RP Session 2: "To the Mattresses"

"Good Ser" nodded Rhod with a hearty handshake, "my Lord, Ladies. You have me at a disadvantage. How may I serve?" He shot a quizzical glance at the fellow from the stables, still with the papers in front of him. "The Mother of Storms is always willing to aid the Barony if the Thunder wills."

Corson ignored the lordling, and looked questioningly at Tovrunn and the Lord and Lady of the house. "If Lancaelad cares not who is after us and Salien, perhaps our hosts and Lady Tovrunn care to speculate about this hare?"

The squire deliberately omits Lan's prefix, almost as if baiting him to respond.

Noticing that the man called Rhoderick followed him, Corson tracked the priest in his mind's eye, sure to know where he was at all times.

When Lancaelad made to stand, Tovrunn paused only a moment before doing the same. The distant sound of thunder, perceptible only due to a lull in conversation, gave the druid reason to believe that the remaining riders -one of whom was surely her cousin- would soon return to the villa if they hadn't already. This suspicion was confirmed when the door to the dining hall creaked open and Corson returned with so little pomp that even she had cause to blink, accompanied by a stranger.

"Greetings," Tovrunn replied as she took his measure. The Bjordlings had neglected to inform them of Rhoderick's status as a member of the blooded, and Tovrunn could feel his presence in her very bones, an uncomfortable pressing of his will that took some effort to rebuff. Projections of power aside, though, she found the man to be more or less what she expected from her experience crossing the seas on her way here. The muted signs of elven lineage were unexpected, though, and her mind flitted briefly to the elven companion they had left hardly a day ago. "We were just speaking about you. Lord and Lady Bjordling were-"

Movement behind the priests shoulder drew her attention, and for the second time that day her normally frosty composure melted in the warmth of recognition. "Rikke!" Hurrying past the men to her more warmly dispossessed cousin, Tovrunn clasped her hands in greetings. "ᛏᚺᛖ ᛋᚢᚾ ᛋᚺᛁᚾᛖᛋ ᚹᚨᚱᛗᛚᚤ ᚢᛈᛟᚾ ᚤᛟᚢ," she said in her yawning, rugged and rolling native language. "ᛁᛏ ᛞᛟᛖᛋ ᛗᛖ ᚷᛟᛟᛞ ᛏᛟ ᛋᛖᛖ ᚤᛟᚢ."

"Tovrunn?"

Clasping hands with her cousin, Rikke glanced about the room in confusion at the unexpected visitors. Clothed in a riding dress typical of the Anuirean lady of leisure, the young woman was still identifiable as Rjurik, and though there were some differences the familial connection to Tovrunn was noticable.

"Only with the light of your smile," she replied in Rjurik, still more confused than comfortable. "What are you doing here? I thought that-"

Suddenly her mouth curled into a small smirk, her wits returning to her. "Don't tell me that you've grown to miss me after only a few days, now? You're going to have to let me go eventually," she said playfully. Glancing again upwards, this time to Lancaelad, she added, "Is he still proving to be mule-headed?"

A genuine smile beamed from Erron, "M'lady, you have an unfailing read for the minds of others, as always!" A playful expression crossed his face, and with feigned concern he added, "You look winded. This does not seem the kind of hunt to which you are accustomed."

He gave her a brief moment to reply, while looking the direction of the stables. "Though, it sounds as if you are already on to a new game. I'd be most pleased if you showed me to the stables, m'lady." He dismounted, offering a polite bow.

Tiesera swung her leg over her suddenly nervous mount's head and slid from her own saddle, never once taking her hands off the dulcimer. One certainly would not call the motion elegant, but it was impressive especially for a woman in her forth decade of life. "I think the great hall might be the thing - don't you smell venison?" She jerked her head to her mount. "Call a groom to take care of that hairy brute. I think this might be interesting." With that she slung the instrument over her shoulder and made for the lodge.

"If none of these good nobles know of that seal then Roesone's Court Herald, the Lady Tiesera was with us on the hunt, she would surely be able to answer your query" Ser Rhoderick said to Corson when no one answered him. "Where did you find unidentified letters?"

Almost at the end of his patience in dealing with these nobles, Rhoderick's voice cut through his frustration as abruptly as thunder on a
Summer morning. "Many thanks, Sir Rhoderick, was it? Which one was Lady Tiesera?"

Almost as if he had forgotten the appended question as just now remembered. "These were in the saddlebags stolen from our assailants. This Hare is the source of our troubles and the threat to Salien, here."

"I don't have to let you go just yet," Tovrunn replied with an equal amount of playful sharpness, still speaking her native tongue. Sharing her cousins glance, she added, "You have no idea. We'll talk later though. For now, I could use your help."

Leading Rikke back to the table with the documents still on display, she rejoined the conversation. "My apologies, Corson. Please meet my cousin, Rikke. You were saying something about a signet of some kind? From the saddlebags that we had absconded with?" Picking up the letter and examining it closely, she asked her cousin, "Does this look like any heraldry you recognize?"

Corson nodded politely to Tovrunn's cousin, then turned back to the matter at hand. "As you can see, all of these have the mark of the Hare. Not a common heraldry, I am sure, but hopefully, someone can illuminate our unseen foe."

"These southerners choose such strange things for their marks" replied Rikke still in her native tongue, glancing at the wax seal dismissively "Always the hunted, seldom the hunter. Either they have forgotten nature's order or they have made peace with being meek." She laughed a silvery laugh and switched back to Anuirean. "Probably some lesser house somewhere trying desperately to be less fearsome than their liege."

Ser Lancaelad went rigid with indignation at the clear, calculated slight from Corson. To be insulted so by a mere squire! This would not stand! But his hesitation and mute rage meant that the party had moved on without him as he seethed, and he was forced to lengthen his stride to catch up with them at the stables. His anger bristled sharper than ever as Corson then bestowed the honourific on the priest of the Sea Goddess – was the man such an oafish trailguard he did not understand the difference between secular and ecclesiastical titles!?

Lan bulled his way past Corson, shoulder-checking him forcefully. Under his breath, he growled at the man: "If you ever aspire to the accolade of knighthood, squire, you should remember to recognise the titles others have earned, through blood or deed. If you were my squire I would thrash you for such insolence." He snatched the seal out of the hand of whoever had it, and squinted at it.

Rhoderick clapped Corson on the back. "I revel in the humble rank of Reverend my friend and then eyeing Lan’s possession of the parchments now do you recognise the seal good Ser?"

Corson, serious as the grave, responded to Lancaelad simply. "Your title afforded you a certain amount of respect... Respect that you have squandered over the course of the past few days. I only hope that your pride does not get Salien killed... He does not deserve that."

He turned stiffly to Rhoderick, firmly removing the man's hand. " I am sorry, Reverend, I just assumed that you were of higher station, spending time with these folk as you were."

"Killed? I keep telling you all I'm a freeman crofter from the other side of the world! I've coin enough no doubt, but I know nothing of any of this! I'm Avani curse you, why won't anyone listen to me?" yelled Adalric, slamming his fists onto the table and sending a mug of beer skidding to the flags. "It is becoming increasingly clear that I'm not whoever you people think I am, and if I'm not some kind of prisoner I am ready to go home. I promised to come, and I have come. I made no other promises to the Governor or your Baroness!"

"I know not this symbol. It belongs to no noble house in Anuire, and violates several principles of heraldry," the young knight said, glancing dismissively at the seal. Then his temper, never kept on a short leash to begin with, came to its limit as Corson had the unmitigated gall to suggest that it was his, a mere foreign squire's, place to adjudicate respect. He started towards the other man, hand raised to administer a strike to the face that would surely have lead to a duel and bloodshed, one way or another. Through clenched teeth he snarled: "That tongue of yours, churl..."

But then he seemed to catch sight of the seal in his hand again, and paused as a memory was kindled. "Not a noble house. But... there are stories of a cutthroat king in Alamie, a would-be guildmaster of assassins. He calls himself the Prince of Rabbits, and his knife has shed the blood of Tuor courtiers and generals of Boeruine. This came from the pack of the Brecht swordsman? Was there aught else with it?"

Rhoderick looms over Adalric and states with a glare "When your betters have a conversation little farmer it is a good idea to sit quietly or you will find yourself quietened."

He looks troubled and addresses the group, but mainly Lan and Corson. "You were attacked from a ship? The Sea Watch has long petitioned to have domain over the Ports. This falls under Order business. Whilst I am but a simple priest, the Order’s honour protects those who arrive on our shore until they safely make their destination."

"Salien, what part of anything that has happened in the last few days has given you any other notion?" Corson responded calmly, hoping that his demeanour will give the man some measure. His mentor used to call the technique Reflecting Pools, but Corson never got the hang of it.

At Lancaelad's outburst, the squire turned back to face the young noble. Ready to receive whatever punishment is meted out, Corson stood tall, but was surprised when Lancaelad gave pause. "Standard fare for traveling, with a few items of note... a pair of odd manacles and scalp, maybe, from someone long dead. Couple that with the crossbow that Breudd said had enchantments, if that means anything."

Corson paused for the briefest of moments before turning to Salien. "Perhaps they do not want you dead... yet." He looked to the Stormcaller, "What is this Order you speak of?"

Lan's eyes flickered over the documents, widening as he absorbed their import. He stepped over to Tovrunn, holding up the papers and pointing to part of it where the mercenaries described their prey. "Behold, my lady. Two knights," he ground his teeth for a moment as even their enemies awarded Corson a privilege he was not warranted, "You. The elf and his hound. Lord Aeric. And you, Master Salien, by description if not by name," he added, raising his voice. "Our hunters know not only whom they seek, but who was dispatched to meet them."

He frowned, a note of chilly fear poorly hidden under his bluster. The odds were even more overwhelming than they had seemed. "A hundred men. Whether or not you believe this matter concerns you, some enemy does - with enough certainty to warrant a substantial golden price on your head."

He looked back at Tovrunn. "Lord Gaerad Biersen, the baroness' seneschal commissioned us on this task. If this Rabbit Prince's sellswords know us... he must have betrayed our mission." Lan started to pace. "I should write a letter to my father, and send these with it. He must be alerted that there is a viper in the very halls of Blacktower Castle!"