Official Hunt Thread (Thiasa)

King Aedan ride in front of the rest of his party, beside the huntmaster. The hounds were released, and they set off baying at once.

It was a fine morning in late spring, the air warm with the promise of summer, the sky cloudless and brilliantly blue. King Aedan had dressed lightly, in a relatively simple embroidered doublet and his habitual thin golden circlet. He carried a spear in a holder in front of him on his horse, and his short bow was strung on his back. He would never use a crossbow in a hunt, of course. As everyone new, they made it far too easy to shoot game--it was a pitiful excuse for honorable sport. Next to his bow was his huge hunting horn, rimmed in gold and set with jewels. It had been his father's, a gift from Lord Heaton.

He glanced back at the hunting party arrayed behind him. His court was so large! It was amazing to think that twenty-five years ago, none of this had been anything but barbarian-infested wilderness.

Leaning forward, he urged Bran onward after the baying hounds. They crashed through bracken only half-cleared from the wide path. Aedan, who was taller than some, had to duck low-hanging branches. They passed the first relay and changed dogs, and the wood grew darker and deeper. His horse had to slow in order to keep his footing, and Aedan clucked his tongue to encourage him. A few startled grouse fluttered out of the undergrowth nearby, but he didn't stop for them. Maybe on another hunt, they could try for birds, but this time he wanted nothing less than the stag.

"Hi!" They shot forward into a meadow, and he kicked Bran into a gallop. The hounds' belling increased in volume, and he felt a surge of excitement. The wind was in his face, he could hear horses thundering behind him and feel Bran's muscles bunching and his breath puffing from exertion--this was joy.

The loud nature of the dogs startled Niamh from daydreaming. She knew that she shouldn't have been daydreaming at all but, rather, focusing on what was going on since she was so new, but she had seen a bird and that bird had reminded her of Aoife and how her little sister had no ambition and was just full of sweet nothings. Aoife was the antithesis of her older sister and for a moment, Niamh had envisioned her sister as someone like her: someone who wanted a place in the world and having to scrap it up by herself, not through a husband or a lover.

The baying of the hounds brought her out of that though and she tensed her hands on the reins. Next to her, her father shot her a glance that said, 'Don't try anything stupid and disgrace us.' She ignored it, as usual, and her horse began to walk, then trot, then canter and finally gallop. The treeline approached and in they went: Lady Niamh and her small, sure footed mare. She managed, somehow, to keep up with the men, the flying of the hooves beneath her sending a thrill through her body.

When they switched to another round of hounds, she followed, determined not to be left behind. Already some were slowing their horses but she refused, clucking to Siobhan to keep it up. She tightened her hands on the reins, starting to feel the desire for the stag herself. Some part of her whispered that the stag was like her desire for her own title and lands. If she caught it, it would fulfill everything. Another part reminded her that this was a silly pasttime and why was she even out here?

Men and women had been known to break their necks in the pursuit. A slip from the horse or perhaps the horse itself slipping and tumbling over in the strange terrain. All this simply proved itself a catalyst to her desire, extra spice for her blood.

She was close to the king now. She could see him clearly as well as his horse. She caught herself trying to get her horse to speed up further and then reminded herself that, even should she catch up to the stag, she couldn't wound it, or even draw her cludgel to it. The king had that privelge. She drew back further, letting a man pass her in his fervor.

On the bright side, having been up most of the night trying to locate missing supply wagons did mean that Fergus wasn't trying to hunt with a hangover again. Once had been quite enough. It did mean that he was tired though, and trying to pretend not to be as he vaulted onto his grey stallion while smiling vaguely at the bustling party as everyone got ready to set off. The court on the move was an impressive sight, almost like a very brightly coloured, chattering army mobilising. They'd probably be covered in mud by the end of the day as well, a prospect Fergus found almost amusing. But then it as easy for him to be amused, mud didn't show up very well on brown cloth, and even if one of his tunics got ruined he had no shortage of clothes.

As soon as Aedan moved off with the first relay of baying hounds, the court filtered after him. It never ceased to surprise him how most people fell easily into place in hierarchal order at first, even if everyone knew it from formal occasions. There was such a commotion that he was certain that he'd have had a problem working out where he was supposed to be if it wasn't at the front with his brother.

Moving with the horse with the ease of long practice he quickly found himself with the leading groups of the hunt, falling in a few meters behind Aedan and allowing his horses stride to match Bran's to keep it that way. His own horse, Ghost, was used to this and didn't make a fuss. Like Bran he slowed down over the rough ground, sidestepping briefly as the grouse startled him but stopping before getting too close to another man's horse. The movement caused the bow on his back to bounce, the horn hanging from his belt tapping regularly against his thigh with his horse's gait. His brown hair flew around his face, and twice before they encountered the second set of hounds he had to pull a strand from his face.

When they hit the meadow, they started moving a lot faster. Mostly because there were fewer branches to duck under. Fergus urged Ghost forwards, moving sideways at the same time so that he was riding slightly behind and to the side of his older brother. Aedan, for his part, seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself. A few people seemed to take it as a chance to come closer to the powerbase, although there had initially been no women riding with them there were several close behind now, one or two dropped back as he briefly glanced over at them, others kept the pace, at least for the time being. He recognised a few of them, and a few of the others who'd come close. None he was especially close to, but again it wasn't surprising. Fergus had managed to keep most people at arm’s length. There was no point riding close to anyone or trying to hold a conversation at this speed anyway, so he maintained his position and kept riding as the wind raked its fingers through his hair, blowing some of the longer parts over his face again.

Once again the general had put work before pleasure. Actually it was work before a rather silly game for nobles that he had to attend out of formality. The general had been content to continue with his ever growing list of responsibilities as the Thiasian army began to slowly mobilize. Slowly being the operative word. It seemed the lords needed ever little bit of minutia that was common sense to everyone else written down. Laurent was sure he was very clear in his continuing instructions to the lords but always he received dozens of questions to each mandate or proclamation he issued. If trivial questions were armed men he would have been able to conquer the island by now. But unfortunately they were not, they were in fact trivial questions. So Laurent was spending a increasing amount of his day writing replies personally. Of course the lords needed the generals own response, his more than competent staff would simply not do. The letters though were only a fraction of his workload for he also had to deal with production schedules, delays, changes of staff, barbarian activity, troop morale, ration rationing, garrison updates and many other less than exciting duties that came with leading an army.

It was these monotonous duties that his page found him working on. The boy had reminded him of the hunt that was to go on today which the general had easily and quickly forgotten about. West wondered where he would be without his page's constant reminders about duties and meetings. He certainly wouldn't be a very popular general, always in his tower writing plans and reading reports like he want to. Perhaps more productive but definitively less popular. It might be that the young boy was the only thing keep Laurent in his position, a rather humorous thought. Laurent decided to reward the boy some time for his work, but first he had to get prepared for the hunt.

And so he did, which is how he found himself among the throng of nobles of all station, sex, and competence gathered for the chance to hunt with the king. Of course the hunt was only a pretense for the nobles to have a chance to hobnob with the king and other people of power. Unfortunately for the general, he was one of those people of power. So for what seemed like hours he had been in conversation with various people, all with a request or a question for the general. Nearly all of them were reasonable requests or valid questions that he was happy to answer but on the occasion a lesser noble would try and push his or her daughter on the general, something even the occasionally oblivious Laurent had noticed right away. It was because of this he was waiting eagerly for the hounds to be released, not for the competition of the hunt. To his delight and relief the hounds were released while a rather blunt girl was trying to flirt with the general, providing him a valid excuse to flee from the girl.

He must have been a rather imposing figure as he raced by the majority of the riders quickly. Dressed in his all black ridding clothes, his well used spear in its holder, a recurved bow slung over his back, all in stark contrast to his smallish gentle brown horse which he rode. The horse was a sterling example of the crossbreeding of the Thiasian warhorses and the quick native horses, a combination of strength and speed. So despite its smaller stature the horse easily outpaced all but the few front runners, less out of lack of ability than out of the common sense to not pass the king.

Darien was woken by his manservant early that morning as he was reminded that he was to go to the Hunt. Darien tried to go back to sleep, but apparently his servant was also his mother's servant. That woman had better tread lightly with me, Darien thought.

Though his man servant did finally win out, it was only because he mentioned that he had heard from the other servants that Lady Argyle would be there as well.

Darien dressed in traditional hunting clothes and went down to the front of the Keep where his man servant was waiting with his horse. Darien smirked at his servant as he asked his master, "Should I prepare a secluded area for you and another?"

Darien rode off to join the others on the hunt and took his place among the other lords and ladies, hardly paying attention to the conversations going on around him. His eyes were looking for only one thing, and one thing only.

Finally, he saw her. He prodded his horse, Elliot, forward. He named the horse after his father due to the strong resemblance the horse's posterior had to his father's face. Darien still recalled his eighteenth birthday when he had received it. His father had been furious at his choice of name for it and had actually tried to make Darien change it. But the horse apparently had as much a sense of humor as Darien did, for he would answer to no other name but Elliot.

Just as he was about to come upon Lady Argyle, the dogs rushed forward to commence the hunt, making Lady Argyle's horse fly forward. Darien gave a swift kick to Elliot's sides to chase after her.

The horse she rode was incredibly fast, poor Elliot was going to need some kind of compensation after this ride. Finally, her horse seemed to lessen her stride and Elliot was able to close the gap. Darien nodded to any lords who caught his eye, but he was focused on one person and one person only.

As he got closer to her, he heard her talking to her horse about running, but couldn't catch all of it. "It's nice to know that I'm not the only one who talks to their horse," said Darien as he rode up along side Elayne.

"I trust you're enjoying yourself, Lady Argyle?" Darien asked with a wide grin. Darien was trying to make sure that he did not act like his normal self, which was a complete and utter prat, which is what ended their conversation in the courtyard.

It was not often that Lord Newbury left his own fiefdom and attended Court functions but a hunt was another matter. Cullen enjoyed riding and the chase but many times his duties prevented him from indulging in his favored pastime. This occasion allowed him to do both for he could reason that he was attending Court at the same time as riding against the stag.

For the hunt he favored a lighter breed than the heavy Scalian war-horses so favored by the knightly class. His mount Ranger was a hearty cross breed of the same ilk as General West was breeding for the cavalry and which his own border troops had been using for years. Simply clad as was his custom in practical brown leathers, Lord Newbury’s only concession to his rank was the gold circlet that he wore upon his brow and the quality of his equipment.

He carried a silver chased hunting spear and a well worn sword at his side. A hunting horn again chased in silver and studded with emeralds hung from a baldric worn over his shoulder. One unusual thing about him was the method he used to carry his hunting bow. Unlike most nobles who would carry their bow slung across their back, his short recurved bow was slung to the rear of his saddle in nomad fashion in a decorated leather scabbard decorated with silver studs in a knot pattern.

His rank had allowed him a place near the front of the field when the hunt began and his skill had allowed him to maintain that position. Although deferential to the King he did not concern himself much with court intrigues and was secure enough in his own position not to have to be concerned.

Cantering through the underbrush ad separated the casual from the skilled hunters so when they came to the meadow it was only the true hunters or the most determined of courtiers that broke into a gallop and thundered after the King.

Aedan knew without looking that only a few men had kept up to him, which pleased him. Oh, he was certain General West and perhaps a few others could have out-ridden him, but still, the fact that some of his courtiers truly couldn't was balm to his pride. He leaned forward over Bran's neck, urging the horse on, his horn jouncing against his hip. Aedan did not enjoy bow-hunting; he wanted to get close enough to use his sword or spear on the animal.

It was satisfying... almost like real combat. That he would like to see before he died--in fact Aedan was certain he would die happy, if only he could take some of the barbarians with him, and be assured that his line would continue...

He shook the thought away and returned to the moment--to the wind rushing through his hair--to Bran's labored huffs of breath.

They crossed the meadow quickly and were bad under the cool sweep of burgeoning branches, stripes of shadow covering the path. A new relay of hounds set off baying, and not so terribly far ahead he could hear the faint sound of the stag crashing through the undergrowth. It would be tired now, and soon they'd have it at bay, ready to fall.

He spared a glance back under his arm. Sure enough, General West and Lord Newbury were hot on his heels, and he had to smile. Loyal servants of the king were both. Maybe he'd give one of them a go at the stag. More surprising still, the Lady Argyle was close, too, and he thought he glimpsed another feminine form before he had to drag his attention back to the front. His brother too followed... but his brother! He would get no honor from him, for Aedan's trust in his own blood was fast eroding.

Just a little more--he flattened himself to Bran's neck to avoid a low-hanging branch, blood-lust singing in his veins in time with the hounds' baying. Just a little more.

Seeing others draw closer and closer to the king, Niamh felt the rush of competition. She edged her heel into her mare's side and felt as though the world shifted under her as Siobhan took her place amongst the contenders. Niamh's lips parted in a smile, a fierce light in her dark eyes alighted, and suddenly she felt as though she herself could take the stag, king or no king.

Her horse manuvered her way over a log, then over another, the hooves thundering on the turf below like the pounding of a heavy mallet. Niamh could feel her heart pound the same way and there came, remarkably, a release from her body of all the tension, all ambition, and all possible restraint. She laughed and, as she did, nearly lost her gable hood. A pale hand swooped up to catch it before it fell, and clutched it to her brow. Why had she worn it again?

She couldn't even remember now. Her father was somewhere behind her, no doubt, shaking his head at her irrational, almost childish behavior upon her horse. As usual, she was going against his wishes and it felt glorious. Her grip tightened on the reins even as she passed a few people, getting closer and closer to the king. Finally, when she thought she was close enough not to infringe on his rights (reality had come crashing in again and reminded her not to pass him), she gently tugged the reins to inform Siobhan to keep that pace.

The mare balked at the idea mentally, and then did as her mistress ordered, realizing that she was doing it for a valid reason, not just as one of those simple reflexes of fear that the mare hated so much. Siobhan's breath remained steady, remarkably, as her mistress flexed her reins just a bit more, and she maintained her steady gait all through the next few woodland trials.

Niamh herself was anxious. Where was the stag? How far until they reached it? She could sense the blood lust coming off the king as if he were wearing it as a cloak. It was then that she heard the soft sound of something (the stag?) crashing through the foliage ahead. Surely the king had heard it as well for suddenly he seemed completely alert of what was going on ahead rather than whatever was happening in his head.

Her body leaning slightly forward to help Siobhan maintain her speed, Niamh focused directly in front of herself, the fires of exertion beginning to the climb into her cheeks. The cudgel in her hand, small and clumsy it seemed, felt heavier in her hand and she felt the urge to drop it though she refrained just barely. She wasn't used to not giving into her strange whims and so her hand seemed to tingle as if to say, Now... even as her brain told her steadily, If you drop it, you'll have to find it again because your father will make you, Lady Niamh. Keep it or else. Her brain sounded a bit more omnious so she paid more attention to it than her body at the moment.

As the small party thundered across the meadow Newbury could not help but feel invigorated by the wind wiping through his hair and the shock of the galloping horse being transmitted throughout his body. He had charged across many such meadows with the Kings father but then instead of fresh air and a sunny day the charges were full of the stench of battle and a bloody red haze.

Without even realizing it he formed up to support the King as if a battle line of barbarians awaited him. In truth King Aedan was not much younger than he himself but he had served the old king for so long he felt like they were of different generations.

Casting his glance sideways he observed the heir of his former master. Although Aeden had been too young to take part in the barbarian wars, he had nonetheless grown into a fine strong moan worthy of the kingdom of Thiasa. As yet untested in battle the young King rode and fought the joust well and, given the restlessness of the barbarians of late, he soon might have opportunity to gain some experience in real battle.

Newbury shook his head to clear his thoughts. Daydreaming was for women and old men and he was not quite that old yet. Concentrating on the hunt and keeping up with the King he noticed a lady who was keeping pace with her hard riding male counterparts. ‘Most unusual’ he thought to himself fo although women were common on outings such as these, very few chose to risk the hard riding necessary to keep with the head of the pack. He would have no mark the adventurous lady when there was a moment to do so.

Slowly the numbers of the front runners began to thin as casual riders and social hunters began to slow down as the next relay of dogs chased after the stag and the hunting party entered a area of more dense foliage. Despite his initial reservations about the days events Laurent found himself enjoying the sport. Of course he would have enjoyed it more if it was just him and perhaps a few others alone in a more competitive atmosphere but today's hunt would have to do. Although currently the people whom he would have chosen to accompany him on such a hunt seemed to be the people who made up the front of the pack. The general had nothing but respect for Lord Newbury, both because of his impressive military experience and his avoidance of the regular aristocratic attitude that plagued many nobles. Although to be fair the nobles of Thiasa were much more down to earth and rugged than the nobles from Scalia. Whether because of military past most of the older nobles had or the more frontier lifestyle of Thiasa Laurent couldn't say. But it seemed that the next generation of nobles lacked this respect and humbleness that a few of the older nobles emulated. Perhaps the looming conflict with the barbarians would toughen open the younger nobles, or at least thin their ranks.

On the notion of thinned ranks it seemed now that there was only half a dozen riders within a reasonable distance of the king. One of them appeared to be a woman. In fact the woman was almost keeping pace with Laurent and the king. He remembered the woman's face but couldn't place her name, making a mental note to find out later. What ever her name might be Laurent was impressed by the woman's boldness, although he couldn't see a point in her speed. There was no way she would either be the first one to wound the stag or the one to deliver the finishing blow, especially not with the small club she carried. So Laurent was unsure whether she was trying to prove some point or whether she hadn't realized what she was doing. Either way he didn't especially care, as long as she kept out of his way it was of no concern to him what she did.

As Newbury began to gain speed and form up alongside the king the general followed suit, although he didn't quite match the Lord's position. If he had some private matter to discuss with the king the general did not wish to appear that he was eavesdropping on the two of them, although Lord Newbury did not seem the type to share secrets or court gossip. Still the general made certain to focus on the hunt, and on the feast that would follow it, rather than any conversation as the large hunting party continued to the thunder through the forest after the ill fated deer.

Darien smiled at the Lady Argyle when she initially responded. He deserved that, probably.

He noticed that her horse began to speed up, so he urged his horse to keep up the pace, even though his own horse was a bit tired, he was able to keep up. He noticed that she was becoming a bit kinder than he thought she would be and was about to reply further, when she urged the horse faster and sped off in front of him.

Darien leaned down and whispered in Elliot's ear, "I swear on your name sake I will get you a bag of oats if you can catch up with that creature," and he charged after her.

Darien knew that as a lord of the land, he should be focusing on the hunt for the stag, and if he had the chance to take it then he probably would. But his prey was much more elusive than the animal they hunted.

Damn the stag, give me the angel, Darien thought as he urged his horse to charge forward after the young Lady Argyle.

The stag was at bay, circled by hunting hounds. A lucky kick had stunned one, and the dog slunk, whining, to one side. Aedan pulled his horse up sharply and came back to himself, surveying the men and women who had stayed close enough to him to be here now, ready to watch their monarch make the kill, as custom dictated.

But Aedan had another point to make.

"General West!" he said loudly, motioning his military commander forward. "I fear you've been getting rusty, since it has been so long since the last real battle with the barbarians. You may feel free to take down the stag--for some practice."

There would be war soon, all too soon, and Aedan would hear who among the hunting party complained of it. Anyway, honoring the General would only do Aedan good. West had a great deal of backing, and if Aedan set himself on the side of the rough-and-ready military man, Thiasa might take on the shape he wanted her to take in the coming months. His marriage to the woefully inadequate Lady Blauvelt was one of many unfortunate necessities... and he would suffer through it for the great good.

He reined Bran back and watched the General go about his bloody work.

The stag was a noble animal. Sometimes Aedan regretted the deaths he caused hunting.

More often his sympathies lay with the hounds.

The exhilaration of the hunt began to die down as the general and the rest of the hunting party inevitably caught up with the deer. The creature was surrounded by hounds, some taking casual leaps forward when the stag turned its attention to a different dog. But despite the rather gloomy position the stag found itself in it continued fighting against the powers that had it entrapped. Already one dog had been driven back with a hard kick and the stag continued circling around, hoping to catch another dog unawares. Whether this resistance was proof of the bravery many attributed to the animal or the same stupidity that could make a man think he could take on all comers was unknown. What was known was that the deer would be dead in a few moments.

Laurent coaxed his horse into stopping as more of the hunting party arrived and fanned out around the trapped creature. The deer was a respectable prize, nothing extraordinary but certainly something to boast about. While it had a relatively large set of antlers it had few points and its brown pelt was splotched with patches of grey. But the beast was rather large and muscled, promising to provide a respectable amount of meat. Its size also promised it could put up a fight when the King swooped in for the kill.

But apparently it wouldn't be the king who would be swooping at all. No, it appeared that that honor would fall to the general. Laurent was as surprised as the rest of the assembled hunter at the kings decision but he tactfully didn't let it register on his face. Instead he casually sauntered his horse over to the king as he was bid. Perhaps the hunt wouldn't be dull after all.

"I thank you, your majesty. Your choice of practice is suiting, for both the barbarians and this animal stand the same chance against good Thiasian steel." With that Laurent pulled his spear free from its bindings and eased his horse closer to the deer, past the circle or hunters but before the ring of dogs. His horse paced around the circle for a good half a minute before Laurent was confident with where to strike.

With one hand on his horses reins and the other gripping his spear tightly to his body Laurent turned his horse to face the doomed animal. All it took was a nudge from one of his legs and the steed darted off towards the deer. Of course the deer took this opportunity to try and dart through the dog ring and make it to the freedom promised beyond. But West was faster and his horse reach the deer before it had taken three steps. His spear arrived much quicker. The deer had moved faster than expected and the general was forced to compensate. Leaning from the side of his horse he drove the spear through the animals neck, tearing through the throat and obviously a few veins and arteries. Blood poured out from the wound as the deer took a few more steeps not noticing its injury before losing balance and falling to ground, its legs still trying to propel it to freedom.

"Well" Laurent said as he turned away from the grisly sight and began to clean the thick blood off of his spear head with a formerly white cloth, now stained a dark red "That takes care of that."

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