[RPG] [FEI] [Lasanar] The Feast of St. Clov

[Samuel Knowlton]

(With apologies to Shakespeare)

The entire army of Lasanar stretched out before Galiard. He wore a bright, 
silver helm with a red (well, scarlet) plume, the kind without a visor but 
with a helpful nose guard to keep your face from being prematureyl bashed 
in. Galiard's, he felt confident, would be bashed in precisely on schedule. 
A billowing red cape was clasped around his neck (two had been returned to 
the tailors for want of enough billow, and one returned for being "really 
more crimson than scarlet.") Clov (horse) was large enough such that nearly 
all of Galiard's personal belongings were strung up at some strategic 
location on the horse, either on his saddle, under his saddle, around the 
horse's neck, or attached somehow to the stirrups. Banners, the Duke's sword 
(he had steadfastly refused to name his sword after the horse-naming 
incident) and shield, and a lance (complete with pinions) meant the Duke 
appeared rather like a mobile birthday party. Fortunately, under battle 
conditions, this somehow managed to be intimidating, assuming it wasn't your 
birthday.

Galiard rode slowly done the battle lines, observing banners of the 
collected lords. The soldiers' eyes were all on the General, who wore his 
Inscrutable Leadership expression, as opposed to his more typical Befuddled 
Adminsitrator expression.

The General reined in his horse in front of his own banners of Ossaet, 
formed up next to those of the Baronies of Semon and Abilotiel, the Duke of 
Colasan, and the County of Isular.

"Two hundred," he said, his voice ringing out to such an extent as to cause 
several infantrymen in the back check with each other to see if he had 
really just said 'two hundred.'

"Two-hundred and ninety-three," boomed Galiard as he rode before the banners 
of the Duchess Poison and Ozrat, Aanos, Hosiel, and the rest. Soldiers in 
the Army of the Capital initially looked as confused as those from Ossaet 
had, but then took heart in the fact that, whatever was going on, they'd had 
Ossaet beat by ninety-three, and that seemed like a lot.

"Four hundred ninety-one!" Galiard called out to the assembled nobles and 
knights of Akanos and Sasat. Though not as numerous as some of the other 
Duchies, the Akanos soldiers were grim and battle-hardened, with the sort of 
no-nonsense expressions that one tended to want on one's side in a pitched 
battle. There were a few assorted grunts, and they decided that Four-Hundred 
Ninety-One was OK by them.

Galiard finally rode up in front of the men from Sasrhas, a tough, 
rowdy-looking lot. "Five-hundred thirty-nine!" He bellowed.

The soldiers from Sasrhas looked pleased at having come out so far ahead of 
everyone else, accustomed as they were to doing just that. Though it still 
wasn't clear what the General was up to, money was already exchanging hands 
as some of the knights had bet on other mysterious beginnings to the 
General's speech, or the same mysterious beginning, but with different 
numbers.

"That is how many miles you are from home!"

Galiard wheeled his horse around and started back down the front ranks.

"I know it is a long way, and that your stomachs go hungry while your lords 
make you wait here in this unfamiliar land."

There were various grunts of agreement, if not quite approval.

"And that you look upon the walls of Anacan with trepidation and fear, for 
they are high, and Antoza's knights ready atop them."

More murmuring.

"And that you should very likely wish for another thousand men from fair 
Lasanar, or warriors of Ethiala, to stand here with you!"

The soldiers thought so.

Galiard reined in his horse and turned it to face the army. "I do not!" He 
called, which brought the murmurs to an abrupt, questioning halt.

"By the Gods," Galaird exlaimed, "I care not for the gold of Anacan, nor 
long I to see its nobles decked in Scarlet colors, or fly the Republic's 
flag. Such outward weigh not on my mind, good my lords."

Some of the soldiers listened keenly, though some from Galiard's native 
Ossaet adopted a more glaze-eyed, 'here he goes again' look.

"But if it be a crime to covet honor," said Galiard, "then have me here 
clapped in irons, for I am guilty of it. No, my good lords, I would not lose 
so great an honor as to share with he who does not already march to Our 
cause one scrap of that glory which awaits the coming day's sunset."

"This day is the Feast of Saint Clov," began Galiard on what Dodd privately 
thought was perhaps a bit of a stretch, though even Dodd had to admit that 
the Duke said it with such authority as to cause several dozen soldiers to 
ask themselves if they'd neglected to make proper offerings to Saint Clov, 
and then wonder what, exactly, he was the patron saint of.

"He that joins us this day and comes safe home will stand and set his 
shoulders when this day is again named, and rouse him at the name of Clov. 
He that shall live this day, and see old age, will yearly upon this feast 
strip his sleeve and show his scars, and say 'These wounds I had on Clov 
Day.'

"Then shall our names, familiar as household words -- Colasan, Ozrat, the 
Lady Kestrelle, Sasrhas and Akanos, Upasael, Hosiel, Sasat and Ossaet, 
Abilotiel, Nbasah, Larodais and Attle -- be in their flowing cups freshly 
remembered, this story shall the good man teach his son. And Clov Deschain 
shall ne'er go by from this today to the cracking of the world, but we in it 
shall be remembered!"

And in the space of a few minutes, charging a hail of arrows to plant a 
ladder in the mud suddenly seemed like a grand idea, and men and women and 
their families would toast Clov that night, and every night each year 
thereafter.