RP Session 2: "To the Mattresses"

Corson watched Lancaelad as realization dawns upon the young nobleman. It takes effort to pierce the wall of his pride, but maybe he will prove worthy... given time.

"Mmm," Tovrunn uttered skeptically as she considered Lancaelad's reaction. "If it were the seneschal...how would he have known to include Corson's description?" Picking up the letters from where her hot-blooded fiance left them on the table, she began to scan them herself. "And with a hundred men dispatched for this task, it would've been trivial to delay us and snatch the true quarry. A viper in the halls I think is a genuine concern, but I would recommend we take great care on who we accuse, especially without irrefutable evidence. I doubt that Lord Biersen is responsible for this. Ah!"

Pointing to their description, she said, "Look here! This was scrawled hastily, and only broad description is given. No names, no heraldry, only a quickly written instruction. I doubt that whoever wrote this has any true familiarity with us. More likely our battle at the docks had an unseen observer, or the bandits who escaped spoke of who they fought against."

For the first time since he set foot on Anuire's soil Adalric didn't retreat into confusion - instead his eyes flashed, his nostrils flared and he drew himself up to his full height. "I said I was a crofter preacher, not a peasant. My lands keep twenty families and they've been with the Saliens for over a century. I came here as a personal favour to the Governor of Suiriene and I will not become a piece of cargo for you to haul about. I was told I was to meet an escourt, not jailers."

"As to the past days," His tone was more measured, but no less forceful as he turned to Corson. "I hear these people's troubles, and I don't see my part in them. I didn't agree to come here to die in someone else's war. Nor did you."

Lancaelad looked vaguely disappointed that this conspiracy did not seem to reach to the very highest echelons of power as Tovrunn made her sensible observations about the note's provenance, but there was a measure of admiration in his glance. "Well said, my lady. Regardless, the court must be made aware of this – the royal constabulary and guards will be able to waylay any bands of foreign sellswords who can give no good account of themselves. It seems that disguise will not avail us, but if we tade to the hinterlands without an elf and a hound in our party, in the company of a holy man, we may not be marked as the prey they seek."

Salien's outburst caught his attention then, and he looked at the man in a new light. He liked displays of mettle, provided they were not directed at him (an ugly sideways glare at Corson). "Master Salien," he said, approaching the Surienese fellow with a placating palm raised. "Speak reason. You are not our prisoner, but consider the perils you will face if you depart our number. You see this? A half-company of mercenaries seek a man of your description. The would-be kidnapper in Abbadiel spoke of a ship in the Straits hunting you, and us, and the Golden Prowl is long departed. How would you return to your far distant home with such odds arrayed against you?"

A romantic notion struck him. "I gave my oath to the baroness to see you safeguarded to this assignation. If it will assure you, I will offer you my oath – accompany us to Endier, not as luggage or passenger but with me as your guard. If you then wish to depart for the sunny climes of Khinasi, I will personally ensure you reach a ship in the City of Anuire or Abbadiel to see you on your way."

Adalric absorbed Lancaelad's words - it was surprising for the brash young knight to be the voice of diplomacy, and even after only a few days on the road that was not lost on the islander. "I... very well" he replied, the steel leaving his voice.

For a moment Lancaelad felt something in his veins. A pull not unlike the sudden awareness of gravity felt at the edge of a precipice. In some it
engendered a rash urge to jump, in others a chill of fear. In Lan it didn't last long enough for him to decide which kind of man he was, but the sensation was more than merely intuition and left his fingertips tingling.

The doors opened casually, revealing a young somewhat plainly dressed nobleman in his early twenties, accompanied by Lady Tiesera. They appeared to be in mid-conversation, apparently discussing the best venison meals they had each experienced to date. The young man, with a kindly but low tone and pleasant voice, was completing a thought as the two entered, "... soft roasted and accompanied by an exotically spiced squash with dates, I believe. It was marvellous..."

Turning to the room, he raised his voice only slightly, so as to be heard clearly, and said, "Ah, a robust hunt it must be, to have drawn so many! Are we already in for the day, or is this respite only temporary before going back out?" He removed his riding gloves and wrung his hands a moment, as if wiping away sweat. As he did, he gave a friendly smile and polite eye contact to each of those present.

Corson merely nodded his assent to Salien's comment. Curious to see where is going with this and how the nobles would react.

Rhoderick nodded to the newcomers, rubbing the palm of his left hand as if soothing it and muttered an aside to Salien. "Aha, good to see there is thunder in your heart, the good knight has offered you an oath, you should consider it. With 100 sell swords with manacles searching for you."

To Corson he replied "the Sea Watch honours The Mother of Storms and the Guardian of the Deep. She protects the waterways and the coast, we serve by enforcing that. Soon we hope to have have that made official if the Barony wills it."

Tiesera's eyes darted between the overlapping conversations in the room as if trying to pull all the threads together from the dispirit scraps she'd caught. Her brow furrowed for a moment, then a smile creased her eyes. It seemed likely that the court herald and informal spymaster of Roesone knew the significance of their presence.

"Many, yes" she said to Erron "but not so many as I should expect from this company. I count only half the number I expected, and bandaged no less." She didn't go so far as to ask the question. Tiesera never asked questions. She merely left answer-shaped openings in a room and waited to see what happened.

Responding quietly to Rhoderick, Corson said "Ah, my order venerated her as well, sister to the Father of the Hunt. May she watch over us in this tempest that we find ourselves in currently."

Lan stood for a moment swaying slightly, looking bemused at the sudden sense of... vertigo? Euphoria? Destiny? No, probably just the lingering effects of the blow to the head I took yesterday, he thought, reaching up and touching his brow gingerly. He had seen men struck in the helm while jousting who spent days reeling and emptying their stomachs until a priest could bless the wound; he should count himself fortunate that a little dizziness and tingling of the extremities was the worst of it. Ah, perhaps I am made of stronger stuff than them! That seemed more likely.

Putting that aside, he noted that others had joined their conference. A great many eyes and ears all of a sudden, he thought, hurriedly folding up the intelligence from the Signalman's saddlebags and frowning around the group. The other Rjurik girl, Rikke, was Tovrunn's little sister or handmaiden or some such; if Tovrunn trusted her she was probably no threat. He recognised Lady Tiesera of Shieldhaven, though not the slight, fancifully-dressed man at her side with the oddly perspicacious eyes. Her protege, or beau? He didn't trust that one, though Tiesara's loyalty to the baroness was beyond reproach.

Probably.

"Lady Tiesera," he said, stepping forward and bowing to the herald of Roesone. "Well met. Half of Proudglaive seems to be taking advantage of Lord Sven's hunting grounds today. Beaten and bandaged, we are, yes, but not broken" he glanced at his own shoulder, the wrappings visible under his tunic. "The roads were hard and harried, but nothing we could not handle."

Rhoderick reflexively touched the flask of seawater at his belt and nodded respectfully to Corson.

To Lan he offered "the mother of storms has blessed me with a small amount of the healers touch if you require Ser?"

Lan gave the priest a respectful glace, but waved off the offer of aid.

"Proudglaive's all drizzle and cow-stink this time of year" Tiesera chuckled "besides, I wanted to show my friends here the splendour of the Elvenmeres." She made an expansive sweep of her arm encompassing Erron and Rhoderick. "You'll likely not know Erron, he's just arrived from Braeme, and Rhoderick from even farther afield I understand. Gentlemen, this is Lancaelad the son of the Lord Castellan and his betrothed Tovrunn Auðunardottir from beyond the Downs, cousin to our dear Rikke. Tell me, how went your tour of our southern coast Lady Tovrunn?"

As Lancaelad found his voice Tovrunn could do little more than stop and stare, blinking in surprise as he deftly calmed their charge's rising anger. Watching the hotheaded and aggressive boyishness that seemed perpetually present in her fiancé melt away into something resembling the man he would surely one day become (with guidance, perhaps) was...enchanting. Tovrunn let slip a small smile; she could not help it.

Returning her betrothed's nod of respect, she let her eyes linger on his just a little longer than she might have otherwise.

"Promising," she whispered, her breathy tone touched by the smile that still lingered on her lips. "Very promising."

Shifting her attention reluctantly towards the newcomers, Tovrunn curtseyed in greeting. "A pleasure as always Lady Tiesera. And greetings to you, Erron. You seem familiar to me; have you made appearances at court this winter?" Joining her husband-to-be, she gently placed her fingers upon his arm. "It did not go as expected, I'm afraid. My beloved understates the danger. Brigands and cutthroats of great number were lying in wait for us and our charge, and more had spread themselves to Bardenhold and now, I fear, beyond. One of our number, Lord Aeric, was struck a grievous injury, and were it not for the bravery and skill at arms of Ser Lancaelad and the Green Squire Corson here that number would doubtlessly be higher. It seems there are forces at work against us as we endeavor to accomplish the errand we have been tasked with, forces unexpected in knowledge and in number. We must get word to Proudglaive immediately."

To her cousin, she asks, "Rikke, you've been at court most recently. Have any rumors or whispers of the movements of men and motives caught your ears? Movements inside Roesone?"

Corson stepped back, all but becoming invisible while the nobles talked. He did his job, he put the discovery before them. The squire was, however, surprised to be praised by Tovrunn. Rarely, in his meagre twenty years of experience as a squire, had a noble deigned to acknowledge his efforts... of which, Corson had many scars to mark his successes and failures.

Rikke smirked. "'Been at court?' You were there with me but four days ago cousin." She went to dig Tovrunn in the ribs, but saw her expression. "Um, everyone's having tedious arguments about whether or not we should be in Medoere I suppose. It's simply ruined fore than a few winter fetes - everyone gets very dour. Some people mentioning whatever you were doing in Abbadiel, which you will simply have to tell me about. Word is that that awful Bellamie man and his chicken-nosed son have gone north in secret. I took a stroll with one of those Spider River guildsmen who told me a story about some goblins on the river just north of Proudglaive - as if I've never killed a goblin! Oh, and Siobaughn swears that Lady Ebalmie's new son was actually fathered by that rogue Agnelie!" She chuckled throatily at that "not that I'd blame her were it true."

Tiesera seemed troubled. "Word to Proudglaive I can carry, but you met with resistance? Were they mere highwaymen or something more?"

At the rear of the room, so silent and still that he might almost be part of the hall's furnishings, Paidrig listened intently to Rikke's account of Proudglaive's court with a distant expression until Mhairie laid an elbow into his ribs and whispered something in the lad's ear.

"Ser Lancaelad," muttered Ser Lancaelad before straightening from his bow. To have his title neglected by a squire was infuriating; by the royal herald, mistress of honorifics and precedence felt like a calculated insult that, ironically, her relative stature made it unworthy to fight.

Lan's face went through a complex transformation as Tovrunn joined him and placed her hand on his arm. He flushed in excitement, mottled in embarrassment, and winced in something, like fear or regret. He patted her hand awkwardly as she eloquently explained events to Lady Tiesera, and carefully disentangled himself to step away. His attention turned instead to the unknown factor that the herald had introduced; the slight, well-dressed man who had said little but seen much.

The man did not have the look of a noble but of a merchant or guilder, one of the new class of men who made their living and mark with gold, not steel. Gold was all well and good, provided it was put towards horses, armour and provisions for the real art of statecraft: war. "Well met, master Erron," he said, in a haughty but not unfriendly tone. "You were in Braeme of late? How fare things to the west? Are the roads well-kept this season? What is the disposition of the soldiery? Were there many outland travellers about, particularly armed ones?" Their route would likely take them through Medoere and Braeme, and anything they could learn of conditions ahead would be useful.