[In the great hall]
Within the hall many
of the warriors were settling in for some long drinking, and were already
pulling a server to their lap. The sound of
voices and hard laughter
seemed to reach to the very wafters. Amidst the noise Measail turned to
Daron and said, loud enough to be heard, "Good Lady Daron, you look to
have been deserted by your comrades. Please allow myself and good Teth
to escort you from the hall." He seemed to have already ruled out Jacques
as a man who'd found his place for the night.
"Yes," Teth said, studying the girl from head to toe, "When these lads get enough to drink they might not recognize a lady from the wenches. I've had it happen a couple of times myself."
"And they're walking worse for wear," Measail added with a chuckle, leaving the issue open as to the reasons for the declining condition.
[Daron]
The artist smiled gratefully at Measail and Teth. "Thank you. I would appreciate that very much..." Her voice trailed off and her cheeks flushed slightly as she noticed one of the warriors taking certain liberties with one of the serving wenches practically in full view of the room.
Daron averted her gaze, wishing suddenly that her gown's V-neckline--while still modest--was closer to her chin and the shimmery emerald green fabric did not cling to her form as well as it did...
[Measail/Teth]
"Well then come along," Measail said, leading the way from the room.
As they walked out Teth looked at the younger woman and asked, "And how did such a charming lady come to be traveling the mountain roads with the Chief's daughter?"
Before there was time for an answer the mournful dirge of bagpipes filled the room, and made many of the warriors and camp followers scramble to their feet; with exclaimations of terror or anger.
Measail and Teth both looked grim. Measail ordered, "Head for the inner chambers woman!" He quickly began to rally the men - as Tetha began to herd the terrified women ahead of her. To Daron she said, "Come along, lass!! The Piper is playing - soon Death will follow!!"
[Daron]
-So now it comes-,
Daron thought. One hand reached under her long dark hair, appearing
to casually scratch the back of her neck. "Please just get me to
my room," she told Teth, gathering her skirt up in her other hand to aid
her flight to her quarters. -I'll not go yet...not without taking
my honorguard along...- The memory of her father's advice gave the
artist strength. Seemingly by magic an ebony-handled dagger appeared in
the hand that had been scratching her neck. "I'll not go down without
a fight..." Daron assured
Teth.
[Bronwyn]
The wide smile with which the serving girl had greeted the jester faded quickly to pale fear. So quickly turned her thoughts of a night of pleasure to a night where more sorrows would come to the Dun of B'ron. "All defenders..." she whispered, gathering her skirts and casting her eyes about for even a serving knife to take with her.
[Jacques - & pup]
Jacques stood with a start, and Fiend awoke with a mournful howl that somehow managed to fade into, and pierce at the same time, the sound of the bagpipes.
"No wonder _you're_ worried," he muttered. "Somebody's strangling a cat somewhere. But I don't know about the rest of 'em."
He pulled a long, yellow handled knife from one pocket and, gathering the howling pup in the other hand strode quickly over to Bronwyn.
"What's going on? Some damn fool forget to feed the felines or something?"
The only thing he could think of was that someone had been stupid enough to attack the place. But attacking somewhere like _this_, in the _dark_, was just plain suicide. Even if half the defenders were somewhat dozy after the meal.
Fiend let out a sad, and worried, whimper, and then returned to howling.
[Bronwyn]
The serving girl stared at the jester, wide-eyed, for a moment, fighting
the urge to laugh almost hysterically. But his rather
straight-forward,
common-sense approach had cut through the initial panic. "The piper plays
for the Hillrovers. As warning, when death cooms fer them at the
Dun." The warriors in the hall also seemed to be making it past the
first terror at the sound, and had begun to methodically gird on their
weapons and prepare for whatever attack would come. "McLenans, likely,
the clans trade the Dun back and fort' 'tween themselves."
The sound of the pup's howling drew her eyes to the animal, and she used her free hand -- the one without the carving knife -- to stroke its silky ears. "They may not keel us garls," she indicated the other camp-followers scurrying out of the hall, "boot keep us as loot. But the warriors, and the chieftain if they can take him..." Bronwyn shrugged, leaving the obvious unspoken.
[In the Feasting Hall]
Behind them came strangled screams - ones that ended in a gurgling sounds, and the crash of a bench.....
Pandemonium broke out anew as several of the warriors, and many of the campfollowers began withering in pain, with blood bubbling at their lips. Those that remained upright were backing away from their stricken fellows. Many of the campfollowers were on the point of hysterics - while the warriors, though terrified, were looking around - as if trying to find an unseen enemy.
[Measail/Teth]
Measail swore and moved to rally the men. Teth said to Daron, "Get ye're friends, lass, I need to see to these fool women." And though Measail's mistress looked terrified herself there was steel in her eyes, and years' of experience in being near battle.
[In the halls]
Laurelyn tried to hike her blue silk skirts higher, and wished she less slick shoes on, as she ran beside Thomis. While she was worried about their companions she knew that they could well be scattered, and only hoped that there was time for her to gain her sword.
[Thomis]
The Oath-bound hadn't drawn his sword -- no reason to go barreling through the halls with the blade bared, unknowing who might be barreling in the other direction.
Though that question was answered soon enough, as they rounded one corner to see a tall form outlined against the wall. By its height and shape, it could only be Ulric. And by him, Maeve. Thomis slowed to approach them, then stopped completely at the sight of the girl's bruised and bleeding face. And her empty arms.
[Laurelyn]
The storyteller slid to a stop beside him, and swore when she saw Maeve's condition. "What happened?" she demanded, having no time for gentleness - she needed to know if the girl's condition stemmed from a private battle, or if the threat to the clan was already lose in the halls. Though the missing Rue spoke of a private issue.
She felt torn between the desire to run for her sword - to stand at her father's side, and the need to make sure all in her party were accounted for. And to make sure Maeve, who was already injured, was cared for. She added, "Have any of the others ...Jacques, Rudolpho, Daron, or Fionn been seen?"
From down the hall echoed the sounds of agonized screaming, which blended with the continuing wail of the pipes. The combination of sounds made Laurelyn pale as she turned to go towards the noise.
[Maeve]
"Gille Hillrover, and Hector MacRorie," Maeve anwered, the words half-mumbled around bruised lips and broken nose. "But he," she indicated the tall blonde foreigner, "and his hammer saved me." She didn't know quite where the baby was (and a dark part of her that she could not acknowledge didn't care), but Ulric had said the child was safe.
Thomis glanced at Laurelyn, but he already had taken Maeve's arm and was steering her to the inner part of the Dun -- if Fionn were to come looking for her, the most obvious place to search would be the chambers they had been given earlier. And with its interior rooms, it would be safer there than anywhere else. He handled her as gently as he could while hustling her down the halls (noting absently that she seemed to have lost one shoe), well aware of how the pain of a broken nose could cause more than a little disorientation.
[Ulric]
Ulric looked at Laurelyn, but kept his ears open to the sounds around them.
He knew that his situation was inextricably bound to Laurelyn's - if he ran then he would never find her "StarDreamer" nor the chance that it held for him, but if he stood in the Dun, be it to fend for himself or to fight alongside Laurelyn's family, he would have to kill more men and once he had done that there would be no looking back.
"Do we go to defend this place, or do we flee? It is your family..." he asked after a short moment.
[Laurelyn]
Laurelyn noted Thomis and Maeve heading on for their quarters, but she turned back to Ulric and said, "We fight." Her blue eyes were cold fire and her voice filled with anger. "I'm going to need to get my sword, and at least cut away some of this gown, but before that I need to see what is happening in the feast hall!"
And with those words she continued to hurry towards the nightmarish sounds of the feast hall.
[Ulric]
Ulric loped after her, his large frame awkward in the corridors and doorways of the Dun. He held his hammer ready for action, and kept close on Laurelyn's heels. Until she found a real weapon, he was her protector.
The dreadful sounds
grew nearer, but he could hear the stones whispering to him, **blood hot
drenching. again, we do not forget.** If he could ever place an emotion
to these elemental delusions which had plagued him since birth, he would
have sworn that there was genuine remorse tonight.
[Laurelyn]
As they came to the feasting hall Laurelyn saw Measail urging the remaining warriors out - from within the room came moaning.
"What by the Gods of Sea and Stone is happening?" she demanded, moving to look past the old warrior.
Measail stepped aside but said, "There tis nething ye can do for them - someone poisoned the wine." His voice, though calm, had the edge of battle fury as he continued, "Net all the men went dewn - so must have been for the lower tables, and not all the winesacks. But eneugh though."
Laurelyn's expression showed nothing - at first - as she looked on the scene before her; one that bespoke of treachery. In Montfort she had seen worse ways to die - but the tableau before her was bad enough as men and women withered about in agonized contortions on the floor. A floor slick with blood, wine, and worse. But battle fury burned in her own blue eyes, and she silently swore to avenge her fallen clansmen and women - no matter where the guilt fell! She turned back and said, far too calmly "Tell the Chief I will be joining him. I need to get my sword."
There had been little she could do about the innocents who had died in Montfort, and the madness that had laid hold of all within that town. But here she could and would fight. She only had one other duty that took precendence - she needed to make sure her companions were secure in the heart of the Dun. She glanced at Ulric - knowing that he would fight. But none of the others had to - beyond their own defense.
Though, sadly, she knew that Thomis would stand with her. A fact that reassured her and made her heartsick for fear for him.
"I'll tell him," Measail said, as if he had no doubt that Laurelyn had the Hillrover fire and loyalty.
He began deploying his men.
And Laurelyn kicked off her slippers so she could move swiftly through the halls.
[Thomis]
Still wearing his boots, Thomis followed just as quickly, glad that Maeve -- whose arm he still held -- managed to keep up the pace. With some luck, they might find both Fionn and Rue waiting in their rooms, for he had no doubt the dark-haired highlander would want to take the three of them as far from the Dun as possible. After, perhaps, Maeve's nose had been reset. "Think of who you trust," he murmured to Laurelyn, and trust no others." Mesail's anger had not been faked, Thomis was certain of that, but who else aside from the high bard and the chief himself could go unquestioned? Someone had carried the poison in, and seen it placed into the wine -- and that someone had most assuredly avoided tainting his own drink.
[Laurelyn]
The storyteller nodded in agreement. She was already thinking furiously of whose loyalty was beyond price.
[Jacques]
Jacques snorted, and re-evaluated his theory of those who had decided to attack the dun. Perhaps they weren't as stupid as he'd thought. Viscious, certainly. Ruthless, definitely. But not stupid.
Though that was hardly something to celebrate.
Fiend gave a startled, half choked, coughing noise, and then subsided into a saddened silence.
"Knew all that howlin' would wear you out eventually."
Fiend just looked at him with wide brown eyes so Jacques ignored him and turned back to Bronwyn.
"Where are the non-fighting women going?" he asked, and wondered at the same time if that wasn't something of a foolish question given the knife in her hand. "There's usually somewhere you can hole up 'till it's over." One way or another, he thought sourly. Just his luck to _finally_ find some lager and a woman, and to have both of them stolen away by lunatics and bandits.
He sighed, and brushed a hand across one of the points of his hat.
[Bronwyn]
Bronwyn just stared at the jester for a moment, then shook her head to clear it of thoughts of the cups she had filled. Had any of her pitchers been poisoned? Perhaps not, she had served the high tables, the higher ranked, with the better drink, and the harm seemed to have befallen those with the coarser wine. Someone among the serving women -- to whom Jacques seemed determined to direct her -- had to have known. "The kitchens, mayhap," she whispered. "We be one of the spoils."
[Laurelyn]
As Measail's warriors separated Laurelyn spotted Jacques with one of the camp women - the sight of the jester bringing a grim smile to the storyteller's lips. She had seen how Jacques fought - her was one of the truly wild cards of their troupe.
She worked her way over to the pair, and gave poor Fiend a quick scratch between the ears. Laurelyn said, "We're heading to our quarters - I need my sword and a head count of our people. Then I am going to find my father."
With these words she turned and headed for the stairs.
[Near the quareters - Daron]
Daron made her way to the room set aside for her use, trying to block out the battle sounds--both physical and mental--that threatened to overwhelm her senses.
Once inside, the artist breathed a sigh of relief that she did not have to use her dagger just yet. She hurriedly pulled off her gown and kicked off her slippers. Then she quickly dressed in her more practical green wool tunic and dark brown trousers. Daron tugged on her black suede boots and tucked her daggers securely into their hiding places. Swiftly, with motions honed by sheer repetition, she removed the ivory and emerald combs and plaited her dark hair into one long braid.
Daron moved towards the door, a dagger in hand, ready to defend herself.
The dagger nearly slipped out of the artist's grasp as a sudden wave of pain made her grit her teeth. She heavily leaned against the doorframe. Her grip tightened on the dagger's ebony hilt until her knuckles were as pale as her sweat-beaded face. Solely by sheer force of will, Daron moved out into the hall, ready to do battle.
[Ulric]
Ulric kept level with Laurelyn as she headed for her rooms, and regretted that his fitness level was not at its best.
As they passed one doorway, someone emerged and he saw the flash of metal. Instinctively, he dodged backwards and drew his hammer back for a mighty blow... then hesitated.
"You..." he exhaled,
temporarily forgetting the woman's name. Slowly he relaxed, letting the
hammer return to his side.