Vinzelles de Sennis
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Post by Vinzelles de Sennis on Jun 27, 2004 5:26:00 GMT -5
The ships the Franks would send over to England and windstorm to make clear their demands to the Windstormian king were ready within a week. 10 ship, 7 of them warships, two of lighter build and with less men onboard, serving as transports for horses, food, ammunition, other provisions.
Vinzelles looked over a large map of the southern English coast, the captains of the ships standing around him, attentive, eager to learn their plan.
“I will command the Goélette (Seaswallow), taking three ships with me directly to windstorm. We don’t need to show them all we have right away, qui?” Vinzelles smiled then turned to one of the men next to him.
“You, Manassier, will take the Orage (Sturm) as your command ship and the other five ships with you. Land somewhere here,” Vinzelles pointed to a stretch of land about two horse rides south of Windstorm, “this stretch of the land is reported to be scarcely settled. You shouldn’t have any problems landing and bringing your men to shore. Once there, you will wait for my signal. We will give those English a chance to redeem themselves… Parley with them… I don’t expect any cooperation from them, so be sure your men will be ready to march towards Windstorm!”
Further plans were discussed and two days after the small fleet of Frank ships set sial and started on their voyage towards English shores.
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Post by Lamont Duchesne on Jul 1, 2004 8:23:30 GMT -5
He stood across from his longtime friend Vinzelles, thoughtfully chewing on the inside of his cheek as he watched de Sennis hand out his orders. They had known each other since childhood, both born to noble families, close in age, Vinzelles slightly older, both competitive to the bone. They had risen through the years to find themselves in some of the highest positions in the land, Vinzelles’ more colorful and flambouyant personality usually garnering more attention. Lamont Duchesne often found de Sennis a bit too overzealous, yet admired his drive and ambition. The bond between the two had been tenuous at times, yet forged forever after an unfortunate riding accident.
A long time at their cups, they had unraveled to the point of barely being ambulatory. Vinzelles had gotten more belligerent, challenging the baiting of Lamont’s claim at equestrian prominence with a barked order to have their mounts saddled, though the grooms had tried their best to dissuade the two. They’d actually not done too badly, maneuvering the steeds with more instinct than skill in their inebriated conditions, until Duchesne’s horse had stumbled in a hole and thrown him violently straight forward over the horn of his saddle.
Vinzelles had stayed by his side as he struggled back to consciousness, the guilt of provoking the foolish ride only deepened at the verdict of the court physicians. Lamont would recover nearly intact. Yet not quite . . At first horrified, considering ending his life, he slowly came to the realization that there may be some advantages to his condition. Vinzelles took the friend under his wing, feeling somewhat indebted, yet also appreciating the trust he could have in him. Lamont had re-channeled all his energies into his work, and though he was not a particularly religious man, he had a rather fatalistic confidence that survivors often had. Rock steady and fearless, often grounding the older man simply by his presence.
As they stood at the rail watching the Frankish coastline grow distant, Lamont spoke without turning to face the Counselor. “The clouds hold no promise of rain. Perhaps the English will prove equally as impotent . . *
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Vinzelles de Sennis
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Post by Vinzelles de Sennis on Jul 4, 2004 5:50:13 GMT -5
The breeze was gentle as were the waves, and Vinzelles was thankful fort hat. He had no stomach for the sea, more than once before had he need to hide below deck so his men and other nobles wouldn’t see him wretch his soul out to whatever sea gods there were. Although firmly settle in the Christian believe, Vinzelles still couldn’t but ponder if not the sea herself was possessed by some evil God or Goddess which caused men like him so much suffering when they dared set their feet upon her realm. He knew that Goddess would ask for his sacrifice a few times from now until they would have reached their destination, but for now Vinzelles’ gaze held the horizon steadily as he listened to the words of his friend.
Without letting his eyes stray from the imaginary line that formed the edge between sky and sea, he grunted once. “Ha! They may yelp like pups when we have them between our teeth and shake some sense into them. If they won’t listen to reason …our men are well trained and our course is just. Too long have we suffered from the barbarians’ onslaught on our soil, another falling by their treacherous way we cannot tolerate.”
Hoping the punishment wouldn’t be too harsh, Vinzelles turned his gaze from his fixed point on the horizon to Lamont who also watched the sea. The man was like a brother to him, especially since the riding accident. Since then they had mastered and survived many campaigns, always side by side. Vinzelles had sworn himself never to be responsible for another harm befalling his friend and so had almost developed what some would call mothering qualities regarding Lamont. He needed that man by his side – he was one of the very few who had his unwavering trust and friendship. Men like Raimbault were there to serve Vinzelles, to be his arm where the councillor could not be present himself. He liked Raimbault for his bulldog qualities and his unquestionable dedication to himself.
But a man like Lamont he could trust with his life, and the same was true vice versa. Rather would he see himself killed trying to safe his friend’s life than standing by and sparing his own existence.
The longer he looked at Lamont standing by the railing, the more Vinzelles felt the first signs of his stomach not liking being on the high seas. With a suppressed sigh, the older man reluctantly turned his gaze back to that one fixed point on the horizon once more before speaking again.
“Lamont… I tell you we will succeed. And do you know why?” He didn’t leave enough time for Lamont to respond. “Because I have men like you with me. Strong and reliable and more man than any of those English bastards!” His hand clasped Lamont’s arm, knowing the man standing opposite him would understand his gesture. “Now tell me, before the Gods of the sea demand their due from me again, how much will Lhune be worth to them?”
His eyes were again on the horizon, but the grumbling and slight nausea in his stomach didn’t bear well for the next for Vinzelles for the next few hours.
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Post by Lamont Duchesne on Jul 7, 2004 9:55:33 GMT -5
With a small soft snort of derision, he shakes his head at the question put to him "Let us hope quite dearly do they hold it in their hearts, and prove a costly diversion of their strengths . . "
With a sympathetic eye to the certain misery that accompanies his companion Vinzelles at sea, he adds, "I cannot understand why you will not at least try that herb I offered to you . . You do not need a completely clear head just yet, it would give you a bit less agony for a few hours at least."
He knew his offer would fall on deaf ears . . Vinzelles was not one to wish to be in less than full control of his marvelous mind, especially right now. He patted the hand that lay on his arm with an affection long borne, and watched as Vinzelles sought someplace more private to relieve his tortured stomach from its contents, turning his own attentions back to the sea and the destination they would reach very soon. . relishing the days ahead with a dogged enthusiasm . .
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Vinzelles de Sennis
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Post by Vinzelles de Sennis on Jul 8, 2004 5:42:31 GMT -5
After a few hours the Goddess was appeased, the king's councilor sat tired and weary on the cot in his quarters, wiping his face with a soiled rag, then tossing said rag into a far corner. How he hated sea travel, but by now the ships had reached the point where they would split up to seek their different objectives.
it was the last eve before this mission got seriously on it's way, it was only proper to show the men and his captains that he had the fullest confidence in their skills and their dedication. To give the men a night to celebrate the righteousness of their travel was only right. Not for nothing had Vinzelles insisted on loading barrels of rum onto each of the 10 ships. He then had the ships assemble in close formation and a small group representing the men on each ship was rowed over to the Goélette to listen to what their leader had to tell them.
it was evening before all had assembled on the councilor's ship, the wind had died down during the day and the ship lay quietly in the water. A situation only too welcomed by Vinzelles as he stood on the master deck overlooking the men – simple soldiers and nobles alike. As always, his faithful companion Lamont was standing next to him, like a steady rock that couldn't be thrown by either weather or any men.
"Captains! Soldiers! This is the eve of the beginning of our endeavor to rid the English coast of yet another nest of Viking rats! Those rats have infested the waters, the land and even the court of a once noble king, Agustin of Windstorm. Weak has his mind become to allow the northern barbarians to use his lands and his wealth for their own purposes. but even more has that man Agustin suffered – he has treated kin of ours with disrespect and like one of his beloved barbarians himself!" A murmur and roaring of disapproval could be heard from the lower deck. "He is holding a loyal captain to our beloved king Charles captive because he has not stood by to let another of us rot in the dungeons of Windstorm. Such is the hospitality of the English these days… they have fallen by the ways of their Viking allies and treat us with disdain and hatred. THAT WE WILL NOT ALLOW! We will help Agustin to clear his mind and rid his lands of the barbarian pest. We shall bring another back into the folds of Christian kings and men. Our anger is righteous and thus God will be WITH US!
Now genuine roaring approval could be heard from the men, the captains nodding, and from the corner of his eyes Vinzelles tried to gauge his friend's reaction to his speech. it was hard telling, as Lamont was as schooled in hiding his true emotions as any noble would be. Focussing once again on his men, Vinzelles continued.
"You are the best of our realm, other people fear you for your skill and power! For those qualities I have chosen you, the best and the bravest! And for that you will be rewarded with fame and with gold once we have send the Viking rats running! Fight you will tomorrow, but TONIGHT YOU WILL CELEBRATE! There is ale for all, in moderation, and cured ham and fresh bread. Eat well, drink well… and tomorrow and in the coming days you will fight – strong, and proud and FOR FRANCE!!!"
The men cheered loudly and called the councilor's name, only then called to God to bless their adventure. Vinzelles smiled and went down to the men, opening one of the barrels standing ready with his fist, then dipping a wooden mug into the dark liquid and held up the mug high, then drinking eagerly and with gusto until the mug was empty! More cheers erupted, the sound of battle ready men being music to Vinzelles' ears. For a few moments he watched the men indulge, those from the other ships soon rowing back to their own vessels to carry the words of their leader back to those who had stayed behind.
It didn't take long before men started to dance, music could be heard and song. It was time to leave the more frivolous activities to the men and instead seek out his friend Lamont. They had hardly had time to talk these last few weeks, and Vinzelles was always eager to learn how his confident was doing these days.
He saw Lamont leaning against the railing, went back to fetch another two fresh mugs with ale for them both, his steps weaving him through the throng of men and the sounds of laughter until he finally joined his friend at the railing. he held out the mug, a genuine smile on his face.
"Here, drink Lamont! there won't be many days left that we can indulge like this… it has been long since I talked with you… how is your health? Your family? I heard you recently bought a war horse… what was its name again? Have you brought it with you on this trip?"
Vinzelles now also leaned back against the railing, watching the men out of the corner of his eye in case they became too rambunctious, but his attention being focussed upon his friend.
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Post by Lamont Duchesne on Jul 9, 2004 8:05:01 GMT -5
"I named him Vinzelles, my friend . . swift and not a little cunning he is" He teased, and then laughed. "You're too good to them, you realize that." Nodding towards the slowly increasing noisy revelry, taking long, deep draughts at the ale himself. "But a roaring head will clear quickly in the freshening breeze of the early morning light, you do well to let them have their fun . . "
He winced a little at the question of his family, thinking of the delicate beauty that had chosen to remain his wife, in spite of everything. "Monique continues to grace the earth with her lovely charm, though she pines for a child to fill her arms, of course. She never says a word of it, but it's in her eyes. I'll never understand those who do not cherish their offspring as the gifts they are . . "
He thought then of their destination, of Vinzelles hot headed nephew . . and fought back the emotions that arose. Perhaps it was the ale. He would not let his tongue fly too freely, no matter how tempting. No matter if his friend would understand, and perhaps even welcome it . .
Just then a particularly loud burst of laughter drifted over to them as several of the men had somehow come up with resonable fascimilies of the dress of Viking women, and were feining a losing battle with wooden slats as their deadly swords, much to the hilarity of the sailors!
"Come, we best not miss out on a chance to hone our skills . . they will perhaps prove the worse we will face, if God indeed favors our cause."
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Vinzelles de Sennis
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Post by Vinzelles de Sennis on Jul 9, 2004 10:21:31 GMT -5
"You called him what?" There was a moment of silence before Vinzelles burst out into a hearty chuckle, his deep voice booming across the deck. "You rascal! Is he at least as nice looking as me?" He clasped Lamont's shoulder, the touch warm and familiar. "You never cease to amaze me, my dear friend. Care for him well, but if you start preferring him to my company…!" He buffed Lamont's arm playfully, then also becoming more somber as hi friend spoke of his dear wife.
He leaned closer… this part of their conversation not for any other's ears. "She is a woman, they have those needs. I can understand her desire, but maybe … with time, you might still give her what she so desires?" It was a rather desperate hope, that one day Lamont would be the man he was before the riding accident. Guild again washed over the older man, if only he could give his friend what he had lost. "There may be other ways… it's not unheard of for women to conceive in cases like yours." He sighed and drank deeply from his mug of ale.
Vinzelles then was drawn to the display of his sailor's having fun with some charade they played, and he heard Lamont's gentle teasing suggestion. His face became even more somber, however, the longer he watched the antics of his men. "If only those barbarians were as toothless… I have seen them fight, Lamont. they are brave, they have men in their midst who are said to be insane, their Gods speaking to them and making them invulnerable and as deadly as 10 men together. As if they are in a trance.. no hit by your sword seems to slow them down or kill them …" His voice petered out as if in he was not really present on this ship but far, far away, in another time and place. "We will need all our cunning and our wits if it comes to a battle."
His gaze again turned towards his friend. "Don't make the mistake to underestimate them, my friend! I'd hate to lose you to the rage of their Gods!" He finsihed his ale, and then did something totally unexpected – Vinzelles drew his sword, holding it at the ready in front of him.
"You're right… we should hone our skills but let's not waste it with idle play. Let us show the men what is expected of them … a good example, you and me. Fear not, one mug of ale has not dulled my senses! Come… let's show them how we French fight!"
Vinzelles took two steps back, tosses his mug to the floor and waited, grinning from ear to ear.
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Post by Manassier on Jul 9, 2004 12:00:36 GMT -5
The voyage across the waters upon the Orage had been far less than festive than the celebration days ago. Sickness had forced him to his cabin, where his only company was the pounding of his temples and the creaking of the vessel - noises that even now grinded in his head despite being outside at last beneath the afternoon sun.
Manassier stood onboard at the bow of his vessel, head tilted and razor in hand as he carved through the coarse hair that had formed during his hibernation. His Lieutenants approached then, removing their headwear.
“The lands lie just over the horizon, Capitan. We will arrive on schedule.”
“I do not like this weather” he replied as he ran the razor along his cheek “It is pallid. Frigid. The very essence of squalor, and I can taste it on my skin.” Manassier straightened his gaze, watching his reflection.
“I see. Anyway Capitan, we have made the preparations as requested in your illness. Communication with the other ships has confirmed it, monsieur; we should arrive in full force.”
South of their defenses, as Vinzelles had said. The plot for this attack had been carefully planned and the coordination henceforth would be imperative for success. An ocean breeze drifted across, which ruffled his hair; Manassier suppressed a cough, still overcoming the ailment.
“Our plans to engage shall be carried out if efforts to negotiate fail, Capitan.”
“It is my understanding that the task of parlay will be left up to Vinzelles, m’sieur. I will not waste my time with the savages we will no doubt encounter in this land.”
The Lieutenants seemed a little concerned at that. “We were informed Capitan that it will be our first method of communication…”
“Do not trivialize my own ability of hearing, monsieur.” Manassier resumed shaving.
“The orders given were clear to me. Parlay will occur yet I do not necessarily have to be involved. If they defy Vinzelles, then they defy me. Only then shall I make my presence known. The English are stubborn, just as they let their women roam indignantly. If they do not surrender, then they shall be brought to their knees, wei? My patience in this habitat is somewhat lacking I must confess…like the quality of this food.” He pulled away suddenly, racing to the railing where he retched over the side into the sea below.
After regaining composure and wiping his mouth with the towel, he returned to his colleagues who waited patiently.
“They associate with barbarians, these English do. Animals that do not know the word negotiate from what I have heard. And if it is indeed true, 'negotiate' will be erased from my mind also.”
The gathered Officers grew silent. Manassier knew what they were thinking. His own past military history had been colorful, yet despite what others described monstrous it had been swept under the rug for this mission. Most of the lieutenants present had been there when he gave the order to obliterate a pirate vessel and all its occupants, despite the white flag they raised. It was he who had been placed in charge of the execution of several factions opposing the King, which he carried out with aplomb. He did not hesitate in having women and children killed for crimes committed by their husbands and father.
Manniseur fretted on a line between mechanical and unbalanced, which made him both despised by those in power yet wanted for conquests in which compassion needed to be extinct.
“I do not expect mercy. There is no honor among thieves. Viking and English alike will surrender or die.”
With that he dismissed his commandants and returned to his reflection. Thoughts resumed over Vinzelles’ speech days ago, before the forces split to embark on their respected journeys. Manassier did not like Vinzelles and he did not like the man’s comrades. He did not like this weather, he did not like being sick, and he did not like the English.
Tales of the Viking were intriguing to him, despite his outbursts. He knew very little of their kind, save for the descriptions of their rabid appearance. And then there were the stories of their bloodlust, their cannibalism and their debauchery; primitives that disregarded the living and disrespected the dead.
Little more than animals, he thought, and carelessness ensued as he sliced his cheek with the razor. A finger ran along the gash, moving to his lips where he licked the redness collected. Before this was through, he would bring back the head of a Viking man and parade it for all of France to see.
Parlay. Pfah.
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Post by Lamont Duchesne on Jul 10, 2004 10:33:20 GMT -5
"Vinzeeeeeelllllles, tsk" The soft hisss of withdrawn steel matching the drawled out name. It was a game they had developed long ago, usually after a few rounds of good brandy warmed their veins. Honed to perfection for maximum dramatics with minimum damage, though it had been some time since they'd indulged.
The glint in Lamont's eye was not theatrics, and more lively than since they'd boarded the ship. "Yes, I've heard tales of the mighty Viking warriors" Spitting the words out as he settled into a challenging stance. "Yet there is danger in overestimating just as severe as understimating. A level head is needed for each. They are mortal, they can fall" With that he drew his blad up with both hands rapidly, and they clash began. For a time, they matched blows, and since it was choreographed from memory, they struck with resounding resonance. It was not long before all eyes were drawn their way.
Spinning around in an upward thrust that crossed thier weapons near each hilt, their faces close, Lamont smiled with mock menace and whipsered tersely "I believe it's my turn to "win"? "
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Vinzelles de Sennis
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Post by Vinzelles de Sennis on Jul 10, 2004 12:54:19 GMT -5
Lamont's breath wasn't as laboured as his was, a fact Vinzelles couldn't help but notice. Serving at court had made him a tiny bit rusty, the rough passage he's had so far certainly didn't help his stamina either. It was right for Lamont to win, and yet…
Vinzelles's words came in as much mock-menace as those of his friend. "You're turn to "win"? earn it my friend!"
With two steps he disengage and immediately drew a wide arch with his sword, aiming for Lamont's left, a move that was part of their repertoire. As usual Lamont parried without any problem but Vinzelles felt with a bit more aplomb than usual. He smiled - were it not for his unfortunate deficiency, Lamont Duchesne would be the dream of any woman or man at court. But even so… he was a formidable opponent.
"I am surprise you have breath to lecture me while fighting!" Their swords clashed again, in their own predictable ways, "But as always, I shall heed yer advice, my friend." A quick look at his men confirmed what his ears had told him already - the crew was riveted upon the friendly match between the two nobles, a fact that Vinzelles enjoyed.
But soon it was time to give Lamont his victory. At Lamont's next attack Vinzelles parried the stroke a little bit too slowly, leaving himself pen for the taking.
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Post by Lamont Duchesne on Jul 12, 2004 9:56:57 GMT -5
"Advice?! Since when does the great Vinzelles seek advice from any man . . or listen if it is given!" Lamont laughed aloud at his teasing, both hands gripped the blade as it sang upwards to parry the perfectly orchestrated display of theirs, grunting softly at the effort.
Just as the expected opening came, the ship slipped into choppier waters, and Lamont's footing faultered on the slightly pitching deck. Though he tried to pull back his swing, still it bit into Vinzelles left arm, above the elbow. Lamont groaned as a line of crimson slowly grew through the sparkling white shirt his friend wore.
"Damn this poor excuse for a boat . . if God had meant us to tread the seas, he'd have given us gills! *Reaching out to rip back the fabric from the wound to see how badly it bit.* Just what you need, torn flesh to divert you when you be most needing that head in the verbal sparring that lies before us.
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Vinzelles de Sennis
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Post by Vinzelles de Sennis on Jul 12, 2004 13:55:34 GMT -5
A small hiss ws heard when steel cut into flesh. The councillor took a step back and let his sword sink to his side, sheathing it with slow deliberate motions. Moving his left arm up so as to stem the first free flow of blood, Vinzelles chuckled, then allowed Lamont to bind the cut. Leaning in close, he whispered to his companion. "You have any idea how much that shirt cost me?" Vinzelles grinned and slapped Lamont's back. "Let it be, Lamont. Your fussing worse than a mother hen. Give me that!" He took the strip of linen from his friend's hand and quickly bound it around the gnash which still bleed quite strongly. "It'll pass, I've had worse scratches than that, and I will bear my scar with honor!" he mock-bowed toward the younger man and then turned back to his men.
"Enough play now. Rest for a few hour and then we sail - FOR WINDSTORM!"
Loud cheering was heard, soon the men went back to light work or below deck to rest for a few more hours before getting ready to approach the enemy.
They would take the Goélette and the Hippocampe directly to the harbour, the other two ships would anchor about a half day's ride further north and disembark their men, about 100 all told. They would start marching towards Windstorm, and make camp within sight of he castle Vinzelles had been told stood surrounded by shallow hills facing the ocean. It would be a reminder to those inside that their people had come to do business and return with favourable results.
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Vinzelles de Sennis
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Post by Vinzelles de Sennis on Jul 12, 2004 15:19:45 GMT -5
This thread is being continued HERETEXT
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