UPON THE BUSTLING village square of Sasbury– situated near the marketplace where a throng of local serfs and peasants were scurrying back and forth to load crates and barrels upon the short line of carts and wagons– the village's lord of the manor held a whip on his hand, looking sideways attentively upon the containers being carried brimming with processed flour from wheat and barley, salted meats of pork and beef, and ale and mead from the local brewery. It was hours passed mid-day, and as he continued to stare upon the goods and the men pacing in front of him, he cannot help but wore a dissatisfied look. As one burly man neared upon the lord, the former received a thrashing on his back, grunting in return but dared not to retaliate, lest he received more flogging.
"Quicken the pace, you insufferable laggards!" the local lord bawled, mercilessly whipping another serf in the form of a limped old man. "The ship from the north would arrive early tomorrow, and so these cargos must be carried to the dock by daybreak. Even if you need to work overnight, I do not care until you simpletons get the job done. Failure would be met with flogging and the confiscation of the tittle speck you call your land."
Fear for their occupation, family and their very lives marked their faces as they protest upon their minds in futility. Such were the fate of the lower class: to be of service to their liege lord who was the owner of the land where their humble abodes and the fields they plough lay for the purpose of their survival, as dictated by the hierarchical society.
As the lord of the manor attempted to retreat in his own private chamber, stultified at the same faces of his low-born subjects doing their onerous tasks, he suddenly saw his steward sprinting towards him from the direction of the manor. "My lord, my lord!" the steward shouted on top of his lungs over the distance. "An army is headed this way." Moments after he said that, he reached the side of his lord, panting vigorously.
"An army of what, goblins?"
"No, my lord. A rider was received by the adventurers guarding the western entrance. The message came from Lord Velmund's army, announcing their arrival at our village within an hour or so."
"Lord Velmund… you mean the son of the Duke?"
"Yes, my lord. He actually passed by the village a week or two ago to fight off another barbarian army in the south of the Duchy. The messenger told the adventurers that we should prepare for his army's encampment, so I would assume that he driven the enemies off, perhaps?"
"That spoiled brat who organized a knight tournament years ago? Preposterous, I heard there were supposed to be thousands of those bastards from Norsmund. He must have lost the southern lands to the barbarians and will seek the aid of his father. Not that he would get any, but still, barging in my fief with his army?!" As he said that, the lord snorted momentarily but quickly made an expression of disgust.
"My lord, you shouldn't talk like that with many ears that might eavesdrop, what if someone overheard us?"
"Shut it! Do I look like I care? Worse, he might even confiscate our goods intended for the Marq–"
"My lord, sorry for interrupting you, but it will probably be dangerous if someone hears that. We never know when the peasants start to gossip and spread rumors."
"I know, I know. So, I want you to hide the wagons to our storehouses and transport them discreetly tonight to the dock at the river. But for now, gather some of the adventurers, I will meet this lord in the gate with them. And instruct the servants to prepare refreshments and light food and also clean the dining hall, we should at least maintain appearances. Prepare also a feast to be served by the evening. Though, the notion of spending some coins for some annoying brat is utterly outrageous."
The steward nodded at the orders, promptly making his way towards the inn which served as the hired adventurers' lodgings.
* * *
The warm summer afternoon was complimented by the soft breeze that carried the fresh scent of the nearby river. Girding the village of Sasbury was a palisade the height of two men that covered the numerous cottages, barns, workshops, granaries, inns and taverns, stables, a small church, a mill and the lord's manor. Upon its western gate, the door of a gilded carriage sprung forward as a figure of a man in dark and deep azure silk clothing emerged from its inside, who was quickly encompassed by knights in capes who dismounted their horses. Came next from the carriage was a stout frame covered in bandages and hardened animal hide with fur. Beyond the noble in dark regal clothing, his black-armored knights and the tribal warrior-thane, was the train of wagons and horses, accompanied by a contingent numbering more than a thousand of men. Several meters away from the army stood a small group of five armed men in mismatched gears and another man of a visibly higher status proven by his flamboyant finery.
"Welcome, esteemed guests!" greeted the local lord with a smile as Velmund and his retinue approached. "I am the lord of Sasbury, Geraldy Damsworth. I am humbled by your presence, my lord. The same goes for the prestigious Raven Knights."
"Gramercy, Lord Damsworth. I apologize for imposing a sudden visit, but I hope we would not cause you any trouble," Velmund replied to the platitude.
"No troubles shall be caused if it is for the well being of the Duke's son and those under him. Please, come to our village. I have arranged your quarters at the manor, and I have extra rooms for your knights as well. The rest of your men can camp outside or be accommodated by the local inns. All expenses are covered by me, of course."
"I thank you for the offer, but we have sufficient fund to afford the services your village provides us. Lead the way."
The wooden gate of Sasbury creaked open, revealing the mundane setting of a run-of-the-mill countryside settlement, where thatched roofs atop the wooden houses littered every corner. Whilst traversing the footpath leading towards the manor, Velmund observed that not a single villager came in sight to greet them aside from the lord and his armed escort, yet it can be estimated that at least three hundred residents resided in the village by judging how large it was. However, as he continued to pass through the dirt road behind Geraldy and his men, he sensed the probing gazes hidden in the ajar windows and the lurking silhouettes in the alleys, as if he was taking a stroll in a den of caged animals.
Minutes went by as the group arrived at the edge of the dirt road. The modest façade of the Damsworth Manor came into view, located at the northernmost part of the village situated in an elevated slope behind the local church and the tithe barn. As the iron gate gaped open, a small garden of irises and roses welcomed them, gracing the air with its flowery scent. Meanwhile, the manor, evidently seen as an old relic of the past with its century-old architectural design and worn-out structure, stood in gloom as it casted shadow amidst the afternoon sun. Setting foot upon the manor's threshold, Velmund and his retinue were greeted by a score of maidservants, who took some of their goods and chattels then followed them through and led some of his knights towards their lodgings.
"The servants would take your belongings to your designated quarters, my lord," the steward of Geraldy said as he performed a bow. "And your horses were taken to the village stable to be fed. Our servants have brewed tea and it is now ready at the dining hall. I hope you would also be pleased with our local delicacies."
"As expected of my steward. Well then, shall we proceed, Lord Velmund?" invited the lord of the manor, offering smile and a façade that secretly hid indignation beneath.
"I would be delighted to," Velmund said in a neutral tone.
* * *
The coos of an owl reverberated outside of Damsworth Manor, through its courtyard passed the wooden wall of the village, harmonizing with the tranquility of the summer evening. Upon the murky chamber he found himself in, Velmund kept his eyes at a corner with a single lamp, which along with the window beside the bed that borrowed light from the moon, illuminated the entirety of the bedroom. Sat upon a chair whilst clutching his grimoire, he refocused his gaze as he turned leaf upon leaf of the book, staring at the pages filled with imparted knowledge through the scribbles of its previous holders and the latter parts devoid of contents, seemingly running endless and naught at the same time.
It had been six hours after he and his army had arrived at the village of Sasbury, with hours spent on a discussion over tea and sweets with the local lord and the subsequent feast that came as soon as nightfall. Finding himself some time to spare before the summoned confidants of his retinue meet him for a war council, his previous hour was mostly spent upon reading and scribing. While he did so, some thoughts lingered in his mind concerning his discourse with the warrior-thane of the Norsmundi horde. Their discussion entailed of his men defecting to their army, to work with the people that for the past two centuries fought tooth and nail against them under mud and blood. Velmund knew the lack of manpower his army was suffering, and to even hope to face the Marquis's army in spite of not being aware of its numbers yet seemed like a pipe dream. To make matters worse, the absence of support from the Duke and the ongoing vermin season when various creatures ran amok throughout the land greatly undermined his chances of success, so among the few viable options he had were to incorporate the captives under his command or to coerce the local lords to send troops towards him, gradually undermining the defense of their respective fiefs in the process that can lead to sour the relations between Regalia's current government and its nobles. In truth, even the volunteer militia troops from the previous battle were only convinced to be enlisted in Velmund's army because of the hefty sum of silvers he was willing to spend from his personal coffers, and the bribes he sent to some minor lords surrounding the town of Flendle, which they can use to hire a few adventurers who specialized at fighting non-human combatants.
Upon contemplating his past actions and future plans, he suddenly heard a series of pitter-patter outside in the room's balcony, its door lying beside the window. However, he noticed that it was not merely random light footsteps that he heard, but a series of pattern he was undoubtedly familiar with. And upon the balcony, a murky silhouette lurked.
"I was expecting you sooner," Velmund said in an indifferent tone and an aloof expression as he continuously scribed upon a parchment without turning around to see his interlocutor.
"Oh please, cut me some slack, would you, Vel?" replied the silhouette, opening the door of the balcony to enter, yet keeping itself on the shadows. "I am doing my work dutifully, just so you know."