@merkros The harbour of Danzig is bustling, as Rhaelicca steps off her ship and onto dry land. Her skimpy outfit, and obviously pagan body paint earn her looks from the sailors and merchants making up the throng of people, some disapproving of a pagan in Teutonic lands, and some, both male and female, lustful. The sun is shining, as the lands of the east lie ready for the pagan Scot to make her fortune. @Regin34 As Mszczuj crawls through the undergrowth, he sees them. A group of Teutons sit by a campfire, eating and drinking in the dark forest. Their sentries, three in total, fail to see the Polish scout, and Mszczuj counts 11 men at the campfire. The young man had been commanded by his lord, Boleslaw, to find them after they'd burnt a number of farmsteads in his domain. Now, all that remains for Mszczuj is to report their location. @unisol_gr44 Angelo works, copying down a book of the assorted works of Thomas Aquinas, when the head monk walks inside. "Brother Angelo. A word, please?"
Mszczuj count all knights, hidding in the bushes and pulling his moustache, like always when he thinking. "Well, well they chouse perfect place for camp. I will have to thanks them, for making my job easier." He whisper to himself and slowly moving back, carefull steped on ground to not make any sound. Mszczuj didn't wearing any metal armor, only gabeson so he didn't make any sounds. He have to go back for his horse, Śmiałek, where he leave him.
@asddas193 Allune carries groceries through the streets of her village, leered at by the butcher and her sons, heading back to the small home she shares with her mother, when she hears a rumble. Through the street, a group of horsemen gallop, narrowly moving out of the way to avoid knocking over Arve, the old beggar, and nearly colliding with Allune. The horses thunder past the young archer, but the leader executes an expert turn, thundering down towards her, barely stopping in time to avoid knocking her over. The rider, a richly dressed and stern looking man in his forties, dismounts. "Girl, is your name Allune?" A gruff, deep voice asks. One of his retinue, a young man in fine armour, laughs. "Of course she is, uncle! She's the only woman in this village that doesn't make me want to puke at the sight of her." He leers at Allune from his horse. "No peasant looks that good." The older man snaps at his nephew "Silence, whelp! No one asked for your opinion." He looks back at Allune. "I apologise. Now, Is your name Allune, girl?"
Rhaelicca wasn't too concerned about their staring. She was used to it after so much travel. Even in her homeland of Scotland she received stares from the Catholics and even more so from The English when she traveled that far south. Englishmen may have been distant kin, but followers of The Old Ways rarely crossed the border. They could stare all they want, but if anyone touched her; they would likely soon find themselves missing a finger. Without a second thought, she turned and made sure that her belongings and horse were in order before she made her way off the pier. Her eyes passed along the bystanders and she tried to pick out one of the men. Preferably one that wasn't looking upon her with hate. She had little patience for people demanding that she stopped her sinful ways and go to their God. She's heard it all already. Still, she knew that was a common reaction from most Christian folk. After finding one that she seemed to think wouldn't immediately regale her with Bible verses, she approaches him. "Good Day, coulds ye tell me where th' closest place ta git a decent drink is?" Rhaelicca wasn't sure if he'd understand English. Let alone with an accent like hers, but she hoped to be able to get the message across. The trip by boat had been long and Taverns and inns are often decent places to learn how things laid in the area.
It takes a frustrating number of tries, most of the people she approaches simply walking away after failing to communicate with her. One bearded sailor understands the drinking gestures she makes, and directs her to a tavern on the main street.
"Thank ye' much sir." Rhaelicca gives the man a little bow of appreciation before following his directions to the tavern.
She finds the tavern quickly. A spacious and relatively clean establishment, Rhaelicca doesn't get any looks, as the many patrons choose instead to focus on their drinks, and barmaids.
Having made it to the tavern, Rhaelicca picks a table off to the side of the Tavern. A bit out of the way, or at least as out of the way as can be. She doesn't really care if her presence causes trouble, but she'd rather avoid it if she could help it. Then once given the chance, she'll order a stout region-equivalent ale.
Smialek neighs in response to his voice, as they ride back. After an hour, he reaches the camp, where tents and pavilions bearing the eagle crest of Duke Siemowit IV of Masovia. Furious over the loss of his territory of Plonsk to the Teutons a year ago, the duke has been ordering raids against them ever since. Mszczuj soon sees the pavilion of Sir Boleslaw Wojcik, who leads this camp in the name of the Duke. Riding closer, he sees the elderly knight talking with some of the men. "Ah, my boy!" He looks at Mszczuj. "Anything to report?"
Again, there's language difficulty, and the tavern keeper brings her wine. Before she can say anything, however, a feminine voice calls out in the local language, and the man takes the wine, returning with ale. "Don't ye speek the language, lass?" A voice that sounds not unlike her own sounds out, and Rhaelicca sees a beautiful redheaded girl in the robes of a catholic priest. "Yer braver than me. That, or yer barmy." She smiles.
Angelo acknowledged the monk's presence with a nod, before finishing the letter he was in the process of writing. Carefully, he placed back quill and ink to not ruin the manuscript. He rose from his writing desk and joined the head monk, 'Of course, brother. Please, lead the way.'
The man leads him out, into the hallway. "I suppose, brother, that you've heard tell of the inquisitor who recently arrived?"
Mszczuj get down of the horse and nod to knight. "Yes Sir Bolesław. Small group of Teutonian make camp in the forest, hour riding On horse from here." He said look at rest of men. "I would suggest not taking metal armor, sounds of creak will warm them that we coming."
Angelo nodded towards the older monk, 'Indeed I have, though none I've spoken with had the honour of meeting him yet. But I'm sure you didn't fetch me to trade gossip about our guest, brother. Is there something I can do?'
"Good work, my boy." The knight smiles. "And good thinking. We'll have a few of our men, unarmoured, take out their sentries, and then we'll ride straight through the camp while the bastards are sleeping. Do you want to help take out the sentries?"
The monk sighs. "I know, Angelo, that the cloister doesn't satisfy you. The inquisitor has called for men to join them, and I'm assuming that you intent to take up the call, am I wrong?"
Miszczuk pull his mustache, smiling. "Sure, I hope we will managed to capture few of them alive. Teutonian knight paid good ransom for every one of them." He said and get back on the horse, leading rest of his men.
'He has?' Angelo could not keep his eyes from lighting up, before mellowing his reaction, 'You know me too well, brother. Yes, I have struggled with wanderlust for a while now... I would like to see more of what lies beyond these walls and the meadows around us. Do you not think the cause is just? The Inquisition protects the innocent from mob rule.'
