Despite eyes keen as a hawks, hearing to rival an owl and stealth to humble a fox......Famh finds the rafters empty other than some scattered bats and a tuft of grey-brown fur.
She does however remain utterly unnoticed in her nocturnal rambling by man, woman and beast within the keep....
Sighing, Famh climbs down and returns to the ladies' chambers ... this time openly, as it allows her to go past the men's chambers and blow a last goodnight kiss to Cainneach as she trips past on the dancing wings of a dragonfly. And since the retinue is not new to Famh, or how giddy she becomes when Cainneach is involved, she finds the door left ajar by some convenient accident just far enough to let her do this and wave to Salt (who graciously consents to accept her "friends" goodnight on behalf of the remaining males in the room so long as he doesn't have to roll over off his back to do it.) And the sound behind her as she sighs happily and heads back ... she would swear the door sounded like it closed with a bit of a wink ...
And then Famh retires to her bed. It suddenly seems far too lonely, and far too ... empty.
Her dreams, on the other hand, surpass even the rosy pinnacle Cainneach had predicted ...
Next morning, Famh makes sure to thank everyone else involved (and in immediate eyeshot) for their patience and support the preceding night, before flinging herself into Cainneach's arms and bidding him good morning in the style he was probably already bracing himself for (and anticipating) from the moment he awoke enough to remember the preceding night. And since the retinue is in the common room situated between the two bedrooms (in company with a cross hall that spent its time between the men's and women's quarters frostily chaperoning thanks to the icy breeze that always seems to blow down it) an accomodatingly private corner is found by the newly affianced couple to begin feeling out morning routines without overly discommoding the rest of the retinue.
At the very moment she is wrapped in Cainneach's embrace. seemingly at the height of her bliss, a shadow suddenly crosses Famh's face. Or perhaps the shadow of a shadow: her look is not entirely sad as she gazes deep into his eyes, and the joy of her love for him shines undimmed ... maybe even deepened by the sorrow that is also undeniably there on a sudden. She even smiles tremulously as she asks him, "Cainneach -- tell me. Have they ever yet told you why?" A reminiscent sigh. "I just remembered, that's the very first thing I said to you the first time we met. I didn't know then of course how hard and sharp those words must have struck you, so soon after Dru died. But ... that question did bring us together . I'd hate to think ... I'd hate to think the DIachba would be so cruel as to ask the death of your friend as the price of our love. And I didn't even mean when I started out to make you sad. I wanted to tell you. I dreamt of Dru last night. And I saw her clearly, though I did not the first time so I'm not sure whether I saw her as you d remember her. . She spoke to me, and she said, 'You take care of him now, dear.' And that she was very happy for us." She wipes away a tear from the corner of her eye, then proffers her handkerchief to Cainneach to do the same. And again he thinks how well the simple embroidered design on the border suits her. Or simple seeming: The endlessly repeated pattern of a hummingbird dipping its beak into an apple blossom, so meticulously executed around all four borders of the square of finest Kaikuhuran (OOC: Egyptian would be nearest IRL equivalent culture, I believe) cotton, must have taken a guildmistress of seamstresses months to work. That handkerchief represented a large portion of the hacksilver Famh had laid out on what had proven to be her engagement outfit. And that was no mean sum, representing a substantial portion of the expenditures that had cut the bracelet Famh had converted her wages into in half. This example of the peculiar cross between jewelry and money which Thules and Mercanians both hold dear was well made, with no part having significantly more silver than any other part; and she cut herself off rather than cutting off any more silver the moment the halfway point was reached; so he feels confident that the value of what remains is indeed at least forty crowns. But given the expenditure he definitely supports her decision to indeed save the new earasaid and its trimmings for occasions that are not only special but significantly so. She has kept the handkerchief out as a fond reminder to stretch the joy of last night as far as it will go, but he knows she plans to pack it away too before the retinue departs Sewark Keep.
"But that's got me thinking. I can't very well keep you safe if you're always having to worry so about keeping ME safe. And I couldn't bear the weight of that handsome cotun ye barely outbid the fishmonger for ... whit would HE ha' done with it, aside from hang it up o'er his fireside to spin lies by?! ... Well, do the levies not go out in padded armour to fight in the Crusades? And whit's that but a quilted jacket wrought thick? I wonder if I could work up something along those lines."
===========================
(OOC: or not, naturaly, depending on D_M's ruling. But it seems at least a compromise btw the D&D rules where sorcerers can use no armour whatsoever, and the setting of Legend where sorcerers can wear full padded according to the DW rules. Not overly invested in this one, so I'm fine whichever way you decide. Regular padded's AC 11, so there's not much wiggle room there -- isn't unarmored 10 -- so maybe same AC but a mild damage reduction modifier?
Almeric will rise at dawn, wash and dress in his travelling clothes, strap on his sword baldric and visit the Keep Chapel. He hopes the priest present at the banquette last night will be there, to hold Lauds (morning prayers). After praying, the Capellar will make small talk to the priests, enquiring as to the health of the Bishop and ask about possible candidates for the bishopric should this be necessary. Almeric wants to see how the priests react to him, as a guest of the Duke and as a Knight Capellar and is looking for hidden politics here.
Ori gets up extra early knowing he has things to prepare. Still not 100% Ori, he was close enough to attempt to fake it. He got his breastplate back on, even attempt to clean it a bit before making his was down to the kitchens. He tried to buttercup and joke with the bakers to try and get the first batches of goods to the crew to wake up too as he imagined they were going to be feeling the early morning more then normal. He wasn't as smooth as normally was, clearly forced but the effort aline would hopefully do. He had planned to inquire about Lady Ailsa but being off his game, he decided not to reveal he was looking for information on her unintentionally.
After gathering what supplies he could and morning brews Ori makes his way back to the rooms. Decided to give the ladies a chance to come to he rattles his knuckles on the door. "Famh, courtyard within the hour, the Sir's orders. Tana, well Pardon the early call but your orders are here. Boy room for grub and briefing before we head down." Satisfied he hears stirring in the room, Ori returns to his room. He comes in as quietly as he can, and eases the supplies he managed to obtain on Fergus's writing desk. He creeps over to Thatch's bed and puts a finger to his lips to shush Salt and as quickly as he can, tries to dump the once stable hand onto the floor.
"Morning sunshine! Rise and shine mates, time to see what Almeric weasel us into today. Eat and suit up we will be moving out within the hour." Ori props up the Greatsword up in the corner with the ball attire he wore the night before hanging off it.
"Cainneach, best check on Famh to make sure she got yhe word were leaving soon." Once Cainneach leaves, Ori pulls Fergus aside a bit. " Look mate, about last night... Well I over reacted and took me mood out on ya inappropriately so no hard feelings aye? But while your here, I need ya to try to do some digging on that, present, that was left. I want to know who made it, who ordered it, and who left it, understood. Someone's trying to get my attention and I want to know who it is."
Next morning, Famh makes sure to thank everyone else involved (and in immediate eyeshot) for their patience and support the preceding night, before flinging herself into Cainneach's arms and bidding him good morning in the style he was probably already bracing himself for (and anticipating) from the moment he awoke enough to remember the preceding night. And since the retinue is in the common room situated between the two bedrooms (in company with a cross hall that spent its time between the men's and women's quarters frostily chaperoning thanks to the icy breeze that always seems to blow down it) an accomodatingly private corner is found by the newly affianced couple to begin feeling out morning routines without overly discommoding the rest of the retinue.
At the very moment she is wrapped in Cainneach's embrace. seemingly at the height of her bliss, a shadow suddenly crosses Famh's face. Or perhaps the shadow of a shadow: her look is not entirely sad as she gazes deep into his eyes, and the joy of her love for him shines undimmed ... maybe even deepened by the sorrow that is also undeniably there on a sudden. She even smiles tremulously as she asks him, "Cainneach -- tell me. Have they ever yet told you why?" A reminiscent sigh. "I just remembered, that's the very first thing I said to you the first time we met. I didn't know then of course how hard and sharp those words must have struck you, so soon after Dru died. But ... that question did bring us together . I'd hate to think ... I'd hate to think the DIachba would be so cruel as to ask the death of your friend as the price of our love. And I didn't even mean when I started out to make you sad. I wanted to tell you. I dreamt of Dru last night. And I saw her clearly, though I did not the first time so I'm not sure whether I saw her as you d remember her. . She spoke to me, and she said, 'You take care of him now, dear.' And that she was very happy for us." She wipes away a tear from the corner of her eye, then proffers her handkerchief to Cainneach to do the same. And again he thinks how well the simple embroidered design on the border suits her. Or simple seeming: The endlessly repeated pattern of a hummingbird dipping its beak into an apple blossom, so meticulously executed around all four borders of the square of finest Kaikuhuran (OOC: Egyptian would be nearest IRL equivalent culture, I believe) cotton, must have taken a guildmistress of seamstresses months to work. That handkerchief represented a large portion of the hacksilver Famh had laid out on what had proven to be her engagement outfit. And that was no mean sum, representing a substantial portion of the expenditures that had cut the bracelet Famh had converted her wages into in half. This example of the peculiar cross between jewelry and money which Thules and Mercanians both hold dear was well made, with no part having significantly more silver than any other part; and she cut herself off rather than cutting off any more silver the moment the halfway point was reached; so he feels confident that the value of what remains is indeed at least forty crowns. But given the expenditure he definitely supports her decision to indeed save the new earasaid and its trimmings for occasions that are not only special but significantly so. She has kept the handkerchief out as a fond reminder to stretch the joy of last night as far as it will go, but he knows she plans to pack it away too before the retinue departs Sewark Keep.
"But that's got me thinking. I can't very well keep you safe if you're always having to worry so about keeping ME safe. And I couldn't bear the weight of that handsome cotun ye barely outbid the fishmonger for ... whit would HE ha' done with it, aside from hang it up o'er his fireside to spin lies by?! ... Well, do the levies not go out in padded armour to fight in the Crusades? And whit's that but a quilted jacket wrought thick? I wonder if I could work up something along those lines."
Cainneach was about to head over to check on Famh, but she blasts into the common room just as he enters it.
Cainneach smiles as he greets Famh, who is somehow instantly in his arms. Perhaps the forester is not fully awake if he can't comprehend her speed in rounding him into a corner of the common room. "Okay dear, easy there, we're all here, except for Almeric, who may be dropping in any moment. Perhaps we should save our tender indiscretions for when we can be a bit more ... discreet?" But Famh doesn't seem to hear his words, as her look turns serious. He looks away as Famh asks that dark question and recounts her dream. His immediate reaction is to wonder how she would dare dream of his lost mentor and best friend, but Cainneach knows her dreams come unbidden and have some greater meaning. As Famh said, they likely wouldn't have ever crossed paths if those sort of dreams didn't come to her and, consequently, wouldn't have fallen in love. Looking back at Famh, there were tears and a pleading in her gaze, as though the dream were an apology for 'the price of our love'. Cainneach did like to think that Dru would approve and be happy for the young pair, when he thought of Dru at all. It was still painful to recall the myriad memories of the woman that had taught him how to first survive, then flourish in the wilderness of Albion, thus preparing him for his role with the retinue.
His countenance softened, though he didn't cry. Instead, Cainneach took the delicate handkerchief from Famh and dabbed away another tear, then kissed her on the forehead. "Thank you for that message. If you happen to see Dru again, you tell her I miss her desperately, but that I'm getting along okay down here. And to not worry, because I'm not alone." Cainneach pauses for a moment, before continuing with a thoughtful look. "Maybe you're the sole reason why and that's the answer, but I think we'll come to find that over the next months and years, many other reasons will become apparent as we travel Ellesland with this party. I wish Dru could be with us, but I don't know that I would have ever left the forests and mountains if she were still here. Hopefully I can give her death meaning by serving well wherever we're called upon." He returns the handkerchief to her. "As for the armour, leannan, I'd suggest you train with it first, to see if it encumbers you too greatly and impedes your ... abilities. I'd hope you stay out of danger as much as is practical, but the extra protection couldn't hurt if you can wear it well."
"Oh, and I dreamt of you last night, but it wasn't what I had hoped for. It was a jumble, but you were always out of reach, as though you had scampered off on your own ... I'm glad to see you're fine, though. And still the beauty you were when we last parted ..."Cainneach smiles warmly at her, then turns back to the group to see how everyone else had passed the night.
"Ori, Thatch, how goes it with you this morning? Recover from the festivities, yet? Ori, I hope you especially have finally recovered enough to enjoy some of this delicious food you brought us! You at least look more stable. Maybe your new friend, the tall one, has raised your spirits? And Fergus, Tana, any news of interest or an idea of what Almeric has in store for us this morning? He left rather deliberately last night, seemed to indicate it was time we did the same, so I suspect there was some purpose in that. Oh, and I picked up some tidbits from the crowd that I'm not sure about. There were murmurings regarding Sir Michael, the Duke's son ... that he had been seen spending time at The Sands, one of the boarding houses in Stockgait. I don't know anything about the place, would that be a cause for concern? Also, people were speaking of a bloody fight between two rival merchant crews. I'll mention it to Almeric as well, but I was wondering if any of you had heard similar things."
(As @Bonivant1 suggested, you could take the Lightly Armored feat at 4th level, or @Damian_May could simply grant you that proficiency by fiat, given the DW setting, or allow you to take it before 4th level via Downtime Training after a period of time getting comfortable wearing it.)
(And of course I missed Ori's post while I was taking too long to write mine! Edits above to account for it.)
Oh, and Cainneach pets Salt a bunch and sees how his faithful hound is doing. Hopefully he doesn't have an upset stomach from all the table scraps he feasted on last night! Probably should get him out on a walk soon. Maybe Cainneach and Thatch can head out with Salt for a stroll around the stables, check on the horses.
Vardi, after some teasing about running off with the first man to catch her eye, obtains from Morag her help in smoothing things over at the forge for a while, and a hand in the morning while traversing the castle's passages to their quarters in the artisan's section.
"Good night and sweet dreams of yer big fella!" Morag says before shutting the door to her room.
"I dinnay even know if he's 'my big fella'..." Vardi mutters as she enters her own chamber, still delighted with the comparative luxury of it, a great comfort to her for all it is not truly home. She sits down on a stout oaken stool, carved with a pattern of vines and flowers, and darkened with age, grateful for a seat that does not creak alarmingly as she settles. The big lass puts down the basket she has been carrying and unlatches the lid as she continues her thought "...But I do know he's likely ta be in charge of the likes of us for the fancy fella. That's nay much ta go on for a romance, but we'll see, won't we Skoggi?"
This hopeful assessment is addressed to a huge but handsome magpie-coated cat that leaps out from the basket and onto her lap, purring fit to rival a whole hive of bees in high summer. Alas for her long-furred confidant, Vardi does not remain longer than it takes to fling the slippers from her feet. There is packing to be done, and an earlier start than she had anticipated, a task made easier by the small grey stoneware bowl of cod scraps she puts on the floor for the cat.
The weary woman finishes her work, then with great reverence, bows once to a small bronze figurine sitting on a small shelf over the bedhead. The statuette depicts a beautiful warrior woman in Mercian raider's armour, a long feathered cloak and an ornate necklace. She holds a war spear aloft, as if in challenge to an unseen foe, charging into battle in a chariot drawn by two large cats.
Vardi rises in the pale light of near dawn, and heads to the forge to complete the helmet she has been spending most of her free time on for a week now, determined to finish it. By the time the sun is truly showing its face over Beltayne, the smith sits outside Master Gregory's smithy on a sandy barrel, giving a new-minted Mercian-style face helm its finishing polish with a scrap of sheepskin.
Almeric will rise at dawn, wash and dress in his travelling clothes, strap on his sword baldric and visit the Keep Chapel. He hopes the priest present at the banquette last night will be there, to hold Lauds (morning prayers). After praying, the Capellar will make small talk to the priests, enquiring as to the health of the Bishop and ask about possible candidates for the bishopric should this be necessary. Almeric wants to see how the priests react to him, as a guest of the Duke and as a Knight Capellar and is looking for hidden politics here.
Almeric visits the Chapel which is well appointed and kept by the two young priests present, though bare there are many interesting carvings in the stone and Almeric spies more than a few touches among the oak tree and heather motif to more pagan times, it is likely at least one of the masons was a follower of the Old Gods. Chatting with the priests he is informed that the cardinal continues his downward slide, they expect his replacement to be sent from Katorheim sometime soon though too soon would look a little crass. Neither priest seems to know quite what to make of him and seem to have defaulted to treating him as a member of the Dukes household. They do, to Almerics eyes, seem a little too....provincial...to be holding their current status but they seem to know enough to keep their lips sealed when it comes to Keep and Family business.
He arrived at the common room to debrief and bring them all downstairs and found everyone up and ready, if perhaps some were still occupied with breaking their fast.
Ori gets up extra early knowing he has things to prepare. Still not 100% Ori, he was close enough to attempt to fake it. He got his breastplate back on, even attempt to clean it a bit before making his was down to the kitchens. He tried to buttercup and joke with the bakers to try and get the first batches of goods to the crew to wake up too as he imagined they were going to be feeling the early morning more then normal. He wasn't as smooth as normally was, clearly forced but the effort aline would hopefully do. He had planned to inquire about Lady Ailsa but being off his game, he decided not to reveal he was looking for information on her unintentionally.
After gathering what supplies he could and morning brews Ori makes his way back to the rooms. Decided to give the ladies a chance to come to he rattles his knuckles on the door. "Famh, courtyard within the hour, the Sir's orders. Tana, well Pardon the early call but your orders are here. Boy room for grub and briefing before we head down." Satisfied he hears stirring in the room, Ori returns to his room. He comes in as quietly as he can, and eases the supplies he managed to obtain on Fergus's writing desk. He creeps over to Thatch's bed and puts a finger to his lips to shush Salt and as quickly as he can, tries to dump the once stable hand onto the floor.
"Morning sunshine! Rise and shine mates, time to see what Almeric weasel us into today. Eat and suit up we will be moving out within the hour." Ori props up the Greatsword up in the corner with the ball attire he wore the night before hanging off it.
"Cainneach, best check on Famh to make sure she got yhe word were leaving soon." Once Cainneach leaves, Ori pulls Fergus aside a bit. " Look mate, about last night... Well I over reacted and took me mood out on ya inappropriately so no hard feelings aye? But while your here, I need ya to try to do some digging on that, present, that was left. I want to know who made it, who ordered it, and who left it, understood. Someone's trying to get my attention and I want to know who it is."
Fergus nods, " I will do so, no harm done."
" That's two now isn't it? These sort of things usually come in threes in the old stories...."
Next morning, Famh makes sure to thank everyone else involved (and in immediate eyeshot) for their patience and support the preceding night, before flinging herself into Cainneach's arms and bidding him good morning in the style he was probably already bracing himself for (and anticipating) from the moment he awoke enough to remember the preceding night. And since the retinue is in the common room situated between the two bedrooms (in company with a cross hall that spent its time between the men's and women's quarters frostily chaperoning thanks to the icy breeze that always seems to blow down it) an accomodatingly private corner is found by the newly affianced couple to begin feeling out morning routines without overly discommoding the rest of the retinue.
At the very moment she is wrapped in Cainneach's embrace. seemingly at the height of her bliss, a shadow suddenly crosses Famh's face. Or perhaps the shadow of a shadow: her look is not entirely sad as she gazes deep into his eyes, and the joy of her love for him shines undimmed ... maybe even deepened by the sorrow that is also undeniably there on a sudden. She even smiles tremulously as she asks him, "Cainneach -- tell me. Have they ever yet told you why?" A reminiscent sigh. "I just remembered, that's the very first thing I said to you the first time we met. I didn't know then of course how hard and sharp those words must have struck you, so soon after Dru died. But ... that question did bring us together . I'd hate to think ... I'd hate to think the DIachba would be so cruel as to ask the death of your friend as the price of our love. And I didn't even mean when I started out to make you sad. I wanted to tell you. I dreamt of Dru last night. And I saw her clearly, though I did not the first time so I'm not sure whether I saw her as you d remember her. . She spoke to me, and she said, 'You take care of him now, dear.' And that she was very happy for us." She wipes away a tear from the corner of her eye, then proffers her handkerchief to Cainneach to do the same. And again he thinks how well the simple embroidered design on the border suits her. Or simple seeming: The endlessly repeated pattern of a hummingbird dipping its beak into an apple blossom, so meticulously executed around all four borders of the square of finest Kaikuhuran (OOC: Egyptian would be nearest IRL equivalent culture, I believe) cotton, must have taken a guildmistress of seamstresses months to work. That handkerchief represented a large portion of the hacksilver Famh had laid out on what had proven to be her engagement outfit. And that was no mean sum, representing a substantial portion of the expenditures that had cut the bracelet Famh had converted her wages into in half. This example of the peculiar cross between jewelry and money which Thules and Mercanians both hold dear was well made, with no part having significantly more silver than any other part; and she cut herself off rather than cutting off any more silver the moment the halfway point was reached; so he feels confident that the value of what remains is indeed at least forty crowns. But given the expenditure he definitely supports her decision to indeed save the new earasaid and its trimmings for occasions that are not only special but significantly so. She has kept the handkerchief out as a fond reminder to stretch the joy of last night as far as it will go, but he knows she plans to pack it away too before the retinue departs Sewark Keep.
"But that's got me thinking. I can't very well keep you safe if you're always having to worry so about keeping ME safe. And I couldn't bear the weight of that handsome cotun ye barely outbid the fishmonger for ... whit would HE ha' done with it, aside from hang it up o'er his fireside to spin lies by?! ... Well, do the levies not go out in padded armour to fight in the Crusades? And whit's that but a quilted jacket wrought thick? I wonder if I could work up something along those lines."
Cainneach was about to head over to check on Famh, but she blasts into the common room just as he enters it.
Cainneach smiles as he greets Famh, who is somehow instantly in his arms. Perhaps the forester is not fully awake if he can't comprehend her speed in rounding him into a corner of the common room. "Okay dear, easy there, we're all here, except for Almeric, who may be dropping in any moment. Perhaps we should save our tender indiscretions for when we can be a bit more ... discreet?" But Famh doesn't seem to hear his words, as her look turns serious. He looks away as Famh asks that dark question and recounts her dream. His immediate reaction is to wonder how she would dare dream of his lost mentor and best friend, but Cainneach knows her dreams come unbidden and have some greater meaning. As Famh said, they likely wouldn't have ever crossed paths if those sort of dreams didn't come to her and, consequently, wouldn't have fallen in love. Looking back at Famh, there were tears and a pleading in her gaze, as though the dream were an apology for 'the price of our love'. Cainneach did like to think that Dru would approve and be happy for the young pair, when he thought of Dru at all. It was still painful to recall the myriad memories of the woman that had taught him how to first survive, then flourish in the wilderness of Albion, thus preparing him for his role with the retinue.
His countenance softened, though he didn't cry. Instead, Cainneach took the delicate handkerchief from Famh and dabbed away another tear, then kissed her on the forehead. "Thank you for that message. If you happen to see Dru again, you tell her I miss her desperately, but that I'm getting along okay down here. And to not worry, because I'm not alone." Cainneach pauses for a moment, before continuing with a thoughtful look. "Maybe you're the sole reason why and that's the answer, but I think we'll come to find that over the next months and years, many other reasons will become apparent as we travel Ellesland with this party. I wish Dru could be with us, but I don't know that I would have ever left the forests and mountains if she were still here. Hopefully I can give her death meaning by serving well wherever we're called upon." He returns the handkerchief to her. "As for the armour, leannan, I'd suggest you train with it first, to see if it encumbers you too greatly and impedes your ... abilities. I'd hope you stay out of danger as much as is practical, but the extra protection couldn't hurt if you can wear it well."
"Oh, and I dreamt of you last night, but it wasn't what I had hoped for. It was a jumble, but you were always out of reach, as though you had scampered off on your own ... I'm glad to see you're fine, though. And still the beauty you were when we last parted ..."Cainneach smiles warmly at her, then turns back to the group to see how everyone else had passed the night.
"Ori, Thatch, how goes it with you this morning? Recover from the festivities, yet? Ori, I hope you especially have finally recovered enough to enjoy some of this delicious food you brought us! You at least look more stable. Maybe your new friend, the tall one, has raised your spirits? And Fergus, Tana, any news of interest or an idea of what Almeric has in store for us this morning? He left rather deliberately last night, seemed to indicate it was time we did the same, so I suspect there was some purpose in that. Oh, and I picked up some tidbits from the crowd that I'm not sure about. There were murmurings regarding Sir Michael, the Duke's son ... that he had been seen spending time at The Sands, one of the boarding houses in Stockgait. I don't know anything about the place, would that be a cause for concern? Also, people were speaking of a bloody fight between two rival merchant crews. I'll mention it to Almeric as well, but I was wondering if any of you had heard similar things."
(As @Bonivant1 suggested, you could take the Lightly Armored feat at 4th level, or @Damian_May could simply grant you that proficiency by fiat, given the DW setting, or allow you to take it before 4th level via Downtime Training after a period of time getting comfortable wearing it.)
Fergus and Tana nodded, and Fergus scribbled down what Cainneach had just spoken on.
Tana smiled warmly, " Indeed it looks like there was a lot of fun to go around last night. Yes, we have a deal of information ourselves but we'll see what the knight in question wants to know first."
(And of course I missed Ori's post while I was taking too long to write mine! Edits above to account for it.)
Oh, and Cainneach pets Salt a bunch and sees how his faithful hound is doing. Hopefully he doesn't have an upset stomach from all the table scraps he feasted on last night! Probably should get him out on a walk soon. Maybe Cainneach and Thatch can head out with Salt for a stroll around the stables, check on the horses.
Salts digestion seems to be unaffected by his feasting.
Vardi, after some teasing about running off with the first man to catch her eye, obtains from Morag her help in smoothing things over at the forge for a while, and a hand in the morning while traversing the castle's passages to their quarters in the artisan's section.
"Good night and sweet dreams of yer big fella!" Morag says before shutting the door to her room.
"I dinnay even know if he's 'my big fella'..." Vardi mutters as she enters her own chamber, still delighted with the comparative luxury of it, a great comfort to her for all it is not truly home. She sits down on a stout oaken stool, carved with a pattern of vines and flowers, and darkened with age, grateful for a seat that does not creak alarmingly as she settles. The big lass puts down the basket she has been carrying and unlatches the lid as she continues her thought "...But I do know he's likely ta be in charge of the likes of us for the fancy fella. That's nay much ta go on for a romance, but we'll see, won't we Skoggi?"
This hopeful assessment is addressed to a huge but handsome magpie-coated cat that leaps out from the basket and onto her lap, purring fit to rival a whole hive of bees in high summer. Alas for her long-furred confidant, Vardi does not remain longer than it takes to fling the slippers from her feet. There is packing to be done, and an earlier start than she had anticipated, a task made easier by the small grey stoneware bowl of cod scraps she puts on the floor for the cat.
The weary woman finishes her work, then with great reverence, bows once to a small bronze figurine sitting on a small shelf over the bedhead. The statuette depicts a beautiful warrior woman in Mercian raider's armour, a long feathered cloak and an ornate necklace. She holds a war spear aloft, as if in challenge to an unseen foe, charging into battle in a chariot drawn by two large cats.
Vardi rises in the pale light of near dawn, and heads to the forge to complete the helmet she has been spending most of her free time on for a week now, determined to finish it. By the time the sun is truly showing its face over Beltayne, the smith sits outside Master Gregory's smithy on a sandy barrel, giving a new-minted Mercian-style face helm its finishing polish with a scrap of sheepskin.
Gregory came about the corner already dressed in his apron and heavy tunic and seemed suprised to see Vardi there,
" Madainn mhath, Yungfru."
" Usually a while before the rest of ye lot join me.......what's the matter? That looks well bra....if the helm was fussing ye."
"Madainn mhath, Maighstir ceàrd." Vardi answers politely, looking up from the helm that she has been polishing. She places the now gleaming helm on the barrelhead, steps back then scrutinizes it in the morning light with an oddly pensive air.
Morag pats her on the arm and passes her an oatcake smeared with sweet butter. "Ye can eat while ye stare, tha' I do know!" she says crisply, then looks to Gregory and adds in a more respectful tone "We've some news, and a bit of a mystery with Vardi here, Master Gregory."
Gregory: " Usually a while before the rest of ye lot join me.......what's the matter? That looks well bra....if the helm was fussing ye."
"I thank ye for tha' expert assessment, ser, but tha's nay what my head says." Vardi sighs in frustration then explains "I've looked it over dozens of times in the last hours of making it, and it just feels somehow...Unfinished, but I've nay idea how. Tis all there, all the parts of a helm, but it's nay all there, and that lack is like a voice nagging at me ta do something, but too soft to hear proper like. Morag came in with me to help finish it, but I was already to deep into tha' work to know she was there."
Morag nods reluctantly but testifies "She was sitting holding it, staring at tha' helm, and she was speaking all quiet, same words over and over again, faster and faster til I shouted at her, and well, she came ta her senses and looked all bewildered at me."
The puzzled Islander says in a worried tone "Ser, as ye are the tha person I learned so much from of smithwork, I have ta ask ye this afore I ask another favor of ye..." as her gaze turns from the helm and then back to the broad-shouldered man, looking him in the face as she asks "Is there a kind of madness tha only smiths get?"
Almeric entered the Common room with a beaming smile. "Good morrow one and all!" Silently he took the roll in his head. He is wearing only his travelling clothes, his arming jack and sword. He is carrying his pack over his shoulder, with his Capellar Tabard inside and helm strapped outside, his shield on the other shoulder and his maille in his hands. Everyone is here, none worse for wear, good, he thinks. His stomach is complaining that he has not yet broken his fast. Dumping his equipment and armour in a corner, he swoops in like a Corbie upon the remnants of the meal. "Any tea?" he asked hopefully, taking a draft of any suitable liquid at hand.
"Congratulations on making an excellent first impression! The Baron is making good progress with the Duke and we are the talk of the Keep! There was just enough 'normal' to balance out the 'crazy; just as I hoped." Almeric's eyes move around the room as he caricatures each of them, still grinning. "A Capellar who can dance! A grumpy old Sergeant the size of a bear! The scariest, smallest Girl in all Thuland! The Hunter, who becomes the hunted! The Groom whom all Handmaids adore, the sullen Matron and the studious Scribe - HAhaha! For surely they do not know where to look first, but rest assured, we are constantly being watched by friend and foe. Security here is not as strong as in Castle Coburn, so remain vigilant."
"So why did I get you up so early? I want too impress upon the Duke our added value to this alliance, so I have volunteered us for a little hunting trip. I do not yet know our prey, but will do so shortly. Firstly, I have a joke to play upon our unseen foes", he chuckles. "You will stay here and wait a while. Tana and Fergus, please share your intelligence with the others and discuss it briefly. I'd like you to come up with some leads and theories about the rumours we've heard." Almeric pauses, with a thoughtful expression. "Oh Ori, if Vardi shows up here, I trust you to use your judgement as you see fit." Winks Almeric. "Carry on Sergeant."
"I will call upon the Baron and escort him to the Great Hall, for breakfast, where the Duke will give us our mission. I want people to believe that you're all hung over and sleeping it off and I'm unprepared for the day, being unarmoured, looking drowsy and maybe hungover. When you get my signal, form up in the courtyard quickly. Fergus, please bring my kit and help me dress. It's a simple joke, but I will be interested to see the effect. I will see you anon."
Amused by his own joke, Almeric leaves to greet Aldred and commence his plan.
Cainneach half-grimaces, half-smiles at Almeric's roll call as it pertains to himself. He eagerly awaits the report from Fergus and Tana while getting himself ready for their presentation for whatever mission the Duke has in store for them.
Thatch feels like he is just about to get a glimpse of the dark haired stranger in his dreams when the scent of primrose fades and he is dumped unceremoniously on the floor from his bunk. He comes up sputtering “Damnation, Ori! There’s no call for that, it’s still early!” He calms down quickly as he sees it is just a prank and starts to grab his gear as he gets his marching instructions. He presses the primrose sprig and places it inside his leathers for safekeeping and perhaps a bit of luck.
He hangs in the corner of the common room, nursing a slight headache as he breaks his fast and Sir Almeric passes out his instructions. He turns to the others as the knight leaves “A joke, what is he about this morning? And a hunting trip? It will be good to get out and about, but I get the feeling that is not going to turn out to be what it sounds to be. But appearing hung over and sleeping it off is not a stretch for me at this point.”he grumbles and holds his head in his hands.
Famh has the good grace to blush at Sir Almeric 's 'full mission debrief' of the previous evening, though the effect is somewhat spoiled by the mischievous wink she bestows upon Cainneach under cover of turning her head to muffle a pretended sneeze. She does appear grateful to have something that does not require such vigorous expenditures of energy to occupy her attention, and turns to Tana and Fergus with interest as the Capellar leaves. "A hunting expedition?! And Sir Almeric doesna ken yet what the prey is, but he will soon? How strange!" She thinks a moment. "'Strange' does seem like its becoming our speciality, though. Did our knight give any hint how we ought to be clad and equipped when we appear in the courtyard? Ought we leave things like my spear or Ori 's club behind in the arming chest, for an instance?"
===EDIT===
"As to the rumours, though, all I can think of is what I remembered last night: that 'corbie's Thulish for a raven and that the raven is The Morrigu's symbol, the Old Thulish war goddess.
"Madainn mhath, Maighstir ceàrd." Vardi answers politely, looking up from the helm that she has been polishing. She places the now gleaming helm on the barrelhead, steps back then scrutinizes it in the morning light with an oddly pensive air.
Morag pats her on the arm and passes her an oatcake smeared with sweet butter. "Ye can eat while ye stare, tha' I do know!" she says crisply, then looks to Gregory and adds in a more respectful tone "We've some news, and a bit of a mystery with Vardi here, Master Gregory."
Gregory: " Usually a while before the rest of ye lot join me.......what's the matter? That looks well bra....if the helm was fussing ye."
"I thank ye for tha' expert assessment, ser, but tha's nay what my head says." Vardi sighs in frustration then explains "I've looked it over dozens of times in the last hours of making it, and it just feels somehow...Unfinished, but I've nay idea how. Tis all there, all the parts of a helm, but it's nay all there, and that lack is like a voice nagging at me ta do something, but too soft to hear proper like. Morag came in with me to help finish it, but I was already to deep into tha' work to know she was there."
Morag nods reluctantly but testifies "She was sitting holding it, staring at tha' helm, and she was speaking all quiet, same words over and over again, faster and faster til I shouted at her, and well, she came ta her senses and looked all bewildered at me."
The puzzled Islander says in a worried tone "Ser, as ye are the tha person I learned so much from of smithwork, I have ta ask ye this afore I ask another favor of ye..." as her gaze turns from the helm and then back to the broad-shouldered man, looking him in the face as she asks "Is there a kind of madness tha only smiths get?"
" Madness......aye...but mostly gold and silversmiths for they use rare metals......and gold-smithing can mean quicksilver...and that'll eat your mind quick as you like. Lead too....and tin....and others...but bear in mind there are other smiths who say that's a lot of rubbish and they've never had an issue."
" For us its usually in the dust....forge-dust can do a number on the body over time....pain in your gut that never quite leaves, itches in your extremities....trouble with catching your breath..."
He stared at her a long while.
" But your speaking more of the spirit than the flesh i feel. If'n yer feeling a bout of anvil-cursing coming on then best be about it sharpish and get past it.......but if yer feeling something in yer blood. thats another thing entirely."
" Take a spell from the bellows, give yerself a week free o' the fire and see how you feel. Morag whispered there might be those that can keep ye occupied for a spell."
Almeric entered the Common room with a beaming smile. "Good morrow one and all!" Silently he took the roll in his head. He is wearing only his travelling clothes, his arming jack and sword. He is carrying his pack over his shoulder, with his Capellar Tabard inside and helm strapped outside, his shield on the other shoulder and his maille in his hands. Everyone is here, none worse for wear, good, he thinks. His stomach is complaining that he has not yet broken his fast. Dumping his equipment and armour in a corner, he swoops in like a Corbie upon the remnants of the meal. "Any tea?" he asked hopefully, taking a draft of any suitable liquid at hand.
"Congratulations on making an excellent first impression! The Baron is making good progress with the Duke and we are the talk of the Keep! There was just enough 'normal' to balance out the 'crazy; just as I hoped." Almeric's eyes move around the room as he caricatures each of them, still grinning. "A Capellar who can dance! A grumpy old Sergeant the size of a bear! The scariest, smallest Girl in all Thuland! The Hunter, who becomes the hunted! The Groom whom all Handmaids adore, the sullen Matron and the studious Scribe - HAhaha! For surely they do not know where to look first, but rest assured, we are constantly being watched by friend and foe. Security here is not as strong as in Castle Coburn, so remain vigilant."
"So why did I get you up so early? I want too impress upon the Duke our added value to this alliance, so I have volunteered us for a little hunting trip. I do not yet know our prey, but will do so shortly. Firstly, I have a joke to play upon our unseen foes", he chuckles. "You will stay here and wait a while. Tana and Fergus, please share your intelligence with the others and discuss it briefly. I'd like you to come up with some leads and theories about the rumours we've heard." Almeric pauses, with a thoughtful expression. "Oh Ori, if Vardi shows up here, I trust you to use your judgement as you see fit." Winks Almeric. "Carry on Sergeant."
"I will call upon the Baron and escort him to the Great Hall, for breakfast, where the Duke will give us our mission. I want people to believe that you're all hung over and sleeping it off and I'm unprepared for the day, being unarmoured, looking drowsy and maybe hungover. When you get my signal, form up in the courtyard quickly. Fergus, please bring my kit and help me dress. It's a simple joke, but I will be interested to see the effect. I will see you anon."
Amused by his own joke, Almeric leaves to greet Aldred and commence his plan.
Tana sighed and handed her ream of parchments across to Fergus before excusing herself and heading downstairs tutting.
Fergus settled himself, " Right.....well....I guess we'll go over things and compare what you have."
" Sir Moluag of Argyll - seems solid, if not jovial. Some skill in warfare but more in management. Unmarried, but there is talk of a common-born prospect back home in Argyll."
" Sir Mary of Dunnfirm- a skilled warrior she has led a number of defences of the Dukes cattle against spring raids by Highland Clans. Very private, there seems to be some current disagreement between her and Lady Margie....though what it is exactly none of the servants seem to know."
" Lord Michael has been out of sorts for quite some time, he has taken to visiting a number of boarding houses....it seems for drinking and gambling with various sailors."
" Couldn't get anything on the Duchess.....everyones very tight-lipped. "
" Lady Ailsa.......fairly sure Sir Almeric knows more than most."
" Lady Florie....very reserved, plays her cards close to her chest....seems to actually run most of the day to day business of the Keep through the various department heads....word is she had considered holy vows at one point. Suffice to say if the three daughters aren't on board little aid will flow no matter Duke Carnasses deal with Baron Aldred."
" Duke Carnasse........bit of a wild one in his youth. Has been run through more than once and is still going strong, was strongly aggrieved when his wife died and has never come fully back from it....seems to have affection for his wife and children but a little distant with most..."
" The Constables, Stewards and Masters of the Keep all seem very loyal to Duke Carnasse personally and skilled at their professions."
" Negotiations seem to be going well between Duke and Baron. None of us are due to be arrested and all in all its shaping up to be a fine day."
" There is a parcel more of things regarding Beltayne itself but I feel that can wait for Sir Almeric."
Cainneach half-grimaces, half-smiles at Almeric's roll call as it pertains to himself. He eagerly awaits the report from Fergus and Tana while getting himself ready for their presentation for whatever mission the Duke has in store for them.
Thatch feels like he is just about to get a glimpse of the dark haired stranger in his dreams when the scent of primrose fades and he is dumped unceremoniously on the floor from his bunk. He comes up sputtering “Damnation, Ori! There’s no call for that, it’s still early!” He calms down quickly as he sees it is just a prank and starts to grab his gear as he gets his marching instructions. He presses the primrose sprig and places it inside his leathers for safekeeping and perhaps a bit of luck.
He hangs in the corner of the common room, nursing a slight headache as he breaks his fast and Sir Almeric passes out his instructions. He turns to the others as the knight leaves “A joke, what is he about this morning? And a hunting trip? It will be good to get out and about, but I get the feeling that is not going to turn out to be what it sounds to be. But appearing hung over and sleeping it off is not a stretch for me at this point.”he grumbles and holds his head in his hands.
Famh has the good grace to blush at Sir Almeric 's 'full mission debrief' of the previous evening, though the effect is somewhat spoiled by the mischievous wink she bestows upon Cainneach under cover of turning her head to muffle a pretended sneeze. She does appear grateful to have something that does not require such vigorous expenditures of energy to occupy her attention, and turns to Tana and Fergus with interest as the Capellar leaves. "A hunting expedition?! And Sir Almeric doesna ken yet what the prey is, but he will soon? How strange!" She thinks a moment. "'Strange' does seem like its becoming our speciality, though. Did our knight give any hint how we ought to be clad and equipped when we appear in the courtyard? Ought we leave things like my spear or Ori 's club behind in the arming chest, for an instance?"
===EDIT===
"As to the rumours, though, all I can think of is what I remembered last night: that 'corbie's Thulish for a raven and that the raven is The Morrigu's symbol, the Old Thulish war goddess.
"The only instructions were to ' look your best and most readied......I would suggest that means a more martial attire and accountremont than last night and a step up from our normal travelling attire."
" Ah! That one I believe I have a possibility for........corbies...Ravens.......Ravens are the Clan Emblem of the Harbingers I have learned.......I believe Cainneach may know more of them, though what I've learned makes them more of a force in Western Lands such as Ereworn, Glissom and North-Western Ellesland........though with long reach....as the crow flies."
Almeric makes his way to Aldred's chambers, in his dress down attire. Greeting the Baron cheerfully, he will escort his lord to the hall for breakfast.
"Morning lord! I trust you slept well. I shall be leaving on my 'hunting trip' as soon as I know the quarry. Fergus and Tana will remain with you, one close by while the other guards the box." By which, Almeric is referring to the weapons chest containing the cursed gold, of course. "Both are excellent at discovering important details, as well as keeping you safe. Before I leave, I have set a simple jest to draw out any... detractors we may have. Not all our observers may be are admirers, sadly, so I shall continue to keep everyone on their toes."
Escorting the Baron into the hall, Almeric changed his stance with a wink to Aldred into a sullen gait and shuffles towards any hot food and drink available. Bowing to any members of the family present, he sits very quietly while he eats and drinks. PERFORMANCE = 10.
OOC = Almeric's instruction to Ori regarding attire was 'full armour and weapons'.
Famh's hand flies to her mouth and she lowers her voice. "Sir Almeric is warning the Duke?", she whispers; it is not entirely a question. In her wanderings through the broken places of the world, she has picked up far too many scraps of rumour about the Harbingers for her comfort (History roll in log: nat 20!). She'd not heard before that they took the Morrigu's bird for their clan emblem, but it doesn't surprise her in the slightest. If her Cainneach had had the misfortune of having any reason to know more than she'd pieced together of that dark clan of assassins, she is sure it's the LAST thing he wants to be reminded of. She'd even heard enough to know they were a large part of the reason there was no king in Erewhon. The traditional means of succession in that land of madness and evil is to hire them to kill the previous king; and the duke who holds the custom-hallowed 'king's seat' of Erewhon in this present day is too canny a man to put his life at risk by claiming the throne.
In fact, so completely does her mind recoil from Fergus's revelation that for the moment she fails to associate it with the "hunting trip" Sir Almeric just mentioned. She begins by wondering aloud to the retinue in general the following: "What sort of hunt would leave the knight charged with undertaking it completely unaware of the nature of his quarry, and yet able to discover it within five minutes of informing his retinue of the hunt itself?" As she speculates about this, increasingly long periods of time pass before her imagination and the less pleasant side of this expedition back out into the rough begins to dawn on her. She plays it for comic effect (and perhaps, half instinctively, to try and ease the tension), immediately assuming a most woebegone cast of countenance and wailing out, "Oh no!!! I've just thought ... this means we won't be able to use the baths every night!" Her chin sets in mock stubbornness. "Well, we just can't go then, that's all. The Duke provides those heavenly baths as a good work of charity and a voluntary benificence to all comers to his halls. And I for one am not going to deprive him of the treasures in heaven AND Hy Breasail that he is amassing for himself by this work of generosity."
"In fact, I think I'll start bathing two and three times a day! ... ... ... And its not only the limitless hot water ... I'm sure Beltayn must be founded upon a hot spring. There's even a sort of a steam bath, where you can cast water on heated stones and make it as cozy as you like! ... If you can imagine . . . " Her voice drifts away Into a dreamy murmur, in which she forgets that all her listeners have at least seen the baths she's referring to and do not need to imagine anything. * (Even though some may have heroically chosen to take a canine-administered shower bath instead as part of their preparations for the previous evening's festivities ;-)
In Famh's birthplace, Brymstone, the families wth Mercanian or mixed Mercanian - Madhir blood are mostly confined to the upper classes, and rarely found in the outlying steadings such as Famh's. Somewhere deep inside she had been almost as relieved to find she wouldn't have to play the lady with Vardi as the Lyftenwoman had been to find Famh if anything a little TOO frank in her nature. But before coming here she (Famh) also knew nothing of the Mercanian sauna the smith might be more familiar with; and given her history of wandering cold damp moors she can perhaps be forgiven for taking this as her new standard for the joys of paradise. And even if she had been more familiar with the concept she would never wound Duke Carnasse by supposing he hadn't taken pains to build the most comfortable as well as the most luxurious example of its type. She may well even imagine the Duke being rewarded in the hereafter by the chance to enjoy his own baths as much as he pleases without the trouble of maintaining them.
(Or the expense. She sighs and allows her dream of limitless baths to mature into the more realistic one of an occasional pleasure whenever the retinue has the fortune to be entertained by quality folks who have a reason to be nice to them. Looking about at her motley comrades, and herself among the motliest, she has to admit further that that's only going to happen when they chance across a nobleman as common-sensed, or as tolerant, as Duke Carnasse, Baron Aldred or Sir Almeric. And that Sir Valor looked a decent chap too, what little she saw of him at Igham. Almeric's cousin, was it? His real cousin, that is ... some of these Albish lairds seemd to sprout cousins wherever you scratched 'em, same as Sir Mary and Sir Moluag sprouted fart ...
... um, yes. ... ... ... Best not to press that particular comparison too ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... It's so STRANGE Sir Almeric shouldn't know what sort of prey we're hunting !!! ...)
=========[
---EDIT--- By the time Sir Almeric's signal comes, Famh has equipped herself with her idea of full dress uniform for non-ceremonial occasions, leaving her fancy new earasaid packed away but wrapping the new outer plaid around herself like a surcoat to hide the patches and stains of her old one. As requested, she carries her staff-spear as if it were a ceremonial polar she was charged with. All other gear is stowed neatly in her new leathern backpack or her pouches to be carried or left behind according to the instructions Fergus might relay from their commander.
"Bahh, I'm gonna sit here at ease but ready to smash anything that dares bug us. Besides last night showed a different side of most of us so we got some reputations to correct. Almeric says prank, I say correct first impressions. Well of me at least. You know those bakers didn't even give me a hard time this morning despite special last moment request, they treated it like they had to do it, because I said it. Horrible this is.
As far as the hunt goes, could be anything, a pest, a beast, some long lost cart. We'll know soon enough, till then it's play relax." Ori leans on the wall, big club acrossed the top of his shoulders, a hand either end holding it in place. It helps show off the arms while playing coy with the great weapon.
He moves over to Tana, "So, Lady Ailsa, what do we know about her? You know, incase Almeric forgets to share that bit?"
" Lord Michael has been out of sorts for quite some time, he has taken to visiting a number of boarding houses....it seems for drinking and gambling with various sailors."
. . . . .
"The only instructions were to ' look your best and most readied......I would suggest that means a more martial attire and accountremont than last night and a step up from our normal travelling attire."
" Ah! That one I believe I have a possibility for........corbies...Ravens.......Ravens are the Clan Emblem of the Harbingers I have learned.......I believe Cainneach may know more of them, though what I've learned makes them more of a force in Western Lands such as Ereworn, Glissom and North-Western Ellesland........though with long reach....as the crow flies."
Cainneach took note of all of the information relayed through Tana and Fergus to the rest of the party. The information about Lord Michael was interesting ... Although Cainneach doesn't know much about gambling or sailor culture, he at least recognizes that being in debt to someone is generally undesireable, and the son of a Duke potentially being in debt to rowdy sailors could bring a great deal of trouble indeed. Cainneach would mention this to Almeric for follow-up when circumstances allowed it. The Capellar had spent a great deal of time speaking with the shiftless noble and seemed to have made a good impression. Perhaps some strongly worded advice could stave off any further descent into disrepute.
The mention of Clan Harbinger, however, drained the colour from Cainneach's face. He hadn't heard of or given any thought to that abominable group for several years and considered that quite a privilege. His first year of wandering westward into Ereworn would have ended in death if he had stumbled into one of their small settlements or been discovered by any of their roving crews. One close call with what might have been the slightest possibility of a Harbinger camp had driven Cainneach to head south into Albion. Cainneach knew that they were very real, but growing up where he had, these villains were veritable bogeyman, and threats of the wrath of Clan Harbinger were used by parents to threaten unruly children into compliance or by the older kids to terrify their younger kin for twisted sport. He wouldn't have expected them to show up so far east, and in one of the great strongholds of Thuland, but if they were here, no one was truly safe.
With this thought in mind, he looked carefully at Famh while she went on and on about baths, wondering how much she knew of Clan Harbinger and how he might keep her safe if they were attacked. What an odd fixation. Of course, a hot bath was nice, but these artificial things paled in comparison to the joy of a natural hot spring nestled amongst the mountains. Had she ever been in one of those? Maybe he would take her one day ... Cainneach remained thoughtfully silent and drew out his new armour and donned it, along with his usual weapons, arranging them as neatly as possible for presentation to the Duke. At least his travelling clothes had been laundered and he looked quite presentable, perhaps even professional, or at least on the cusp of being so.
"Bahh, I'm gonna sit here at ease but ready to smash anything that dares bug us. Besides last night showed a different side of most of us so we got some reputations to correct. Almeric says prank, I say correct first impressions. Well of me at least. You know those bakers didn't even give me a hard time this morning despite special last moment request, they treated it like they had to do it, because I said it. Horrible this is.
As far as the hunt goes, could be anything, a pest, a beast, some long lost cart. We'll know soon enough, till then it's play relax." Ori leans on the wall, big club acrossed the top of his shoulders, a hand either end holding it in place. It helps show off the arms while playing coy with the great weapon.
Ori had the right approach, of course. That was why he was now their sergeant. No sense in getting worked up or indulging in anxious fantasies regarding their quarry. They'd know soon enough and they would be ready. Unless it was Clan Harbinger, and then they were f*%ked ...
Famh-
Despite eyes keen as a hawks, hearing to rival an owl and stealth to humble a fox......Famh finds the rafters empty other than some scattered bats and a tuft of grey-brown fur.
She does however remain utterly unnoticed in her nocturnal rambling by man, woman and beast within the keep....
Sighing, Famh climbs down and returns to the ladies' chambers ... this time openly, as it allows her to go past the men's chambers and blow a last goodnight kiss to Cainneach as she trips past on the dancing wings of a dragonfly. And since the retinue is not new to Famh, or how giddy she becomes when Cainneach is involved, she finds the door left ajar by some convenient accident just far enough to let her do this and wave to Salt (who graciously consents to accept her "friends" goodnight on behalf of the remaining males in the room so long as he doesn't have to roll over off his back to do it.) And the sound behind her as she sighs happily and heads back ... she would swear the door sounded like it closed with a bit of a wink ...
And then Famh retires to her bed. It suddenly seems far too lonely, and far too ... empty.
Her dreams, on the other hand, surpass even the rosy pinnacle Cainneach had predicted ...
Famh Thrawn Fiadhaich - 'half elven' sorcerer (wild magic) 2, Sleeping Gods - A Dragon Warriors campaign in the Lands of Legend
Quspira Inirali - tiefling cleric (Life domain) 4, Painted's "He'll be the father of my child"
---RETIRED HEROES' REST HOME---
Sae Ivui Nailo - wood elf rogue (inquisitive) 5 , Sea of Death: Captain Hailstorm's Lost Treasure
Ryshraxea "Shra" Naranthi - tabaxi artificer 1, Nyx's Tomb of Annihilation - Group 1
Next morning, Famh makes sure to thank everyone else involved (and in immediate eyeshot) for their patience and support the preceding night, before flinging herself into Cainneach's arms and bidding him good morning in the style he was probably already bracing himself for (and anticipating) from the moment he awoke enough to remember the preceding night. And since the retinue is in the common room situated between the two bedrooms (in company with a cross hall that spent its time between the men's and women's quarters frostily chaperoning thanks to the icy breeze that always seems to blow down it) an accomodatingly private corner is found by the newly affianced couple to begin feeling out morning routines without overly discommoding the rest of the retinue.
At the very moment she is wrapped in Cainneach's embrace. seemingly at the height of her bliss, a shadow suddenly crosses Famh's face. Or perhaps the shadow of a shadow: her look is not entirely sad as she gazes deep into his eyes, and the joy of her love for him shines undimmed ... maybe even deepened by the sorrow that is also undeniably there on a sudden. She even smiles tremulously as she asks him, "Cainneach -- tell me. Have they ever yet told you why?" A reminiscent sigh. "I just remembered, that's the very first thing I said to you the first time we met. I didn't know then of course how hard and sharp those words must have struck you, so soon after Dru died. But ... that question did bring us together . I'd hate to think ... I'd hate to think the DIachba would be so cruel as to ask the death of your friend as the price of our love. And I didn't even mean when I started out to make you sad. I wanted to tell you. I dreamt of Dru last night. And I saw her clearly, though I did not the first time so I'm not sure whether I saw her as you d remember her. . She spoke to me, and she said, 'You take care of him now, dear.' And that she was very happy for us." She wipes away a tear from the corner of her eye, then proffers her handkerchief to Cainneach to do the same. And again he thinks how well the simple embroidered design on the border suits her. Or simple seeming: The endlessly repeated pattern of a hummingbird dipping its beak into an apple blossom, so meticulously executed around all four borders of the square of finest Kaikuhuran (OOC: Egyptian would be nearest IRL equivalent culture, I believe) cotton, must have taken a guildmistress of seamstresses months to work. That handkerchief represented a large portion of the hacksilver Famh had laid out on what had proven to be her engagement outfit. And that was no mean sum, representing a substantial portion of the expenditures that had cut the bracelet Famh had converted her wages into in half. This example of the peculiar cross between jewelry and money which Thules and Mercanians both hold dear was well made, with no part having significantly more silver than any other part; and she cut herself off rather than cutting off any more silver the moment the halfway point was reached; so he feels confident that the value of what remains is indeed at least forty crowns. But given the expenditure he definitely supports her decision to indeed save the new earasaid and its trimmings for occasions that are not only special but significantly so. She has kept the handkerchief out as a fond reminder to stretch the joy of last night as far as it will go, but he knows she plans to pack it away too before the retinue departs Sewark Keep.
"But that's got me thinking. I can't very well keep you safe if you're always having to worry so about keeping ME safe. And I couldn't bear the weight of that handsome cotun ye barely outbid the fishmonger for ... whit would HE ha' done with it, aside from hang it up o'er his fireside to spin lies by?! ... Well, do the levies not go out in padded armour to fight in the Crusades? And whit's that but a quilted jacket wrought thick? I wonder if I could work up something along those lines."
===========================
(OOC: or not, naturaly, depending on D_M's ruling. But it seems at least a compromise btw the D&D rules where sorcerers can use no armour whatsoever, and the setting of Legend where sorcerers can wear full padded according to the DW rules. Not overly invested in this one, so I'm fine whichever way you decide. Regular padded's AC 11, so there's not much wiggle room there -- isn't unarmored 10 -- so maybe same AC but a mild damage reduction modifier?
Famh Thrawn Fiadhaich - 'half elven' sorcerer (wild magic) 2, Sleeping Gods - A Dragon Warriors campaign in the Lands of Legend
Quspira Inirali - tiefling cleric (Life domain) 4, Painted's "He'll be the father of my child"
---RETIRED HEROES' REST HOME---
Sae Ivui Nailo - wood elf rogue (inquisitive) 5 , Sea of Death: Captain Hailstorm's Lost Treasure
Ryshraxea "Shra" Naranthi - tabaxi artificer 1, Nyx's Tomb of Annihilation - Group 1
Almeric will rise at dawn, wash and dress in his travelling clothes, strap on his sword baldric and visit the Keep Chapel. He hopes the priest present at the banquette last night will be there, to hold Lauds (morning prayers). After praying, the Capellar will make small talk to the priests, enquiring as to the health of the Bishop and ask about possible candidates for the bishopric should this be necessary. Almeric wants to see how the priests react to him, as a guest of the Duke and as a Knight Capellar and is looking for hidden politics here.
Ori gets up extra early knowing he has things to prepare. Still not 100% Ori, he was close enough to attempt to fake it. He got his breastplate back on, even attempt to clean it a bit before making his was down to the kitchens. He tried to buttercup and joke with the bakers to try and get the first batches of goods to the crew to wake up too as he imagined they were going to be feeling the early morning more then normal. He wasn't as smooth as normally was, clearly forced but the effort aline would hopefully do. He had planned to inquire about Lady Ailsa but being off his game, he decided not to reveal he was looking for information on her unintentionally.
After gathering what supplies he could and morning brews Ori makes his way back to the rooms. Decided to give the ladies a chance to come to he rattles his knuckles on the door. "Famh, courtyard within the hour, the Sir's orders. Tana, well Pardon the early call but your orders are here. Boy room for grub and briefing before we head down." Satisfied he hears stirring in the room, Ori returns to his room. He comes in as quietly as he can, and eases the supplies he managed to obtain on Fergus's writing desk. He creeps over to Thatch's bed and puts a finger to his lips to shush Salt and as quickly as he can, tries to dump the once stable hand onto the floor.
"Morning sunshine! Rise and shine mates, time to see what Almeric weasel us into today. Eat and suit up we will be moving out within the hour." Ori props up the Greatsword up in the corner with the ball attire he wore the night before hanging off it.
"Cainneach, best check on Famh to make sure she got yhe word were leaving soon." Once Cainneach leaves, Ori pulls Fergus aside a bit. " Look mate, about last night... Well I over reacted and took me mood out on ya inappropriately so no hard feelings aye? But while your here, I need ya to try to do some digging on that, present, that was left. I want to know who made it, who ordered it, and who left it, understood. Someone's trying to get my attention and I want to know who it is."
Cainneach was about to head over to check on Famh, but she blasts into the common room just as he enters it.
Cainneach smiles as he greets Famh, who is somehow instantly in his arms. Perhaps the forester is not fully awake if he can't comprehend her speed in rounding him into a corner of the common room. "Okay dear, easy there, we're all here, except for Almeric, who may be dropping in any moment. Perhaps we should save our tender indiscretions for when we can be a bit more ... discreet?" But Famh doesn't seem to hear his words, as her look turns serious. He looks away as Famh asks that dark question and recounts her dream. His immediate reaction is to wonder how she would dare dream of his lost mentor and best friend, but Cainneach knows her dreams come unbidden and have some greater meaning. As Famh said, they likely wouldn't have ever crossed paths if those sort of dreams didn't come to her and, consequently, wouldn't have fallen in love. Looking back at Famh, there were tears and a pleading in her gaze, as though the dream were an apology for 'the price of our love'. Cainneach did like to think that Dru would approve and be happy for the young pair, when he thought of Dru at all. It was still painful to recall the myriad memories of the woman that had taught him how to first survive, then flourish in the wilderness of Albion, thus preparing him for his role with the retinue.
His countenance softened, though he didn't cry. Instead, Cainneach took the delicate handkerchief from Famh and dabbed away another tear, then kissed her on the forehead. "Thank you for that message. If you happen to see Dru again, you tell her I miss her desperately, but that I'm getting along okay down here. And to not worry, because I'm not alone." Cainneach pauses for a moment, before continuing with a thoughtful look. "Maybe you're the sole reason why and that's the answer, but I think we'll come to find that over the next months and years, many other reasons will become apparent as we travel Ellesland with this party. I wish Dru could be with us, but I don't know that I would have ever left the forests and mountains if she were still here. Hopefully I can give her death meaning by serving well wherever we're called upon." He returns the handkerchief to her. "As for the armour, leannan, I'd suggest you train with it first, to see if it encumbers you too greatly and impedes your ... abilities. I'd hope you stay out of danger as much as is practical, but the extra protection couldn't hurt if you can wear it well."
"Oh, and I dreamt of you last night, but it wasn't what I had hoped for. It was a jumble, but you were always out of reach, as though you had scampered off on your own ... I'm glad to see you're fine, though. And still the beauty you were when we last parted ..." Cainneach smiles warmly at her, then turns back to the group to see how everyone else had passed the night.
"Ori, Thatch, how goes it with you this morning? Recover from the festivities, yet? Ori, I hope you especially have finally recovered enough to enjoy some of this delicious food you brought us! You at least look more stable. Maybe your new friend, the tall one, has raised your spirits? And Fergus, Tana, any news of interest or an idea of what Almeric has in store for us this morning? He left rather deliberately last night, seemed to indicate it was time we did the same, so I suspect there was some purpose in that. Oh, and I picked up some tidbits from the crowd that I'm not sure about. There were murmurings regarding Sir Michael, the Duke's son ... that he had been seen spending time at The Sands, one of the boarding houses in Stockgait. I don't know anything about the place, would that be a cause for concern? Also, people were speaking of a bloody fight between two rival merchant crews. I'll mention it to Almeric as well, but I was wondering if any of you had heard similar things."
(As @Bonivant1 suggested, you could take the Lightly Armored feat at 4th level, or @Damian_May could simply grant you that proficiency by fiat, given the DW setting, or allow you to take it before 4th level via Downtime Training after a period of time getting comfortable wearing it.)
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(And of course I missed Ori's post while I was taking too long to write mine! Edits above to account for it.)
Oh, and Cainneach pets Salt a bunch and sees how his faithful hound is doing. Hopefully he doesn't have an upset stomach from all the table scraps he feasted on last night! Probably should get him out on a walk soon. Maybe Cainneach and Thatch can head out with Salt for a stroll around the stables, check on the horses.
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Vardi, after some teasing about running off with the first man to catch her eye, obtains from Morag her help in smoothing things over at the forge for a while, and a hand in the morning while traversing the castle's passages to their quarters in the artisan's section.
"Good night and sweet dreams of yer big fella!" Morag says before shutting the door to her room.
"I dinnay even know if he's 'my big fella'..." Vardi mutters as she enters her own chamber, still delighted with the comparative luxury of it, a great comfort to her for all it is not truly home. She sits down on a stout oaken stool, carved with a pattern of vines and flowers, and darkened with age, grateful for a seat that does not creak alarmingly as she settles. The big lass puts down the basket she has been carrying and unlatches the lid as she continues her thought "...But I do know he's likely ta be in charge of the likes of us for the fancy fella. That's nay much ta go on for a romance, but we'll see, won't we Skoggi?"
This hopeful assessment is addressed to a huge but handsome magpie-coated cat that leaps out from the basket and onto her lap, purring fit to rival a whole hive of bees in high summer. Alas for her long-furred confidant, Vardi does not remain longer than it takes to fling the slippers from her feet. There is packing to be done, and an earlier start than she had anticipated, a task made easier by the small grey stoneware bowl of cod scraps she puts on the floor for the cat.
The weary woman finishes her work, then with great reverence, bows once to a small bronze figurine sitting on a small shelf over the bedhead. The statuette depicts a beautiful warrior woman in Mercian raider's armour, a long feathered cloak and an ornate necklace. She holds a war spear aloft, as if in challenge to an unseen foe, charging into battle in a chariot drawn by two large cats.
Vardi rises in the pale light of near dawn, and heads to the forge to complete the helmet she has been spending most of her free time on for a week now, determined to finish it. By the time the sun is truly showing its face over Beltayne, the smith sits outside Master Gregory's smithy on a sandy barrel, giving a new-minted Mercian-style face helm its finishing polish with a scrap of sheepskin.
Almeric visits the Chapel which is well appointed and kept by the two young priests present, though bare there are many interesting carvings in the stone and Almeric spies more than a few touches among the oak tree and heather motif to more pagan times, it is likely at least one of the masons was a follower of the Old Gods. Chatting with the priests he is informed that the cardinal continues his downward slide, they expect his replacement to be sent from Katorheim sometime soon though too soon would look a little crass. Neither priest seems to know quite what to make of him and seem to have defaulted to treating him as a member of the Dukes household. They do, to Almerics eyes, seem a little too....provincial...to be holding their current status but they seem to know enough to keep their lips sealed when it comes to Keep and Family business.
He arrived at the common room to debrief and bring them all downstairs and found everyone up and ready, if perhaps some were still occupied with breaking their fast.
Fergus nods, " I will do so, no harm done."
" That's two now isn't it? These sort of things usually come in threes in the old stories...."
Fergus and Tana nodded, and Fergus scribbled down what Cainneach had just spoken on.
Tana smiled warmly, " Indeed it looks like there was a lot of fun to go around last night. Yes, we have a deal of information ourselves but we'll see what the knight in question wants to know first."
Salts digestion seems to be unaffected by his feasting.
Gregory came about the corner already dressed in his apron and heavy tunic and seemed suprised to see Vardi there,
" Madainn mhath, Yungfru."
" Usually a while before the rest of ye lot join me.......what's the matter? That looks well bra....if the helm was fussing ye."
Gregory: " Madainn mhath, Yungfru."
"Madainn mhath, Maighstir ceàrd." Vardi answers politely, looking up from the helm that she has been polishing. She places the now gleaming helm on the barrelhead, steps back then scrutinizes it in the morning light with an oddly pensive air.
Morag pats her on the arm and passes her an oatcake smeared with sweet butter. "Ye can eat while ye stare, tha' I do know!" she says crisply, then looks to Gregory and adds in a more respectful tone "We've some news, and a bit of a mystery with Vardi here, Master Gregory."
Gregory: " Usually a while before the rest of ye lot join me.......what's the matter? That looks well bra....if the helm was fussing ye."
"I thank ye for tha' expert assessment, ser, but tha's nay what my head says." Vardi sighs in frustration then explains "I've looked it over dozens of times in the last hours of making it, and it just feels somehow...Unfinished, but I've nay idea how. Tis all there, all the parts of a helm, but it's nay all there, and that lack is like a voice nagging at me ta do something, but too soft to hear proper like. Morag came in with me to help finish it, but I was already to deep into tha' work to know she was there."
Morag nods reluctantly but testifies "She was sitting holding it, staring at tha' helm, and she was speaking all quiet, same words over and over again, faster and faster til I shouted at her, and well, she came ta her senses and looked all bewildered at me."
The puzzled Islander says in a worried tone "Ser, as ye are the tha person I learned so much from of smithwork, I have ta ask ye this afore I ask another favor of ye..." as her gaze turns from the helm and then back to the broad-shouldered man, looking him in the face as she asks "Is there a kind of madness tha only smiths get?"
Almeric entered the Common room with a beaming smile. "Good morrow one and all!" Silently he took the roll in his head. He is wearing only his travelling clothes, his arming jack and sword. He is carrying his pack over his shoulder, with his Capellar Tabard inside and helm strapped outside, his shield on the other shoulder and his maille in his hands. Everyone is here, none worse for wear, good, he thinks. His stomach is complaining that he has not yet broken his fast. Dumping his equipment and armour in a corner, he swoops in like a Corbie upon the remnants of the meal. "Any tea?" he asked hopefully, taking a draft of any suitable liquid at hand.
"Congratulations on making an excellent first impression! The Baron is making good progress with the Duke and we are the talk of the Keep! There was just enough 'normal' to balance out the 'crazy; just as I hoped." Almeric's eyes move around the room as he caricatures each of them, still grinning. "A Capellar who can dance! A grumpy old Sergeant the size of a bear! The scariest, smallest Girl in all Thuland! The Hunter, who becomes the hunted! The Groom whom all Handmaids adore, the sullen Matron and the studious Scribe - HAhaha! For surely they do not know where to look first, but rest assured, we are constantly being watched by friend and foe. Security here is not as strong as in Castle Coburn, so remain vigilant."
"So why did I get you up so early? I want too impress upon the Duke our added value to this alliance, so I have volunteered us for a little hunting trip. I do not yet know our prey, but will do so shortly. Firstly, I have a joke to play upon our unseen foes", he chuckles. "You will stay here and wait a while. Tana and Fergus, please share your intelligence with the others and discuss it briefly. I'd like you to come up with some leads and theories about the rumours we've heard." Almeric pauses, with a thoughtful expression. "Oh Ori, if Vardi shows up here, I trust you to use your judgement as you see fit." Winks Almeric. "Carry on Sergeant."
"I will call upon the Baron and escort him to the Great Hall, for breakfast, where the Duke will give us our mission. I want people to believe that you're all hung over and sleeping it off and I'm unprepared for the day, being unarmoured, looking drowsy and maybe hungover. When you get my signal, form up in the courtyard quickly. Fergus, please bring my kit and help me dress. It's a simple joke, but I will be interested to see the effect. I will see you anon."
Amused by his own joke, Almeric leaves to greet Aldred and commence his plan.
Cainneach half-grimaces, half-smiles at Almeric's roll call as it pertains to himself. He eagerly awaits the report from Fergus and Tana while getting himself ready for their presentation for whatever mission the Duke has in store for them.
Active - Player: Sleeping Gods ---- Complete - Player: Masquerade, Teleportation Machine ---- Complete - DM: Extradimensional Spaces
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Thatch feels like he is just about to get a glimpse of the dark haired stranger in his dreams when the scent of primrose fades and he is dumped unceremoniously on the floor from his bunk. He comes up sputtering “Damnation, Ori! There’s no call for that, it’s still early!” He calms down quickly as he sees it is just a prank and starts to grab his gear as he gets his marching instructions. He presses the primrose sprig and places it inside his leathers for safekeeping and perhaps a bit of luck.
He hangs in the corner of the common room, nursing a slight headache as he breaks his fast and Sir Almeric passes out his instructions. He turns to the others as the knight leaves “A joke, what is he about this morning? And a hunting trip? It will be good to get out and about, but I get the feeling that is not going to turn out to be what it sounds to be. But appearing hung over and sleeping it off is not a stretch for me at this point.” he grumbles and holds his head in his hands.
Famh has the good grace to blush at Sir Almeric 's 'full mission debrief' of the previous evening, though the effect is somewhat spoiled by the mischievous wink she bestows upon Cainneach under cover of turning her head to muffle a pretended sneeze. She does appear grateful to have something that does not require such vigorous expenditures of energy to occupy her attention, and turns to Tana and Fergus with interest as the Capellar leaves. "A hunting expedition?! And Sir Almeric doesna ken yet what the prey is, but he will soon? How strange!" She thinks a moment. "'Strange' does seem like its becoming our speciality, though. Did our knight give any hint how we ought to be clad and equipped when we appear in the courtyard? Ought we leave things like my spear or Ori 's club behind in the arming chest, for an instance?"
===EDIT===
"As to the rumours, though, all I can think of is what I remembered last night: that 'corbie's Thulish for a raven and that the raven is The Morrigu's symbol, the Old Thulish war goddess.
Famh Thrawn Fiadhaich - 'half elven' sorcerer (wild magic) 2, Sleeping Gods - A Dragon Warriors campaign in the Lands of Legend
Quspira Inirali - tiefling cleric (Life domain) 4, Painted's "He'll be the father of my child"
---RETIRED HEROES' REST HOME---
Sae Ivui Nailo - wood elf rogue (inquisitive) 5 , Sea of Death: Captain Hailstorm's Lost Treasure
Ryshraxea "Shra" Naranthi - tabaxi artificer 1, Nyx's Tomb of Annihilation - Group 1
" Madness......aye...but mostly gold and silversmiths for they use rare metals......and gold-smithing can mean quicksilver...and that'll eat your mind quick as you like. Lead too....and tin....and others...but bear in mind there are other smiths who say that's a lot of rubbish and they've never had an issue."
" For us its usually in the dust....forge-dust can do a number on the body over time....pain in your gut that never quite leaves, itches in your extremities....trouble with catching your breath..."
He stared at her a long while.
" But your speaking more of the spirit than the flesh i feel. If'n yer feeling a bout of anvil-cursing coming on then best be about it sharpish and get past it.......but if yer feeling something in yer blood. thats another thing entirely."
" Take a spell from the bellows, give yerself a week free o' the fire and see how you feel. Morag whispered there might be those that can keep ye occupied for a spell."
Tana sighed and handed her ream of parchments across to Fergus before excusing herself and heading downstairs tutting.
Fergus settled himself, " Right.....well....I guess we'll go over things and compare what you have."
" Sir Moluag of Argyll - seems solid, if not jovial. Some skill in warfare but more in management. Unmarried, but there is talk of a common-born prospect back home in Argyll."
" Sir Mary of Dunnfirm- a skilled warrior she has led a number of defences of the Dukes cattle against spring raids by Highland Clans. Very private, there seems to be some current disagreement between her and Lady Margie....though what it is exactly none of the servants seem to know."
" Lord Michael has been out of sorts for quite some time, he has taken to visiting a number of boarding houses....it seems for drinking and gambling with various sailors."
" Couldn't get anything on the Duchess.....everyones very tight-lipped. "
" Lady Ailsa.......fairly sure Sir Almeric knows more than most."
" Lady Florie....very reserved, plays her cards close to her chest....seems to actually run most of the day to day business of the Keep through the various department heads....word is she had considered holy vows at one point. Suffice to say if the three daughters aren't on board little aid will flow no matter Duke Carnasses deal with Baron Aldred."
" Duke Carnasse........bit of a wild one in his youth. Has been run through more than once and is still going strong, was strongly aggrieved when his wife died and has never come fully back from it....seems to have affection for his wife and children but a little distant with most..."
" The Constables, Stewards and Masters of the Keep all seem very loyal to Duke Carnasse personally and skilled at their professions."
" Negotiations seem to be going well between Duke and Baron. None of us are due to be arrested and all in all its shaping up to be a fine day."
" There is a parcel more of things regarding Beltayne itself but I feel that can wait for Sir Almeric."
" Everyone good, or have anything to add?"
"The only instructions were to ' look your best and most readied......I would suggest that means a more martial attire and accountremont than last night and a step up from our normal travelling attire."
" Ah! That one I believe I have a possibility for........corbies...Ravens.......Ravens are the Clan Emblem of the Harbingers I have learned.......I believe Cainneach may know more of them, though what I've learned makes them more of a force in Western Lands such as Ereworn, Glissom and North-Western Ellesland........though with long reach....as the crow flies."
Almeric makes his way to Aldred's chambers, in his dress down attire. Greeting the Baron cheerfully, he will escort his lord to the hall for breakfast.
"Morning lord! I trust you slept well. I shall be leaving on my 'hunting trip' as soon as I know the quarry. Fergus and Tana will remain with you, one close by while the other guards the box." By which, Almeric is referring to the weapons chest containing the cursed gold, of course. "Both are excellent at discovering important details, as well as keeping you safe. Before I leave, I have set a simple jest to draw out any... detractors we may have. Not all our observers may be are admirers, sadly, so I shall continue to keep everyone on their toes."
Escorting the Baron into the hall, Almeric changed his stance with a wink to Aldred into a sullen gait and shuffles towards any hot food and drink available. Bowing to any members of the family present, he sits very quietly while he eats and drinks. PERFORMANCE = 10.
OOC = Almeric's instruction to Ori regarding attire was 'full armour and weapons'.
Famh's hand flies to her mouth and she lowers her voice. "Sir Almeric is warning the Duke?", she whispers; it is not entirely a question. In her wanderings through the broken places of the world, she has picked up far too many scraps of rumour about the Harbingers for her comfort (History roll in log: nat 20!). She'd not heard before that they took the Morrigu's bird for their clan emblem, but it doesn't surprise her in the slightest. If her Cainneach had had the misfortune of having any reason to know more than she'd pieced together of that dark clan of assassins, she is sure it's the LAST thing he wants to be reminded of. She'd even heard enough to know they were a large part of the reason there was no king in Erewhon. The traditional means of succession in that land of madness and evil is to hire them to kill the previous king; and the duke who holds the custom-hallowed 'king's seat' of Erewhon in this present day is too canny a man to put his life at risk by claiming the throne.
In fact, so completely does her mind recoil from Fergus's revelation that for the moment she fails to associate it with the "hunting trip" Sir Almeric just mentioned. She begins by wondering aloud to the retinue in general the following: "What sort of hunt would leave the knight charged with undertaking it completely unaware of the nature of his quarry, and yet able to discover it within five minutes of informing his retinue of the hunt itself?" As she speculates about this, increasingly long periods of time pass before her imagination and the less pleasant side of this expedition back out into the rough begins to dawn on her. She plays it for comic effect (and perhaps, half instinctively, to try and ease the tension), immediately assuming a most woebegone cast of countenance and wailing out, "Oh no!!! I've just thought ... this means we won't be able to use the baths every night!" Her chin sets in mock stubbornness. "Well, we just can't go then, that's all. The Duke provides those heavenly baths as a good work of charity and a voluntary benificence to all comers to his halls. And I for one am not going to deprive him of the treasures in heaven AND Hy Breasail that he is amassing for himself by this work of generosity."
"In fact, I think I'll start bathing two and three times a day! ... ... ... And its not only the limitless hot water ... I'm sure Beltayn must be founded upon a hot spring. There's even a sort of a steam bath, where you can cast water on heated stones and make it as cozy as you like! ... If you can imagine . . . " Her voice drifts away Into a dreamy murmur, in which she forgets that all her listeners have at least seen the baths she's referring to and do not need to imagine anything. * (Even though some may have heroically chosen to take a canine-administered shower bath instead as part of their preparations for the previous evening's festivities ;-)
In Famh's birthplace, Brymstone, the families wth Mercanian or mixed Mercanian - Madhir blood are mostly confined to the upper classes, and rarely found in the outlying steadings such as Famh's. Somewhere deep inside she had been almost as relieved to find she wouldn't have to play the lady with Vardi as the Lyftenwoman had been to find Famh if anything a little TOO frank in her nature. But before coming here she (Famh) also knew nothing of the Mercanian sauna the smith might be more familiar with; and given her history of wandering cold damp moors she can perhaps be forgiven for taking this as her new standard for the joys of paradise. And even if she had been more familiar with the concept she would never wound Duke Carnasse by supposing he hadn't taken pains to build the most comfortable as well as the most luxurious example of its type. She may well even imagine the Duke being rewarded in the hereafter by the chance to enjoy his own baths as much as he pleases without the trouble of maintaining them.
(Or the expense. She sighs and allows her dream of limitless baths to mature into the more realistic one of an occasional pleasure whenever the retinue has the fortune to be entertained by quality folks who have a reason to be nice to them. Looking about at her motley comrades, and herself among the motliest, she has to admit further that that's only going to happen when they chance across a nobleman as common-sensed, or as tolerant, as Duke Carnasse, Baron Aldred or Sir Almeric. And that Sir Valor looked a decent chap too, what little she saw of him at Igham. Almeric's cousin, was it? His real cousin, that is ... some of these Albish lairds seemd to sprout cousins wherever you scratched 'em, same as Sir Mary and Sir Moluag sprouted fart ...
... um, yes. ... ... ... Best not to press that particular comparison too ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...
... It's so STRANGE Sir Almeric shouldn't know what sort of prey we're hunting !!! ...)
=========[
---EDIT--- By the time Sir Almeric's signal comes, Famh has equipped herself with her idea of full dress uniform for non-ceremonial occasions, leaving her fancy new earasaid packed away but wrapping the new outer plaid around herself like a surcoat to hide the patches and stains of her old one. As requested, she carries her staff-spear as if it were a ceremonial polar she was charged with. All other gear is stowed neatly in her new leathern backpack or her pouches to be carried or left behind according to the instructions Fergus might relay from their commander.
Famh Thrawn Fiadhaich - 'half elven' sorcerer (wild magic) 2, Sleeping Gods - A Dragon Warriors campaign in the Lands of Legend
Quspira Inirali - tiefling cleric (Life domain) 4, Painted's "He'll be the father of my child"
---RETIRED HEROES' REST HOME---
Sae Ivui Nailo - wood elf rogue (inquisitive) 5 , Sea of Death: Captain Hailstorm's Lost Treasure
Ryshraxea "Shra" Naranthi - tabaxi artificer 1, Nyx's Tomb of Annihilation - Group 1
"Bahh, I'm gonna sit here at ease but ready to smash anything that dares bug us. Besides last night showed a different side of most of us so we got some reputations to correct. Almeric says prank, I say correct first impressions. Well of me at least. You know those bakers didn't even give me a hard time this morning despite special last moment request, they treated it like they had to do it, because I said it. Horrible this is.
As far as the hunt goes, could be anything, a pest, a beast, some long lost cart. We'll know soon enough, till then it's play relax." Ori leans on the wall, big club acrossed the top of his shoulders, a hand either end holding it in place. It helps show off the arms while playing coy with the great weapon.
He moves over to Tana, "So, Lady Ailsa, what do we know about her? You know, incase Almeric forgets to share that bit?"
Cainneach took note of all of the information relayed through Tana and Fergus to the rest of the party. The information about Lord Michael was interesting ... Although Cainneach doesn't know much about gambling or sailor culture, he at least recognizes that being in debt to someone is generally undesireable, and the son of a Duke potentially being in debt to rowdy sailors could bring a great deal of trouble indeed. Cainneach would mention this to Almeric for follow-up when circumstances allowed it. The Capellar had spent a great deal of time speaking with the shiftless noble and seemed to have made a good impression. Perhaps some strongly worded advice could stave off any further descent into disrepute.
The mention of Clan Harbinger, however, drained the colour from Cainneach's face. He hadn't heard of or given any thought to that abominable group for several years and considered that quite a privilege. His first year of wandering westward into Ereworn would have ended in death if he had stumbled into one of their small settlements or been discovered by any of their roving crews. One close call with what might have been the slightest possibility of a Harbinger camp had driven Cainneach to head south into Albion. Cainneach knew that they were very real, but growing up where he had, these villains were veritable bogeyman, and threats of the wrath of Clan Harbinger were used by parents to threaten unruly children into compliance or by the older kids to terrify their younger kin for twisted sport. He wouldn't have expected them to show up so far east, and in one of the great strongholds of Thuland, but if they were here, no one was truly safe.
With this thought in mind, he looked carefully at Famh while she went on and on about baths, wondering how much she knew of Clan Harbinger and how he might keep her safe if they were attacked. What an odd fixation. Of course, a hot bath was nice, but these artificial things paled in comparison to the joy of a natural hot spring nestled amongst the mountains. Had she ever been in one of those? Maybe he would take her one day ... Cainneach remained thoughtfully silent and drew out his new armour and donned it, along with his usual weapons, arranging them as neatly as possible for presentation to the Duke. At least his travelling clothes had been laundered and he looked quite presentable, perhaps even professional, or at least on the cusp of being so.
Ori had the right approach, of course. That was why he was now their sergeant. No sense in getting worked up or indulging in anxious fantasies regarding their quarry. They'd know soon enough and they would be ready. Unless it was Clan Harbinger, and then they were f*%ked ...
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