Myds6

Corinna the échevin was hearing the complaint of a dairy farmer against a neighbor who she accused of witchcraft. Corrina had been made the local magistrate due to the fact that she had actually studied law at the royal university in the city. While the town wasn’t large enough to provide her proper judge’s robes, they appreciated her role in keeping the peace. “This is a serious matter,” she said gravely, “no one has been prosecuted in Plouffe for witchcraft in over 200 years.”

Meanwhile, on the other side of the river, the town of Dacqoise was blissfully ignorant to the powers conspiring against them. On a low scaffold in the town square, Corinna the échevin was hearing the complaint of a dairy farmer against a neighbor who she accused of witchcraft.

Fiona bit her lip in thought. After all, this was HER campaign, HER army. She would have preferred not to need the Venetian, not to share the credit.

But wars were won by gold, and Vittoria had deep pockets. They would work with her for the time being. Later? Who knew what fate would bring. “Rowena, gather your troops, the game begins. It’s time to prove with your deeds the superiority you claim with your words.”

“I will not disappoint you, my mistresses.” “You should hope not,” Selena scowled.

“What brings your interest to this conflict, if I may ask?” Rowena inquired. The Duchess ‘ eyes flashed anger as she retorted, “We Romoli can choose whatever affairs pique our interest. We didn’t become the biggest banking house in the world through isolationism.

We dislike the trade policies of the current ruling house of Plouffe, and would like to see such a prosperous, if small, kingdom, governed by one whose ambitions are more…in line with our own. Plus, their pig-whore of a queen refused to pay the massive debt her father owed us on his death, then, to add insult to injury, refused to wed her imbecile of a son to my older sister. In fact, the letter she sent was quite insulting. This dungheap of a kingdom will burn and she wi...

Fiona grinned, “and I have something for the loser, as well. Let’s just say that winning is preferable by far. Unless you shrug off your differences and work together, one of you will be humbled—both by the two of us, and her rival.”

“As I said, I’ll take the town,” Rowena said confidently. “A bunch of Plouffian hayseeds can’t stop us; I can defeat the defenders myself, the troops are only needed for the occupation of the entire town.”

“We’ll swoop in and save the day when Lady Rowena fouls up an easy conquest,” Maeve responded.

Turning to the Venetian woman, Selena smiled, “Thank you, Duchess Vittoria, for the funding and wise counsel you provide.

“I think I have a solution,” said a new voice, from the back of the room. The officers turned, startled that anyone was listening in. Fiona, on the other hand, smiled knowingly, as a dark-haired woman in a lavish gown and tall hennin approached the table.

“This is a small battle,” the woman continued , in a thick Italian accent, “I say we can afford to make it a wager, to settle your petty rivalry. Each of you will take a thirty of your own soldiers; whoever can capture the town—“

“And hold it,” Selena butted in, “no point in taking what you can’t hold,” “Yes, capture and hold the town for a day will earn a monetary reward from me,” the elaborately-dressed woman continued in her thick accent, di...

“If you send me, your majesties, I’ll subdue the town just as quickly, but without sustaining casualties or captures, quite unlike this bumbling knight. My Crimson Horde will make short work of it, and you’ll still have the full force of you armies when the real battle against the forces of Plouffe takes place,”

“Bumbling?!” Rowena’s hand flew to her sword. The mercenary smiled, and tapped the pommel of her own blade, threateningly.  Maeve was the first person other than the sorceresses to be so insolent to Rowena in a long time. She wasn’t used to being challenged. Of course, the Mercenary had quite a reputation herself.

“Enough. Both of you,” Fiona’s voice boomed unnaturally, reminding both officers of her sorcery, both women removed their hands from thei...

“I humble myself before the wisdom of your words,” the mercenary commander responded, sweetly. Rowena rolled her eyes and received an immediate look of admonition from Fiona.

“If you want that cow pasture conquered, your Majesties,” Rowena said, smiling as she one-upped Maeve’s sycophancy,  “send me with a squadron, thirty troops at most, and it will be yours within minutes. We’re better and more efficient than mercenaries, and using your own troops saves you money.”

“I’m glad you asked, and so politely,” the sorceress responded, grinning at Rowena again to demonstrate the contrast between them, “Dacqoise, though small, is the bread-basket of Plouffe. You’ve probably had its cheese and its pastries, even here in Anoria.

 An army, it is said, travels on its stomach. Should we take the town quickly, and quietly, we’ll capture enough supplies to last most of the campaign. Not to mention the quality of the sweets, which will be excellent for troop morale. We’ll keep the town’s farms and bakeries producing with a small force left behind, and our soldiers will eat like nobles. That’s worth fighting for, is it not?” 

“If I may, your majesty,” Maeve started, flattering the sorceress with a title that had never been bestowed on her, although she was a queen, in a de facto sense of the word, “why Dacqoise? There are points along the river that are even more poorly defended.”

Before she deigned to speak, Selena broke the silence. “I know your distaste for working with mercenaries, Lady Rowena, but Commander Maeve’s troops have served us admirably.” Rowena’s face registered a silent protest, garnering a smile from Maeve. “And, in case you have forgotten, this army and this war belong to us, the Foxglove sisters. You are a talented knight and leader, but you’re merely one important cog in a larger war machine. Understood?”

 Selena loved putting disobedient subordinates in their place, and her face seemed to become even prettier as her grin widened. “Now, to the matter at hand…the hamlet of Dacqoise…our gateway to Plouffe.” 

At that comment, a dark-eyed woman in battle-worn armor stepped away from the shadows at the edge of the room and glared at Rowena. The cosmetics on her freckled face, and the messy bun out of which her scarlet hair spilled belied the resolve in her gaze.

Rowena scowled, “It won’t happen again. I was cleaning up a conflict caused by the newcomers.”

Selena was standing over a hefty table, covered in scrolls and books. Laid out was a large map showing the border, with the tavern’s knife collection stabbed into it, marking points of interest. Behind her, Fiona stood with her arms crossed, tapping her foot impatiently. Her corset revealed impressive cleavage above, and a bit of pale, toned midriff below. “It’s against your interest, dearest Rowena, to keep us waiting.”

Two guards withdrew with a fearful salute as Rowena made her way into the tavern that had been commandeered as a base of operations for her army’s forays into Plouffe territory.

Other knights would demure on points of honor with her just to avoid a duel. She rarely entered tournaments, but, starting with the second one she entered, it was customary for the other contestants to withdraw, as her reputation preceded her.

Almost as feared was the commander of their army, a tall, pale woman known as Rowena the Black for her raven hair and the dark plate armor she wore. Her martial prowess was said to be unmatched. Her presence on the battlefield was like death itself, terrifying her enemies and allies alike.

While the real relationship between the sorceresses remained a mystery, that was one of many. The two slept in locked quarters, sometimes in separate rooms, and sometimes not, preventing intrusion by order, fear, and powerful magical wards on the doors. If either had ever taken a lover to her bed, none remained to tell the tale. Some of their own followers held that the sorceresses were virgins, that their magical powers were enhanced by abstention from sex.

Others believed them predators, seducing strangers for their pleasure, then disposing of them. Still others thought that they were one another’s lover, and that the “sister” relationship was merely a decoy, hiding their connection because there is power in understanding the relationship between people.

The ripples created by Selena’s envy sometimes bubbled up to the surface. Those who witnessed disagreements between the two were rarely bold enough to speak of it, but somehow, there were rumors that the sisters weren’t always civil to one another. This problem was compounded by the fact that, though both sorceresses were very intelligent, Selena was a bit smarter, causing Fiona to have her own resentment.

No one knew for certain if the formidable sorceresses were actually sisters, although they addressed each other as such. Their background before coming to power in Anoria was difficult to illuminate, and those who were astute enough to uncover their origins had the good sense to keep their findings to themselves. It was rumored that they had both travelled from the western peninsula to the misty isles as children, to learn to control the innate magic powers that were burgeo...

This enraged Selena, whose figure was still considered near-perfect by many. She imagined how her extremely feminine attire would better display such perfection. She wore form-fitting dresses, and wore her hair in elaborate coiffures. Her makeup was carefully applied to maximize her best features, even though it wasn’t subtle.

Certainly, Fiona wore finery fit for a countess on a Sunday outing, but the taste tended to the more practical. She would often wear trousers! Her beautiful onyx-toned hair, she wore half-shorn and brushed to one side. Still, there was no doubt of her beauty, and these outfits, though less formally feminine than her sister’s, revealed her perfect figure.

. Her sister, Selena Foxglove, was beautiful in her own right, yet was still envious of her sister’s more classical beauty. On this matter, she compensated by making a point to dress better than her sister.

With her raven hair, and shapely body, it was reported that most anyone who saw her would fall under her spell, before she even bothered to cast a cantrip.

Fiona Foxglove of the Crystal Lake had a fearsome reputation beyond the juggernaut of her armies. An accomplished sorceress of immense power, she was also known for her vindictiveness, and her beauty.

Sadly, history rarely has respect for the humble ambitions of small people who wish to carry out their lives in peace. Sadly for Dacqoise, the Cirop was a recognized border. At the time of the events recounted here, it was a border between the small kingdom of Plouffe, to which they belonged, and the Kingdom of Anoria, a rising power, recently under the control of a pair of ambitious sorceresses, who had taken it by force.

Known for their relentless all-female army, their beauty, and their cruelty, the sisters Foxglove had set their sights on their quiet but prosperous neighbor to the west, and there were few that could hope to stand in their way.  In response to aggression from Anoria, Plouffe had drafted the men of the kingdom to defend its capital, leaving small towns like Dacqoise to fend for themselves. Bereft of their menfolk, it was up to the women of Dacqoise to keep business goi...

It was agreed, that even stale, the pies and cakes of Dacqoise were often better than goods baked elsewhere.

Although small, the town was well-known for the various exquisite pastries made with the high-quality locally produced flour and excellent dairy products provided by the surrounding countryside. Although local business kept the farmers and the bakers well-compensated for their efforts, a small mercantile class had taken up the task of exporting these pastries to any cities nearby enough to deliver them with any degree of freshness.

The sleepy town of Dacqoise sat at a quiet bend on the river Cirop, and by all indications, should have remained a quiet, idyllic hamlet. Its well-built buildings and pleasant weather made it a pleasing locale for its small numbers of inhabitants.

Its industries were farming and dairy on the outskirts, milling, and there was a small town center of tradesmen and merchants.

"Stinking moor" revised

Not sure if this looks better.