RP Session 1: "A Hart's Errand"

Breuddwyd's expression grew more troubled and, with his ageless features—strained and pale though they seemed—he did also very much resemble a chastened child. He considered letting it go at that, content as usual to stew in morbidly superior thoughts. But shutting down lines of communication wouldn't improve their chances as a unit.

**Has that been what you've seen? So far? As an outsider here? ** he sent to the wintry woman, staring at her back. **That they listen to us? That they hear what we say? These greedy beasts?** The notion was ludicrously myopic. **They scarcely tolerate us. Waiting with bated breath. Each and every one. Until we are no more.**

And Breuddwyd had thought this level-headed human from a distant land, reputed for its untamed wilderness and strong spiritual connections, would understand. The misapprehension upset him but not in the same way his youthful, petulant outburst had. Drawing attention to himself in front of the woodsmen—the single elf among their number, giving orders —would have been just as harmful to their discretion as Lancaelad's wanton flexing.

**Among my people. A woman. Someone like you. Could be anything. You believe possible.**

And he hadn't intended to share that last bit but, just like that, it was out there. The hurt and animosity—part of it, at least—arose from the unrefined esteem he felt for her and no other humans alive. That might have been tangled up with other emotional connections, far away from here. Some magic-users burned even brighter on the inside than the most impressive spells they could bring to bear. In a way, seeing Tovrunn trot demurely to her fate was a bit like watching his own kin chained and led without a fight to the stakes for a public burning.

**Don't let them tell you who you are.**

After Lancaelad's little outburst, then inquiry, Corson looked him dead in the eye. "Pride. Pride tore them apart from the inside. The knights, unable to let go of ego and pride, turned on themselves. Two of our greatest... And when it was over, one stood victorious over his slain brother. It started the downward spiral."

The squire watched the young noble ride off ahead to stew in his thoughts and suddenly felt embarrassed. I should have died like the rest of them.

Ranging ahead and riding back to confirm to the party the way was clear, Lancaelad seemed to be hunting for something. Each time he rode off it was with eagerness and a head whipping side to side like a keen hound, and each time he returned he seemed frustrated, even forlorn. It was as if he was hungry for battle - or something else he expected to find in the glorious woodlands.

As they approached Bardenhold, he resumed his self-appointed place at the head of the band and remarked: "Be wary of these folk. Most of them are Bardens by blood, and family holds a greater sway on their loyalty than title."

Nodding haughtily to the guard as they were allowed it, and squinting because the bright like made stars of pain light inside of his skull. "We can find shelter for the night in the hall of Old Nae Barden, the headman of the village and the clan," he said, rubbing his brow with a grimace. "A party such as ours will not pass unmarked, so we may as well claim hospitality rights."

As they traveled, Tovrunn pondered the events that had occurred on the road, first with a frustrated sense of self-righteousness but then as she calmed with an open-mindedness that the druids in her circle encouraged. And what she found was that, at least in some sense, Breuddwyd was right. She had pointedly ignored his last mental messaging, but as much as she would have denied it in the moment there was in fact something that she could have done to prevent that course of actions. If she had recognized the moment as it was developing, there was a chance that she might have been able to corral Lancaelad's bullheadishness and allow Corson to uncover the hidden benefits that the woodcutters might have offered them. There was a significant part of her that balked at this, arguing that it was not her responsibility to guide the man into good decisions like a mother would her child, and this was undoubtedly true. But it was also true that her responsibility was to see this man Adalric to his destination safely. It was all of their responsibility in fact. And if that meant that sometimes she must remind Lancaelad of that responsibility when his ego took hold of his senses, then so be it. One must accept the positives and negatives of any task, no matter how frustrating.

At the thought of Lancaelad, the man seemed more and more forlorn as his repeated departures and returns grew frantic somehow, as though he was driven by something that she could not see. What was it that would cause his vexation, especially as they drew out of the woodlands so? It seemed as though he was looking for something, their enemies perhaps. And yet he looked so disappointed...

Entering Bardenhold for the first time felt, somewhat oddly, like returning home. Or at least like entering another's hold in Rjurik. She couldn't help but think that perhaps it was these people's close ties to each other by blood rather than by oath that gave her that sensation, but she could tell that Lancaelad was largely right in his assessment. If not exactly his opinion.

"Are you sure that wise, my beloved?" she asked as he suggested claiming hospitality rights. Rights which she was less likely to believe existed in the sense that Lancaelad believed them to. It seemed more likely that demanding hospitality would be only barely tolerated, but such worries were not to be spoken aloud. "Noticed or not, placing ourselves in the safety of others, especially those who hold their ties to the Baroness as loosely as you claim, seems a risk. Especially as we have yet to put a name or face to the benefactor who has hired a small army to hunt us. Better that we keep our own means of defending ourselves or sudden flight from this hold closer at hand than we'd be able to in the comfort of Barden's keep."

"More than fair. We're grateful for your hospitality," Breuddwyd assured the ogress tending the counter. He recognised that they were not so far from the Erebannien here that elves would seem terribly out of place. Presuming the crude, roughspun comforts of human accommodations ever appealed to any of his kin.

Seated beside him, Arglwyddes's tail drubbed a cursory flip-flop of approval against the plank floor as she peered solemnly up at their host. The perfect diplomat in most company.

"There has been a disagreeable pall hanging about the woods of late, felt all the way from Aerenwe," he said softly to the big innkeep, leaning in closer with a sort of palpable but preternatural sorrow about his manner that only the fey could muster. "We'd rather avoid any spiteful entanglements beneath your roof, we would." He showed her a pained, delicate smile and slid an extra coin with subtlety across the countertop. "I'm sure you see your share of unfamiliar faces but if any should bring unexpected inquiries to your ear—prying into private affairs—we would appreciate swift notice."

The svelte, dark elf glanced back at the others, wondering at their feelings on the place. Breuddwyd's people didn't sleep the same way they did so the common room would serve him. Or, in that sense, he might make a good roommate for their charge, though the bodyguard Corson was most certainly the better fit for that role.

"But two rooms free?" Lancaelad sounded surprised. Adopting an air of bored curiosity that passed as craftiness for him, he asked: "Have you an uncommon number of travellers besides ourselves passing through tonight?"

Looking back at the group, he said: "Lady Tovrunn shall have one room. Honour demands no less. The rest of us must sleep head to foot like common soldiers in the other, I fear. Discomforting, but such is the nature of perilous adventure with deadly pursuit at our heels!"

"I expect I can be more attentive from the common room," Breuddwyd put in with a very nearly audible sigh. The thought of cloistering himself in with unthinkable intimacy beside a handful of sweaty, snoring, road-grimy human men for a night in a single room made him distinctly queasy. "I'm much better suited to confronting depredations in the night than the rest of you and require little rest." He tried for a smile to take some sting out of the criticism but it made for a dire sight. "No doubt Arglwyddes would grow lonely in my absence."

The elf returned his gaze to their host, hoping to see some receptiveness to his entreaty for cooperation, if not outright vigilance on the party's behalf.

"I can sleep in the stables" Corson said, leaving the next part unspoken: And keep an eye on the horses...

Gently laying a hand on Lancaelad's arm, Tovrunn spoke up. "I appreciate your concern for honor, Lancaelad. However, so long as I am given privacy enough to clothe myself I can make do with less than ideal circumstances." Glancing at the door she continued, "Perhaps it was the sudden hostility at the docks, but I'd rather remain within arms distance tonight. When it comes to both honor and security I trust none here more than you."

Looking at Corson when he made his offer, and then to their charge, she said, "A man-at-arms should stay with our charge. We are not so far from the docks this morning that we should take our safety as assured. Come. Let us discuss over food. I'll find us a table."

Lancaelad had resigned himself to sleeping in the stables with his retinue – he had already staked Lady Tovrunn's honour on her privacy, and it was evident he lacked the flexibility in his spine to reverse that statement once uttered. Thus he stiffened as the Rjurik priestess brushed his arm and barely mustered the the self-control to bite down on an instinctive refutation to her offer. But he had, at least, the wit to take the rope she threw to a man about to drown under the weight of his own pride.

"As you say, my lady," he relented, inclining his head slightly. There was relief visible behind his pig-headed demeanour. "I am sure such rough, communal sleeping is not unfamiliar from the longhouses of your home."

As they found their way to the table, he addresses Corson and Salien, though his words were meant for all of them. "I trust you attended the words of the keeper of the house. We may have found ourselves encamped amidst any number of foes. Be prepared to sleep lightly and stay in close quarters. I will have my ostler ensure our mounts are ready to go at a moment's notice."

Corson nodded and with a sharp bow turned to the innkeep, "We will take two bowls of stew with bread and cheese, please."

After placing a small pile of silvers on the counter, he returned his attention to the lords and lady. "Do we need to meet in your rooms later to discuss our next move?"

"I'll try the stew as well, if you'd be so kind." Breuddwyd showed the attendant a wan and weary grin.

He looked from Corson to the others and, confirming they were relatively free of errant ears listening in, he softly inquired, "Should we perhaps approach this well-dressed roamer to whom the matron referred? I could arrange some friendly pretense, I could." If the stranger was noteworthy to the working-class proprietor, he might warrant further investigation. The Sidhe actually seemed quite engaged with the notion, his fledgling sense for spycraft piqued.

Breuddwyd's expression didn't change. He would not be baited again. "If those who seek us are already here, we have no hope of hiding who we are," he said evenly, still leaning forward to maintain some discretion. "I'd be insulted if our tormentors weren't at least that adept, I would. Far better to lay eyes on all who would by design espy us."

He looked back over his shoulder as the minstrels prepared for their show, clearly interested in their progress. It would be a lie to say the thought of music didn't excite him; rare was the Sidhe who would not take careful note of the craft on display. More to the point of current contention, the role of traveling musician was an ideal guise for both fugitive and information gatherer alike. If Breuddwyd ever found himself charged with coordinating a spy network—and, if the fates could be kind, someday that would indeed be so—he would most certainly employ tough and charming and resourceful bards to do his bidding.

"I might see if they'll allow me to join in their merriment," he mused, almost to himself, and the irony of his choice of words was likely lost on him. Getting close to the performers could be valuable from a defensive standpoint but he would enjoy the chance to play with strangers in any event. He fancied himself quite adept with the crwth he carried.

Pausing then, he refreshed the mental connection once more with Tovrunn.

**The man upstairs. If here by falsehood. May come out to watch. To uphold his ruse.** He smiled faintly, meeting the human woman's eyes. Anyone journeying for long who was not already asleep would glom onto any idle entertainment to stave off the boredom of the road. **Then we take his measure.**

He let that resonate before adding, **If he stays away. You might force the issue. Blunder into his room. By accident. Play the outsider. Brusque as you can.** He winced, his smile grew apologetic. **Looking to ... freshen up? Female things. You got turned around. Allay his doubts. Then you take his measure.**

Rising from his chair, he knelt by his pack with that characteristically weird and starchy sort of grace to fetch his instrument, still swaddled in waxed canvas for the road. Unwrapping the crwth with great care and keeping his eyes downcast as if deep in thought, he awaited Tovrunn's response.

Corson shooks his head brusquely to Lancaelad's query, though it wasn't likely the young noble was speaking to him. Hunched over his bowl, he shovelled the stew into his gob, having learned to eat quickly and return to watch.

The coarse squire leaned back and brushed his hand against the intricately carved wooden rod held by a thong at his back, knowing that if they were attacked that he was armed despite the peace tie on his sword.

For now, he would sit and watch... they would make a move soon...

Taking a seat with the others and ordering the soup as well as a mug of wine which she barely sipped, most of Tovrunn's focus was on the minstrels, her eyes heavy and distant. It wasn't until Breuddwyd forcibly pushed his thoughts into her mind that she gave the conversation at the table any real consideration. **The key emphasis being 'if' and 'might'** she thought back to him, still not quite over his presumptive tantrum on the road, no matter how close he came to the mark. **Stirring up trouble when there is none is inadvisable, especially if we are only staying the night. But...you may be right. Whoever hired that army of mercenaries that hunted us in Abbadiel has deep pockets and long reach. It would not surprise me if he had cast his net widely in case we managed to slip his snare. We should be careful tonight.**

"I do admit some passing curiosity as to who this mysterious patron is," Tovrunn said verbally, pivoting the tension between her betrothed and their sidhe companion. "It does seem rather odd that, based purely on what the proprietress spoke of, he would choose to room here. Our own decisions were based out of an abundance of caution; what would drive a man like that to choose the same?"

Shrugging and setting the topic aside with a sip of her wine, Tovrunn leaned forward towards the blonde-haired knight opposite her. "I can't say that I have played this game," she admitted, "though I am eager to learn. Have you any lessons to offer?"

Once the game was underway, she asked casually, "So tell me good sirs, how you came to be here in this tavern with us. We heard a shortened version on the docks, but now that time and good company have found us aplenty, I'd like to hear the full of it."