De Haguns Family/Furiae/At the Red Hound, Inside the Red Hound

OF ARESCOD

At the Red Hound

"Tonight already? Hmm. If you give me two hours I can be present. Is that a deal?" She asked, and upon his confirmation Margaretha smiled and curtsied. "I'd better be off then! Goodbye for now, Sir Durk!"

---

She had come to this place once before with her squire William, so she could leave all the getting settled parts to him. He was her squire for almost a year now, and had done several deeds of arms in his name. It was high time for him to become a knight, but at this time, she more than enjoyed his handiwork. She left with a wink to William, and was off.

She had been given a dress by the Xavier the clothesmaker, and she was dying to put it on for the first time. Of course, she had put it on a few times already, even on Luria Nova, where Xavier finished the details. It was a beauty, or so she said herself on the way here by ship, where she hadn't withstood the need to put it on. A dark green wool of the highest quality formed the mainstay of the dress, with the inside coated in a dark brown fur of a marten, which showed at the ends of the sleeves and her neck. This ingenious application made it, especially in Winter, a comfortable piece to wear as well as a courtly piece. The sleeves were done in a flared manner, so you can see the fullness of the purfelle and the length in which it was displayed. She loved it for it's simpleness, but in actualilty there were plenty of work hours put into this.

She'd arrived at the Red Hound just a little before she was expected, both to enjoy the crispness of Winter and the gentlefolk that began arriving there around this time in the evening. "I hope he does not stay with his dimness at all times. That would be rather boring." She said to herself while waiting.

DELAMOIRE

Sibéal's heart was racing in her chest, bright green eyes looking on the crowds of people in the center of Golden Farrow. She had sent word onto the local Steward to get her signed up appropriately and her estate arranged, a fascinating place called the Golden Palace. She had wavy unkempt red hair that went down to the middle of her back, pale skin, and distinguished freckles on her cheeks and nose. The Dame of Delamoire has a flowing deep green gown with white silk gloves and knee high black boots.

This was Sibéal's first tourney, and she could barely contain her excitement.

"I wonder if any of my old friends from Westgard are here." she wondered to herself, looking around to see if she could catch any banners.

Not only was this her first tournament to witness, she had the audacity to participate. She wouldn't win, of course, she was barely anything compared to the trained Knights and Heroine's of Dwilight. Sibéal had only taken up the sword about four years ago, had fought some goblins in Westgard, and trained with some able bodied Captains and Knights. But here? At a Tournament? She would be lucky to make it through a round without getting her head rang like a bell.

"Over here Madam," a tournament associate or something ushered her forward into a room where her armor and sword lay near a chest and hard bench.

"You are free to come and go, but do not leave any valuables about lest they be stolen. You will be notified when you're to be presenting, but until then you're free to travel the city and attend any events therein."

The attendant handed her a scroll which was scrawled her name, the name and date of the tournament and some basic details of schedule.

"This will be necessary when passing the various checkpoints, be sure not to lose it."

And with that, Sibéal was left alone. She immediately wondered how she would attend the events, without wearing her armor, if she shouldn't leave her valuables behind. She turned to see the door close behind her and she yelped quietly.

How she missed her steward, Denison, he would know what to do here. In a fluster, she changes into her armor, finding that it would be easier to stuff her dress into her pack than it would her armor, and until she got her estate in order she had no place to store things. And so Sibéal left the Tournament grounds in look for events, she wore her breastplate and pauldrons with dark brown leather beneath. She kept wore dark green breeches and kept her knee high black leather boots on and wore her small sword on her hip.

Tossing the pack over her shoulder which held her helmet, dress, and miscellaneous effects she wandered through Golden Farrow until coming upon a locale called The Red Hound.

DE HAGUNS

Furiae had rested at her chambers in Golden Farrow after indulging in wine at the tournament grounds, and once she woke up, she felt very hungry.

What was surprise when she asked for some grapes, white cheese, olive and honeyed pork, only for her lady-in-waiting to inform there were no fruits or pork, but chicken. Displeased, she then asked for honeyed chicken, and after a while, it soon arrived in a silver tray.

Craving the meat, the teenager took the chicken with her delicate and small fingers and felt its delicious aroma. Emboldened, she bit it, expecting to savor the sweetness and exquisite flavour of the food. Instead, she felt the coldness of meat that had not been properly cooked. Her eyes widened as she spit it unceremoniously.

Away from the judgmental eyes of society, she let herself have a raging fit and threw the silver tray violently against the poor servants, and all the food fell into the ground. “Raw! You serve me raw chicken? Why do I employ you again? There is no pork, you say, very well! But then make sure the meat is at least eatable, you buffoons!”, she complained, her fists hitting the table loudly.

Rising up, the young baroness went back to her chambers fuming and had the servants help her change into vests more appropriate to leave.

After a while, she was once again back to the main hall, and pointed towards her captain of guard. “What a disgrace, I cannot eat at my own apartments, because my cook thinks raw chicken is appropriate! Captain Magnus, you will find me another cook, and now. I will not leave for Faithill with this oaf in my entourage! How am I to receive anyone if he thinks that is appropriate to eat!”, she whined.

The captain, knowing full well that after her elevation to a baroness, the young girl was becoming even more demanding and – to put it mildly, annoying - than before, immediately went to make sure her wishes would be obeyed.

Not long after, a small wooden carriage made its way through Golden Farrow streets, and its drive opened the door after placing a small step in front of it.

The noblewoman carefully left the carriage and made her way towards the Red Hound. She had never gone to that location, even as a Dame of Golden Farrow, but thought it best to eat there, as someone in the court had mentioned it had appropriate food for nobles. She might as well enjoy the gathering of others, but she would be satisfied to just eat alone, if need be.

Now dressed in a red damask gown with extra layers for warm, embroidered golden lace bands at the wrists, neck and sleeves, she looked dashing with an ermine scarf and a sable cloak pinned by golden brooches in the shape of leaves. Finally, she had white gloves covering her hands, and a golden necklace and earrings adorning her. Her long raven hair was tied in ponytail wrapped by a ribbon, bangs falling across her face. She had chosen the attire without much attention, but now was pleased to see that she bore the colors of her House de Haguns.

She saw another petite noble, even smaller than herself, with wavy red hair and seemed to recognize her as a Dame of Golden Farrow, but had never been introduced before. She looked at the dame with quizzical eyes, finding it strange for her to be dressed in armor. And there was this giant lady with blond hair and dressed more appropriately for the occasion.

Approaching them, she smiled. “My, my, it seems I might have company for dinner. And I was thinking it would be an uneventful, dull evening for me… Furiae de Haguns, baroness of Faithill, my ladies. A pleasure to meet your acquaintance.”, the younger woman said, bowing her head slightly.

DELAMOIRE

Sibéal, flushed looking between the noble women who were more appropriately dressed, while her own gown was unceremoniously stuffed into her backpack so she could bring her armor with her lest it be stolen from the Tournament Grounds.

"A pleasure, Baroness. I am Dame Sibéal Delamoire, previously of Via but most recently, today even, moved into the Golden Palace here in Golden Farrow." She blurted much too quickly and didn't know whether to courtesy or salute given her current attire and felt a buffoon just gaping at the younger baroness. Eventually she closes her mouth and looks over at Margaretha of Arescod, not knowing her by name but being clearly more noble than she.

"I uhm .. the Tourney." she points over her shoulder as if it would help get her out of the awkward dress, "So that's why, the sword and stuff."

She smiles sheepishly, her pale cheeks turning red as her broad smile makes her squint slightly. It would've been better to say nothing, she berated herself silently and then remained quiet looking between the two noblewomen.

SPARTAN

Back at the Inn, Durk stared at his collection of hoods... All looking rather immaculate, but otherwise far too casual for the occasion. He rifled though his attire, seeking anything that he could wear, until he found some old leather armor he'd been gifted from his family... It was nothing fancy at the moment, but it was far more appropriate than his normal brooding attire. If he simply added some flare to it, he could wear it well. Furthermore, he'd never leave his quarters without the slightest bit of protection... the divine always seeking to catch him at his guard's lowest points.

Durk laced his knee high boots well, tucking the end of his short trousers inside to ensure it looked tidy. His chest was covered in leather straps and harnesses as they held together his dagger and sword along with pouches containing his necessities. Around his neck was a green cape that his caretaker had gifted him prior to his departure into the world...

As it all came together, he paused in front of the mirror, not recognizing the man that stood before him. It had been a long time since he'd seen his face... His hair had grown longer, almost touching his neck. His whiskers in need of a trim, but he was already at risk of running late... It was odd, the dim light even made his skin seem more alive, while the thickness of the leather added girth to his lanky limbs... Was this really Durk?...

He made several experession and motions, trying to convince himself so... before finally resting upon his soft expression with a nod. As he departed the inn, those who knew who he was were left shocked and motionless, even after he vanished into the crowd.

He arrived outside the Red Hound, where Margaretha had asked him to meet her, it was not long before he spotted her, her height towering over those of the other women he'd seen thus far. As he approached, a sweat began to form. His nerves were set ablaze, the anxiety he felt almost bringing him to his knees. He was in a trance, unable to see anything else around him, other than her... so onwards he marched until finally he was before her. He could not tell if she was facing him, his eyes diverting from her direction.

"Hello...!" He squeaked out. His face flushing with blood... "Lady Margaretha! I... I have come, I hope you have not waited long."

OF ARESCOD

She saw several figures arrive before her intended guest. A very petite little lady who chose to wear her breast-and-back as a manner of fashion statement. She smiled beatifically. It wasn't unheard of using a well-designed breast-and-back-plate for both armour and fashion in these times, but she thought that it wasn't this dainty lady's original idea. Adorned with green breeches below and tidy long riding boots, along with a side sword, she was well dressed, especially for a military setting. She could imagine one of the high lords of Luria Nova dressing like this in leaving the city of Askileon, with an armour specifically made for the occassion. She didn't say anything to her immediately, so Margaretha just kept her greeting as a brief cursty, waiting for her guest to arrive. However, it seemed the Red Hound was expanding it's reaches, and another, even younger lady seemed to arrive.

This lady was dressed positively dashing in red and gold, with her black hair serving as a quintessential touch for the very young but very well dressed ladies. A very boon for the eye, especially for male visitors of the tavern, and she mused that wherever she went, eyes would've followed. She felt as if she'd underdressed for the occasion, but was altogether very pleased with her own simplemindedness and the the green dress. She did not have to impress any man, and that lady looked as if she wanted to, no, made every man yearn for her attention. Or that was what she thought of it.

"Good evening Baroness Furiae of Faithill." She replied to the well-dressed lady with a courtous curtsy. "I am Margravine Margaretha of Arescod, lord over Askileon Purlieus." She waited until the other lady present, whom she learned that her name was Sibéal Delamoire, was done with her say. She seemed off-key and overwelmed by the appearance of two ladies wearing their finest, and it was her duty to step in.

"And I'd say you have done excellently. Your breast-and-back speaks volumes about your intent to participate in the tourney. I might go change myself for once!" She spoke consolingly.

"I'm waiting here for my guest Sir Durk, whom you shall probably soon meet. May I ask, do you want to come inside with us? I fear -" She looked left and right. "that otherwise he might be a bit out of touch with himself. Please, do him no harm, for he is the defending champion of this tournament. I hope that I may do well enough to tire him out, but beating him, that's out of the question. Unless, of course, you are waiting for your own companionship." She said, and just in time, for there was Durk approaching.

But he seemed, ... Different! Gone was the gloomy appearance, although not entirely, it was a pleasure seeing his full sight. Perhaps too much of a pleasure to some, who could've looked wrong at his unkempt appearance, but for her it was an eye-opener. She had seen Sir Durk countless times over the past few years, and his appearance was always compared to a downcast knight. It was seen by the more romantically induced ladies of Luria Nova's capital Askileon as a knight who had turned inconsolable after his true love denied him, and as shameful by those who noted that you should be well-dressed and punctual at all times. This, was a surprise to say the very least.

But, as ever, his initial words were clunky and bad. That was what she had expected after all.

"Good evening sir Durk! No, I had these two ladies here for my enjoyment! May I introduce you to Baron Furiae de Haguns and Dame Sibéal Delamoire." She introduced them from youngest to eldest, whioch was of course in good standing with their titles. "I thought that they could join us at our table in the Red Hound? I am sure that they are willing to do me a favour and expand our table to a four-person setting?" She spoke, notifying to the two ladies that their input was sorely requested.

DE HAGUNS

Furiae eyed the older dame with her inquisitive, almost intimidating gaze. She had been judging her as another competitor for the tournament, and the girl-marshal was correct in her assessment. As competitive as nature made her, she would not, however, let the matters of the tournament cause her to be discourteous to the young dame. After all, it had been just weeks until she had been at her very place.

Then her deep piercing azure eyes blinked and her easy smile brightened up, trying to welcome her. If one thing was to be said, Furiae could be proud and brattish at times, but she was not cruel. At least to those that did not give her cause to be. “Ah, a former knight of His Grace, the Duke Bolton, and now another of the Royal Duke’s knights, are you, Dame Sibéal? Once I saw you, I could see a fine Dame of Golden Farrow.”, she complimented, and then continued. “This is indeed an excellent armor. Do not feel the need to excuse yourself for wearing it.”

The young baroness did initially judge the dame for wearing the armor outside the tournament grounds, but that was more due to her own upbringing influences than malice. Ever since childhood, not long ago, the young dame enjoyed fine silks, velvets and jewelry, the symbol of status she could only have as a young ward of the Mohuns family in the Perdan Mines of the East Continent, but that had been all borrowed to be presentable in court. Her own family, the poorer branch of the House de Haguns, could never afford the privileged life she had lived as a ward. She soon grew up to realize that the only treasures she truly had were her beauty, wits and boldness, and that within time beauty would fade, or worse, she could end up as Lady Calypso Hwitt.

So these gowns and jewelry, as well as the way she presented herself impeccably dressed were both her armor, shield and weapon, to captivate the eyes of powerful and influential men and even women, and advance her own standing in the world. Still unskilled in the sword and lance, if compared to the other knights and lords that would compete, as well as weaker in body, deep down the teenager knew she had no chance to win the tournament. Still, Furiae’s fashionable choices were a plumage she had to show off to assert her own position in this world, and to remind that even is she was not a fighter or conqueror to be feared… yet; when it came to beauty, she reigned.

She turned then to Margaretha. “Margravine of Askileon Purlieus?”, she asked uncertain. She had studied maps of Dwilight before, but she was having trouble quite remembering where it was. Of course she could point any region in the East Continent, but Dwilight was still a bit harder for her. “Not Astrum… Luria Nova, I suppose? This is the first time I meet someone from your realm, though I have heard tales of its riches and splendor.”

“I would love company this night, to speak frankly. And I guess the dame Sibéal would also?”, she asked, turning to the young armor-clad knight. “A champion, you say? Now that will be interesting to see. Is he tall, handsome, strong…?”, asked Furiae, and she heard steps coming, turning to see the man.

What she saw disappointed her, but she kept a pleasant smile, though her eyes betrayed her true opinion. The man seemed not a champion she would expect, shining in glories, but a rather sad and awkward fellow. Instead of admiration, Furiae pitied the champion knight as he squeaked clumsily and excitedly before Margaretha.

“Sir Durk, it is a pleasure to meet… a champion”, she said, less enthusiastically, but still keeping her decorum as she complimented him. “Though I might say you might have gained more than you bargained for concerning your dinner with the Margravine. For you, sir, shall have both my and Dame Sibéal’s company as well, I am afraid”, she tried a quip to brighten up his mood.

DELAMOIRE

Sibéal listened to the perfectly erected response and introduction of Margravine Margaretha of Arescod, smiling through and feeling her stress dissipate as the good lady made her feel a bit less out of place in the environment.

"I thank you, and well met Margravine, you are the pillar of nobility and etiquette as shown by your kind words." She stated pleasantly and then listened while the Margravine spoke to the other guests present and then Sir Durk arrived.

My he was a handsome, and thank the Gods he seemed as awkward as she did. Her guard was about to be dropped given the fine compliment from the Margravine and the shared awkwardness of Sir Durk when she heard "Defending Champion" and then the sweaty palms returned and her scalp tingled.

Would she fight Sir Durk? Would he be the one to end her path to glory? God she hoped so, just to feel those hands on her, wrestling her to the ground and forcing her to submit.. and how her mind wandered. Little did she consider that Sir Durk would most likely hit her with the blunted blade, rather than man handle her, but her mind took it and ran, with very little politeness to her in which direction it wented.

While day dreaming, she forgot that she was still very present with the other Nobles, just staring at Sir Durk until the day dream ended and she realized what she was doing. Her cheeks went red again as she looked over toward the entrance, acting as if she had just gotten something in her eye as an excuse to cover her face with a gloved hand.

After a moment she recovered, intentionally then NOT looking at Sir Durk and at the other women, awaiting their practiced lead in etiquette as to what comes next, and hearing the Margravine's request. Her? Sitting with them? and Sir Durk!?

"Uhm Sho." Slow down Sibéal, she swallowed hard. "Yes, Margravine, I would be honored to accompany you, Baroness Furiae of Faithill, and Sir Dick I mean Durk."

If possible, her cheeks get brighter red and she just swallows. Kill me now, just stab me in the face and put me out of my misery. She returns to looking anywhere but Sir Durk, and just hopes no one caught her slip while she awaits to follow them to their table.

Ah, a former knight of His Grace, the Duke Bolton, and now another of the Royal Duke’s knights, are you, Dame Sibéal? Once I saw you, I could see a fine Dame of Golden Farrow.”, she complimented, and then continued. “This is indeed an excellent armor. Do not feel the need to excuse yourself for wearing it.”

The Baroness' words were accurate and pleasing to her ears.

"You are quite correct on both accounts, Baroness, and thank you for your kind words." She watched the younger, already more accomplished woman navigate the conversation wonderfully, listening between the women.

“I would love company this night, to speak frankly. And I guess the dame Sibéal would also?”

Sibéal simply nods, trying not to blurt out anything else that might embarass her or the other nobles present.

SPARTAN

Durk's gaze shifted unto the two woman as Margaretha introduced them. With his trance now broken, he found himself startled by the two other women before him. Had they always been there? For how long?... His first notice was the wide variety in attire that was before him: one in armor, another in the mix of armor and dress, and his adored with a stunning dress he had maybe seen once before from afar. They all carried a sense of beauty and danger at the same time... Perhaps he had rudely barged into the conversation... Perhaps they were all angry with him right now.

He stared nervously at they introduced themselves.

First came the baron, her smile putting him at unease until the dulled "champion" parted her lips... She hates me. He thought before giving a nod, "It would be a pleasure to have you accompany us." His creepy smile slowly curling into something more normal as he strained himself.

Next came the dame, he noted her refusal to look in his direction. She hates me, he thought as he nervously thought of a good introduction for himself... However, before his lips could form the words, the small lady turned to Margaretha and addressed her instead, referring to him as Sir Dick... He closed his eyes and cried internally, his fears were true... He turned away from young lady with his head down.

He pondered what he could do to appease the wrath of the women before him... He only hoped that Margaretha did not hold the same disdain... "Please, allow me to pay for today's pleasantries... As one of the wealthiest nobles of the continent, it is the least I could do...", he said defeated.

However, his gaze changed into something more serious, his posture straightened as he spoke, "It is true, I am a champion of Luria... I carry that title with great pride. I had never thought I would become the victor." He looked towards the direction of the tournament grounds before returning his gaze to the women, "And yes... I suppose I did win the tournament of Golden Farrow as well."

He sighed, relaxing his posture and face once more, "I would love to know more about you all, before my ramblings carry on for too long."

OF ARESCOD

At the Red Hound

She was glad that her remark had been taken with such generosity from Baroness Furiae, and she silently vowed to thank her for it. Then the conversation turned to her lands of origin, and she could not hide her smile. "Askileon is the capital of Luria Nova, and many affluent lords make up their housing there. Askileon Purlieus is the surrounding area. You should perhaps visit us one time! I hear there might be a tournament of ourselves in the making, but that's just word on the street." She replied. Despite her age, she knew the manners of her station very well. She knew how to make the best of a bad situation when she wanted to, as her guest Sir Durk wasn't exactly charming.

"Why thank you, that is too kind." She responded to Dame Sibéal, before she turned to Sir Durk.

She was expecting her to greet Sir Durk in a similar manner, but was confused when that didn't happen. Her eyebrow shot up when she continued staring as the defending champion, and was about to take over the conversation when she finally said something. Oh boy. She would have to do a whole lot of taking care for her new companions. She could see even at a glance that both Sir Durk and Dame Sibéal were surprised by that ... distint choice of words. Hopefully, by the end of this eve, they would remember that as a funny way of making acquaintances instead of a threat. She knew that Dame Sibéal chose those words by accident, that much was written plainly on her face, and she decided to answer Sir Durk's statement instead.

"Ah! Such a grandiose gesture. Thank you Sir Durk." She hastily said, to make them all forget what had just happened. "Good! Let us venture inside!"

---

Inside the Red Hound

"Well, about me you already know a lot, I would guess, but for Baroness Furiae and Dame Sibéal I would be willing to share a story." She stated as she would sit down on the chair. "If they would like that at least? I am at this tournament because I would like to challenge Sir Durk for his title that he's currently holding. I'm almost certain I will fail, but don't count me out just yet. I have spent many years of the Southern border as Magravine of Outer Giask and I know how to handle a blade, as Sir Durk knows." She spoke. "During the last tournament, also at this very place, I was beaten before I managed to face Sir Durk, but I hope that this time I will be the stepping stone towards the finals."

She turned towards the other ladies, who at least in the case of Baroness Furiae were simply too young to have acted in it. "What about you?" She said to Dame Sibéal and Baroness Furiae.

DELAMOIRE

Sibéal followed the other three nobles in, motioning them forward so that she could hide the look on her face and have some time to compose herself. Following along, shouldering a dark brown leather backpack that contained her dress and gauntlets, she made her way to seat herself between the two ladies, and opposite Sir Durk to avoid any further temptation.. though now she found herself face to face with him across the table.

Setting her pack down with a soft "clink", she adjusted the sword on her hip to not trip any passerbys and sat with practiced posture at the table, hands folded neatly in her lap with her wavy red hair spilling over her shoulders.

She listened with fascination to the Margravine's tale of past Tournaments and her goals at this one, smiling between her and Sir Durk when discussing the seemingly friendly rivalry between the two. When she was asked, she covered her mouth with her gloved fingers to clear her throat and then responded.

"This is my first Tournament ever, and I must say, I am so delighted and honored to be here," Sibéal looked between the three with a sincere and bright smile.

"I fought with the Sun Swords of Westgard when I first traveled to Dwilight, until moving to Via under Duke Bolton. I've only seen a few battles with the northern goblin tribes and then even got captured by a mess of Orc at the foothills of Barrowpeaks." Her eyes darkened transparently remembering the tale, but relieved to have maintained her maidenhood and wasn't too worse for wear before being rescued.

"I'll be thrilled just to participate, I can't imagine I'll get too far, but you can't learn by books alone and there's something about the adrenaline and danger that just .. I dunno.. you can't really worry about anything else I guess so it's kind of peaceful, focused." Sibéal rambled slightly and then came to a halt, supposing all these hardened warriors knew well more than what she meant than even she did, feeling even smaller than she already was, looking up at the taller three from her chair.

DE HAGUNS

At the Red Hound

Furiae noticed how the older dame of Golden Farrow blushed, face as red as her hair, and a dreamy gaze seemed to wander far away. The baroness slightly cocked her head, her lips quirked into a sly smile, as she tried to decipher her.

Then, the word. The dame called the champion by a word… and Furiae immediately blushed, not because of the indecency that crossed her mind, but rather the shame she felt for the poor dame Sibéal. Now it was obvious to her what the dame had been daydreaming just now, and Furiae barely managed to supress a hearty laughter as her gloved hands covered her mouth.

As the baroness was complimented by sir Durk, she could not help but notice the bags beneath his eyes and his hunch, and wondered what Sibéal had found attractive on him.

It didn’t take long, however, for Furiae to find something attractive on this very man. As the champion declared himself to be one of the wealthiest men in the continent, that certainly would make him compelling… if Furiae wanted to marry for money. This was not the case, however, but she was just thankful not to have to spend her hard-earned gold coins, as the girl has spent already too much in clothes befitting her new rank as a baroness. And even if the taxes she demanded from the peasants in Faithill were mainly due to the logging and forests of her barony, money certainly did not grow on trees.

“Sir Durk”, she emphasized her name, “thank you for your kidness, it certainly is not needed, but you honor us all with this offer. Therefore, I accept it.” And since she was so hungry and he was so rich, perhaps the man wouldn’t take offense if she chose the most expensive dishes?

Inside the Red Hound

Warning: small erotic reference

Once they were sat, Furiae listened attentively to the Lady of Arescod’s tale and nodded. Her posture was ladylike, hands lazily resting on the armchair, and she had a gentle smile on her face. As the Lady Delamoire told her own story, she cocked her head with interest and pointed out. “You can see the Barrow Peaks from Faithill, I have heard. Though I am yet to visit my estate. In fact, Faithill lies at its foothills, so I must thank you for helping protect my peasants.”

The baroness continued. “A fascinating tale, my ladies! This is also my first tourney, I must admit… but you would guess by my age. Despite this, I am not as green as some would say, as I have seen battles already”, she said. She had led men into battle, but would rather not discuss where and when, for those were military matters.

“Though I’m an expert on the bow, not on the sword or the jousts. I’m joining the tourney more to display my own banners and those of Faithill, than anything else”, she pointed out, and then raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Though I doubt anyone could beat me in an archery contest, or on a hunt.”

She glanced around. “Have you come here before? This is my first time…”

As she glanced around, her eyes found Sibéal, and Furiae thought back on her faux pas of earlier. An irresistibly wicked idea came to her mind, and even as she tried to resist, she could not let the opportunity pass. Then she spoke, venom dripping from her fangs, malice in her eyes. “Dame Sibéal, I have heard that the sausages that are served here are spectacular. Would you like to try some? After all, if sir Dick is holding this feast, you may as well try the sausages.”

DELAMOIRE

Staying quiet and polite, watching the young Baroness with a tinge of awe. She had it all together, this is what her mother would've preferred of her, yet here she is wearing armor at a dinner table and making crude slips in front of strangers.

"Oh yes, of course! Though I cannot take all the credit, if it weren't for Baroness Mina Mejor I would've surely been overwhelmed." Sibéal ​​​​​​ responded hurriedly, still speaking a bit too fast to be normal.

Her eyes widened when Furiae indicated she too would be in the Tournament, was she the whole package, my she just had it all, didn't she. Sibéal felt even smaller in her chair looking back toward the Margravine and quite wealthy Champion across the table.

As wine was delivered to the table she looked across at the other two noblewomen, trying to mimic just how proper they were, even though her outfit looked like she should be holding a flagon of ale rather than a wine glass. She sipped when they sipped, listening to the conversation carry on when the devilry of Furiae struck.

Looking over at the Baroness, quietly responding in whispered naivety "Oh the sausages, really, I should.."

Sibéal paused while the Baroness continued, her eyes widening "Sir Dick's feast? What does that have to do with sausage..ss.ss"

It took her a majority of that sentence to realize what trap she had fallen into. Before she could halt it, a wind came up her esophagus, and quite loudly, she gasped

"WhhhHAaA?!" the noise gave even herself such a start she almost lost her wineglass as she clasped a hand over her mouth, her cheeks burning and the freckles on fire beneath her glove as her light green eyes looked wildly between the other guests at the table.

SPARTAN

Durk short moment of confidence was quickly squashed as they entered The Red Hound.

He typically hid himself well with his cloak while in social situations, allowing him to recede into himself and escape the world for a moment. Despite the nakedness that he felt, he marched on towards the table, giving a nod as Margaretha gave her story. He admired her for her work in Outer Giask, a true show of strength as the hordes relentlessly pounded the walls... It was also during this time that he became marshal and was promptly kicked in the balls for addressing her too impolitely. A genuine smile spread across his face as he reminisced. He wondered if that was the moment he began to grow feelings for her.

He picked a seat near Margaretha, being carful not to meet her gaze, lest his knees grow a weakness. His nervous laugh accompanying her conclusion, before Lady Sibéal began. Durk took the liberty of ordering a drink for himself, enjoying the brew as she went on.

"Orcs? Goblins?!", he questioned. He had no idea such monstrosities plagued the lands of Westgard. She continued on about the feeling of peace and focus, and that truly resonated with Durk. He gave a nod, despite the desire to gush about how right she truly was. The liberation he felt from himself upon entering the arena was something he'd come to appreciate far more than any luxury gold could buy.

Just as his mind began to wander, Baroness Furiae took over. Her words glided through the air well, her ambition paving the way as she continued. She reminded him of his time in Sol before the collapse... "The sword is mighty, but without the aid of bows, its strength could fall short.", he added, recalling the massacres he faced. He averted his eyes, thinking of something to add after saying something so serious... "Perhaps the next time we visit, we could exchange techniques." He asked, as she looked around the room, probably never even hearing his words.

Then she turned to the dame... an odd look in her eye... Durk took a sip of his drink, leaning forward and cocking his head, trying to hear the exchange. Sausages?, he thought. Perhaps we sho- His brain stopped as that word left her mouth. No... She didn't... The air in Durks through shot out of his throat, meeting the brew on its descent and dragging it back the way it came. It flew well all things considered... It had been compacted due to the spit, allowing a more solidified projectile. Unfortunately for Durk, his aim was too true, and Margaretha was the target. In a moment, she was soaked and Durk's heart stopped a second time. He couldn't speak, he couldn't see... or more, he refused to see.

He begged the divine for mercy, already knowing the answer that was to come.

OF ARESCOD

Sibéal told a wonderful story. She expected it was her first tournament, but she couldn't be sure, because she had missed one in Westgard recently. She hadn't been able to go because of her duties as a magravine. Much of the same counted for nearly all Lurian nobles, so that tournament was almost entirely lacking of nobles from the most South-Eastern realm. She didn't know if she participated in Eidulb, but that was soon answered.

"Certainly you know a thing or two about fighting as well then. I will say though that fighting against another one of our kind is strangely menacing as well as freeing. You don't know what they'll do, but you also know that if you're beaten, you will be honoured for participating." She answered to Dame Sibéal.

Baroness Furiae shared a similar story. She hadn't even set foot in her own home! Then again, the baroness had only just arrived in the noble landscape of Tol Goldora and had her options open for her. Too many, she realised when she took a look back at her own history. She recognised that she wouldn't go for the championship title and that Furiae was just here to represent Faithill in this matter. Then again, Margaretha also entertained the idea that she would venture to such an event while looking for company, particularly male company. Oh well. Girls her age didn't do anything else, she supposed. Back in her day on being seventeen all she could care about was exploring the world. But if she meant to woo Sir Durk, then she was painfully mistaken. Margaretha sighed. He admired Margaretha to such an extent that she had invited these two ladies to prevent him for asking her to marry him on this very day. She had missed a part of the conversation in her thinking, and was just in time to hear her 'joke' about a man's private things.

A civilised chaos broke out at her table. Dame Sibéal was so shocked that she did not know what to make of her words anymore, and she was right. Well, perhaps not so very bright for mistaking Sir Durk's name like that, but this was uncalled for. She saw that Baroness Furiae revelled in her words just now, and took a look at Sir Durk. She was about to say something when something hit her face. She looked at him, first puzzled,then in unbelief. That was literally the first time she wore this dress. She breathed in, and breathed out. Calmness was a virtue.

"A towel, please." She said to anyone nearby without looking away from the table. She turned to Furiae, spit still on her face.

"Baroness Furiae, that was uncalled for. I can see as clearly as you that our companions aren't in such moods yet, if at all." Margaretha spoke gently as soon as her anger was buried. She accepted a handkerchief that was brought to her by one of the servants and wiped her face. She gave Furiae an admonishing look, as if to say that she should learn to read the room better. Something that came in due time, she supposed.

"As for suggestions on what to eat, I heard there were capons here, delved in fine spices such as pepper and cinnamon. I could heartily recommend that. The previous time I went here it was very good." She spoke primarily towards Dame Sibéal and Sir Durk, as if nothing ever happened.

"Surely you didn't mean to spit on me, Sir Durk?" She asked, both to calm her own nerves a bit, as well as to calm his.

DE HAGUNS

Furiae’s mouth exploded into a merry laughter as she watched Sibéal realizing she had fallen into her trap. The reaction was priceless, that poor thing reddening like a volcano. For a moment, Furiae thought Delamoire’s red hair was pale in comparison to her cheeks.

Then, sir Durk’s unwanted “arrow” hit the Lurian Margravine. The hilarity that ensued was too much and the baroness could not restrain herself, and was almost in tears.

“Oh… oh… Now, it seems that sausages are off the menu…”, she tried to recover her composure, and looked between the Margravine, sir Durk and dame Sibéal, smiling in an almost angelic way. It was the same smile she used to try and enthrall others, innocent and gentle. She listened to Margaretha’s reproach and nodded respectfully, almost humbly, but her eyes once again betrayed her, as if her brains were working another devilry to soon come. “Oh, my ladies, and sir, I apologize for this small jest, I did not intend to cause such unrest! Will you forgive me, Dame Sibéal”, she held the dame’s hand, her deep azure eyes pleading at the dame’s light green, “for my small joke? I did not mean to cause you embarrassment, but only to entertain ourselves…”, she then turned to sir Durk and Margaretha, exchanging glances with them. “Oh, I had no intention to cause this embarrassment to our champion and the Margravine! Forgive me!”

Furiae felt snobbed as Margaretha spoke primarily to the knight and the dame, but smiled politely. “I think I will try your suggestion, Lady Margaretha. If such a refined noblewoman as yourself recommends this dish, it certainly must be delicious”, replied the baroness in a very agreeable manner.

However, as her brain worked another jest for her, Margaretha gave the last push when she mentioned the spit on her. Another wicked smile crossed Furiae’s face. “Sir Durk”, she emphasized his name again, “you mentioned how mighty the sword is, and how useful the bow could be during a battle. Have you ever thought about giving a chance to archery? I do not think you would even need me to teach you, sir, after this astonishing performance today. I hereby proclaim you the champion of the archery contest in Tol Goldora! For your aim is true, your spit flew!”, she grinned as she rhymed.

DELAMOIRE

From the moment her gasp erupted from her throat, she watched the chain reaction of events go around the table. Sir Durk's similar gasp, though his more volatile as he was mid drink, the alcohol dripping from Margaretha's nose and chin on her right, and Furaie's laughter to her left.

It was too much to handle.

She also went up with laughter, a merry tone straight from her heart. The Margravine.. she had maintained her composure so well, which almost made it more funny. Sir Durk looked exactly how she had just felt a moment ago, before the joy. It took her a moment to compose herself as the young baroness went on, shooting an incredulous but appreciative glance toward Furaie.

The laughter had broken the ice, at least for her. She felt more at home already sharing a good laugh and feeling human among one another... well maybe not the Margravine, she was nearly a statue of etiquette and posture. She raised up a glance to her lips, trying to take a sip of the wine but every time the dark liquid was about to reach her lips she was hit with a small fit of giggles.

After three attempts to try and drink, all foiled by giggles, she set her glass down on the table and rested her hands back in her lap with a deep sigh to try and compose herself. When the food orders were made, she nodded politely.

"I will also have what the fine Margravine Margaretha is having, a most amazing decision if I say so myself." Sibéal ​​​​​​ smiled and nodded politely to the Margravine.

As Baroness Furaie continued, Sibéal listened quietly, which again was a sneaky and deceptive joke, not revealed until the end. "your spit flew!" and a broad smile graced Sibéal's face as her eyes said "RIGHT?" to the young Baroness before looking between the other two and gulped, looking back down to the table as if it had the answers to all her problems.

SPARTAN

They say your life flashes before your eyes before you die. Durk pondered the credibility of that statement as he closed his eyes, accepting fate and awaiting the impact to end it all. He did not feel regret, but instead relief. Relief that he would have the weight of his family off his shoulders, the relief of being free of the wicked divine, but most importantly... The relief of being free of the torment that he felt in this very moment. He simply prayed that the impact carried enough weight to make it quick. However, unfortunately for him, that impact never came... Instead, when he opened his eyes, he found a laughing Dame and Baroness. A fate worse than death.

Finally coming to the conclusion that Margaretha would not strike him, Durk observed the damage that he'd caused to her, feeling shame and guilt as she wiped away at her face. "Forgive me," he pleaded, "I was caught off guard..." He was unsure of what to do, he promptly fumbled about a moment before Margaretha caught his attention again. "C-Capon?," He said surprised, "Oh! Yes, Capon! Yes... I would love to try it!" He eagerly agreed, shaking his head at the women before him enthusiastically. His bobbing turning into a sudden frantic shaking as the Baroness' rhymes sparked another set of laughter. "Margravine, never! I would never intentionally spit my drink your direction!", He cried out desperately.

Suddenly, he paused, taking in a moment to realize how ridiculous his behavior was becoming. Letting out a laugh as he found himself enjoying the occasion far more than he'd thought.

OF ARESCOD

As soon as Baroness Furiae began to laugh, Dame Sibéal joined in, and it was only a matter of time before even Sir Durk started to laugh. Margaretha sunk her head down and suported it with her hands, sighing deeply. It is said that laughter was irrestably contagious, and even she started to laugh. She couldn't stay mad or hurt that her favorite dress had been ruined, not when everyone else was having a good time. Besides, where was this Margaretha of old, adventurous and young? She felt ancient, despite not actually being that in their company. All those twenty years olds, hell, Furiae didn't even reach that age yet! She was thirty, looking at fourty years of age as her next milestone. She sighed. She WAS old. Or older than she'd liked.

She looked at Furiae, who was having another bout of laughter as she jeered as Durk's words just now. It was in fact she who had misjudged the situation, because this was clearly one for laughter and enjoyment. She felt that it was time for her younger self to come forwards, to be let out of it's cage. Even that scared her. Next thing you'd know, she didn't understand anything of what the group said anymore. That'd be scary!

She turned towards Durk, who was apologizing already and didn't even say a word, to mention that it was done and forgotten about.

"Good. I don't like chicken that much anyways." She finally said, almost as an aftertought to her mention before. "I'm more for an old-fashioned stew. Makes me feel like I'm travelling." She said while wearing an old smile.

"I used to travel a lot, but never to the Eastern continent. When I arrived in Santoo, the Southern end of the Eastern continent's upper half, I felt incredibly odd that there was a meal made out of a crab. The thought hadn't come to me at all!The taste wasn't so bad, but I'll never forget that night! What do you have here for spicy new dishes for adventurers to overcome? I would like to try some of that!"

DELAMOIRE

Listening to the Margravine's response she smiled warmly, glad that the air between the four seemed clear with the silliness. She cast a sidelong glance at the young Baroness, wondering if she had socially engineered this icebreaker or if it was simply coincidence. When Margaretha brought up East Continent, Sibéal swallowed the last bit of bread and chimed in.

"Oh East Continent! I've lived in Karbala in Shadowdale for a few years with my aunt actually. With the bay they have such a grand variety of fish and clam, and venison and goat from the western foothills." Dame Delamoire went on, excited to have a topic she knew of that might be of interest to the others.

After her tidbit of experience she went quiet again and casually grazed on her meal and drink ahead of her.

DE HAGUNS

Furiae was thoroughly pleased that she had finally gotten sir Durk and Lady Margaretha, as well as the Dame Sibéal to laugh a bit, even if it had been more to her own malice and perchant to jest at others than to break the ice. It was something she dearly missed from her time as a ward in the Mohuns manor, in the Perdan Mines – the merry dinners, full of jests and laughter, something she had never found in her own family’s house.

The Haguns were too dutiful, even dull and boring, and even the smallest jest was met with a reproach, as if it was not proper. She realized that her family prided themselves as the silver, if not gold of the Perdan Mines, but they were rather the stiffy, unbending iron.

For Furiae was one that loved the Court and the opportunity to meet new people, she smiled again towards her companions. “Please, bear no ill against me… these childhood antics were just meant to liven up the spirits for the coming tournament. Even a warrior needs fun, once in a while”, she replied, withholding her less noble initial intentions, and sipped from her goblet filled with wine.

She listened to Lady Margaretha as she finished her drink. “Well, now that you mentioned crab… I would rather have seafood. After all, why not try a delicacy, if we are in the coast? Grilled octopus with cooked potatoes, and plenty of olive oil.”

She then turned to Sibéal and spoke to her. “Karbala? So you are one of those shadowy people? Strange, you don’t look like one. You’re so lively and loveable, my dear. I had heard that your folk were more… sinister, to say the least. But please, take no offense from this. It is a compliment. I am also from the East Continent, from the Perdan Mines. You must have heard of Perdan, I suppose?”

Finally, she turned to Durk. “And you, sir? Are you originally from Dwilight?”

SPARTAN

Durk smiled as Margaretha began to laugh. He was glad to know that she too had found enjoyment in the night. Her ever-present composure finally cracking, it was a side of her that he'd never seen before. "Fun it was indeed." He replied to Furiae. He listened as everyone spoke more of their pasts, finding himself more curious of what lied beyond Dwilight's shores.... His pallet watering as Margaretha reminded him of Luria's dishes, while Sibéal spoke even more of seafood... It was no surprise that he found himself seeking an aquatic dish from the cook, feasting upon it the moment it arrived.

"Shadow... People?" He asked nervously... Finding it hard to imagine an army of hooded soldiers beyond his own followers. "Oh yes! They are certainly very sinister sounding!" He added, mimicing Furiae's reaction in hopes of sounding reasonable. His gaze shifting to the Baroness as she added another name to the table, "P-Per Dan?," He attempted, "What an odd name!" His smile flinching as she directed a question to Durk. "That is correct, Dwilight has been my only home." He said, recalling the records he read in Giask's old library. "Though, I may someday venture beyond the borders of Dwilight, to uncover more of my family's name that was almost forgotten..." He said, grabbing his mug, now refilled, and raising it high, "Anyways, I raise my cup too you all, let us enjoy the night before it ages." A hiccup cueing the end of his piece, as he attempted to flee from the topic.

The Next Day

Durk could not remember much after that, his memory starting to lapse from the alcohol he consumed... He recalled having a good time, and enjoying the food well. He was thankful he found his bed, though he prayed he had not caused anymore trouble for Margaretha than he already had. He smiled as he tucked his leather attire away, hoping the next time he dawned it that things would go just as well... Preferably a little more smoothly, with less panicking and more laughing, He thought, Furiae's laughing echoing through his head. However, until then, his hood would comfort him, sinking him back into depths of his mind, away from the world he feared.

OF ARESCOD

Her mentioning of the Eastern continent sparked a whole new discussion about what places they have all been too. But she was reminded almost instantly that she meant the Eastern part of Dwilight, not the actual Eastern Continent.

"Excuse me! I meant the Eastern lands of Dwilight. I originally come from Beluaterra. My family has it's new home there at Vore. A cold place, higher up in the mountains, but a cozy place when you're sitting in front of a fire. But that's where my passion for travelling was discovered. You don't tend to go out much when the snow forces you inside. Especially not as a child, fearing that the daemons would kill those who left the sight of their mothers for more than a few moments." She said.

"Thereby, I eventually came here, looking for where my old house was placed. Back before the great catastrophy of Western Dwilight being consumed by monsters, my house was somewhere in the West. That's all that remained, however, and those stories have been lost." She continued.

When Sibéal releaved that she was from Shadowdale, it piqued her interest, but no more than that. She knew all too well that people, wherever they cam from, where just people. The reason she had stayed on Dwilight was also because of the rumours of daemons living here. That was another topic she'd like to delve deeper into, but idn't have the chance yet. Alas, that was for another time, just like it was back when she was 22. The moment she was given control of Outer Giask, there was not much more in her life than fighting. Furiae eventually went on to ask her about the food she was deciding on.

"I think I would like the dish with the octopus. I've seen them being eaten once or twice, but I've never for myself what they taste like." She said beaming. "I wonder what they'll taste like!"

She'd spend longer than Durk here, fraternizing with the ladies until the time had come for them to go home.

---

When she arrived at her residence, her shoes perfectly placed where she'd want them and tiny mirror already set up and ready for use, she thanked her squire William. She'd miss him greatly when he would become a knight, she realised. And that day was coming sooner than expected.

DELAMOIRE

Delighted by the company and the evening, Sibéal finished her dinner and wine, responding when the Shadowlands are brought up.

"Oh yes, though I was only there for a short time as my father and I traveled often in my younger days. They seemed pleasant enough, assure of their own ideals and justified in their wars. I'm sure it's all a matter of perspective, though the realm has historically been plagued by war with either Sirion or Eponllyn or other nations. City life however was pleasant and I was blissfully ignorant of all the dangers at our borders."

Once things came to a close Sibéal stood and thanked Margaretha, Furiae and Durk for their company and for the honor to be among them this fine evening. She wandered off in a hurry, only to arrive back a few moments later to recover her backpack she had left next to her chair. With a sheepish smile and a second goodbye, she wandered off toward her new Golden Palace, hoping there aren't a lot of stairs as her feet seemed to wander outside of her intention thanks to the wine.