Fantasy A War of Kings

IC: Fleet Ashkey
The Ravenford, Four days before the wedding

“OH!”

The bop on the nose took him completely by surprise. It had been soft and almost tender. Fleet blushed and smiled as he looked up now at the Lady’s face.

“You’re sweet, Fleet. Sweet Fleet!” She laughed. “That’s what I’ll call you, from now on! Sweet Fleet, the finest squire Mirwyth has ever seen.”

He couldn’t help the big grin that blossomed on his face. In his heart, he knew himself to be far from ‘sweet’, however, who was he to argue with one so lovely as Lady Claryssa.

Still smiling, he slowly rose from his kneeling position, quite glad he would keep his hand after all.

“I’ll get the pies, my Sweet Fleet.” Her grace crossed her arms and strode towards the tower doors. “I’m the Lady of the Ravenford. What gives them the right to deny me an extra pie?”

Fleet found himself chuckling before speaking, a glint briefly shinning in his eyes.

“Aye! Who would dare?” He said, much like a personal ‘henchman’ would. Smoothly joining in the ‘game-play’. For a brief moment, he recalled the many imagined adventures he and some of the other orphans had pretended to go on.

He watched her greet the guards at the door, who silently complied with their duty to let the Lady through. Fleet stayed exactly where he was. He was all for fun, but he was no fool. He was a stranger in this place and he would not assume upon anyone’s hospitality. The marks on his back where constant reminders of ‘youthful assumptions’. Certain mistakes were simply not worth repeating.

Claryssa stepped inside the tower, then turned to wave at Fleet, indicating that he should follow.

“Come on, come on! They smell so good.”

His blue eyes were scanning the guards. He meant to determine their intentions by their posture, but the Lady’s voice had immediately attracted his attention.

‘Never keep a Lady waiting…’

These words he recalled from listening to so many stories while spying and stealing at the market. Of course, the situations referenced were patently different, but the advise was good.

“As you wish your grace!” He called out and moved with all due haste. He made sure to quickly slip past the guards, just in case they were planning something unkind. Once injured or dead, not even the good lady’s protestations could undo what had been done. He’d seen it with his own eyes. That’s why he had to take care for himself.

“After you your grace.” Fleet managed to say as he joined Claryssa. He offered a short bow and a smile.

The would-be-squire and the Lady of the Ravenford entered into the long hall with draping raven tapestries.

“Oh…….wow……”

Fleet’s head was swiveling all around like some unhinged wooden toy. These noble habitats were always stunning to someone like him who was not used to such…luxuries. The feathered black throne which came into view definitely impressed him.

“….gods old en nue…” He breathed out. He could easily imagine Lady Bristal sitting upon it. He could imagine no more magnificent a sight. Then something else caught his attention.

A sweet fleeting smell…..

“Your grace….” he said turning his head to meet the lovely lady’s green eyes. His mouth automatically watered out of its own will.

“ I…..I’ve never….smelled… anything….sweeter……”

Try as he might, he could not mask the look of surprise and delight that had come over his face. It also dawned on him that this was really what highborns were accustomed to, and he was about to get his first glimpse.

Ever.


Tag: @spycoder9

 

6 Days Before the Wedding

The Isles of Mirwyth​

Breezecroft​

Shoppes​

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​

​

“I need the coin,” Lord Moorecroft agreed, “But I also need the security. I need to protect my people from others who might rock the boat.”​

​

Moorecroft turned away.​

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“Look at them, Tuckman. Look at what I am protecting.”​

​

Two boys weaved between horses and people. One tackled the other, and the two rolled in the dirt laughing and hitting each other. ​

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A lady and her husband held each other’s hands as they stepped into a shop together. The husband broke away, but only to hold the door open for her. ​

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An elderly man sold rotted fruit from his cart. When a guard bought a bruised pear with a silver coin, the man seemed shocked. He bowed before the guard, who chuckled and helped him up.​

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A gaggle of sailors came up from the harbors. They traded jokes and laughter. The elderly man, in honor of the guard’s kindness, gave each of the sailors a piece of fruit for no charge.​

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“They are a good people, for the most part. But the bad apples threaten to spoil the bunch. Why not throw out a few bad, to keep those that remain ripe and plump?”​

TAG: Mitth_Fisto

 

OOC: A prize for Grey, for having such a quick reply!


4 Days Before the Wedding

The Capital of Mirwyth​

The Ravenford​

Great Hall​

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​

"I told you!" Claryssa led him down the hall. Their footsteps made echoes in the empty room. "You'll love them, I know you will."​

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She approached a side-passage to the left of the feathered seat. "The kitchens are right down here. . ." She peered down one of the stone black passageways. The little lady snatched a torch off the wall and walked with it.​

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With her other hand, she reached out and took Fleet's.​

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"I'll lead the way, Sweet Fleet."​

---

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​

Kitchens​

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The aroma grew heavenly as they approached a bright, open area. It had taken several turns in the passages, but Claryssa had found her way easy enough.​

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"There's Aimee," She gestured to a skinny girl with flour all over her hands and cheeks. "She always fixes ten pies at least. Three she leaves out to serve to me, my uncle, and our guest for the evening. The others she takes the guards and soldiers at their supper." ​

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Claryssa gave Fleet's hand a final squeeze before letting go. ​

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"She'll turn to the oven when she finishes this one, but I need the others distracted as well." She gazed into Fleet's eyes. "Could you. . .distract them? You could ask for a treat! They might even give you one, considering you're so sweet."​

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TAG: greyjedi125

 

"Lor" - Lorain Ashkey - The Roost
4 Days Before the Wedding


Lorain stayed quiet for the most part, saying nothing as she let the 'nobles' speak among themselves. She was thinking about when they would eventually catch up to the pirates. IF, they managed that fact. Caliban was far too loud. He talked big enough, but he seemed to have no experience. And definitely no tact. So Lorain stayed quiet and observed things. Like how the large man Artos simply nodded and tapped the rim of his goblet absentmindedly. Didnt look like he was much into a feast himself. Did he not agree with the little lady. Most likely not. But Lorain felt as if something else was going on, even if she had no idea what. While she trusted the 'lady', Lorain could not feel the same of this man. Lorain looked at the man, when he spoke up. “I want to hope that you’ll defeat these bastards.” Artos nodded. “I do. But you haven’t seen how they truly are, Ser Caliban. They have the blood-lust about them. I wouldn’t take them lightly. These aren’t your everyday foreigners.”

Of that, Lorain could agree. She saw how they had slaughtered people. And she imagined what he did with those he could not 'use'. Artos and Caliban exchanged some more words, and the thin smile he gave Caliban made the hair on her neck stand on end. So many false words. She was jarred out of her own musings, when she recognized that she was being spoken to by Artos. She looked up over her glass at the man.

“Now, tell me Lorain, you mentioned your father was a blacksmith. Where do you come from?” The look in the man's eyes was something she had seen many times before. It a mix of curiosity and shock. But Lorain knew she could not afford to be too truthful. She had her remaining family members to protect. She would not endanger them. Lorain shrugged her shoulders, as her face remained calm. "It maters not. My Da is dead, and most likely by the times I make it back, his clients will 'ave left." Lorain gave a sigh. "But I lay claim to the northern spires of de deserts edge. My Da used to say where mountains met de desert waters. Dat's why I grew the way I did." Lorain gave a dry chuckle with no humor, and a deadpan stare at the man. "But, while I may be only guild born.. we keeps our promises. Our words be our bond, both in trade and other." Lorain leaned back, her eyes keen upon Artos as she pushed her glass away from her. She was glad she wore lose robes, for he could not see how her arms flexed beneath them. She hoped that Fleet at least was enjoying himself with the young lady. If she had to listen to Caliban's braying anymore, she was going to choke the man herself. But as long as Artos kept to his lady's word, she would be happy. But she would be happier still, when they left this place. She was sure it was wrong to be here. That if these people had noticed their rather large group moving into the area, so could others. And if the little lady's words were true, it would be bad indeed for many, if they were to be found here.




TAG: spycoder9, (@greyjed125)

 

OOC: Combined with spycoder and Trieste.

IC: Safia Rolmar
The Mountains of Mirwyth
Shodaire, the Tower of Stone
Dining Hall—the night before her wedding

Lawrence stopped with the end of the music, his head turning as Desmond made his proclamation about the next stage of the evening. He kept one of Safia's hands in his own. "Gifts before the wedding? And here I thought your father was going to hold them ransom to make sure that I actually married you tomorrow," Lawrence said to his bride-to-be, "Now I can just abscond in the night with them all." He winked.

Safia shook her head, chuckling lightly. "And how might you explain to your sister why you came home with all the gifts and no bride, I wonder?" she retorted playfully. "I can't imagine that Ginnifer would approve."

"I think it would depend on the gifts," Lawrence said wryly.

Her eyes narrowed in feigned suspicion. "I seem to be getting the short end of the stick in this fantasy of yours," she noted. "Perhaps I should persuade one of my brothers to stand guard outside your door tonight to make sure this little scheme does not succeed."

"I believe that's standard wedding ritual, isn't it?" Lawrence said. Taking Safia by the hand, he began moving with her to the front of the room where the presentation of the presents (Or is that just a presentation? Lawrence thought) would take place.

After the bride and groom had been seated on the dais, above the many gifts, the first of many came forward. Little Camaron Hadlex brought forward a book. "It's A History of the Mountain Houses, for Ser Lawrence." He handed the gift up to the knight. "I thought it might help you get to know some of us better."

Though the boy-lord's words were meant for her betrothed,Safia still gave Camaron an appreciative smile. It was a practical gift, one that would likely come in handy.

Lawrence leaned forward to accept the book. "A thoughtful gift," he said, "though I think all of you would have been served better if we'd set custom aside and I'd received this when I first arrived so that I might have been able to greet all of you by name. And where would I find you, my lord, in this book?"

"House Hadlex, ser." The little lord smiled. "The House of many stars, if you look at sigils."

Lawrence flipped to the table of contents before letting further pages turn. He read out, "House Hadlex. Progenitor, Amos Moses Hadlex, victor of the Battle of Thonaram. Bannermen pledged to House Rolmar--wisely so," Lawrence interjected, editorializing, "House Hadlex has held a strategic mountain pass in the great north-south passage of the Mountains. This pass has been assaulted many times, but never taken." Lawrence paused. "Remind me not to anger you, Lord Camaron or I might not get home." Lawrence resumed. "House Hadlex takes particular pride in its companies of archers and their training in precision. This force is what renders the Hadlex's pass nearly impenetrable." Lawrence looked up. "And how are your archery skills, young Camaron?"

"Great, ser," The boy was beaming. "My father taught me everything I know, before he died. One time he killed two stags with one shot."

"Let us hope that House Hadlex will not need to draw upon your skills quite yet," Lawrence said, "Thank you very much for this gift. I intend to make a good study of it so that one day I may return and impress you all with it."

It was time for the next gift.

Caetherene Gideon stepped forward with her cousin, the lord Hlaine, in tow. Between the two of them, they carried six silky shawls. Those from Caetherene were the bright gold of House Rolmar, while Lord Gideon held three bright orange ones. "M'lady Safia," Caetherene said as she laid them before the princess, "House Gideon gives you these in hopes of shielding your lily white skin from as many sun rays as possible."

"We had contacts in the Desert make these just for you, my princess." Lord Hlaine smiled crookedly. "I do hope you enjoy them, and think of us when they're of use."

Safia smiled gratefully. "They are lovely," she said, picking up one of the shawls and running her hand over it, feeling the fine fabric run against her fingers. "I daresay they will be of very good use," she added, recalling Lawrence's humorous remark some days earlier about getting her a hat.

"Who are your contacts, if I may ask? If I get the chance, perhaps I will be able to thank them in person when we return to the Desert."

"Seamstresses in Arqada," Lord Gideon replied. "I know none of their names, but they worked especially hard on these."

"My lady, your gift is very kind, and you do me great honor by patronizing the Desert for these cloths," Lawrence said, "Besides, I and others shall have the benefit of seeing the Princess wrapped in them. It is truly a gift that will be enjoyed by many."

Safia gave Caetherene and Baron Hlaine another smile. "Thank you both," she said.

TAG: None (TBC)

 

Leiliana Caine
Mountain Villiage, Centre
18 Days Before the Wedding...

​

It puzzled Leiliana that he'd respond negatively to her compliment of his own kin. All around people seemed to be turning in for the night, but the hearth fires being put out and being doors barred brought a small feeling of unease to her. Perhaps wolves would roam the streets at night and they all just wanted to be safe...​

​

Sierida giggled, bringing her back to the present conversation, “Might as well come home with us,” the chief called to Leiliana. “I’ve gotta few questions for ye, same as I do for all the visitors.”​

​

It sounded reasonable to her, denying hospitality was something she would think to be considered quite rude in the outside world. "That sounds lovely," she said a bit apprehensively, his demeanor made her nervous. Sierida's smile warmed her heart and put her at ease, "You'll like our home," she said sweetly, "Won't she Papa?"​

​

He grunted in agreement, which put her back into a nervous mood. "I'm sure I will, your villiage is quite lovely as it is," Leiliana said, smiling back at her.​

TAGS: spycoder9

 

The following is spycoder9 approved!

IC: Elric Cliffe, The Isles of Mirwyth
Iron Crag, Dining Hall

"Do your business. There's to be a ship here soon, from Breezecroft. We have food, they need it. There'll be an exchange of. . .goods when the ship arrives. It'd be good if you were on it when it departs."

Elric raised an eyebrow at the notion of sneaking aboard the ship from Breezecroft, it would certainly be an interesting venture and one he had accomplished plenty of times in the past. The more exciting notion was that he was to ‘do his business’. That wasn’t just sneaking, no, his business was turmoil, finding out a person’s weakness and using it against them, causing chaos to further his own agenda, and his business was fun.

"You're a bastard, but you can still prove your worth.Don't fail me."

Elric sat his spoon onto the table and stood with a devilish grin on his face, “Oh, I won’t fail you father. Have faith in that above all else, I don’t fail at my livelihood,” he gave an unsettling laugh as turned to leave, “Now, if I may, I have some matters that need attending.” Elric made his way out of the dining area without waiting for his father’s response. It didn’t matter, he didn’t matter, all that mattered was finding a way to celebrate this turn of events. Finally, after so long of being cooped up in the Crag with only prisoners to torture he’d be back on the sea and heading out into the world to cause the chaos he so craved. All in the name of house Horn, of course.

Today, though, today was special. Today called for a flaying. Not the entire body, but sections of it to be sure. And Elric knew exactly who would receive this wonderful gift of pain. The Lark boy. A smile that would give pause to the most hardened of men crept upon Elric’s face at the mere thought of what was to come. With apparent joy he began to make his way to the dungeons while nearly skipping with sadistic glee.

Maybe because he wasn’t looking due to his earnest drive to the dungeon, maybe she was the one who wasn’t looking, but for whatever reason as Elric was rounding a corner of the hall he ran straight into the poor maid from the dinner. The one his father had so tormented. Her face was slightly red and swollen as if she had been crying, which wasn’t surprising considering the treatment she had received. As she fell to the ground she cowered in fear, “Please, Mr. Cliffe, sir, I apologize. I wasn’t watching where I was going, I meant nothing by it…”

Elric sighed and reached his hand out to the poor girl, never one to get particularly angry with loyal servants, or torture them as his father did so happily. “Come, stand up now, no need to cower on the floor. I was the one at fault,” he comforted as he grabbed her hand and pulled her back to her feet. “There you go, good as new.” He was many things but, to those who did not deserve nor warrant his scorn, Elric did not treat people unkind. A quirk of his psychosis maybe, but he could be a monster to those he hated and a complete gentleman to others. And, while this was an interruption to the joys of sadism he had in store, this woman had done nothing wrong and deserved no punishment.

“Thank you, sir. You show me a great kindness,” she continued to try and appease him with groveling.

Elric frowned, this girl must be rather new here to not know how Elric treated the servants of the Crag. Most of the servants were who truly raised him. All manner of human decency Elric had in his body was instilled by the servants of the Crag, not his father and certainly not the prisoners. “Hush, girl, you and I are one in the same as far as I’m concerned. I may eat at the same table as my father but he respects me no more than he does you,” As he finished he noticed the girl had started to cry once again and he reached out his thumb and gently wiped it away, “Come now, no more of that.”

The girl stifled some more tears as she looked into his eyes, “I’m sorry, I’m just not used to someone being so kind to me. I…I’m new to the gaol and I’ve received nothing but harsh training and harsher words from Lord Horn.”

Elric gave a reassuring grin, “I figured as much. I was raised by the servants here. They’re more family to me than my father. The only blood I’ve ever felt familial attachment to was my sister. But she’s…she’s gone,” As he trailed off he lowered his head and the maid took this moment of weakness to push her head towards his and embraced Elric in a deep kiss.

Was it stress relief on the maid’s part? Relief at not being punished or scorned? Had Elric’s kindness and emotion at losing his sister won the girl over? Or did she simply think this was a way of showing gratitude to the, apparently, one person to be kind to her since she arrived at the gaol? Whatever, her reasoning, Elric had found something that might be just as fulfilling a celebration as flaying the shoulders of the Lark boy. With lustful passion, the two consumed each other as they found a small storage room that the maids used to house cleaning supplies. They knocked the mops and wooden buckets around as they entered the space and she pulled away from Elric. With a smile on her face barely visible in the light of the single candle illuminating the room, she removed her dress revealing her body to Elric who…narrowed his eyes as he noticed the girl’s stomach. A birthmark he had seen plenty of times growing up. Then he noticed the shape of her eyes and the angle of the maid’s jaw.

The woman moved to embrace Elric and remove his shirt but he put an arm between her and him. “Before we continue, dear, may I ask your family name?”

The girl was confused but answered still, “I don’t have a family name. My mother said my father was a lord, but I never knew him. I suppose I’d be a Cliffe if I’d been claimed.”

Elric’s face grew dark. Once again…once again he had done it. Another woman out in the Isles and another child. This time, because she was of no use he just dumped her to his servants and torments her. Anger welled up in Elric’s throat. “I’m sorry, dear, I can’t continue.”

“But.”

“I CAN’T,” he screamed before catching himself and pushing past her, “continue,” he finished as he rushed out of that room with its disgusting implications and the girl who had done nothing wrong who was now sobbing once again. He couldn’t tell her though, couldn’t tell her that the birthmark was the exact same as his sister’s, the one carried by all Horn women, that the Lord who had threatened to imprison her was her very father who refused to even claim her. He couldn’t tell her that they had almost done the unthinkable. And anger continued to well up inside of him. The rage was upon him and as his anger at his father reached a crescendo, Elric found himself at the entrance to the dungeons. The last thing Elric remembered that night was a blood curdling scream and the smell of iron.


The next morning Elric awoke groggily, his hand and legs sticking to the floor. The floor? Why was he on the floor? Slowly he opened his eyes looking at the resistance he was receiving, only to see that his entire body was covered in dried blood. But this wasn’t his own blood, no, this much blood loss would surely prove fatal. Slowly realization dawned on him. He was in the cell with the Lark boy. He followed the puddle of dried blood over to the corpse of the prisoner. Completely flayed, disemboweled, and quartered, the four parts of the body were no longer shackled in place but strewn about the room as if Elric had thrown the down himself. In his blind rage he had tortured the man to near death and then executed him. Elric sighed, he didn’t even have the pleasure of remembering the torture.Silently cursing his father for ruining his night, Elric stepped out into the hallway, his bloody feet sticking to the ground the entire way.


TAG: spycoder9

 

4 Days Before the Wedding

The Capital of Mirwyth​

The Ravenford​

The Roost​

​

​

​

“I’ve always loved blacksmiths.” Artos’s smile seem a bit more genuine this time than it had been before. “My brother was one, before black throat came through. He died before even Mari.” Artos realized they wouldn’t know the name and explained, “Claryssa’s mother.”​

​

“I heard about her.” Ser Caliban nodded. “I didn’t know all of the stories… but from what I’ve heard, she was a gentle woman.”​

​

“She was.” Artos nodded. “She was gentle, and kind, and unfortunate enough to have married Claerence. She didn’t deserve her beheading, no more than little Artos did…” He downed another sip of his glass. “She named him after me, and after our father. She… she was a good woman.”​

​

He shook his head.​

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“And what revenge is there left? Fenton dead, and-“​

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“Reynard’s dead?” Had Ser Caliban’s mouth not been full of food, it would’ve surely dropped open.​

​

“Disappeared at a parade.” The castellan looked from each of them, recognizing the shock. “None of you knew?” Ser Caliban shook his head, setting his fork down beside his plate. “Certainly changes the landscape, doesn’t it?”​

​

“It does…” Ser Caliban looked into the fire. “With Fenton gone, defeating these pirates should be no much more than child’s play.”​

​

“Ah, but I hear the son has less pity for the Desert than the father.” Artos met Ser Caliban’s eyes. “The Kildares especially. Why, it was your own cousin that signed away Matheus’s betrothed."​

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“He’s angry because of a wedding?”​

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“No,” Artos finished off his glass. “He’s angry because of a betrayal.”​

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TAG: Ktala

​

 

OOC: Combined with spycoder9

IC: Evaleene Davers
The Great Continent, Across the Sea
Daversport, Castle Daverston
Training yard—two weeks after the wedding

Most of the other men in the yard had stopped their own practice to watch. Evaleene paid them no mind; she was in battle mode, and when she got herself far enough into that mindset, nothing else existed. Evaleene loved the thrill of a good fight; the rush she got out of it was like a drug. It was actually even a little dangerous if she got too into it, at least in training situations like this. She had to constantly keep reminding herself that this was just a practice session, not a real battle, and the man she faced was a friend, and no threat to her.

He was bigger than her, wielding a sword, while Evaleene used a spear to jab at him when she wasn’t blocking his blows. He had already managed to knock her shield out of her hand, and as he brought down another heavy blow, the princess used the long shaft of the spear to catch the blow—she was surprised that the force of the blow didn’t break the spear in half—and pushed her opponent back, briefly throwing him off balance. Using his brief disorientation to her advantage, Evaleene spun and kicked him in the gut, knocking him flat on his back and sending the sword flying from his grip. Before he had a chance to recover, she was crouched above him, the point of the spear at his throat.

“I yield!” he shouted immediately, bringing Evaleene back to the here-and-now. She dropped the spear and straightened, offering him a hand to help her comrade to his feet.

“That was a good bout, Othar,” she said with a smile.

“Aye, but I’ll be feelin’ it in the morning,” he jested. “In front and back.” He gingerly rubbed his backside with one hand while the other massaged his stomach where she’d kicked him.

“Oh, poor baby,” Evaleene teased. “Maybe I’ll just have to come check on you this evening…” Something in her tone, however, suggested she’d like to do more than just check on him. She’d had one or two other lovers before Othar, but unlike the ones before him, he seemed to understand that what they had was a strictly physical relationship. She liked Othar; he was a good friend and a good ally—and certainly quite a bit of fun under the covers—but Evaleene wasn’t a romantic sort. She wasn’t looking for any kind of deep emotional connection with him, and neither was he.

“Maybe you should,” he replied, cocking an eyebrow at her as a mischievous grin played across his face.

Before she could retort, a different voice called out, “Princess Evaleene!”

Slightly annoyed at the interruption, Evaleene whirled on its source, one of the servants. “Yes?” There was a very obvious tone of impatience in her voice.

Slightly taken aback by her tone, it took the servant a few seconds to recover and reply. “Yer—yer father wants te see ya in his study.”

At that, Evaleene calmed down a little, but at the same time she wondered, what could Father want?

“Thank you,” she said, raking her fingers through her coppery hair to push it out of her face. “I’ll go straight away.” Briefly turning back to Othar, her smile returned. “I’ll get back to you about tonight,” she told him wryly, before heading up the stairs and into the castle.

After several minutes of winding through corridors and climbing stairs, she arrived at her father’s study and went right inside, not bothering to knock.

Her father and mother, Isen and Cressida Davers, were within. Evaleene didn’t waste time on pleasantries and greetings, instead getting right down to business. “You summoned me, Father?”

He glanced up from the table he had been bowed over, piercing her with his bright eyes. Her mother stood by his side with her hand resting on his shoulder fondly. “Evaleene,” Her mother scolded, “I know you have no manners, but the least you could do is knock-“

Her father held his hand up. “It’s all right, Cressa.” Her mother’s disapproval showed on her face, but she stayed silent. “I trust you had a good spar?”

Evaleene spared enough attention to her mother's chiding to roll her eyes, though she did take some exception to the comment that she had no manners--she had manners, she simply chose not to use them unless it was worth her while. They were her parents, not visiting nobles from the mainland. She loved her parents and she did respect them, but she saw no reason to waste time putting on airs for them.

"I did," she said in answer to her father's query. "Gave Othar a few new bruises to repay him for the ones he gave me last time." She did not mention that “last time” did not refer to a sparring session. She didn't care whether or not her mother and father knew that she was fooling around with Othar, but she wasn't about to open the subject for discussion, either.

Plopping down into a chair across the table from her parents, she began to remove the gauntlets from her wrists as she tried again to get her father to explain the purpose of her presence here. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

Glancing up at her mother, he sighed. "I've signed your betrothal."

TAG: None (TBC)

 

18 Days Before the Wedding

The Mountains of Mirwyth​

Mountain Village​

Mayor’s House ​

​

​

“I haven’t seen too many of your folk…”​

​

Oskell, after having given Leiliana his name and did all the common courtesies, had sat Leiliana down in a room open to the sky above. There was a fire in the middle of it, and the smoke coiled and rose out the top. Seated around the fire were an assortment of people. Some old, some young. Oskell went down the rows telling her their names, but it didn’t seem the names mattered much. It was their positions that gave them their power. ​

​

“And the few I have, they’ve all been men.” Oskell regarded her still with those intensely wary eyes. “The Council of Elders and I’re both curious as to how you managed to get involved there.”​

​

“She's a pretty 'en, too,” One wrinkled woman said. She was the oldest of the group, with shrewd eyes peering out from beneath her woven shawl. “Them ol’ men didn’t touch ye, did they child?”​

​

A few of the members seemed uncomfortable with the woman’s direct questioning, especially a few of the younger ones, but they seemed accustomed enough to it that they didn’t question it. ​

​

“I know how them men can be…” The old woman shook her head. “Hadn’t had their needs filled in years… It’d be a shame fer a pretty girl like you to be defiled by them.” She stared hard at her, with those deep, almost inhuman eyes. They seemed so full of a hidden wisdom, as if they already knew Leiliana’s answer, and Leiliana’s past, and her parent’s past, and the entire Mirwyth’s before it. “Speak freely, girl.”​

TAG: Heavy Isotope

 

"Lor" - Lorain Ashkey - The Roost
4 Days Before the Wedding


“I’ve always loved blacksmiths.” Artos’s replied, and Lorain noticed that his smile seem a bit more genuine this time than it had been before. She gave the man a slow nod. “My brother was one, before black throat came through. He died before even Mari.” Artos realized they wouldn’t know the name and explained, “Claryssa’s mother.”

Black throat? She was young then, but she remembered it. It was a nasty disease, and it had claimed many a life. Her Da had told her it had hit the large cities pretty bad, but even it their small community, it had done damage. Well, at least now the large man seemed pretty relaxed now.

Ser Caliban and Artos discussed the family some more, and Lorain tuned out a bit, keeping an eye out for Fleet. That was, until the man's next comment....

“And what revenge is there left? Fenton dead, and-“

“Reynard’s dead?” Ser Caliban’s nearly choked on his food. Lorain did a double take. She had no idea what the squire did, so shocked was she at this news. “Disappeared at a parade.” The castellan looked from each of them, recognizing the shock. “None of you knew?” Ser Caliban shook his head, setting his fork down beside his plate. “Certainly changes the landscape, doesn’t it?”

“It does…” Ser Caliban looked into the fire. “With Fenton gone, defeating these pirates should be no much more than child’s play.”

Why did he come to THAT conclusion? Lorain wondered. These pirates killed. Wether they worked for Fenton or another, that would not suddenly turn them into toothless pups. Artos gave another reason for worry. “Ah, but I hear the son has less pity for the Desert than the father.” Artos met Ser Caliban’s eyes. “The Kildares especially. Why, it was your own cousin that signed away Matheus’s betrothed."

“He’s angry because of a wedding?” Ser Caliban asked? “No,” Artos finished off his glass. “He’s angry because of a betrayal.”

Lorain let the look of confusion play across her face. She had no idea of the inner workings of royalty. She had no idea of what wedding they spoke of, but she did catch two things. One was that the Kildare's had an enemy. And it seemed to have something to do with the house of the crazy king. And his son might even be more crazier than the father. Oh joy. This could be bad news. Lorain looked over at Artos.

"I thought ya say he's dead. Then ya say he disappeared at a parade. They did not find anything of em, if ya dont mind me asking?" she asked softly. How do you lose a body at a parade? she wondered. Another bad thought. If the man was presumed dead..then they might decide it was murder. So that would make traveling to the harbor even more difficult. Lorain tuned to look over at Ser Caliban. "If de think Fenton is dead, then they most likely ta blame it on murder. So anyone not from here will be looking guilty." Lorain shook her head. "And here we are stomping around in da forest. Dey most likely be looking for a person to blame. More patrols and such." Lorain's face grew dark. "An if Reynard was fending dem pirates, like dem knights I met, den we might have more enemies than ya thinks."

Lorain stared back at her glass once more. She didnt understand why a wedding would cause trouble. But she could imagine, what might happen, if a large armed group was caught in the area, where its new ruler, already had a grudge against them. Lorain flexed, feeling her muscles grow stiff. She wished she was home, at her forge.

"Aye, what I woudlnt give for tram an anvil..." she muttered softly, feeling a headache quickly coming on.




TAG: spycoder9, greyjedi125

 

IC: Fleet Ashkey
The Ravenford, Four days before the wedding

He followed her from the Great Hall and through the side-passage left of the feathered seat. He knew not where they were going, but that didn’t seem to matter. He felt he could trust her. More than that, she made him feel happy in a way he had not known it was possible…not until now. He could not stop smiling and she made him feel as if he was floating. As if he was in a dream.

Lady Claryssa snatched the torch almost with outré looking, so familiar and practiced were her movements. Fleet could only imagine she’d been here countless of times.

“I’ll lead the way, Sweet Fleet.” she’d intone as she reached out and took his hand.

Fleet’s smile widened as he held her soft hand, wishing she would never let go. He could feel his hear beating against his tunic, the blood rushing to his face, the light headed feeling.

This was magic.

Enchanted. He followed her, because everything was right in the world.

The two of them took several turns through the passages and the sweet aroma of apple pies grew more enticing with every step. Fleet found himself craving taste delicacies as well, finally understanding Claryssa’s earnestness.

“There’s Aimee!” Claryssa exclaimed excitedly as she gestured to a skinny girl with her hands and cheeks covered in flour. “She always fixes ten pies at least.”

Fleet listened, but his smiled waned momentarily. The girl making the pies was ‘skinny’. Rarely did he find anyone who worked in the kitchen to be ‘skinny’ and whenever it was so, it was due to harsh conditions of servitude. Was this true about Aimee? That couldn’t be true. Claryssa was the Lady of the Ravenford, and she too was sweet as apple pie.

Wasn’t she?

Claryssa gave Fleet’s hand a final squeeze, bringing him back to reality as she let it go. He smiled at her reassuringly, though it was mostly to reassure himself.

“She’ll turn to the oven when she finishes this one, but I’ll need the others distracted as well.”

So, the Lady knew the routine quite well it would seem. She would have made an excellent thief…all things considered.

At that moment, Claryssa gazed into Fleet’s blue eyes. She might as well have cast an enchantment of mesmerism.

“Could you…distract them?”

She could have asked him to leap off a cliff and into the river below. He would have been hard pressed to deny her.

“You could ask for a treat! They might even give you one, considering you’re so sweet.”

Fleet laughed. It was a kind sound he was not used to hearing often, but it felt good just the same.

“A’right yur grace. I’ll do it.” He conceded. Why couldn’t he stop smiling at her?

Taking a breath, Fleet readied himself mentally. He straightened his clothes and his posture, looked over to Lady Claryssa with a grin, then straightened again. He was about to get into character now. This would be fun indeed. Too bad Mum wasn’t here to see his performance. He certainly hoped Aimee wouldn’t get into trouble, especially if Claryssa was ‘known’ to pull these sort of pranks often enough.

First he listened, then looked to see where the others were located here in the kitchen. He saw some figures at a table, so he decided to start there. He couldn’t quite make out their conversation from here. It was always good to listen in on such talk now and again.

*Ready* He mouthed to Claryssa, then he was off as he sintered towards the occupied table.

Slowly, he approached, confident. When he spoke his tone was relaxed and amicable.

“Pardon me, I seem to have lost my way.” He intoned to those gathered.

“I wus supposed to meet someone, but my nose lead my feet here, to all this wonderful cooking…” Fleet gave the gathered a smile and a short bow.

“But now I’ve gone and lost my lucky stone. Perhaps you’ve seen it?”

On his face he wore an expression which was both hopeful and crestfallen. Perhaps the good people in the kitchens would help him look for his missing stone, or attempt to comfort him for his loss, or give him directions. Either option would certainly be enough to distract them and give Lady Claryssa enough time to do as she wished.

In the back of his mind, Fleet certainly hoped that his ‘survivalist’ side would be quiet and stopped going on about how he was being tricked, or how he’d already learned this lesson long ago.

Except, none of his betrayers had been as lovely as Claryssa.


Tag: @spycoder9, (@Ktala)

 

OCC: Part 2 of combined post with spy


IC: Gwenn Cliffe
Halls, Delmaristead


"Gwenn! Come, sit," Nathaniel gestured with his hand to the seat immediately beside him. As he helped her into her chair, Gwenn could feel the many eyes of the other guests upon her.

"Who is this delightful creature?" A voice from further along the dais inquired. Turning her head, Gwenn noted the dark skinned man that sat a few seats away, who was nibbling at a piece of cheese that he had skewered on the end of the knife he held. Delightful? She had never heard that word used to describe her before. The former dock worker was still not used to receiving such compliments.

"My natural daughter, Gwenn Cliffe," She heard her father reply from next to her, the island king giving her hand a brief supportive squeeze before letting it go. So he was not afraid to admit to her being “natural", a word easier on the ear than “baseborn” or “bastard”. From the seat next to her, a woman who would only be described as dripping in jewels met her eyes "You look radiant," She complimented, before laying a hand covered in ornate and sparkling rings upon her arm. The weight of the jewelry she wore seemed to transfer through her touch which felt heavy. "I'll have to make you a jewel, to match those eyes of yours."

“Um…” Gwenn cleared her throat, not sure how to respond. This entire situation was so strange to her. She didn’t know much about the etiquette surrounding lords and ladies. Should she accept the woman’s generous token or risk offending her by declining? Would her refusal reflect badly on Nathaniel? She felt the heat rising in her cheeks unbidden and inwardly cursed. “Say something!” Drawing in a quiet breath, she quickly gave the pair a small respectful nod, finally finding her voice again “…Thank yeh, Yer really are too kind Milady, Milord."

“I’ve never been called kind before,” The man gave a charmed laugh as he took another swallow. “Truthful, but not kind.”

“I am Myla, my sweet, of the Southernmost Isle. A wild place, if we’re being honest.” The bedazzled woman took a sip from her goblet, which was as golden as her rings. “Had my efficiency for finding the coin not been as it was, I might have lived the rest of my life in that jungle, sold off to any of the various tribes. Your gracious father gave me the escape I needed.”

“You give me too much credit,” The King waved a server over as he spoke. “You would’ve swam from there if you could have.”

“I was determined, I will admit.” She grinned.

“More like stubborn.” And though Nathaniel smiled, it was a ghost of humor. His eyes shown through it.

Gwenn listened to back and forth between the noble lady Myla and her father. It seemed that Nathaniel had liberated her in some way during his sailing days. She didn't know a lot about the southernmost isle, only bits and pieces she had picked up in passing conversation. The general consensus was that it was hot. Very hot. Before the threat of the war, she recalled colorful exotic looking fruits and interesting handmade crafts being brought in on trading galleys on occasion, said to have come from the jungles. Lady Myla spoke up once more, and her words took Gwenn by surprise.

“I would be delighted if you could meet my daughters, Gwenn. I have two of them, albeit a little younger than you. Had their father of been as entertaining as they are, he might’ve stuck around longer than he did. Always interested in the sea, the old fool.” The plump woman finished with a laugh. Gwenn blinked but managed to keep the surprise from showing on her face. Lady Myla wanted her to meet her daughters? Why? It felt like a strange request to ask of someone that the noble lady had only just met. A server approached and filled a goblet beside her with some cool water. Gwenn reached out and took a quick gulp. At the risk of another awkward silence forming, she forced down the uncomfortable feeling welling up within her and turned back the jewelled woman.

"Yer husban' is a sailor, Milady?" Gwenn inquired as she cradled the cup between her hands "Is he sailin' wi' the grand fleet?"

"He did, before he attempted to sail beyond the northern mountains." Lady Myla waved a hand. "It has been ten years since I've seen the oaf."

"I heard he just wanted ta get away from you," A bald man from farther down the dais shouted.

"I've heard the same of your mother." Myla hid her smug grin behind her goblet. The bald man, chuckling, returned to his meal. "If you stay long enough Gwenn, you'll learn some retorts of your own."

Gwenn listened as Lady Myla shot down another man on the dias with a sharp retort. It seemed the bejewelled lady did not suffer fools gladly, and was more than capable when it came to defending herself. ‘Sometimes words can cut deeper than steel,’ Gwenn thought to herself as she silently watched the exchange.

Servers had started to lay out food upon the tables now, a mix of different foods and options for the diners to choose from. There were only three seats left empty on the dais, with the others being slowly covered with an array of options. Soups filled with mushrooms and buttered snails. Trout coated in crushed almonds. Freshly cooked peppercrab stew. Crabs boiled in a fiery spice. Gwenn wasn’t used to seeing so much food at one time, but the king was hosting many guests. She had to admit, she was feeling quite hungry and the scent of the food made a growl rumble low in her stomach. A server placed a large spoonful of tiny cooked fish on the plate in front of her. Her father was already sampling his own serving.

"Try some, Raven loved them," He urged as Gwenn looked down at her plate. Picking up one of the crisp fish in her fingers, she took a tentative bite, chewing the morsel slowly. The pepper seasoning was spicy on her tongue, but they were tasty and Gwenn was grateful for something to eat. She picked up another.

“Thank yeh” She said quietly to the server before they moved on to attend to the others in the hall. Her grey eyes scanned the hall, silently watching the others gathered there. Some were merry from their cups, some laughed at jokes unheard, some were engaged in deep conversation. Women gossiped and pointed, giggling occasionally. Despite her best efforts, a small frown creased the bastard woman’s brow.

"There is no war here..."

TAG: None (tbc)

 

8 Days After the Wedding

The Desert of Mirwyth​

The Fair Groves​

Kalkheim​

​

​

​

Another day, another message. ​

​

This one came by way of a rider. His beard hung shaggy and black from his chin, while two dark eyes peered from the folds of wrinkles. He requested admittance to see the Lady, bringing forth a seal of House Rolmar to gain him a special audience. ​

​

Once they had been settled into a room – albeit, wary guards were posted at the door – the burly man spoke.​

​

“The king sent me.” He remembered the lay of land now, and finished, “King Desmond, a'course.​

​

“Well, act’lly, Ser Lawrence sent me.” The man smiled a toothy grin. It was warm and open. “He said he’d be hurr tomorrow… except, tomorrow’s today… he sent me last night.” The large man chuckled. “He’ll be hurr today, this evening.​

​

“He looks happy, mlady,” He nodded. “Sweatin' like a stuck pig, but ain’t we all? ‘Course, you ain’t. You’s probably accustomed to all this heat, and it feels good in hurr. But the princess…” He shook his head. “She ain’t too happy wit' it all."​

​

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TAG: Trieste

​

 

Abbott Tuckman
Isles of Mirwyth, Breezecroft, Town street

The Purse's answer was a surprising one. Actually he had not suspected it, although after hearing it he supposed he should not be surprised. He and the Purse had a similar thread to their cloths that always asked for a little more coin. There was no wrong nor right to it, it simply was a part of their fabrics that made them survive so well in these harsher times and do so in spectacular fashion when times were better.

The gaze was put upon the rabble, the common customer, and fellow trader. Upon these his gaze was turned and for a while he felt a draw and bobbed his head soundly to the Purse's reasoning. "Would you like a galley seat or a rowing position?" He simply stated in a conversational tone. "You sell the men short and the women long. We all race to our judgements but in war are we not bad elements to the capital now? You and the King and I are the rotten apples, only it is a chopping block instead of slavery if you do not prevail. I trade above and below the table, for the first I am accepted, for the second I am desired here. If war and need did not prevail I would find my way to a seat on that barge. Only now my rotten edges are seen to be a ripe treasure." Removing a cloth he dabbed at his forehead to remove the sweat so sweet that clung to his brow beneath his hats brim.

"If you desire I will take these men, but the ship shall be lost and the men with it. Yet I would return ten days hence on a smaller boat with a touch of gold not of your desired size. Take it if you will, know more if you desire, or find another. No word of this shall ever leave me, a customers secrets are his own." With that he nodded and replaced his piece of soaked cloth. The ball and game was solely in the Purse's court. He had not a string more to pull and no more would his oar yet tip into these waters.

TAG: spycoder9

 

(Posted with approval from spycoder9)

IC: Lady Ginnifer Kildare
Alcazar, Kalkheim, Fair Groves, Desert
8 days after her brother’s wedding

In all of the excitement revolving around the arrival of Lady Claryssa of the Ravenford at Kalkehim, something had been forgotten. More particularly, someone.

It was for that reason that Ginnifer had, after she had risen and been dressed, sent Sophee in search of young squire Olyvar. “The poor boy,” Sophee had observed before leaving, “Who knows what he’s been through.”

The lady’s maid was smarter than others might think, perhaps even Sophee herself. Her question was precisely the one Ginnifer wanted to answer--what had happened to the party that Zooey had sent after pirates. It had traveled much further than Ginnifer had expected it to do if it had gotten all the way to the Ravenford. These pirates were ranging over more of the coast than even she had expected.

When the squire entered her private receiving room, Ginnifer sat him down at the small table there. “Olyvar, I need you to tell me what happened to Ser Caliban’s party after you left Kalkheim,” Ginnifer said simply.

So he related their journey and how they had been joined by troops from Evenfall, courtesy of Lord Dondare.

Without knowing what he was walking into, those troops could have provided an advantage against the pirates, Ginnifer thought, Tactically, a sound move.

Olyvar told of their detection in the woods of the Ravenford, their identification as Desertmen, and how they were forced to see Claryssa.

Ginnifer understood what had happened. Given current tensions, they must have looked like a raiding party.

Then came the introduction to Claryssa and her uncle. Luckily, Lady Claryssa had taken a shine to a boy in the party.

Some small measure of luck, Ginnifer thought, It may be the reason she came here after the raid. But why did Caliban have a child with him on a pirate raid?

All had proceeded well until the pirate attack. Olyvar did not know the details of exactly what had happened--just that it had begun without warning--

They’re pirates, not idiots. They’re not going to give you the entire morning to get ready for battle.

--and the pirates had quickly gained an advantage over the troops of the Ravenford. They had already suffered much at the hands of the Reynard forces and were accordingly weak. Ironically, the Dondare/Kildare troops were the freshest ones there. Even so, the situation became bleak quickly.

Caliban ordered Olyvar to escape with Claryssa when it became clear that victory could not come. “Ser Caliban said that he wanted you to know that this looked like his ‘final stand,’ and that if it was that I was to tell Lord Aron and Lady Spectra...that he loved them,” Olyvar said with difficulty.

Caliban lived his life rashly and resolved himself to die bravely. So often do those two things go hand-in-hand.

“Even should Ser Caliban have survived, it is a sentiment worth sharing with his parents,” Ginnifer said kindly, “Go find the Warden and tell him all you have told me. When you do, tell him that, until his son’s return, you shall serve him. Though my uncle is no knight, he will be able to put you to useful employment where you will continue your education. Perhaps when Ser Lawrence returns he will be able to assist as well.”

Olyvar withdrew and Ginnifer reflected. So much was unknown right now. What had happened in the Ravenford? What had the Reynards assumed and done? Had they done anything at all? Was Caliban alive and returning with Willis now? Were they both dead?

“News of the realm will help you make the right decisions when it is most critical. Ignorance will bring a swift price.”

And what if I cannot get the intelligence I need, mother?

Then again, plenty of information was coming to Ginnifer these days. For once it didn’t come by way of a raven. Then again, the last news she’d received from a messenger, albeit a noble one, had not been welcome at all.

This messenger from her new in-laws (for Ginnifer supposed that the Rolmars were now her in-laws by way of her brother) did not sit well with Ginnifer. The man was uncouth, to say the least. Hardly the sort of messenger Lawrence would have chosen to bear any message, let alone one as odd as this. Lawrence was not the sort to announce his comings and goings. He came and went as his duties desired and he announced himself then.

But, as she thought, her brother was returning from his wedding. A proper reception needed to be made for his new wife, Safia. It was unfortunate, if understandable, that she was having a hard time adjusting to the dry heat of the Desert. It meant that they would have to go out of their way to make her feel welcome at Kalkheim, her new home.

“Thank you for the advance notice,” Ginnifer said to the messenger, “Please see to it that our guest gets some food from his journey.” She motioned with a hand for a steward to escort the Mountainman away to have his needs tended to.

When he was gone, Ginnifer had her chief steward sent for. He appeared not too long after.

“My sister in-law, Lady Safia Kildare, Princess of the Mountains, arrives tonight with my brother,” Ginnifer said, “We must make a proper reception for them.”

The steward nodded. “It will be short notice for a feast,” he warned her, “but the kitchens could do it.”

“No, they will have traveled all day and Lady Safia will be tired from adjusting to a new clime and the long travel. Dinner for the family--” by which she meant the Kildares “--of better than usual quality. The kitchen can come up with something?”

“Undoubtedly.”

“Thank you,” Ginnifer said, which served as his dismissal.

A third steward was called for. “Alert my kin that Ser Lawrence returns tonight. Their presence at dinner will be required to welcome him back and the Lady Safia.”

Ginnifer would rest easily when he was back. Her brother had been gone too long.

TAG: spycoder9

 

Leiliana Caine
18 Days Before the Wedding
Mountains of Mirwyth
Mountain Village, Chieftain's Home

​

For years, the Monks of Avos trained their bodies and mind to be one, their physical training would break normal men. Leiliana too had been trained, if she wasn't, she'd likely begin to rant and rave at the words the old woman spoke. Such blatant accusation and disrespect to her family, her stomach stirred and heart pounded for a moment, she exhaled slowly to quiet her mind.​

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"No," she said firmly, but keeping a serene look upon her face, "As we train, learn, and work we understand that our lives and the lives of others mean more than such desires. Our oaths bind us to each other and to our lives and by taking these oaths we begin our path to oneness. The Order may appear simple, but we are disciplined, we are strong.​

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"I was sent to the Order by chance, my parents abandoned me to them before I could remember, and the Monk whom found me became my caretaker. I am indeed the only woman among them, it had always been that they would accept those who came to them, the very few that have passed the initial trials were ever removed from the Order, and none had been in my lifetime. Only one had joined since my arrival... "​

​

As she spoke, she recalled many of the monks she had known. Many had made the journey to them at a young age before she had arrived, but Brother Katan was the most recent pilgrim to have sought them out, his family killed by bandits. In his pain he wandered and came to the Monastery to seek refuge from the memories that plagued him. She leaned back in the chair she was seated in, the fire reflecting in her hazel eyes.​

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"I had passed my trials, but was not required to take the oaths, because I hadn't sought them out by my own free will." ​

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The look in the old woman's eyes was accusing, her years alive gave her wisdom, and perhaps... Harsh lessons.​

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"You would know us by the colour of our cloak and our seal, of which I have both," she said looking back to Oskell.​

@spycoder9

 

4 Days Before the Wedding

The Capital of Mirwyth​

The Ravenford​

The Roost​

"He fell from his carriage during a riot. His own people revolted.” Artos smirked. “What a fitting way for him to die, is it not? At the edge of a war with lords who turned against him, killed by a people who turned against him as well?”​

​

“Have they found him?” Ser Caliban asked desperately. ​

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“There's been no news of a recovery. All I've heard is that the whole thing was a bloody mess.”​

​

“Dammit…” Caliban glanced to Olyvar, who sat pale and stricken with fear. Everyone understood how dire of a situation they were in. ​

​

“Why did you traipse through here with a hundred men, clattering around in the woods like a lost pack of camels, if you didn’t want to make yourselves noticed?”​

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“Foxes.” Ser Caliban whispered. “We’re foxes, not camels.​

​

“Camels bray, but let themselves be used and abused. Foxes,” His eyes burned with passion, “Foxes take every slight with a hidden fury, and then they get their vengeance.”​

​

“Perhaps my little lady’s secretly a fox.” Artos chuckled. “But why bring a hundred men?”​

​

“I want to see the waters run red with the blood of my brother’s captors. Reynard thought he could make fools of House Kildare, and of the Desert. You’ll find out just how wrong he was.”​

​

---

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​

Kitchens​

​

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“Ya shouldn’t be in here,” A busty woman shooed at him with her broom. “Get out before ya mess us up!”​

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“No, no!” Aimee stopped her. The woman had the widest gap in between her front teeth, but the smile she gave Fleet was one wide and kind. She stepped away from the oven and approached them. “Don’t hurt ‘em!” She crouched down to eye-level with him. Her powdered black skirts brushed the floor. “He seems genuine ‘nough.”​

​

All of the women’s attentions were on Fleet and Aimee. Claryssa slipped through the doorway and into the room, edging her way towards the pies. She didn’t even dare a peek at Fleet. ​

​

“Ya lost your stone?” Aimee asked. “What’d it look like?”​

​

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TAG: Ktala, greyjedi125

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IC: Fleet Ashkey
The Ravenford, Four days before the wedding
Ravenford Kitchens

The big woman was unfriendly and unamused, stating that he was unwelcome and making a right fuss, asking him to leave.

Fleet was a bit surprised by her brusque manner as he took a step back.

Aimee came to his rescue however and her open honesty stung at his conscience. He did not enjoy deception, or deceiving honest folk. It wasn’t right and the gods frowned upon that sort of thing.

“He seems genuine ‘nough.” Aimee stated.

It was hard to look at her straight in the eye after that, but he forced himself to do so. What had he just gotten himself into?

“Ya lost your stone?” Aimee asked, her face and hands covered in powder. Such were the signs of honest working folk. Just like Lorain and Hektor.

“What’d it look like?”

Fleet already knew the ‘lucky stone’ he referenced. He’d seen a merchant with a glass bowl full of them. He’d always wanted one, but acquiring one was a complete impossibility.

“Well….” he bagan saying, fidgeting a bit as he spoke, as he was thinking on how to resolve his current mess with minimum damage.

“It be a polished stone, that’s why its lucky.” He began to explain.

“It’s almost flat, like a small coin, but it fits snug like in meh palm…” He showed his hand and made a circular motion inside his palm to denote the stone’s relative size.

“ It’s got a fancy color, a royal hue…and a…roon in the middle…I think that’s wot it’s called.”

Fleet ran his hands over his clothes, patting himself.

“Dunno if ah lost it here, maybe it rolled somewhere…not sure really. It’s just a guess…”

After looking around his feet for a moment, Fleet raised his head and looked past Aimee before looking back at the cook.

“I don’t supposed it could’a rolled past yu, but…..”

He offered an apologetic smile and a bow to Aimee and the big unfriendly lady.

“I won’t trouble yu longer, cus yur all busy. I don’t wish to cause yu trouble….”

Suddenly he perked up and beamed a smile.

“It usually turns up y’know. Likely left it in a saddle bag!”

Well, that wasn’t too shabby a tale. Perhaps it would work, hopefully.

Now if only Claryssa would hurry.


Tag: @spycoder9

 

"Lor" - Lorain Ashkey
The Ravenford - The Roost

Lorain listened carefully, as Artos replied to her question. "He fell from his carriage during a riot. His own people revolted.” Artos smirked. “What a fitting way for him to die, is it not? At the edge of a war with lords who turned against him, killed by a people who turned against him as well?”

Sir Idjit asked the question that Lorain had also asked. “Have they found him?” The response seemed rather strange to her. “There's been no news of a recovery. All I've heard is that the whole thing was a bloody mess.” Lorain frowned. How do you lose a body on a street? Or perhaps a better question, would be why? Unless, he wasnt as dead as everyone thought. Her thoughts were interrupted by Sir Idjit. “Dammit…” Caliban glanced to Olyvar, who sat pale and stricken with fear. Lorain seriously wondered WHY they had sent Caliban on this mission.

Then Artos spoke up, “Why did you traipse through here with a hundred men, clattering around in the woods like a lost pack of camels, if you didn’t want to make yourselves noticed?”

Lorain could barely contain the sound in her throat, as Artos asked the question. She turned it to a not so polite cough, as she looked to her water glass. She heard Caliban whisper some nonsense about being foxes, and not camels. Yea, more like brain dead fox perhaps. But the fool had a response, and Lorain bit her lip as he spoke. “Camels bray, but let themselves be used and abused. Foxes,” Caliban noted, looking a bit annoyed. His eyes looked like a man possessed as he continued to speak. “Foxes take every slight with a hidden fury, and then they get their vengeance.” There was truth in those words, but foxes were also smart and cunning, and very seldom did one spot a fox. UNLIKE himself.

“Perhaps my little lady’s secretly a fox.” Artos chuckled. “But why bring a hundred men?” The idiots response? Lor frowned even more as he spoke, “I want to see the waters run red with the blood of my brother’s captors. Reynard thought he could make fools of House Kildare, and of the Desert. You’ll find out just how wrong he was.”

"So..:" Lorain spoke very quietly now. "Ya chose pride over common sense then, was it?" Lorain touched the rim of her cup. "Yeah, Foxes get their vengeance..but dey gets it by being smart." Lorain sighed deeply. "Yer brother taught me that. I wanted ta makes em pay too. But he convinced me, twas better to escape first, and let ya family know. Hold my revenge for laters. Foxes be smart. They dont tip off their pray. Like ya did, not willin to listen ta ya council." Lorain was tired of listening to this man bray. And unlike his poor squire, did not have to put up with it. At least not right now. She stood and turned and looked towards Artos. "Thank the Lady for de fine meal, but I think my stomach is not in it. But I would like to simply wait for my son to return, if ya takes no offense. I be .. " she paused for the briefest of moments, before turning her attentions back towards Artos. "I be not used to being around royals so long. And my tongue may not stay civil if I stays much longer, as tired as I be. So, perhaps there be a place that I can wait for my boy, I be appreciating it." She gave him a respectful bow, while she waited for a response from the man. Right now, she only wished to find a place to wait for Fleet in quiet, and to get some sleep. And if the fool took offense, so be it. By the Gods she had suffered enough of his speech for now. However, Lorain did realize, realized that traveling from here, would be much more difficult now, and not all of it had anything to do with her words.





TAG: spycoder9, greyjedi125

OOC: Yeah! I did it.

 

4 Days Before the Wedding

The Capital of Mirwyth​

The Ravenford​

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The Kitchens​

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Most of the women had stopped their work to look on the floor for the rock. None of them noticed Claryssa sliding two of the pies into her hands. For all the care she took, one pan had caught on another. It pulled the other unexpectedly, and they fell to the floor with a wet splat. ​

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“Huh?” The bigger maid turned around to see Claryssa wide-eyed, cradling the one pie she’d managed to snag. “The pies!!” ​

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Aimee whirled around. “M’lady!” Claryssa took her pie and ran back through the doorway, eyeing Fleet as she did so. “Ya ruined ‘em!” She fell on her knees beside the pies. Her voice grew softer as she lifted up the pan. The pie was a sloppy mush. “Ya ruined the pies.” ​

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The busty one whirled on Fleet. Now she had a great wooden spoon in her hands. ​

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“Were ya in on this?” She shook it at him. ​

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If he were still going to flee, this would be his window of opportunity. ​

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The Roost​

“Actually,” Artos gestured to the guards, “We have a fine training yard here, safe within the palace gates. I know the Little Lady would like to get acquainted with your son some more, and I just assumed, from your physique, you might enjoy some training…”​

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“Olyvar,” Caliban gestured to Lorain. “You go too. There’re a few more things Lord Redwood and I need to discuss…” He raised his eyebrows. “Privately.”​

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“Of course,” The squire rose. “Thank you for the food, m’lord. It was delicious.”​

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TAG: greyjedi125, Ktala

 

IC: Fleet Ashkey
The Ravenford, Four days before the wedding
Ravenford Kitchens

It all happen so suddenly, but not quite as expected.

Lovely Claryssa got herself discovered all on her own by making a clattering noise and sending one of the pies sprawling on the kitchen floor. Fleet didn’t know whether to wince of laugh, though he certainly managed to keep a somewhat confused look on his face, as if he too was caught by surprise by the commotion.

“The pies!” the big woman cried out.

“M’Lady!”

Aimee’s reaction to the fallen pie was totally unexpected to Fleet.

“Ya ruined ‘em!” the faithful baker fell on her knees beside the pies, her voice sounding somewhere between a sob and a whimper. “Ya ruined the pies….”

What was left was a sloppy mush on the kitchen floor, good only for pets or rodents, if they had either, or both.

Claryssa quickly rushed past Fleet and eyed him in a flash as she fled the scene.

The big buxom maid grabbed a wooden spoon then turned on Fleet.

“Where ya in on this?” she demanded angrily, shaking the utensil threateningly.

If she had to ask, that meant she was not certain. If she wasn’t certain, then there was no reason to confirm. Two options were left. Deny or deflect. Denial could prove a bit complicated in the long run, so that only left one.

Fleet made a shocked face, then became indignant.

“I am an Ashkey!” He said with as much pomp as he could muster, then leveled a mild snort. He then quickly took the opportunity to kneel besides Aimee.

“I’m…I’m sorry this happ’ned…” he said in a soft voice, in his attempt to comfort the cook. The contrition he felt was genuine enough.

“Never mind the ston’. I could help yu clean up at least.” He offered. Then after a pause he added.

“Is it oft’n like this….I mean, with the pies?”

He wasn’t going to run away. Only amateurs did that. He needed to remain here and buy Claryssa time to get away, even though she’d been seen already. Apparently she wasn’t very good at stealing pies.

Within himself, Fleet was glad he was able to amuse the lovely Lady, somewhat, although it was quite a bitter sweet feeling. He felt very bad for Aimee. No doubt she had labored arduously over the pies, enduring heat and suffocating under a cloud of flour while doing her very best, only to have it ruined suddenly. She was likely still expected to produce a certain quantity of pies.That took away all the fun out of the prank. It wasn’t funny when it was at someone else’s expense. Fleet hadn’t quite expect this outcome to happen.

He wasn’t sure how to make amends, but he wasn’t going to pretend not to care.

Claryssa was the Lady of the Ravenford.

If she wished for an extra pie, who was to deny her. This was clearly a way for her to amuse herself during harsh times. Who could blame her, really.

“I’m Fleet, by the way…”

He gave Aimee an apologetic smile, and though he was aware of the big maid with the wooden spoon, he did not react to her, nor would he try to shield himself fem her initially, if she decided to strike him. What was a wooden spoon compared to the flesh tearing ministration of a tormentor’s whip.


Tag: @spycoder9, (@Ktala )

 

OOC: Final part of combined with Spy

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IC: Gwenn Cliffe
Delmaristead


Gwenn was pulled out of her thoughts as the room filled with applause. She noticed the king’s right-hand man, Korianton Rynquist, had entered the room, decked out in his lordly finery. When his dark eyes saw the dais, his grin never faltered, but the tips did quiver.

Korianton bowed down to his king, and Gwenn silently watched the exchange between the Lord and her father.

"Good to see you, Lord Rynquist." Nathaniel was ever regal. "Where have you been?"

"I was assisting in the cleanup of the harbors."

"And how do they fare?"

"Better than they did this morning."

"I hope to continue to hear these kind of reports. Rest, and eat."

Gwenn knew the man had taken a dislike to her ever since their first encounter in the Bloody Breeze. She could see the disapproval in his eyes, the tension in his body language whenever he was around her. She knew he had spoken openly against the decision Nathaniel had made to bring her back to Delmaristead. In his eyes she was still a corrupted she-devil full of ill intent…The man’s stare then briefly flitted from the king to her.

"You have his seat." Myla whispered. "Don't get up though. I find you to be much better company." Gwenn heard Lady Myla’s whispered comment from beside her as she watched Lord Korianton move to one of the vacant seats remaining on the dais. Now she had probably upset the man even more. Clearing her throat, she picked up her cup once more and took another mouthful of water.

The evening wore on, more food was consumed and merriment made by those attending the feast. Gwenn had sampled some of the food on offer, but she was not used to overly rich food and it didn’t take long before her stomach to feel full. Inwardly she wondered where many of the guests were putting it all as they feasted on numerous courses. “Many here have not experienced hunger…” She thought as she watched the servers moving platters and refilling cups.

Beside her, Names and titles were being listed off by the lady Myla, large in number and almost impossible for the bastard woman to remember. "That's Hairy Todd Hackleback right there, looking at one of the servant girls. He's a great sailor, but his eyes wander a bit too much for my liking. . .Oh and that's his daughter, Little Elyne, right there with the lazy eye. She's a bit of a whore, got it from her mother if you ask me, but sweet as pie otherwise. . .her brother's are the Hackleback Hogs. They look so much alike, bless them, I can't tell the two apart. One's in the back, guarding the door. The other's likely at his armory. Can't make swords too well, but he does most everything else well enough. . ." The bejeweled lady pointed out certain lords and ladies, some of her descriptions and observations were also a bit crass and judgmental, but Gwenn assumed that this was a large part of Myla’s personality. "It's hard to remember all of them, I know from experience." She patted Gwenn again. "You'll learn though, honey. Stay with us long enough, and you might just fit in."

Gwenn chanced a glance at her father, who seemed somewhat distant, not paying much attention to the activities around him. A faint concerned frown furrowed Gwenn’s brow. Beside her, Myla droned on and on.

The sound of someone clapping loudly caused the room to quiet down, all eyes turning to face Korianton, who stood and addressed the room. “In honor of the King's return home, I asked the cooks prepare a treat just for him." A chef approached the dais, a plate in hand and set it before the king. A fish lay upon a bed of vegetables. A fish with rainbow scales…

Gwenn gaze fell upon the fish and her breath caught quietly in her throat. This fish, she had seen it before, in the intense nightmare that had dominated her mind in her last days on Breezecroft…
She still remembered the vivid and disturbing images of the isles as they burnt, the brightness and viciousness of the flame, the way the skin was burnt and melted away from the bones of those she loved and knew. She remembered the screams that echoed through her mind.

Coming back to her senses, she blinked and quickly glanced over to Korianton who was busy addressing the gathered, a confused look crossing her face before bringing her gaze quickly back to her father. A strong feeling of uneasiness spread rapidly through her as the king took a bite of the rainbow trout. The man frowned after swallowing the morsel. "It has a strange seasoning. Good, but strange." He put another piece on his fork. "Would you like some, Gwenn?"

“No!” Gwenn blurted out without thinking, suddenly aware that the people on the dias were looking at her. She felt the heat rising in her cheeks and inwardly she cursed. Clearing her throat, she tried to regain her composure “I mean, Thank ye, but I couldn’ eat another thing yer grace…” She said quietly, hoping her father had not taken offense. The presence of this fish, it was just coincidence, wasn’t it? She was not all that superstitious, so why was she feeling so shaken?

"Of course," He smiled with his next bite. "You aren't used to this much food. Can't say I am either."
The night wore on, with guests slowly slipping away. The King finished off the entire trout but waved away everything else. He spoke some with Gwenn and Lady Myla, some with Korianton, some with the dark man. He spoke to each with ease, but something in his eyes showed he was getting more and more tired. Finally he stood and clasped his hands together.

"I want to thank all of you for feasting with me tonight, and for searching for my wife and daughter. I pray for their safe return every night." Nathaniel nodded to them, and then everyone that was left rose from their seats. He stepped off the dais and out the doors, while others began to follow him. Lady Myla stopped Gwenn before she could walk away.

"It'd make my daughters so happy to have you with us tomorrow," Lady Myla said while patting Gwenn's hand. "We'll have a tea, and go horseback riding. You'll come, won't you?"

Gwenn recalled Lady Myla's earlier mention of meeting her daughters. It seemed the wealthy woman did indeed desire the meeting to go ahead. Despite Gwenn's reservations, she could see no way out of it. Her father had been conversing with Myla at the table earlier, perhaps she had gained the kings permission for her attendance right then and there. Her fathers words about allies and alliances surfaced in the forefront of her mind. Myla had treated her with respect and kindness throughout the feast, and Gwenn felt a pang of guilt at the thought of rejecting the woman's request. She didn't sense anything malicious from the woman besides a few barbed comments, but it was hard to build trust after years of second guessing it. "How long ye goin' to hide behind the walls you built around yersel'?" A small voice in the back of her mind chided. Drawing in a quiet breath, she bowed her head slightly to the older woman in a gesture of respect and thanks, "Um, Yes Milady..." She paused for a beat and mustered a grateful smile for the jeweled woman "thank yeh for yer kind invitation"

"I'll send for you after you break fast." Lady Myla curtsied and stepped off the dais. As she was about to walk out the doors, she shouted back to Gwenn. "Get a good rest child!" Without another word, she was gone.

Gwenn watched lady Myla’s back as she moved amongst the throng of revellers leaving Delmaristead's grand hall. The room was a lot quieter now; the tallow candles that had been burning throughout the night had burnt down and were starting to putter out, thin tendrils of smoke swirled through the air before fading away. Around her, the servers began to clean up the mess that had been left behind. Her eyes flitted over towards the platter that lay where her father had been seated, where the rainbow trout had lay earlier, before a server removed it along with the others. Movement in the corner of her eye made her turn her head. She noticed the knight who had escorted her was waiting for her. Falling into step with him, she left the hall along with the remaining few stragglers where goodnights and goodbyes were exchanged before everyone went on their separate ways.

The knight walked her back to the tower, small talk was made but Gwenn seemed somewhat distracted and in thought as they ascended the spiral stairs towards her room. The man was polite enough not to force conversation though. At the summit, the knight bid her goodnight before turning and descending once again down though the darkened tower. Closing the door behind her, Gwenn let out a heavy sigh, reaching up and rubbing at a kink in her left shoulder as she walked over towards the bed. The room was quiet and the air within, cool. A long yawn escaped her mouth. She was tired. How could a person get tired just by sitting around and doing nothing? She wondered as she approached the bed and sat down on its edge. It still felt strange being here, in this room, in this castle. Preparing for sleep, she washed off the rouge and charcoal and removed the soft blue dress. Climbing into the bed, she pulled the covers over her.

Sleep did not come immediately as the bastard woman attempted to fully process the events of the day, but soon her grey eyes became heavy and her body made clear its need for rest as Gwenn slowly drifted off beneath the banner of House Delmari.


TAG: spycoder9

 

Mairar Meade, acting Lord of the Misty Top
The Mountains, Misty Top Keep


Mairar adjusted in his chair, he couldn’t quite find a comfortable spot. The chair was made of strong wood that gave no cushioning to those who sat upon it. Mariar had to admit their was something mystical about it. All of the stories he had heard, the heroes of House Meade had been in this hall and the best of them upon this chair. Lentin Meade who had lead one of the grandest charges in their history sat upon this chair, of course that was before he had choked to death on a bone.
Mairar must have had some small grin on his face as he lost himself in his own thoughts. His attention was snapped back when he heard Darros make some comment to Arjen, while Mairar had not caught the actual sentence he assumed it was something that was insulting.
He gestured for the first person to be sent in, who was a pitiful woman who had red shot eyes. “M’lord, my husband killed my sow.” She buried her face in her hands. “He. . .he killed her, because she made too much noise.” Tears streamed down her face. “I’ve come before ye to. . .to get my money’s worth for her. She was a good ‘en, m’lord,” She pleaded.
Mairar paused for a moment. In all honesty this had taken him by surprise, not that the action was so horrendous but simply because in all the years he had spent preparing to rule Misty Top, he never thought he would be dealing with cow problems. He didn’t know the cow business was filled with such drama.
“Well, misses” he stopped for a moment hoping she would pick up on the signal and fill in her name but she simply stared up at him. Mairar waited a moment and opened his mouth to speak. “I would be willing to help you with your situation, I am sure the Keep could spare one of the sow’s from the pastures. But...I feel that for the safety of your new cow, and quite simply of all noise making livestock” behind him Darros gave a chuckle. Mairar himself felt silly just saying it.
“I certainly hope this protection does not expand to annoying birds that won’t stop chirping outside my window” Darros said just quietly enough for Mairar and Arjen to hear.
Mairar simply raised his tone to talk over Darros “For the protection of the livestock I must insist that your husband come before to face trial for his act”
TAG:spycoder9

 

18 Days Before the Wedding

The Mountains of Mirwyth​

Mountain Village​

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Chieftain's House ​

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The elders looked amongst each other. Oskell eyed the older woman, who seemed to understand exactly what his gaze meant.​

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“She seems truthful.” The woman finally said. He nodded. ​

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“Ya have to understand,” Oskell told Leiliana, “We have to be weary to visitors. We’ve had our cases. . .” He smiled. It wasn’t very big, it wasn’t very warm, but it was a smile nonetheless. “Rest here for the night. We’ll speak of what you’ve said. . .my daughter seems to like ya. . .​

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“I’ll have my son lead you back. It’s black out there. . .” He shouted a name loudly. A tall, buff man with hair and beard combined as one, stepped into the room. “Kraig, help Leiliana back to the inn. She’s had a long day.”​

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TAG: Heavy Isotope

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