Kingsley Family/Erik/Kingsley

Kingsley

Dark clouds loomed over the city of Perdan as the rider approached the city gates. Trickles of raindrops began to fall lightly on his hood, his own black coat matching the beast he rode upon. The cold water began soaking through to the bare skin atop his head and he shivered to himself as the horse's hooves splashed in the mud. He was halted by the city's guards as he approached.

"We're at war traveler. Gate's closed after dark." one of the guardswomen called out to him.

The rider wiped the raindrops off his glasses and held out his hand, opening his palm to reveal a silver ring, slightly tarnished with a carving of a wolf. The guardswoman inspected it looking up at him with surprise. "Lord Kingsley. We received no word of dignitaries expected."

Lord Kingsley said nothing and with a gulp the guards looked at one another and guided the old scholar to the gatehouse.

--

Lord Kingsley handed his coat to the bank attendant as he stepped in out of the rain that now poured thickly outside. The attendant bowed respectfully to him and motioned him to the bank proper. Lord Kingsley nodded and moved to head inside when he heard the click of wood on stone approaching.

An elderly man with a long white beard, his left eye covered with a white patch, the side of his face mangled and scarred from some ancient wound. His hand trembled as it leaned upon a thick brown cane.

"My letter was timely, I hope, my Lord."

"Faithful as always, Sir Graham."

The old man lowered his head as much as he could. "Your niece delivered us from hell itself, My Lord, my service pales in comparison."

Lord Kingsley nodded and headed into the bank's lobby, which was mostly emtpy save for a few clerks and bankers busy dutifully counting, scribing or speaking hushedly about some financial matter or another. As he approached a mousey looking clerk behind the large counter, Sir Graham following as best he could behind, Lord Kingsley once again produced his signet this time alongside a packet of papers which he handed to the clerk who accepted them happily.

"Good evening," the clerk said picking up the signet ring and inspecting it carefully, his initial surprise at the insignia quickly covered by interest. "Lord Kingsley." He glanced at the forms and shook his head. "I'm afraid the Royal Treasury is not accessible at this time, as all withdrawals must be approved by Her Majesty, a Treasury Member, or a recognized minister on behalf of Her Majesty."

"We are aware of the situation." Sir Graham croaked from behind the old lord.

Lord Kingsley nodded and continued. "This request is not a withdrawal, nor is it from treasury funds."

The clerk merely raised an eyebrow and began leafing through the packet on the counter. "A transfer... This account is in Westmoor..." He raised his eyebrow at that, giving the knight and the scholar a suspicious glance. I'm not familiar with the other account. One moment please, my lord." The clerk gave a respectful bow to the two old men and grabbed from under the counter a thick book, setting it on the counter between them and putting on the pair of spectacles that hung around his neck. Lord Kingsley adjusted his own glasses without thought and watched as the clerk flipped through pages of accounting. Graham cleared his throat, his cough loudly echoing through the vast and nearly empty lobby

The clerk stopped upon a chosen page and ran his finger down the ledger before pausing, scrunching his face in curiosity. "Lord... Arthur," he said glancing at the scholar's submitted paperwork. "This is a Colonial account."

"It is." He replied flatly.

"The executor of this account is one Caleb Kingsley?"

"I believe that is correct."

"Hm." The clerk mulled. "We'll need to send a copy of this request to our branch in... Portion City, where it will need to be signed by the executor. With the present instability among the Colonial realms, and the dissolution of the Senate, this could be difficult. Financially."

"Your Queen needs you, dammit!" Graham growled.

The clerk grinned bemusedly. "Of course. I'll see what I can do."

Kingsley II

Erik was just getting used to the return of some sort of normalcy. Back in the library, he poured over the same old dusty tomes looking for additional information about the Lich King and his followers. He thought he had been through all of these books multiple times before and found nothing, but hoped that recent revelations would give him some additional clue he might have missed the first time around.

The problem was, it was dreadfully boring. After re-reading the same paragraph for the 6th time Erik slumped back in his chair, trying to doze off, though interrupted by his own spiraling thoughts about what he had seen in the desert and during the Dominion's invasion of Oritolon, and more mundanely, by the sounds of repair and cleaning of the library, reshelving of tomes and quiet chatter about the next steps towards fully restoring the Citadel's library.

Erik grunted dejectedly and laid his head down on the table he was pretending to work at. What do I do... He thought to himself.

He was however interrupted with a "Sir Erik Kingsley?" from an unfamiliar voice. Erik merely grunted, face still down against the table.

"Um... I have important paperwork for Sir Erik?"

"Important..." Erik muttered disgruntledly. "Everything seems important these days. Why can't it just be fun unimportant news like 'Oh Erik you're invited to Lord Caravanthian's birthday party.' or 'There's not an Undead invasion destroying everything you know', or 'Lady Everett of Ashforth has released a new sonnet collection' " Erik looked up with an eyebrow raised. "Did Lady Everett of Ashforth release a new sonnet collection? Because the community of literary scholars have been waiting for years since On Reflections of Reflections was published and there was - "

"Ah... no, My Sir. It is financial paperwork. Some sort of transfer request from the Kingsley Joint Holdings." The courier handed a packet of papers to Erik who grimaced at the thought of handling serious financial forms.

"Isn't my father in charge of all that family money stuff? Why are you giving this to me?" Erik asked glancing at the papers. "Who is Arthur Kingsley?"

"I'm not sure, My Sir. You are listed as the executor on the statement I was given from the bank."

"What? Why? It's probably some mistake," Erik said, mindlessly signing the papers without reading them. "I get involved in mistakes and happenstances a lot so I'm sure it's just something like that, I don't think I've ever even been to that bank, on account of its in Portion and I haven't been there in years. I guess once when I was a kid my father had some business there and I went with him but I don't think that counts because - "

"I'm... not sure." The courier said impatiently. "You are listed as the executor of the account according to the issuing bank."

"Why isn't my father listed as the executor anymore?" Erik asked with a mix of confusion and concern.

The courier paused awkwardly, reaching over to collect the signed papers. He looked at Erik with a grimace of pitiful hope. "I... do not know My Sir. But he is not."

"Oh. Alright." Erik said quietly, a cocktail of conflicting emotions swirling around in his head. "Thank you."

Erik watched the courier leave with whatever those forms were and returned to his fretting, this time much more present.