Chamberlain Family/Chamberlain Family RP log

Chamberlain Roleplays: The Conquest of Kazan - Catherine and Nivemus

Nivemus make war upon the Obsidian Islands for a foothod in the Omsk peninsula.

Chamberlain Roleplays: The book of Ora - Kristina

Kristina makes journeys in faith becoming the most recent Oracle of Ora, her explorations of her power lead her down paths she would not have dreamed of treading resulting in her decimation of the East Continents most potent tyrant Atanamir of Umber.

Chamberlain Roleplays: Faith and Duty - Catherine and Kristina

Catherine longs for easier times and the sisters contemplate the demands of faith and duty.

Chamberlain Roleplays: The Death of Phantaria - Hadrian

As the colony dies, Hadrian remains the last of the nobles of old Terran who had sought freedom as the Lords of Phataria, the crumbling walls of the library at Chateau Saffalore prompt his thoughts to stray to better times and chances lost.

Chamberlain Roleplays: The joining of Crowns - Catherine and guests

Catherine consents to marry the errant Duke of Primus Garas Gabanus, the match is for more than love but also a hope for legitimacy and peace for the neonate realm,  - however as with most things, the wedding does not proceed as planned.

Chamberlain Roleplays: The Collected Wisdom of Angus the Lowborn - Angus

The adventurer enobled.

Chamberlain Roleplays: Rape of the Queen - Catherine Garas Gabanus and Brigdha Dubhaine

During the war of independence a heavily pregnant Catherine finds herself at the mercy of Ecthelion Tezokian and his men.  What transpires leads to a spiral of madness and violence.

Chamberlain Roleplays: One night in Reeds. - Hadrian and Assembled

The war with the Daimons has seen Nothoi become a hub for refugees.  Now the Daimon over-lord Jactosh makes the journey with his minions to destroy the city.  The High Priestess seeks to take matters into her own hands and legends are born on a night of terror.

Strange Luck

With her rapid movement amongst the lands, it had taken Lord Wolf's out-rider some time to reach her with the gift from her friend Lord Malakai.

Smiling she looked down at the small velvet bag and the gold Oran lying next to the note. She was touched that Lord Wolf had not only found the coin but had seen fit to send it to her. With all of the rogue incursions over the past weeks, she was yet to receive him following his trip to Caligus. At first she had thought the coin must be some gift from the south, perhaps from King Actron himself, but this was something much more special. The coin of destiny. The Oran that had decided the fate of the nation, for better or for worse. Strange luck indeed that she should be named the monarch of Nivemus on the flight of such a coin. There was nothing special about it, the crest of Uzamaki, opposite the imprint of the White Tree, so fairly old, but certainly not uncommon.

This was not the first coin that had been given to her. She remembered the night in the banqueting hall of Kazakh, when the great Silvertongue, had gifted her an old silver Oran. He had staggered drunkenly toward her, boasting of the maid he was set to deflower that very night. Catherine remembered vividly the ranks stench of the ale and how she had thought that the young Lord must be deeply inebriated to believe that the woman was a maid, and even more misguided to think that he had the capacity in his drunken state to pluck her flower. She had always been fond of Sylvus Alumaani, he was her polar opposite, carefree, brash and fanciful. She often found herself wondering what had become of the man. She, Lord Wolf and Lord Alumaani, had grown together through the penninsula war. The silver oran was Sylvus' gift to her at the end of the fighting. Like him, it was shiny and not quite what it seemed. The coin was old, there was no house crest, so it predated even Kronogos Talius. On the head side was the face of the Goddess, on the reverse was.... the face of the Goddess.

She took the coin from the folds of her bodice and placed it alongside the coin she had just received from Lord Wolf. Placing the silver Oran into the velvet bag she penned a brief note to Lord Wolf, it read:

"Next time make sure they use this one"

Silvertongue

The last of the monsters fell under the black hail of arrows. The plagues had been repeated and bloody over the past weeks but this crew had offered little resistance to the nobles of Nivemus. Returning to her tent Catherine sent her scribes to look for Captain Ewald.

Alone, she was so rarely alone, she enjoyed the moments, loosing the cuffs of her hauberk she splashed cool water on her face. Ewald would be with the troops, she knew she had a whiles before she would be disturbed. Removing her armour she settled herself in a simple shift and began to unbraid her hair. Her handmaid would be disgruntled to find she had cared for her own needs, but Catherine was used to being self-sufficient, it had taken much for her to accept the service of the retinue she now commanded as Kronagos. As her hair shook free she felt the tension ease in her face. She reached for an apple and guiltily began to look through the scrolls and reports the scribes had been asking her to review for the past day and a half.

"Catherine of Oroya in less than her battle armour, that's a sight I never thought to see."

She dropped the apple and snatched up a dagger, turning to the entrance of her tent she stood agape. Ewald and three of her body guards burst after the man and he was immediately on his knees with four blades at his neck. A flurry of thoughts went through her shocked brain, the man disarmed and surrounded by Nivemus steel, raised his shaggy head and smiled at her and winked. All thoughts abandoned she dropped the dagger and commanded the men back. For a moment she thought to go to him, to pull him into an embrace. Instead she turned and shouldered a house gown over her shift. Ewald and the body guards regarded her anxiously.

"Silvertongue..." she turned back to the men, "Where, by Ora have you been?"

Arrival in Oligarch

Her sister had suggested a litter, more regal she had argued, feminine. Her sister was ever the diplomat. Catherine sat sidesaddle on her bay mare. The groomsmen had oiled her coat and she bore the colours of Nivemus from a standard with the shield of the Chamberlain's beneath. She had conceded to a few of her sisters demands, she had removed her armor and wore a pale blue gown; the maunts had braided her hair and she wore the Oran diadem. She hadn't been to Oligarch since she had fought alongside Sirion to secure the city from the ill-fated city state of Fane. Now the huge ancient gates stood open before her. The wood was scarred from the many battles that had attempted unsuccessfully to breach this opening, and now as the Kronagos of Nivemus, she passed them unmolested. A small crowd of Oligarchians had collected, Nivemus had never been a terribly popular realm with this city and they greeted her with pensive intrigue. Even in the midst of war and dramatic change within the realm, they sought sight of a Queen. Perhaps she should have come in a litter after all.

Her own troops and those of the Gottfried's and Wolf's lined the street on both sides as she passed, looking to her left she noted the skirted troops of Lord Pucker and alongside them the men of Sir Rowland, Dame Lucienne and Lord Scorpio. She regarded each of the colours of the houses with pride as she passed. She noted that Lady Verita, still had not decided upon her colours, and her men yet flew only the banner of Nivemus. Perhaps the coming war would help her decide on something appropriate. The last time she had been amongst such a volume of men at arms she had been a marshal, at war with the Obsidian Isles. Now she was something else, a leader of a different type. How hard she had found it to allow others to lead in this war, but everyone had a role to play.

Ewald and Dekmar rode at her side, her shadows, ever vigilant even among such a volume of her countrymen. As she neared the end of the rows of troops, Sir Rowland stepped forward and took the reigns of her horse, guiding her forward to the gates of the ducal palace. His armor was a little more dented than when she had first seen it, he had shaved his head and in these few short months, already she noted his physique hardening from the young man who had emerged from the academy to a leader of men. Dame Lucienne stepped forward and assisted her from her horse. She was glad to see the slight noblewoman had acceded to her wishes and was dressed in a green gown not unlike her own. Lucienne had been sent to be a handmaid but was quickly proving herself as a warrior. Dame Ariadne was nowhere to be seen, Catherine had hoped she would join with Lucienne and herself, but it seemed it was not to be the case. Passing into the grounds of the ducal palace, she was joined by the military council. The men, in their full dress armor fell in an arc about her. She took Lord Ketchums arm and allowed him to guide her toward the delegation of Eponllyn's nobles.

She had never seen so many of the southern nobles before. In fact she reflected sadly, she had never visited the true homelands of Eponllyn, and with the advance of the ice, it was unlikely she ever would. Lord Ketchum quietly informed her of the names of those whom he knew, and speculated as to those he did not. They were largely dark in coloring, with striking features so unlike the paler folk of Nivemus. Her own blonde hair and pale skin, made her stand out somewhat among these nobles.

A heavily accented voice drew the room to an immediate silence:

"Catherine of Nivemus. Eponllyn bids you welcome."

Turning abruptly to her right, she saw the man, slightly shorter than she had expected, though he was seated, swarthy with a well kept beard. He wore no crown but the command his voice held over the room immediately identified him. Offering her hand she bowed her head, dipping a brief curtsey.

"King Garin, at last we meet."

Braelin and Padraig

So the old squire McManus had finally died. Catherine remembered well how the man had visited the Marshes when her despised uncle Jared had still been in tenure. The pair had drank together, gambled and whored together. She had little recollection of his wife, though as she pondered the situation, she was unsure whether to feel pity or happiness for the woman that the foul man was dead. She did remember the children a little. The eldest daughter had been friends with Kristina. That was until the father lost her in a bet and she was married off at her flowering. Strange, she couldn't even remember the girls name now... She often wondered if it was the daughters fate that had drawn Kristina to take holy orders. There was no oath of chastity in Ora's service, many of the maunts had families but Kristina wore her chastity as a shield.

And now here were the other two. Braelin McManus had always been a slightly unnerving girl, Catherine remembered her quietly on the fringes. Big eyed and watchful. She must only have been 6 or 7 at the time. She remembered her Aunt Isabel had arranged for a governess for the girl but it had been many years since she had seen or heard from her. And now she was mistress of her own estate, she would watch her progress carefully.

Padraig McManus had been the girls polar opposite. A beautiful boy, not handsome, truly beautiful. He went amongst all of the Chamberlain children entrancing them with his merry ways and his lively eyes. He had been fast friends with her half-sister Lorelai, allowing himself to be subject to numerous mock marriages at her behest. Even at 5 she remembered vividly how nobody could bear to say no to him. She and her brothers would take him everywhere with them. She even remembered taking him on her horse as they went hunting. Why he had turned up in Oberndorf rather than at the estate in Oroya was a little bewildering to her. As Dame of Oroya in what seemed a long distant life, she remembered hearing word of the squire McManus and his continued debauchery, but she heard nothing of Braelin and only fleeting wisps of Padraig, but nothing to suggest a divide in the family.

And now they were of age and would take their blades for Nivemus.

Interesting.

Aunt Isabel's Parlor

Catherine sat in her great aunts parlor. The ancient woman had been brought up in virtual captivity with Catherine's great grandmother, but had remained of pleasant humor and her generosity had done much to ensure the maintenance of some level of comfort for her father when Jared had bastardised his line.

"The maunts say your sister has rid the continent of King Atanamir"

"The maunts say a lot of things Aunt Isabel, I could drive all of my forces at Atanamir and he would find some way to prevail. Anyway he's not the King, he is only the regent now." Catherine had been hearing rumours spreading throughout the city over the past days and a sense of nervous and pervasive energy was evident.

Isabel shrugged her bony shoulder: "There are greater powers than the armies of men, Kate, you should not be so dismissive." Her aunt looked sagely across the parlor table.

"She is a priestess. Atanamir is a warrior of some note. Just how would she..."

"She is Ora's priestess Catherine, don't disregard what cannot be explained by power of steel and rending of flesh. This is Ora's land." The old woman pushed away from the table. "Catherine, a queen or Kronagos you may be, but always remember there are powers far beyond you and in the end everyone is called to answer for their sins."

She swept from the room in a turn of speed and dignity Catherine was surprised the old woman could still muster. Her cheeks reddening Catherine fingered the edge of her glass, 'queen or Kronagos' right now she felt more of a frightened child.

The Wolf and the Queen

The sun dappled glade was a quiet part of the city. The trees sheltered the clearing and theh wind crafted a susurrus of whispers through the leaves. She could hear her heart beating in her head. Agreeing to a training match was a girlish folly, especially one she knew with certainty she should lose, but she had always found it hard to say no when it came to the White Wolf. She had come on foot, dismissing Dekmar and Ewald at the fringes of the woodlands so that she could walk alone. They protested, but this was her city, in her Kingdom, if she was not safe here she had no mandate to rule. Also she would not have put it past either of the men to involve themselves in the swordplay on her behalf. Single combat should be just that, one-on-one.

As she expected he was there before her, also alone, he stood at the far side of the clearing leaning in a manner he must have thought looked relaxed, but the nervous tension was evident as he adjusted his posture repeatedly. They were old friends, but for just a second, a second too long, she could not find words. He pushed himself upright and then began to duck in a bow before quickly righting himself:

"White Wolf," she called, "I had half expected you to send your brother, so afraid you would be of your Kronagos with a sword." She immediately regretted her words, they sounded so silly as they fell from her lips. In truth they both knew she was far more proficient with a bow than a sword, Malakai was a kingslayer.

"No offence Kate, but we are both more afraid of Lady Kristina." He reddened, perhaps at the jest, or perhaps at the informality. Catherine found herself laughing. A large smile spread across Malakai's face and he seemed to relax a little.

"As you should be old friend." She drew her blade, she had owned the weapon for nigh on twenty years, it had had new grips and guard in that time but the blade had been reliable and sharp. Now it felt heavy and unfamiliar, she adjusted her grip. She felt Malakai's eyes on her.

"I have been too long with my scribes and too short with my trainers." She laid the sword down, exhaled and retrieved it. Rolling her shoulders in the soft leather jerkin, she moved to the centre of the clearing: "Try not to kill me."

Malakai moved to stand opposite to her. Wordlessley they began. Both immediately fell into defensive postures. She had expected him to come sraight forward, he was renowned for his trick moves. Circling one another they began with tentative jabs and parries. He was quicker than her and lighter in his movements. Her guard quickly failed and she heard more than felt the tear of fabric in her sleeve. Malakai recoiled from his own attack looking nervously at the sword and the gash in the fabric. Catherine returned to combat with fury and dedication, pushing back at him. Her onslaughts felt that it lasted hours though in truth it would have been mere seconds. It was enough though to release the swordsman within Malakai. He fought back parrying and thrusting, driving her backward to the edge of the clearing. His grace and poise pushed her to her knees and with a downward thrust her sword was jarred from her hand. It was over and she was defeated.

He offered her his hand and pulled her to her feet. He had strong hands. As she was pulled to her feet she brushed against him. Stepping back she was abashed.

His voice sounded thick: " My beloved Kronagos, I thank you for this meeting, I was anxious to be at your company, it has been too long since we could speak with some informality. I miss the time when you were Marshall and I was your second. I miss you in battle armour and with your ferocious looking eyes. I miss the woman that took my heart."

In that moment she realised how desperately she had wanted to be in his company also, and how she had missed his stalwart presence. Many seconds had passed and she realised that neither of them was speaking, they were simply looking at one another, staring into each others eyes. They were so close she felt they were breathing the same air, her nose filled with the musky scent of his oiled leather jerkin. Looking down she realised that they yet had their fingers intertwined. Tilting her head she looked back into his earnest face. Unbidden she felt her free hand move to caress his cheek, her fingers sliding into his hair.

He stood in silence staring into her eyes.

Angus

Four Rooms

The house was very grand, Charlotte ran from room to room looking through windows of real glass. Dorath, the old woman he had paid to care for his daughter, placed their meager possessions in the room with the bed. How Angus would have loved to show Myrna this place. She had been dead 6 years, but still he missed her. It was she who had driven him to become a sell sword and to work to better himself. Now it all seemed worthwhile.

Dorath busied herself lighting a fire: "These are good rooms Angus. The Earl must think well of you." The fire crackled merrily to life. "Four whole rooms for just the three of us, we might not see each other from one end of the day to the other." She grinned her toothless smile and settled into a seat by the fire, tucking foul smelling tobacco into a bone pipe. "An Charlotte could go to be schooled like a lady now."

His daughter was wild, she was brave like her mother, but had the colouring of the East Island where he had been born and raised. Since beginning his life as a sell sword, he had seen less and less of the girl, and it had been almost six months since he had last been home. Now aged 8 she had adopted many of Dorath's less endearing habits, smoking a bone pipe and even wearing trousers at times when foraging for roots. She had been mistaken for a boy at times. A lady's education could only be a good thing.

The house had its own small garden and Charlotte had been foraging for roots. Angus placed the cooking pot on the fire. "I speared a coney, a coney on my own land Dorath, can you imagine such a thing." He set to skinning the creature.

"Grand indeed, Angus, grand indeed," the old woman muttered between puffs on her pipe.

Their reverie was interrupted by a sharp rap at the door, he knew it had all been too good to be true. He opened it to find a man in arms with his daughter struggling to pull away from him.

"Are you the gatekeeper?" the man began "I caught this urchin stealing from your patch."

"You are mistaken, sir, this is my daughter, and this is now our home. I am Angus Chamberlain." Wiping the rabbit blood from his hands he extended his hand to the man at arms. The soldier looked aghast.

"Sir Angus, my apologies." He dropped to one knee. "I did not think to find you in the gatekeepers cottage, Sir, the household have been awaiting your arrival at the manse for many hours."

Dorath's mouth dropped open and the bone pipe clattered to the floor.

The Garderobe

"No, no... I don't follow." Angus muttered perplexed, he looked to Dorath.

The old woman nodded sagely. "In my room, I use it as my smoking closet. Have a smoke empty the pipe down the hole. Gets a bit cold mind you. Young Miss Charlotte uses it for spittin' the black, most unsavory and wasteful when we has so many nice bowls in the house she could use if I would be so bold Sir."

"Just Angus, Dorath." He eyed the hole suspiciously. It was stone, round and deep, but too narrow to crawl through. "It drops straight down to the ground, a small man, perhaps a pygmy or gnome could climb through such a hole in the night and attack us all in our beds."

"Gods protect us! Think of Imps weezlebugs and snazzledragons, Sir Angus, my poor dear Granny was had by one of them snazzledragons, bit her on the ladies particulars, and she was never quite the same." Dorath looked wistfully into the distance. Angus shuddered at the thought. He had seen many monsters in his life as a sell-sword but was yet to come across Dorath's fabled snazzledragons, he would question their existence, but Dorath's great-uncle had been a sage, so her knowledge of such things went without question. "Perhaps we could have a light in the hole, then I could do some knittin' while I has a smoke. And we all know that weezlebugs won't come through a hole when they sees a light." She gummed at the bone pipe thoughtfully.

Angus ushered her from the closet closed the door and placed a chair against it. "I just don't understand why you would build such a vulnerable thing into so many of the rooms. It just isn't safe. I need to speak to Vargas about it."

Vargas had been the head of the household guard at the manse for many years. Before Sir Angus it had lain unoccupied, but Vargas had taken pride in preservation of the house. He had hoped that the arrival of someone highborn would have elevated both himself and the Manse. He was sadly disappointed by Sir Angus. Dorath ushered him into the room. Angus was perched on the seat he had placed against the closet door, sword in hand, ready. Dorath bobbed her version of a curtsey as she returned: "I brung Mr Vargas, Sir" She laughed coquettishly as she looked at the older man then went to stand beside Angus.

He tapped the door of the closet with his sword: "What's this about then Mr Vargas. It seems most unsatisfying to me have a hole a pygmy assassin..."

"Or an imp!" Dorath interjected.

"Yes or an imp could climb through in my bedroom. If I want fresh air I could leave the door open." Angus finished.

"The garderobe, Sir?" the older man asked.

Angus rolled his eyes in disbelief: "You wouldn't need a guard on that closet if it weren't for that ruddy great hole."

"No, no Sir, you misunderstand." With a sigh Vargas explained the purpose of the garderobe to his Lord. When he finished:

"And I pays someone to shovel it up?" Angus asked incredulously. Looking down at the small trowel he had looped to his belt, as all well brought up men had he shook his head. "That's just not natural."

Why Nobles Have Fat Arses

Angus sat using his blade to furrow the dirt from behind his nails. Was this why he had worked so hard to improve himself? - To sit idly in a region, governing a group of men who sat equally idly. No wonder so many men of breeding were fat.

Perhaps he would get a dog, something he could walk or train when he had so little to do - Would that he could go back to his old ways, he would be hunting the region, fighting the monsters who disturbed the peoples sleep at night. Angus had known solitude, he had known hardship, he had known what it was to be battered bloody by a group of monsters, know he was learning what it was to be bored witless. - But at least he had clean nails.

In Tolhuar

Angus unrolled the parchment and studied it's blankness for several ponderous minutes. Finally dipping pen in ink, he painstakingly began to write:

Dear Dorath, Many thanks for the socks you knitted for me and the boys, we are all wearing them in most regular fashion, it being so bloody cold up here. Young Tom says he hasn't never seen such a lovely pair of socks since his old mum got the pocks and stopped seeing so well. It is good also to hear that the Lady Charlotte has finally given up the chewing tobacco and will be going to school as a true young lady should. I am sending with this letter a hat what I found in a great market in Azzal. It is a most fine hat and has feathers upon it from some bird or other. I am also sending you a bottle of fine scent what Tom says the ladies he met by the docks wears. I know how you likes the sea...

The nib of the quill split sending dark splodges of ink across the page. Angus dabbed at them with his blotter and found a new quill.

Things has been changing somewhat a lot nower-days Dorath. Happens that we has lots of new nobles in the lands what are fond of being quite rude to one another. Even the ladies can be a bit forward which as your nan always said is not the croquettish way to behave if you wants to get a good highborn husband. It seems Sir Miskel Sir, don't get on over well as like with a lots of these new people and there is more argy bargy than at the 'Fat Cock' on a payday. And some of the language can be pretty choice too.

He chewed the feather thoughtfully:

"You a'right down there boy?" He asked the scribe.

"Sir, if you wanted to write a letter I would happily take notes from you." The boy replied straightening stiffly.

Angus chuckled to himself: "Don't be silly boy, if you was taking the notes what would I have to lean on? Now bend over so's I can finish making my writing." The scribe crouched before Sir Angus and the knight spread the parchment once more across the boys back, this was not what he had expected when he had been trained at the monastery to be a scribe.

Me an the Brothers is now in a place called Tolhuar. I didn't visit Darka so much in the past on account of their judge shipping me back to Talerium and threatening me person if I returned. It is a nice enough place but ruddy cold on account of the great big wall of ice that can be seen to the north. I must say as I have never seen so much ice before, it must be 50 feet high and has moved over the lands of the North and basically squashed 'em. Worse again is the plagues of Ice trolls and demons that comes off the wall. They are nasty great buggers, (pardon my language) looking to cause mischief. Sir Miskel Sir, led us as what is in Tolhuar into battle and the Brothers did well felling many of the beasts. But now I am in my tent and planning to stay here as it seems there is some custom of pouring drinks on men who perform well in battle. As you well know I took a bath last month and such an act against my person would be most unwelcome. Tomorrow I has decided to use my second best weapons so's that they don't feel the need to throw their drinks at me. Anyways, I must be off as I need the privy and in the battle I lost my best trowel, so I shall have to find another one quick smart. Give Charlotte a kiss from her Dad and say 'Hello' to Vargas and the other servants for me. Angus.

He rolled the parchment and the scribe stood achingly. Angus passed the gifts and the letter to the boy.

"Now if you'd just lend me your trowel, I would like some time to myself."

From the Tourney

He summoned Tom to his tent.

"Bend over lad" the boy groaned at his masters request.

"Please, Sir Angus, that's not what you pay me for... I had my training in the monasteries of Massilon... please allow me to..."

"I pays you to do as your told, lad, now bend over whilst I prepares myself."

Tom reluctantly bent over placing his hands around his shins: "But you aren't using my skills... I'm developing kyphosis, and I'm only 14..."

"Can't say I rightly know what that is but it sounds nasty... I'll give you a penny and you can go see about that."

Tom huffed in irritation: "Sir, you don't need a scribe you just need a table"

"Now lad, I think well more of you than a table. A table can't help me make my spellings or help me with fine words like kyphosis, whatever that is. All gentlemen have a scribe to help them make their writing. And a better scribe I could not wish for. Now bend over while I make this letter to Dorath."

Dear Dorath, Just thought I would say hello. "Hello". And let you know I has reached the tournament grounds safe and well. It is most grand and I have been invited by many of the high born to join them for drinks. Now Dorath you and I both knows that I am happy to be drinking a small beer at the end of a good days rabbiting or such the like, but these lot is drinking from dusk till dawn then back again. I have even seen some women drinking to excesses and I don't mean a small port and radish. Anyways when they arentn't drinking many of these fine and good try to show off their skills. It is most amusing at times and I have had occasion to laugh at the way they dally like Aunt Daisy with a sword. Of course I may be proved very wrong but a lots of these high borners seems to think fancy dancy with their swords makes em great with them. Now I am not one to criticises as you well know Dorath as many a time I have heard you say: "Angus you are not one to criticise" and I know I agreee that I am not. But I would worry greatly for them should they come on a horned weeve-rat or some undead harpy or other as I do not think their sword play would save their skins. As like as not those who is truly the best with their blades does not show such displays before the true fighting of the tournament begins. No doubt I shall be forced to eat my words when I am knocked on my unmentionable by one of these dandys. Anyways I digresses from my point. I has done something a wee little bit silly and entered the jousting tournament as well as the sword-fighting. Seems as like as not that I should need to ride upon a horse for this jousting, while wearing my armour and trying to knock another man, (or woman!) off their horse with a great long stick. I remembers hearing about such things when I lived with my Aunt Mayim, but I can't says I have seen such a display. And as you knows I am not one for horses. I would prefer a donkey but happens I will need to use a horse on the day. I am going to practice my riding by getting Tom to carry me on his back while I try to balance a ruddy great stick on his head. I know all gentlemen have scribes, but I pays him 3 pennies a week so's I can write on his back and he can carry my letters. To be perfectly honest I was always happy carrying my own letters in the past, and a table would not wriggle quite as much as Tom when I am trying to make my writing. But I supposes this is the highborn way. How is everything going with the move, I bets Mr Vargas was pleased as punch when I managed to convince Sir Frosty Sir to allows him to come with us to Ixcan. I am quite sure he has a soft spot for you Dorath, he was certainly making eyes at you when you wore that lovely new dress you had made with all those fancy birds, farm animals and fruit on it, and that straw hat with the vegetables - that was indeed a fine hat. Not much in the way of gifts to be found round here Dorath, but I have managed to find you this nice dancing lady playing a lute, with a skirt all made of green grass. The peddler says you puts it on your cart and whiles you is driving along the lady dances and looks like she is actually playing the lute. I am sure many would pay to see such an item. How is the Lady Charlotte? Has you managed to convince her that it would not be altogether seemly as like as not to takes her pet goat with her to the young ladies academy. Miss Pryatt was quite insistent about it. As like as not the other ladies would be jealous to see her riding on her very own goat. Anyways I must get to me jousting practicing, though I fully expect to be knocked on me unmentionable, it is best to try and make the bests of a situation. Give Charlotte a kiss from her dad, and tell Mr Vargas hello from me. All the best, Angus

He leaned back folding the paper and sealing it with wax. Tom straightened painfully: "I'll take your letter and the... gift, now then sir?" the boy made move to leave: "Unless there is anything else sir?"

Angus took a broom from the bucket at the side of his tent. "Actually boy there is one more thing you could do... if you'd just bend over"

Redheads

Angus had developped a deep black stain in the right hand corner of his mouth. Young Tom had left some weeks ago, having developed such a curve in his spine he was well able to see his own fat behind and had joined a speciality circus... whatever that meant. Angus hadn't bothered with another scribe. Tom had complained so much in the last weeks of his job Angus heartily resented paying 3 pennies to such an ingrate. He'd decided to get his squire to help make his writing, but the scale armour on his hauberk made his words all bumpy so he'd soon given that up too. Instead he would sit at table and make his own words as was intended for a man.

Spelling was a problem, he had chewed through many an inked quill while trying to find the rights or wrongs of a word and so the stain at his mouth became almost indelible.

He carefully rolled out the parchment and placed stones on the corners. Dipping his quill he began to write:

Dear Dorath, I hope you are keeping well and that your wedding plans are proceeding as is proper. I am still most surprised that Mr Vargas treated you as he did and that he managed to give a woman of your vintage a bun in the oven. My Aunt always tol' me that most women stops their blossoming in her 40's and heres you notching your seventieth and Mr Vargas has made you ripe. Tis a good thing that the man has agreed to make honest on his debauchery. I am only pleased the Lady Charlotte doesn't know of these happeningses as she would like as not have gelded him most severely. How is my little sweet Lady, I hears that Miss Pryatt was not overly impressed as like that she had gone rattin in the young ladies academy grounds. I wroted to Miss Pryatt and saids to her that should she find it more ladylike, she should have given Lady Charlotte a crossbow rather than her having to use a sling. Myrna was always good with a sling, she could hit a rat at 40 paces even when she'd had a small beer or two. And theres was noone could roast a rat like Myrna neither. Miss Pryatts cook seems as like as not been unable to cook up the rats an I was wonderin would you sends her some recipes from Myrna's old books so's not to waste young Charlotte's efforts in the future. Anyways, I digresses again. I'm at another tournament don't you know. There's near enough 90 of the great and goods this time, though currently most of em seem to be preferring the drinking to the training. The young ladies makes me feel quite the old man. They is forward and approaching men flicking their curly wot-nots and showing their unecessaries. One such woman spent many a merry hour tossing about her bright red hair, (a colour most un-natural if you was arsking me) and laughing too loudly at the words of any man who seems to look at her, even good Sir Sven seems to has been sharing space with her if you gets my meanings. I have done my best not to look at her too long as it may cause me to meet some mischief or flame haired beguileyness. I am yet to face a woman at these tournaments, and to be honest I am not sure what I would do if I dids. I never raised a hand to Myrna, and appart from the odd clip I has never beaten Lady Charlotte neithers. I has decided to pretends they are all men with make ups and such, a bit like your cousin Albert. It would not do to not fight them, but it just seems wrong as like as not that I will. Anyways we'll see what comes in the morning. I am sending you this rather marvelous thing what I found in the marketplaces here. It is a fantastic orb with a pottery snow demon insides it. When you shakes it it looks like what its snowing, just like it does in the North. Anyways I thought you'd like it. Give Charlotte a kiss from her Dad and say "Hello" to Mr Vargas. Angus

He carefully folded the letter and sealed the papers with wax. Looking up he saw the red haired woman laughing loudly with another man. He quickly turned his eyes to his glass in case she saw him.

Coconuts

Angus chewed at the end of his quill absently.

Dear Dorath, I hopes you are well and that your being ripe and what not is not causing you too much bother. Well, seems I am once again at a tournament, this time in the city of Ash'rily. I hadn't heard of the place if I am honest, it being set out in the farthest Eastern sea, but it is a grand place and I am sures you would be having a right old time if you was here, which of course you aren'tent. Anyways, this must be the biggest tournament I have seen so far, as like as not there are near to 100 of us high borns and low this time. You would be most tickled that I has been told to pitch my tent in the champions area amongst the greats and goods whose been winners in the past and such like. Looking around I thinks I shall need to buy a bigger tent nows I'm championing from the last meeting. It does not show well for my realm that my tent is justest for sleeping and what not when the other champions seems as like as not to have tents as big as some of the houses in Ixcan. I shall keep myself to myself though as you know well that I am not one for hobnobbing with the high borns too much. I would not like to show myself up and such. I has been to a most uncommon market in this city and found a treat for you which I am sending with this message. As you can see, I gots it from a fruit stall though I am sure you'll agrees it is looking like a large brown turd with hair on it. I larfed when the peddler old me you eats it, personally I finds it a most unappealing article but I am looking forward to seeing just whats you make of it. Anyways I am pleased to say I brung my donkey with me to the tournament this time as I has been told it will not just be swords but also jousting what is going on. I has practiced very little since I let young Tom leave follow his dreams of becoming a traveling player. I should gets back to some training I suppose, maybe I should try some hobnobbing at some stage, seems there is another low born trying to makes his name, Melot they calls him, I can't says I remember him from my days as a sell sword but I sawed him fight and he mades me smile as it was like watching myself. Anyways give the Lady Charlotte a kiss and a hello from her Dad, and tell Mr Vargas that I am looking forward to your nuptials, All the best, Angus

He sealed the letter with wax and laid it beside the round parcel containing the coconut.

Putting his fingers in his mouth he let out a shrill whistle. The donkey ambled over under the canopy where Angus sat. Smiling he patted her grey flank. Pulling himself up, he stretched his taught shoulders, he would sooner spend all day with a sword in his hand, than the meticulous hours he would spend hunched over a letter. Reaching for his broom, he fed the donkey a green apple.

"Well Pedro," he sighed "I suppose we best strat some training for jousting..."

Anton The Reaper of Moeth

The Canonisation

Roleplay from Keirdynos Karstark (5 hours, 55 minutes ago) Message sent to everyone in your realm (57 recipients)

   Anton Chamberlain, Knight of Saenna has been killed by Crimson Swordsmen (11).

Ordering his men to reform and regroup, he came upon Sir Anton's corpse...

Keirdynos ordered his men to halt and lift up the body of his comrade and fellow Sandalakian knight and noble..

Sir Karstark, Dwayne who was ordered to carry message to the command post where Lady Griffin was saw that Sir Anton was slain by the Crimson Swordsmen!

Looking down at the corpse, now borne on the shoulders of 6 of his 12 men with the other 5 each assisting one wounded compatriot... Keirdynos could only wonder if his brothers were doing any better...

I want more details about this Crimson Swordsmen. Who commands and where do they hail from. This, will not go unnoticed amongst us. Even now i heard there was a missive from the Tassie marshal though i knew not what the missive was about.

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Report from Kurlock Lapallanch (3 hours, 38 minutes ago) Message sent to everyone in your realm (57 recipients) Followers of Kurlock,

Kurlock here by bestow Good Anton the title of 'Saint' for his service to the winged ones.

Kurlock believes he is the prime example of all Sandals. May all Sandals one day reach his level of dedication.

Kurlock Lapallanch Wyvern Incarnate of Sandalak Royal of Sandalak star [reply to sender] | [ignore] | [userdetails] | [vulgarity]

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Letter from Kenley La Pointe (3 hours, 13 minutes ago) Message sent to everyone in your realm (57 recipients) A drink to Saint Anton! Eternal slayer of the heathens!

Kenley La Pointe Baron of Cave of Guilt star [reply to sender] | [ignore] | [userdetails] | [vulgarity]

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Letter from Earon Hemmings (2 hours, 22 minutes ago) Message sent to everyone in your realm (57 recipients) Sir Anton shall be avenged in a way that shall make those Tassies cower behind their walls.

Pray, send a battle report and the name of the one who slayed him.

Earon Hemmings Knight of Dwamon star [reply to sender] | [ignore] | [userdetails] | [vulgarity]

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Roleplay from Misty Ketchum (just in) Message sent to everyone in your realm (57 recipients) Looking at the battlefield and the bloody battle that just occurred, Lady Griffin Misty feels some horror. It is not that she does not like the battles. She feels hungry for battles. But even then, seeing the lifeless corpse of a fellow noble, the heroic Sir Anton is too much to bear for her. Sir Anton personally led his men to the frontline, taking the attacks. It was his job, his dedication. Lady Griffin Misty almost waved away Taselak Warbringer messenger as immediately as the messenger comes, due to her sadness.

Nodding sadly at the messenger, Lady Griffin Misty could only offer a short reply message to Taselak Warbringer. Another messenger coming in, from Immortal Wvyern Incarnate Kurlock himself. Reading his message, she understood what she need to do. She stands up and pens a message personally to the whole realm, that all warriors offer a moment of respect for Saint Anton. Sir Anton has been recognized as Saint Anton in recognition of his numerous contributions.

Lady Griffin Misty walks and stands outside her camp, looking at the warriors rallying their troop. Each of her walkingstep is a slow step, as she attempts to overcome her sadness. Trying not to waste too much time dwelling on her sadness, Lady Griffin Misty asks her scribes to gather all military reports as soon as they come. She sends off one of her messengers with a question to ask Marshal Keirdynos "Saint Anton has certainly found his place among Wvyern and Griffin faithful. We need inspiration and he is the one who certainly can inspire us to fight back the tide of the infidels. By the way, does Marshal Keirdynos find out who is leading Crimson Swordsmen in today battle?"