An odd visit at the harbor

[Tyrun the Norseman]

The day was bright and fine, and the water of Windstorm Harbor glittered like diamonds. Ships of all nations (including the expedition from France) moved about in their daily business, or bobbed and bumped against their berths, and people milled around on the quay. Nobody paid much note to the new vessel which rounded the headland, and slowly made way into the harbor...until the singing could be heard.

A few tilted their heads at the foreign lyrics, but soon it could be heard that this new crew was singing an old Norse sailing cant. This ship was being rowed in, of all things, and her crew was chanting the song to keep time. The splash of the oars could be faintly heard, hitting the water in a precise rhythm. As the ship neared, it became apparent that she was a Norse dragonship...sleek as a sword-blade, she was the kind of vessel that the vikings prefered when they made war. A few of the dockside pedestrians let out cries of dismay, but others pointed out that the ship's dragon-head had been detached from her prow...a sure sign that these Norsemen meant to harm.

And so, this slender dragonship was rowed to the center of the harbor, and then stopped. She merely sat there, in plain view, rocking gently with the waves, as the vikings onboard took a rest from their toil...their steel helmets and blond hair gleaming in the sun.

Some folks on the dock stood and watched curiously, waiting for something to happen. A few turned to look toward the Frankish ships in harbor, wondering if a fight might break out. But the dragonship just sat...her crew doing nothing. Tyrun's golden standard flew proudly from the mast, telling onlookers that the ship had reason to be here.
...

Tyrun had heard the tales of this war-fleet from France, and he had spoken with King Augustin about it, pledging his assistance. Of course, he really had no choice. Foremost, he had too many friends here. Also, he had been conducting business here for awhile now, and he had to protect his own interests also.

He had heard that the Franks were here to discuss matters involving De Sennis and his imprisoned navigator. Fair enough...Tyrun could understand a captain's loyalty to his men (although, in his mind, it spoke volumes about Remard's character, that he should defend such a lowdown bastich as Darek). However, there were also rumors that the Franks were going to take Augustin to task, for befriending a few Norsemen. What nonsense! Tyrun would be happy to discuss that matter with the Franks.

In any case, at the moment he was aboard The Zephyr, which was hidden away in a nearby cove, as per Augustin's request. Alongside his own ship, sat four other vessels, ready to leap into action if needed. However, Tyrun assumed that if the Franks came here looking for vikings, they might get a bit suspicious if they didn't see any.

And so, he had travelled to Port Thunder, and made ready his dragonship Lady Hana. She was a fine vessel...the first he had ever owned. He hadn't sailed her for awhile, but he just couldn't bear to sell her, and so he expended (some would say "wasted") a steady stream of money to keep her well-maintained and seaworthy.

As for her crew, he had chosen amongst all his employees at hand. His main concern was that these fellows looked suitable Nordic, and so he picked the blondest men he could find. Also, he equipped them all with outlandish horned helmets. Ridiculous indeed...but the whole scenario practically screamed "Norsemen."

However, these were not warlike men. They were all fine sailors, chosen thus because The Lady Hana was by no means to engage with enemy ships. If pursued, they would just row with all their might, into the wind, where a purely sail-powered ship could never effectively give chase. In the case of a meeting with a friendly vessel, the crew was to merely say they were resting, before docking and unloading their cargo of grain.

The Zephyr's quartermaster, Harl Grimface, had asked if this little display might be an unnecessary provocation to the Franks. Tyrun had pondered that, before answering. "They already know we're here, else they wouldn't a' sailed seventy leagues. Nah, we're here, and I ain't about to hide my face, just to be diplomatic."

((I will be writing another post, detailing Tyrun's other ships as they await the signal. However, right now, my brain is too tired!

Also...this is the very first time I realized I could get private messages via the board! Gahh! I apologize to everybody, I just never noticed the little blurb telling me I have new messages...I wasn't ignoring anybody. Ignorant, yes...bit not ignorING.))

[Dream Loxley]

(( Welcome back Mister Tyrun, great post as always..... tired brain hmmm.. is that what they call it *Slips away to send a private message* ))

[The Franks]

The Goélette and the Hippocampe were laying side by side in the harbour of Sommersville when the Norse came.

At first the captains, a burly Spaniard by the name of Matón who commanded the Hippocampe and a Frank named Sebin just watched the new longship calmly. Matón decided to swing over to the Goélette (both ships were towed close together so using a rope to swing from one ship to the other was not a problem) to confer with his fellow captain. Standing at the railing, Sebin shouted back at his men from time to time that they should mind their work and not stare and waste time.

"That's the fourth longboat now, with those three having come shortly after we arrived. Look at them… they are playing us for fools! Have our men ready, the archers go up into the masts, and tell the others to have their weapons near. We cannot expect those damn Vikings to hold the peace in this harbour. And get Amaury here… we need to send a message to Lord de Sennis. He won't like this… by God, he will not like this at all!"

Amaury was found quickly, and Sebin gave him a scroll to carry over to Lord de Sennis over at the castle. The messenger was escorted, just like the Lords before him, by castle guards, soon passing the main gate, being led to the Great Hall to wait there until Lord de Sennis would be available for him.

[Dasid]

*He never knew that work could be so hard. To and fro he went, throughout the village and upon the ship. He delivered what goods and news he had to those who asked. He did not know what to make of the Franks. Eagerly he had said to his Norse comrades that he could fight them yet they laughed. He was a man, really he was and he would love to bop that De Senile on the head!.
Such dreams he had, such dream of saving the Captains life and being forever his hero. He would smile and think how well he could fight on the head of those Franks. They were Captain Tyruns enemy so they were his enemy too!. Sometime he could be seen giving a punch and a kick in his sleep. A mumble would fall from his lips. * I'm a man he would say, I am really I am, just a little short is all... *and then he would fall into his sleep of contendedly kicking De Seniles chins and putting molasses on his feet. Oooooh he would get him!*

[Jorgen]

*He sat upon some rigging alongside the wharf.....his small knife carving something out of a short, thick branch. The flakes of bark and wood catching in the breeze and flying about him. He was engrossed in his hobby and cared little for what was going on. Both deaf and dumb, he was not bothered by the hustle and bustle as many ships dropped anchor and were tied up to the docks. Occasionally he would glance up.....and now...he watched...his young face recognising the ship from days gone by.

He touched a finger to his blond hair.....his days upon the Danish Ship but a memory now, and yet he shuddered when he watched the men hold up their oars as they came alongside another berth. His mind was simple.....his needs but few and he decided then and there it was not his business and went back to his whittling.

He had learned much from those he now knew as family and friends.....he lived within the forests with the ever increasing number of Rangers....they accepted him for who he was and never questioned the Loxley man's word. What had past between them...young boy and man...so long ago now...would stay within his heart and mind for ever.

He jumped then as a large hand was placed firmly upon his shoulder. Turning quickly he was face to face with the one he knew as Little...because he was so large. Little placed another finger to his lips....a gesturing never needed...but Jorgen knew he was to follow quietly and without a fuss.*

[to the Franks]

*In any case, at the moment he was aboard The Zephyr, which was hidden away in a nearby cove, as per Augustin's request. Alongside his own ship, sat four other vessels, ready to leap into action if needed. However, Tyrun assumed that if the Franks came here looking for vikings, they might get a bit suspicious if they didn't see any.*

The key words here are (hidden, in a nearby cove)

Please read the posts more carefully *S*

[The Franks]

Guest-to said:

*

The key words here are (hidden, in a nearby cove)

As far as I know Thorgrimm Halfdane came into the harbour with 3 longboats, plus the one flying Tyrun's flag - 4 Viking ships! Of course the Franks didn't see the Zephyre.

However, the use of horned helmets will make them only laugh. Frankia has been bearing a brunt of Viking attacks - the Franks know what a normal Viking warrior looks like!

[Dream Loxley]

((Could not resist singing this ))

Ah, ah,
We come from the land of the ice and snow,
From the midnight sun where the hot springs blow.
The hammer of the gods will drive our ships to new lands,
To fight the horde, singing and crying: Valhalla, I am coming!

On we sweep with threshing oar, Our only goal will be the western shore.

Ah, ah,
We come from the land of the ice and snow,
From the midnight sun where the hot springs blow.
How soft your fields so green, can whisper tales of gore,
Of how we calmed the tides of war. We are your overlords.

On we sweep with threshing oar, Our only goal will be the western shore.

So now you'd better stop and rebuild all your ruins,
For peace and trust can win the day despite of all your losing.

(Led Zeppelin)


((ooc. Summary as requested by council....just to clarify who is where))

In the Harbour:

Lady Hana = Vikings
Goelette
Hippocampe = Franks
3 x Longships = Thorgrimm
The Forell = French Captain Remard.

Anchored in a nearby cove = The Zephyr and 4 other Ships. (Tyrun)

Don't forget...we have private messages for any plans and info you all need to relay to each other

[Vinzelles]

Goélette = Franks
2 ships N of WS = Franks


Presently in harbour the forces are thus:
Franks - 3 ships
Vikings - 4 ship
English - Any? (LOL)

[to the Franks]

poligises

for nowhere did i see this on the baord

[Sinold Bragasson]

Guest-to said:

for nowhere did i see this on the baord

Please check Halethala's last post and entry about Thorgrimm Halfdane:

windstormcastle.proboards23.com/index.cgi?board=Announcements&action=display&thread=1086900068

[Tyrun the Norseman]

Meanwhile, aboard The Zephyr...

The cove was good and deep...and was chosen so that the prevailing winds would bring Tyrun's ships swiftly to Windstorm Harbor. Tyrun himself had gone ashore in a dory-boat, to speak with those who lived along the water...impressing on them the need for absolute secrecy regarding this rendezvous. He had brought a large keg of ale, just in case anybody doubted his good intentions. But after a meeting with the village elders, an agreement was reached, and Tyrun had promised to throw them all a big party when all this was over...the thought of it made him grin, as he made his way back to the fleet.

The small group of ships varied greatly in size and rigging, and the number was smaller than he would have liked, but this was the total amount of war-worthy vessels that could make their way here in time. Tyrun was meticulous in his record-keeping (although his business partner, Andrea, might have questioned his strange methods), and so his draughtsmanlike script stated the following in his log-book:

((I must note, at this point, that "guns" is a reference to artillery units onboard any given ship. Usually refers to high-powered ballistae. "Tons" is derived from an ancient measure, corresponding to the amount of "tuns" of wine a ship could carry...the barrel-sized tun is roughly equal to the ton we know as 2000 pounds. However, it is more a general description of the size of a vessel. For example, the average Norse longship would have been around 20- 30 tons, while the HMS Victory (the epitome of wind-driven power) was over 2000 tons))

The Zephyr: Captained by Tyrun (me!)--20 guns--250 tons--205 souls. (Tyrun, of course, loved this ship like a daughter, and would sail no other to battle...he knew his crew's skill, and the ship's fleetness, would make up for her comparative lack of artillery.)

The Warthog: Captained by Johannsen (I wish he'd finally tell me his first name...this bloke needs to relax)--60 guns--600 tons--615 souls. (Johannsen had finally gotten his wish to lead a warship. The Warthog was nothing but. Most of her capacity was taken up by artillery, and while she was very swift for a warship, she was utterly incapable of extended voyages. Tyrun regarded her as a somewhat failed experiment...but very handy in a short-range battle)

The SLOB: Captained by Elsana Firelock (temporary...I hope this doesn't go to her head!)--no guns--500 tons--350 souls. (This was the type of vessel known as a "cog"...unarmed, but handy for boarding actions. Elsana was chosen to lead this crew, because of her exceeding skill in hand-to-hand warfare. The ship, while unremarkable in appearance, was seriously over-built, as her original purpose was to navigate the ice-fields of the far north)

The Falcon: Captained by Phineas Wyngarde (if he says "jolly good" one more time, I swear I shall scream like a banshee)--40 guns--850 tons--525 souls. (Wyngarde was the scion of an ancient, aristocratic British family. Totally proper in appearance and manner, a dashing young fellow...yet he was eager to give a bit of a bash to his ancestral enemies, the Franks. His command vessel was a stout warship, if somewhat slow.)

The Red Thunder: Captained by Astara--16 guns--100 tons--88 souls. This was one of the first vessels that Tyrun ever built...and, to this day, he will say he got lucky. A sloop-of-war, she is still more agile than many of his later designs. And her crew is reknowned for its ferocity...Astara was a deadly warrior, and she only hired the toughest men available.)

These captains had met aboard Tyrun's ship, to finalize their plans. Normally, such a meeting would have taken place in the cabin...but, it was such a fine sunny day, full of the good, stern, reliable wind that sailors love so much...that had decided to take their lunch on The Zephyr's quarterdeck. The sun beamed down upon them as they counsulted detailed maps of the area.

Aside from his captains, Tyrun had also invited Harl Grimface (his quartermaster), Oxted the Dwarf (his engineer and explosives-expert), and Torla Bloodaxe (who had no special rank other than "chef," yet he had an uncommon knack for leading and inspiring men in tough times).

The new ship's boy, Dasid, scurried to and fro...refilling drinks, offering snacks, and tidying-up as these fellows discussed such weighty matters. Tyrun smiled to himself about the way this lad worked..."He'll make Captain some day, I know it," he told himself. But other than that, his only acknowledgement of Dasid's work was a solemn nod, and a gravely spoken word of thanks. Torla, on the other hand, would give the boy the occassional nudge, and make faces behind his hand. Mister Bloodaxe had been assigned to teach and guide the boy, and he had developed a fondness for this scrawny little urchin.

Finally, the dishes were cleared, and Tyrun fiddled with his tobaco pipe....getting it lit before resting an elbow on the table. "Now then...we have all memorized the flag signals?"

"Indeed," replied Johannsen, "red-red-blue means "full assault"...and blue-green-red means "full assault"...and black-red-white means "full assault"..."

They all had a good laugh at this, and Tyrun slapped Johannsen on the shoulder. "You're a bloodthirsty bastich, and sure enough! No wonder Martel, that lunatic, speaks so highly of you!"

Elsana sat forward as she spoke "Aye, will Martel be 'ere, and be bringin' The Mjolnir""

Tyrun shook his head sadly. "Nah, he won't be able to make it...too busy chasing pirates by Gibraltar."

Elsana smiled a bit. "Aye, an 'ye be sure a' that? 'E ain't jus' too a'scared to fight his own countrymen?"

Tyrun scoffed "Oh, fer gods' sake, Firelock! Vincent would fight his own father, if he could!"

Elsana grinned and shot back "That's Captain Firelock to YOU, Captain!"

They all laughed again, as Tyrun grinned and bowed his head in apology. "Of course, Captain...my mistake!"

After the laughter died down, Tyrun slouched back in his chair, and sent Dasid off to the scullery with a friendly swat to the back....then, he took a deep puff from his pipe. The wisp of smoke was snatched away by the wind as he spoke.

"When we's called to the harbor, tis to be at top speed....mast-breaking speed." He nodded meaningfully. "I won't abide a second of delay."

The Dwarf Oxted chimed in "Then why we sit here like toadstools, when we could be displaying our might in the harbor right now, and let them Franks soil their britches? Hey?"

Tyrun shugged. "Because Mister Stormblade requested it. And..." he passed a steely gaze over the whole group. "None of us is pirates no more. We respect them kings that respect us! And, by god, if Mister Stormblade asks me to sit away in this cove, then I will!"

Harl Grimface muttered a bit before asking, "So how do we know when to assault, Cap?"

Tyrun pointed with his chin toward a large, neatly-stacked pile of wood on a barely-visible hill. "They'll light a fire when they need us."

As one, the group turned to look toward the distant hilltop. Then, Captain Astara spoke thoughtfully, her finger tracing lightly over the serpentine tattoo on her cheek. "Hmm...it looks like the signal-pyres that the Rohirrim use."

Oxted nodded, but Harl blinked at her. "The Rohirrim? Who the hell are they?"

Astara just shrugged. "Nevermind."

Tyrun chuckled, before continuing in a serious tone "ANYway...we are all ready for a full-scale battle...and Harl will re-inspect all our men and weapons." At this, the grizzled quartermaster sighed, but nodded. "And we will ALL have men watching that signal-pyre every minute...day and night. I intend to show then Franks what it means, to mess with my friends!" He nodded once, and tapped the ash out of his pipe.

Captain Wyngarde grinned genially, as he slapped his fist into an open palm. "By God, we'll give them what for!"

Oxted frowned and scratched his chin. "Uh...what for?"

Harl answered helpfully. "What for? Why, because they threaten our friends! That's what for!" He nodded staunchly.

Oxted stared blankly. "Wha...no no...I mean....what is "what for?"

Tyrun let out an exasparated sigh, and clapped a hand to his forehead. "By god, you fellows might be the toughest crew ever to sail the oceans, but you can be prodigious stupid at times! What Captain Wyngarde means, is that we'll give 'em hell!" Breaking out into a laugh, he leaned back in his chair..."Just see if we don't!"

[Dasid]

*he was given an important role of serving the men onboard and gathering up after them as they spoke business. He knew that he had to keep his mouth shut for cook had already warned him by clipping him about the ear which Dasid did not mind all that much. He grinned at Bloodaxe and laughed at this. Dasid was used to being clipped about the ear just as he was used to avoiding men iffn he had to.
Work made him sweat like a pig in summer and soon the heady scent of hard effort could be caught. He hated baths! So often he avoided it by scampering between mens legs. Sometimes it was a good thing to be small.
As Torla would nudge him he would grin and make a face back but not before the Captains eyes. He adored Tyrun. The man could make ships AND sail them. He had more Gods than you could shake a stick at and he was not hot on the trot for womin with ankles. What a man!.
Eagerly he longed for each scrap of praise from him. Tyrun was his hero and so every nod, every gesture meant the world to him. A big smile was oft held on the boys cheeks as he looked to him.
He was not too happy when Tyrun sent him off but he did as he was told without even a "do I have to?". Mind you he did looked to Bloodaxe for some form of intercession. His heart told him that it would not come but you don't get nothin in this life without a askin. He wanted to know more about what they would to that De Senile man. In his boys mind he thought about sneakin into De Seniles room and shaving him from head to foot so that he would have to go back to Frank land because it would be too cold here. Thinkin on it he thought that he could even tie him up an truss him like a bird ready for cooking. Now that would be fun.

What a mess!, these people ate better than he did once true but hell they used up a lot of platters. He wondered iffn he could suggest makin a new tradition where they ate off the tables like he did on the old barrels on the streets. It was clean enough and one sweep it it would be done and dusted!.
Reluctently he went about dunkin the plates in a bucket of water and stackin them back into place. Aye, it would be a good idea to eat off the table!*

[Captain Johannsen]

Captain Erik Johannsen ((now ya know me first name *LOL*))was indeed a happy man. Not only was he amongst men that were honourable but Commander Tyrun, the name he so often called the man out of respect, had given him a warship to captain.

No not a leaky excuse for a ship with more holes in it than a chicken coup like the one he sailed and fought against Tyrun and Captain Martels a year or so ago, but a real warship that was swift and heavily armed. He couldn't wait to take this fine craft into battle!!

They had just finished going over the plans and eating a pleasant meal aboard Tyruns vessel. The others had laughed at his joke about the flags and he felt slightly more comfortable then. It was then that he found out that Captain Martels would nae be joining them for this battle.

That saddened him for Martels was the man that defeated him and ultimately had gotten him in front of Tyrun and hence his dream of captaining a true warship had come true and besides he wanted to show Martels that given a good ship under him , that he could hold his own!!

Saying his goodbyes to all he left Tyruns vessel to go back to the Warthog and his crew. And on boarding his ship he had the men perform his thrice daily ritual of inspections of the crew , the rigging and the guns. Then once again amidst the "awww Cap do we haves to" and the grins and jokes about being lovers and not fighters they again practice the reloading of the ballistae. He was happy after an hours worth of toil and ordered the men a ration of rum and set the watch. Three men watching for the signal fire on the hill and one each fore and aft and port and starboard watching for signs of ships.

Indeed he was a happy man.

[Tyrun the Norseman]

So, after inspecting the fleet for the third time that morning, Tyrun had decided to slip off to the castle and scout around a bit, hoping to learn something about these visiting Franks. Perhaps they could be talked out of any fooolish war-schemes, and begin trade negotiations. Hmm, yes, that was far more sensible! He entertained himself with thoughts of business dealings and profits, as he slipped through the woods towards the city...his upbringing had conditioned him to move amazingly fast through such terrain, and so he arrived faster than a road-bound horse might have.

The visit to the castle was brief, and didn't do much to improve his mood. First of all, he had met one of the Frankish leaders...Vinzelles something-or-other (Tyrun didn't know that Vinzelles shared a family name with Captain Remard De Sennis, but it wouldn't have surprised him much if he had). A very unproductive meeting indeed, and Tyrun was still muttering to himself about the man's incredible rudeness. This religious intolerance was entirely baffling to him. All in all, the blighter was lucky they were in the great hall. Such words spoken in a tavern would have immediately caused fists to fly, and furniture to shatter.

To make matters even worse, he had learned that Edie had taken ill. This was terrible news, for more than one reason. As for himself, Tyrun always enjoyed her warm smile and her light laughter, and it troubled him to see her looking so pale, and skinny as a little bird! Well, he had cajoled her into eating a bit of porridge (he wondered why there was never any honey in the porridge that Cookie gave him)...and, he had told her a silly little tale he knew as a boy, which seemed to brighten her spirits a bit. He decided he'd have to find a special treat for her soon...maybe some wholesome fruits from the Mediterranean.

In any case, Edie's sickness was more than just an inconvenience to Tyrun. For everybody in the castle depended on her in times of trouble. Not only was she an expert at tending to the wounded and exhausted, but her quiet manner seemed to strengthen and inspire those that served the Windstorm banner. Oh, she was always trying to say that she was a mere humble girl, but Tyrun knew better. Pebble among jewels, indeed!

As he made his way back to the fleet, expertly sailing his little dory-boat, he mused about such things as humility...arrogance...loyalty...pride. It seemed that even the best traits could be twisted and corrupted, if a fellow didn't keep a proper sense of perspective on things. Overall, he felt a bit glum about the prospects for the next little while. He wasn't really up for a war, not at the moment. He might profit, possibly, by transporting arms and steel...or maybe Mister Stormblade would grant him the right to make war against the Frankish ships. Then, he could make a lot of money, maybe even cover the costs of outfitting and arming his fleet. Yes, he figured he'd find a way to turn a profit somehow. But...which of his friends might die this time? Gods, he had seen enough comrades die, and it never got any easier. He was getting too old for this nonsense!

"Well, fine," he pondered. "If they want a war, I'll see that they regret ever showing their faces here."

When he reached the fleet, Tyrun decided to flush these gloomy thoughts from his mind. It was, after all, a bright summer afternoon, and the wind was brisk. So, he took a little trip around the fleet. The dory-boat was a nimble little number, and he delighted in weaving her around and between the larger ships, calling greetings to their crews and captains. Elsana merely yelled back at him with a grin. "Ye great show-off!"

When he was back aboard The Zephyr, and the Erikson brothers were hauling the boat in, Both Harl Grimface and Torla Bloodaxe were waiting to hear word.

"Well, Cap...is it to be trade, or war then?" Harl's tone was offhand, as if he was asking about an evening's diversion.

Tyrun made a face and spat in the scuppers. "Looks like war...at this point." He decided not to mention the earlier talk of rats and extermination...no need to get the boys too fired-up.

Torla said nothing, but slapped the haft of his great axe with a strange expression of grim exhultance, his great red beard seeming to bristle like a wolf's mane. Harl merely nodded silently, his grizzled face impassive as ever.

"Right then!" Tyrun barked. "Torla, put the men through one more drill. The whole proceedure. Rigging...battle formation...and artillery. Then, when you've done a thorough job of that, they can all have two rations of grog." He jabbed a finger toward the giant. "But NO drunkenness! Anybody gets too wobbly, they'll get thrown overboard, to sober up! Oh, and, uh...you can take a break from your cooking duties. We'll have Barda fix up a hot meal for everybody." No reason to punish the crew with Torla's cooking, Tyrun reasoned, after they had worked so hard.

Then, he turned to Harl, who stood staring gravely, as if knowing what was coming next. "One last inspection of the ship before supper, Harl. Are the boarding-pikes honed and polished?"

"Yes!" Harl growled with exasparation. "Quit asking!"

"Alright, alright," Tyrun muttered. "Sheesh."

Tyrun himself paced the ship from fore to aft...from bilge to topmast, and found nothing amiss. Sighing, he ascended to the quarterdeck and stared out across the evening sky, as if trying to see the Franks' ships in the harbor. This was the worst part...the waiting.

"Hum! I have an idea! Just the thing to while away some time!" With a smile, he leaped down onto the main-deck, and began searching the ship.

"Dasid! DASID! By god, where did that boy get to?"