Tales of Trevast: The Harvest Festival

Fyremage

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Within the great city of Heldrayth, which lay in the epicenter of the realm known as Trevast, thousands upon thousands of citizens filled the streets. Their faces, young and old, male and female, all of them were as festively decorated as the buildings that lined the thoroughfares. Mirroring the red banners with a single golden sun hanging from innumerable balconies, the common folk of trevast all had their faces painted in some form or fashion, utilizing the red and gold colors to honor their High Kings.

As has been the custom for over three centuries, the harvest festival serves a threefold purpose in the hearts and minds of all who call the realm of Trevast home.

First and foremost, as the oldest of customs, it marks the beginning of the harvest season, which is alone a cause for celebration as the time to enjoy the fruits of a nation's labors. Since time immemorial, transcending houses or cultures or creeds, nearly all the people of the region have celebrated this time for that singular reason.

Second, but near equally as important to the majority of folk, is this festival also marks the anniversary of the formation of the kingdom of Trevast as a unified realm, rather than a landmass of squabbling fiefdoms, which was hallmarked by the crowning of the High King of Trevast, Desirak Bayne, the first of his name.

And third, the first day of the Harvest Season Festival marks the defeat of the Boteri Dominion in the first great war of Trevast, with the last day marking the aforementioned crowning, completing the seven day festival.

The air seemed rife with promise and good fortune, with the High King himself, King Adric Bayne, the second of his name observing his people from the balcony of his citadel, which dominated the center of the city. He was a fairly young king, though aging at the approach of the age of thirty and one. His wife, a Barran by descent, stood by his side with her deep brown hair glinting in rising sunlight.

It was indeed early in the day, so early in fact that they both stood in their morning robes whilst breaking their fast upon fruits plucked from the royal garden. Adric broke the silence first, saying to his beautiful wife: "They always are ready to party early, aren't they?"

His wife, with her slightly accented voice, replied with a soft touch: "Can we blame them, my dear? It is better then them screaming in revolt, is it not?"

"Obviously." Andric mentally intoned, kidding his wife tenderly on the cheek as he popped a grape in his mouth. Their guests would arrive by midday, and there was much preparation to engage in. No doubt his servants went about preparing the dining hall, cleaning and dusting the already well cleaned and dusted stones and bannisters. As High King, it was his duty to meet with the lords of Trevast and entertain them. He could only hope they would not grow too restless. The latest war with the Boteri had ended near forty years ago under the reign of his grandfather, and the provinces dominated by the hold of Kaith still remained under the crown's control. And for forty harvest feasts, squabbling lords debated over the hold being consigned to them, or hinted at it being granted as some form of reward for past or future deeds. And for forty harvest feasts, the High King of Trevast did nothing. And "Why should he?" Andric mused.

The time they all lived in was a time of plenty and peace. The people of Kaith, halfbreeds as they were, seemed content to keep the king's peace for the past decade or so. Adric hardly saw a reason to change the status quo, save for some reward perceived due on his part. And that was the struggle the King felt the most, out of all as of late. Many lords perceived some reward due to them, even for duties rendered on their part to the king. Not to mention the petty squabbles between lords, such as the Rivermarks and Eules. Adric, although not necessarily a young man, was considered a young king as the crown had only sat upon his head for a handful of years. He needed to earn the Lord's respect, and he had to do it fast.

His wife, although in jest, made a very astute point. Now was the best time to do so, for now was a time of merriment and diversion. Better to keep things that way, rather than dissent and rebellion. He hoped he could keep the peace, the peace that had held over Trevast as a united realm for over three centuries. He hardly wanted to be the king responsible for breaking that peace.

And so, in these few solitary moments he would enjoy with his wife at his side, he set his mind to focus on the eventuality that lay before him. He must be the king they all needed him to be. And not just for himself. But for all of them.

@Elijah Brockway @The Star of Chaos @Cainhurst Crow @Necris @Tristar @Outlander
 
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Tristar

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Heldrayth.

He supposed he should be more at awe at the splendour of the harbour city, but having seen it at its worst when he was a child ruined the image for him. Egon the Second stroke his pointed beard, gazing out from the royal carriage at the river side of the city- the boats, the skimmers and the barges bustling with activity as ant-like workers tossed bales of hay, crates of goods and various other products back and forth. His wife sat across from him, a handkerchief over her nose and an expression that did not befit her: Lady Catarina did not enjoy long travels, and frequently complained of motion sickness. This was why they left as early as they could, that their arrival would be on time in midst of the frequent breaks they had to take for her sake.

Thinking that fresh air would suit her better than the stuffy confinements of the carriage, he pushed the windows open, letting the sea breeze cool them- to his credit, she lowered the cloth slightly, though still seemed as uncomfortable as ever.
"Just a little more, Cat." he sighed, and poked his head out from the window to check on the front.


Almost immediately a horseman trotted to the side of their carriage, bedecked in the familiar wreath and Eulean plate: "Does Lady Catarina require another stop, Mi'lord? Pray tell her, we are almost there. By the time the sun is between the mountains, we'll have crossed the gates." Egon recognized the baritone voice, its owner's visage not quite what he always envisioned to possess such a quality of tone. Bronn Eule, the First Gargoyle and his own blood, ever the worried man. "Just checking on the front of our convoy, Bronn. There is nothing to be done in this cramped prison, I thought the men would have done something by now to make things interesting."

He offered his cousin a small boyish grin, but Bronn's terse reply nearly wiped it from his face. "They are the van' for their lord and lady, our eyes and ears. They will not fool around, or there will be consequences, mi'lord." Egon pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes for a brief moment. When he opened them Bronn's scarred face stared right back at him.

"Bronn, as your lord I order that you take my previous statement lightheartedly. A joke. A sentence made for humor's sake. You still remember what a joke is, yes?" Bronn did not reply, but soften his expression a bit. Egon did not push the subject and dismissed him with a wave of his hand. He returned back to his seat and shifted his position to a more comfortable one. His wife gazed at him with a look he knew so well; if only his men knew how their lord secretly placed more faith in his wife's words than his ministers, would not that be a story for the public houses to roar drunkenly? "He's just doing his job, Eg." Eg. She only called him that when she wanted his attention. Even at a ripe age of forty and seven years, he would never understand why she would call for his attention within a cramped space, with nothing else to distract him.

It was just how women's minds work, he supposed. "Bronn's just worried for us, and you should be a little more grateful for that." Egon snorted and reached over to the silver platter to his side and plucked a fresh apple that had been laid for their breaking of fast- Catarina's platter was untouched, and understandably so. "Bronn worries too much." he said, biting into the juicy fruit. "Bronn will still complain even if we were back at home, barred in our rooms with bars over our windows and three whole cohorts at our beck and call. Bronn is not doing his job, he has gone beyond the call of duty and into the borders where I worry sometimes."

"He has seen much-"

"And we have not? Cat, he is my first cousin, and the closest living relative I have; trust me, this is not Bronn. This is the First Gargoyle, not the same Bronn I knew from my childhood. Raul and Olef are my swornswords for life, and they fill the halls with laughte-"

"-and words that Gwendolyn, Selena and Marissa should never hear! It is un-becoming of them, they should know better." Egon shook his head and swallowed, using his wife's interjection to quickly take a few more bites from his apple. "Raul is from the South, and Olef from the north, by way of House Vaiken. It is common for them to do so. I have spoken to Gwen and the little angels, if that makes you feel any better."


His wife only shook her head, regretting it moments later but ending their brief argument with a final say: "Perhaps this is why Bronn is as he is." Funny how the harshest words were not spoken from Rivermark mouths, or Rendall letters, but much, much closer to home.

___________________________________________________________________
The sun has risen near its zenith, and they sat sweltering within their wooden carriage- the convoy, near the size of a full cohort had choked the main street to the palace. Eule escorts heralded their arrival with horses and harsh words, but still the peasants tried their luck to cross the street. Even over the din of the street markets, Egon could hear Bronn's voice lording over them all, occasionally pushing them aside with the butt of his lance. "Make way!" he yelled, his voice weary. "Make way for Lord Eule!"

Catarina did not like that. There were plenty of things this temperamental women did not like; travelling was one of them, heralding was another. Given her choice, she would rather have come plain clothed on horseback, perhaps one or two guards on standby. Knowing Bronn, Egon was sure his cousin would have a heart attack if the Lady proposed such an idea: House Eule was never known for compromising.

Within the carriage he felt them gathering speed, much to Catarina's relief, and his; both wanted out from their prison, and he was fairly certain Samara was tired of taking care of Selena and Marissa- they were at the age where their energy knew no limits. His older children, thankfully were more mature and composed than that, with the few exceptions: Desmond and Dietter, two twins who, despite being twenty and five years acted like half their age. And Dietter was to be married when they got back!

As they finally pulled up to the palace steps he wondered if this year's Harvest festival would be like any other: fine dining interjected with heated debates, arguments and squabbles between petty lords- last year, Edain Rivermark and he nearly drew blades at the table, both sides heated with both wine and a familial grudge. If he had to take a risk, it wouldn't be then and there- regardless of it, Catarina didn't talk to him for a full week after they returned to Threefold-Bell Keep. Hopefully, there would be less of that, and more of what he had come to expect each year (Only to be disappointed.): decent talk, good food and wine, pleasant (and not so pleasant but equally polite) company and then merriment from the festivities.

"Mi'lord? We've arrived."

"So we have, good ser. Very well, open the door: it is time for us to see the King."
 
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Jason Vaiken

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Lord Edward Vaiken, the Defender of the North and his wife Lady Elisabeth set out three weeks ago to get to the capital in time for the festival. The one problem with living as far away as they do, is that the travel south is quite a hardship. This is a welcome reprieve though, the Northmen have been pressing hard on the border recently and Lord Edward and his sons have been forced into the saddle for months at a time, which is why only him, his wife and only daughter have set out for the capital.

The problem lay in his wife's current predicament, how worried she is about her boys.

"Ed, I'm worried about our boys, this is the first time you allowed Max to command the defence himself. He may get hur-"

"Ellie, I told you- don't worry about them. Lord Gaunt is still there, you know that he is a very experienced and seasoned commander and my oldest friend. He won't allow his surrogate-son to die."

"Still what about the younger ones? They are still out in the frontier, and even you say the raids are getting more and more vigorous than usual."

"My dear, I know that our sons will be fine, besides this is important. We are going to introduce our beautiful daughter to the court. This is her moment and we should be there for her. Be brave dear, we don't want her moment to be ruined due to worry about her dear brothers."

His last statement is met by silence which was broken up by their daughter entering their carriage. She is a beautiful women with her mother's long auburn hair and her father's ice blue eyes.

"Father, mother, what are you discussing?"

Edward smiles at her and lets out a little laugh, "your future dear and our concerns about the situation at home. But this is your moment and we are almost there. I'd get ready, you look like you just woke up! And where is Miranda?"

Louise smirks, "Nice try father."

Miranda enters a few moments later with Ser Tygrett and has a beaming smile.

She nods and goes, "Father, mother, sister, Ser Tygrett has an announcement to make."

The captain of their guard, Ser Tygrett from the outside of the carriage clears his throat.

"Beg pardon, my lord and ladies, but we have arrived and I believe the young Lady Vaiken would like to see this view?"

With a happy smile the girls poke their heads out of the carriage and let out a little gasps at the sight of the capital as Edward and Ellie trade small knowing smiles.

Soon they made their way to their estate and prepared for the opening event.

Edward supervises the care of his war horse and ensures his armour is taken and properly stored.
 
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Elijah Brockway

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Unlike some of his fellow Lords who preferred to ride in on a wagon or carriage, Lord Ollis Barran, the Fifth of his Name, preferred a simpler arrangement. He rode at the head of his party on a magnificent chestnut destrier, his clansmen and house members behind him riding on coursers, and Theo and Wulf's squires both rode well-behaved rounceys; the women of the party - primarily Ollis's wife, mother, daughter, his younger brother's wife, and all of Theo's daughters - as well as most of the younger boys rode in a wagon in the back, with Ollis's wife and mother in particular having objected to the idea of riding in the saddle the entire journey from Skytouch Tower. Still, it gave Ollis - who was both rather humble and still rather showy - a grand opportunity to emblazon his colours everywhere; his family's sigil was embroidered into large curtains, one hung on each of the lengthwise sides of the wagon; each horse, for saddle blankets, had large pieces of wool cloth, dyed in the colours of the Barran clan's tartan, gold and bloody red. Similar colours to House Bayne's, Ollis silently mused. He was nearing Heldrayth - it was easily visible from the road he and his retinue was on - and he was looking forward to meeting with the other Lords.

"Oi, Ollis, you think we're going slow enough?" a familiar tenor voice jeered from not far behind him. Ollis rolled his eyes and turned, though before he could open his mouth to respond, another man did. "You'll be the one to replace the wagon's axle if it breaks, Theo!" Wulf growled, light-heartedly punching his brother on the shoulder with a gauntleted fist. Theo, ever the actor, twisted in his saddle in surprise, promptly - and purposefully - falling to the ground. The retinue came to a hault as he jumped back up, dagger in hand, face bright red - with excitement and mirth rather than anger - and started trying to rip Wulf from his saddle. Ollis's son, Erant the Younger - who was also his uncle Theo's squire - started to come forwards to aid his uncle, before Ollis held up a hand; in moments, Erant the Elder spoke up, stopping the mock fight.

"Could the two of you stop playing around like Corrick children?" he asked, his voice quiet and impetuous. Unlike Ollis, the elder of the four brothers, Erant had rapidly lost any patience he ever held with Theo and Wulf; his tone brooked no argument from the other two...nor did his signalling for Jorik Karlsson, a veritable giant of a man and still robust and frightening even at the age of sixty and seven years. Jorik grabbed both Theo and Wulf by their hauberks, glaring menacingly at them without saying a word. Ollis finally sighed and spoke up.

"Are all of you about done? Jorik, put them down. We all know you aren't going to do anything to them anyways, regardless of what my sibling here tries to tell you to do. You just want to join in." The Master-At-Arms shrugged helplessly, releasing Theo and Wulf, who, laughing, jumped up on their horses. Erant the Elder turned away in a huff, prompting Wulf, Theo, and Ollis all at once to tell him to try and find where his good humour went...Theo crassly suggesting Erant look deep in his nether regions to try and find it. As the party started moving forwards again, Ollis turned to Erant the Elder, raising an eyebrow at the man.

"What was that crack at the Corrick clan you just made there, Erant?" he asked innocently. "I used to remember how you absolutely lived for the opportunity to play with the Corricks, up until that barely-grown lad Havor split your favourite shield with his axe..."

* * * * *
The rest of the trip passed relatively uneventfully, Erant the Elder having quickly stalked off to get away from Ollis's teasing. The commoners passed from their path rather easily as they approached, more surprised at the appearance of the strangely-dressed northern Lord than they should've been. It was far from the first time many of them had seen him, but with his shoulder-length, dark brown hair tied back behind his head and his almost-wild mustache and beard coupled with the tartaned surcloak he wore over his mail hauberk - much like the rest of his retinue - he cut a different figure (more rough and warlike than fine and carefully groomed) than the other Lords that would be arriving did, save maybe Elric Silverhawk. His retinue behind him was much the same, missing only Cnut Greybarran and Jorik's three sons, all of whom stayed behind at Skytouch Tower to maintain the defenses. It wasn't often that the tribes in that area decided they wanted to attack - unlike the ones that the Vaikens were seemingly constantly at war with - but it never hurt to stay prepared. However, the lack of commoners in the way made it much easier to reach the royal dwellings, which was where the Barran group would also be staying - the festival was just as much a family reunion for the Barrans with the Baynes as it was a time for all the Lords to get together and engage in their lordly duties. As usual, of course, Ollis also found himself stopped by King Adric's guards.

"Now where's that lad Adric gone off to that he can't be the first one to meet his dear brother in law?" Ollis asked, his tone seemingly hurt, although he had a smile on his face as he clapped the guardsman who had stopped him on the shoulder, striking up a conversation. "Good to see you again, Davie. Is your wife well? Think I could manage to get some of that rye bread from her again this year? It's been so long since the last time I had any..."
 

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The River Peylon was a wide and mighty river, one which fed into the great sea that gave House Wolnier it's might and prowess in this day and age. Trade had done them well this year, the attacks by Boteri pirates had been minimal, and the rivers had offered good winds for them to navigate with, ensuring their stocks arrived on time, and that their cherished goods came to Karsas well in season. It had been a good year for Karsas, and the Harvest festival promised to help supply the arid city with welcome food, and welcome coin from their many wares to sell for this particular time of year.

The spray of seawater drifted gently in the breeze as Lorian Wolnier sat in the spacious cabin of The Salaman, the Galley used for House Wolnier during these sorts of visits up north. The ships oarsmen prepared to work, the drummers taking their positions below deck as his retinue milled about on the deck above. His family, say his father, High Lord Vordan, and his mother Porcella, both getting on in age and one too weak to walk anymore. Lorian would attend in his fathers place, as he had done for the last 4 years. As the ship prepared to sail up the river, leading the way for the Wolnier trading fleet, his eyes glanced towards the young woman, aged 13, peaking over the deck of the ship as he rose from his wooden chair, the sails flapping in the breeze as he approached.

She peaked over the edge, tilting forward more and more as a school of fish leaped up from the water, skimming the surface as she let out a gasp of surprise, then leaned forward more. "Careful now..." He said as the girl turned around and smiled, giving a laugh as she spoke.

"Father, I'm fine. I'm not some land-walker whose never set foot on a boat before..." She said, putting her hands on her hips as Lorian couldn't help but chuckle at his daughters enthusiasm, "What? What's so funny?"

"Young Siris. You certainly have a bluntness for words..." Lorian said as he crossed his arms, giving his daughter a raised brow as he spoke, "I do wonder whrere it comes from sometimes."

"Considering she's one of yours, I'd be more surprised if she didn't have one..." Came a reply as Orys Whitesand, bastard of house wolnier and the knight of white, walked towards his brother, face looking stern as ever as Lorian marched towards his brother.

"You son of a bitch..." Lorian said, before he reached up with his hand to swing it towards Orys, who raised his own and caught it, the two holding the powerful handshake steady with one another as both broke into grins, laughing at their exchange together.

"Still don't know how to hold back on that, do you?" Orys said as he shook his hand, dressed in his sea knight armor as Lorian smirked to himself.

"It's not my fault the best knight of our family has such dainty and weak hands." Lorian chucked, getting a laugh out of Orys, who merely shrugged, smiling the whole time as he looked towards the young Siris.

"You listen to your father now. He's a worrying sort, but he means well. If your mother were here, you know she'd say the same..." Orys said, as siris gave a pout, yet nodded, "Yes uncle Orys..." She said, Lorian smiling fondly as he thought of his wife, Bellatrix. She had stayed home to watch over their youngest, Rosaria, Lorian trusting her to keep her safe as he went to attend the festival.

He wanted to see them again, even now. But first things first, was the festival. And with it, to reaffirm House Wolnier's loyalty to the throne, and to deal with those who did not care for their company.

==================================== 0 ====================================

With a few days travel up stream, House Wolnier arrived at the Harbor of Heldrayth, Lorian pointing to one such ship as Siris stood near his side, looking out at the vast city and the various ships milling the port. "Do you see that, Siris? That is what is called a Cog. They're common for rivers, and use only a sail to move." He explained, much to his daughters displeasure. Lorian always took the initiative to try and teach his daughter new things, much to her chagrin as he went on about the ship. Her eyes wandered to her uncle, as he instructed the soliders of House Wolnier in how to conduct themselves during their time here. She turned her attention instead towards the large and breathtaking city, seeing its tall buildings, and enjoying the view. Whitestone Keep was vast, but it was the only tall building for many, many, leagues. Seeing these buildings again made her wonder what it'd be like to live here.

"Siris...Siris. You must really learn not to do this so often..." Lorian said, Siris snapping out of her day ddream to look at her father, a look of embarrassment crossing her face as he let out a sigh, "It's not a good trait for a ruler to have."

"Maybe she wants for something else brother. A knighthood, perhaps?" Orys said with a smirk, having given his men their orders as he rested a hand on his straight-sword at his side, a rare sight when so many weilded curved blades in the south, "How about it, Siris? You ever feel like taking up the sword?" he asked.

Siris's blush grew even stronger at that as she gave a huff and crossed her arms, "Maybe I'll be both! A Ruler and a Knight!" She said, more out of a bit of childish rebuke then any real dream. Truth be told, she was still a bit unsure of what it was she was going to do. Lorian hide the frown on his face behind a smile as he spoke, giving her hair a bit of a tussle as he spoke.

"Lofty Dreams for a day dreamer." He said jokingly as siris went to straighten out her hair, Lorian looking out accross the water towards the capital, "There's not been one of those for some time. Though a word of advice..." He said as Siris looked up to her father with a raised brow. "A ruler doesn't bend the knee, except for another ruler. And a knight..." He began when Orys cut him off.

"A knight kneels, except when fighting for his lord...." he said, sounding a bit more stern then usual as the rare serious side of his personality came out. And just like a strong gust of seawind, it was gone, his gentle smile back as she grinned ear to ear, "Sometimes we have others kneel to us as well, but only if we pay enough." He said, as a joke.

Siris's blush went bright again as she covered her face, Lorian not helping but to laugh at this. Orys seemed to always know just the right thing to say to make him laugh. It had always been this way, even when the two were young kids. Two brothers with two different mothers, close as any blood brothers could be.

The Salaman moved to dock, and after it was lashed and secured, House Wolnier and its retinue set forth, to join their fellow lords in celebrating their unity.
 

Fyremage

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Eventually, the convoys carrying the noble lords and ladies of Trevast would proceed to the edge of the city toward the River Peylon, wherein the walled Castle, segmented from the rest of the city proper, stood proudly as it had stood for centuries. With tall, seemingly insurmountable battlements facing the immense river, and walls well over a yard and a half thick, towers containing ballistae's and slats for archers and other... surprises, the main keep was well protected from the west.

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From the east, one would be greeted by an immense gatehouse flanked with twin towers, and a sturdy portcullis and drawbridge. By the design, a small man-made moat was dug from the river peylon, effectively sectioning the castle off from the main city. In short, none would enter the stout fortress without a massive host, or being invited.

Today being the day it was, the drawbridge was lowered, and the portcullis opened, with guards bedecked in their red and gold raiment as they awaited the noble guests to arrive. House Barran, being the jovial and ever familiar people they were, seemed to arrive first, with Lord Ollis approaching the Serjeant at Arms named "Davie" as they dismounted within the walls, around the bend, and at the main stable in front of the palace entrance. As the Northern Lord addressed Davie, a crooked, toothy smile greeted the northern lord as the man replied cheerily:
"Aye Mi'lord! Beth be well. We just 'ad our first boy not but month ago. Fat one he is. But I reckon yer loaf o' rye be cooling in the window seal by now Lord. She always make it a point when yew be visitin."

As the Serjeant addressed Lord Ollis, Adric stood regally by the entrance of the main palace tower, his crown still vacant from his head as the sun was still a few hours from striking midday. But at Lord Ollis mentioned when he dismounted, it was expected the King be there to greet his Lord brother in law, if not but to be courteous. He actually had a fondness for the man. The men of the north were a very familial bunch, and easy to get on with. Even if Adric was a bit severe and reserved, he found himself more at ease when in their company. It wasn't always that way however. He distinctly remembered the first day they met, when Adric and Ellie were to be betrothed.

He would be lying if he said he didn't feel that way at times anyway. Before Adric had a chance to interpose himself, his youngest son, Ollis Bayne (the name being the choosing of Queen Ellie... as stubborn as she was occasionally guilty of being) rushed out from the keep in his bed clothing, shouting at the top of his lungs: "UNCLE OLLIS!" The boy charged at his uncle, having just reached his eighth name day, and still very much a child. Although he was a prince, Adric was loath to be too severe with the boy, as his own father was with himself and his brothers. 'You are only young once.' Adric's mother was oft of saying.

@Elijah Brockway
 

Elijah Brockway

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"Wonderful," Ollis replied to Davie, giving the man a grin that would put Theo's own smiling face to shame. He dismounted from his horse, catching Adric out of the corner of his eye - and then his ears and vision both found a much younger and smaller child, one that looked reminiscent of both his father and his uncle (through his mother, of course). He grinned again, bending down and catching the boy in his arms.

"Nephew Ollis!" he said, seemingly just as excited as the boy. "Well, you're growing into a fine young lad, aren't ye? Just like your brother, wherever that young scoundrel is right now." He set Ollis down, kneeling down to the boy's level as he did so. "Now, ye should go back to the wagon and try to find young Theo and Jove; those two especially have been excited to see ya again, and ye wouldn't neglect your cousins, now would ya?" After the boy ran off, Ollis stood back up - his back protesting as he did so - before happily striding forth to Adric, grabbing the man in a powerful hug that would make any bear jealous.

"And how've you been, lad? Keeping the kingdom together in one piece, still, it looks like." His accent had settled to a much more normal sound for him, now that his nephew had run off. He'd keep the outrageous lilt whenever speaking to the young child, though, if only because Ollis the Younger seemingly much enjoyed imitating his namesake uncle...something that likely drove Adric up the walls, unless it was just an act meant to keep the uncle happy. He set the king down, before leaning in, and, in a confidential whisper, starting to speak again.

"By the way...don't let young Erant know, but ol' Eddie and I struck up a deal recently, and his Louise is getting betrothed to my eldest!"
 

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The weather was pretty decent from the perspective of Prince Athelrasi; it wasn't quite the mix of the dry and humid heat clashing with the cold mountain air that came in abundance at his castle, but it was a lot better than raining on such an important occasion as today. The gentle swaying of the flat barge upon the waters of the river; such a vessel had been dispatched from his personal ship, Seablade...it would've been discourteous to come in upon a warship after all. Its movements were navigated by ten skilled oarmen. Adorned in his shimmering gold lamellar, silk red cloak with the yellow eagle of his House; faulds of scale mail hung over his legs whilst a white sash was tied to his waist. His gauntlets were inlaid with ornate, serpentine carvings with several gemstones. The Prince's long ebony hair was held fast by several rings, whilst simple black eye makeup adorned the coppery skin of his face. Athelrasi would have continued to ponder the strangeness of the east's weather, had his wife not broken his thoughts.

"Dear husband, it would seem we have drawn closer to the city." The Prince turned to his wife, gazing into blue eyes set within a face of pure olive, a smile crossed his lips. "So it would seem..." he then raised his voice, "Doloros, ready our gift for the good people of this city." Doloros was one of his sworn swords, a man who he could easily trust to stand by him. He was a tall man, possessed of tanned skin...he lacked hair and his left eye, which was concealed by an ornate eye patch and his own lamellar seemed more patchwork and rough around the edges. He then turned his attention to his children; his firstborn and heir, Jokuula, bearing her father's dark features, bedecked in her silver armour whilst 16 year old Nemeros wore only golden robes held fast with a sash alongside red slippers. The boy took after his mother, bearing her blue eyes, olive skin and curly black hair; they were followed by Athelrasi's younger brother, Ohmios and his wife Baarsa, who were using the festivities as a chance to see their dear daughter Nemorina. Soon enough, the barge was pulling into the city of Heldrayth, and many people were gathered along the banks of the river. With a raising of his hand, Doloros and another sworn sword named Raena began to throw cakes into the crowd. People cheered as these strangers from the West showered them with sweet treats...it was a special day after all. The barge then lurched over onto the river banks. With a gesture, the eagle banners of House Ohminjokuul were raised high, the Prince and his entourage went to join the parade of lords upon the backs of their horses; his sworn swords continued carrying out his act of generosity.
 

Tristar

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The doors swung open and as Lord Egon stepped out from his carriage it was very obvious to him that they had been beaten to the draw- as usual, Barran flags would always march first to the call of their blood-brothers. Their procession halted at the rear of Barran's men before the grand steps to the keep- in his eyes, it was unnecessarily big, but to the victors go the liberty to spend: the architecture did reflect on the social values back when Heldrayth was but a fledgling city, so asking for a total renovation would certainly be out of the question. He didn't waste too much time thinking of buildings and scales as his wife escaped the stuffy confinements, stowing away her dainty handkerchief- if he was a stickler for looks, she was a hard master to please for appearances. Behind them, their sons dismounted from their horses, the twins already chattering away loudly- "-otter than a baker's ove-" "-onder if we have time to was-"

The doors of the last carriage swung open and a flash of red dashed out, followed by yellow and last, the genteel steps of Gwendolyn in a silk dress of emerald green and sequins accompanied by a rather harried looking woman who was the exact antonym for Gwendolyn: tall, stocky and dressed in armor, Samara Judenskall did not exactly enjoy her role as babysitter for two very energetic young girls. The happy cries of Marissa and Selena as they chased each other echoed the palace, and soon the worried voice of Jena called out after them, begging for their obedience. Egon let out a small sigh at the antics of his grandchildren and called out to them:
"Mari! Selena!" His crisp and firm voice took hold of their attention, and they immediately ran up to their grandfather, nearly bowling him over if not for Lady Catarina intercepting Marissa in a single swoop, raising her up into the air as the child giggled.


Egon held Selena aloft and spun her around once before setting her back down. Straightening his back, he caught the sight of Jena hurrying over. "Father! Father, forgive them-" "There's nothing to forgive Jena, calm down- they are children, it is normal for them to run and scream their heads off, hmm?" he said, looking at Selena and Marissa, who both giggled and tried to hide behind each other. His daughter in law bit her lip, placed her hands on her hips and stared down at her children. "But you are good children, are you not? Come, let's visit the gardens- Marissa, you haven't seen the gardens yet have you? Gracious, no you were still a babe when we last came here. Father, if you would excuse us, I'm sure the King will want to greet you and mother."

"Go on," he said, waving his grandchildren goodbye. "Do remember we are to dine with the royal family later." Jena expressed her acknowledgements and quickly lead the girls, gracefully following behind them. Children, he thought. Women claim to love them until they have to care for them every single hour. He wasn't one to say however- Cat bore him five healthy children and blessed Gwendolyn was their only daughter, and he loved them all. Radolf stayed back at Threefold-Bell Keep as Lord in his absence- he needed the practice when he was finally lord: Harmann rode in his place, still a fresh lad with a touch of the seas in him.

"Look, Eg, the King and his brother-in-law."

"Ollis the Fifth of House Barran and Adric Bayne the Second, High King of Trevast. Cat- we are in public."

She scrunched up her face, expressing her disapproval. "Surely if the king is troubled by the words of one of his lord's wife, then he's not fit for lordship." Egon looked around in case someone had caught her whispers- no one did. Glancing at the commotion of a family reunion that drew most of the people's attention, he swiftly responded to her criticism. "While I do share similar sentiments- these are not Eulean men, Cat. They do not take it as a chance to change their ways." She only gave him a smirk at that, before turning his attention to his liege now that the King and Lord Ollis had finally separated. "Gather the boys and see to Bronn- by now his outriders will have reports for us."

He sent her off with a brush of his lips on her cheeks before walking to the duo, striking an Eulean salute at the king (his right arm across his chest to his left shoulder.) and bowing before his liege lord. "My liege," he proclaimed, before straightening his back and offering a slight nod of his head to the lord next to him. "Lord Ollis. I had thought you would arrive with Lord Edward, bruised and battered as you always do- what happened?" He gave him a playful smile, offering a hand in a handshake to his equal.

"Surely now, I can see Edward fuming at your timely arrival before him-ah! Well, I take it back. It seems he arrived shortly after you." Egon corrected himself, directing attention to Lord Edward who was busy directing his men, his raucous voice audible even from the top of the staircase. Even when he did not try to yell, Egon's ears would always brace itself whenever the inestimably gregarious northern lord opened his mouth- at least Ollis didn't look like he was yelling when he spoke.

_____________________________________________________________________
Lady Catarina was happy to let her husband play with the men- he was the one with the patience to deal with their King and his merry band of friends. Despite her appearances, she loved her husband- she just was never good at showing affection, something that affected Radolf deeply: it was her biggest regret. So when her husband told her to ask on Bronn for news, there wasn't any hesitation in her footsteps. She approached the First Gargoyle who was busy coordinating his men with the king's servants, directing their horses to their stables and the men to their bunks. She hung back until he was done, and quickly pounced on him the moment he was free from the servant.

"Ser Bronn. A word?" she said, stepping over to his side. He looked up from his book, flipping a page idly; he gave her a brief and curt nod at her. With a wave of his hand he dismissed the lone soldier guarding them, who quickly jogged to follow his fellow men-at-arms. "Yes Mi'lady? Is there something you wish to discuss?"

"Your cousin is asking for a report from your outriders. What have they seen?" she queried, smiling gently at the knight. He stared back at her, back over his shoulder and then back at her still-smiling-face: back in her youth, her beauty meant plenty of courtiers but her father had bigger plans- lordly plans. Even now she still retained a vestige of her beauty, though in her age it was her mind that her husband loved more than the looks of her past. Bronn knew that- it was why they spoke on equal terms.

"Distressing."

"Distressing, Ser Bronn? Whatever does that mean?"


He glanced back once more before returning back to their conversation. "Five hundred knights in total stand at guard, camped on the outskirts of Heldrayth- Silverhawk sigils. Five hundred? To the King's festival in the capital? Forgive me, Lady Catarina but I do not feel safe until either the host leaves, or we bring our own guard out from Threefold." She nearly lost her composure at the news- five hundred? Her smile twitched, but did not falter; she had to continue, after all. "Any idea why?" Bronn grimaced, flipping over another page and holding a quill in between his fingers. There was a full second pause before he jotted down his answer on the blank page: Show of power?

She wondered: a show of power? For what purpose? If Silverhawk intended to press an advantage, there surely must be an outcome they were trying to achieve here. Was it for Kaith? To coerce the lords to giving up claims to the Eastern fort? They lived far to the North-west to be able to maintain sufficient logistics and directing between the two keeps- surely that itself would be an illogical move by the current Lord Elric. Regardless, she dipped her head slightly and thanked him, peeling away from her cousin-in-law and began a smooth walk over to her husband's side- news to report, fresh from the mouth was always welcomed by her husband, no matter the setting.

And goodness gracious, did she have news to report.



 
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Jason Vaiken

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Lord Edward is a giant of a man, when he was younger he had long blond hair and a handsome face. But years of battle and worry have turned his blond hair grey and etched worry lines. Yet, he seems to be a lot more content as he leads his daughters, Miranda and Louise over to where the Lords are congregating. He only has his sword strapped to his hip and he gestured for his daughters to stay behind as he strode forward.

"Your Majesty, My Lords, it is wonderful to see you all again." He glares imperiously at Lord Barran but he has a small slash of a smile on his lips, "Even you Barran. For I have something of utmost importance to me, may I present to you my daughters, Ladies Miranda and Louise Vaiken."

With that his daughters walk up and curtsey and with soft smiles murmur, "Your Majesty, My Lords, it is our pleasure to make your acquaintance."

They both stand up and the one wearing a golden dress with red trim with a confident voice declared her name, "I have the pleasure of being Louise." She looks at Lord Barran, "I am to marry your son Lord Barran." With that she steps aside to allow her twin sister to introduce herself.

With a wicked smile she says, "If she's Louise, that must make me Miranda." Miranda is wearing a red dress with golden trim and has her long golden hair tied in a single braid over her shoulder and her emerald eyes have a playful glint to them.

Both girls are exceptionally beautiful, with striking features and a quiet confidence to them but at the same time they glanced at their father and their brows knitted before going back to their sedate looks.

Edward smiles and places his massive hands on his daughter's slim shoulders. "I would appreciate it if you head back to the pavilion and talk to your mother and Sir Rickon if you wish to tour the city, after all it is your first time visiting."

His girls nod and curtsey once more before striding away to their town house accompanied by 5 of the Lundevan, grim faced men years of experience behind them.

With his daughters gone Edward's face suddenly seems to lose his mirth and he lets out a sigh. "I've much to say and I would prefer to wait until everyone is here... Things aren't going to well up north. I almost wasn't going to attend, but my lady wife told me I needed the break." He pauses and looks at them all and they can see that from the one year since their last gathering, Lord Edward seemed to age ten years. But soon he seems to dispel his melancholy and with one of his famous smiles declares, "So how has everything been for you lot? I need some good news!"
 

Fyremage

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To say that Adric was surprised at Ollis's bearhug would be a misnomer. In fact, he quite expected it. But nevertheless the heft embrace Ollis was always so keen on giving his brother in law could never be fully prepared for. Under most circumstances, the guardsmen surrounding the king would object to such a physical assault, but Ollis being Ollis, he could halfway get away with giving the King a Royal Wedgie and the guardsmen would merely turn their heads in stifled laughter.

Granted, Adric may not have been as... large as Ollis was, for the king stood at roughly 5'-10" when fully upright. His form was fairly slender. Strong, but slender. The King was actually a decent warrior in his own right, though not by merit of sheer strength like Ollis, or Lord Vaiken who stood at a distance during the 'hugging.' No, Adric was more dexterous, and ever the tactician. His mind was by far his most effective weapon, even with him being a very accomplished swordsman. After Ollis released him, Adric smoothed the folds in his red tunic with gold trim, clearing his throat as before speaking:
"We... ahem... we have been faring well, thank you. Another year of peace serves as another year of a job done right, I suppose."

His voice was prim and proper, carrying the annunciation only a nobleman may lay claim to. At the news of the recent betrothal between House Vaiken and House Barran, Adric took a slight pause. "And here I thought the two northern houses would never be caught dead in such a union..."

Although his words bore a serious, stately air to them, they carried the smatterings of sarcasm nonetheless. It was at that point that Egon Eule approached, giving his King a respectful salute and bow. Adric held a high opinion of the Eules. Although they are oft beset by rivals all around them, they have faithfully stood by the crown on multiple occasions. In return, Adric gave the lord a respectful nod of his head. As the Lord of Three-fold Bell Keep addressing Ollis, Lord Vaiken soon approached, accompanied by his twin daughters.

Although discreet, and unmentioned, the King had his suspicions as to the purpose of this meeting of his daughters. Obviously the first was to be polite, as the King was sure of, but if the red gown with gold trim wore by Miranda was any indication, it would almost seem the Vaikens had aspirations of marrying into the crown as well. The King smirked slightly, but said nothing. He was always open to political arrangements if it meant the betterment of the Crown. And his son was of an age where he had begun to grow more... curious of those types of things.

When Edward made mention of troubles that need be discussed, a look of slight concern etched itself on Adric's face for which he said:
"I'm sorry to hear of that, Lord Edward. I look forward to hearing more of whatever troubles you. For now, I hope the festival can serve as some form of distraction for you."

Looking over at the other lords, he continued: "Perhaps I can tempt you with a glass of wine in my study? Or a mug of ale perhaps?"

Not waiting to see who accepted his invitation, the King proceeded into the palace. The main foyer was decorated in all manner of finery, with bright, polished wood from the dense woodlands of the north, to gold sconces and and railings along the stairwells running along the sides.

In short order, the King led the way into his earlier mentioned study, motioning for servants to fetch the promised refreshments. The study was small, though lacked nothing in comfort. Several chairs sat throughout, facing the hearth with a fire blazing within at the end of the room. The King took his seat, and motioned for a nearby servant: "Please direct further arriving lords here, and make arrangements to have enough refreshments present for them."

"Yes, Your Grace."

************************************************************************************************

The sound of sword slashing against shield could be heard in a small practice ring within the palace walls. Young Desirak Bayne IV, Heir to Heldrayth and the High Crown of Trevast, held his shield stoutly against the assault of an older, seasoned grizzled man decked in a black hauberk bearing the sigil of House Bayne. By the look of things, the duel was in full swing, with the man making attack after attack, and the Crown Prince blocking and parrying with his shield and sword. The Blades were dulled, but the force being applied by each blow was enough to impress upon the casual observer that this was not merely diversion.

Adric, though not the embodiment of a warrior, felt it of key importance that his son understand what it meant to be one. And the Sworn Sword currently assaulting the Prince, Ser Gregor Martin, went about fulfilling his King's request at educating his son. By the look of things, the Crown Prince was holding his own rather well. With one more strike, Desirak let loose with a slash of his own, which narrowly missed clipping the shoulder pauldron of Ser Gregory by nary an inch.

Not giving up momentum, the Prince let loose with another strike, to be blocked by the Sworn Sword, followed by a firm shield charge to break the man's defense. It was now that the man was put to his heels, busying himself with parrying and blocking the frenzied slashes of young Desirak. And just when it seemed the Prince was poised to gain the mastery over the knight, a sudden cry of pain shot forth from his mouth as the pommel of Gregor's blade caught the Prince in the cheek.

Where most nobles and princes would balk and call for a stop, Desirak spat blood on the ground and lunged with his blade, only to be parried by Gregor, and the knight's blade resting against the throat of his opponent. With a sigh, Desirak dropped his sword, and the knight bowed as he said: "Good show, my Prince. For a second, I almost thought you knew what you were doing."

With a playful shove to the Prince's shoulder, Gregor reached down and grabbed the practice blade, handing it hilt first to the Prince.

"Another Round?"

"Perhaps later, Ser Gregor." Desirak replied. The young man was quite handsome in appearance, sporting brown hair with reddish undertones and sharp, angular features in the cheek bones. He was still young, around fourteen, but it was clear his physique was taken from his Barran ancestry as he was developing a powerful, broad chest and set of shoulders. As he caught his wind, he also caught sight of a pair of twins walking by, one dressed in a golden dress and the other in a reddish dress (@The Star of Chaos). It was clear in his eyes what his mind was thinking, and Gregor once again gave the Prince a shove on his shoulder:

"Respectfully, your Grace... keep it in your pants. You hardly have hair on your chin."

Despite the foul look given by Desirak, Gregor merely chuckled as he went about cleaning up the practice swords, while the Prince went about grasping a small skin of water nearby and took a hearty drink.
 

Cainhurst Crow

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"Father, are you certain I can't come with you to this meeting?" Siris asked as she looked towards Lorian, preparing for their departure to the capital via the docks. They would go via horses, which had arrived on a different barge, part of the trading caravan that had come to make some coin at the city proper. Lorian walked to Siris and rested a hand on her shoulder.

"Believe me when I say this, Siris. You'd be bored to death attending this sort of affair." Lorian Wolnier said, knowing it was true. She was the type of person who enjoyed wandering around and seeing new things. The type of young spirit who'd be clawing at the walls if she were made to stay in the same castle for so long. It's why he had brought along his sworn knight to keep an eye on her, and make sure she stayed out of trouble.

Rosaria, she was one who seemed to thrive in the world of study and socializing with the nobility. Alas, a summer flu had made certain that she would not be making the trip with him, nor would his wife, who would tend to her and oversee his affairs while he was gone.

"You should listen, Siris. I get bored to death every single time we go to one of these..." Orys Whitesand said to her, his youthful face cracking its usual grin as he adjusted his armor and hung his mask upon his waist. All warriors native to Karsas believed in the old ways, including that one wore a mask in combat to hide his face from the dead of the battlefield. It was traditional for any warrior to wear such covering, from elaborate and engraved metal to plain cloth, if their job was to fight. "If I knew being the knight of white would involve so much waiting and sitting, I'd probably have had second thoughts." he said jokingly.

"Don't lie to me, uncle. I'm smarter then that..." Siris said, pouting as she crossed her arms and earning a laugh from both of the of the men as their sworn knight came walking up from below the deck, tilting the wide brimmed hat as his eyes caught the sun.

"Ahh, Ser Hargraves. Just in time..." Lorian said to one of his sworn knights, a man from the north who'd won his knighthood and place at a tourney years ago. The foreigner took the tobacco he'd been smoking and flicked it overboard as he spoke.

"Don't you worry one bit, My Lord. I'll keep an eye on Siris and keep her outta trouble..." The sellsword turned knight said as he looked towards siris, giving a tilt of his hat towards Lorian as he walked by her side. "Buck up, I'll show you one of the best spots for pies in the whole city." Hargraves said as Siris perked up at the mention of it.

Lorian watched the two leave, alongside a couple of the elite guard as he looked towards Orys, "Come on. Let us not keep our king waiting." He said as he set off with his brother to the meeting.

=======================================================================================

Lorian Wolnier arrived to the castle, and was escorted to the study where refreshments and chairs had been set up. He looked around, seeing the many lords who had arrived ahead of him, including the lords of the west and north. Lorian had no real love for these people, but no real hate either. The past where they had clashed once was long since past, and like sand in the wind, it had settled far off, away from sight and mind.

He looked towards king bayne, walking towards him as he came to bow to his king, "My Liege. An honor, and a pleasure, to be in your presence once again..." He said, giving his greeting as he rose up, "My apologies for my late arrival. The tides had given us some delay on our travels." he said. Orys whitestand stood behind him, and had bowed and risen at the same time as his brother, in a near perfect synch to his brother. Years of practice allowed them a lot of familiarity with one another.
 

Pureblood-Sin

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The Ohminjokuuls maintained their course, their horses riding along the path that had been prepared for the new arrivals. Athelrasi's sworn swords continued their cake bombardment of the crowd; maintaining the ever-growing applause and cheers from the crowds. This was a common practice back home, where he's send his men to do the same thing every year. After all, it was only right that even the poorest of the masses gets a share in the joy when it comes to big celebration. The Prince smile, and promptly gave a wave to the people of the capital; in the corner of his eye, he could see a glint that was distinguished from the usual finery his wife wore. He watched as she gave one her gold-bejewelled rings to a ragged, thin woman holding a baby in her arms; he could barely hear as Bortala told the woman, in their peculiar Trevestan dialect, to sell it and live a better life. Indeed, House Ohminjokuul loved its wealth...they loved the excitement done to acquire it and they also loved to share it with those who needed it. This woman was no exception to that credo, even if she wasn't of the southern Westerlands. Feeling pride in his wife's generosity, the Prince kissed her upon lips with the raw passion that came naturally to their household. Strangely, it felt as though they've been kissing a while...especially since they found themselves at the gates to the King's domain. Knowing the queue, his dear Jokuula took hold of the horn at her side and blew it. Instead of the deep notes that would normally come from such an instrument, loud shrill cry of an eagle would come forth from the horn. She kept up the note as they passed beneath gate, and would promptly stop as her father raised his hand high. With this finished, Athelrasi would dismount his horse, his retinue following suit; the castle servants would take their horses, whilst guiding another cart that the Ohminjokuuls had brought with them. As he landed, he would catch sight of a young man training with a weapon, whilst interacting with another; this was the Crown Prince and the man he spoke to was someone he had never met before. The Ohminjokuul Prince would then be told by another servant that the king would be waiting for them in the throne room; thanking the servant, Athalrasi decided to stay outside a little longer; to prepare his second gift cart for the king, and to gather the measure of any other arrivals within the area.
 
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+SpaceJesus+

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Lord Tiagon, lord of the mountain lands of his namesake, stood within the chamber with a kind of quiet and majestic dignity. He did not speak with these lords often, nor did he feel the need to garner many of their respects. It wasn't like he was all to attached to them, his kingdom mainly kept to itself most of the time. The high King was the only one of real importance in the room to him. However, Tiagon, unlike many of his people, did find some value in the alliance that he shared with these men. It kept the goteri at bay at least, an enemy he doubted even the might of Thrudgast could hold at bay alone. Not to mention the easing on trade it made, a valuable asset to their house. He was a wise King, knowing the value in sometimes bothersome relationships. His brother, on the other hand...

"Go ahead, Tiagon, " Hiral whispered. "Go mingle with your fellows. They sure seem to be having fun bumbling about in each other's company." Hiral smirked slightly, chuckling under his breath. His short black beard framed shout out from his chin as sharply as his tongue cut the air as he spoke.

Tiagon sighed, his aged eyebrows furrowing. "I wonder sometimes why I bring you to these things, brother."

"As do I. I can't believe you forced me on such a horribly boring endeavor."

"Hiral, I wasn't going to, but you complained for hours that you weren't going to get to come to the festival and try the Heldrayth spiced wine. Then you stood on a table and gave a long speech about social injustice in modern monarchical society. I didn't have a choice, you practically begged to get on the caravan and almost stabbed someone on your way in."

Hiral gasped, feigning offense. "I most certainly did not. I think you are being a bit brash, my lord." He turned back to watch the flurry of action, an eyebrow raised. Then his voiced lowered a bit. "And I do not beg for anything, I simply ask nicely until I get what I want."

Lord Tiagon ignored his brothers remarks, and followed the other lords into the study where they were holding their meeting. The four druidic Gaurds that flanked them on both sides stood imposingly over the others in the room, their height and bulk making them tower over everyone in the room, including the ones they guarded. Clad in brown pants and scant leather armor, they were meant as a testimony of their martial power but also as a precaution. Many people had tried to kill the Thrudgast family before, they would not do it again.

"Where is Abor by the way?" Hiral asked, taking a glass from a servant.

"In the tournament. You know him, eager to show his strengths."

"You let him go alone?"

"He is a grown boy, he can take care of himself."

"Well hopefully he's not getting his face bashed in somewhere. It wouldn't look very good on us."

Tiagon looked over to Hiral thoughtfully. "Why do you hate the boy so much? He tries so hard to impress the both of us."

Hiral smiled wryly, a dark sense of humor seeming to roil over him. "I know that, brother," he mused darkly. "and that's the problem. He reminds me to much of you."

---------------------------------------------------------------

Thump

Dirt flew in all directions as the youth was thrown to the ground, his chest bouncing against the dust. The humid and dark air of the fighting chamber smelled rank with rotten water that leaked into this area of the castle. A mighty yell came up from the crowd around them as they cheered on the match. Prince Abor looked up from the ground to see his opponent, a burly brute with a bald head and scars across his chest. Abor smiled. He rolled on his back and threw his weight forward, leaping into his feet in on motion. Both of them had removed their shirts beforehand, and both were caked in the dirt from falling. Abor raised his hand defensively and shouted "Come on then!" He beckoned him forward with taunting fingers. "What, afraid to hit a lord?" He said.

A fist cracked against his forehead, sending him stumbling back. He shook his head, still grinning. "Well then, I guess not." He quipped. The man came in for another wide swing, but this time Abor was ready. He raised his left arm to block it against his forearm, then delivered a devastating blow to the jaw. Just as his opponent stumbled back form the force of the blow, Abor grabbed the back of his head and brought his skull crashing down onto his knee. The man collapsed in a heap.

Abor turned to the audience, a his arms raised for the applause. But it wasn't over yet. The brute got back on his feet, his muscles bulging as he towered over Abor. Abor turned back to him, gesturing with both hands to come at him. "Come on give me all you've got!"

The man screamed in bloody rage, barreling towards the boy. Just as he was a both to run into him, Abor dodged, grabbed him by the chest and flipped the man onto his back. Sit home last brutal blow to the temple, his opponent was out cold.

The crowd cheered as Abor was crowned the victor of the pit fighting competition. Abor grabbed a shirt from a servant who had attended him. "How about you defeat them before they beat you senseless next time, eh?"

He turned to see a soldier standing in front of him in light leather armor, amused eyes peeking through his helmet. In one hand he held a long wooden staff, a much more casual item to carry than say a halberd or spear. The king may not have appreciated such things being brought into his home. Truthfully, he did not tell his father he had brought him along simply because he knew he may have forbade it. However, he made some precautions. Sithrum would stick back for the most part, and to most it would only appear as nothing more than an officer with a walking stick. Abor rolled his eyes and laughed casually. "Shut up Sithrum. Now let's go to the sparring rooms."

"Right this way, sir" the gaurd said, pointing to the next door almost to enthusiastically. As they and the other Gaurds entered the room, they could see Members from every kingdom showing off their skills in combat. He looked to Sithrum. "My father said that this would be a good way for me to get aquatinted with the other houses. Let's go get aquatinted then."

"Abor, you are covered in dirt and your clothes are tattered."

"Then at least he will know I'm willing to get dirty to get things done." He walked towards the others, the servant holding their family banner and sworn sword beside him obviously distinguishing him as an important member of the Thrudgast family. Sithrum walked a bit behind Abor, wanting not to startle anyone.

@fyremage
 
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Jason Vaiken

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Lord Edward followed the king into the study and raises an eyebrow at the rather... flimsy looking chair but sits down anyway, silently offering a prayer of thanks that it didn't break underneath him this year. As the servant comes in with a tray of drinks he fills up a glass of water and takes a sip and proceeds to stare off into space, he has a lot on his mind, mostly worry for his sons as they face the greatest threat ever faced by his house since the great invasion many centuries ago. Yet, he said his part and can't wait to greet his fellows. With a nod to Lord Wolnier and a raised glass he goes back to musing about how utterly f***ed they are.

Lady Miranda Vaiken felt someone staring at her and turns to see the prince eyeing her up she turns to her sister and murmurs a few words and goes to speak to him. After all, it will be beneficial to make his acquaintance. She's a girl that likes to think big and what's bigger than possibly being the High Queen of Trevast. She walks over to the Prince and has a small smile.

"Your Grace, I am Lady Miranda Vaiken, it is a pleasure to finally put a name to a face." Her tone is soft with a playful undertone as she gives him a once over and glances at his practice armour and sword. Her eyes have a certain glint as she asks, "Are you any good with that sword?"



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Miranda Vaiken- Link was broken, I give up.
 
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Tristar

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The crowd cheered, the steel rang and the men curse at each other- Schwarzmann Wilgott took a few hasty steps back as the Bayne household guardsman swung his long axe at his helm, missing it by the whiff of the wind. Around them, the audience looked on at them, cheering for their respective champions and tossing bets for their purported victors- Wilgott was a crowd favourite, but his foe was a new challenger that rose from the dueling rings in Heldrayth, seemingly bent on toppling the city's dueling ring three-time champion out; while the lords and their retinue fought within the grand rings, the lesser folk (like him) earned their fame and glory in smaller competitions.

Wilgott couldn't reach the heights like Lord Ollis Barran V or Lord Edward Vaiken, but here, in the common training grounds of the keep? Where infantry and hedge-knights fought? He reigned supreme, and he wasn't about to let some upstart household guard steal his title- not when his commanding ziegmanne was watching. Not betting, heavens no- their rules were strict about those kinds of activities. But there was a unit's pride at stake, so it would be in bad taste if she didn't attend to watch his fight. Wilgott had no illusions of losing this fight.

He quickly recomposed himself and half-handed his weapon- a dulled flamberge in accordance with city rules- just above the hilt with his sword hand, while his left drew a main-gauche from its sheathe. Both fighters were heavily armoured: Wilgott in his standard Schwarzmena full plate and the guardsman in the typical Bayne set up of heavy mail, brigandine and half-plate- clearly, he was of higher pay to have afforded the half plate. Both men lacked an active shield, though he had his parrying dagger and his opponent slung a kite shield around his back. Holding his dagger firmly, he switched from half-handing his sword back to its threatening pose- the dagger in a reverse grip angled to his side and his main blade pointed towards the brute: the guard huffed, switching his guard to the left and raised his long-axe to a middle guard.

Both circled each other, their eyes never leaving their target, hardly blinking. The air's tension tightened, and deathly silence fell on the crowd slowly as the situation developed- then all rigidness broke as the Bayne guard initiated, swinging hard to Wil's right, who countered rapidly by striking the offending item away with his main weapon, leaving a drastically under-ranged dagger at his disposal: it too raised in defense as the guardsman used the resulting momentum to strike with the butt of his axe. The block was sloppy, but so was the attempt to counter-attack- he rallied from his defensive posture by quickly performing an overhead blow, easily parried away by a wild swing of the blade, which then lunged out to catch Wilgott's exposed chest. He sidestepped quickly, letting the axe slide past his dagger's blade that had shot downwards to intercept.

Both men fought with equal skill as they hammered, dodged and attempted to bludgeon each other with their weapons. Tensions rose as the guard lost his footing for a bare second, allowing Wilgott to pounce on the opportunity and slash horizontally, catching his opponent's forearm. Fortunately he quickly regained balance and held his front with great valor. At one point he lost his dagger after a vicious blow knocked it away, leaving a stinging sensation within his fingers- the swordsman quickly fell to two-handing his weapon and disengaged momentarily- his opponent accepted his withdrawal, both tired from their fight. The crowd no longer cheered, every betting man looking at their tally marks with anxiety in their guts- victory was no longer a foregone conclusion for either of them, and Wilgott was actually starting to feel a slight bit of fear. His stomach dropped further when he noticed an imposing figure of Eulean household upon the upper courtyard- Lady Catarina, along with her son, Harmann Eule.

Defeat in the eyes of a member of the House was out of the question.

He steeled himself and assumed the fool's guard, tempting the fighter into a quick resolution of the fight; he responded with a gruff voice that swore, raising his axe into a high guard. Wilgott closed his eyes for a brief second, whispering a brief prayer to the Moon- not for victory, but for strength; it cheapened the taste of winning if he had asked the gods directly for it.

Lady Catarina spoke briefly to her son before casting her eyes on him, a grim look on her face and a raised eyebrow- would he fail her? No, he swore, not while he could fight still.

The guard took a step forward, and Wilgott charged.

* * * * * *
Lady Catarina Eule, wife of Lord Egon Eule the Second was not in the most enjoyable mood at the current moment- disturbing news during mid-day had upset her already scant mood, and when she informed her husband in a passing whisper, she was dismissed when the King invited his lords to his studies. The look on Egon's face did not change, but she could see the tightness in the corner of his lips as he waved his wife good bye.

Now, she didn't know what her husband had planned in the face of a boiling threat, but she wasn't going to sit idly too. Every member of the Eule household had their own personal guard, a start-up for their personal retinue that would slowly accumulate over time, but she didn't believe in- or rather, couldn't let herself to believe that in itself was enough. Her youngest son, Harmann was only 19, training in the wake of his brothers and looked up to his eldest, Radolf with much sincerity as a doe in a forest.

Out of all her household, Harmann worried her the most; sure, he was an able fighter, much better than boys of his age but he had the naivety that was not a part of Eule's traits. Most were shrewd, and all were rather intelligent and almost all of them a cynic, bar the twins who shared her father's jolliness. Harmann had all but the shrewd nature of his family's namesake, preferring a direct and straightforward solution to every problem.

A dash of daring, bravado and too much chivalry within him- it was not healthy. Lord Tresmark had all of those once, and he died along with his wife. Catarina was not going to see her sons lose another war and be hung from their keep. What she needed, was her own agent- someone loyal to her and had everything her son did not. She had asked Bronn for such an individual, who looked at her with a raised eyebrow before directing her to the common grounds, giving her a brief and cryptic message to 'look for the champion''.

Harmann stood to her side, looking at the duels that occurred below them, drinking in the display of skill, tactics and sheer brutality of combat. He bit his lip and crossed his arms, trying to look serious like his brother, Radolf. Catarina frowned, but said nothing, spying out her potential recruit- there! It wasn't hard to spot, given that they had gathered the largest crowd around. From the courtyard balcony her hawk eyes spectated the ensuing duel between one of her house's warriors and a Bayne fighter, both fighting in almost equal terms.

Both showed equal strength, speed and brutal effectiveness in their duel, though the schwarzmann sought an offensive engagement in every round; it was characteristic of their Order, and while not everyone was simply allowed into the Order of the Dark Moon there were a few individuals that outshone their brethren- this man was one of them. Bronn had assured her he was what she was looking for.

Twenty seven, and had fought during the Battle of Epiphany Fields- was awarded a Silver Laurel for capturing a large number of nobles and better yet nearly died on the battlefield defending his wounded unit commander. A man who went through that, and proved himself three times champion of the lower rings was sure to be more of a realist, though she worried for his confidence- was he humble or was he proud? Could she trust him to keep a cool head in a heated situation? She watched his fight in earnest, his form and aggressiveness reminding her a lot of Egon when he was young- now at his age, he avoided fighting as much as he could knowing that a man with his caliber of experience was hard to find.

The crowd let out a cheer as the swordsman knock the brute to the ground with a deft knock with his crossguard to the face during a 'lock'- capitalizing on his opponent's 'tragic' fall, the young man immediately forced his visor open and held the edge of his blade over the Bayne guard and began yelling for him to yield. The guardsman consigned to his loss, and the victor stood to the crowd's thunderous cheers that threatened to deafen her even from such a distance. "What a fight!" her son commented, smiling as though he had won. She offered him a small smile before gesturing him to follow her. "Come on Harmann, I think we should meet the victor." His eyes lit up and nodded enthusiastically, following her footsteps to the courtyard below.

Actually making their way to the champion was more difficult than she originally anticipated- the people were pushing each other around each trying to get a personal heirloom marked by the swordsman, while sympathizers comforted the loser with words of encouragement and a drink. She hesitated at first, but Harmann surprised her with a burst of initiative that she didn't think he had in him- "Excuse me!" he yelled, drawing attention to him, and to the sign he bore on his tunic. "Make way please, I wish to meet with the victor!"

The crowd parted, some of the commoners and servants of the castle gaping as the knight knelt before his lady and his lord's son, his armor dented in places where his opponent had struck him. "Rise, Ser ?. . ." "Wilgott, son of Greholt of the Silas Meadows, m'lady." He rose to his height, barely taller than her son at approximately 5 foot and ten inches. Average height, and almost the height of most women. If he showed any signs of femininity it was well hidden, and as he took off his helm his features were well apparent to her: golden haired like her son Radolf, though unlike her son who bleached it, his was natural. Ice-blue eyes and a sharp chin, he looked like what every child envisioned a member of the Eule household to be. If he was from the Silas Meadows, then there was a high chance he was Elad, an ethnic sub-group dominant in their agricultural sector- if that was the case, it was most likely his parents were farmers who sent their child to the Moon Shrine, hoping to give him a better chance in life than they had. Factor in that his name 'Wilgott' meant 'Wilhelm is God's Gift' in Old Eladric, Catarina was fairly sure he came from a family devout to the gods and Eule. What a catch.

"Indeed. You fought well, Ser Wilgott. Most impressive indeed." Harmann beamed at him, offering him a hand to shake- Catarina glanced at the rather open act of equality between nobility and commoner, but decided to let it pass. They would need the trust soon enough. The knight rightfully stared at the offer, and back at his lady who gave him a brief nod. Harmann shook his hand enthusiastically, Wilgott looking rather nonplussed at the situation. She gave him another brief smile before speaking out her offer.

The expression changed to something akin to a mix of bewilderment and hesitation on the knight's face. "M'lady, wh-. . what was that again? Pray, forgive me, it seems I might have misheard you."

"You did not, Ser Wilgott. Pack your items and head to the royal quarters- the servants will show you to your temporary accommodations, but I assure you your new job will be permanent and binding until death of yourself: from this day you will serve under me. . .and my husband. . to give your life in protection of your new lord Harmann-" Her son looked rather incredulous, but said nothing at the thought of having the reigning champion as his bodyguard. "- and to instruct him on all things worldly." Wilgott looked at her, slightly confused at her words.

"You will advice my son when he makes decisions in the future. I believe your experience and closeness of age will make a large difference in my son's upbringing."

"My lady you do me great service, but why me?"

She smirked, pushing Harmann to Wilgott. "Let us say, you were extremely unlucky. Or lucky, depending on how well you serve Harmann. Harmann, he is yours, but listen to him like you listen to me and your father. It would make a poor sight if you did not. For you, and for the House."

_____________________________________________________________________

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Elsewhere. . .
Radolf looked up from his parchment, his view partially obstructed by the massive stack of papers on his desk. Whoever was outside of his door knocked again, this time with slightly more sense of urgency. "Enter, whoever it is threatening to break down my door." The door swung open, and Virdano, the household captain, stood in the doorway looking as though he had ran all the way up here- the glistening sweat on his cheeks confirmed his theory. "My lord, sir, the Rendallian procession is here just as your father said, and they're causing trouble ser."

He slowly blinked. "What kind of trouble?" The guardsman gulped, and tried to speak, but his lord interrupted him. "Take a moment to breath. Slow down." Virdano nodded, a little too enthusiastically until he remembered what he was supposed to do; he calmed his beating heart, the piercing glare of House Eule's heir not helping his case at all. A few minutes passed before the captain finally spoke. "M'lord, the Rendallians will not subject to our standard procedures. They've refused to let us inspect their baggage train for illegal items." Illegal items, Radolf mused, smiling on the inside- the term illegal items didn't really have a significance within their trading rules and regulations until the last two hundred years when Lord Damon Eule the Child (his sobriquet referring to his love for pranks, dying as he lived- pranking his wife, before dying of cardiac arrest.), tired of Rendalls, Rivermarks and Rosmann pestering him for preferential trading agreements for little to nothing in return, decided to list up to 200 items in foodstuffs that were deemed illegal, most of them produce originating from their lands, with a bullsh*t claim that Eule lands had a particularly fragile ecosystem that could easily be disrupted by the presence of foreign insects.

The lords back then of course didn't fall for that claim, leading to a war waged over the ruling- laughably called the 'Illegal War' that ended within a year, after Damon had the king sign the ruling, making it a royal decree- if the Triple Entete had continued their war, it would mean going against the royalty. Up to this day, the guards had every right to inspect the cargo and question the owners of the origins of the fruits- mostly formality, but it extremely serious and real for anyone from the Triple Entete region. At least, it was made up to do so. Even now there would usually be scuffles about some particularly overzealous border agent, so Radolf wasn't particularly too worried about today's incident. "Well, then bar them from passing the bridge until they allow the men to check their cargo. You know the standard procedure, Captain. I don't know why yo-"


"Sir, begging your pardon but their household guards- there's been some. . violence." Radolf's ears twitched at the word. Violence? His brows furrowed as he squinted at the captain. "Explain." The man looked behind him before looking back at his lord, his skin blanched- "I. .- my lord, perhaps it would be better to come down and see for yourself." He looked at the white-haired man with trepidation, wondering if he'd be punished for disturbing his lord's work. Radolf simply sighed, getting to his feet. Virdano sighed in relief and was about to walk out when he noticed his lord hanging back, staring at his axe, a memorabilia from his time from the north. "My lord?"

"Go ahead without me first, Captain. I'll join you shortly."

* * * * * *
The courtyard was a mess- the procession of carriages had stopped before the castle gates that blocked the path to the Mudd Bridge, a few kilometers out from the keep; a number of Eulean house guards had raised their spears at the Rendallian convoy as a few of their numbers were tending to a bleeding and injured guard. Half the courtyard was red, slick and slippery from the blood that leaked from the wounded man. In the center of it all, fuming with rage and anger, was Lord Harold Rendall IV, flanked by his guards, one of them which had a bloody sword. His wife and children peeked from their carriage window- his wife, Lady Mariaane, much like her husband looked absolutely furious at the situation.

Virdano jogged out of the building and onto the wooden catwalk, descending the stairs to the ground floor with two steps to three steps at a time- the injured man, Henrique, moaned in pain. It was all Virdano could do to not rush at the man's aid for he had a much bigger problem to attend to- "CAPTAIN!" He flinched. Lord Rendall was a stout man with a potbelly, a voice that boomed whenever he spoke and a face that very much resembled a pig though no one in his household dared tell it to him. The man had a particular hatred for pigs, so much so that he refused to eat pork and banned it from entering his keep. What a man, the captain thought as he slowed down to a walk, stopping a few meters away from him.

"Captain! Where is Lord Radolf!? Are Eulean men so daft that they cannot follow simple instructions? I demand compensation for soiling my wife's honor!" For a man with but 30 soldiers with him in the face of a 500 strong garrison, Lord Rendall did acted as though he had the power in the situation- talking to a lowly captain of the guard probably helped to serve his ego.

"My lord Radolf is on his way, m'lor-" "On his way?! Who the hell does he think he is!? First you men stopped our convoy- that's headed for the Harvest Festival in Heldrayth, might I kindly add- for your 'baggage checks'- which is entirely bollocks!-, one of your men then decides to touch my wife and demand that she leave from her carriage!? How dare you!"

"My lord! Your guard attacked our man on the basis of an accusation that is baseless!" The lord nearly swelled twice his size at Virdano, who then realized what he had said. "Baseless? Are you accusing my wife of lying!?" "My lo-" "Is this what every guard in Eule thinks!?" "Si-" "Oh woe is me your House is run entirely by f**king incompe-"

His words were interrupted then by a loud CHACK! All eyes turned around to see a long axe stuck to the stone ground, the distinct blue hue of the metal foretelling its northern heritage, a small indentation to the flat of the blade revealing a crude carving of the Vaiken bird. From the axe, the eyes turned up to see Lord Radolf upon the railing of the catwalk, his face in cold fury at the sight before him. He leapt.

And landed on his feet, almost cat-like despite having dropped from a full story down to the courtyard. His blue tunic billowed in the breeze as he surveyed the scene before him- his rather spectacular appearance stunned the Rendallian lord for a moment, taken aback by the aggressive entrance but almost immediately regained his composure. "Well, 'Lord' Radolf, given your father's absence I assume I must now deal with you- your man here soiled my wife's honor-"

"Spare me the details Lord Rendall, your wife has no honor." The pig-faced man spluttered in rage, making incoherent noises before he spoke proper words. "How dare you? I thought you were a far better man than your father but clearly you are all from the same breed! All of you, no better than swine! I demand that the you execute that man and then let us through or I will have the king know what occurred here! The shame your house will suffer as everyone in the kingdom whispers about Eulean soldiers tarnishing women's honor!"

"You must have misheard me, Lord Rendall. Your wife. Has. No. Honor." Radolf said, his face stone hard with the eerie calm Virdaro once saw when he traveled north once- it was the air of murder. As Lord Harold sputtered and blustered and threatened Radolf, Virdano's lord slowly grasped the handle of his long axe, swinging it back and forth as he leveraged it out from its embedded spot. As Harold's rant reached its zenith, his lord proceeded to shock everyone in the courtyard yet again.

He single-handedly ripped the axe out from the stone and flung it at the carriage containing Harold's wife and children- wood splintered as it almost caved in the door. Lady Marianne and her two daughters screamed, terrified at the near death experience- Lord Harold yelled in anger as his household guards raised their weapons and prepared to charge at Radolf in defense of their lord's family. Virdano, seeing all of this transpired before his eyes, snapped out of his reveille and barked out to the household guard- "Peria-manen! Waf-zohen, sichaffe ein ihren Lad!" (Pikemen! Raise arms, protect your lord!) At once in unity the guards formed tight ranks in front of their lord, keeping their spears between them and the Rendallian warriors who hesitated at the impenetrable wall of spearheads. "Well!?" Lord Harold yelled, nearly catatonic at the events that had transpired. "Kill them all!"

"Your men are smarter than pigs, Lord Harold. They do not welcome death when they see it. You will leave and proceed to Heldrayth by way of the Sea Bridge south of here, where you will have to pay Wolnier taxes. Or you will subject to Eulean rules and regulations when you are on our soil and allows us to check your baggage, as well as hand over the offending guard over for trial. That is my ultimatum."

Virdano looked at the rebellious lord, face red from anger- he would have laughed and made a joke about Rendall ham, had the situation not been so dire. Instead, he turned and motioned for his guards to stand down, yelling at the rest of his convoy to leave the castle. Turning back to Radolf, the lord spat on the ground. "You win this time boy, but make no mistake- your family will get what's coming to them." Radolf did not so much as flinch, but watched coldly as he waddled to saddle up on his horse. The entire procession had almost left the courtyard when Radolf said, "Stop."

Lord Harold turned his horse around, glaring at Virdano's young lord who wondered what it was this time. "Well!? What is it?" Radolf simply pointed at his axe, still embedded in the carriage. "What, you want your weapon? After you threw it at my wife? Never- I will keep it as compensati-"

"Will you not give it back?"

"Are you deaf? No!"

"Then I shall treat it as theft. Mena! Geit shass!" (Men! Shut the gates!) The doors slowly began to close, trapping Lord Rendall and the carriage carrying his family, much to his protest. "Men. Arrest Lord Rendall, his family and his household guards for the theft of Lord Radolf's weapon and for the attack on an Eulean soldier on Eulean lands without provocation." His guards attempted to resist, but at the sight of Eulean crossbows aimed at them they surrendered meekly, dropping their weapons. The lord himself was a much harder task, who kicked at any man who came close to him. "You cannot do this!" he yelled at Radolf.

Virdano watched as the young man walked over to the carriage, nodding silently to Lady Marianne as he retrieved his axe, hefting it on his shoulder. "Let us go now!" yelled Lord Rendall, who drew his blade and reared his horse up, its hooves nearly bashing into the head of a soldier. Before Virdano could even blink Radolf stepped to Lord Rendall and with a single stroke nearly decapitated his horse, sending a gush of blood everywhere. Harold yelped in terror as the blood splattered over him, painting him red and blinding him- the horse keeled over and buckled under the sheer weight of its rider, falling forward and sending Rendall to the ground. Marianne shrieked but held her tongue as Lord Eule yanked the axe from the corpse and turned a bloody face in her direction.

Virdano stood in silence as his lord waved for his men to do as he ordered, walking back to where Virdano was standing. He looked in his eyes, piercing his heart- at that moment the captain lost any doubt of his house's next-in-line's capabilities as a leader. "I do not suppose you have a handkerchief on you, Virdano?"

"N-no m'lord. Even if I did, I do not think I h-have one big enough to clean you up entirely."

"Do not be silly Virdano, I only need it for my face. Eulean men have worked bloody jobs, so why should I worry about the blood on my tunic?"

". . My lor-"

"It just means, like my father, and his father before me, that I am a man of Eule. At ease Captain, and be on your way now. I must write to my father in the capital of the incident. No doubt the Rendall family will send a letter to their diplomat spurning their own tale. The truth must be told, before they can use it to their own advantage. And then who knows? Maybe the king will step in and force the Rendalls to keep quiet, maybe there will be yet another war. Either way, we hold their lord and lady hostage- I recall we require some more funds for maintenance of the bridge. I wonder how much a lordly pig is worth to the Rendalls. . ."


 
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Elijah Brockway

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Ollis grinned at Adric, shrugging after a moment. "Obviously you don't know us nearly as well as you thought, eh?" he replied after a moment, before turning to Egon. He grapsed the man's hand in a firm handshake, though he took care not to squeeze too firmly. The last time he did that to Egon he heard the smaller man's finger joints cracking under the grip, and that probably wasn't good for the man's hand. "Egon. Good to see you. Put ol' Rendall in his place yet? Last I heard he was starting to get uppity again." At Egon's words, though, he turned, noticing the other large man in the group. However, he didn't have time to yell at him before the Lord joined the group proper.

At Louise's introduction, Ollis nodded, before turning to Edward. "You Vaiken bastard," he growled, but relatively good-naturedly. "I've been trying to keep it a surprise for Erant, but then you go ahead and let your whole family know ahead of time. You're no fun whatsoever." He turned to where his group was still at, waiting a short ways back, and with some short gestures to Theo, managed to convey the information that Theo, Wulf, and especially young Erant were to accompany the Vaiken daughters along with their men on a short walk around the grounds, or whatever else happened to come about. The three quickly jumped off their horses after Theo conveyed the information, shortly joining up with the Lundevan and the girls, exchanging the short pleasant greetings expected of them. Ollis, meanwhile, went with the other Lords into the King's study.

Unlike Vaiken, however, he didn't choose to drink water; nor did he opt for the wine or the ale. He was wearing a large cloak similar to Edward's, although his was stark white, the result of a far northern ranging he'd done with some tribesmen when he was younger. As well, he'd included pockets on the inside of his bearskin cloak, and from one he pulled a bottle of mead that Edward at least would know he'd made himself, from gathering the honey to aging it in his cellar and every step between. "If anybody'd prefer, I brought something of my own to the table," he said to the group, before taking one of Adric's glasses and pouring himself out some mead.

* * * * *
Erant, Theo, and Wulf, meanwhile, having joined with the small group of Vaikens, had also played witness to Desirak's short bout - and to what Gregor said. Even unable to hear it perfectly clearly it was obvious, based on the change in Desirak's expression and the chuckling that was coming from Gregor, the sort of thing that had been said. As Miranda went over to Desirak and introduced herself, Erant turned to Louise, while Theo and Wulf were busy laughing similarly to Gregor, at the expression they'd seen the crown prince make. "So, you're Lord Vaiken's daughter Louise, then, yes?" the young man asked curiously. He was built much like his father, already having passed six feet in height, and likely to get taller than the current Lord Barran was - and was already larger than his cousin, who Miranda had gone to speak to. His voice wasn't quite as deep as his father's, though. "It's nice to meet you. I'm Erant."
 

Fyremage

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The King waited patiently the lords of Trevast settled in their seats, the newcomers offering their expressions of honor to the king, for which Adric nodded his acceptance with a calm, stately smile. He had been king for a few years already, but he couldn't help to feel a bit humbled over the loyalty each of these men held for the crown, even in spite of how some of them were dealt with by his late father...

Eofric Bayne, the first of his name, was a cold and forbidding king. He took the throne when his own father, Adric's grandsire, Desirak the Third, met an untimely end in the field of battle against the Boteri in the third Boteri war. Eofric took the mantle, and had to lead the whole kingdom in war for the next few years. It had left him scarred, both physically and mentally, as he not only had to come to terms with the death of his father, but the death of his firstborn son in childbirth.

Adric came next, but at the cost of his mother's life while she struggled in the throes of childbirth. Adric had few fond memories of his childhood, his father seemingly blaming him for the death of the Queen Mother. In fact, his uncle was more like a father to him rather than his actual father, his uncle being Stephen Bayne, Eofric's brother. Stephen taught Adric what it meant to be a Bayne, and the royal maester taught him how to act wisely in the face of history and what it teaches us, while Eofric busied himself in Kingly duties by day, and the comforts of the ladies of the court by night, giving Adric a stark example of what 'not' to do.

He could still remember the drunken stupors of his father, which eventually killed him from the sheer magnitude of the drink he consumed. It was a great secret, to be sure. In the eyes of the lords of Trevast, Eofric was just a cold, calculating king that observed the letter of the law above the spirit of the law in nearly all things. Only a select handful knew first hand of his drunkenness, such as Adric, Stephen, and the attendants of his house which were too afraid to say anything.

His father's last words still haunted Adric to this day, considering the childhood characterized by a lack of attention and love. "I wish I was a better father..."

Adric could sometimes still hear his father's wearied voice utter those words in his head. In all honesty, it was far too little too late to redeem the life of neglect, but it tugged at the King's heartstrings nonetheless. In fact, it steeled Adric's resolve to be nothing like his father, which was probably the best lesson Eofric taught him. First of all in doing this, Adric was resolved to be attentive to the needs of his subjects, and to try and be as sympathetic and reasonable as possible while still projecting strength. Stephen set the example in doing that, Serving as the Lord Regent for Eofric in matters of state.

With his example in mind, Adric cleared his throat, and just when he was about to speak, he noticed the four guards accompanying Lord Thrudgast entering the room with him and towering over the other lords. The Bayne guards already positioned in the room tensed at their entrance, with others behind the Thrudgasts in the main hall striding up behind them, brandishing their arms. Calmly, Adric stated flatly to Lord Thrudgast:
"With all due respect my lord, I would ask that your guardsmen await outside the palace. While I have no doubt that you mean no harm, It is against the hospitality I have extended to you all to have these men present. One sworn sword may suffice, but not all four."

As he said this, his men at arms stood stoically still, disciplined as they stood ready to do as their king commanded. As it stood, there were six within the room of the other lords, with another host of six behind the offenders in the hallway, effectively outnumbering the druidic warriors threefold. Each guardsman was decked in their normal raiment, namely chainmail, and swords strapped at their hips with short spears held in their dominant hand.

It was not the king's intent for this to turn bloody, but at the same token, If he did not uphold the laws of his house, then it would serve as a sign of weakness to the other lords. So, with a measured tone bespeaking calm, but at the same time the tinge of authority one might expect of a king, he added: "And keep in mind, lord, this is not a request."

@+SpaceJesus+

_______________________
Meanwhile, at the sparring rings, Desirak Bayne noted the arrival of Miranda Vaiken, his gaze never tearing itself from her even as she strode to him. The remark about how well he could handle his sword brought a slight grin to the Prince's lips, who replied in kind: "Sounds like you want to find out."

The response made Ser Gregor roll his eyes ever so (not) subtly, Desirak didn't really care, although the mocking laughter of his cousins was something he didn't really appreciate. Choosing to ignore it, he continued directing his attention solely to Miranda: "It is indeed a pleasure, my lady. Desirak Bayne the fourth." With a courteous bow of his head, he continued: "How have you been doing today? I trust the smells of the city haven't... disturbed you too much."

Heldrayth, although a majestic city in its own right, was not the most pleasant smelling city in Trevast. In fact, although it was better today as numerous houses baked bread and sweets, more often than not the city smelled ripe with manure. After awaiting her response, Desirak added:
"And I would be remiss to forget telling you: you look quite lovely, my lady."


@The Star of Chaos
 

Jason Vaiken

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Lord Edward eyed the druids of Thurdgast with a watchful eye but did nothing, it is not his place to interfere with the host, in this case his King, for the Vaikens swearing fealty to the Baynes has always been a very touch subject. The Baynes were the aggressors, the Vaikens didn't want the war but they needed to fight to preserve their independence. Yet, the war happened anyway, for the King of Lorminium at the time, it was a very very sore subject. Especially when the King in question dared to insult him with that now famous quote. Which is why throughout the numerous Boteri invasions, the Vaikens have either sent paltry forces or sat them out entirely. Their pride stung, the Baynes forced them into their kingdom, insulted them publicly, and his house never did truly forgive the Baynes for that. What kept them going is their sworn word, Lord William swore that him and his blood will be Bayne men. While they acknowledge the Bayne's as their overlords, it does not mean they have to tolerate it.

This will have to change and soon.
------------------------------​
Lady Louise let out a small smile as she looked at her future husband, Lord Erant Barran. He is certainly tall and handsome, but he's still a Barran, half-savage but at least he's a northman. "My Lord Erant, I am indeed Louise and it is a pleasure to finally meet you. My father told me that you have the promise of being one of the greatest warriors the Barrans have ever produced... But let's go talk about you, what are your interests?" She raises a delicate eyebrow and her eyes evaluate him.

@Elijah Brockway

------------------------------​
Lady Miranda raises an eyebrow, "That was not very princely, Your Royal Highness, and besides, I did just see you get smacked around, which is why I asked if you are any good-" She points to the sword in his hand, "With that blade. Not the one in your pants." Only the small smile on her lips lets him know she's jesting. "Hmmm, you have some Barran features- too bad, I would almost call you attractive." This was said in a tone just loud enough for the Barrans off to the side talking to her sister to hear and she gives him a wink before settling into a more quiet tone. "I would appreciate it, if you would tell me about yourself." She looks him right in the eye and he can see a playful light in them.

@fyremage
 

+SpaceJesus+

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[
The King waited patiently the lords of Trevast settled in their seats, the newcomers offering their expressions of honor to the king, for which Adric nodded his acceptance with a calm, stately smile. He had been king for a few years already, but he couldn't help to feel a bit humbled over the loyalty each of these men held for the crown, even in spite of how some of them were dealt with by his late father...

Eofric Bayne, the first of his name, was a cold and forbidding king. He took the throne when his own father, Adric's grandsire, Desirak the Third, met an untimely end in the field of battle against the Boteri in the third Boteri war. Eofric took the mantle, and had to lead the whole kingdom in war for the next few years. It had left him scarred, both physically and mentally, as he not only had to come to terms with the death of his father, but the death of his firstborn son in childbirth.

Adric came next, but at the cost of his mother's life while she struggled in the throes of childbirth. Adric had few fond memories of his childhood, his father seemingly blaming him for the death of the Queen Mother. In fact, his uncle was more like a father to him rather than his actual father, his uncle being Stephen Bayne, Eofric's brother. Stephen taught Adric what it meant to be a Bayne, and the royal maester taught him how to act wisely in the face of history and what it teaches us, while Eofric busied himself in Kingly duties by day, and the comforts of the ladies of the court by night, giving Adric a stark example of what 'not' to do.

He could still remember the drunken stupors of his father, which eventually killed him from the sheer magnitude of the drink he consumed. It was a great secret, to be sure. In the eyes of the lords of Trevast, Eofric was just a cold, calculating king that observed the letter of the law above the spirit of the law in nearly all things. Only a select handful knew first hand of his drunkenness, such as Adric, Stephen, and the attendants of his house which were too afraid to say anything.

His father's last words still haunted Adric to this day, considering the childhood characterized by a lack of attention and love. "I wish I was a better father..."

Adric could sometimes still hear his father's wearied voice utter those words in his head. In all honesty, it was far too little too late to redeem the life of neglect, but it tugged at the King's heartstrings nonetheless. In fact, it steeled Adric's resolve to be nothing like his father, which was probably the best lesson Eofric taught him. First of all in doing this, Adric was resolved to be attentive to the needs of his subjects, and to try and be as sympathetic and reasonable as possible while still projecting strength. Stephen set the example in doing that, Serving as the Lord Regent for Eofric in matters of state.

With his example in mind, Adric cleared his throat, and just when he was about to speak, he noticed the four guards accompanying Lord Thrudgast entering the room with him and towering over the other lords. The Bayne guards already positioned in the room tensed at their entrance, with others behind the Thrudgasts in the main hall striding up behind them, brandishing their arms. Calmly, Adric stated flatly to Lord Thrudgast:
"With all due respect my lord, I would ask that your guardsmen await outside the palace. While I have no doubt that you mean no harm, It is against the hospitality I have extended to you all to have these men present. One sworn sword may suffice, but not all four."

As he said this, his men at arms stood stoically still, disciplined as they stood ready to do as their king commanded. As it stood, there were six within the room of the other lords, with another host of six behind the offenders in the hallway, effectively outnumbering the druidic warriors threefold. Each guardsman was decked in their normal raiment, namely chainmail, and swords strapped at their hips with short spears held in their dominant hand.

It was not the king's intent for this to turn bloody, but at the same token, If he did not uphold the laws of his house, then it would serve as a sign of weakness to the other lords. So, with a measured tone bespeaking calm, but at the same time the tinge of authority one might expect of a king, he added: "And keep in mind, lord, this is not a request."

@+SpaceJesus+

_______________________
Meanwhile, at the sparring rings, Desirak Bayne noted the arrival of Miranda Vaiken, his gaze never tearing itself from her even as she strode to him. The remark about how well he could handle his sword brought a slight grin to the Prince's lips, who replied in kind: "Sounds like you want to find out."

The response made Ser Gregor roll his eyes ever so (not) subtly, Desirak didn't really care, although the mocking laughter of his cousins was something he didn't really appreciate. Choosing to ignore it, he continued directing his attention solely to Miranda: "It is indeed a pleasure, my lady. Desirak Bayne the fourth." With a courteous bow of his head, he continued: "How have you been doing today? I trust the smells of the city haven't... disturbed you too much."

Heldrayth, although a majestic city in its own right, was not the most pleasant smelling city in Trevast. In fact, although it was better today as numerous houses baked bread and sweets, more often than not the city smelled ripe with manure. After awaiting her response, Desirak added:
"And I would be remiss to forget telling you: you look quite lovely, my lady."


@The Star of Chaos

Tiagon stared ahead, making every effort to remain collected. He weighed his options. He supposed that it was only right to honor the rules of the house. The lord nodded his head "There i-"

"My apologies, your grace." Hiral cut Tiagon off sharply. He would not have his brother stumbling about to submit so disgracefully. This was going exactly as he had planned. While Tiagon was quite aware that they were surrounded by Gaurds, Hiral had barely noticed. "It is understandable that you would feel offended by someone not respecting the sovereignty of your house and putting their things where they don't belong. We will respect your wishes." The mans dark green eyes flashed slightly in malice, a small detail most would have missed behind his acting. It was the only thing about him that clued the others to his intention.

Even as Hiral seemed to overstep his bounds as he spoke, he somehow managed to make himself still appear as if he was innocent. Only those who truly paid attention to what he said would even begin to notice otherwise. The others in the room had been forgiving, understanding even, after the rule of the Kings father had abused the treaty for his own benefit. Even his brother had wished to be cordial in the aftermath. It was supposed to be a distant memory, something to be forgotten in place of more important issues.

Hiral, however, did not forget. Hiral did not forgive.

Tiagon cleared his throat, He knew Hiral was going to wade into forbidden territories of he let him go any further. "Yes, we meant no harm whatsoever." He looked over towards Hiral, who gazed over to Tiagon with a sly smile. It was he who had told the lord that the Gaurds had permission to enter the castle. And now, his snakes tongue was being used in some form of demonstration. "I was simply... Misinformed."

Hiral shrugged. "An honest mistake, we will correct accordingly." He turned around towards the Gaurds, "gentlemen, I'll walk with you back to the caravan. My lord has important matters to deal with." And with that, he escorted himself out, the Druids, slightly confused and off put by the situation, following behind him.
 
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