Arnalia
Member
(Start of the rp, any quick OOC note must be written like here or in spoiler. Longer conversation will be in DM. Unless an OOC thread is demanded)
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Fantasy (Closed) Old Mage. New Mage. Problems
- Thread starter Arnalia
- Start date
Ulyee
New Member
"In sufferable. Insufferable!"
Crackling of branches and fleeing of small creatures followed the echoing words throughout its run. The words colliding off of every tree this distant forest, far from the capital. To the whining author, Alder of Wynn, that distance meant nothing but distain and a lack of all things good. Two sets of horse hooves stamped down over slick muddy ground, winding through the forest on a small, barely trodden path. No cobblestone roads, no bountiful feasts, just mud, rain and backwards peasants. Though supposedly, reputable people lived here. The king had said it himself, yet he had a hard time believing it. A mud path leading to some mage? Of any repute? He had known the older witches to be a tiring, loathsome bunch. But it only had just dawned on him how truly stuck in the past they must be. To choose mud and tree over brick and motor. His mind clouded with thoughts of old hags ushering him inside a leaning stick hut, and rattled in his saddle.
Stood proud, if not wilting a bit from the misty rain, he road on, his hand on a small marble sized crystal ball on a necklace that draped down past his chest. He wore a flowing robe, fit for an ancient priest, with segments along its sides and two white tassels that ran from his shoulders to his waist. It would be sacrilegious in distant lands, especially given instead of religious symbols on the collar and tassels, instead were house sigils. But the new age brought with it such views on the old. The ensemble was matched with a thin, 'padre priest' hat, with a short circular brim and bulb-like tapper. All colored in baby blue, with hints of stark white hidden throughout every bit of it. Jewels ran down like buttons along the front, while others adorned his cuffs, even yet more made bracelets and earrings. He even wore a fake priest's prayer book along his belt, completing the sacrilege as it was instead a book filled with mythical legends from differing royal houses. All an effort to impose the living will on the godly and traditional.
The entire outfit was made, fitted, and intended to offend. As was just apart of the ridiculous fashion crazes in the capital. it was Just the sort of rebuke he liked to make, intended against any traditionalist he might yet see. But, placed in a ball within the royal court, this outfit would simply be one of many crazed designs. Though he knew just its effects on those outside it as well.
The 'jeweled priest' turned suddenly to the slightly older advisor, barking out a demand, "And when are we expected to arrive? A month?"
The advisor, Natasha, who had been with him near all his life exclaimed, "Calm, friend Alder. If we are to trust the map and words of the locals, we will be upon the dwelling in merely a moment and a day." Dawning a playful smile as she would scan the surrounding forests, much to the hushed annoyance of her apparent keeper.
The pair continued on as the rain mist turned to droplets, and then to a light poor. The two each dawned additional cloaks to fend off the water and the cold it brought. Alder's patience and confidence slowed along with the sun's retreat and the rain's advance. He had a love for rain, but not this creeping, calming sort. Certainly not among such dense woods and far flung places. He'd rather be any other place. While the knight along side him was as unbothered as her jokes.
She herself being a knight, working for his family at large. Clad in half iron and half leather, with a simple, practical cloak over it all. Along with a few anti magic runes to aid defend against the unseen. She was there to offer a 'helping hand' but in truth, she was sent by the head of Alder's family, his great aunt. Her task simply to ensure he was acting to their whim- namely that he would behave. And to serve as arbiter for the first leg of their journey. Nothing was to go wrong, so sayith the great aunt.
This was his first true 'royal' position, as the last few years where spent tinkering with focuses and studying theoretical mage craft. But now his acumen thrust him from the social and scientific, to the noble and honorific. And he had taken poorly to it. He was notoriously opinionated and loud mouthed, which was a riot in a ball, but a nightmare in a court. He had already sparked a few rivalries with a few other notables. And yet, he had just as many fond supports in the royal court. And the king's family seemed to enjoy him enough to appoint him to this would be task. Thus the pressure mounted. Not for the sake of him, but his family. If their name was said by the king's lips enough? The would be no end to the wealth they could acrew. A fig for him and his wishes, he was going to do as he was told.
And the task at hand? He had little knowledge of it. He knew he was to make contact with the witch in these festering hills, and then report to a Baron 'Chaffin the second of Lorell'. And that the note he carried for the witch would give some further detail. He had found, through spies and socialites, that it was to do with some far flung town, and a rumor of dangerous focus makers there in. But that was it. Often, between ball and social gathering, he had longed for these sorts of quiet, closely held secrets and stories. But he had never seen himself as one to carry out, or star in such a thing. But he had little say in the matter. Certainly if he had a word at all about this quest, it would be to take out such a dead weight as an old style mage.
To Alder, it was nothing other than a smack in the face for him to play errandboy to a crone of another era. To think he would ever bend to the whim of a traditional mage. Nevermind the fact that it was simply practical sense, as the mage's hamlet lay between the kingdom and the barony they were meant to travel to. Never-the-less he was furious, and his outfit and dispositioned all but screamed it.
But as they rounded a bend, and made for the clearing that held the woman in question, he adorned a charmer's smile, and simply road confidently forward. He would however ensure his entrance was known.
As he made for the clearing, he held his small focus with a gentle touch, brought it to his lips, and whispered out a handful of commands, a sign even his horse understood well. The beast stopped in its tracks, and readied for the flurry of wind that would over take them, having felt it enough times to know. All at once a rush of flames erupted from behind the animal, and like a wave it washed over the pair. Seemingly engulfing the entire frame of man and horse, its light sticking in the ground behind them where the beast's hoof prints lay. It then slammed into the ground infront of them with a start, turning the droplets of water there around into a light mist, as it slowly spread over the ground into a little platform. The new mage jumped from his horse, as the platform blasted the dirt around it into a form of glass. It then snuffed itself out, just in time for the man to stomp forward, breaking the glass in two loud, demanding booms.
An overproduced mess of an entrance, and that was casual to him and the others where he had preformed it before. It was then that a servant would announce his name, his reasons for coming upon the land, and no doubt a laundry list of achievements.
But instead the knight Natasha simply stated allowed in a monotone voice, "Sir Alder of Wynn, to see the witch of these lands, at the king's call."
Crackling of branches and fleeing of small creatures followed the echoing words throughout its run. The words colliding off of every tree this distant forest, far from the capital. To the whining author, Alder of Wynn, that distance meant nothing but distain and a lack of all things good. Two sets of horse hooves stamped down over slick muddy ground, winding through the forest on a small, barely trodden path. No cobblestone roads, no bountiful feasts, just mud, rain and backwards peasants. Though supposedly, reputable people lived here. The king had said it himself, yet he had a hard time believing it. A mud path leading to some mage? Of any repute? He had known the older witches to be a tiring, loathsome bunch. But it only had just dawned on him how truly stuck in the past they must be. To choose mud and tree over brick and motor. His mind clouded with thoughts of old hags ushering him inside a leaning stick hut, and rattled in his saddle.
Stood proud, if not wilting a bit from the misty rain, he road on, his hand on a small marble sized crystal ball on a necklace that draped down past his chest. He wore a flowing robe, fit for an ancient priest, with segments along its sides and two white tassels that ran from his shoulders to his waist. It would be sacrilegious in distant lands, especially given instead of religious symbols on the collar and tassels, instead were house sigils. But the new age brought with it such views on the old. The ensemble was matched with a thin, 'padre priest' hat, with a short circular brim and bulb-like tapper. All colored in baby blue, with hints of stark white hidden throughout every bit of it. Jewels ran down like buttons along the front, while others adorned his cuffs, even yet more made bracelets and earrings. He even wore a fake priest's prayer book along his belt, completing the sacrilege as it was instead a book filled with mythical legends from differing royal houses. All an effort to impose the living will on the godly and traditional.
The entire outfit was made, fitted, and intended to offend. As was just apart of the ridiculous fashion crazes in the capital. it was Just the sort of rebuke he liked to make, intended against any traditionalist he might yet see. But, placed in a ball within the royal court, this outfit would simply be one of many crazed designs. Though he knew just its effects on those outside it as well.
The 'jeweled priest' turned suddenly to the slightly older advisor, barking out a demand, "And when are we expected to arrive? A month?"
The advisor, Natasha, who had been with him near all his life exclaimed, "Calm, friend Alder. If we are to trust the map and words of the locals, we will be upon the dwelling in merely a moment and a day." Dawning a playful smile as she would scan the surrounding forests, much to the hushed annoyance of her apparent keeper.
The pair continued on as the rain mist turned to droplets, and then to a light poor. The two each dawned additional cloaks to fend off the water and the cold it brought. Alder's patience and confidence slowed along with the sun's retreat and the rain's advance. He had a love for rain, but not this creeping, calming sort. Certainly not among such dense woods and far flung places. He'd rather be any other place. While the knight along side him was as unbothered as her jokes.
She herself being a knight, working for his family at large. Clad in half iron and half leather, with a simple, practical cloak over it all. Along with a few anti magic runes to aid defend against the unseen. She was there to offer a 'helping hand' but in truth, she was sent by the head of Alder's family, his great aunt. Her task simply to ensure he was acting to their whim- namely that he would behave. And to serve as arbiter for the first leg of their journey. Nothing was to go wrong, so sayith the great aunt.
This was his first true 'royal' position, as the last few years where spent tinkering with focuses and studying theoretical mage craft. But now his acumen thrust him from the social and scientific, to the noble and honorific. And he had taken poorly to it. He was notoriously opinionated and loud mouthed, which was a riot in a ball, but a nightmare in a court. He had already sparked a few rivalries with a few other notables. And yet, he had just as many fond supports in the royal court. And the king's family seemed to enjoy him enough to appoint him to this would be task. Thus the pressure mounted. Not for the sake of him, but his family. If their name was said by the king's lips enough? The would be no end to the wealth they could acrew. A fig for him and his wishes, he was going to do as he was told.
And the task at hand? He had little knowledge of it. He knew he was to make contact with the witch in these festering hills, and then report to a Baron 'Chaffin the second of Lorell'. And that the note he carried for the witch would give some further detail. He had found, through spies and socialites, that it was to do with some far flung town, and a rumor of dangerous focus makers there in. But that was it. Often, between ball and social gathering, he had longed for these sorts of quiet, closely held secrets and stories. But he had never seen himself as one to carry out, or star in such a thing. But he had little say in the matter. Certainly if he had a word at all about this quest, it would be to take out such a dead weight as an old style mage.
To Alder, it was nothing other than a smack in the face for him to play errandboy to a crone of another era. To think he would ever bend to the whim of a traditional mage. Nevermind the fact that it was simply practical sense, as the mage's hamlet lay between the kingdom and the barony they were meant to travel to. Never-the-less he was furious, and his outfit and dispositioned all but screamed it.
But as they rounded a bend, and made for the clearing that held the woman in question, he adorned a charmer's smile, and simply road confidently forward. He would however ensure his entrance was known.
As he made for the clearing, he held his small focus with a gentle touch, brought it to his lips, and whispered out a handful of commands, a sign even his horse understood well. The beast stopped in its tracks, and readied for the flurry of wind that would over take them, having felt it enough times to know. All at once a rush of flames erupted from behind the animal, and like a wave it washed over the pair. Seemingly engulfing the entire frame of man and horse, its light sticking in the ground behind them where the beast's hoof prints lay. It then slammed into the ground infront of them with a start, turning the droplets of water there around into a light mist, as it slowly spread over the ground into a little platform. The new mage jumped from his horse, as the platform blasted the dirt around it into a form of glass. It then snuffed itself out, just in time for the man to stomp forward, breaking the glass in two loud, demanding booms.
An overproduced mess of an entrance, and that was casual to him and the others where he had preformed it before. It was then that a servant would announce his name, his reasons for coming upon the land, and no doubt a laundry list of achievements.
But instead the knight Natasha simply stated allowed in a monotone voice, "Sir Alder of Wynn, to see the witch of these lands, at the king's call."
Arnalia
Member
The Knight announcement was met with silence. One minute, two minute, three minute, ten minutes passed. Still no one.
Creak ! Out of nowhere a sort of large cat flap was made visible as it opened up. Calling it a rectangular hole would have been more appropriate, at the base of the door it was far larger then one a cat would need. Two figure, one bigger, and another on top of it, appeared out of the flap. A wolf holding a small bird perch in it mouth and a raven with a parchment in it beak. The strange duo strutted calmly toward Alder and his friend.
As the wolf planted the perch on the ground and sat beside, a sort of silver vines appeared and curbed around it. The water like vines stretched out the length of the perch until it reached the two visitors chest. The raven then flew to Natasha and opened it beak, expecting her to catch the parchment, before flying back and settling on the perch. It ruffled it's feathers and cleared it's throat before announcing in a surprisingly low and clear voice. "The Great Magi Nyla Mathilde Terre D'Oleiandre Argentei is deeply saddened to announce that in light of the offense made to her, she will be reporting this incident to her Gens and follow the appropriate protocol for such matters. As such your request is denied and you are kindly asked to depart from this clearing !"
As soon as the raven finished, the silver like vines grew like a large wave and before they could do anything the waves took the two travelers and their horses in it hold like a giant hand holding mere toys. It ran through the forest with inhuman speed, far from the witch hut, before stopping at a small clearing. Then it lay down the horses and Natasha gently while almost throwing Alder down. As it made to return, it stopped and looked back as if unsure if the two would survive a night in the wood, if it was human it would look very skeptical. The silver vines amassed some wood, put in together in the center, and looked at Alder while it threw a tiny magic spark to light it before disappearing for good. The insult to his skill very clear.
Onyx, annoyed, half croaked, the comb in it beak blocking the sound, as Nyla moved her head again. Her long black hair shining in the low light as her fingers tapped against the wood of her vanity. Her expression pensive.
"Sorry." She let out a sigh, clearly still exasperated. "I'm just- How could the King think sending this arnaki was a good idea ?" The raven made an approving croak as it focused on it work.
"What do you think Blanche ?" Nyla silver eyes glanced at her feet. The wolf tilted her head before letting out an unsure growl. "What do you mean this sounded important ? Did you see how this arnaki was dressed and that infuriating fake smile of his ! I'm sure it's just another courtier sent to invite me to one of those ball." She frowned. "I thought that retiring in the wood made it clear that I wasn't interested in the court politics or little games." The wolf shook it head and scratched the old carpet, still unsure. "Oh, don't worry so Blanche ! If it's important then surely they wouldn't have sent someone like him. No ?" She petted the wolf head as Onyx put away her comb and went on to prepare her clothes for tomorrow.
Nyla hut was much larger than it first appeared. Being big enough to fit a family of five but still a hut by magi standard. She did need place for her cauldron and pantry after all. Save for that, it was rather modest. The wall left unadorned except for talimans or trinkets hanged here and there. The most prominent one being the little stars on the ceilling, made of silver, gold, bronze and all kind of less precious metals. Each one grouped together like constellations, the one of the lion devouring the moon, shining particularly bright tonight.
The witch walked to her living room, a smell of lavender permeating the air. She put some logs and sparked the fire, the nigh getting colder. Taking a small flame, Nyla went through every part of her hut to light the candles. Taking care to only light the one that where silver this time, as she would be contacting her Gens tomorrow. It was awkward to only lit up so few while her hut was almost littered with them. She felt a touch of regret at not being able to lit the lilies, primrose or lotus shaped one, her favorites.
Checking that the pantry was well closed
– with Blanche sometimes being unruly– that her cauldron and the concoctions she finished working on were scelled properly, Nyla made her way to her bedroom. By far the tiniest chamber in the cozy hut. She sat down on the soft bed. "Onyx ?" She whispered, not wanting to disturb the already asleep wolf. The raven opened it eyes and looked at her questioningly. "Watch." She muttered and lay down to sleep. The raven nodded, knowing what it had to do.
Creak ! Out of nowhere a sort of large cat flap was made visible as it opened up. Calling it a rectangular hole would have been more appropriate, at the base of the door it was far larger then one a cat would need. Two figure, one bigger, and another on top of it, appeared out of the flap. A wolf holding a small bird perch in it mouth and a raven with a parchment in it beak. The strange duo strutted calmly toward Alder and his friend.
As the wolf planted the perch on the ground and sat beside, a sort of silver vines appeared and curbed around it. The water like vines stretched out the length of the perch until it reached the two visitors chest. The raven then flew to Natasha and opened it beak, expecting her to catch the parchment, before flying back and settling on the perch. It ruffled it's feathers and cleared it's throat before announcing in a surprisingly low and clear voice. "The Great Magi Nyla Mathilde Terre D'Oleiandre Argentei is deeply saddened to announce that in light of the offense made to her, she will be reporting this incident to her Gens and follow the appropriate protocol for such matters. As such your request is denied and you are kindly asked to depart from this clearing !"
As soon as the raven finished, the silver like vines grew like a large wave and before they could do anything the waves took the two travelers and their horses in it hold like a giant hand holding mere toys. It ran through the forest with inhuman speed, far from the witch hut, before stopping at a small clearing. Then it lay down the horses and Natasha gently while almost throwing Alder down. As it made to return, it stopped and looked back as if unsure if the two would survive a night in the wood, if it was human it would look very skeptical. The silver vines amassed some wood, put in together in the center, and looked at Alder while it threw a tiny magic spark to light it before disappearing for good. The insult to his skill very clear.
Bonjei, esteemed Dame and chaperone of the young conji Alder of Wynn,
I do not doubt of your valor and achievements. But the outrageous conduct of your charge left me no chose but to take drastic measures to preserve the honour of the Argentei.
We, of the Circle of Silver, who have faithfully served the crown for centuries, helped made the royal sword Jour de Lunei, brought fame and glory to our motherland and kept the art of silver markings alive to this day. Is this all the respect we are due ? Is this how our King, blessed be his name, treat me, the future heir of the Argentei ? Does time fly so quickly that the accomplishments of the divinei Marie Erin Saline Fortune Argentei, blessed be her name, have all been forgotten ?
I hope not. Or what a sad age we have entered indeed !
For our wise King to sent such a crude upstart. And young on top of that ! Is it not common knowledge among conji that you must sent someone older or the same age ? Not use magic near another territory ? Knock at the door first before speaking ? Personally present yourself and your circle without help ? And most of all, not show such blatant disrespect for traditions by donning this unholy farce of an accoutrement ?
I am rightfully displeased and saddened and as per protocol this incident will be reported to Gens Astra tomorrow at dusk and the King notified. As a show of hospitality and willingness to not sour the sacred relationship, we Argentei, hold with this kingdom. I will be leaving you two days to leave.
Que là Lunei soei ave vos,
Magi Nyla Mathilde Terre D'Oleiandre Argentei blessed by the divinei Marie Erin Saline Fortune Argentei from the Circle of Silver of the Gens Astra
I do not doubt of your valor and achievements. But the outrageous conduct of your charge left me no chose but to take drastic measures to preserve the honour of the Argentei.
We, of the Circle of Silver, who have faithfully served the crown for centuries, helped made the royal sword Jour de Lunei, brought fame and glory to our motherland and kept the art of silver markings alive to this day. Is this all the respect we are due ? Is this how our King, blessed be his name, treat me, the future heir of the Argentei ? Does time fly so quickly that the accomplishments of the divinei Marie Erin Saline Fortune Argentei, blessed be her name, have all been forgotten ?
I hope not. Or what a sad age we have entered indeed !
For our wise King to sent such a crude upstart. And young on top of that ! Is it not common knowledge among conji that you must sent someone older or the same age ? Not use magic near another territory ? Knock at the door first before speaking ? Personally present yourself and your circle without help ? And most of all, not show such blatant disrespect for traditions by donning this unholy farce of an accoutrement ?
I am rightfully displeased and saddened and as per protocol this incident will be reported to Gens Astra tomorrow at dusk and the King notified. As a show of hospitality and willingness to not sour the sacred relationship, we Argentei, hold with this kingdom. I will be leaving you two days to leave.
Que là Lunei soei ave vos,
Magi Nyla Mathilde Terre D'Oleiandre Argentei blessed by the divinei Marie Erin Saline Fortune Argentei from the Circle of Silver of the Gens Astra
At Nyla hut
Later that night.....
Onyx, annoyed, half croaked, the comb in it beak blocking the sound, as Nyla moved her head again. Her long black hair shining in the low light as her fingers tapped against the wood of her vanity. Her expression pensive.
"Sorry." She let out a sigh, clearly still exasperated. "I'm just- How could the King think sending this arnaki was a good idea ?" The raven made an approving croak as it focused on it work.
"What do you think Blanche ?" Nyla silver eyes glanced at her feet. The wolf tilted her head before letting out an unsure growl. "What do you mean this sounded important ? Did you see how this arnaki was dressed and that infuriating fake smile of his ! I'm sure it's just another courtier sent to invite me to one of those ball." She frowned. "I thought that retiring in the wood made it clear that I wasn't interested in the court politics or little games." The wolf shook it head and scratched the old carpet, still unsure. "Oh, don't worry so Blanche ! If it's important then surely they wouldn't have sent someone like him. No ?" She petted the wolf head as Onyx put away her comb and went on to prepare her clothes for tomorrow.
Nyla hut was much larger than it first appeared. Being big enough to fit a family of five but still a hut by magi standard. She did need place for her cauldron and pantry after all. Save for that, it was rather modest. The wall left unadorned except for talimans or trinkets hanged here and there. The most prominent one being the little stars on the ceilling, made of silver, gold, bronze and all kind of less precious metals. Each one grouped together like constellations, the one of the lion devouring the moon, shining particularly bright tonight.
The witch walked to her living room, a smell of lavender permeating the air. She put some logs and sparked the fire, the nigh getting colder. Taking a small flame, Nyla went through every part of her hut to light the candles. Taking care to only light the one that where silver this time, as she would be contacting her Gens tomorrow. It was awkward to only lit up so few while her hut was almost littered with them. She felt a touch of regret at not being able to lit the lilies, primrose or lotus shaped one, her favorites.
Checking that the pantry was well closed
– with Blanche sometimes being unruly– that her cauldron and the concoctions she finished working on were scelled properly, Nyla made her way to her bedroom. By far the tiniest chamber in the cozy hut. She sat down on the soft bed. "Onyx ?" She whispered, not wanting to disturb the already asleep wolf. The raven opened it eyes and looked at her questioningly. "Watch." She muttered and lay down to sleep. The raven nodded, knowing what it had to do.
Last edited:
Ulyee
New Member
As the display of the two animals graced the pair, Alder was prepared to see it was the witch herself. Preparing a list of litanies for the raven or wolf, whichever turned out to be the hermit. But instead, the bird's rebuke and refusal hit his ears harsher than one might take it. To not even address him? To send a sprite or trained beast? Fury began to build in him, despite the same wolfish smile. He went to speak on it- to chant some phrase or spark an argument with the witch who undoubtedly lay within ear shot- when he was taken, by force away from the whole of the hut.
When the pair were finally set back to the ground, the knight found her footing while Alder found the dirt. The knight held the hilt of her sword, waiting for the thing to engage further, while Alder fumed. He snatched his necklace as the thing disappeared, surging forward by a gust of fire, and rebuking to the trees if nothing else. "PETULANT- beastly bastard'ous woman! I should-" He sent a harsh bolt of lightning from the small focus into the tree ahead of him, toppling it against another, "I WILL duel her, I'll satisfy her sullied honor with a fitting death! What right- what. RIGHT?!" he shifted from lightning to fire once more, spraying a smattering of bushes aside him with it, "Would such a vile, old dog have to TOUCH me? To toss me like a vagabond?! I'll have her head- I May be in my right to-" He turned, hurling a bolder of fire just aside the knight, who didn't even respond with a flinch at his tantrums, slamming into another bush of berries. The small things popped and sizzled as he fumed, "MY RIGHT TO FRY HER!" All pretense of righteousness or noble behavior fled him. Even the posh accent dipped low into the rash angry pit that overtook the rest of him. In short, while still a tantrum one might see in the back halls of some royal keep, his behavior and anger screamed that of a focus shaper who had just failed in an attempt at building another magical box.
The knight herself, angry all on her own but resolute enough in her task, read the given note. She understood that legally the witch and now Alder both had their claims to this outrage our that. But by either her birth as a commoner, or by decree from her patron, she couldn't care less. Natasha frankly couldn't care for the plight of any involved, instead she was set to her task. And had been empowered, above him, from the leader of the royal house she served.
With all the subtly of an ox, she approached the screaming mage, snatched his attention with a harsh stomp of a boot and barked her brutish speech with a raised, angry tone, "Now see what your antics have wrought- Damn the mage that conducts himself like a noble." She snatched his focus from him, and set her free hand atop her hilt to dissuade any attempts to stop her, "You would rather step on your own name than to cooperated with another soul." She held the focus infront of her, explaining, "A fig for your magic, her's or yours. Your great aunt could give a bushel of figs for either of you. And very well might place one atop your grave should you fail her now." There was no pomp in her voice either, nor hyperbolae.
It was that, the threat, that not only was gravely offensive and illegal to say unto a noble, but also showed just who employed her. Such a woman, the leader of house Wynn, was known for such things. Rumors had always flown around her, ever since her husband died so strangely, and still to this day persist. Such threats were known to Alder, his father often talked of them, receiving them from her when he first became a man, or during events of import or what not. But he was entirely unaccustomed to receiving them. He had always escaped his family's notice, initially being forgotten as his projects took him from the family's eye. They saw him first as nothing, just a waste of a son that would die in his workshop. And then, when he cracked a particular magic spell, he was known as the golden boy- the golden goose rather. And there in was given all the notoriety and respect, for just short enough to be missed. As the house took a vested interest then on in all that he did. And now? utter control over whatever they could, though he still tried to fight it.
From Alder's lips came a reduced, but still furious, remark, "And if the king cared for this task to be carried out, he would have instructed another to me. Or another unto her! To work with such muddied FILTH is beneath this house! And far beneath me!" But Natasha simply cast the focus in her hands unto the dirt and barked, "QUIET!" Earning a finite silence from Alder, while her words drew darker and colder "Your mother, nor great aunt, nor has their very crest EVER carried for magic. Much less the squabbles of the magical classes as you seem so engrossed in. Find yourself, not a mage nor a noble, but a servant to the crest you so wear." She reached forward to snatch at the mocking priestly robes that held such a crest, "And embody it. Once."
She stepped forward, intentionally over the focus and past Alder, "Conduct yourself, alone, back to the village. Your servants and a suitably soft bed await you. Gorge yourself and think on the position you have, or might not have, in that family. Think on your vast fortune and who controls the vault that holds it. If not worry for you very life. Worry for your wealth. And prepare to work with this witch, whoever she is, or whatever it should mean to you. It will be done, should I manage to salvage your blunders. And should I not?"
She began to walk from the clearing and into the forest that lead back to the hut, "Pick which fashionable outfit you should like to be buried. As I likely will be mortician as well as executioner." not waiting for his remark, or rather to ensure the conversations end, she sets out there after. The astonished noble left in her tracks simply pulls his focus from the mud, cloudy eyes and an unmoving lip sit atop his face. He heads for the village there after, as wind and rain began to threaten the horizon.
-------
Waiting on the outskirts of the town, at the very path the noble and the knight set down upon, two servants sat atop a log half asleep. One, hearing foot fall before the other, alerted them both to stand and so they did. Each outfitted in outlandish dresses, a demand by Alder no doubt, and each wearing progressively more worried faces as they noticed only one figure came down the path, not the three expected.
"You, on the right." he demanded aloud just as they came into earshot, "Go ahead of me at a run and prepare a bath at the in. Should it not be warm when I arrive in it, I'll have you sent back to the capitol." Despite the meaning in his words, his heart lay fallow. Normally so quick to demand and bark, now after receiving it, he found himself unwilling to continue such a trend. One who knew him, or at least could see past the anger in his words, might say his softer side shone. Relatively speaking of course, "You-" he remarked as he drew nearer to other servant, as the other fled admits the misting rain, "Look to the ground, you have no need to look at me."
The same sort of fury that he had known for so very long overtook today light haze of anger. He was trapped, unable to take his wealth for himself. To head any others call, let alone a crone of his own family? He felt he was still a focus maker, shackled to the military or some such entity. Uncared for, and expendable. How often he fancied the idea of turning the rumors true, of using the focus they so too for granted- the money they seized and now gorge themselves on- against them. But should his great aunt die? Her husband would take it. Should he? His daughter, then her husband, then their children. Then his mother, then her husband. And on and on. A river of blood was needed, and he hadn't the stomach to spill more than a few drops.
He thought perhaps another breakthrough might endear him to another family. He'd offer himself up for marriage to some lesser house, and they would do the scheming for him. But then he would simply be selling himself, and simply be set back where he started. Thus he gave way to melancholy and, once he came upon the rain soaked tavern, to ale and barmaid alike.
-------
Walking through now muddied, wet ground, the knight Natasha went unbothered. Her only worry was on returning that night with a resolution, she could care for her flooded boots or freezing skin. She found her way back to the hut just as darkness teased over an already cloudy sky. Rain poured through the opening in the woods where it lay, as the knight came forward into the muddy clearing. She couldn't care for the mage, or her style, or her own achievements, but she did care for her liege's house, and thus conducted herself accordingly.
She pulled her sword from its hilt, and knelt in the mud before the hut's dim view, holding the weapon in both her hands in an offering motion. It was a gesture done by knights and soldiers to their commanders and noble lieges, a compliment and self deprivation. She gave a short moment to bow, and allow the witch to notice, before exclaiming aloud, "The Lady Knight Natasha of the island of Moir, seeking word with Magi Nyla Mathilde Terre D'Oleiandre Argentei. I come, not as ward to the-" she paused, "Sometimes petulant Alder. But as herald and bringer of word from the honorable leader of house Wynn, the esteemed Lady Messalina Jovanic Wynn. It is her wish, and the command of the king, that leads me, their servant in all things, back here to your abode. I should wish to convey their words unto you, and show you the respect previously unafforded to you. I understand, through custom, this is irregular, but I alone sadly have no other recourse. And if nothing else, I should like to convey, personally to you, the deepest apologies of the young Alder's actions from his houses lady."
her speech over, she set her pristine sword down into the mud before her, and placed her hands on her own thighs, simply waiting for the response. Unbothered entirely by the mud, her groveling, or the rain. She was a humble soldier and knight, clearer than anything else.
When the pair were finally set back to the ground, the knight found her footing while Alder found the dirt. The knight held the hilt of her sword, waiting for the thing to engage further, while Alder fumed. He snatched his necklace as the thing disappeared, surging forward by a gust of fire, and rebuking to the trees if nothing else. "PETULANT- beastly bastard'ous woman! I should-" He sent a harsh bolt of lightning from the small focus into the tree ahead of him, toppling it against another, "I WILL duel her, I'll satisfy her sullied honor with a fitting death! What right- what. RIGHT?!" he shifted from lightning to fire once more, spraying a smattering of bushes aside him with it, "Would such a vile, old dog have to TOUCH me? To toss me like a vagabond?! I'll have her head- I May be in my right to-" He turned, hurling a bolder of fire just aside the knight, who didn't even respond with a flinch at his tantrums, slamming into another bush of berries. The small things popped and sizzled as he fumed, "MY RIGHT TO FRY HER!" All pretense of righteousness or noble behavior fled him. Even the posh accent dipped low into the rash angry pit that overtook the rest of him. In short, while still a tantrum one might see in the back halls of some royal keep, his behavior and anger screamed that of a focus shaper who had just failed in an attempt at building another magical box.
The knight herself, angry all on her own but resolute enough in her task, read the given note. She understood that legally the witch and now Alder both had their claims to this outrage our that. But by either her birth as a commoner, or by decree from her patron, she couldn't care less. Natasha frankly couldn't care for the plight of any involved, instead she was set to her task. And had been empowered, above him, from the leader of the royal house she served.
With all the subtly of an ox, she approached the screaming mage, snatched his attention with a harsh stomp of a boot and barked her brutish speech with a raised, angry tone, "Now see what your antics have wrought- Damn the mage that conducts himself like a noble." She snatched his focus from him, and set her free hand atop her hilt to dissuade any attempts to stop her, "You would rather step on your own name than to cooperated with another soul." She held the focus infront of her, explaining, "A fig for your magic, her's or yours. Your great aunt could give a bushel of figs for either of you. And very well might place one atop your grave should you fail her now." There was no pomp in her voice either, nor hyperbolae.
It was that, the threat, that not only was gravely offensive and illegal to say unto a noble, but also showed just who employed her. Such a woman, the leader of house Wynn, was known for such things. Rumors had always flown around her, ever since her husband died so strangely, and still to this day persist. Such threats were known to Alder, his father often talked of them, receiving them from her when he first became a man, or during events of import or what not. But he was entirely unaccustomed to receiving them. He had always escaped his family's notice, initially being forgotten as his projects took him from the family's eye. They saw him first as nothing, just a waste of a son that would die in his workshop. And then, when he cracked a particular magic spell, he was known as the golden boy- the golden goose rather. And there in was given all the notoriety and respect, for just short enough to be missed. As the house took a vested interest then on in all that he did. And now? utter control over whatever they could, though he still tried to fight it.
From Alder's lips came a reduced, but still furious, remark, "And if the king cared for this task to be carried out, he would have instructed another to me. Or another unto her! To work with such muddied FILTH is beneath this house! And far beneath me!" But Natasha simply cast the focus in her hands unto the dirt and barked, "QUIET!" Earning a finite silence from Alder, while her words drew darker and colder "Your mother, nor great aunt, nor has their very crest EVER carried for magic. Much less the squabbles of the magical classes as you seem so engrossed in. Find yourself, not a mage nor a noble, but a servant to the crest you so wear." She reached forward to snatch at the mocking priestly robes that held such a crest, "And embody it. Once."
She stepped forward, intentionally over the focus and past Alder, "Conduct yourself, alone, back to the village. Your servants and a suitably soft bed await you. Gorge yourself and think on the position you have, or might not have, in that family. Think on your vast fortune and who controls the vault that holds it. If not worry for you very life. Worry for your wealth. And prepare to work with this witch, whoever she is, or whatever it should mean to you. It will be done, should I manage to salvage your blunders. And should I not?"
She began to walk from the clearing and into the forest that lead back to the hut, "Pick which fashionable outfit you should like to be buried. As I likely will be mortician as well as executioner." not waiting for his remark, or rather to ensure the conversations end, she sets out there after. The astonished noble left in her tracks simply pulls his focus from the mud, cloudy eyes and an unmoving lip sit atop his face. He heads for the village there after, as wind and rain began to threaten the horizon.
-------
Waiting on the outskirts of the town, at the very path the noble and the knight set down upon, two servants sat atop a log half asleep. One, hearing foot fall before the other, alerted them both to stand and so they did. Each outfitted in outlandish dresses, a demand by Alder no doubt, and each wearing progressively more worried faces as they noticed only one figure came down the path, not the three expected.
"You, on the right." he demanded aloud just as they came into earshot, "Go ahead of me at a run and prepare a bath at the in. Should it not be warm when I arrive in it, I'll have you sent back to the capitol." Despite the meaning in his words, his heart lay fallow. Normally so quick to demand and bark, now after receiving it, he found himself unwilling to continue such a trend. One who knew him, or at least could see past the anger in his words, might say his softer side shone. Relatively speaking of course, "You-" he remarked as he drew nearer to other servant, as the other fled admits the misting rain, "Look to the ground, you have no need to look at me."
The same sort of fury that he had known for so very long overtook today light haze of anger. He was trapped, unable to take his wealth for himself. To head any others call, let alone a crone of his own family? He felt he was still a focus maker, shackled to the military or some such entity. Uncared for, and expendable. How often he fancied the idea of turning the rumors true, of using the focus they so too for granted- the money they seized and now gorge themselves on- against them. But should his great aunt die? Her husband would take it. Should he? His daughter, then her husband, then their children. Then his mother, then her husband. And on and on. A river of blood was needed, and he hadn't the stomach to spill more than a few drops.
He thought perhaps another breakthrough might endear him to another family. He'd offer himself up for marriage to some lesser house, and they would do the scheming for him. But then he would simply be selling himself, and simply be set back where he started. Thus he gave way to melancholy and, once he came upon the rain soaked tavern, to ale and barmaid alike.
-------
Walking through now muddied, wet ground, the knight Natasha went unbothered. Her only worry was on returning that night with a resolution, she could care for her flooded boots or freezing skin. She found her way back to the hut just as darkness teased over an already cloudy sky. Rain poured through the opening in the woods where it lay, as the knight came forward into the muddy clearing. She couldn't care for the mage, or her style, or her own achievements, but she did care for her liege's house, and thus conducted herself accordingly.
She pulled her sword from its hilt, and knelt in the mud before the hut's dim view, holding the weapon in both her hands in an offering motion. It was a gesture done by knights and soldiers to their commanders and noble lieges, a compliment and self deprivation. She gave a short moment to bow, and allow the witch to notice, before exclaiming aloud, "The Lady Knight Natasha of the island of Moir, seeking word with Magi Nyla Mathilde Terre D'Oleiandre Argentei. I come, not as ward to the-" she paused, "Sometimes petulant Alder. But as herald and bringer of word from the honorable leader of house Wynn, the esteemed Lady Messalina Jovanic Wynn. It is her wish, and the command of the king, that leads me, their servant in all things, back here to your abode. I should wish to convey their words unto you, and show you the respect previously unafforded to you. I understand, through custom, this is irregular, but I alone sadly have no other recourse. And if nothing else, I should like to convey, personally to you, the deepest apologies of the young Alder's actions from his houses lady."
her speech over, she set her pristine sword down into the mud before her, and placed her hands on her own thighs, simply waiting for the response. Unbothered entirely by the mud, her groveling, or the rain. She was a humble soldier and knight, clearer than anything else.
Arnalia
Member
At Nyla Hut
Instinct made Onyx pullback as Alder threw a bolt of fire at a pine tree. The poor thing dropping down among a mess of burned leafs and pine cones. The raven reached out, sending a mental wave to soothe it. The pine tree displeasure and pain surged through him as it demanded for it seeds to be buried here again. The raven promised, and urged the rest of the forest to calm down. Their anger and voices muddying the connection.
He did not observe one courtier that remained calm at Nyla rejection, but none went so far. Funniest one they had was a page that started planning for revenge aloud, but scampered as soon as Viny showed up. Onyx cackled as he remembered the boy loud shriek as the silver vines hunted him. But this one arnaki deserved a price for angering the whole forest on his first day. He refocused his mind on Alder and Natasha again.
The bird mused as the two argument grew more heated. Onyx knew he would have two news to report. The bad one was that this crude arnaki had a good chance of truly being the king envoy. The good one was that there was no chance the matter was important. Or rather that the court cared much for the issue. Which was good for him either way. Who in their right mind would send this pinnacle of disrespect to decorum and one lone knight to greet the heir of the Argentei ?
Unless the new King was like the rumors said. Despite their isolation he stayed informed as best as he could on the happening of the realm. Spying on merchants that came to the villages, listening to rumors and gossips, or asking migratory birds. An old habit of his that he never sought to correct despite Blanche pushing him to relax. And now glad he didn't, the young son of the former great king still acted the same as he remembered. Inconsiderate of his elders legacy, and in his opinion, a disappointment with a chip on his shoulder. The thin silver lining in his book been that any bad new was good new, if it allowed them to prepare better.
Onyx mind pulled out of the connection. "Nyla." No reaction came from the woman, save for the sound of breathing, as her chest rose and fell as she lay on her side. The raven rolled his eyes, unbothered. "The knight is coming back. She's fast. You have thirty minutes." Onyx stated and went to Blanche, shook her awake, and flew to the living room. The bird mind now occupied with what kind of tea they would serve, should they have salty or sweet snacks, and how many blankets would need to be washed again. Blanche jumped out of the bed and yawned loudly, stretching a bit. The wolf threw one last ironic glance at the witch and sluggishly stomped after Onyx.
Nyla turned around and growled. "I knew I should have thrown them out in the village."
An hour later
The moment Natasha sword touched the ground, instead of mud the steel landed in the hand of the silver vines. Shielding it from impurity, it extended the weapon briefly toward Natasha like she did. After this sign of acceptance the vines carried it off to the hut. As it passed, out of the dirty soil, a thick but tender grass jutted out, going from under her to the hut. Huge blue, green, and fluorescent mushrooms sprouted to protect the knight from the wind and the trickling rain. Their light subdue but enough to see the raven and the wolf coming toward her. The latter holding a plate with a towel, a sponge and some small vials on it in her mouth. Blanche put it down in front of the knight and sat.
Onyx made a half bow with one wing open and said. "Despite the unfortunate circumstances in which we have met, Magi Nyla would be pleased to receive you as a guest." He gestured toward the plate. "As such, I, Onyx, and my companion Blanche, welcome you to our humble abode." He jumped on the ground and Blanche began to take out the vials. "Please let us help you clean of as a sign of our hospitality." The bird asked and continued. "Those vials were made by Magi Nyla herself, to clean off the mud, avoid colds, or armors to rust. As per tradition you will receive your sword back once inside." His explanation finished he gave the towel to Natasha. After the knight was done, the two companion worked together to help clean her off, visibly use to doing this. And answering any questions she might have, such as how non magistei can greet Magi or what each vials did.
After the knight armors looked cleaner then ever and she was dry, the two lead her into the hut to the living room. The smell of camomile tea and small and fresh butter cakes on the table surrounding the air. A cozy warmth enveloped them as the fire crackled in the fireplace, the light low and tame. The witch army of candles– with only the silver one being lit– putting in evidence the constellations on the ceiling.
Nyla was sitting on the couch to the right, dressed in a simple dark green dress with a fluffy white shawl draped around, long black hair tie in a low ponytail hanging at the side. A blanket on her lap and pillows near, in her hand rested Natasha sword. The witch silver eyes trailing along the curve of the blade, gaze pensive. A fine thing she thought. Sturdy but light, with some good quality anti-magic runes to boot. Some scratchs here and there proving it had served it owner well.
Onyx gestured for the knight to sit on the one opposite, and put a blanket around her shoulder once she sat. The couch was cushiony and a little more near the fire. The raven then perched on Nyla side and Blanche took place near Natasha. "Please Dame Natasha make yourself at ease." Onyx said and lowered his head as he pointed at the tea and snacks on the table.
Nyla was in no hurry to speak, her posture loose and relaxed, the witch let Natasha warmed herself at the fire, her finger tracing the lines on the pristine sword. After a beat, eyes still on the weapon, she spoke. "I remember the first time I met Sir Robert." She said more for herself then anyone. "At eight years old I was so scared I hid behind my mentor when he approached !" She chuckled. "He was well in his fifty but seeing him fight was still a sign to behold. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw him beat two knight twice as young with such ease." Nyla grinned. "I swear he could have beat them with only one hand if you had looked at him." The witch eyes turned toward the fire. "But that wasn't even what I admired the most about him." She looked at the sword again and asked. "Do you want to know what it was Dame Natasha ?" Nyla leaned toward her guest and raised the sword, returning it to the knight with a nod. Formally giving her audience. And looking into her eyes she declared. "His loyalty."
Hands folded into her lap, back upright and face solemn. The witch now waited for Natasha to plead her case.
Last edited:
Ulyee
New Member
Natasha, as she was ushered unto the hut by the bird, seemed stone faced. Respectfully bowing or nodding as conversation demanded, but she was set to a purpose. Showing decorum, she gracefully took to the cleaning process, but not saying a word or asking a question. The night was long, and the knight had little use for small talk. She was set to a task, as most of her kind always were.
She thought, both during her talking-down to Alder, and admits heading a bird's words, that the entire class of 'mage' should be done away with. Though that extended far beyond magic, and to 'pomp' as a whole. She found herself wishing, in that moment, to be fighting pirates back in her home land. But it was her loyalty that kept her going from place to place, always interacting with these types. Loyalty plagued those fine knights from Moir, and it infected her just as easily as it had those many others of her kind.
Contempt nor bother, nor worry or frustration found their way to her steeled surface. A simple, dutifully calm face remained, as trained knights so often did. She sat along side the fire, a respectful gaze set to the floor at Nyla's feet. She awaited the call of the Witch, only to hear the calming animal's remark. She looked for a moment at the refreshments, and with a calm, "Thank you, gracious host" she took a single bit, and single sip. Making an effort to show she had enjoyed them, only so far as honor demanded she do. Her posture, tense, was forced back into the chair, contorted to seem at ease. It was clear, if not by the occupation or features, that she was not one to relax. As was her right as a knight, so long as respect was showed and held for her betters.
Natasha had raised her eyes so far as the sword, when Nyla had begun to speak. The first words struck Natasha's eyes up. Sir Robert, her mentor from days so long past it was as referring to a story book character she grew up with. Moir, home, again coming to mind. Flooding it there in. The island of knights, molded from the world's bastards and throwaways, and the harsh life among such a place. The fair shores that she spent her youth on. The many teachers she learned from, and the pirate ships that men like Sir Robert taught her how to attack. She shed blood along side that man, a sacred act among her kind.
It was enough to knock the knight off her footing, and that was no easy task. Surely it was strange coincidence that the witch knew sir Robert, and she didn't - couldn't know the relationship between them? For a moment, awe lay on the face of the lady knight. A moment, of course.
All of these thoughts ran through her head as Nyla gave her speech, but the final words did reach her properly. Of course, loyalty- the life blood of Moir knights. She gave a nod as she took the sword once more, sheathing it with slow, careful ease as not to disturb. But a smile, remembering the man that was Sir Robert, crept at the corner of her lips. Loyal, that he was.
Her own loyalty came about, as it became her time to plead her position. Despite being a knight, keen to quick and harsh word, she knew how to speak her mind to those high born. She set her boots firmly to the ground, leaning forward from comfortable chair and warm snacks.
"Your king, and the king of those I serve." She paused for effect, "Has called for our attention. And for reasons that far surpass me, he entrusted the message to my master's ward and grand nephew, Alder." she nodded ahead of her words, "Yes, he is a troublesome thing. With tact and respect far behind him. I do not discount your reaction, as it should be a shock to any or all." She smiled there in, having just said the most she could against the nobleboy as she could in polite company. She then snatched a scroll, hidden in a pouch, that bore the unmistakable seal of the king, "This is the king's word, seal, and command. He is the one that calls you, not I, nor the noble I walk with. Take solace in that." She handed the scroll over, attempting to undercut the whole issue. But she raised a hand, preparing to admit something, "My noble ward, has offended. This is not in dispute. But the family Wynn, that crest, would like to apologize on his behalf. House Wynn have been warmakers and smiths for hundreds of years, with a great number of my kind in their care. They have lived for a thousand years, in service to the crown and in proper keepings with their noble kin. This boy is an oddity, elevated only by his skill at craftsmanship. But do not measure them all on such a man. They are honorable." She set a hand on her sword hilt, and half bowed forward, "As I am loyal." she looked back up to Nyla, with a determined look in her eye, a gambit, "Sir Robert was a man of great means and ability. Loyalty, to the island of Moir and her people, above all else. I should hope that loyalty lay within myself as well, in the crest that feeds and houses me. As I hope." She gave a half bow once more, "You, to the king who does much the same, would also be." A knights curtness, one might even say bold. She was of Moir, that much was clear.
--------------------------
All the while, at an unfortunate inn
In the nearest, smallest town, sat a sleepy inn, usually only inhabited by the odd passerby. It now played guest to a wild noble, with whim and whimsy flying from one moment to the next. As luck had it, Alder was a lightweight. Or perhaps the inn owner simply sacrificed his stronger ale to appease the crazed thing. Two barmaids, and the three servants he had taken from the palace, all worked to direct and appease him. It wasn't the anger, so much as the want for event and magic. Throwing it about the place at whim.
But eventually the got him down, sending him up to the room they had spent all that time preparing. His mood shifted to sadness, as it often did around such late hours, and he put up little fight in being taken to his room. Deposited in the bed, two of the servants began working at his annoyingly elaborate cloths while he shifted and mumbled. But something caught the attention of the servant Elaine.
"And that's where. House Langeeish!" he puttered out, mentioning a tiny noble house out of the blue.
"House Languish, sire?" asked the servant that worked on pulling his boots off.
"Yes. You see they. They know how to treat focus makers. You know the leader of that house is on the verge of a breakthrough? I've helped her for...for years! They'll be happy to have me. She is without a husband you know?"
The servants both cast an eye to one another, but went dutifully back to their work. In the morning that would be relayed. As most of his ramblings would be, to the leader of their own house. No doubt going to be used against him- Even Alder himself, after saying it, knew it would be so. But as he finally was taken down to his cotton undershirt and leggings, and as the servants either collected his cloths, or settled into the little chairs outside the door, he didn't care. He long since stopped thinking he could leave, leaving it only to his dreams and wonderings.
He went to sleep, dreaming of his old workshop, of being unnoticed and uncared for. Of the world that he himself left behind, but that others now kept him from returning to.
She thought, both during her talking-down to Alder, and admits heading a bird's words, that the entire class of 'mage' should be done away with. Though that extended far beyond magic, and to 'pomp' as a whole. She found herself wishing, in that moment, to be fighting pirates back in her home land. But it was her loyalty that kept her going from place to place, always interacting with these types. Loyalty plagued those fine knights from Moir, and it infected her just as easily as it had those many others of her kind.
Contempt nor bother, nor worry or frustration found their way to her steeled surface. A simple, dutifully calm face remained, as trained knights so often did. She sat along side the fire, a respectful gaze set to the floor at Nyla's feet. She awaited the call of the Witch, only to hear the calming animal's remark. She looked for a moment at the refreshments, and with a calm, "Thank you, gracious host" she took a single bit, and single sip. Making an effort to show she had enjoyed them, only so far as honor demanded she do. Her posture, tense, was forced back into the chair, contorted to seem at ease. It was clear, if not by the occupation or features, that she was not one to relax. As was her right as a knight, so long as respect was showed and held for her betters.
Natasha had raised her eyes so far as the sword, when Nyla had begun to speak. The first words struck Natasha's eyes up. Sir Robert, her mentor from days so long past it was as referring to a story book character she grew up with. Moir, home, again coming to mind. Flooding it there in. The island of knights, molded from the world's bastards and throwaways, and the harsh life among such a place. The fair shores that she spent her youth on. The many teachers she learned from, and the pirate ships that men like Sir Robert taught her how to attack. She shed blood along side that man, a sacred act among her kind.
It was enough to knock the knight off her footing, and that was no easy task. Surely it was strange coincidence that the witch knew sir Robert, and she didn't - couldn't know the relationship between them? For a moment, awe lay on the face of the lady knight. A moment, of course.
All of these thoughts ran through her head as Nyla gave her speech, but the final words did reach her properly. Of course, loyalty- the life blood of Moir knights. She gave a nod as she took the sword once more, sheathing it with slow, careful ease as not to disturb. But a smile, remembering the man that was Sir Robert, crept at the corner of her lips. Loyal, that he was.
Her own loyalty came about, as it became her time to plead her position. Despite being a knight, keen to quick and harsh word, she knew how to speak her mind to those high born. She set her boots firmly to the ground, leaning forward from comfortable chair and warm snacks.
"Your king, and the king of those I serve." She paused for effect, "Has called for our attention. And for reasons that far surpass me, he entrusted the message to my master's ward and grand nephew, Alder." she nodded ahead of her words, "Yes, he is a troublesome thing. With tact and respect far behind him. I do not discount your reaction, as it should be a shock to any or all." She smiled there in, having just said the most she could against the nobleboy as she could in polite company. She then snatched a scroll, hidden in a pouch, that bore the unmistakable seal of the king, "This is the king's word, seal, and command. He is the one that calls you, not I, nor the noble I walk with. Take solace in that." She handed the scroll over, attempting to undercut the whole issue. But she raised a hand, preparing to admit something, "My noble ward, has offended. This is not in dispute. But the family Wynn, that crest, would like to apologize on his behalf. House Wynn have been warmakers and smiths for hundreds of years, with a great number of my kind in their care. They have lived for a thousand years, in service to the crown and in proper keepings with their noble kin. This boy is an oddity, elevated only by his skill at craftsmanship. But do not measure them all on such a man. They are honorable." She set a hand on her sword hilt, and half bowed forward, "As I am loyal." she looked back up to Nyla, with a determined look in her eye, a gambit, "Sir Robert was a man of great means and ability. Loyalty, to the island of Moir and her people, above all else. I should hope that loyalty lay within myself as well, in the crest that feeds and houses me. As I hope." She gave a half bow once more, "You, to the king who does much the same, would also be." A knights curtness, one might even say bold. She was of Moir, that much was clear.
--------------------------
All the while, at an unfortunate inn
In the nearest, smallest town, sat a sleepy inn, usually only inhabited by the odd passerby. It now played guest to a wild noble, with whim and whimsy flying from one moment to the next. As luck had it, Alder was a lightweight. Or perhaps the inn owner simply sacrificed his stronger ale to appease the crazed thing. Two barmaids, and the three servants he had taken from the palace, all worked to direct and appease him. It wasn't the anger, so much as the want for event and magic. Throwing it about the place at whim.
But eventually the got him down, sending him up to the room they had spent all that time preparing. His mood shifted to sadness, as it often did around such late hours, and he put up little fight in being taken to his room. Deposited in the bed, two of the servants began working at his annoyingly elaborate cloths while he shifted and mumbled. But something caught the attention of the servant Elaine.
"And that's where. House Langeeish!" he puttered out, mentioning a tiny noble house out of the blue.
"House Languish, sire?" asked the servant that worked on pulling his boots off.
"Yes. You see they. They know how to treat focus makers. You know the leader of that house is on the verge of a breakthrough? I've helped her for...for years! They'll be happy to have me. She is without a husband you know?"
The servants both cast an eye to one another, but went dutifully back to their work. In the morning that would be relayed. As most of his ramblings would be, to the leader of their own house. No doubt going to be used against him- Even Alder himself, after saying it, knew it would be so. But as he finally was taken down to his cotton undershirt and leggings, and as the servants either collected his cloths, or settled into the little chairs outside the door, he didn't care. He long since stopped thinking he could leave, leaving it only to his dreams and wonderings.
He went to sleep, dreaming of his old workshop, of being unnoticed and uncared for. Of the world that he himself left behind, but that others now kept him from returning to.
