| The War of the Increased
The First Scene It was a long wait. The camp fires for making breakfast guttered and popped in the bitter wind. The young man- a page, particularly- rubbed his hands and blew hot breath into them. He withdrew them into his parka, quick warmth for his under arms. He had been waiting in the frigid weather since dawn had broken, and his toes and feet were starting to go numb. The satchel hung around his neck and swung free with every movement he made, unsecured by his retreating hands. The Woad in the village milled about, unconcerned with the temperature and biting wind, clad only in fur and leather, many stripped to the waist. They made no effort to hide their curiosity about him, casting looks in his direction and pointing with various tools and weapons, indicating him in their many conversations. The din of livestock started to be heard: roosters crowing, sheep bleating, chickens clucking, all amid the twitters and calls of wild birds. His attention was drawn back to the earthen mound, and the two Woad guards standing at the doorway, thumbs hooked on the hatchets hanging from their belts. The guards alternately eyed each other and the young man. The guard on the left, a tall blonde warrior made the point of snorting in his direction, and turning aside to spit. A barked order was heard from deep inside the mound that he had been waiting outside of, and the two guards drew back the heavy curtain that stood for a door. With a sneer, and their hatchets, the guards indicated that he should make his way into the abode. Stepping into the mound was a thermal shock for the parka-clad youth. It was like walking into a wall of flame, the change in atmosphere was so staggering. A roaring fire was stationed in a pit at one end of the mound, with a crude but effective chimney venting the smoke out of the hovel. Still, smoke lingered in wisps, lending its smell to everything inside, as much a part of the room as the nearly violent heat emanating from the fire in the far corner of the dingy room. The young man judged the fire to be only a handful of hours old, judging by the size of the wood logs and their level of charred disintegration. He was roughly led to a mound of hay, across from a broad, sun-tanned warrior. His hair lay about his shoulders, which was tangled and -in sections-, braided. He was covered in body paint, swirls of green and blue all over his torso, matching the colors of the rough tartan he wore about his waist, remnants of an ancient kilt that had been integrated into his current breeches. The warrior took a swallow from a leather drinking pouch and wiped his mouth. The youth made himself comfortable on the hay, pulled back his hood and billowed the tail of his parka, trying to ventilate all the warm air into his clothes as he could. The broad warrior chuckled, observing: �If you spent more time outside, in the elements, then you would be more� robust in the out of doors.� The Woad warrior turned to the side, setting aside the pouch and moving on to some bread, offering the young man a piece of the loaf, which was declined. �I will live, mild frostbite aside.� The youth gave the broad warrior a strained smile, and from his satchel pulled a sealed envelope made of a thick yellow paper, squared and with a ribbon circumventing the envelope, passing underneath the seal. To the warrior he handed this as he cut strait to business. �Here are the �terms�. Please, don�t feel rushed to read the fine print.� This remark made the warrior�s eyes narrow, while a small grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. �I hope, for the sake of polite conversation, that comment was made for the intent to linger and to enjoy more heat, and not a verbal slur on my education.� �Of course not,� the youth hastily replied, �You are more eloquent in Common than most raised speaking the language.� �It is no surprise to me,� The warrior rambled off-hand while reading the details of the document scribed on the parchment. �Why your nation continued to use English, that mongrel corpse of a language, when there were so many more beautiful languages to choose from.� He paused momentarily, noting that the retort did not spur any response, and finally adding: �What does surprise me is your use of the term �common� when so many have abandoned it, or changed it completely.� He began mouthing the words, reading silently. �I am not interested in social commentary, sir.� The page had moved closer to the fire, to get more heat, eyed by the anxious guards the entire time. �When you meet with my Lord in the execution of our plans, he will take great pleasure in discourse of many subjects. If you are lucky, he may be able to converse in your own tongue.� After receiving no further reply, he looked back towards the warrior. He was standing now, facing him, still reading the parchment. �Have you heard me?� The page found small amusement in the fact that the broad, fierce warrior was no taller than he. But all amusement had left the broad man�s face, and he wasn�t sure, but the youth thought the Woad-man to be quite pale, which was a feat in the current light. �Do you know what this entails?� The parchment dropped to the ground as the warrior swiftly stood, taking an aggressive step forward, in the direction of the still chilled young page. �Yes, my Lord disclosed part of the� situation you are in and he is confident in your ability to comply.� �It�s not a question of ability to comply, it�s a question of if there will be anything left of our nation once your King realizes what has transpired!� �My Lord assures you that the King will not be a threat to you.� He backed away from the advancing warrior, stumbling into a rack of cooking tools. The broad man advanced another menacing step. |