Kingsley Family/Alyssa/Blood on the Stump

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This is a long and complex story with many different characters. The story revolves around a meeting arranged by Nemean JeVondair Renodin in order to apologize for rude letters he sent to Alyssa before he defected to Perdan from Eponllyn. Some messages were sent in private and thus other characters were not aware of some of the things going on behind closed doors. They will be marked accordingly with line breaks for ease of reading. The story began in mid November, and ended on 12/1/2019.

Players in this scene include (In order of appearance):


Renodin

Looking at the new additions to his petite company of riders Nemean glanced over at the walls of Perdan. Just beyond, his old comrades were laying waste to Brive. A small simmering pain drew his attention. The healers had done a good with his left forearm. The arrow had lanced the inside of it but fortunately it had only been a flesh wound. A stinging, nasty reminder of his mortality.

He nodded to himself having resolved his thoughts. Take the day to familiarize yourself with one another, tomorrow we'll ride for the frontline again. Nemean looked over to Jacinta, his captain. They're all yours. With that he left the recruitment grounds and set out to discover the elusive location of the Bloody Stump. A tavern he had been told that was supposed to exist somewhere in Perdan City.

Strolling the streets of the Capital the green eyed noble did his best to find a drinking hole reputed to be for the common man.

Renodin

A wet splash startled Nemean. Dashing to the side as the yellow liquid drenched the ground he had been walking on not moments ago. He shot an angry look upwards. Only to see shutters being deftly closed. The pungent, reeking odor of piss greeted him with a sickly welcome. One he was quick to abandon as he pressed on through the alley.

Pedan hadn't been kind to the exploring noble. He certainly regretted not bringing at least a bodyguard. The slums of the great city sprawled before him and he was sure he'd been lost at least a dozen times by now. The beggars were legion and some of them only practiced the trade as a cover for more sinister deeds. Children in stained clothes and with hands practiced at pick-pocketing often gawked at him with big, teary eyes. His somewhat fine clothing in his own mind must've been unrivaled decadence in theirs. The sword on his hip had so far been enough deterrence.

Several hours later, Nemean came upon a seedy looking place. His mind worked, weighing the options. Would he actually enter this place? The roof sagged, the tiles stuck together as a worn crown of clay reds and browns while some of them sported moss or whatever that green stuff was. He shuddered but steeled himself as he pushed the door open. The sign was beyond doubt. A tree stump covered in blood. Like a bleak omen of what he was to encounter inside.

His eyes stung and all he could do was to shut them as he stopped dead in his tracks. A dense current of woodsmoke mingled with the plumes rising from dozens of pipes. It clung to the ceiling and had no escape but to invade the headspace. Nemean coughed as he tried to adjust to it. Peering through slids he wiped away a tear. Raucous laughter emanated from a grand bar decorated with crudely carved statues of bears. They stood on their hindlegs and with their paws supported the massive counter. Brass chandeliers supported rings of fat candles stained yellow that in turn cast the room in a flickering orange glow. Slowly pacing deeper into the establishment Nemean felt something speed past his legs. The sound of paws upon the wooden floor told him it must've been a dog but he couldn't quite tell. Someone bumped into him as he approached the bar itself and before he could even challenge the man a heavy hand slapped him on the shoulder and some slurred cheer was shouted into his face. Nemean's face shriveled into a ball of wrinkly disgust. The smell of cheap ale and whatever the drunk had been snacking on nearly made him retch. Fortunately the drunk lumbered off with a loud laugh.

Finally managing to reach the bar he discovered a pocket of not so rancid air. The bundels of aromatic herbs hanging from the ceiling doing their job. He gulped in air like a fish on land. Softly chuckling a broad armed man moved to face him on the opposite side of the bar. New are you? The impressive arms rested on the counter. Rows of dark hair did a poor job of hiding the layers of muscle. Nemean caught himself staring. There was a tatoo of crossed spears there as well. You going to buy me a drink next? The man intoned. Several patrons seated at the bar chuckled. Nemean looked up and regained some of his demeanor. Big Arm put up his hands. No offence, you seemed pretty far away. The words were delivered with an easy prose that belied years of mediation and social intuition. The forte of any barman worth his salt. It did its magic on Nemean as it had on so many before him and disarmed him.

Are there any.. Nemean glanced back into the crowded, main common room. ..more quiet seats? A nasty yellow grin greeted Nemean from the patron seated right next to where he was standing at the bar. The patron received an admonishing look from the barman. Of course good sir. You might find more peace and quiet in the Pinter Room, its just to the right through that door where the barrels come from. If that isn't quiet enough you might take a table in the Stump room. There's no shows on, it should be quiet in there. The barman indicated the double door next to the bar. It just so happened to open and showed a room with a large central stump. Like, from an immense oak. And the doors shut again.

Nemean nodded towards the double door. I'll take a table in there. Please send in some wine and cheese. The imperious tone drew eyes. Mostly mocking ones but the Barman played alone as he pocketed the silvers Nemean had placed on the bar. Of course. He said with a jovial tone. It was lost on Nemean though. He simply went into the Stump room and spied out a suitable table. It fascinated him that the room was centered on a huge tree stump podium. Having settled in he took out his writing kit and penned a letter.


Noire

Dustiria pulls up here horse and more falls than slides off her horse. In her hand a crumpled letter. Her feet barely support her as she pats Belmont her trusty steed. She hands her reigns to her captain. "See to him and our new men. " She says wary. She looks up at the Bloody Stump sign as it creaks in the wind. Her hand crushes the letter more,"how dare he." She mutters

From the outside it looks rustic, homey and well maintained. Burnished timbers and huge stone beams make up most of the building's outer structure. It's tough to see through the windows, but the music and voices from within can be felt outside.

As Dustiria enters the Bloody Stump through the heavily used, wooden door, she is welcomed by excitement and joyful music. The bartender is engaged in a conversation, but still manages to welcome her with a wink. She nods back with a small smile and looks around.

It's as engaging inside as it is on the outside. Hardwood beams support the upper floor with hanging lanterns. The walls are littered with all sorts of memorabilia, though whether they're collected or donated is uncertain..

The tavern itself is packed. Travelers and locals mingle happily here with no care for rank. Most appear to be commoners at first glance. Several long tables are occupied by happy, excited groups of people, some are dancing on the table, while others cheer them on with clapping and yelling. The other, smaller tables are also occupied by people who are indulging in homey food and ale that isn't the best but wets your throat nicely, while some do try to strike a conversation, others can barely speak a word while contemplating their exsistance. Even most of the stools at the bar are occupied, though nobody seems to mind more company.

Many great her as she walks through and goes to her usual small table. One of the servers places and Ale before her and leaves.

"How can he not see this" she shakes her head again and begins to drink her Ale.

Kingsley

Alyssa walked through the streets of Perdan City as a light snow fell across the cobbled city streets. There were a few people out and about and they all made way for her and the small company of armed guards escorting her. The clack of their boots against the stony streets echoed off the tightly packed buildings of Perdan's West Quarter. Alyssa's own footsteps were light as she stepped carefully, lifting her modest white dress to just above her ankles to avoid it touching cold wet snow. Around her, a black cloak, somewhat oversized, loaned to her by her elderly squire Graham, and at her hip, the ornate ceremonial Blade of the Imperator hung from a golden sash on her waist.

The place did not smell well and the people looked at her skeptically as she passed. She continued on towards her destination, head held nobly as she passed by them. She knew many of these people were refugees who had little and less, and while they seemed unwashed and shifty, she knew them, and their simple desire for a better life. Children of Perdan, She thought. If only I could lead you back home. Her party continued down the street and into the alley where she spotted the sign, that she supposed was meant to be a stump but looked like a misshapen wooden mass coated in faded red paint. The Bloody Stump, it read as Alyssa looked at it skeptically. She was uncertain of why she would be asked to such a place like this. She doubted any noble lady had ever been near this dank looking tavern. Perhaps this is some sort of joke. She mused. She understood Sir Nemean less and less with ever letter he sent. She felt some unease as she stepped into the barroom, as men armwrestled, drank and laughed with women, musicians playing jaunty tunes. A few patrons glanced at Alyssa and her guards as she walked in, one man looked nervously at the Blade of the Imperator, likely not knowing it was dulled and served mainly as a badge of office. Their eyes shifted from her to a table near the back where Dustiria Noire sat quietly.

Alyssa met the other woman's eyes, giving a skeptical look. What is going on She thought, now confused and concerned. Quickly she stepped across the room to her sworn sword as many eyes looked nervously at the stiff-looking noblewoman and her armed men.

"My lady..." She said somewhat concerned. "I was to meet Sir Nemean here. I did not expect to find you in this establishment as well."

Noire

As the doors open she looks up from where she sits with her back to the wall. The crumpled letter the only thing other than a mug of ale on her table. a relaxed Dustiria, something not seen stands and smiles. "Welcome to the Bloody Stump Imperatrix. My home while I am in Perdan and not with you. "

The patrons resume talking now that they are sure Dustiria is not in trouble.

"Have a seat. I must confess when I told you I met Sir Kenneth here I didn't expect you to meet here too," did her cheeks flush a little or maybe it's the poor lighting."it's a good clean place where nobles and commoners can enjoy themselves. I am so thankful Duke Smiddich gave it to me since my men and I enjoy it so much. I am far from Lorient after all and it's a nice place to rest my head. So what brings you here? Miss me?"

Her black gauntlet covered had waves to the barkeep,"ale alright for you my lady?"

Kingsley

"I'm afraid I haven't the time today my lady." She looked around at the many commoners around, and the lack of nobles. It did not seem a place nobles would wish to find themselves. Certainly the some of the looks she was getting made her feel that this is the first time some had seen a noble. A boy her age stared at her uncomfortably, while a couple of old miners whispered glancing at her sword, while a common woman with a tankard of ale sitting merrily in the lap of what Alyssa suspected was a sailor winked at her while laughing and flirting with the man she was with. Alyssa shifted awkwardly at the attention she had drawn from all of the bar's patrons, but made no other sign of her discomfort. Her guardsmen said nothing, standing at attention while the music played jauntily in the background. Perhaps I should send Maron here, he would enjoy it and perhaps get him out of my hair.

"I was asked to meet Sir Nemean here. I have only a short time before a War Council to begin planning our next offensive. Have you seen him, my lady?"


Renodin

Sitting by himself in the Stump Room there was little else to do but to turn the cup that held his wine. It was clay and had this strange wavy motief. A child could've made it. That was his first impression and it had stuck. A steady murmur grew into comfortable droning until it slid back again to being more subdued. It was indeed more quiet in here but it worked on his nerves. It wasn't them even, the other patrons, it was something else. Nemean shifted his weight. That didn't help. His lips felt dry and he felt the need to swallow. From the main barroom a higher crescendo came. Some drunk probably fell of his bar-stool or some such. It wasn't unease he figured. He had a hard time keeping still, unusual for him. Against knowing better, he didn't want to admit he was nervous. He knew but didn't acknowledge he'd glanced at the double doors that allowed people into the Stump Room at least two dozen times. Every time someone entered he looked up and every time he felt a bit of disappointment as it wasn't her.

Resolving to wet his lips with a sip of wine he noticed that the cheese he'd asked for hadn't been brought yet. Instantly, a frown appeared as his hand withdrew from the cup of wine. That won't do. He thought to himself. The doors opened again and snippets of a rowdy song snuck in with the new patrons. Nemean placed his hands on the table and pushed himself off his chair before making for the doors himself.

Pushing through with one hand he immediately directed his attention in the general direction of the Bar. Half turning his head preemptively and uttering the words: "Barman! Where's the cheese? Are you waiting until it's become blue cheese before you'll serve it to me?" Looking but not really looking Nemean's eyes came into focus. Armed guards? Eyes scanned the room. Those guards looked familiar. "Oi! Move off the way lad!" A man pushed past him from behind as he cleared the doorway. There she was. His eyes beheld her and she stood radiant like a bright star on a cloudy night.

A very cloudy night as his line of sight was promptly broken by a mass of men trying to dance together while having their armed locked together. They managed to go from left to right but even that was quite a feat in their state. Not wanting to wait Nemean maneuvered through the crowd. Pushing, elbowing and dodging. The going was slower than he'd liked and the irritation was only mildly tempered by practiced civility that was mostly lost anyway on the patrons that stood between him and Alyssa.

"Alyssa, I mean, Imperatrix." Nemean fumbled as he came close enough to say the words without having to shout to be audible. "You made it." He couldn't help himself from smiling the words and instantly hoped she wouldn't think him mocking.


"Young Master? You be wanting them cheese still?" The Barman called.

Kingsley

He is mocking me. She thought, as she saw the young knight stumble off the the dancing floor before her. It is no matter. I have allowed him to bother me enough already. Truthfully, she wanted this conversation to be over so that she could return to the War Council. The failure of the last campaign still weighed on her and she was anxious to start planning for the next. She had not slept much last night trying to piece together how to avoid the pitfalls she fell into this time and the thoughts continued throughout the morning.

Alyssa shot Dustiria a skeptical glance before turning back to the not. Her presence may not be an accident. She considered, standing at ease, before addressing the knight who had fumbled his way to her.

"Indeed, I am here. You have summoned me, Sir, and I have come. Would you speak with me here or privately?"

Renodin

Her words sounded exactly like the letters she'd send him the last two years. Fortunately, during that time he'd become more practiced at dealing with them. Internally at least but the moment it took him to respond caused him some embarrassment. Ehm He considered Dustiria sitting right there and looked over at her for a moment. Privately? I think that.. yes, privately would be better.

His eyes moved back to the double doors that led the Stump room and then they went to the exit that led out towards the alley. I don't quite know what would be quite private though. As if asking a question he glanced over at Dustiria.

Noire

She looked like she was considering something then said,"follow me." She led them behind the bar. She made a movement with her fingers at the barkeep that those following couldn't see and the large muscled man moved aside. She slid aside a panel that looked like wall and motioned Alyssa and Nemean into a room that clearly looked like it was used for private gambling. "Will this do?"

Kingsley

Alyssa bit her tongue as the knight's eyes shifted towards the back room and the exit. He does not know what would be private? It was he who summoned her to this dingy place, he did not know where he wished to speak?

Dustiria motioned before she could speak and took the knightly pair to a back room behind the bar. There were tables set up loaded with dice and cards of varying sorts, clearly a room for playing games. Alyssa wondered why such a room would be hidden away and also why her sworn knight would own such a secret place, still she did not question it and entered the private room, followed by the Sir behind her. Standing again at ease she nodded to Dustiria and thanked her for the privacy, before turning to Sir Nemean, looking at him expectantly.



Renodin

11/24/2019

The panel closed with a soft grinding noise and left Alyssa and Nemean alone in the secret gambling den. The exclusion from the rest of the tavern did little to put him at ease. If anything it did quite the opposite. The muted sounds of the Barroom penetrated the walls but that wasn't what caused him disquiet. She was now looking at him. An ice blue shade that felt unblinking. He discovered it was harder to meet those eyes than it had been before. When he first saw her on the battlefield of Winkamus. His mind raced through at least half a dozen of the letters they had shared. Where to begin. He thought.

One of the tabled offered him a solution. A bit of relief crossing his face as he walked up to the nearest. "Wouldn't you sit down?" Pulling a chair out. Immediately he felt fake. The practiced, amicable demeanor fell and he sighed. "It's no use." He said softly to himself. Raising his eyes he took a long, hard look at her. "I'm sorry about the things I wrote." With his hand he made all but a scoffing motion. "Of course I wouldn't want something bad to happen to Shadow. It was written in anger. Frustration." By now the features that comprised his face were akin to ripples in a great body of water. Broiling waves forever rolling into the shore.

"Is there something about me that you just hate?" His eyebrows arched. Imploring her to answer yet continuing to speak. "We've spoken about so many things. Good, bad and anything. It didn't matter that we were from different realms. It didn't to me! Why were you always throwing my words away?" As if to unconsciously shield himself Nemean had paced around the table a bit and was now planting both his hands on its surface. Creating some distance between the two but also to brace himself it seemed. His eyes broke contact for the first time as they were cast down at the table. "It felt as if the longer I knew you the more distant you became." He pushed himself up again and with his vert eyes simply beheld her. "I hated that. Did you grow to dislike me?"

Probably far more than he'd intended to say and having gained the presence of mind to stop his words, he felt he had. What's done is done however and he ran a hand through his hair as he anticipated a renewed, glacial response. This time, in the flesh.

Kingsley

11/24/2019

Alyssa glanced away for a moment and sighed. Turning back to the knight on the other side of the table she met his eyes again. "I do not throw your words away Sir. I read them and listened and replied to them honestly as my true self. I admit I am not an easy person to come to know. I have discovered this recently, and I am still adjusting to life in the upper echelons of our society. My life has always been a quiet one and it has been difficult to adjust speaking with Kings and Lords, and Princes." Alyssa watched him for a moment, but his face remained unchanged. Why is he so nervous? What does this man want from me?

"I do not mislike you Nemean Renodin. But I do not understand you. You vex me with your actions and I am not sure what to make of you, or what you want."

Still unflinchingly at ease she continued. "You say you never wish to read my letters again, then the next day you send me a letter yourself. You gift to me a beautiful pup only to write that you wish him to be ripped apart violently. You speak highly of your home of Eponllyn and then you leave them for their enemy. You spite me and..." She hesitated, and swallowed before continuing. "What am I to make of this?" She asked with a frown. "What am I to believe about someone who contradicts himself and changes his mind at every turn? What do you stand for truly? Do you truly stand for honour and justice? Your family? It seems to me you follow whatever feeling suits you at the time. In this way I cannot understand you. I cannot know what you want, from me, the realm, or your life if that changes at a whim."

She paused giving him a stern look. "Even after a dozen letters, I do not know who you are Nemean Renodin. And I am starting to suspect that neither do you."


Renodin

11/25/2019

..I have discovered this recently, and I am still adjusting to life in the upper echelons of our society. My life has always been a quiet one and it has been difficult to adjust speaking with Kings and Lords, and Princes." Alyssa watched him for a moment, but his face remained unchanged.


Callousness. It twined the very fibers of her being. Utterly calm and almost on the verge of disinterest. A warm sensation blossomed from his chest and he welcomed it. His nostrils beginning to flare with fury. What she said next fell like gentle spring rains on budding flowers. His expression softened and he almost leaned onto the table towards her. Wanting to explain but stopping himself as his desire to hear all her words was greater still. As she explained the dichotomy of his actions. The sweet and the sour, with each example he inclined his head as if to confirm. His feet bringing him around the table once again. This time not to create any more distance however. The careful approach, the traversing of the jungle of opportunity, halted.

"What am I to make of this?" She asked with a frown. "What am I to believe about someone who contradicts himself and changes his mind at every turn?


His lips began to move and word an answer but her voice ensued and he didn't interrupt her. Something inside of him wanted to look at her. Look. At her beauty. An inner voice that bid him to stray his gaze. But there were words to listen to. Important things she was saying. He felt intoxicated. He loved it but tried to subdue it at the very same time. Like the eminent howling of a wolf. Beckoning, wanting and full of victory yet not yet having won a thing. The knowing, To look!

Her light blue eyes. The water of a pristine lake in winter, on a clear and beautiful morning. Rays of light piercing the ice. Long eyelashes like creases of a playful hill splayed over the soft and flawless skin of her cheeks.

What do you stand for truly? Do you truly stand for honour and justice?


Her words floated past him. He tried to hold onto them with ethereal hands but his eyes held power beyond his mind. Following the line her chin. Changing at every instant as she spoke but they led on anyway. The faint curve of her neck. Catching himself as he had begun to stare at the rounding of her shoulder. Nemean refocused on her eyes. It was hard to distinguish his feelings. They all felt good.

Outwardly, he merely blinked. Twice.

She paused giving him a stern look. "Even after a dozen letters, I do not know who you are Nemean Renodin. And I am starting to suspect that neither do you."


"I." He now stood before her. The word intoned in a calm voice. "I think you're doing pretty good at talking to Princes." He smiled wryly. He inhaled deeply and slowly led the air escape his nostrils. His eyes resting upon hers. "You've given me a lot of purpose. You listened to me when I lost family. You don't treat me like some sort of tool or angle to play" He cocked his head as if to challenge her on that last statement.

Allowing her time to respond he looked around the room. "There's nobody else. No need for titles." He looked at her. "Alyssa." It felt strange to say her name. Even after having said the name a hundred times over or more. Again he smiled, briefly this time. Quickly it changed to a more somber expression that very gradually flowed off some imaginary waterfall to pool into a strange serenity. His hand reached out to take hers. Placing it on his chest. "I followed you."


Fontaine

11/25/2019

The doors to the 'Stump flew open, the saloon flapping wildly as the sun set. The individual in the lead was well known in the city, and apparently among the patrons of this bar, as a small cheer went up and glasses clinked.

Those with an eye on the well-to-do in this city might have overlooked this swarthy individual, a tall and broad man in a shirt and breeches and second-best-jacket and boots, save for a medallion around his neck; this was Margrave Smiddich Fontaine, the black-bladed Duke of Perdan. His fingers were bedecked by rings, a cutlass at his hip; not his daily carry anymore, but a comfortable and familiar sidearm.

If the Duke was trying to be discrete, he was failing spectacularly. While the Pirate Lord was definitely dressed down for the evening, he was joined by a gaggle of followers who could barely stand, let alone keep quiet. Here, a bankers son, a merchant and his brother, a wealthy tradesman (complete with strumpet clinging to his arm); these were not nobles themselves but comfortably upper middle class.

"Your Grace", offered the barman, saluting with an empty shot glass, "Cleaned that office out like you asked, Lord. The regular?"

Smiddich nodded in the affirmative as his throng milled through the tables, greeting patrons with a laugh and a slap on the back. The barman reached under the table, pulling out several dusty glass bottles of dark green; the Duke snatched them up, and a packet of cigars from a stand. The Duke flipped a dark cigar into his mouth and patted down his jacket for a light until one of his groupies obliged.

"We'll be taking over the Double-down", grinned Smiddich, his face already ruddy from some previous engagement. Before the barman could offer any complaint about the room already being occupied, Smiddich and his throng departed, plucking glassware from tables and trays amid hollering and cheering.

His entourage preceded him into the chambers, throwing themselves into the chambers with abandon until their clamoring suddenly stopped; the room was already taken, and by a couple of nobles, no less..... their very own Imperatrix, and Knight Nemean. One standing, the other seated with a quill and papers.

"What be the hold up?", asked Smiddich as he shouldered his way in past the strumpet.

"Ah...", he said simply, and his throng shuffled their feet listlessly, for in a way they spied their evening about to be ruined. "Imperatrix", he nodded, "Sir Nemean"

"...."

"I don't suppose either of you play Dead Man's Chest?", asked the Duke.


Noire

11/25/2019

She startles as the rambunctious party enters the bloody stump. She had never seen this man before what an odd mix of dandy and commoner. Dustiria relaxed as people cheered and went back to her watch. Obviously this group was no threat. Then as the man goes behind the bar her warrior mask face exspession slaps into place and she forces her way to him. As he looks in the room she grabs his arm

"Sir I must ask you to leave" Dustiria says and then her face shows confusion as he addresses those inside the room.

Kingsley

11/25/2019

Alyssa jumped, startled at the booming voice of the entrant Duke. Yanking her arm away from Nemean's hand, who was holding her own hand to his chest. She stared mortified at the black-bladed duke and her own sworn knight, as well as some of the curious bar patrons who gathered to the bar for a chance to spy at the cause of the commotion, wholly aware of what they might be thinking at the sight they came upon. The Duke looked quite surprised at the sight Alyssa's hand upon the young knight's chest while the woman who winked at her in the barroom gave an encouraging holler. She heard a laugh from further back, who's it was she could not see.

She turned to Nemean, a horrific realization on her face as all the pieces fell into place in her mind. /I have been set up/ She thought, recalling the cheeky smile on his face when he first appeared to her, Dustiria's unexpected presence, and the seedy locale she had been brought to. As the shock and horror on her face quickly turned, her brow furrowed and her nostrils flared in Nemean's direction.

"Do not ever presume to touch me again, Sir!". She blurted out, her face flushing from embarrassment and anger.

"Perhaps I was mistaken. I think I do know who you are." She barked and stormed past him towards the exit, stopping to address the intruders. "My apologies your grace," she said to Duke Smiddich "There is a meeting I must attend."

She then addressed Dustiria whose role in this she was unclear on but whose involvement she was convinced of. "You and I will speak this evening." She growled. Her heart racing as she stormed out of the establishment, her face red with water beginning to form in her eyes.

Noire

11/25/2019

"your grace" Alyssa's words echoed in her head as realization sunk in. She released the dukes arm as fast as one would avoid touching fire. The normally confidant knight stood still in shock and was brushed aside as the Imperatrix stormed off.

MacArbin

11/26/2019

Kenneth and Captain Septinia were almost at the Bloody Stump, discussing their plans.

"Mastercrafter Helena was quite impressive, I can see why you recommended her. She's a cousin you say?"

"Yes, sir, took over the shop from my uncle. They were always the better-off half of the family, but she's put it to good use, she should be able to help with your pl-"

Their conversation ended abruptly as the door slammed open, and the Imperatrix strode out, face red, eyes wet, and steel not quite in her hands but clearly quite close to it.

He and Septinia shared a quick look and leapt to the side to allow her the middle of the rather cramped street, which she made her way quickly through. Kenneth couldn't tell if it was a tactical retreat, or a march to get her armor and reinforcements.

Kenneth carefully leaned around the doorway, seeing his new liege, Dustiria, and...Was that Nemean? He certainly met the description...

"So, I seem to have missed all the excitement! Are we hunkering down for a battle, or is it something worse? And my apologies, Lady Dustiria, I was making a few arrangements on the matter we had discussed, but now I feel that I was either very lucky or unlucky to miss what just happened..."

Fontaine

11/26/2019

Duke Smiddich had apparently walked in on quite a scene.

His crowd of hangers on were shuffling listlessly, not knowing where to look. Sir Nemean and the Imperatrix had obviously been in the middle of something, and once they were sprung, the tensions on their coils had snapped. Nemean looked confused, Alyssa looked furious and hurt, and a short, rusty haired knight had clapped her black gauntlets on his arm.

"Sir!", said the braided knight, wearing a black padded jacket and a purple surcoat with a heraldric pin, "I must ask you to leave!"

His eyes narrowed on the knight protector. Black and purple, a left-facing hunting bird. House Noire.

He had purchased this locale long ago, while he was still Duke in Bescanon.. back when there was a duchy in Bescanon. Oh, she was a fine city and his first real command in Perdan. He thought back on those days fondly. They had a new King, then a new Queen; portal magic was out of control on both sides. Perdan and her new Knights and refugees were finally making a name for themselves and carving out glory for themselves.

There hadn't been much call for renovations on this dingy dive; it wasn't meant to make money. Instead, she served as a clandestine location for meetings, gambling, and a venue for the performing arts. Smiddich hadn't thought much on the 'Stump until he heard that his knights had been frequenting again, sometimes in public and sometimes in private.

Those that knew him before, when he was a mere Knight of Xavax, thought him fierce; he was fierce, and feared, and smelled of smoke and gunpowder. His low speech, bad habits and questionable morality spoke of an adventurous upbringing as a privateer. A deft hand with a cutlass and the compunction to use it at the merest slight made him unapproachable... practically feral.

The Perdan duchy appointment had cooled all of that. That, before, was pleasure, and this was business... the business of keeping his realm running. As much as he tried to deny it, he found a life of wealth and affluence appealing, and slowly the rough exterior was plastered with a veneer of untouchable civility. His rough speech was as clipped into sensibility as his facial hair, and he groomed both fastidiously. A Duke had to make appearances.

Which was why it was so important to have a place to relax, enjoy a drink and a smoke, and utterly destroy some fools at cards every once in a while.

The Black-bladed Duke gave way as Alyssa shoved her way through in no uncertain terms, "My apologies, your Grace!", she mumbled, and the gauntlet released off his arm as if burned.

"What in the bloody hells?", exclaimed the Duke finally, "This is my bloody pub!"

Noire

11/26/2019

Dustiria tried to get out of the Duke's way as well but his followers blocked the way. At her name she looks to the door and sees Sir Kenneth. Her cheeks flush for a moment as she realizes he can see her predicament.

Her eyes go to the Duke," am sorry your grace. If I had known it was you I would never have dreamed of trying to restrain you. Forgive me." She says with a bow before turning her head,narrowing her eyes and glaring at Nemean. "You on the other hand,"her hand goes to the hilt of her sword,"what did you do to the Imperatrix?"

Renodin

11/26/2019

Panes of glass, thick and strong. Yet, allowing vision without hindrance. Not stacked but carefully placed, one next to the other. As tall as a person. The beginning and the end of this string beyond knowledge.


"I don't suppose either of you play Dead Man's Chest?", asked the Duke. ~Smiddich Fontaine


The rock was hurled. Grey, bordering on anthracite. Specks of quartz glittering in a perfect summer sun.

He felt her hand upon his chest. The briefest of moments. It might've been four heartbeats, it might've been five. However long it lasted. I felt like the blink of an eye. A ripple rumbled through her from the core. She tore her hand from his. The sharp edges of her nails hurting his skin. The pain was ignored though. Fury rained on him and it consumed all of his attention. Her blue eyes rose like icebergs in an angry northern sea. Dipping into the frosty waters as she uttered the words:

"Do not ever presume to touch me again, Sir!" She blurted out, her face flushing from embarrassment and anger. ~Alyssa Kingsley


The mass of rock touched the first pane. First imperceptibly slow. Like the last drop of honey, refusing to fall from the jar. Cracks started to appear. A brilliant star was born. Then in a storm, it burst outward as the glass gave way to stone.

Nemean couldn't speak as Alyssa turned away. Every detail flooding his mind. Unbidden he saw her rage. Outrage. The hurt in her eyes. The rising tide of tears she fought. The questions that streamed past her mind's eye. Glancing eyes seeking answers and accusing at the very same time. They didn't meet his anymore.

An awkward stance was struck as she faced the Duke. Words murmured. A pivot, defensive stance. The warrior unsure. Retreat became the path and gone. She was gone.

Forlorn. Usually the first to storm the walls. First to die. First to be remembered. The feeling that he felt was nothing like the way they spoke of the word. Crushed, abandoned, torn. Like the soldier attempting to scale the walls by ladder. Only to catch a cruel boulder thrown from above. Marking both his doom and his grave.

"What in the bloody hells?", exclaimed the Duke finally, "This is my bloody pub!" ~Smiddich Fontaine


Pane after pane shattered. The Chorus of shards being born from glass a deafening song. The rock lost none of its momentum. An onlooker might've hoped it would've. But it didn't and the blizzard grew.

The Duke's words reached his ears like the fiercest hiss of a kitten when he had just endured the roar of an entire pride. A blank stare was all he could muster as he looked at the man. An expression one might find on a man that was lost and had strayed beyond caring. Having foregone drink and sustenance a long while ago. Beginning to accept that the road will be his final home.

Henna eyes demanded his attention. They weren't alone and a new storm brewed.

Narrowing her eyes and glaring at Nemean. "You on the other hand," her hand goes to the hilt of her sword,"what did you do to the Imperatrix?" ~Dustiria Noire


What did I do to the Imperatrix? The words formed in his mind. Sometimes a warrior crosses the line. When a dear companion, a brother in arms has fallen. The danger becomes insignificant. The threat of death and excruciating pain a mere nuisance in comparison to the desire to follow. To avenge. To feel like you've done something about it. There was no enemy here now to unleash such blind rage. Dustiria was no foe he could try and batter down and it would make no difference anyway. Like other brothers in arms would hold you down as they saw the abandon in your eyes. They were the first to know. Sorrow has to come out.

Nemean's head lulled forwards. His knees felt weak and the wind in his lungs seemed to evaporate as he opened his mouth. He slouched against the table. Sitting, leaning and looking defeated. The green glimmer in his eyes, so cast in the light of candles. Extinguished as they shut.

MacArbin

11/27/2019

Quite the scene, but Dustiria presumably knows more, time to de-escalate...

"And Kenneth MacArbin, at your service, quite literally in my Grace Smiddich's case! I had planned on meeting Lady Dustiria for an outing, but I see a few other plans have tangled up in here. Anything I can assist with, or shall I whisk the good lady off on our errand?"

Captain Septinia, far more sensible, said nothing and stood in a guard position.

Fontaine

11/27/2019


      "I am Dustiria Noire," she says with a bow,
      "And Kenneth MacArbin, at your service!"

".......Aye", said the Duke, narrowing his eyes at Nemean sitting deflated at the table. Too late to remedy whatever had caused this ruckus, he drew himself up to his full height and took a breath. "Captain, some privacy?", he said pointedly, and the posse of punters were displaced amid groans of disappointment at missing out on a fun, free night in the capital. The door was dragged shut part way as the soldier roused them out of the room.

The pirate lord turned his attention to the two junior knights. Both seemed eager, a little antsy - no doubt on account of whatever had just occurred here. He clasped their forearm in a soldiers salute, one after the other. MacArbin was one of his, a city knight, having recently snatched up one of the new wards. Noire, from Lorient, if memory served. Horses?

"A pleasure", said the Duke, who swayed slightly. Perhaps there was more he wished to ask, had they even more privacy, perhaps for someone to explain what exactly was going on. "Your letters reached me in the Capital, Lady Dustiria", nodded Smiddich, his low speech slowly evaporating as he took charge, "That is what brings me here. I expect a minimum of decorum among my Knights if they are going to frequent these establishments in my city. I expect you to share that sentiment among the knights and their men, on my orders. In fact", said the Duke, turning his back on Nemean for a moment, "Why don't you take an estate in the city? There are several new and refurnished estates, and the money would be better."

He had not posed it as a question.

"A pleasure to meet you both. I trust you yet have business; and your lady to protect. Have a fine night", he said, dismissing them casually but receiving their salute in return.

They retreated, the door dragged the rest of the way shut. The Duke stepped to the stump, clutching a duo of dirty glasses in his fingers. The cork popped out of the bottle with a satisfying sound; the Duke was partial to plum brandy. Even he was not so cruel as to admonish a man so thoroughly defeated, and poured them both a measure.

"Lovers spat?"

Noire

11/27/2019

Dustiria finding herself behind the bar on the other side of closed doors of the private room once again looks a bit perplexed before she gets herself back to under control. She turns to Sir Kenneth,"well that was a bit of a kerfulffle. Walk with me? I guess I have to arrange moving as well as find the Imperatrix. I somehow lost control of... That's not important" she pushes outside of he main double doors to leave the the bloody stump with Sir Kenneth and his escort.

"I am sorry we won't have time for shopping,"she says as a messenger intercepted her on the street and she scans orders. "If my head still rests on my shoulders after I meet with the Imperatrix maybe we can share a fire and rations. That's what if you received the same orders."

She writes furiously and hands a letter to the messenger,"see that my steward in Lorient receives this please."

She turns back to Sir Kenneth,"never thought I would be a city girl" her small smile fades and is replaced by her usual warrior face,"Duty calls. Fair thee well Sir Kenneth" she moves off to where she will find Alyssa.

Renodin

11/27/2019

The door dragged the rest of the way shut. The Duke stepped to the stump, clutching a duo of dirty glasses in his fingers. The cork popped out of the bottle with a satisfying sound; the Duke was partial to plum brandy. Even he was not so cruel as to admonish a man so thoroughly defeated, and poured them both a measure.

"Lovers spat?" ~Smiddich Fontaine


It was the pop that brought him back. His eyes opened and as he turned his head towards the Duke he could see how the worldly man poured two glasses of the amber liquid. It hadn't quite dawned on him yet that it was Smiddich. Perhaps it had but the fact had whirled itself from his mind again. Nemean pulled himself up by the rim of the table and took the proffered glass. He swirled the liquid. Almost staring into it. The alcohol stung his eyes. Strands of his dark blond hair errant, completing the uncaring posture as he downed the glass with a single swig.

The inside of his throat burned. His stomach protested and he had to cover his mouth with the back of his hand. The same hand that held the now empty glass. From this perspective Nemean looked over at other man. Sharp alarm would've stood out in his eyes at any other day but today. The Duke wore a good but simple shirt. Some of his chest-hair escaping the loosely laced front. Lovers spat? Nemean grimaced.

Not quite. He neatly thumped the glass near the bottle of brandy. This- Nemean pointed his index finger upwards and spun it around at the room. -was supposed to be an apology. His chest heaved with a heavy sigh. A flash of Alyssa's furious look passed his mind's eye. Followed by another of her trying her best to rush out of the room. Nemean sucked on the inside of his cheek for a bit before he addressed Smiddich again. I don't play Dead man's chest. Chapfallen, he worked his lower jaw.

I'll go back to scouting duty if you don't mind. Dimmed emerald eyes, hollow. Your Grace. The younger man clearly waited to be excused. For all intends, the Duke could be replaced with an executioner and the blade delivering final death, would be welcomed all the same.

Fontaine

11/28/2019

"Belay that!", growled the Duke, "And sit down!"

The older man swaggered to a chair and stretched his leg over it, slopping another measure of brandy into the dirty tumblers. He knocked it back without breaking eye contact with the knight errant. Though he was dressed simply, his fabric was fine and the cut was flattering; everything that could shine or gleam, did.

"You're bad at apologies", the Duke said at last. His ravendark hair was pulled back into his typical ponytail, secured with steel toggles, his fingers bedecked with old rings. "If Alyssa can't do her job, we're dead in water, and who'd take her place?", demanded the pirate Lord, "You?"

The Duke held the bottle corkwise towards Nemean, pouring him another brimming measure, "I'll tell it to you straight, Sir Nemean, the men don't like you. Half believe you to be a spy for the North, and the other that you mean to retrieve your fathers legacy. You're nay half as smart as you believe yourself to be; you may be a tactical genius but you've got no tact!"

Smiddich poured the remainder of the bottle into his glass, barely half filling it, and he slammed it back. He slapped the glass onto the table with a grimace, "You've got potential... you've got heart! But we none of us know what you're fighting for." The Duke stood, rolling his sleeves smartly, his thick arms bristling with dark hair.

"It's time to roll the dice, Nemean,", said Smiddich, looming, his breath heavy with drink, "And show me you've got some pluck. Or I'll let that girl out there have her way with you, and have no doubt... I'll be the easier. On your feet!"

Renodin

11/29/2019

"Belay that!", growled the Duke, "And sit down!" ~Smiddich Fontaine


All he wanted to do was just to disappear. How the sounds of the tavern hummed and ebbed through the wooden wall. Ethereal and able to just glide from room to room. He envied it. Glasses clanked, boots scuffed on the floorboards. A stool fell over. His arms felt heavy. Why wouldn't the Duke just let him go. Couldn't even muster dislike for the caring Pirate right at that moment. Only a fleeting desire to cease.

"You're bad at apologies", the Duke said at last. "If Alyssa can't do her job, we're dead in water, and who'd take her place?", demanded the pirate Lord, "You?"


Perhaps meant as a challenge or as a taunt, the words dissipated rapidly but not before they surprised Nemean. The older man still managed to find something to sting him with. The prick of a honeybee. Painful. He rolled his eyes, gaping a word before deciding with some measure of defiance not to utter it. He'd just ignore it. Ignore it and not give him the satisfaction. He didn't realize it but the Duke was drawing him away from the self wallowing despair. A favor but he didn't even see it as it was happening.

"I'll tell it to you straight, Sir Nemean, the men don't like you. Half believe you to be a spy for the North, and the other that you mean to retrieve your fathers legacy. You're nay half as smart as you believe yourself to be; you may be a tactical genius but you've got no tact!"


Looking away from the Duke, Nemean instead looked at the sliding door. A gate that led into paradise. What paradise though? A dark thought wormed its way back into his head. The pirate Lord remained in the way. Nemean turned inward. Searching for what remained in there. What feeling he could discover not yet bruised and broken. A sharp sensation greeted him. That feeling of competition when you want to prove someone wrong even if there is absolutely no reason to do so. Suddenly the Duke's words didn't sound so compassionate anymore. What are -you- gonna do about it? A mental sneer. A vile mask laughed at him and for the first time, his eyes locked onto Smiddich's.

"It's time to roll the dice, Nemean,", said Smiddich, looming, his breath heavy with drink, "And show me you've got some pluck. Or I'll let that girl out there have her way with you, and have no doubt... I'll be the easier. On your feet!"


The room became a tiny space. The young Prince sprang from his position. Darting like a bird of prey at the larger man. The table became a spring board. A hand planted on its surface and legs sliding over. With his remaining hand Nemean liberated his sword from its sheath. Mid flight. The naked steel sharp and angry with orange flickers as candlelight reflected.

His prey, the Duke, all but launched himself from his seat. Dashing to the side as his cutlass covered his flank. Droplets of either sweat or lost drink hung in the air as the flesh of men moved faster than gravity, for an instant. A loud crash saw the table upturned as Smiddich kicked it over. Fouling Nemean's landing. Young steel licked out but found no purchase. Forced to crouch while landing Nemean rolled forwards, creating a breath of distance. That space disappeared quicker than liquor before a drunk as the Pirate Blade cut and swung.

The sliding door became intimately known. Like a lover Nemean fell and pressed himself against it as he desperately avoided two downward cuts. The first landed where he had crouched just before. The second drove him up the wall, nearly. Heat burned his toes. Nemean dared a glance and saw a cut candle. Laying on top of his boot. The milky white wax spilling all over. He had no time to wonder where it came from, the wall would inform him later.

Being so awkwardly caught out of place all he could do was dash along the wall. Run full tilt half the length of the room. Muscular arms pursued. The broad blade seeking Princely flesh. A deck of cards took flight. Aces and Spades filled the air. The Duke dashed through with abandon. Dark grey greeted him. His barrel chested frame contorted like a belly-dancer. Eyes wide with shock as he was caught off guard for a moment. The inferior strikes weren't hard to counter for him and he batted them aside. One he even pushed aside with his free hand.

So the two rushed around the room like a baboon chasing a smaller monkey.


Fontaine

12/1/2019

Playing cards were fluttering lazily through the air as Nemean was forced into a corner, and he spun, panting. Despite the sudden and frenetic fight, his steel was steady even as his eyes darted around for an escape.

"This is not the game I'd intended on enjoying tonight", said the Duke with a grin, his sword low alongside his leg in a ready stance, "But it is thrilling. Tis as well I own the place". The princes blade was aimed at a broad torso, the master swordsman already calculating a myriad defense.

Sir Nemean pushed himself off the wall with the one hand, a wordless scream, his blade coming in high and fast. What would have bisected the Duke in one moment was dashed aside at the last, sparks flying from their sharpest edges. Nemean turned to face his foe again; he had won his freedom from the corner but found himself still with few places to go. The Duke pivoted smoothly in his tall dark boots which crunched on broken glass, an errant lock of dark hair across his face.

"All other concerns wash away in this moment, Nemean. Win or lose, now", said the pirate lord, stalking his prey, "Now we are countrymen!"

The Prince was backing away, near slipping, as the Duke began his playful onslaught. The blows rained on him from the left and right, with disemboweling lunges, each repelled with inches to spare before finding flesh. In truth, Smiddich relished this return to his familiar weapon and its wicked curve.

"Is everything alright in...?", ventured a voice, forcing open the door which had become jammed with debris, and Nemean took this advantage to launch his own volley. An array of overhead, dashing blows at the neck and shoulders which Smiddich parried in a dazzling blade-dance, his feet stepping lightly with a hand behind his back. Twice, Nemean would have punctured him had he not turned aside at the last second....and, enough!

The Duke brought his basket hilt down hard on Nemeans own hand, having overextended at the last. His sword dropped from his numb, fractured hand with a cry, even as his other hand reached for a dagger. The prince never had a chance to raise it; the black-bladed Duke of Perdan had already made up the distance and implanted his sword to shoulder, inches deep,

"Enough, Nemean", said the Duke, withdrawing the blood-slick blade. "That was well fought, and not as sure a thing as I might have hoped. There is passion here, and I can only hope to stir it, and direct."

He extended his open palm to the fallen knight. From the door, the bewildered barman viewed the scene of the carnage with a wince.

Renodin

12/1/2019

Even as his other hand reached for a dagger. The prince never had a chance to raise it; the black-bladed Duke of Perdan had already made up the distance and implanted his sword to shoulder, inches deep. "Enough, Nemean", said the Duke, withdrawing the blood-slick blade. "That was well fought, and not as sure a thing as I might have hoped. There is passion here, and I can only hope to stir it, and direct."

He extended his open palm to the fallen knight. From the door, the bewildered barman viewed the scene of the carnage with a wince. ~Smiddich Fontaine


The cold was replaced with searing heat. Steel made way for a steady stream of crimson. It quickly covered half his chest, oozing nay, pulsing out of his flesh. Nemean tried to sit up and yelped as he instinctively had put weight on his hand. The Duke's basket hilt already forgotten. The young man fell backwards and droplets decorated the scene.

Among the fury, worry and much greater parts concern swiftly turning to panic a strong and steady hand presented itself. A clammy youth's hand clasped it. Slick with more than mere sweat. Nemean winced, croaked a protest he tried to stifle as the powerful hand gently closed around his and pulled him up. Everything spun before his eyes. The warm yet piercing oaken eyes of the Duke studied him. Why? A weak confusion skid across his face. Not realizing his legs were already wobbly.

As he followed Smiddich's eyes he saw that his entire right side was red. The floor around his feet had begun to pool. Nausea swept through him and his head felt light. That didn't seem to be the most important fact of his life though. Nemean made an effort to look at the Duke. Well fought. His head bobbed. Your Grace.

Rushing away from the Bar, the burly barkeep sped towards the pair. Proper station be damned! Can't have a Noble dying in my bar. With a very back-alley technique Nemean had his deep shoulder wound triaged and the flow stemmed with a firmly knotted washcloth.

Fluttering his eyes, Nemean looked up at the Duke a final time and smiled before passing out.



The following scene takes place the day after the events of the previous. They were exchanged privately with Noire


Noire

11/27/2019

Dustiria paused outside Alyssa's room and adjusted her purple and black tabard and her long reddish orange braid. Her black gauntlet covered hand knocks on the door and she waits calmly.


Kingsley

11/27/2019

Bright sunlight shone through her window, reflecting off the white snow coating the eaves and buttresses of the Duke's Palace. In the Tower of the Imperator, Alyssa spun her training sword around in her hand smiling a smile as bright as the Light that brought it, doing the simple twirl she had practiced that morning. Suddenly a knock came from her chamber door. She stopped immediately and set the sword down near her bed where she kept it, taking a deep breath to center herself.

"Enter." Alyssa said sternly to the one who knocked, standing stiffly at ease. She had a suspicion who it was and her suspicions were confirmed when the door opened and her auburn-haired shadow entered. Her other Shadow barked loudly and lept to his feet and rushed to Dustiria, jumping up on her.

Alyssa deflated from her statuesque posture and sighed. "Down!" She commanded and Shadow obeyed, sitting calmly on the floor next to Dustiria, still panting excitedly and wagging his tail.

"Please sit." Alyssa ordered politely, motioning to the chairs near her hearth, sitting down and up straight in one of them. She snapped her fingers and pointed to the floor near her chair and Shadow came and sat down next to her. She scratched his ears and looked at Dustiria expectantly, her gaze weary, but somehow hopeful. She wanted to hear that one she trusted so strongly had not betrayed her

"I would like you to tell me what your involvement in yesterday's... incident at the duke's Tavern. Why you were there, and what you knew of Sir Nemean's intentions. It was..." She hesitated looking somewhat uncomfortable at the though. "uncomfortable. Having my hand grabbed, being jeered at by commoners."

She looked back up at Dustiria her stern visage returning, cold blue eyes glaring at the other, and her voice hardening. "So please explain, my lady."

Noire

11/28/2019

She entered calmly and scratched the dogs head before he was recalled. She sat in the indicated chair and listened. Then responded.

"Well my lady I was at the Bloody Stump waiting for Sir Kenneth. I am partly responsible for the pub thanks to the Duke and some correspondence, and have been living there. I had thought Sir Nemean had left already. I had received a letter from him that insulted my pub and those who frequent it. I was actually a little angry still and waiting a long while for a very late Sir Kenneth when you arrived. That's why I was at the table with a crumpled letter drinking ale. I knew Sir Nemean wanted to meet with you and apologise. I suggested the bloody stump but warned him it is not fancy but it does welcome are ranks equally. The nerve he had to insult it...but I digress. I truly thought he had left to find someplace else to meet with you. I also had no idea the Duke would arrive nor unfortunately did I know it was him. I am afraid I manhandled him and ordered him too" at this dustiria looks abashed,"I had no idea it was him. Now I have my steward packing my things and am moving to Perdan city from lorient. I guess I won't be staying at the stump anymore either the Duke firmly told me to take an estate here. I am not sure why. I don't even know what to think about it. That's it in a nutshell. Please ask me questions if anything needs clarification. I just have one question did Sir Nemean hurt you?" Brown concerned eyes look at Alyssa.

Kingsley

11/28/2019

Alyssa crossed her legs as she listened intently to the lady's story. When she finished, a silence fell over them. Shadow cocked his head to the side looking at Dustiria curiously.

"No." Alyssa said calmly. "He did not. He did touch my hand without leave, and I had suspected he chose the location to insult me, especially since he told of its quality and nicety, which was a fabrication. It was not a proper place for a private meeting between knights, especially one so personal."

Shadow walked over towards the fireplace, laying down in front of it basking in its warmth. Alyssa's eyes followed him as she continued.

"It was boorish and inappropriate for him to suggest a meeting in such a loud and raucous place, and if you were aware of his intentions I would have thought you would know me better than that by now to have him bring me to such a place for a meeting like the one we were supposed to have."

Alyssa sighed.

"You have an attachment to the place, I understand." She continued, looking back up at Dustiria. "But it was poor judgement not to at the very least inform me of your arrangement. You are meant to protect me from unexpected encounters, not lead me into one. It is no different than fighting an opponent you do not know. If one is not prepared they are at a disadvantage, as I found myself yesterday."

There was silence again and Alyssa shifted uncomfortably before breaking it.

"I admit... I... did not act entirely appropriately. He certainly should not have touched me, or put me in such a compromising position. It was disrespectful both as a woman and his commander."

Alyssa stood up and paced between the hearth and her window. "I had suspected it was on purpose and I had also suspected you were involved in some way. I apologize for this, it was wrong of me. I... was nervous about the meeting as Sir Nemean is unpredictable. I do not understand his motives or how to deal with him. He told me it would be he and I only at this establishment which made me suspicious when it was not so. I wrongly extended that suspicion to you as well and for that I am truly sorry. If what you say is true he may be innocent as well."

Alyssa stopped by the window nook overlooking the city. Staring out the window she tapped idly on the stone wall.

"We have made a terrible mess the lot of us." She said looking over her shoulder back at her sworn sword, concern and regret in her eyes.

Noire

11/28/2019

"I did warn him it suits one poor as I . One lacking the finer skills. Nothing like you. I told him there was probably better but I can't afford that so I never looked. It was my failing not realizing he is so new to Perdan with little friends he wouldn't know any other place either. I made mess of things didn't I?" She loses her stuff posture and rests her hands in her lap. "When it comes to horses, battle it's easy heck I find political matters intriguing but matters of the heart....I am at a loss. My own distraction got in the way of my duty to you. I will but that infatuation aside. I cannot be distracted. I am sworn to you and duty always come first. I will not ask for forgiveness for words mean not as much as actions. I am your protector, your confidant, even advisor if you ask." She gets up and takes her sword out while sinking to one knee and offering it hilt first." I let feelings get in the way of that and that I will not allow to happen again" brown eyes stare up at Alyssa full of promise.

Kingsley

11/29/2019

"Do not mistake my intent my lady." Alyssa replied sympathetically. "Your distractions are your own, so long as they are noble ones. So long as your duty is done you may do whatever you wish. I am your commander and your sworn charge, not your liege or your lady mother. You made an error. I shall admonish you for this, and I have done so. There will not be any more discussion on the matter."

Alyssa takes a step towards the kneeling knight before her, one hand behind her back she picked up the offered blade with the other. Inspecting it she noticed the blade was solid, though it had lost its sheen and the edges had slight cracks, easily sharpened out but it was clear the blade had seen use in battle. In truth Alyssa knew this already she had seen the sword numerous times. The old Eponllyn blade was sturdy and true but it was worn and she had thought on a few occasions that it was not suitable for a Knight of Perdan.

She looked down at Dustiria who gazed up at her with eyes full of life and heart. Alyssa's own neutral expression betrayed nothing, stone-faced as two icy sapphires looked into the hopeful young woman before her.

She tossed the sword to the floor between them with a light force as the clang of metal on stone echoed throughout the chambers.

"This will not do." She said sharply when the blade silenced. "You will never wield that sword in my presence again my lady."

Alyssa walked to a trunk she kept near her bed, where she pulled out a bundle wrapped in a woolen blanket. She unraveled the blanket and returned it to the trunk, revealing a sword in a simple lined scabbard. She returned to the kneeling Dustiria who watched her uncertainly. Alyssa pulled the blade from the scabbard, revealing a shining steel sword, newly forged and sharp. The hit was wrapped with a leather grip dyed purple an black stone on the pommel. Alyssa could see her eyes go wide as she placed the sword on the kneeling knight's hands.

"This blade was forged by the smith in this keep. It is Perdanese Steel for a Perdanese knight. You will carry this blade while you are a knight of this realm."

Noire

11/29/2019

From where she knelt her eyes showed shock and dismay as her sword was tossed aside. Confusion filled her brown eyes then shock as the new shiny blade was placed upon her hands. Falling back on her butt she sat on the floor a moment holding the blade and looking at the sharp edge. She hopped lightly to her feet and raised the sword in a warriors salute . Her eyes glistened as she stood humbled yet proud before Alyssa. As she lowered the sword she had no words at all. For once her face and eyes showed her feelings like an open book. She would die for this woman.

Dustiria set the sword down and turned slightly away. Her face regained composure as she loosened her sword belt and slipped the old scabbard off to replace with the new. The task done she picked up her new sword and slid it within the simple lined sheath. Warrior mask back in place she turned back to Alyssa's. "Thank you. I am honored to wield such a sword as your sworn sword and to protect all of Perdan. I know we ride soon but we have time if you wish to discuss anything. I will wait till we return to take charge of the estate the Duke told me to take until we return. I must admit if that's a punishment I don't understand it. I am here for you always my lady. In any capacity you need. Never doubt that"

Kingsley

12/1/2019

"I have scolded you for the poor judgement and failure of communication you exhibited yesterday. That is the punishment. The blade I intended to give you at a later date but now seems appropriate. You are a knight of Perdan you should be wielding Perdanese steel."

She paused a moment and continued as Shadow rolled around on his back by the fire.

"You have provided me with a lot to think about my lady. Again I apologize for my suspicion of you, Dustiria, it was unwarranted and I hope for your forgiveness in that matter. I hope we can consider this matter between us resolved. If there is nothing else my lady, I shall see you at my side tomorrow when we ride out."