<span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;"><strong><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;">Kirborg Castle - mid December 737</span></strong></span><br/><br/>Winter had come in the early days of December as it usually did, in the year 737 by the common calendar used in the kingdom of Lancrest and the Frontier Baronies. There had been some early frost in November, but December brought the northeastern winds and the first snow by which most people in Kirborg reckoned the beginning of winter. That had been two weeks ago, and while snowfalls had been light, so far, two weeks of winter had been enough to cover the fields and hills of Kirborg in a thin white layer of dry snow that was constantly blown this way and that by the cold wind; roads and paths were revealed for a few hours, sometimes only a few minutes, only to be hidden by a sudden drift of snow again, the thin ground cover more than enough to make impossible any distinction between paths and fields in most places most of the time.<br/><br/>It was, the guard standing a lone watch above the gate in the castle's outer palisade, a good time, despite the wind chill cutting through the hood of his wool cloak drawn over his head. Life went on, but at a slower speed. Work never ceased, but everything seemed to hold its breath for a while, and not even bandits or goblins traveled far. For the men at arms of the castle it was a good time to train, sharpen their weapons, repair their armors and enjoy themselves a little after the frequent patrols and occasional fights of summer and autumn. But not, perhaps, enjoy themselves too much. The baroness could be lenient if a little slacking did not put anyone in danger, but the common soldiers answered to the sergeants first and foremost, and on this shift the soldier answered to William Warden, a gruff and overbearing superior if ever there was one.<br/><br/>Drawing himself into a more erect, alert position, the soldier ran his eyes across the landscape unfolding below the castle under a slate-gray sky, scanned the area from the hills commonly called "the three pigs" to the south of the castle, eastward to the crossroads and the few farms a little north of it, then back towards the castle and the farms at the base of the castle hill. There was a small spot of a lone figure at the periphery of the area the guard considered important, but he disregarded the lone walker for now. A farmer returning home from an errand in the village or perhaps from taking the time off work to say a prayer in Pelor's church or Ehlonna's temple. Instead his attention was drawn to a few people at the base of the hill, just north of the castle road, in the open ground that served as pasture during warmer days of the year. Two of the grooms and two of the soldiers had taken about half the castle's horses down there, to give the beasts an opportunity to stretch their legs.<br/><br/>The gray, heavy warhorse of the baroness caught his attention, and for a few minutes he allowed his eyes to linger on the large beast. At this distance he couldn't make out all the details of the strong muscles and heavy bones of the destrier, but after almost eight years in the castle's service, the man knew the horses kept in both the inner and the outer stable well enough for his mind to fill in the blanks his eyes left. For a moment he wondered if that horse was content with its lot, hardly ever being ridden into battle as it was. If fights there were around Kirborg they happened in the forests, of which the barony had its fair share. That was not the terrain for a heavy horse, for mounted charges with lance or spear.<br/><br/>His eyes wandering about the landscape east of the castle again, the soldier noticed that the lone walker had drawn closer to the castle hill, made straight for it as it were. Now there was something he had not expected. Sure, some people did have business at the castle, be it to pay their taxes, visit a relative who worked as soldier or servant at the baroness's abode, or to attend church services in the temple of the Asgardians. Sometimes the sheriff paid a visit too, but the sheriff would have gone mounted, and noon prayer was done, evening prayer at the temple still some time away. Far more out of habit and training than any necessity, the soldier looked down, to assure himself that the wooden gate at the base of the ramp was as open as it was supposed to be during the day, before he rubbed some warmth into his hands and bearded face.<br/><br/>He picked up his shield and the long spear from where it had leaned against the side of the wooden guard post that had provided him with a little bit of shelter against the wind till now, then stepped to the battlement overlooking the ramp that lead from the hillside into the outer keep of the castle. He waited till the walker had drawn close enough that he could address him clearly, be certain that he would be heard by anyone but a deaf man, without the need to raise his voice to a level that would signal any alarm and bring out half the castle's defenders. A single visitor was cause for curiosity, especially in winter, but it was not cause for alarm, as far as this soldier was concerned.<br/><br/>"Who goes there? State your business."