The Edge of the World

[Dirty Chai]

It was pronounced, apparently, not as "ire", but more as like "air", he told them, as their wooden vessels carrying them across the western sea closed in on the shores of eastern Ulster. They had spent the brief voyage throwing dice across a board while the earl of the chaotic land they sailed to told them what he had learned in the month or so he had stayed there prior to returning to England.

Overall, it seemed, Ulster was a hellscape for a landowner on the right side of Lionel's Statutes. The overwhelming majority of the land was by English law and parliament recognition, etc., Roger's. But an overwhelming majority of that land was painted in the colors of what Roger decided were best described as "squatters".

The Earldom would cease to exist, likely, Mortimer confided his brothers-in-law of Pembroke and Somerset, if Mortimer had not come. It goes back to the Bruces in Scotland, when the more famous one's brother decided to try and bring Ireland into the fold of rebellion and opposition to English rule. In the end he was kicked out of Ireland, but de Burgh's main line of men died out - the last being Roger's great-grandfather - and a small girl, his grandmother, inherited the earldom and was immediately shipped off to England with her mother for safety. What became of her was well known, but what occurred on Ireland had been an obscure, backwater feud not known even to Mortimer until some weeks ago. Decades of infighting ensued among the other branches of the de Burghs, or Burkes as they began to call themselves (likely a heinous example for Lionel to seek to fix in his statutes), and the Irish clans rushed in from the west and collapsed the holdings that the Duke of Clarence would later seek to reclaim. His grandfather and predecessor hadn't accomplished much to that goal, the 6th Earl of Ulster implied now, tossing a painted dice across a table with a brooding look.

First, then, in Roger's gaze, there were the famous and vast O'Neills, from Aileach as they called it; a group of them has split east into the heart of Mortimer's inheritance and now called themselves the "Clanboy" or some such, covering Belfast and Lisburn. MacCartans in Kinelarty and Magennises in Iveagh held much of the sourthern coast, barring what lay south of the Mourne mountain range, which still remained in Norman hands. The Ards peninsula had been mostly safeguarded to the efforts of landowners led by the Baron Savage, but the consequence of that was that most of the landowners in the area call Savage their lord and not Mortimer. In the north, beyond an enclave of a pale around Carrickfergus, was a coastline infested with "ing Scotsmen", from islander clans to the northeast. He threw some more names into his oral list of squatters, O'Cahan, O'Hagan, O'Donnelly, O'Hanlon, McCann, and O'Hara among them, but March made it clear they were beyond his realistic attention for the foreseeable future.

It was clear, by the end of the jump from Chester to the lough - a sound or inlet - of Strangford, that Roger Mortimer had made quite an effort to learn what he could about his mother's half of his inheritance, and what he had gleaned deeply darkened his entire outlook on being Lord Lieutenant. His grandfather's Statutes of Kilkenny probably just made things harder, though he couldn't be certain what the situation would be without them.

------

The small flotilla pulled into the lough at around seven in the morning on the twentieth of August - the heart of the harvest season. Roger had planned for to take ashore at Strangford, at the western end of the small waterway, but much of the fleet would have to unload at Portaferry on the other side. Much the better, perhaps, as it was at least safe on that side.

As they stepped out onto a dock, stretching and gaining their feet back, Roger pointed away from the shoreline, vaguely. He grimaced for a moment, considering a figure to give.

"Maybe ten miles that way, at most I'd say," he looked back at his two allies, "My authority means nothing."

[Lucius Malfoy]

John Hastings managed to make it safely to Ireland, although some of the water turbulence did cause him to easily throw up whatever he ate over the port side of their shared vessel. In the end, he was happy to be once more on dry land. He glances around at their surroundings for a moment, noticing how different Ireland was from England. He felt, for a moment, that they had gone back in time. He hears his brother-in-law speak, causing him to look away from the other ships.

Well hopefully your time here will reaffirm it to some degree. Do you feel the lessons learned from the North will be of help here?

[Dirty Chai]

"The north has a finite line, a border, it has rules, laws, customs," Roger said, his comparison becoming obvious before it was finished, "Eireland has seemingly none of that. They have their own laws, from long before we came here, but they must be minimal and primitive because they kill and slaughter each other just as much they do Englishmen. Raids, attacks, they come from all directions. Your own tenants, sometimes."

Roger sniffed, twitching his nose. It was cold out here in the morning, with fog coming in and out from the ocean separating them from their homeland.

[Gandalfus]

Somerset squinted up at the sky. At least that seemed the same; the clouds and sun were still there, and it was still blue. Everything seemed... Smaller. More rural. This was a different world, he began to realise, silently taking everything in as he listened to the exchange between Mortimer and Pembroke. This was Ireland, a land without law, home to savages and barbarians that would likely kill the first Englishman, nay, the first man that they came across.

"So... This is your inheritance." From what Mortimer had told them, the Earldom of Ulster encompassed but a small strip of this primal kingdom, eaten away at by these clans for the last few decades. "Ten miles of land, and Carrickfergus castle, far to the north." A lord of nothing, you might say.

[Dirty Chai]

"Well, no," he corrected, perhaps he was being too dramatic..

Too dramatic? Heh. "It's larger around Carrickfergus, and the coasts down south are loyal. The Ards also obeys."

[Gandalfus]

"So, what now?" Asked Somerset, hand on the hilt of his sword. Unlike his half brother, he wasn't much of a warrior, but had brought a fair amount of soldiers here nonetheless. He figured the least Mortimer had in mind was to start kicking out the 'squatters', as he termed them, that had settled nearby.

[Dirty Chai]

"We'll make way to Downpatrick, where the bones of St Patrick, St Columba, and St. Bridgit are buried. We'll rest there for a night, at the fort. The rest of our men landing at Portaferry will go up north to Newtown (Newtownards)."

Roger gestured at a fellow standing on the cog, telling him to fetch their horses from the decks below.

"Then tomorrow, God willing, we will gather at Dundrum to the west, one of my castles."

The Earl of March looked at his two compatriots.

"You both came here with plenty of gens d'armes, so you have no illusions: I intend to fight the Magennis."

[Gandalfus]

"Magennis?" Beaufort's brow furrowed. Some clan, he assumed, but such odd names...

"How many of them are there? Do we know?" Somerset asked, with a new sense of urgency. He'd never seen war, as of yet.

[Lucius Malfoy]

Hasting was just lost as Beaufort was with these Irish surnames. Yet then the realization set in; Mortimer intended to show force. Possibly as a means to restore his own authority over Ulster and to gain further fame.

Magennis eh?

He could hardly begin to wonder what it meant and yet realized he didn't care.

Knowing the Irish, they will give us one hell of a fight...

John grimaced slightly. He had yet to experience war or fighting of any kind.

[Dirty Chai]

Mortimer clearly didn't know, but he seemed unconcerned about their strength or numbers.

"Perhaps a few hundred, at most. They live to the west mostly, their chiefdom being Iveagh."

Rather, he seemed perturbed by their mere presence. He intended to subjugate them or force them from the region.

"Somerset, Pembroke - you are my brothers by law and I will not put you in harms way, but the men you have brought are soldiers by trade. Can I count on them?"

[Gandalfus]

"I'd say so, or else they were a waste of good coin." There was a hint of relief in his voice, perhaps at not having to lead them into battle. There was nothing cowardly about not wanting to die, right?

"I bet they'll hear we have arrived, soon enough. There's been nobody civilised in these parts for decades, I'd wager." Beaufort wrinkled his nose, as if the very air offended him. ​"These Irish... How do they fight?"

Hopefully, not naked.

[Lucius Malfoy]

They may not be the soldiers of my father and grandfather, but you can count on my troops, Mortimer.

John speaks as he glances back at the ships that brought his men ashore. They weren't the caliber of those who fought alongside Edward III, but he bet they could contend with a bunch of savages.

I hear the Irish like screaming in their strange language and have war paint. Fight like wild brutes and madmen.

[Dirty Chai]

"They come in small raiding parties.." Roger parroted what he had been told by his castellan in Carrickfergus.

He paused, turning to see the first horse being led down the ramp - it was his, and he took the reins from the groom leading it down.

"Not as well armed as we are." Mortimer said, patting his horse's man, trying to simultaneously assuage both his comrades and his horse.

When the other two horses were led out onto the dock, the three would mount and again wait inside the village for their party to gather up. This took half an hour, but they had forty men or so mounted when they decided to depart the small port village for Downpatrick. Roger's knights reported that some three hundred horsemen in total would be on this side of the strait by midday and would follow their lords onto Downpatrick; the seven hundred or so footmen (mostly longbowmen) would be landing in Portaferry across the water and would march north to Newtown.

"Where did you hear this about .. eh.. 'war paint', Hastings?" The Earl of Ulster looked at one of the Johns on his flanks, quizzically, as they began to leave the village.

[Lucius Malfoy]

It was in a text that I read when I was tutored by a priest. He brought a number of chronicles on the history of the various realms of England.

John taps his chin slightly, reflecting on the history lessons done at that time.

It mentioned the invasion period of Ireland during the reign of King Henry II, then the campaign by Edward de Bruce.

John looks over at Somerset and Ulster.

The book mentioned loud bagpipes, war cries and frenzied men in war paint.

[Dirty Chai]

Mortimer seemed amused. "Did it mention cattle theft?"

He looked back forwards then, as they were now trotting down a pathway leading along the shore of the Lough to Downpatrick. "I think some part of this island must be seductive, for the families here who we consider to be English by virtue of name, descent, and loyalty.. are simply not. But they're not quite Irish, either."

They turned around a bend, passing by a ruined abbey without a roof. "They speak Engleis, but they speak it differently. Many of them go about wearing the same clothes as the clanfolk, and they're seemingly unfamiliar with the longbow. Clarence tried to cease this, by writing new statutes, to enforce how we define English and Irish, but it's not seemingly followed."

"Except in my presence, I suppose," he added with an exasperated tone, "And only if they have any respect for authority, which is rare."

[Lucius Malfoy]

Mortimer seemed amused. "Did it mention cattle theft?"

John sighs at the remark, shaking his head slightly.

Probably mentioned that almost every other page. This King wanted these cows, this Lord wanted those cows and so forth... probably could make a chronicle purely about that.

Lord Hasting then turned to see the smoke that Lord Mortimer pointed out. Yet before any word could be spoken, Roger urged his horse onward. John glances at Beaufort.

He seems eager, I will give him that.

Hasting then snaps the reins of his horse and trails behind Lord Mortimer.

[Gandalfus]

"Bah. This land addles people's brains, that is why. Who in their right mind would want to dress like those..." Somerset snorted. What was wrong with a jerkin? The gaels and their damned.. whatever it is that they wear.

[Dirty Chai]

The Earl of March raised a hand high above his head with a long arm, staring off into the horizon with a balked expression. Following his eyes, there was small hint of smoke beyond a tree line, far inland, like a small hair.

"Do mine eyes speak true of smoke on the horizon?"

"I see it, my lord," one cavalier behind him almost immediately chirped up, eagerly. He was followed by the whole column to the rear grunting and confirming. "We all see it, sir."

Roger Mortimer urged his horse forward a few strides and then turned it left once past the obstruction of his allies. His horse seemed unsettled all of a sudden, sensing what its rider intended. He looked at the crowd to his left now, glancing at different faces. "Where is that? Who can tell me where that is?"

After a moment a knight emerged from the column on the inland side, leaning in the saddle to reveal his face and waving hand. "That's probably de Mandeville's manor at Raholp." He spoke with an accent, likely that of a man who was "English" but had lived here all his life.

"Well, it was." Roger mused, looking off into the distance of the smoke.

"Come," he turned the horse and jammed his heels into its sides a couple of times, "We must respond."

The Earl of Ulster raced off, galloping some thirty feet at least before his entourage managed to match his speed.

[Dirty Chai]

[OOC: I'm gonna move this along but feel free to RP the in-between]

The viceroy of Ireland raced his cavalry down that same road, closing the gap between them and the smoke on the horizon slowly. It came closer to their left flank with each minute, and soon Roger was urging his horse to go faster, glancing at the smoke every other breath as if to make sure it was still there.

Eventually, the line of trees ceased and they rounded the small forest, and after some ten minutes likely of hard riding they could see the red hellfire of a burning estate. The Earl of Ulster turned off the road, turning on a hook almost, and forced his horse to leap through a hedge and thunder across uneven moorland.

They closed in on the farmstead after another ten minutes, Roger drawing his sword before slowing down just before the flaming structures, his black Arabian horse (one of the steeds the king had gifted him on his wedding night) having only mere broken a sweat.

"Surround the whole estate," he yelled back to their men-at-arms, trying to be heard over the crackling of the flames, which were conquering the whole manor. Some small clustered hamlets in between the fields in all directions were also marked by smaller flames rising to the sky. "Find survivors!"

He trotted his horse into the courtyard of the manor, feeling heat on both sides of him and halted just before the doors of the main house... The doors were blocked from the outside. The earl called over the closest men, including his two allied earls. "Get this open!" Roger ordered from his horse as it impatiently danced.

Within moments two and then three men were on their feet, hauling the door jam up and out of the way, freeing the doors to open..

[Gandalfus]

"Jesus Christ." The Earl blasphemed, kicking his horse into action as he and his men followed Mortimer towards the conflagration. Men rushed towards the door to try and hack it open with axes and blades. Beaufort used his hand to shield his eyes from the heat of the blaze as he watched from horseback, gripping the reins tightly so the horse wouldn't slip from his control, embers flicking up as a provocation.