Of the Fight and Fame of Geordie Brawm

[cakefool 307]

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Of the Fight and Fame of Geordie Brawm

 

 

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Geordie Brawm had been but a young man during the sieges of Silasia, commanding the Dreadlandic host against the Half-Breed Crusaders—only for the Silasian leadership to surrender. During this conflict, he gained the moniker "Blackheart" from his enemies. Years later, he met ruin again in the wars of Drusco, serving beneath Roger de Rouen during the Defiance of Drusco. From that day forth, he swore an oath upon his honor: never again would he yield to the Harrenites.

 

Now an aged and weathered lord, Brawm took once more to the roads as his forefathers had before him, preying upon vagrants and caravans alike to line his coffers. It was there he crossed paths with a halfling priest—an affront to nature itself—and the priest’s company, whose fat purses and glittering trinkets did little to soothe the greed burning in his men’s hearts. In the days that followed, they pressed deeper into Imperial lands, raiding and ransoming with impunity, until the bustling town of Tarnavon fell beneath their grasp, its people taken hostage and its gold swelling their purses yet further.

 

The retinue of Brawm’s retainers held many of the Highland folk as hostages—proud men and women, and a few Imperials among them. Yet the Empire showed little will to ransom or sally forth for their own. Instead, it was the Idunians who sought retribution for the thievery and pillaging that Geordie’s host had wrought across the lands of Harren.

 

From the hilltop, they beheld a thousand men assembled, a finely dressed soldier at their vanguard. Geordie’s tactic had gone into action; wounding the hostages to delay pursuit, he withdrew his force into the forests, sparing only a few men. There, at the edge of Tarnavon, the Idunian host met Harys and Seymour Brawm, nephews of the old lord. Feigning retreat, the brothers lured their foe into the thickets, where Geordie bellowed the order to charge. Instantly, a tempest of steel rang out across Imperial lands, and the numerically superior Idunian line collapsed. The soldiers of the White City scattered like snowflakes in the wind, only to be hewn down in their flight and folly.

 

 

[!]

Brawmian cavalrymen pursuing the fleeing Idunians at the rout of Whitefield.

 

The Nobleman, fittingly, possessed the fleetest horse, and a furious, savage chase ensued. The Lord of Brawm gave the order to pursue, riding hard with his nephews Seymour and Harys at his flank. The retreating Idunians fought desperately against the marauding host, falling one by one like swine before the slaughter. At last, when Geordie was but a hair’s length away from striking his lance into the fleeing Nobleman, Seymour ‘Hotspur’ spurred ahead, overtaking his uncle. His lance found the Nobleman’s torso, and the Harrenite fell with a thunderous cry.

 

At once, Geordie turned his steed "Redmane" and directed his lance upon the center of the Nobleman’s standard-bearer, unhorsing the great Númendilian knight in a single strike. Then the thunder of hooves subsided, and the forest fell deathly silent.

 

Geordie, with a small host, his nephews among them, and a group of trusted veterans who had lost much at Drusco and Silasia, took the captured Nobleman and brought him to a lonely beach overlooking the Imperial countryside. In a fit of adrenaline and vigor, the unshaken Brawmians dragged the fallen Nobleman to the shore. There, a restless Seymour and the defeated Harrenite exchanged brief words of Drusco and Silasia battles whose wounds still festered in memory.

[!]

Geordie "Blackheart" Brawm preparing to perform a one-handed execution on the fallen Noble of Idunia.

The Noble of Idunia, bloodied and beaten, lifted his gaze towards his executioner, 

“May I have a smoke of my pipe before I die?” He asked 

“You have spared my people nothing but death,” Geordie replied coldly. “You will find no comfort in this life or the next.”

At last, Geordie ordered his men to force the Nobleman to his knees before a moss-covered beach stone. Raising his sword high in one hand, he proclaimed,
“I, Geordie, of the notorious House of Brawm, Lord Paramount of the Dreadlandic Federation, Lord of Houndsden, and Protector of Silasia, proclaim my oath to avenge Silasia fulfilled, and hereby sentence you to death.”

The aged bandit lord paused with the sea pulling at his cloak. As the waves crashed behind him, he stared down at his foe, silent for a moment.

Then, at last, he spoke. “Have you any last words?”

Edited November 15, 2025 by cakefool

[LobsterLarry 1514]

Upon reading the letter, Vargys, in the middle of the woods, would begin to shed a single tear for his fallen brothers as he reads upon the page. He would look up towards the heavens before cursing the Adunians. He would then say aloud to himself "At least it got done."

[Chaw 964]

Brawm forever!