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Havelyn had let out a heavy grunt as the treant struck him, but its second attack found only scant purchase as his shield struck it aside. Using the opening to his advantage, he lets loose a flurry of strikes, slamming his shield forward again and again, magically hastened by Alice's spell.
Seeing three of his companions making for the largest foe, Havelyn turns his attention to one of its fellows. He strikes one gauntlet against his shield, letting a dull, ominous clang ring out, iron on iron. "Let us see what mettle you have!" So crying, he launches forward, bringing the shield to bear and slamming it forward toward the treant.
Havelyn clears his throat, as though preparing to speak, and lowers one hand towards his blades--more to draw attention to their insignia than as a threatening motion. As he opens his mouth, though, he realizes that to claim his knighthood as a boon would be false, and he is unused to passing off such lies as the truth.
Havelyn looks on the proceedings with a raised eyebrow, and can only shake his head when Errisaigh whispers to him. "I fear we are both the newcomers to this entourage. I know aught of their ways, but not all." When Aurex explains the situation, at least in part, Havelyn shakes his head and breathes heavily. "So long as he seems capable of action, and content to join us. If there's aught we can do to help, I would lend a hand, but for now..." He waves a hand as if in dismissal of the problem. "Friend dragon, would you tell us what you've seen in your flight?"
"As I understand it, the dragon has a connection with our lapsing friend, Nathanial." Havelyn pulls in his reins as the dragon makes its entrance, not wanting his horse to spook. "Hopefully Aurex has seen if there is more to this place than the trees."
Agreed, many thanks for the recap! Very helpful for keeping aware of everything that's happened and the reasons we are where we are. I believe I'm good to move forward as well--can't think of any supplies in particular I'd need.
I'm still around as well, and also agree that a recap would help.
It's all good, take the time you need. I know moving is a hassle.
"As I said before, the Baron is the only one I imagine we need watched at the moment. He has eyes with us, it is only right we return the favor." Havelyn gives a courteous nod to Errisaigh.
Havelyn had slept in slightly, having gone to retrieve the gear he left behind before bedding down. He opens his door as the new arrival asks her question, nodding to Morana as she approaches. Dressed in plainer clothing, he looks much closer to his age this morning, not yet groomed or fully ready to face the day, it seems. Red bags hang under his eyes, from fatigue or weeping. "Keep an eye on the Baron," he intones, glancing at Errisaigh. "He is our ally for the time, but he has eyes watching us. We would be remiss not to return the favor."
"Nathanial, what exactly do you mean?" Havelyn looks between the man and the others, unsure if they might know something he doesn't. "I was under the impression the two of you were partners of a sort." To Jack's suggestion, Havelyn nods. "Safety in numbers, always a prudent choice. Should that prove untenable, however, I agree with Lady Marsaille's thinking. Better to skirt under scrutiny than draw attention in public places. We've much yet to do, and none of it viewed kindly by the powers that be."
"May I present Errisaigh Varkain," Havelyn announces, gesturing to the warrior. "A faithful hand of the Baron, to accompany us as part of our accord. The gift of an ally to represent our new alliance, as it were." He gives a thin smile and folds his arms. "Is aught the miss, that you join us so?"
Havelyn's own assessment of the meeting is not much different than Errisaigh's: winning the Baron's cooperation, even begrudgingly, even temporarily, is a success for the group. That one of the Baron's soldiers will accompany them is something of a surprise, but not of an unexpected nature. When dealing in sabotage and heresy, after all, it is only prudent to ensure one's own safety. And knowledge is a much finer weapon and shield than any blade. Outside the chamber, the knight barely pauses as Errisaigh speaks, waving for him to follow in step as he makes to return to the others. "Commands will be few if any, I suspect," he says, glancing to the others. "We've something of an alliance, a fellowship of honest necessity. Should you perchance to meet our benefactor, orders might arise, but naught comes of false loyalties and baseless authority." He pats the hilt of his sword meaningfully. "Strange bedfellows though we be, I agree to make the best. And if you know the ways of fear and blood, I've a feeling we may not be so strange, come what may." Back at the Friar, Havelyn returns to those who stayed behind, and gestures to the newcomer. "Sir--" He pauses and turns to the other man. "Are you a knight, Master Varkain?" In any case, he introduces him: "Errisaigh Varkain, a faithful hand of the Baron, who has pledged his aid and the services of his most trusted servant."
Havelyn can't help a small smile as Soren gives her speech. It is impassioned, empathetic, but most importantly, effective. He watches as the Baron is swayed, and is glad they have succeeded in securing his aid. He decides, by the time the other noble finished speaking, that he doesn't care for this man--actually stating he will reap benefits without risk is the word of a sniveling coward--but for now, he is willing to play along. For the Cardinal. For you, my love. So when the Baron asks if an agreement is reached, he looks meaningfully to the hand he offered, still outstretched and waiting to be clasped.
"The simple fact you entertain us at all, knowing what we are, speaks of your reason to help." Havelyn finishes the goblet of wine he'd brought with him, and sets it on a nearby surface before turning to face the Baron. "You have aught to lose. More importantly, you have aught to gain. Your city is fair, with new growth and pleasantry in the streets. Beauty and prosperity brought by the new church, so well-beloved to name a district, no doubt. A church which commands adoration, respect, even fear. And, above all, loyalty." Havelyn reaches down and runs one hand over the pommel of his sword. The holy symbol of Mitra emblazoned there is impossible to miss. "I've no doubt of your wisdom in ruling, your knowledge of your position, my lord. So tell me: What comes to pass when two powers must vie for the fealty of the people? Certainly, they might share their place to some extent. But there will always be conflict betwixt the two. And should that conflict run as deep as ideology, preferences of rule... Sooner or later, whispered words are shouted in the streets. Someone decides an idea is worth fighting for, worth killing for. What happens to those whose ideas lose, when the rivers are red with blood?" His fist clenches and he pushes the sword aside, his eyes hard and eager. "We come armed and armored, Baron, for it suits our purpose. We do not come to a dinner party, speaking of peace. I fear there is no olive branch to offer, for the blind faith of hypocrisy would not stoop to accept it. We bring ideas. We bring war. And we bring unity in acceptance. And that, I believe, is why you will help us." He extends an open hand. "For my part, I promise naught but that which you will reach out and grasp."
Havelyn had been about to speak for himself when Soren answered the other man's request. He keeps his composure well enough, but doesn't hide a glance and small smile toward the woman. So well spoken. Cunning and collected. No wonder so few see through her mistruths. Upon Errisaigh's response, Havelyn nods his head and extends a hand in a gesture of goodwill. "As you say, sir, our weapons bear no meaning without malintent. I fear not your Lord, nor his men, nor yourself. I merely fear mine own safety. Having come from the ruin of my domain, you understand my readiness for defense. And a true and honest Knight need never go unarmed, for his sword can be trusted to strike only the wicked." The lord smiles again, more broadly. "I swear on my honor as a Knight of Alerion, I mean the Baron no harm. I will not draw blade against him. I assure you my companions feel the same." Regardless of the man's response, Havelyn moves for the refreshments, clearly finished with this discussion for the time being.
Havelyn is still concerned for Nate's wellbeing by the time the group sets out to see the Baron, but there's little he can do for the man. He's unfamiliar with his plight, and without training in medicinal arts, the lord feels better suited for parleying with the Baron than speculating on Nate's illness. So he dresses in his finest, sword and dagger on his belt, and travels to the Baron's manse with the others. At the gate, he stops for the guards, and gives them a stern frown. "I understand your concern for your master's safety, sirs, but surely you are not so uncouth as to demand we disarm? Or am I to assume you are unaware of our personages?" He drops his hands to the hilts of his weapons, not threatening, simply drawing attention to their fine make. "I am Sir Thomas Havelyn, Lord of Balentyne, Knight of Alerion, and an honored guest of your Baron. These are guests of mine own, vouchsafed and trusted with my life. I would no sooner see them defenseless than I would turn over my own signet and badges of office."
Havelyn frowns and nods. "I have little understanding of what affliction affects the man. I must admit I believed you were more familiar with his behavior, and that it was not far from the ordinary." He glances at Nate and sighs. "It is true that he seems ill fit to venture with us, at present. Alas, our audience with the Baron is not until the morrow, I believe. For the time being, he may need rest here." The knight folds his arms. "Which to my mind necessitates a guardian."
Havelyn is relaxing in the bath when Raaven arrives. He's not unused to such luxuries, but in recent years he hadn't taken great care of himself--and the escape from the slaughter hadn't left much time for such niceties. River water did little to relax and cleanse the body, so now he has the chance to partake in the warm waters... well, even vengeful knights need their rest when they can take it. The whisper surprises him, and he starts, reaching for the sword leaning against the bath's edge for just such easy drawing. Once he realizes the message, though, he relaxes back, although still tense, his eyes more alert. Unsure of how the messaging works, he whispers aloud. "I'll tell the others as soon as I've finished here. The Wandering Friar, Newchurch. We won't be long." True to his word, Havelyn hastens through the rest of his cleansing, and redresses and rearms quickly before moving to meet the others and relay the news. To the staff of the Crisp Morning, he smiles and bows. "My deepest thanks for your hospitality. I shall be sure to recommend you highly to my fellows, and seek you out should we indeed require more services in our time here. Mitra smiles upon thee."
"Sad, that in these trying times, there are those who cannot find peace in fair sermons," Havelyn says. He sighs and claps Thurmond's hand in his own. "Well met, and good day to you, Brother. I'm certain we shall see more of one another before our time here is through." Once the Mitran departs, the aging knight turns his attention back to the other man the apparent manager of the establishment. "The rest of us will need baths as well, ere we take our leave. And I would ask that you keep us in mind for potential rooms, should we have need this evening. Our meeting with the Baron is not until tomorrow, so should the barracks not host us, I've a mind to return to this fine boarding." He smiles and taps his thigh as if in sudden memory. "Know you the way to the Baron's estate? I fear I'm not familiar with your fair city, and while I know I've audience, I was not furnished with directions. If you know aught of the barracks, or a tailor, I would be very grateful, as well."
"Sir Thomas Havelyn," the lord greets the Mitran with a nod. "An honor to meet you, Brother, and to hear such a fine sermon. Chastity unto purity, as the scripture says." He gives a false smile that comes easily from years of courtly life. "Brother Thurmond is your name, yes? Do you regularly proselytize here?"
"I doubt my companion requires such effort, though I thank you for the offer," Havelyn says with a smile. "Merely weary from our travels, I believe. We've spent some time afloat, and a warm bath and sturdy land should do him well." He pats Nate's shoulder and shifts his weight slightly. "As for rooms, I'm uncertain of our accommodations in your fair city. We have audience with the Baron this eve, and I'm told the Garrison may seek to allow our stay. For now, a bath for my companions and myself each should do nicely."
"A blessed morning, indeed," Havelyn replies. The man does his best to maintain a proper posture and demeanor, but with Nate clinging to his side, it isn't quite so easy. "My companions and I seek comfort to refresh us from our travels. I'm told your establishment may be all that we seek and more. Clean baths and warm water?"
Havelyn takes in the surroundings with a studied eye as he walks, albeit one more acquainted to finer things of late. Auld'lrey strikes him as nice enough, and Drowningtown seems a place for layabouts, cutthroats, and all manner of curs. A useful place to visit, should the need arise. Always wise to keep a watchful eye on the lower places. Newchurch and its namesake bring a brief glower to the knight's face, but his composure is nearly impeccable, and he has once more a lazy sort of nobleman's smile by the time anyone looks his way, certainly by the time the group reaches the Crisp Morning. "I can't say with certainty," Havelyn says, and nods to Jack. "My companion has the right of it, though I fear I know not the length of our errand. Naught comes of thinking too far forward, when such matters are at hand. But I shouldn't trouble a good workman like yourself with my own travails. A goldpiece for your guidance, I insist." He hands another coin to the dockhand and inclines his head. "May you be blessed in your travels, sirrah, and welladay to you." With that, Lord Havelyn approaches the door of the inn, but turns as Jack makes to leave. "Don't stray far, sir," he says, one hand straying to his belt--although he catches it on the thick leather, rather than the hilt of a weapon. "It is ill becoming to venture far alone when in company, and even more so when work is to be done. Though I trust your judgment and your arm, there is ever danger lurking."
Lord Havelyn nods to the dockhand and pulls a shining gold coin from his purse. "Yours if you lead us to the Crisp Morning, goodman. Aught we do after is our own accord. And I should like to be more clean of my journeys before meeting with Sir Darian, and speak of many tidings." The knight pauses, wanting to maintain the proper demeanor and choose the right words--too forward or too curt would leave him in the dockhand's memory, and potentially raise questions--and is thus caught off guard by Nate's sudden stumble. He catches the other man under the arms and holds him steady, frowning deeply at his behavior and words. Havelyn recovers quickly, however, and offers the dockhand a broad smile. "More than a tad weary from our travels, I should think. The lad takes more to land than sea, so it seems, and some time on steady ground or in a warm bath should set him aright. Another goldpiece for you if you take us to such commodities posthaste." Hefting Nate's weight half onto his shoulders to help carry the staggering man, Havelyn gestures for the local to lead the way to this inn. The sooner we all have a chance to rest, the better.
Havelyn bows graciously to Cardinal Thorn, both after the meeting, and when he looks upon him before taking his leave. As things seem settled for now, he returns to his meager belongings, preparing his equipment and reminding "Sir Jack" how to properly address the peerage. At Farholde, the lord knight readies himself in his clothing and fine armor, his sword belted at his side, the dagger of his order fastened at his waist, looking for all the world a true Mitran paladin--if somewhat worn by battle and journey. He gives his great shield a final loving polish, sets it aside, and then stands ready to disembark by the time the dockhand greets the group. "Good mornings and pleasant days to you, goodman," he intones. His voice has a crisp, commanding tone to it that his lessons with Grumble only hinted towards, the timbre of a gentleman-warrior of the nobility. "Your home is a welcome sight indeed. My companions and I have spent many days upon the water, and have some need of refreshment and fresh cloth. Know you the finest bathhouse and clothier Farholde might offer? A goldpiece for your time and guidance." Casting a sidelong glance at Jack, he frowns slightly and nods. "It might, at that. Although the right words and coin might buy silence for the time we need."
Havelyn declines his head and listens with grave focus, letting Thorn's occasional jibe or half-threat pass unanswered. As a knight, you learn quickly not to stir wrath from your liege--even when doing so seems justly deserved or desired. Havelyn knows little of this Cardinal Thorn beyond his obvious power, the fear and respect he commands, and the dangerous threat he poses in his mere presence. Between such traits and his being perhaps the only avenue to the return of his wife... Havelyn is well-practiced in holding his tongue when loosing would be unwise. Still, the comment on 'bickering' goes beyond the lord's limit, and he clears his throat and rises once the others' questions are answered. "Forgive my forwardness, my lord, but I would speak as a faithful hound of many years. It is unwise to hold so tight the chain that you choke your charge, lest they strangle or turn. But a strong grip is required nonetheless. Otherwise, your dog may turn free and wild. It bites at its fellows, as well as the hand that would hold it." He bows and steps back, making to exit the cabin. "Your leave, Cardinal."
Havelyn stands fast and silent for a moment, regarding the Cardinal. When Grumble speaks, he nods and takes a short step forward. "I served as protector of Balentyne for many years, Cardinal, but no longer. I've long harbored my own... misgivings for Talingarde, for Mitra, for those who claim to serve justice and righteousness. When these companions came to me, and their deeds and purpose unfolded, it was as a light shone that a blind man might finally see. Succor offered to the starving beggar." The knight quickly bends to one knee and lowers his head in a gesture of fealty. "Lady Marsailles has informed that you are a powerful man, divinely blessed by your Lord. I would gladly serve you in hopes of earning favor, that a service might be offered in return. My loyalty would yield to none, my shield the same. I have cast aside my old faith already. I've naught in this world now but hope you would take me." When Havelyn raises his head to look the Cardinal in the eyes, his own are hard, piercing, wet with tears that will not fall. His voice is hoarse as he chokes out his plea. "They killed my wife. The Mitrans killed her in their blind crusade. I would do anything to have her again."
Havelyn nods gratefully to Grumble Jack, and with a quick pat of his clothing--and an absent wish for cleaner, more formal attire, or time to don his armor--he enters the cabin, unsure of what to expect.
Havelyn assisted as best as possible during the trip, filling in where he could and sharing his knowledge of knightly matters with Grumble. The man has spent most of his life in service to Mitra, to Talingarde, and to the Knights of Alerion, and those decades of experience come through in his instruction. From hierarchy to horsemanship, courtly intrigue to courtly love, Havelyn is able to offer anecdotes and advice if not formal education. When the summons comes, the lord stands and looks to the others, hesitating. He bristles once more as Tiadora issues another threat, this time to the dragon which has allied itself with the humanoid members of the Knot--but Grumble steps in, and Havelyn watches as the growing tension is dissipated, at least for now, by the voice of the Cardinal. What respect, what fear, a man commands. Havelyn's hand strays idly to the pommel of his dagger, and he grimaces. "Am I also to enter before the Cardinal?" he asks. The question isn't directed at anyone in particular, although his gaze passes over each of his new companions in turn. "I am no member of your Knot, at least at present, though I would swear my fealty and make my case."
The old knight nods at Grumble Jack and sighs. "Indeed. Substance is not nearly so valued as its appearance, and in today's realm, function follows form. I know both of the ideals of knighthood, the high concepts of chivalry, of courtly life, and of its realities. I would not share one without its twin. Light without darkness cannot exist in this world, nor its inverse. To experience pleasure necessitates the potential for suffering." Havelyn's gaze drifts out over the water once more, before coming back to rest on his shield. "We should begin in the morning, with the stories. They have much to say, true and false and betwixt. All is of value."
Satisfied that the confrontation is over, at least for now, Havelyn grows suddenly quiet, almost bashful, once more. He clears his throat and, with a heft of the heavy shield, he moves back to his chosen vigil, where he returns to oiling and maintaining his arms and armor. It isn't long, though, before he overhears the conversation regarding knights and tales of their exploits, and after a long pause, the lord looks up. "You wish to know of knights and knighthood, 'Sir Jack'? Stories have much to say, but I might speak aught of it as well. If you would have such learning." Havelyn pauses again and runs a hand across the surface of his shield. "I served well for many years in that regard. Long years, devoted and steadfast in my blindness. Some good came of it, I should hope. Perhaps yet more, in passing on its true arts."
"Alerion." Havelyn echoes the word as if it's distasteful, and relaxes his stance--slightly. "The people's faith in Talingarde's institutions would do well to be shaken. If chaos and bloodshed is how you see best fit to sow such discord, and you do so with the blessing of your Cardinal..." The old knight trails off, his eyes flickering to Soren for a moment, then out to the edge of the river. Out to the villages beyond, smoldering and weeping for loved ones lost. All for a false crusade, masking what he can only hope is a true one. "So be it. Revolutions so rarely come on wings of peace."
Havelyn had spent the first day's journey on the Halstyn's Folly in quiet contemplation. Inwardly, he was coping with his actions and new course. Outwardly, he spent much of the day idly staring at the water, the banks, the sky. During that time he also scrubbed his armor, removing most of the dirt and grime--though the bloodstains from the slaughter proved the hardest to clean away. He also labored over the massive shield he'd brought with him from the keep, oiling the leather straps and wiping the spiked surface with rags. Wrought from iron as it was, the shield wouldn't come to a polished gleam, but it was clear the man sought to maintain it. To his sword and dagger, no time was given. But beyond his lingering gaze cast Soren's way, and curious glances at the other members of the Knot, Havelyn didn't interact much with the other passengers--until Tiadora returns from her trip and threatens Soren. As Grumblejack pushes to his feet, menacing with his mere size and demeanor, the once-Lord of Balentyne stands as well, with somewhat surprising speed for his age. He steps forward, raising the shield with him as he goes, and comes to stand at the tiefling's shoulder. With a heavy, final chunk, he plants the shield on the deck, half before himself, half before Soren. "I was told of an order, an Oath. An Asmodean cardinal with a chosen few who would herald war for Talingarde. War with reason. I threw aside my duty, broken and honorless as it was, with such belief. Thus far to mine eyes, Lady Marsailles and her companions have upheld my trust, whereas I am led to believe you engage in naught but wanton slaughter and now a threat against your own." Havelyn's voice is as sturdy and unmoving as his shield. "If she speak true, you are a blackguard and a murderer, and I would not allow such a one to speak as you have to those I call compatriots. Least of all to speak ill of one's blood, when actions tell all the more of one's nature." Havelyn's brow furrows and his free hand absently clenches and releases. "No member of your Knot am I, not now. Strike me if you strike you must, but all actions taken must be with reason, answered for when asked. Else we are no better than the blind fools we strive against."
Thanks! Alias is set up, so I'm ready to go whenever it makes sense. Not sure if I should just jump in, so just let me know. |
