Ramparts of the River Fort

Ineirin rose from his field-desk some time later, folding the sheet of parchment. It crackled as he closed it, frowning beneath the beard. This was grim news that brewed in the heart of the continent, especially with the existence of the Malzentinans to the West. From the looks of it, it appeared they could easily find themselves trapped between two wars. Undead from the far North moving South into central Ardell and Elvish religious fanatics just across the sea.

The prince daubed a blob wax onto the paper and pressed his signet ring in, marking the paper with the official seal of Aerlion. A seagull beneath three stars above the sea. It marked the letter as an official diplomatic document, destined for the High Prince.

Its contents were meant to be seen only by him and the High-Prince. Nor would he discuss it with any here in Ailenesse.

"Gwythion," Ineirin called, striding to the door of the small office, "Take this to the fastest courier ship we have. Have it depart for my father immediately." He lowered his voice. "Take it directly to him."

The younger squire nodded and hurried towards the docks, ducking through the crowds of people. Soldiers, sailors, merchants, townspeople, all crowded around the harbor-town. They cried out their prices- aiming to out-sell by out-telling their competitors. Gwythion soon vanished in the crowd.

Ineirin hefted his woolen cloak and slung it over his shoulders as he strode out into the bustling town. He needed to make arrangements, preparations. Ailenesse was fortified- all their posts were, but not for war. Brigands and pirates, yes, but not a dedicated army.

Aerlion was prepared and ready for an invasion, but without friendly harbors on the mainland, nothing they could do would make much of a difference, especially if the river was held against them. They needed friends and allies farther inland that they could trade with and rely on in case of emergencies.

He pulled a rolled up map of the Western continent from a case of important documents and rolled it out on the table, weighing down the sides with a bottle of ink and his dagger. The West, especially Southwest, was far from as near developed as the other regions of the continent, leaving places he could turn to few and far between. Tapping one hand, he traced the river upstream. Haven was the closest. Mystmarch was to the North, but arriving there would be challenging. Few Aerlion navigators dared to try and reach Mystmarch. Ineirin couldn't blame them. But perhaps he could find assistance in their mainland province. He leaned forward and studied the map- Marston.

That would be another place to visit after Haven. It would require a far more significant expedition, however, to treat with such a kingdom. A proper entourage and prepared documents, along with a large enough ship to get there and through the storms. He added it to his agenda for a more detailed report to send home.

A guard rang a bell four times, signalling the hour. Ineirin rerolled the map, replacing it and buckling his sword to his waist and strode from the building. He nodded to three other Knights of the Gull. They set their helms upon their head and fell in behind him as made his way through the town.

The townspeople and normal soldiers made way for the small group, draped in rich blue cloaks and in plate armor engraved with gull-wings, all polished to shine like the sea on a cloudless day. It was a simple patrol, first through the interior and then along the exterior walls, followed by a stroll along the docks. Not just for dangers and possible threats, but to inspect the soldiers as well. They were to display the honor and glory of Aerlion and the Sea-King himself. To disappoint them was to be a disgrace to one's duty.

But so far, all was good. The men stood at attention at their posts, armor well maintained and weapons ready but not threatening. They went about their business with professionalism and courtesy.

Ineirin smiled. It was a good day.