Arcaea/Dining Hall/Dren's Dignified Dialogues
Euran, dead. That was a strange thought. The man had been falling to pieces for years, both mentally and physically, but the thought of his actual death had never occurred to Dren. The cousins' fates had seemed entwined; they were often diametrically opposed, but when their interests had coincided, House Kandurell had had its finest moments.
With Euran's colossal form struck down, Dren had clung to his few certainties - Euran had a son. That son was Euran's only surviving heir, but he was not yet old enough to be knighted. Duty called. Someone else had to be found to carry the Kandurell banner, to inherit what little Euran had left to those who would come after him, to further the family's name. Which made Dren's current situation rather ironic.
Dren, dead - the prospect looked all too likely. The priest had experienced plenty of trials and tribulations; after taking Talex, he had been kidnapped by counter revolutionaries, and he had been wounded countless times in his youth, serving as a knight. Now he was sprawled on the deck of the ship which he had hired to take him back to his homeland of Norland, with a blade against his throat.
"Kill any who fight back!"
Her voice carried easily from bow to stern, and the sailors huddled by the mast knew that the threat was not an idle. Ynora's sword pressed confidently against the priest's collar bone. Viking raiders were running unimpeded across the ship, tying it more firmly to their own (the Northern Howl) and brandishing their swords at anyone who didn't look suitably terrified. After a satisfied glance at her crew's antics, Ynora turned her attention to the quivering priest at her feet. The ghost of recollection passed across her thin face.
"You seem familiar, have I threatened you before?" Her small eyes widened. "By the gods, you're not Euran's cousin?" This man who hadn't put up a fight, hadn't even raised his voice against their boarding of his ship, this man was kin to Euran Yetisbane?
"Ynora? I should have expected to see you plundering the ocean's bounty, but aren't you rather a long way from Norland?" Dren's voice was remarkably calm for someone in such an unenviable position.
"Norland has fallen."
"What? How could...?"
"It's gone, Dren. Not that I'd be disappointed to see that rabble who call themselves vikings being taught a lesson or two, but Moramroth didn't survive intact. I wouldn't recommend a nostalgic visit. There isn't much left to see."
Dren was somewhat shocked, but the only expression that he could find on Ynora's face was one of contempt. She looked at him, judging carefully, then sheathed her sword. Dren pulled himself together as he stood up. He had only been going to Norland to find Ynora, after all, although the news of destruction of his homeland would take time to sink in.
"Euran is dead, Ynora. You're the only one who can inherit - I'm a priest, and your son isn't old enough. I was travelling to Norland to find you." By the laws of inheritance of their now burned homeland, Ynora was next in line. She had never been married to Euran, but they had shared a son, and that was enough.
"Inherit the Kandurell name, you say?" A calculating gleam shone in her eyes. "Well, he owed me something, sure enough. I suppose a noble's name will have to do."
Dren Kandurell (Priest of Magna Aenilia Ecclesia)
