>>30593176
...cont.
His men were by his side, but they were Hilderins, not mercenaries. When the duke ordered the knight to leave his land, Jerryl
refused, and quickly, things got out of hand. In the end, two of his subordinates had to wrestle him away while another did
his best to offer apologies to the duke. They left the castle within the hour, Jerryl's features distorted by hatred. After a few
miles, still burning with anger, he ordered a halt and, drawing his sword, killed one of the two men who had held him back.
He would have murdered the other as well had his opponent not been a seasoned warrior, and after a few blows, Jerryl was
forced to flee, chased by his own men.
The mists of the Western Swamps saved him; he eventually lost his pursuers. All of this took place eight years ago. Since then,
Jerryl has been determined to kill the old duke and take Aïnlis for himself. He had no difficulty finding allies among the rene-
gades hiding in the swamps. He has gathered several dozen men to whom he has taught the basics of tactics and fighting, and
now he uses them to commit acts of banditry. There are enough of them so that all together, with their spears and pikes,
they form an impressive group, so much so that they have been called “The Iron Reeds”, a name which they have adopted.
Actually, the members of the band are rarely all together. Jerryl and his followers hide in the poorest villages, buying
the complicity of their hosts with their loot, or sometimes in an old ruin. However, the fallen knight hopes that one day he will
have the necessary manpower to take the duke's castle. And then...
Bards are idiots, because love has nothing beautiful, great, or noble. Love is a poison, a poison that kills a little more each
day. And there is only one cure to it: satisfaction.