megren’s vigil


Inner Ward
Castle Anvard


Megren stands in the middle of the ward, dressed in her full hauberk, gambeson, and half-plate, the crest of Archenland emblazoned on her tabard.

Cantil stands to the side in Coghill blue, talking quietly with Tern as they wait. He glances toward the Chancellor’s tower and straightens slightly as Lord Cole emerges.

Sir Darrin emerges from the noble’s tower dressed equally formally, the blue tabard over his chainmail bearing his personal standard of eagle and flowers, and his decorative sword on his hip.

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interrobang


Kennels
Castle Anvard


Colin sits by the fireplace on the ground with Puck draped in his lap, completely comatose from the affection he’s been given. His master’s head leans against the wall and his tired eyes are half closed. He looks completely done in with dark circles around his eyes.

Lanisen opens the door, letting in a gust of cold air, and wrestles it shut again behind him. He dusts off his hands and casts a quick glance around the room, settling on Colin.

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tectonic shift


Lanisen’s Quarters
Castle Anvard


You stand in a cozy room. A small arched window adorns the curving outer wall. One corner of the space holds a narrow bed with warm woolen blankets. Nearby are a basin and pitcher for cleaning up. A rug covers part of the floor, adding warmth. It looks like a comfortable place for Lanisen to live.


Someone starts pounding on Lanisen’s door.

There’s a bit of a scuffle from inside, then wary silence. After a moment there’s a tapping noise crossing the room, then the door opens a crack and Lanisen looks out.

Colin stands outside, tapping his thighs nervously. He takes one look at Lanisen. “You coulda just called out…”

Lanisen lets out a breath, standing aside to let Colin in. “Landsakes,” he says, exasperated and shaken despite himself. “Where’s the fire.”

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because we are alive


Before the Gates of Anvard
Eastern Archenland


A flat green space at the foot of the mountains opens here, sheltered by the slopes of the northern mountains. Stormness Head looms high to the northeast, its peak nearly always in clouds, and the double-headed peak of Mount Pire rises over the trees to the northwest. A steep ridge like the side of a bowl curves around from the northwest to the east, and the ground descends into dense forest to the south.

At the center of the clear area is a small turreted castle, facing east. Its weathered walls are built of large blocks of red granite that glitter faintly in the sunlight, and elegantly functional ironwork graces the front gates and portcullis. A stone cobbled road wide enough to easily facilitate the passage of carts and carriages crosses over the broad green lawns from the castle gates, disappearing into the trees to the east.


(OOC note: This log contains a busy crowd scene and has been edited and color-coded for readability.)

Lune wanders around the space of the lawn being set up for the feast, chatting with nobles and commoners alike. He’s clearly in high spirits, and every now and then his loud, booming laugh bells out at something said.

Astera beams with energy and happiness as she holds her daughter, telling the story of Mount Pire. She is hanging around the edges, not yet mingling with the crowd but clearly her heart is light.

Aliyah pads towards the castle grounds, nose twitching at all of the different but delightful scents.

Tempest trots through the crowd of Narnians and Archenlanders, taking everything in.

Arael comes out onto the lawn through the castle gates. She is hovering at Lanisen’s elbow, watching him and the ground closely to be sure that he doesn’t stumble or snag his cane on anything. Progress is slow, but eventually they make it.

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anvard under siege


At the Fork
Eastern Archenland


The path divides here, one fork curving west toward Anvard and the other continuing to the northeast toward Andale. The trees are very thick here, with dense patches of thorny briar filling in the gaps between trunks, and it is impossible to see very far down the road in any direction. Sweet raspberries can be found in the thickets on either side of the path in summertime, and the forest is noisy with wildlife.


(OOC note: the events of this RP follow chapter 11 of The Horse and His Boy, and a more complete log can be found here. This log contains crowd and battle scenes which have been edited and color-coded for clarity and readability.)

Lune, at the head of the hunting party, keeps his horse at a brisk canter. He draws up outside the gates and turns to face the company. “The town must be warned.” He surveys them briefly, grim-faced and calculating, and says, “Sir Colin.”

Colin guides his mount to King Lune’s side. “Sire?” He asks, his expression serious.

Dar follows close behind his sovereign, his own expression sober to the point of severity. He reins Celeres in and listens intently.

Lanisen draws up as well, handling his horse with far more ease than two months ago at this time, and glances from the king to Colin.

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prison transfer


Room 7
Sun and Moon Inn


Colin is sitting in his corner.

Lanisen looks rather glum and distant, as seems to be growing to be the norm for him, and avoids looking at Colin.

Loc sits huddled by the fire. Suddenly he stands and goes to the window.
Loc announces grimly, “Horses. Small company going in town… purple and gold livery….” He swallows hard. “They’re here.”
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