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Listening to Clarius's words with a frown furrowing her brow, Lady Rebecca at first remains silent when he's done... then gets to her feet and steps closer. Tentatively reacting for the armour Clarius holds, she stops short of actually taking it, her frown turning to a scowl as she pulls back her hand,
'I know what I am, good Sir knight,' she replies, anger flashing in her amber eyes, 'and maybe I was just a prize to be auctioned off to the highest bidder; but that is past now. I am my Father's daughter, Sir, and to my last breath I shall strive to avenge his death and protect his people. They may be the mere words of demure young noble girl to you, Sir, but to me they are the flames I feel stirring in my breast. You say I need to be formidable, to show the world a warrior: armour and a sword does not make the warrior, Sir - my Father taught me that much at least. You belittle our retinue, yet have we not confounded the enemy at every turn? You think me donning the trappings of a slain mercenary will make a difference? That the ranks of the nobility will suddenly respect me? That our enemies shall fear me? I think not, Sir! Mayhap I am nought but a young girl, but I have the blood of the Redwyrm coursing through my veins, and by that blood I swear to you - to us all - that before this thing is ended the world will know exactly what that means!'
As she speaks, passions built up over the past few days obviously beginning to overtake her, it seems as if the temperature in the fieldstone roundhouse begins to rise. In the dim starlight which filters through the missing roof it appears as if the young noblewoman's distinctive amber eyes begin to glow with some inner fire. Even if such things could be dismissed as tricks of perception, it becomes clear than something unusual is happening, as the skin of Lady Rebecca's face and hands starts to... shift... darkening to a reddish hue, and dividing into scales...
... At first too caught up in her speech to notice what's happening, Lady Rebecca finally glances down at her hands to witness the skin hardening into reddish scales, and the nails lengthening to sharp and curved points even as they thicken and darken to a glistening black...
Her expression of shock and fear apparant, the teenage nobleowoman at first stares at the claws... then shakes her hands, as if trying to get them to come off...
'W-what?' she mutters, even as her eyes roll up and she starts to faint, 'What's h-happening to me?'
... The next moment she's collapsed unconscious on the dirt and grass floor of the roundhouse, the claws and scales retreating as rapidly at they manifested, until she looks perfectly normal once more...
He goes over and gently shakes Ayden awake. "Sorry to do this, my friend, but what does it mean when tiny fairies inside glowing balls are swarming around us? Is that bad?"
stirring from his sleep, Aydan lets an annoyed grumble, muttering something about sons of curs and what not, until Jaymin mentions the glowing fairies. His eyes snap open, clasping Jaymin by the arm, he turns to Garrett, "Stay away from them! they're will O' wisps, all they wish is to lure you to death!"
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Like most of the strange and powerful creatures which can eventually give rise to those with sorcerous power amongst their descendants, the blood of dragons can thin, but rarely vanishes completely from a bloodline. It can lay dormant for generations before something (even pure chance) triggers it.
As far as Lady Rebecca is concerned, while it's possible that any number of her ancestors could have had dealings with dragons, the only known such occurance was with Gustav of Many Quests, the legendary founder of the Redwyrm bloodline - but he was a famous dragon-slayer... or so the stories go... so the whole situation is more than a little bizare...
Outside...
'Pay the Crow no heed...' retorts one of the pixie-like creatures in its light, trembling, voice.
'He just wants to keep to Queen to himself,' adds the other.
'He's jealous of proud, brave, knights like yourselves,'
'Yes, he's jealous... and scared!'
'Frightened to follow us!'
'You're not frightened, are you, brave knights?'
Aydan cocks a disbelieving eyebrow at the voices, scoffing aloud at them, "Yes, because I'm obviously the one with an ulterior motive. I'm planning on killing you all really... just after I covered our tracks from wolves and bandits and led you through the moors. Now that we're safe seems like a perfect time to betray you all... Far too bad that the strange glowing pixies who know who I am outed me!"
"Indeed. A good thing the traitor has been discovered. Tell me, Sir Traitor, will honest Taldane steel bring death to you, or is your heart too twisted with evil?"
He draws his sword.
Bluff:
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The 'glowing pixies' seem to waver for a moment... then the light purple one speaks, a sudden sense of urgency in its voice,
'Beware! The knight means to slay us!'
'He... he feels no fear!' declares the blue 'pixie', sounding almost panicked.
'This is wrong,' responds the purple one, 'he... he gives courage to the others!'
'We must away! The Queen must know of this!' declares the blue... moments later both orbs zips away, quickly vanishing in the mists...
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Sir Clarius rears back in horror at Lady Rebecca's transformation. "By the Hunter! That is unnatural! What fell creature is this before us? Is it another shapechanger like that which killed the baron?"
Clarius draws his longsword and holds ready with both hands upon the hilt. Eyes wide, the whites clearly showing, he continues, "Zurladew, Lady Beatrix, did you just see what I saw? What say you?!" His voice rising in near panic.
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"Pull yourself together, Clarius," Zurladew says urgently, his expression rather pained from the simultaneous state of affairs with the tiny fey, the Lady Rebecca, and the other men. "It's magic that has a hold on her, but it's her own. It appears that our lady fits the moniker Redwyrm more than we knew... Now put your sword down, you plum fool, before I magic you myself for losing your head." Mind racing, he tries to make sense of everything else going on around him.
The exchange between Jaymin and Aydan completely flabbergasts the overwhelmed gnome. Zurladew stares at the pair, jaw agape in awe. "Has everyone in this place lost their minds?," he asks incredulously.
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Slipping his sword back into its sheathe, Aydan cocks a deadpan smile to Jaymin, "Well now I think we've seen the last of them." with a resigned sigh he turns towards the roadhouse, "I'll tell the others we should expect some company."
Hearing Zurdalew's shouts from the door, the ranger pats the air in a placating gesture, "No Zurdalew, just a farce to..." he enters the door and sees Rebecca sprawled unconscious and Clarius with sword drawn. Without hesitating he draws his blade, the edge facing his fellow forester, "Drop your sword."
If possible, Aydan will step between Clarius and Rebecca,
Beatrix raises her voice above Clarius and Zurladew's squabbling to make herself heard.
"Both of you calm down, we just need to give Becky some space so she can sort out this magical business."
Aydan's hands flex on the grip of his sword, fingers tightening around worn leather. His eyes flick to Rebecca when Beatrix mentions magical business, before looking back to Clarius, "Please my friend, put down your sword."
"There was something that white dragon said, just before we fled. Zurladew had made an illusion of a red dragon which started to scatter folks, and the dragon guy said something like, 'Impossible. She can't have progressed that far yet,' or something like that. Perhaps Lady Rebecca is like that fellow in some ways, only with red dragons instead of white."
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"Jaymin, that is probably the first sensible thing I have heard said since those little... things started flitting about here. Our usurping foe may know a little more about this game than we can even guess yet. Now, everyone put down their swords, yourself included, Mr. Crow, before I begin to flex my own muscles in the name of pacifism," the jester says waspishly. "I would rather not allow our nerves to finish the job that the barbarians failed."
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The remainder of the night manages to pass without further incident, and come dawn, Lady Rebecca slowly starts to stir...
'W-what?' she murmurs as she awakens, looking about, bleary-eyed. Suddenly she stares at her own hands, in momentary panic... but finding them normal calms and, shaking her head as if to clear her thoughts, comments, 'I had a terrible nightmare.'
In the bright dawn light the moors, though still desolate, don't look as forboding as they did the previous day. Some of the low-lying mist has burnt off in the sun, and the way south seems easier than the path you've already trodden. A few more hours journey should take you to civilization and, hopefully, sanctuary...
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Clarius listens to the words of the minstrel and paladin. His sword still drawn, he counters. "So you are both insinuating that she is some kind of red dragon? How many times did we hear the tales of the Red Wyrm and the evil it laid upon the land before Gustav of the Many Quests defeated it? Now his descendants are sprouting claws, red scales and spouting fireballs while another who takes on the form of a white dragon knew to expect this from her. What evil is this?"
Before the morning...
Taking a breath, Aydan heeds Zurdalew's warning and Slips his sword back into it's sheath. Forcing himself to calm down he answers Clarius, "We don't know what evil is this or any other of the countless evils we've seen this day. But we know that girl," he nods to the young, hopefully sleeping baroness, "Is Rebecca of House Redwyrm, daughter of Baron Otto , our liege lord, and a child that we've known for years. Do you remember how she was when you arrived at the castle the first time Clarius? She's the same girl, the same innocent, sweet and utterly courageous girl. She's not evil, that can't be evil. We can't let our fears tear us apart, either of us." he says, acknowledging his own shortcomings in the matter, "We stand by each other and we'll get through it."
On the morning...
His eyes drift to the others, the concern evident on his face, rising from his place he grabs his kit and armor, donning it and says, "We're not far from Grimsmoor, I'm hoping to have us their today."
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Clarius listens to the words of the minstrel and paladin. His sword still drawn, he counters. "So you are both insinuating that she is some kind of red dragon? How many times did we hear the tales of the Red Wyrm and the evil it laid upon the land before Gustav of the Many Quests defeated it? Now his descendants are sprouting claws, red scales and spouting fireballs while another who takes on the form of a white dragon knew to expect this from her. What evil is this?"
Taking a breath, Aydan heeds Zurdalew's warning and Slips his sword back into it's sheath. Forcing himself to calm down he answers Clarius, "We don't know what evil is this or any other of the countless evils we've seen this day. But we know that girl," he nods to the young, hopefully sleeping baroness, "Is Rebecca of House Redwyrm, daughter of Baron Otto , our liege lord, and a child that we've known for years. Do you remember how she was when you arrived at the castle the first time Clarius? She's the same girl, the same innocent, sweet and utterly courageous girl. She's not evil, that can't be evil. We can't let our fears tear us apart, either of us." he says, acknowledging his own shortcomings in the matter, "We stand by each other and we'll get through it."
"As much as it pains me to say this," Zurladew says, "I agree that we should be cautious. This is something that we don't quite know the truth of. For now, Sir Clarius, your duty is to protect your liege lady, not stand over her considering finishing the job of her most assuredly evil usurper - and all of us need to be wary of the danger of untamed and unknown magic." His mouth becomes a grim line. "For the sake of the Barony, we need to protect Lady Rebecca for as long as she remains the same 'innocent, sweet and utterly courageous girl' that we have all seen. But if... if this magic turns her, we must be prepared." He looks grimly at each of the others in turn, looking them square in the face.
"For the sake of the Barony, we need to protect Lady Rebecca for as long as she remains the same 'innocent, sweet and utterly courageous girl' that we have all seen. But if... if this magic turns her, we must be prepared." He looks grimly at each of the others in turn, looking them square in the...
Aydan's grimaces, his mouth etching a thin line across his face, "Your words border on treason, I'll not entertain any notion of killing her. but if you're worried of what this untapped power could become, then perhaps you should train her."
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Sir Clarius narrows his eyes at the gnome's implication yet still nods at Zurladew's words of caution. At Crow's accusation he responds, "Masters Minstrel and Woodsman, do not overstate our obligation. I was vassal to Baron Otto of Redwyrm. The oaths he and I swore came to completion upon his death. No one has been acknowledged as the new baron or baroness of Redwyrm nor have I given any pledge of fealty. The service I now perform, to remove his daughter to safety where she may decide how to press her claim, is in memory of a man I served as a knight and loved like a father. Otto stood for good and justice and was the stalwart foe of evil and tyranny. He would, nay did, die to prevent the spread of evil."
Clarius' eyes glints with steel as he levels his stern gaze upon his fellow forester as he continues. "Should his sole living progeny become corrupted, my final homage will be to cull her from the line of Redwyrm before she brings to ruin that proud and noble house."
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Aydan's grimaces, his mouth etching a thin line across his face, "Your words border on treason, I'll not entertain any notion of killing her. but if you're worried of what this untapped power could become, then perhaps you should train her."
Zurladew's mouth turns wryly, a dark humour apparent on his face. "Spoken like one without a touch of magic, Master Crow. This is not your classroom lessons on the magic within all things or the academic methods of harnessing the arcane energies of the world - this is magic embedded deep in our Lady Rebecca, that is only now emerging. I can no more train her in it's use than you might train a cat how to hunt - for this will be instinct and intuition, more than any learning." He shrugs resignedly. [b]"I will tell her what I can, so she might teach herself to better control it, but ultimately, this magic and the path it will lead her on is hers and hers alone. I can be nothing more than a voice of advice."
Once Clarius speaks, Zurladew looks at him with his own narrowed eyes. "Sir Clarius, no one doubts your dedication to the Baron or to the ideals you have given unto him. However, I do believe that your obligation extends to his daughter as well, as she is the heir apparent of Redwyrm, and your fealty should be to the house, not the Baron. Furthermore, right now our lady is a mystery and an enigma - not yet a threat. She needs support and supervision, not suspicion and certainly not steel... not yet." The fool pulls himself to his full but diminutive height. "So... I'm afraid I must insist, Sir Clarius. Sword away. Now.
Aydan shrugs, almost helplessly, "Then advise her. there's plenty of magic in this world that isn't evil. As far as I can tell the ability to wield magic makes one more no more evil than the ability to wield a blade."
At Clarius' latest pronouncement Aydan's eyes narrow, especially on the proclamation of why Baron Otto died and it takes all he has to bite down the word roiling to his mouth, How would you know how he died? you weren't even there...
Instead the young ranger pushes away his anger again, and let's out another calming breath before answering simply, "Then I hope you never feel it comes to that. Blood or not, she's my sister Clarius. I'll do whatever I have to, to protect her."
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Zurladew throws up his hands in frustration at Aydan's parting shot. "Gentlemen, I'm sure both of your longswords are very magnificent, but could you please stop waggling them about in order to intimidate each other? There are ladies about," he says in an mocking, exasperated tone. "I believe we all agree that there is nothing more to be done about this tonight, and so I suggest that all of us tuck in and find what sleep we can. You two -" he says, indicating Aydan and Clarius, "consider yourselves relieved from watch, so that you can have a night's sleep to replenish your tempers. Sir Jaymin and Sir Garret, I will help you on watch tonight, to allow our firebrands here to collect themselves. Lady Beatrix, if you could see that Lady Rebecca is kept comfortable and has a good night's sleep herself? I'd rather she face her struggles, internal and external, well-rested." The little gnome gives them all a steely gaze. "Any objections?"
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"Sir Clarius, no one doubts your dedication to the Baron or to the ideals you have given unto him. However, I do believe that your obligation extends to his daughter as well, as she is the heir apparent of Redwyrm, and your fealty should be to the house, not the Baron. Furthermore, right now our lady is a mystery and an enigma - not yet a threat. She needs support and supervision, not suspicion and certainly not steel... not yet."
Sir Clarius speaks to the bonds of vassalage. "A vassal pledges himself to a liege. Their oath goes both ways. These oaths rely on the lives of both parties. Only a fool gives his honour away to unnamed persons who have made no pledge to him. You are reminded jester that Lady Rebecca was never officially proclaimed as the heir of Baron Otto upon her majority nor has she accepted, or more importantly, made her oath to the liegemen of Redwyrm." He continues, "Lest you advise her wrongly, do not counsel that she force this issue. She has not earned the swords of her father's men beyond those vestigial duties to see to her present welfare."
"As to the matter of her disposition, I defer to your greater knowledge in these arcane mysteries. If possible, I will seek your counsel before making any judgements."
Instead the young ranger pushes away his anger again, and let's out another calming breath before answering simply, "Then I hope you never feel it comes to that. Blood or not, she's my sister Clarius. I'll do whatever I have to, to protect her."
At these words, Sir Clarius moves nose to nose with the ranger. "That's a matter that will be put to rest right now. Bastard you are, but Rebecca is the only living child of Baron Otto of Redwyrm! You keep your addlepated fantasies to yourself and never spout such nonsense again. It is enough that she will face contest to the legitimacy of her claim without you further undermining her position by proclaiming you share her sire. You are damn fool to spout such nonsense! The girl cannot even grieve that you pounce upon her misfortune for your own ends. Were you a noble, we would meet on Grimsmoor's field to quickly, and permanently, settle this dispute. Consider well that your common blood has saved your life."
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Zurladew rushes in between the two men, fire leaping from his eyes. "Sir Clarius, bite your tongue and take yourself to bed before you wreak any more havoc upon what fragile peace we have here. I would sooner be able to spend all my energies upon thwarting our foes without having to keep any magic in reserve should I need to suddenly prevent my allies from slaughtering each other," the little man says, his voice the model of fury restrained.
"Furthermore, it would behoove you to recall that this is not the court, and the laws of vassalage and fiefdom may need to be bent, if not broken entirely," the jester continues, straining to poke his finger into Clarius' chest. "This fool has given away his honour to the the proven companions whom he is forced to rely on in a dangerous place during dangerous times, and the young lady who is doing her best to lead us. If you truly feel the need to hold onto your bond to an occupied castle and a dead man, then by all means, continue to act as you are. In this swamp, with the hosts of the white dragon in pursuit, your vassalage and oaths are next to useless. What we have are the people at our backs, the swords at our hips, and the brains in our heads. If you shall be only choosing to use one of those resources, I would suggest perhaps not picking your sword, Sir," the jester says venomously.
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Hearing the arguements continue, Sir Garrett returns...
"Aydan, Sir Clarius, enough! Clarius, let it go. Bastard or trueborn, it does not matter. Either way, he has lost the closest man he had to father today as well."
Garrett pauses a moment, then stares directly at Sir Clarius...
"Like it or not my friend, assuming you still are, we have be able to work together. I highly doubt this usurper will grant any leniency to any of us who fled the castle with Lady Rebecca."
Having said what he felt needed to be said, Garrett returns to his watch...
Sir Jaymin moves to speak as well, but seeing as there are enough forces ganging up on Clarius and Ayden, he returns to his watch, nodding grimly to Sir Garrett's whispered statement upon his return.
At these words, Sir Clarius moves nose to nose with the ranger. "That's a matter that will be put to rest right now. Bastard you are, but Rebecca is the only living child of Baron Otto of Redwyrm! You keep your addlepated fantasies to yourself and never spout such nonsense again. It is enough that she will face contest to the legitimacy of her claim without you further undermining her position by proclaiming you share her sire. You are damn fool to spout such nonsense! The girl cannot even grieve that you pounce upon her misfortune for your own ends. Were you a noble, we would meet on Grimsmoor's field to quickly, and permanently, settle this dispute. Consider well that your common blood has saved your life."
At this latest verbal barb Aydan almost physically reels back, his features sagging to a look of shocked bewilderment. He really thinks I could...? And all at once the absurdity of the situation struck him. This was Clarius! next to Hans he was probably the man Aydan had always considered himself closest to in the whole of the castle. They had hunted together, tracked poachers and ranged for months on end across the whole of the Baron's lands together, hardly anyone knew him better than this man and yet here they were, almost ready to kill each other and each seeing the worst in the other. Like complete strangers, or worse.
His shoulders sagging, Aydan lets out a disbelieving huff, shaking his head against it all, "You've nothing to worry about Sir, I've bitten my tongue on this for years and it'll be no trial to continue to do so, I'm well aware of what I am." He turns to head back outside, trusting at least, in Zurdalew and Beatrix to keep Rebecca safe till the morning. But before going he tilts his head back - his voice pained and resigned - he says, "I'll tell you what,If you still feel this way when this is all over - and I haven't been done in by the Galtans, barbarians, worgs, giants, dragons and whatever the hells else is against us - you can have your chance to kill me then."
He turns away and walks back through the door, laying a hand on Zurdalew's shoulder and nodding a solemn thanks to the gnome. Exiting the roundhouse he makes his way away from Jaymin and Garrett but keeps himself in the relative safety of the standing stones, and settles himself down for what is sure to be a fitful sleep.
On the Morning..
As the party goes about its preparations to be underway, Aydan approaches Rebecca and somewhat shyly asks, "My Lady, Could I have a word in private?"
"Before I start, please understand that I need you to hear me out because I may not get the courage to say this again but I need to know you understand it before we reach any more nobles courts." Composing himself, he continues, "About what I told you, of your father possibly being my..father... I don't know if it's true and I don't know what it means for you and I, if anything!" he raises a hand in the same way one might pat the air to keep a predator at bay, "We can figure that out later, if you want to. If not then I'll take it to my grave." He unconsciously glances towards Clarius, before looking back to this young girl that he's grown to admire so much, "But brother or not, I'm no Redwyrm. No one can know what I've told you, not Grimsmoor or Lord Ranulf. At the very least not until we know who your allies are, and even then it would be safer to keep it buried" in his rambling his stumbles over his words, tripping over what he needs to say, The bastard boy with a silver tongue... look where it's gotten you.' "It needs to stay between the people on this hill. anything else will just be a danger to you. He piece said, Aydan isn't even sure what to do now. So he waits.
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Watching Aydan leave, Zurladew releases a deep breath he didn't know he was holding. When he looks back at Clarius, his eyes are empty of the angry fire they'd held a moment ago, just reflecting an empty exhaustion. "Get some rest, Clarius," the gnome says tiredly. "I'm sure we will all need it in the morning." The gnome heads to the door as well, taking a blanket with him to wrap about himself as he helps Jaymin and Garrett take watch.
The next day...
Zurladew goes through the motions of packing woodenly, the loss of a night's sleep clearly not agreeing with the little gnome. He shoulders his pack and wordlessly waits for the party to move out.
Beatrix settles for giving the men a thoroughly disapproving look before going off to bed herself.
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Seemingly unswayed by the arguments of his friends, Sir Clarius shakes his head, grabs his things, and stalks off into the night enshrouded moors... Clarius is known to have the skill to traverse the moors alone without difficulty and it seems, perhaps, better to let him have his space than to waste energy trying to convince him to change his mind...
The remainder of the night manages to pass without further incident, and come dawn, Lady Rebecca slowly starts to stir...
'W-what?' she murmurs as she awakens, looking about, bleary-eyed. Suddenly she stares at her own hands, in momentary panic... but finding them normal calms and, shaking her head as if to clear her thoughts, comments, 'I had a terrible nightmare.'
In the bright dawn light the moors, though still desolate, don't look as forboding as they did the previous day. Some of the low-lying mist has burnt off in the sun, and the way south seems easier than the path you've already trodden. A few more hours journey should take you to civilization and, hopefully, sanctuary...
"We're not far from Grimsmoor, I'm hoping to have us there today," comments Aydan, surveying the scene. Seeing the others all busied with their morning routines and preparations for the (hopefully) final leg of the journey, he approaches Lady Rebecca and somewhat shyly asks, "My Lady, Could I have a word in private?"
Still seeming concerned - about her 'dream', as well as Sir Clarius's abrupt departure - none-the-less Rebecca nods and steps a little apart from the others...
'I'm sorry Aydan,' she says, her voice measured and controlled, 'but I really can't deal with this right now. I understand you feel this is important, and I don't mean to be dismissive, but right now we have to focus on getting everyone to safety, then rescuing the people of Redwyrm from that usurper. I...' at that moment her steady resolve fractures, and she glances back towards you, tears clear in her amber eyes, as she continues in a tone somewhere between chastising anger and near panic, 'Gods Aydan, what were you thinking?! How could you do that to me now of all times?! I'm barely managing to keep going as it is and you... you accuse...' she leaves the rest unsaid, turning her face away again. Taking a deep steadying breath, but still not facing you, she hangs her head, her flame red hair cascading down to hide her face as she says quietly, almost pleadingly, 'Aydan, please, I need you - you must know that - now more than ever; but things are complicated enough without you adding to them. Can we just forget all this... for now, at least... and just get through the coming days? The gods know Clarius was right about one thing - nobody is going to take a little girl who blubs all the time seriously... and you're too... too Aydan to deal with without my feelings running high. I'm trying to be strong, Aydan, I'm trying so hard... but I can't do it without your help,' finally turning back towards you, her eyes as deperate as her tone, she concludes, 'Can you do that for me, Aydan? Can you be my strength?'
Striking camp and heading off the journey proves to be much easier than the past day or so, almost to the point where, if it weren't for recently events still fresh in peoples' memories, it could be a pleasant summer's day hike. With no signs of enemies ready to pounce, sturdy ground underfoot, and the quick clearing of the moorland mists as the sun heads towards its apex the small band make quick time.
Soon enough, flocks of sheep can be seen on the nearby moorland, along with some of the outlying shepherd's huts. Once or twice the band even get a cheery wave from a local as they're spotted from a distance (but obviously not recognised for who they are). After a brief respite to eat around midday, the group pick up a fairly well worn track and find themselves heading towards the main village of Grimsmoor soon after, passing some locals who, closer up, offer the group confused or concerned looks... but hasten to tug forlocks and move aside anyway... just in case .
Built on one of the few canals surviving intact and well-maintained from the period when the Imperial Crown was trying to establish a network of such waterways across the land (most of which ended up simply contributing to the moorlands over time) the village of Grimsmoor, despite its forboding name, is a healthy and prosperous community, grown fairly wealthy off selling fleeces, wool, and uncut cloth to merchants who transport them down the canals and rivers to Cassomir, Oppara and the rich south. Such mercantile endevours aren't without risk, of course, the brigands of Taldor's canals being nearly as famed as those of its forests, but Sir Everard makes a point of guaranteeing safe passage through the region where the the banner of 'the brave boar' flies. He also happily charges the merchants great fees and taxes for the services provided, secure in the knowledge that they'll recoup any expenses from their wealthy southern customers, and glad to be able to charge them more, and his own people less.
After a cluster of outlying fieldstone huts and cottages, where carding, spinning, and weaving are all taking place, the village proper is bustling with activity - traders and craftsmen dealing in the lively market, goods being loaded and unloaded on the canal docks, and everyone dodging the seemingly omnipresent sheep... Sir Everard's watermill proves to be a promanent feature, as is the village chapel to Abadar where the priests check weights and measures, scribe business documents, and generally enforce the rules of trade and the Empire. A somewhat less formal institution to the gods reveres Cayden Cailean - the dockside tavern with a mug of foaming ale painted on a barrel lid and hug up for all to see - although worship seems to be plentiful, judging by the amount of happy faithful partaking of the god's sacred brew...
The village is nestled at the base of a fairly low, but broad, tor, atop which is Grimsmoor manor itself. The bailey of the fortified manor is ringed by a wooden palliade, complete with gatehouse, and the manor itself is a three-story stone building, with a small tower on the eastern end, overlooking the canal. The rampant boar banner of Sir Everard flutters proudly from the pinacle of the tower's conical roof. Smithy, stables, and a few other outbuildings furnish the bailey and, as usual, there's the bustle of livestock, guards, servants, and those seeking the knight's justice, judgement... or investment in this or that business deal or venture.
Although the comings and goings at the manor seem fairly relaxed, a pair of guardsmen - each clad in studded leather armour (under Sir Everard's tabard), and bearing the classic shortsword and longspear of the fighting men of the Taldan phalanx - step forwards as your particularly well-armed and armoured group approach... but then both grin,
'Aydan!' the first guard greets the forester as he steps forwards, casting a quick eye over your little band, 'That's a battered looking hunting party you have there! Is that the Baron's jester you have with you? Oh, that elf Lady too... What on Golarion have you been getting up to this time you rascal?'
Meanwhile the second guard moves over to Sirs Garrett and Jaymin to make a more formal greeting,
'Good day to you, Sir Knights! What brings the Baron's finest to our neck of the woods so unexpectedly? Sir Everard is in the main hall hearing petitions... so I'm pretty sure he won't mind being disturbed...'
Aydan winces at Rebecca's outburst, stinging though not really unexpected, but he couldn't help but smile at her plead for strength. "That was the whole point." he answers her before stepping forward and lifting her head by the chin to look her in the eyes, a soft smile on his face. "You're right, how I said it was stupid. I was in shock and wanted, I don't know what I wanted." he steps away from her, his eyes cast up to the sky, "Honestly I've no interest in being a Baron or a lord or anything like that. My place is out here," he casts his arms out wide, before turning back to her with a wry grin, "And as you said, I am far too Aydan for it anyways."
He stops for a moment to collect himself before finishing, "But yes Becca, I can be your strength. It's why I... I remember when my mother died. I know how hopeless it makes you feel, to think you're alone and I didn't want that for you." he stops again and chews his lower lip for a moment, "Alright then. Not a word of it until you're ready, so let me start all over."
He takes a deep breath and smiles reassuringly, "Becca, your father, your brother, you, your family was always there for me. Raised and supported me and I've seen you grow from a tyke to this beautiful and strong woman and I want you to know that I was always be your brother in spirit for as long as you need me. I will tell you when you're being a git, I will support you when you can't stand, I will be there for you till the end of my days. And that is all I need you to know."
smiling, and feeling strangely relieved, Aydan hugs her. Smiling as they pull apart he laughs, "And I'll keep the git stuff private, wouldn't do to see me belittling my liege lady."
Aydan smiles, though it's a weary one, and claps the guardsman's arm, "Have a care Theodric," he chides playfully, "that's a lady you speak of. Turning towards his party he motions to each, [b]"Allow me to introduce Lady Beatrix von Mark, you've heard of our famed jester, Zurdalew the Wit. My brothers in arms here are Sir Garrett and Sir Jaymin, and..." he grows more grave as he concludes, "The Lady Rebecca of Redwyrm. Daughter of Baron Otto Von Redwyrm and his Heir apparent." He turns towards the guards and says, "My friends these are Theodric and Alen. Both fine soldiers and each quite shrewd at dice."
Nodding to Theodric he says, "And, unless Lady Rebecca objects, we will need a private audience with Sir Everard as soon as possible."
"You are well met, Sir, Alena, is it?" Sir Jaymin says, with one ear taking in Ayden's introductions. "Sir Garrett and I are escort for the Ladies Rebecca and Beatrix. Tell me, what news is there of interest in town of late?"
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"You are well met, Sir, Alena, is it?.. Sir Garrett and I are escort for the Ladies Rebecca and Beatrix. Tell me, what news is there of interest in town of late?"
'Alen, Sir,' the guardsman humbly corrects, 'and I'm no knight, although thankyou for thinking such!' he peers past Jaymin and Garrett at the two Ladies for a moment, his eyebrows raising in curiosity and surprise, before turning back to Sir Jaymin, 'Um... news? Well, we supposed you'd be the ones bringing news of the great tournament. Truth be told I thought it was due to last another day or so, but we're all eager to hear how things went. Theodric and I drew the short straws and weren't able to attend, but I had my cousin play a few silvers I'd saved on you to win, Sir Jaymin. Way I figure it, you follow the right god for that sort of thing!' he grins, an expression of mixed awe and hope.
'Well,' Theodric adds, as he sends the page he called over to take word to Sir Everard on his way, 'there is that business with the Iron Maiden...'
Alen's grin fades...
'Yes... I suppose that's news of interest,' he confirms with a troubled sigh, 'and the reason Sir Everard couldn't attend the tournament himself. A new bandit leader moved into the area a couple of months back, some woman they call the Iron Maiden. She's been plaguing the roads and canal both with vicious attacks - worse than any normal bandits. Her lot don't just kill and steal - they seem to delight in torturing their victims. We've found merchants and their guards strung up and flayed... most likely while still alive... and...' he trails off, glancing towards the Ladies again, before simply summing up, '... well, lots of bad stuff like that. Sir Everard has his knights - Bors and Cedric - out with most of the men, searching for the bandit camp... but they seem to move around a lot, and their attacks seem random. That's why business is yet to drop off - most shipments aren't attacked, and when attacks occur it's not the richest or the least well protected that are targetted... there doesn't seem to be any pattern to it.'
'Yes, well,' Theodric steps over, 'we'll get them sooner or later: Sir Everard isn't one to take such things lightly; but it's probably better for him to discuss things with you than us. Alen, I'll escort our guests to Sir Everard.'
Alen nods, then stands to attention as Lady Rebecca passes by. Theodric nods a bow to her Ladyship, then leads the way, making sure that people (and sheep!) clear out of the way.
The three-story fortified Grimsmoor manor is around fifty feet wide, by thirty feet deep, and rises to around forty-five feet at the peak of the sloping slate roof, with the tower rising a good fifteen feet higher: all told an impressive building, although hardly on the scale of a castle like the Redwyrm keep. An iron-reinforced door of good blackwood from Verduran forest stands as entrance on the ground floor, and open windows (with shutters, but not glazed) are spaced along the upper two floors (there are no windows on the ground floor, as is common practice with any fortified dwelling). Three chimneys rise from the peak of the roof, although in the summer sun only one (most likely that leading from the kitchens) is producing any smoke at the moment. A lone liveried archer can be seen stationed atop the battlemented tower, peering out across the village and canal, and another guardsman stands by the open main door, keeping an eye on those coming and going.
Entering the manor there's a great wooden staircase leading up to the mid-floor, before turning back on itself to rise to the top floor. To the east a door leads through to the kitchens, servants quarters, and so-forth (Sir Everard's family living quarters being above these), while to the west a door opens into the manor's great hall. The great hall takes up most of the western half of the manor, occupying the space of two stories, the high windows letting in plenty of light. A small area on the far end of the hall is walled off as Sir Everard's private offices, and before these is the raised stage and great seat where Sir Everard sits. Two men-at-arms, as well as an officer, ensure order amongst the petitioners waiting for their chance to talk with the Lord of the Manor, while Benedict - Sir Everard's aged secretary-scribe - sits hunched over a desk, quill in hand, scratching down a formal record of what's discussed. Sir Everard himself is a middle-aged man on the short side, but who seems to make up for it in girth... although the muscles of his arms and shoulders atest to the fact that he still possesses at least some measure of the the great warrior's strength he was famed for back when he campaigned with Baron Redwyrm. A prodigious salt-and-pepper beard flowing across his chest, and the manner in which he slumps, bored, in his great chair, help add to the illusion that the man has no neck...
As your group enters the great hall the page sent ahead is just backing away from the captain of the guard, who moves across to Sir Everard and leans down to whisper in the man's ear. Glancing up, the knight's gaze seeks your small band out then, a wide grin splitting his face, he leaps to his feet, bear-like arms open wide,
he bellows then, feinting disappointment, turns towards Benedict and adds, 'I'm afraid the rest will have to wait until tommorrow.'
Peering first at Sir Everard, then at your group, although he seems to have trouble focusing over such a distance, the scribe snarls and starts to mutter under his breath as he scoops up his writing supplies and numerous scrolls and shuffles off, a page boy dutifully scampering after him to retrieve those pieces of parchment which constantly seem to fall from the scribe's arms. Meanwhile the captain and his guards make haste to clear the hall, the various petitioners mumbling complaints, even whilst nodding bows and dropping curtsies towards your group as they make their way out of the great hall.
As you head across the great hall, stepping on the fresh reeds scattered on the stone floor, Sir Everard hops down from his seat, his agility belying his great size, and strides to meet you half way. Standing for a moment, hands on hips, his grin is undiminished as he casts his eyes over you all,
'Jaymin, Garrett!' he greets the knights as equals (although he holds land, their positions as favoured retainers to a Baron put them almost on equal social standing), 'Let me guess: you both cleared up at the tournament, and rushed here to share news of your victories with me!' looking past them, he sees Lady Rebecca, and his eyes widen, 'Or... perhaps a certain young Lady tried to flee her own tournament and it took you this long to track her down, eh?' he wags a finger at Rebecca, 'Your father's told me of your... adventurous... tendencies, m'Lady, and although the gods know I can appreciate the Redwyrm family's lust for excitement (considering the amount of times I had to pull Otto's fat out of the fire in our youth) I can't hide you here from him! Well...' he offers Lady Rebecca a conspiritorial wink, then adds, '... maybe just for one night - but then it's back to the tournament with you. I wouldn't worry about the whole marriage thing either - whoever your hand goes to I'm quite sure that you'll soon whip him into shape!'
Lady Rebecca's face goes pale at Sir Everard's words, and she bites the corner of her bottom lip, blinking as if to hold back tears... although the old solider doesn't seem to notice as he moves to slap Aydan on the back,
'And you, lad,' Sir Everard says, 'I've a task you may be able to help me with, since you're here... if you have the time. There's a bandit who's proving something of a bother to track down... just your sort of thing, really,' he pauses, stares at Aydan for a few moments, then glances towards the eastern door, before looking back at the forester with a more serious expression as he adds in a whisper, 'but while you are here, Florencia and Giliana have mentioned you... a few times... since your last visit. Now, I know I can trust you to be a complete gentleman... just as I'm sure you can trust that I'm a father with very big sword and no hesitation to use it at the first hint of some cad messing with his little girls... understood?'
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Perception:
As the middle-aged knight moves toward the group, Garrett bows his head in a sign of respect to the lord of the manor, Sir Everard...
"Sir Everard, while it is a great pleasure to see you again, I fear that the news we bring is less than pleasant. A changeling dragon claiming to be Lord Adémar Whitedragon has taken the castle and slain Baron Otto. We seek safety for Lady Rebecca."
Jaymin pauses with Alen for a moment to hand him five silver coins. "I did win, sir, but I fear it may be a long time before you are able to claim your prize."
Perception:
He then rushes to catch up without answering any details. As he approaches the group (and the manor house) his gaze is drawn up, and his jaw drops. He is so distracted by what he sees that he fails to notice that the group has stopped momentarily at the gate and plows into Lady Beatrix, nearly knocking her over before he rights himself, accidentally, in his haste and flusterment, grabbing hold of Beatrix in several headsman-worthy areas before righting her as well. His face is still flushed beet red by the time they are shown into Sir Everard's audience chamber.
"It is sad that we bring such ill news, Sir Everard. Have you heard none of this news before now? What about news of worgs or blue-skinned strangers in the countryside?"
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"Oh gods, we are masters of subtlety...," Zurladew mutters under his breath as Garrett and Jaymin dive into the tale head-first. He winds his way to the front of the pack, before anything else can be said.
"Sir Everard, clearly we only traveled here so quickly as we were the bearers of bad news," the jester says. "The Baron, we fear, is dead - and the dragon seeks to wed Lady Rebecca to consolidate his claim over the barony. Our lady here has other plans, though they are yet in flux - and we are here to ensure that the lady survives long enough to bring those plans to fruition." His mouth twists wryly. "We also fear that we may be bringing the forces of the dragon to your doorstep - only the labyrinthine passageways of the moors held his men behind us long enough to get here. He brings giant-blooded barbarians, winter wolves, and Galtan mercenaries to bear."
"We understand if your own sense of self-preservation means you'd rather see us off, so that you may protect your family and lands from this menace as best you can. But our lady, your liege lord's daughter, still years younger than your own Florencia and Giliana, flees from a monstrous foe who would possess her for his own machinations. Please, Sir Everard. We need a night or two to regroup - and when Lady Rebecca reclaims her place, your kindness would be remembered."
Aydan nods to Sir Everard's request, "Of course Sir, I'll set out at first light." and then smiles in spite of himself at the latter request, raising his hands in a placating manner, "I shall be the very picture of knightly virtue M'lord."
When the meeting takes a turn towards the real reason for their arrival, Aydan stands silent towards the back, letting his more noble born friends handle these dealings.
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"I did win, sir, but I fear it may be a long time before you are able to claim your prize."
Alen smiles at the coins... then frowns, his mouth opening for a moment as he seems to consider asking for clarification... but then he appears to think better of it, slips the coins into a belt pouch, and lets the party go on their way with a polite, and somewhat concerned, nod.
"Sir Everard, while it is a great pleasure to see you again, I fear that the news we bring is less than pleasant. A changeling dragon claiming to be Lord Adémar Whitedragon has taken the castle and slain Baron Otto. We seek safety for Lady Rebecca."
'I...' it takes a moment or two for Sir Everard's smile to fade as the news sinks in, '... good gods, man! Otto? Dead?' the old soldier suddenly seems a little unsteady on his feet...
"It is sad that we bring such ill news, Sir Everard. Have you heard none of this news before now? What about news of worgs or blue-skinned strangers in the countryside?"
'What..?' Sir Everard says, staring at the ground as if lost... then his eyes snap up to look at Jaymin, 'What?! You think I'd be standing here grinning like an idiot if I'd heard anything about this?! By Abadar's great golden balls!'
It's at that point when Zurladew steps in to say his part. As the little jester speaks, the shock and anger and loss clearly etched on Sir Everard's face begins to resolve into an expression of grim determination. His eyes seek out Lady Rebecca, and he stares at her as he nods,
'Yes, yes,' he says, his voice quiet but firm, 'of course you can stay. You did the right thing coming here. I... I'm sorry for your loss, m'Lady... Otto... the Baron is... was...' he lets the sentence trail off as he sees Lady Rebecca fighting back tears. Instead, he drops to his knee and grasps her hand in both of his, bowing his head, 'You have my sword, and my life if needs be, m'Lady. I am but your humble servant.'
Gasping at Sir Everard's actions and words, Lady Rebecca stares at the old soldier kneeling before her for a few moments... then takes a deep breath,
'Please, Sir,' she replies, managing to force a slight quaver out of her voice as she speaks, 'rise. My Father's death is a great loss to us all. I... we... shall mourn him when time permits, but for now we must think of his people. Whilst I would truly wish to tell you neither your sword nor you life will be required, to do so would be to hide from the realities of the situation. Reluctant though I am, I gladly accept your pledge - and thank the gods that my Father had such a loyal and true friend.'
Standing, Sir Everard holds Lady Rebecca at arms length for a moment or two... then embraces her,
'Dear, sweet, child...' he mutters, before releasing her, and turning to the rest of the group...
'Adémar Whitedragon died as a boy, years ago... and even if he didn't, he'd not be a "Lord". That said, stranger things have happened, and I have no reason to doubt what you tell me. These "giant-blooded barbarians" you mention would be the blue-skins you asked if we'd heard tell of, yes? All I know is the tales of tribes up in the Fog Peaks, uncivilised brutes spawned from interbreeding with the damnable frost giants. If they have winter wolves with them, then it's probably all true. In any case, this "Adémar" - or whoever he is - must be a powerful man... or creature... if he's organised them under his banner, for those savages only respect personal strength and power... but to bring in Galtan mercenaries too? He's obviously not just some tribal leader...' he begins pacing, muttering under his breath and shaking his head, '... There's something else going on here... I don't know what, but after a few campaigns you learn to pay attention to that niggling doubt at the back of your mind,' looking up again, he scowls, 'I hate that.'
Striding to the Great Hall's main door, Sir Everard hauls it open and bellows for food and drink to be brought, and guest quarters to be prepared, then slams the door shut again as he strides back to the group,
'It's no good,' he declares, 'aside from myself, I only have two knights, three squires, and a couple of dozen men-at-arms under my direct command, and a majority of those are out hunting bandits. I can raise fifteen horsemen, fifteen footmen, and a score of archers from the yeomanry, and maybe two score or so peasant levies - untrained farmers and shepherds for the most part. Do you have a good estimate of the enemy forces? If they overwhelmed Baron Otto's household troops, then I doubt my men alone will be enough.'
Once more, Sir Everard starts to pace,
'We need more information on what's actually happening. How many troops this Whitedragon character actually has, how he's deployed them... and there's that niggling doubt of mine too. Something's off about the timing... he attacked during the tournament? What could he possibly hope to gain from attacking when nobles and knights from all over Taldor where present. That can't be simple coincidence, but I can't fathom why someone would chose to do that.'
Stopping and shaking his head, he bellows for the food once more, then looks back to your group,
'Damn! We need to send out messengers too! Let the rest of the Barony know what's happening - find out who's with us, and if anyone else knows more about what's going on.'
Looking back to Lady Rebecca, Sir Everard says,
'With your permission, m'Lady, this will take a few days to organise. You and your party should stay here... Now we know what to look for, we'll have ample warning to evacuate you if this Whitedragon moves troops in our direction. In the meantime, as our wise Master Zurladew says - you all need some time to regroup.' Shaking his head again, the old soldier adds, 'It's a damn good thing you cut across the moors to reach here. From the sounds of it, we could have been caught with our britches down otherwise!'
Seeming slightly stunned by Sir Everard's sudden transformation from old family friend to military commander, Lady Rebecca blinks a couple of times, then manages to utters, '... ah... that... um... that sounds... good..?' she looks to the rest of you for some support and advice...
"His plan probably didn't involve Lady Rebecca's escape. The barbarians we evaded in the marsh indicated they only wanted her to bring back. We think we planned to wed Rebecca by now in front of half of Taldor's nobility, cementing his claim on the barony without any further fighting."
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"As to their forces, it is hard to say. The Baron's forces were spread out due to the tourney, and most of his knights were participants. They seem to make up quantity for shear power of individuals, such as the dragon. I wish I could tell you how many of the Baron's banner men have thrown in with Whitedragon in order to protect their own lives and claims, but I can not."
Garrett pauses momentarily to consider the options available...
"It may be best off in this message to the rest of the Barony not to mention that Lady Rebecca is here because we simply do not know who is still loyal to Redwyrm and who is not. Perhaps a message to Oppara would be in order?"
Mulling over the latest revalations in his mind, Aydan clears his throat, "Sir Everard, My Lady. Given the situation it may be best if I set out to track this Iron Maiden immediately. The last thing we need is for her and Ademar's forces to meet up."
Beatrix, just as out of her depth as Rebecca, looks on silently.