Morning Inside MarshendIndex | HomePage | GameLogs | MarshendGameLogs | Morning Inside Marshend (Continued from Gabriel in the Tavern with Anniketta) It was a quiet dawn in the town. The lookouts reported early to Godwyn that there was nothing to be seen but the dank white mists rising ... something which Godwyn could see for himself from his vantage point. In the tavern, Anniketta was preparing breakfast for not only Gabriel and the Giants of Pentos, but also for anyone who would prefer to break their fast in the convivial settings of the tavern (at least, convivial under the new management of the Giants). But at this early hour she was alone as the Giants were about on work of their own, tending their horses, practising their skills and picking up what gossip they could. Godwyn saw to his men first, making certain there had been no problems during the night, checking on their moods and morale, before following his nose to the tavern. "That's food," he said to Anniketta as he entered the tavern. Anniketta smiled at him warmly. "That it is," she agreed, gesturing for him to come and take some. "A peaceful night?" "Aye," he said. "Thank the Gods. No one slit our throats in the night, and there are no outraged husbands or brothers demanding blood. I count that as a win." He made approving noises as he filled a plate with food. Mist padded down the stairs, oblivious of the unease a direwolf would create by appearing in the common room on her own, and sat down. He tongue lolled out as she kept her gaze on Anniketta. Anniketta laughed and reached for a venerable wooden bowl which she ladled a generous helping of stew into. She set it down on the floor, and stood back to watch Mist enjoy it. Godwyn grinned as he watched her feed Mist. "So," she said to Godwyn, "what are your plans for today?" "Mmmph," he said around a mouth full of food. He swallowed, then continued, "We've got watchers out, ready to warn us if anyone approaches. I don't want to just sit here and wait for them, though, as there's no telling when or if they'll return. So we're sending men out, village men, good trappers and hunters who know the area and are used to moving quiet. They're to look for any sign of the bandits, then return immediately to tell us what they find. Exactly what we do will depend on what we learn." Anniketta nodded. "Did Gabriel give you the names of the best men to use?" she asked. "We - the Giants - haven't been here long eenough to develop that sort of knowledge. We're travelling folk, in the main. Have you travelled much, Ser Godwyn?" "Just Godwyn," he told her. "I'm no ser, nor ever will be. One must either follow the Seven, or at least be willing to swear to them. And I hold to the Old Gods." He took another bite, and washed it down, before continuing. "Aye, Gabriel knows the folk of this village well, and told me who would be best for such a task, and who would be like to fall asleep under a tree, then come back with lies about what they'd done and seen." He smiled at her. "As for traveling, not so much. I've been as far as Winterfell when I was young, in company with my da. But that was long ago." He spoke with all the elderly gravitas of a sixteen-year-old considering the distant past of his childhood. The scraping sounds of the bowl being licked and pushed across the floor stopped; Mist looked to the stair, where Gabriel was descending. He smiled and stretched. "Good morning," he said. "Morning," Godwyn calls. "I was just telling the good mistress what we plan for the day." Anniketta looked across at Gabriel with a faint, half-mile. "He's sent out the men you recommended - to see what they could find." At this point, a shout from towards the lake side of the town suggested that something had happened. Godwyn was on his feet in an instant and running for the door. "Report back quietly," he muttered as he ran. "Keep everything quiet. Bloody well don't know why I bother talking, sometimes." With a significant look at the Giant, Gabriel walked towards the door at a slightly slower pace. "Mist, with me." Godwyn reached the shore first, but there was a crowd of townspeople gathered on the quay, and he had to thrust his way through - whereas the crowd parted silently for Gabriel. What they were all looking at was a boat - one of the shallow, flat bottomed punts that were used to pole along the shallow marshes when men went out to fish. This was a decent sized craft, with a crew of six. At least ... it had been. Now it drifted in the water, coming towards the shore - and it will replete with the corpses not of fish, but of men - and they had died terribly. The cause was not hard to seek - a dying eel, its jaws reddened with the gore of those it had killed, flapped and writhed in its death agonies among the ripped and torn bodies. Nor was it hard to see why the fishermen had failed to kill the eel before it killed them ... they had each of them been bound hand and foot - and must have been powerless to escape their fate. More than one person had turned away to be sick. Others spoke in quiet, appalled voices. "That ... that's young Bronten, isn't it? His ... his *face* ... " "Colen was on that boat. But I can't ... tell. Is he ... is that ... " Godwyn's face flushed with rage, and his fists clenched. He pushed his way to the boat, and drew his sword. He seemed unable to speak as he slashed again and again at the eel, not pausing until it had been hacked into unmoving pieces. Gabriel, his face white, turned to one of the others in the crowd. "Cover them, bring them to the back of the inn. Don't leave them here like trussed- up birds." To Godwyn, he said, "Ah... a little late, m'Lord." Godwyn's sword arm fell, and he stood still, staring down at the dead men, his rage still clear on his face. Then he nodded, and turned back towards the crowd, not seeming to notice how people fell back from his wrathful face and bloody sword. "Aye," he said. "It's the men who did this as need killing." The men of the village moved to help clear the body of its gruesome cargo in an almost deathly silence. Most seemed too shocked to say anything, but one of the older man approached Gabriel where he stood with Godwyn. "What shall we do, Gabriel?" he asked, and then added, "What will you do, my Lord?" "Kill them," Godwyn said flatly. "Kill them all." He looked over the crowd, searching out Corryn's men, then called out, "Phelam! Gather the men! Enough of skulking and waiting! We know they were upstream, to let this boat drift down. Let us find them and slaughter them like the beasts they are." Phelan, in the crowd, gave a grim nod and began to shoulder his way back to gather the men. Gabriel nodded, but said, "Luck, my Lord. Fire and fury is the appropriate response here, but it is hard to track someone in the marsh. I might suggest that everyone stay close enough to see one another. Come back before dark." To the older man, he said, "This was not a clean death, and it needs to be answered. Their only purpose was to strike fear in the hearts of the townspeople. Well. These newcomers don't know what fear is. I'll see if I can find a... friend... to help us." The man shot him a swift look. "Aye," he said. "We need the likes of him now." The Laughing Knives were beginning to mount up, ready to move out. "And what shall we do?" shouted out one of the younger men. "We'll not wait here to be slaughtered!" There was a low, angry murmur of agreement - punctuated by the occasional wails of a woman here and there in the crowd - although it was hard to tell if they were lamenting or anticpating loss. Godwyn turned to face the crowd. "Right," he said, his voice tight. "I'm just about fed up with you lot. You don't want to pay taxes, but you want protection. You want us to protect you from bandits, but you don't like us staying in your village. And now you want us to revenge your dead, but you don't want us to leave you alone and defenseless. What the bloody hells are you, men or rabbits? I though this was a bloody village of the Northlands, full of independent men who could take care of themselves most of the time, and who would aid and assist their rightful lords in taking care of them in extraordinary times. Like, oh, I don't know, when there's a bloody bunch of murdering cutthroats around?" His voice was getting louder, and he was gesturing wildly with his arms now. Since he still hadn't sheathed his sword, this was even more alarming than it would normally have been. "Did I take a bloody wrong turn somewhere and end up in the bloody Southland? What are you lot going to do when winter comes, complain to the snow that it's not right for it to be so bloody cold and it should just bloody well warm up?" He snorted. "I've got no bloody patience for you. I could use some d@mned help here, if anyone would like to come along and help us stay out of the bloody swamp." "Phelam! Where's my bloody horse?" He turned from them to mount. "But we do pay the taxes, my Lord," Gabriel said, "and thus have... expectations." He looked around. "There you are, Humble. Mount up. Go as far as you can, before it's too dark. Be careful." Humble made a face as if being forced to eat something sour, but nodded. "Don't let them sucker you," Gabriel said as a final word. "M'lord, you'd do well to follow his advice." Godwyn nodded shortly, then forced his face to relax. "Thank you, Gabriel," he said. "When did Lords and such ever listen to the likes of us?" growled Humble. But he mounted his horse and it was clear that many of the younger men in the crowd were prepared to follow as well - even if the older ones just scowled. It seems Godwyn would have enough guides. "Lead us on, Humble," Godwyn said. "Let's kill someone." With a slap of the reins on his horse's flank he led Corryn's men out of the village along the riverside. Humble mounted, then turned to look at Gabriel, who was absently scratching his ear. Gabriel nodded at Humble; the larger man blanched a little, but nodded back. (Continued in Morning Inside Marshend: Gabriel and Morning Inside Marshend: Godwyn) |
