The Cry of Fréasburg

Gudthrun |There was at once the soft cry of a brass horn by the fountain. From the crowd stepped a woman, silver-haired and draped in green with a red emblem stitched to her chest—the setting sun of the Reeve of West-March. The two guards were stoic beside her as she found her footing on the bench and cleared her throat. "To the King's subjects of Fréasburg!" she began, her voice as sharp as the horn-cry. "Gather around to hear his news!" Gudthrun waited only a moment for some of the noise to settle, but she did not appear a woman of patience. "Now then," she muttered to herself before she raised her voice over the fountain-din. "The Thane of Fréasburg greets all of you to this his county Faire, and the Reeve of his hold the West-March thanks you for keeping the peace, and keeping your swords clean. I will remind you of this month's new ordinances. Strangers may not buy barley, malt, or any other grain in the market until the brewers and maltsters have made their purchases. No horses are to be left standing in the marketplace on market days..." And so on. The declarations were common enough, reminders of the King's peace and how it was kept. Then... "The Lord's Garrison is in need of new Men, Riders and men-at-arms alike. If there are any who wish to earn fresh coin to match the sheen of their blade, Cynred, the Lockhouse Guard, can direct you to the proper Captain. Now!" She looked all about those gathered. "Is there any more news that the People would like to bring forth? Anyone! Speak up now!"

Dytha folded her arms across her chest. "Well, that was interesting," she muttered to whoever was nearest.

Willelmh nodded to Dytha. "Interesting bit about the malt and barley, at least," he commented. "I suppose it is only fair."

Dytha shook her head, chuckling. "Not that." She glanced behind her, but the woman and her escort had vanished. "The garrison needs men, but she said nothing about why."

Pictured:  Adriwyn, Argimil, Asterthryth, Barst, Dytha, Willelmh