At the Fork
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.
Continue reading anvard under siege
Lanisen is heading through the fairly busy corridor toward his quarters, the front of his tunic held gingerly out from his body – the reason for this being that he seems to have spilled porridge or something on himself. Most likely going to clean up.
Colin clambers down the stairs, looking wide awake and ready for the day in a simple tunic.
Continue reading community service
This room is rather more quiet and warm than the main kennel below it, the heat generated by the lower level rising to the top. Two or three dogs are nearly always present, catching a nap on top of the piles of folded blankets stored here, or taking advantage of the quiet to gnaw a bone in peace. The thatched roof slopes downward on the east and west sides of the room, giving the room a cozy, attic-like atmosphere, while a window overlooking the Outer Ward keeps it from feeling claustrophobic.
A set of stairs on the south end of the room leads back to the ground floor of the kennels.
Lanisen is sitting cross-legged on the floor, partially obscured by the courser in front of him. He has one of the dog’s hind legs in a secure grip and is gently working out a thorn from the pad of the foot. His fingers are bloody.
Arael pushes the door partway open and peeks in around it, then draws back for a moment. She can be heard hushing someone or other for a moment before the door opens fully and she steps in leading two tow-headed little boys, each of whom she is holding firmly by the hand.
Continue reading small talkers