3. All The King's Horses | Cormac's War

All The King's Horses | Cormac's War


  • It'd take a few days for the riders to take their dead into the mountains. A rite some of the families called a celestial burial. Others quite seriously stated they were giving alms to the birds, there was no mockery. A few days for trail ponies to carry the deceased up into the mountains to hard stony ground where the corpses could be left. Each family had a spot, it seemed. After all, he thought, why should they be buried down here among foreigners. Give them a few days to tend to their losses.

    Cormac wondered if George had felt the same when he'd lost so many during that first battle in the pass. Cormac had lost none - not that time, nor in any engagement since. And even so it was only twenty men out of four hundred, who in their right mind would care? They'd won after all. They'd won and he could spare them a few days. A few days, then they'd come back - sure they would. Three thousand or more Zhentarim would cross the pass in a few days time, too.

    Now would be a good time to cut their losses and just keep riding -- the thought did cross his mind.

    A few family members from each of the fallen would take care of the grim business of transporting the dead and preparing the body for ritual consumption, vultures, he was told, would strip the carcass of its flesh and then the bones would be ground and mixed with grain or meal, and those remains would be scattered for the crows and nothing would remain. The thought troubled Cormac who'd always fancied he'd have a great burial mound with a great story to go with it. Who'd want to be simply gone..? It didn't matter. A few days, his force would be diminished to maybe three quarters strength, or half maybe.

    But only for a few days he assured himself.


  • King Fisher cleans the blood from his spear around the Norwick bonfire. He grins a wild grin, and replies to Cormac: "Anyone who fights and bleeds in defense of this land has a right to settle it. Tell them they can stay as northerners. If they can stomach the idea of getting off a horse now and again."

    He barks a laugh.

    "I'm sure d'Cameron would be happy to have them, fighters as they are. That woman is fiercer than she seems."

    [DM Xanatos Gambit]


  • While spirits are high, and during the night-long celebrations, Cormac takes advantage of the mood. A patient wolf. His prey, the flames haired King of Peltarch -- no, maybe that's not right anymore. The King of the North now, he supposed. He waits until the opportunity is right, and then strikes, in an instant he has the young King. Though not in violence but conversation.

    Cormac would go on to schmooze and delight Thalaman who'd so often demanded the man's attention, before ultimately sinking his teeth into the meat of the situation.

    "...we've lost men, Thalaman.", Cormac spoke to him as a friend and confidant rather than as a subject to his liege. "...the north. I mean Peltarch and Norwick. Cloudhaven - hell, even Porttown will be reduced. Hrrhhh.. let me extend an invitation to the riders. Out of what remains some might settle. Between us all we can have a better world yrrhh?... D'Cameron, too. Have her agree to let them settle here in Norwick." He'd clasp the young, now grown and strong however he'd found, King's shoulder. Not a man for 'please', he simply went on to urge; "...I knew a woman, my nemesis maybe. A paladin of the grain goddess who fell doing what any sane person would. She'd be worried about men tilling fields and reaping harvest. She'd be right. Hrrrhhh... let them stay, Thalaman. Let them settle."

    Perhaps it'd boil down to the guilt of letting so many die. Or the promise he'd made to the old Kahan, that he'd destroy the entire clan - reduce then to nothing, and leave the remains of them scattered. Maybe he could grab fate by the throat once more and things might turn out differently. Maybe...


  • A letter is left with the City Hall clerks in Peltarch, a bold seal of black wax imprinted with the sigil of Clan Rannúlfr. It is addressed to G. Brockhouse of the Promontory Kennels in Hinhold, and appears to be a purchase order for all of their warhounds.

    ~~ ~~

    "G. Brockhouse,

    I have long admired the quality of Promontory Kennels' hounds, and so I write you with the promise that your beasts will be well kept while in my care should you honor my request to purchase your entire stock, save for those you would reserve to continue to breed the hardiest and most loyal warhounds this side of the Spires.

    I have particular interest in your dark furred Luiren warhounds as they are best suited to my immediate needs, though if you can vouch for the quality of your Damaran mastiffs I am willing to pay a fair premium for them also. I would take delivery over land or by ship, or if arrangements can be made I will send my own ship with crew to secure my order and deliver payment.

    You will include the price due for any barding or armor that can be provided for your animals in the total bill and arrangements must be made within five days, else I can commit to no deal.

    I urge you to respond quickly.

    Eagerly,

    Captain Sir Cormac Randolph of Peltarch"

    ~~ ~~


  • A well penned letter, written in ink somehow blacker than black - presumably expensive, and on milled paper that smelled of some almost spicy heartwood. The likewise intoxicating envelope would be sealed with shiny black wax impressed with the sigil of clan Rannúlfr.

    ~~ ~~

    General Gol Geroldine,

    I was sorry to learn that you have had thoughts to end this conflict prematurely, and in your last missive terms were offered. I write you, that you might reconsider; you see in a few months time the fields will be cut and sown for planting, and the blood of your men will ensure a bumper yield for our next harvest season.

    Might you be encouraged to instead bring your full force to our city's walls, favorably to the South and to the West where our farmlands are situated that we might reap the full benefit of your enduring folly. Perhaps there is a superior of yours that I may direct my correspondence to instead, who will surely recognize your countless blunders as well as your tragic crutch - that is to say - the heavy reliance that you have put on your freakish 'friends' that you surround yourself with, and might yet take this conflict seriously.

    In the interim I wish you all the comforts due to you as one who leads not just from the rear, but far removed from his own battle lines.

    Your Pal,

    Captain Sir Cormac Randolph
    The Sea-Wolf
    Baron Arrinsheim of Peltarch
    Kahan of The Tri-House Concord
    Knight of The Realm
    Warchief Clan Rannúlfr

    ~~ ~~

    He'd left the letter with the city clerks to be sent prior to their mission to liberate Cloudhaven. The success of the mission was never guaranteed, but to receive news of the victory of the Geese as well as this stinging verbal taunt might be enough, Cormac thought, to make him slip.

    Temperance had described the man as being confident, perhaps overly and easy to manipulate if you could push the right buttons, to lure him into making foolish and brash decisions on the battlefield. That is after all how she claimed to have been a constant thorn in his side. Cormac appealed to those flaws in his letter, 'can I speak with someone higher than you?' might be enough on its own, but to call out how 'dependent' on his weird entourage he'd been might take it further. The icing of course would be in calling the man a coward outright and wishing him well from far behind enemy lines and any threat of personal danger. Cormac would be fuming if he'd received a letter like that, he was sure of it. Maybe Col would turn out to be just as petty and quick-to-anger. In his anger, would Col send everything he had into the pass and suffer some incredible defeat?

    Maybe.