RP Session 1: "A Hart's Errand"

Breuddwyd's accustomed glower intensified when his guidance was
ignored by the others. Grumbling inwardly, he wondered if the minor indignity of being overlooked was a side effect of greater Sidhelien marginalisation in lands once theirs. By a clumsily grasping, primitive society that could reasonably be considered beneath them, no less. It stung and he was surprised, displeased to find himself so fragile and resentful at the prospect of examining the bitter spark of emotion in greater detail.

What was that line Mother favoured? Ignore peril, invite collapse.

Deciding it hardly mattered if the others were on their guard so long as he kept watch, he settled down on the ledge, dangling his slim legs and hooking his arms through the weathered and colorless wooden railing. With his ageless, careworn features, he might almost be mistaken for an unusually tall and well-dressed urchin all made up of particularly desolate angles.

Breuddwyd rested his fine-boned chin on the splintery barrier, still observing the docks more than the sea. A small and petty part of him was growing keen to spot some unseen element muck up their plans now. It would likely best serve his needs if the mission could be accomplished to perfection in the long run but he remained uncertain just how well these events would serve the Erebannien and its elves. Bearing witness as the others fumbled and flailed could prove amusing, if only temporarily. It might be interesting to see how Aeric met with unexpected challenges, he supposed. The scion of House Lecland was owed a debt of courtesy and forbearance in accordance with the old ways but that was a far cry from fawning admiration and Breuddwyd wasn't ready to be impressed. Honestly, he entertained more hope for Tovrunn's instincts on that front, having heard some inspiring—if muddled—accounts of her northern tribes and their values. The female was typically the more sensible of any species, he reasoned, unconsciously touching the polished bee-in-amber pendant that hung from a cord around his neck.

Stoic Arglwyddes gave a quick but vigorous shake to disrupt the rainwater collecting on her fur and held her post nearby, knowing her humanoid charge well enough to recognize a bruised ego but not rating the wound grievous enough to warrant sympathy in the moment.

Tovrunn's eyes narrowed slowly before a blink drove away whatever dark clouds that had begun forming in her mind. "Hmmm," she hummed thoughtfully, head cocked to the side and watching her fiancé's reaction like a curious fox. Both his initially brusque one, and the one that he displayed once his attention widened.

Only once the beggar had departed did she answer his question. "When the ice melts and the harsh cold winds of the mountains are met by the rays of the summer sun once more, I suspect we will both find passage home in the warm embrace of your southern winds," she replied loftily. "After all, our union may be consummated here in your lands, but it is more typical among our people for the husband to venture forth and claim his bride from her family and kin. And you and your kin have been so generous to me, it would surely please the gods to allow me and my kin the opportunity to visit upon you a similar kindness."

Tovrunn held Lancaelad's eyes for a moment longer before shrugging. "Though perhaps not this season. Perhaps the southern winds will carry with them invitations to our wedding here, and you will be given the opportunity to meet your father-in-law in your own halls. Perhaps those winds will carry us northward to form a union according to my own customs. Who can say with any certainty? The winds being as fickle as they are."

Without another word Tovrunn shifted and turned towards Aeric, her voice and face adopting a slightly warmer tone. Slightly. "I am afraid I am without knowledge of this 'Endier' land you speak. Is it very far from here?"

Lancaelad's cheeks mottled at Tovrunn's mention of consummated - flushing hot red and mortified white in rapid succession. In all likelihood, the icily beautiful woman had never seen a man look so simultaneously shocked, nervous, appalled and intrigued by the notion of bedding her all at once. The Anuireans were not as earthy or straight-tongued a people as the Rjurik; perhaps his courtly manners were simply scandalised by the open reference to the sort of jousting men and women got up to when armour and horses were not involved. Or perhaps there was more to his frantic attempts to avoid her gaze...

"It sounds a most... bracing... journey. I would be most honoured to see the halls of your kinsmen," the knight replied weakly. "Yes, the winds can be most fickle. Fickle indeed. I wish they would speed this boat to its berth that we might be about our journey!" He stared at the approaching sails of the Golden Prowl intensely, as if willing the blood of Masela, the ancient sea goddess to hurry it along.

"Endier, a hubbub of commerce, and a beuatiful countryside, I am told by every travelling merchant." Having tried to change the subject to save Lancaelad, Aeric now regretted mentioning Endier, which was their final destination. Noticing the rather out of place exciseman, he immediately grabbed the opportunity to change the subject, and began walking towards him and his assistant casually.

"Morning, good sir! You are to be commended to set up your desk here at this ungodly hour. I have frequented his harbour at this hour regularly, and this is the first time I have witnessed an exciseman setting up his desk without any sign of disembarking trade goods. Please, tell me your name, so I can relay it to my friends in the upper echelons. I am sure you will go far indeed with your diligence!" he remarks, trying to both sound authoritative and throw the exciseman off balance. He also quickly scans the exciseman, his assistant and the table for anything that might be out of turn.

"At last," Lancaelad muttered fervently as the lean hull of the zebec slid towards the berth. The eyes on its prow seemed to watch him with a warning.

Glancing around the harbour, the young knight decided the exciseman probably knew best where the ship's drawbridge – the gangplank, didn't nautical types call it? – would lower and disgorge their foreign guests, so he threw back his cloak, the better to show off his gleaming maille and weapon, and strode towards the pier to his left. There did not seem to be a ladder or stairs between the dock closer to the waterline and the upper one, so he hauled himself up with muscular ease despite the clanking coat he wore.

Belated gallantry made him pause once again, and he turned and knelt on the edge of the dock and held out his hand. "My lady?" he offered to Tovrunn.

If Aeric's polite attempt at distraction earned a warmer tone, then Lancaelad's flustered blustering earned a smile. Even a giggle. Content for now to let him off the hook, having earned an awkwardness that she understood, Tovrunn followed her husband-to-be towards the dock, and pretended not to notice that she was nearly a second thought as she took his hand.

Following him where he went, she remained by his side, within arms reach. And every once in a while, she happened to steal a glance at him.

Easing himself lower to slither deftly beneath the wooden barrier, Breuddwyd dropped down from the upper tier and trailed behind the others. He would leave the humans space to entertain their quaintly cumbersome customs but linger close enough to involve himself if needed. When the traveler finally set foot on land, the elven noble realized he should endeavor to make a better impression than simply standoffish. Even in the unworthy role of a low-level envoy, a Sidhe would comport himself with dignity.

"As we've been charged with security for your long-lost luminary, we'd best be establishing control from the start," he counselled glumly, the hint of music beneath his smooth tone failing to make him sound particularly invested. "Keep things strictly professional. Tidier that way, it is."

It wouldn't do to have another impulsive child introduced to this land only to see him wander off into danger unattended.

"Salien," Corson signals for his charge to come over. "Time to go."

The squire scans the group that he suspects is their escort, looking for signs that they may not be who they appear to be.

Lancaelad listened with half an ear as Aeric questioned the harbour toll collector. It seemed like a waste of time for a man to concern himself with such petty bureaucratic goings on; but, on consideration, perhaps it spoke well of the young Lecland that he was so involved in the minutiae of the realm. On such men's backs was the Barony built.

The knight strode forward as the gangplank was mounted, ready to come down.Cupping his hand to his mouth, he bellowed out: "'Lo the ship! In the name of Marlae Roesone, baroness and protector of this proud and free realm, I bid you welcome to dry land! I seek Adalric Salien. Is he amongst your company?"

Breuddwyd was the closest to these harborside hijackers and he turned to face them as they barked their demands. The expression beneath his hood was one of typical Sidhe irritation but devoid of fear. How had he missed the signs of treachery afoot? Perhaps his senses had been overloaded with human banality ...

"Historically, Sidhelien never respond well to ill-thought threats of violence," the whip-thin incanter called back, his tone resonant and insistent in its disapproval. Not many of the backwards bumpkins in human lands were intimately accustomed with elves and their mystic defenses and the tales they spoke to each other could aid in cowing peasantry and lesser lords alike. He wondered if the same might be true for these hard-eyed marksmen. "This is poorly done. Send one of your number forth to parley or none of us shall have what we want."

In truth, he cared little for their plans or politics; he genuinely wished to be shut of any entanglements in Roesone sooner rather than later and doubted the squabbles he encountered here would persist in his troubled dreams after he had moved on. He suppressed a smirk at the notion of conflict, hoping they liked fire.

Glancing back at Tovrunn for just an instant, be established the thoughtbridge between them that he had employed as an exercise to sharpen his focus since first discovering his magical affinity. Despite its subtle elegance, it was a simple trick but one that should allow them to communicate their plans in silence.

**You understand me. Yes?** he prodded mentally, uncertain how his presence might seem squeezed inside the woman's head. He hadn't used this ability in connection with primitive human minds in the past but assumed the female would weather any unpleasant repercussions. It seemed reasonable to guess that she was the most likely to comprehend the elven language. **Hear them out. Or divide and conquer. Either is better. Than this.** For him it felt like tensing a muscle that only existed as an habitual self-delusion, on an intuitive plane. Words formed like the slow and sonorous heartbeat of a great beast lurking in tenebrous forest depths.

I look of incredulous annoyance spread across Lancaelad's face as some churl dared to bellow across the muddy harbour at him. He turned slowly to let the loudmouth feel the lash of his tongue - then his eyes widened as he sawed gleam bolt- and arrowheads in the hands of the filthy men.

"What treachery is this?" he snarled indignantly. Brigandage? No, these men had a purpose, and that purpose could only be connected to the ship that had just weighed anchor and its passenger. That man is more than a Surienese farmer, it seems.

A chill ran through his blood, seeming to slow time to the marching drumbeat of his heart, and there was a giddy sensation as he imagined the battlefield from above, like a chessboard. They were in a mixed position. The pier gave them height and there was cover scattered around, but the ambushers were drawn up in a firing line with no clear path to them. Lancaelad eyed the distance; a good bowman could loose once or twice before he, Lancaelad, could reach them, even discounting the shots already taut on the string. And those could not be discounted, not with Salien, if that was him, wearing humble clothes instead of steel - not to mention Tovrunn in mere leathers and furs and the elf in robes, though he had no doubt that wyrdling could take care of himself.

"Lady Tovrunn, stay behind me. Aeric, shelter at that crate. Breuddwyd, have your hound charge at my signal," Lancaelad growled in an undertone, instinctively taking command - though it remained to be seen if his companions would cede to his callow authority. His hands itched to reach for his shield and the haft of his weapon, but he did not want to alarm the ambushers into loosing just yet. Glancing at the excisemen, he said: "You, keep your heads down. The baroness' carrack, the Adventure, is docked in Abbadiel, true? Rouse a contingent of sailors and bring them to assist."

Raising his voice, he yelled across the water: "You, ruffians. Lower your weapons! You dare breach the baroness' peace!? You face not only the royal constabulary of Roesone but a knight sworn to defend her people! The first man to drop his bow will receive a pardon and purse, 'pon my honour. The rest will not live long enough to face the noose." His eyes were hard as chips of jade as he spoke, his tone a grim certainty.

As he was figuratively run right over, Breuddwyd shot Lancaelad a particularly dark look—even taking the elf's gloomy features into account —and, through gritted teeth, simply retorted, "No."

Instinctively, Corson does a quick survey of the field, clocking each enemy and each potential enemy or ally.

"Stay behind me, Salien," the squire says quietly. "If they open fire, stay behind me."

Accosted on the docks? Tovrunn's breath caught in her throat. This was not exactly the simple favor that she had anticipated. Then again, it hardly mattered what she had anticipated, for now this was the scenario she was in. And the one where she might prove herself to be made of more than just lace.

The mental intrusion of Breuddwyd's unspoken words caught her by surprise, but not for long. **I can understand you. Yes, we will stall for time. And in the meantime, plan.**

Stepping gently behind her husband to be as he commanded, Tovrunn noted that there was more room and better cover to be found...and that it was closer to the boat that the brigands had indicated. And where boats were, so too generally was water.

"My beloved," she whispered without any hint of the irony that had once twisted the word into a bitter knife, "if it comes to it, I can better protect our charge were he in the boat. We should stall for time." Mentally conjuring the image of a watercraft surrounded by water and ice suspended in air, she pushed the image to Breuddwyd, revealing her intentions to the elf via their thought-connection.

She just needed to get closer...

A slow dawning of horror began creeping up on Aeric's mind the moment he heard that the Docks Office were warned about the ship beforehand. Someone knew about the cargo. But who? Were they set up? As Aeric was deep in thought about the possible ramifications of such a leak, he had already resigned himself to the fact that the extraction from the harbour would not go as planned. Accordingly, while Aeric was not prepared for the ambush, nevertheless, he was unsurprised.

He listened to the altercation between Breuddwyd, Lancaelad and the assailants while in his mind he calculated back and forth the possible outcomes. They seem to want the cargo alive, otherwise they'd just have peppered him with arrows upon his landing. It means the situation may not be as dire as anticipated.

Judging his precarious situation out in the open, Aeric first tries to move slowly into cover. Given that Breuddwyd and Lancaelad already responded with conflicting remarks, he refrains from muddling the situation, he decides to await the brigands' response first.