went to aim and fire, missing his shot as well.  “Are we this incompetent?”

“Mayhaps it’ll have bled out by the time it reaches the other end” Richard reassured, jogging towards his steed. Laurence followed in pursuit, both now galloping around the lake to catch up with the wounded goose. As Richard reloaded his crossbow and aimed it once more, he dryly stated: “Third time’s the charm” before cleanly penetrating the goose’s neck. It flung into the water directly. 

As Richard went to pick up the goose’s carcass, now drifted ashore. He beckoned him: “Shall we venture to Varoche? I’ll catch up!” Laurence nodded, galloping away towards his new home. With that, as the hunt came to an end, a friendship came to a start.