Dubhaine Family/Brigdha/Roleplays/2020/August
| Dubhaine Family | |
| Fame | 40 |
| Wealth | 19485 |
| Home Region | Ashforth |
| Home World | East Continent |
1st August
Summer Day - Fontan
William Armsworth
- Caligus campaign day 10, noon.
- Getting the unit in tip-top shape again left me exhausted.
- Fortunately taxes was leveraged and I was able to exchange the bonds from last week.
- I think I can afford another battle this week, should it be desired.
Brigdha Dubhaine
Brigdha emptied the pitcher into her companion's tankard and signalled to a passing serving girl for another. It seemed that Tormald, fourth of his name of the respected Tanners dynasty, was intent on drinking himself into the same dreamless stupor as her other guests, but the famed stubbornness of his bloodline had so far kept him conscious even if not sober.
"To hell with Rowan and his cronies," it had been a very long night and Tormald slurred his words badly, "What good have they ever done us anyway?"
"There, there my friend," Brigdha had a hand on his shoulder, as much to keep him upright as to console him. This was the mainstay of her service to the Shadow King, mixing with those ranks other nobles considered beneath their dignity.
Anagridh cast a critical eye across the littered remains of the night's drinking, surrounded by a bulwark of snoring, unconscious flesh. She snorted and shook her head slowly from side to side in disgust.
"Not up to the standard of your father's soirees?" Brigdha released her grip on Tormald and he slowly slumped on the wooden trestle, the last of his fight drowned in ale.
"You'd be a better judge of that Lady Ambassador," the Elven princess chuckled, a surprisingly warm and earthy sound, and clinking cups the two women toasted the memory of Erik Eyolf Serpentis, by far the most extravagant of his name.
The Ambassador had established herself in the Smugglers' Den, a favourite haunt from her days as a blockade runner and her regular base of operations in the city. Three generations had grown to manhood since the Caligan conquest. Three generations! And what had they to show for their coopted loyalty? Not much. Not much at all. The city prospered well enough from the trade between Karbala and Hamadan, but it had somewhat understandably become an afterthought since the restoration of Domus. And it stood to reason that a city so close to the capital of Shadowdale, with long ties of blood and faith to the lands of Old Fontan, should feel more in common with their northern neighbours than with a distant government focused on southern adventures.
Thus it was that for the past two days Brigdha had held court in the common room, paying host to a succession of old friends and acquaintances struggling to make sense of the recent turn of events - and to turn them to their own advantage if there was a profit to be made.
Some like Tormald had longed for a past which never truly existed, back before the Civil War and Gregor's treachery. She well remembered a day many years ago now debating just that point with him, upstairs in the private lounge when the young burgher was a hot-headed voice for democracy. Though older and wiser he still dreamed of suffrage and a franchise which included men of his station. As if the nobility would ever agree such an absurd notion...
Those were the days when King Rowan's banner had flown over the city, seat to his government in exile whilst the Vix and their allies despoiled the soft furnishings and priceless heirlooms of his lost palace in Domus. The radicals had made a good job of overrunning the rest of his realm, useful idiots for the King of Perdan, and Brigdha had spent most of her time behind the enemies' lines, organising resistance wherever her gold and reputation could open the necessary doors, freely spending the Shadow King's gold to save His southern neighbour.
To say His Majesty had been poorly repaid for His investment was an understatement. The very same King Rowan who owed his throne - and quite possibly his life - to the unstinting generosity and support of the Shadow King had proven himself no ally at all when put to the test. Brigdha had rarely misjudged a man more, and the sense of betrayal cut deep. There were limits even to the forgiveness of a Balance Walker and Rowan was now as dust to her.
Of course there were those in Fontan who wanted to blame the Shadow King for bringing war to their settled lives. And more than a few Caligan loyalists, men and women whose families had either moved here from the south or risen to prominence under Rowan's rule and were now justifiably terrified that conquest meant penury or worse. Allaying their fears would take time and gold and the good governance which in recent years they'd gone without.
Karbala, Krimml, Fontan, Akesh Temple. How many years had she laboured in the shadows to reunite them? Hoping beyond hope for the restoration of her people. It was so close now she could taste it! But Brigdha refused to let hope cloud her mind. There was still so much work to be done if the lands of dearly departed Basilius were likewise to be returned to their rightful owners.
