May 10, XXXVII The day was warm. Clouds white and grey bloomed and feathered as they scudded across the rich blue sky. Family banners fluttered and danced in the steady breeze that dusted across the lake’s glittering skin to bring it’s faint spicy scent to the land - a scent that foretold the nearing of summer. In the Common, artisans proudly displayed their wares and skills in the marketplace of northern Danescombe, being an enclave of artists and imaginative craftsmen and women. It was one of the first fair days of spring, and groups of citizens wandered past the pavilions, enjoying the simple pleasure of being released from the long winter’s grip. A dance troupe performed on the cobbled street of the Common, their movements and steps physical poetry woven with the haunting music echoing through the streets and byways. On a small grassy spot, a List Field was set, its pennons displaying the colours of the shire of Danescombe. Within armoured warriors fought mock battles, duelists displayed their skills and styles with the rapier. Many had gathered from far and wide for this day. Travelers from Appledore, Dregate, Krakenfjord, Ravensweir, and Griffin’s Gate had come together for a day of sport and play. It was during a bout between Ruaidhri Silverhand and Enoch, Lord Sutherland that the trouble started. As the two men of honour matched blades within the list field, a small band of ruffians wandered through the crowd. Thugs they were, all sporting rapiers, daggers and other secreted weapons, showing contempt for the people gathered to watch the mock duels. Their costumes were dark, their faces declaring their mischievous ways. As a group their eyes fell upon a fair lady, dressed in a simple but elegant gown. They wove their way through the crowd, pushing aside the defenseless and the weak, and in a thrice surrounded the lady. The thugs began making suggestive and uncivilized comments, two even laying hands on her person. In her fear, she called for the Guards, but none were within earshot. The thugs closed in around her. Within the list field, Ruaidhri Silverhand noted the disturbance and called it to Lord Sutherland’s attention. The two broke from their bout. “Hold there!” shouted Silverhand to the thugs, “Away from that Lady!” “In the name of the King,” called Lord Sutherland, pointing his rapier at the thugs, “I command you to stand down!” The thugs only responded with curses and obscene gestures. “Stand away from this fair Lady!” Silverhand demanded, moving toward the thugs and presenting his rapier, “Or you shall be schooled by a man of Honour!” To this the thugs reacted, all drawing weapons and advancing on the far outnumbered men. “You know not the meaning of the word ‘honour’, thou apple squire!” growled one of the thugs as he advanced on the two men. Lord Sutherland and Silverhand, their own rapiers and daggers presented, backed away in a defensive posture as the thugs advanced and tried to encircle them, and as they did, the fair Lady fled to the protective arms of her husband. But the two Nobles were badly outnumbered as the thugs closed in. But aid was at hand as another nobleman stepped out of the crowd and stood at their side. Though the thugs still outnumbered them, the battle commenced in a clash of steel and flesh. Blades flashed in the sun, curses rang through the Common, blood spattered the grass, darkening it and making footing slippery. The crowd watched and cheered on the nobles as they fought the overwhelming number of thuggish bravos. It was a black garbed thug who was the first to fall; His chest pierced through by Silverhand’s deadly blade. Another was wounded in the arm then slain by Lord Sutherland’s artful swordplay. The nobleman who had come from the crowd was felled next by two thugs. However, one was skewered through gut and bladder by Silverhand before he could retreat. Lord Sutherland barely escaped being slashed from the side by a thug who had slipped around him in the melee, to try and take him down with an attack from his flank. Sutherland, now sporting a rapier in each hand, took the man in the throat, delivering a mortal wound, while fighting off and killing the man before him. As suddenly as it began, the fight was over. The thugs all lay dead or dying, Lord Sutherland and Ruaidhri Silverhand sustaining very minor wounds to their arms and hands. But as they stood in the centre of the list field and saluted each other, a shot rang out from the edge of the gathered onlookers. A ruffian lowered his pistol and disappeared into the crowd with a cacophony of mad laughter. The shot took Lord Sutherland in the back. Silverhand could only watch in horror as his comrade in arms crumpled to the ground, his face a mask of pain, felled by the treachery of an assassin. The clouds continued their swirling travels across the sky above. The banners yet fluttered in the lake breeze. And silence descended on the Common in north Danescombe. Afterward ... Lord Sutherland survived the attempt on his life and was restored to health in a very short time. Ruaidhri Silverhand returned to Krakenfjord with his comrades and family. The thugs were buried without ceremony in a mass grave in a nearby field and it is said only weeds will grow on that plot now. The citizens of Danescombe are thankful to those of noble heart who set their lives to chance in defense of the helpless and innocent. The lone gunman has yet to be found.