Dying for aid

Squatter\'s Field - Kierkgard Dun

The dozens of tents are the first thing witnessed from the climb up the ravine path. These tents litter both sides of a wide dirt road. The tents are of a wide range of quality, and some simply make camp in their bedroll on the ground, having no tent to give them shelter.

The only permanent building is the famous Leaping Stag Tavern. The small building is made of stone and some wood framing around the window and doors. The only marker for the building is written in a scrawling hand on the side of the building in red dye which simply states the name of the establishment.

On the far side of the tents is a small dilapidated stone wall. The stone is black with soot and there are a very many stones knocked away. The wall was only made to be three or four feet high, but in places the wall is missing all together, or is lower than originally conceived do to the stone being knocked away. The road passes through a break in the stone wall and heads into the market which makes up the majority of Kierkgard Dun.

Moving away from Kierkgard Dun is a constantly narrowing path, which stays just large enough for a wagon or cart to pass. The ravine path, as it is know, heads down the harsh terrain and into the lower elevations of Dunland nearby.

Obvious exits:

avine, arket Square, and aping Stag Tavern

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Dunland Time and Weather Forecast

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Real Time is:       Tue May 25 15:27:49 2010

IC weather is:      Wind: fresh - Clouds: dense - Snow: steady

IC Moon is:         Waning crescent

IC time is:         Twilight

IC date is:         Highday, Day 6 of January in the year 3050.

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[Tet\'Nak(#6174)] As typical this time of year, snow falls upon the hills and crags of Dunland. Even the lower elevations see nearly constant snowfall, this years is no different in that regard. Many tents that are set here in winter have never left from late fall, simply deciding to either brave out the winter here, or having no way to travel home in such weather. The sounds of coughs and weezes are steady from squatter\'s field, as for the last several weaks a dire plague has swept through Kierkgard Dun. Many have died, or are dying, and those that have not struggle to survive here. The chieftains of Dunland seem to be too concerned with their civil war to send aid ...

/Someone/ is coming up the path from the village now, though, for there is the sound of footfalls, and more than that, that rarity in Dunland - a horse. As steed and rider crest the last part of the rise, they stand outlined against the western dusk, though part-screened by the falling snow: a grey mare bearing a tall young man in a green cloak. At his heels follow others, men on foot. The leader, the rider, has his head turned to speak to his companion. \"... hold of some more grain.\" Then something causes his head to snap round so that he can see the pitiful state of the tents ahead. \"By Kiern, what a stench.\"

[Tet\'Nak(#6174)] Near the path down the ravine is a man, small, sickly looking. He peers up at Bledrann, eyes sunken into his head. \"Sir, please,\" he coughs into his hand. \"Are you a chieftain?!?\" he asks, looking upon Bledrann\'s horse. \"Please!\" The man\'s excited screams seem to be gathering attention as others are quickly scammering over toward the man and his horse.

At the man\'s question Bledrann wheels the mare sharply round. \"Stay out of the way of her hooves, you fool!\" Then he snorts. \"What kind of a man does not even know his own Chieftains? The Faol lands are mine, not Dunland. The rest is not my concern.\" There is a sneer on his haughty features.

His men, however, are muttering amongst themselves, and one raises his spear slightly in a gesture of warding as a crowd starts to gather. Clearly they are nervous.

[Tet\'Nak(#6174)] \"Faol lands?\" the man hisses, grabbing onto Bledrann\'s horse\'s bridle in an attemp to keep himself from falling down. His attempt fails, however, and he falls to his knees. The crowd begins to mass around Bledrann, \"He\'s a chieftain!\" someone yells, \"He can help us!\" There begins to be a clammor of excitement which gets closer and closer to the rider and his men. There numbers are at least two dozen, with more spread out around the field.

The grey mare is getting uneasy - she snorts and stamps. The poor fallen fellow is quite likely to get kicked or trampled. Bledrann himself retains his seat, high above the masses, but his men are not so lucky. As they raise their spears into a protective fence they are jostled and pushed this way and that ... and coughed on, too.

\"Why should I help you?\" Bledrann demands, frowning. \"What has happened here? I see no goblins, nor a battalion of Forgoil. Are you so weak-livered that you have forgotten how to live like men?\"

[Tet\'Nak(#6174)] After falling the man slumps from his knees to the ground. He stops moving, or so it appears, not that one could really tell as the mob envelops him and tramples the body before the horse can.

One person yells out, \"Chieftain, help us!\" Another demands, \"Help us, you fool, we are dying!\" With the horseman\'s strong words, people seem to be getting worked into a frenzy, and begins yelling and demanding aid.

The grey mare\'s hooves slip on something - mud or remnants of a human, who can say? - and she half-stumbles. Bledrann pulls on the reins sharply, and snaps out, \"Begone from me, or I\'ll ride you down! You\'ve given me no reason to aid you. Kiern, what a pack of mongrels!\"

One of his men, pulling back from the groping hands of a pale-faced woman, glances up and suggests softly, \"Fian, these people are sick.\"

[Tet\'Nak(#6174)] Half the people look little more than walking corpses. They are desperate, obviously, and show it. The pack of Dunlendings are far more fearful of the sickness they carry than a man on a horse. Some guards are shoved, probably not intentionally, but instead as more people use from the back of the mob into the front. \"Help us!\" the cries continue.

Bledrann looks coldly down at the one of his men who had spoken. \"You know what to do to sick dogs. If they will not clear the road, run them through.\" Whether the crowd are Bear, Stag or Wulf, it seems to make little difference to him. He draws his sword, lifts the glittering blade high so that its bright, cold light is visible even through the lightly drifting flakes of snow. \"Ready yourselves ... now.\" The grey mare bunches her haunches ready for a burst of speed that will hopefully clear the path for his footmen to follow.

[Tet\'Nak(#6174)] The crowd does not scatter. Perhaps they do not even notice what Bledrann is intending, or posturing. Half the crowd is falling over one another, as they are sick and feeble. Slaughtering the whole of them would be an easy task, though there might be others in Kierkgard Dun that might take offense. The choice is Bledrann\'s, as he could do so, or he could leave from which he came. The coughing and gagging of the mob grows as they become more frantic.

Bledrann has no intention of slaughtering the entire population of Kierkgard in one fell swoop, though there might be many who would thank him for it. The grey mare has been turned about now she charges back through the crowd in the direction of the ravine path, pushing the human barricade aside.

His men follow, save for one who is still being clutched by grasping hands. The sobbing, choking woman has been joined by others desperate for ... what? They\'re too far gone to say.