Fantasy "The Queen’s ball is tonight, but with this weather will anyone come?" (I see you creepin’, yes you can still join!)

[Jolly Roger]

Marcel found himself discomforted by the two pairs of eyes examining him wearily, one belonging to Prince Owen and the other to his guard. He regretted taking off the tailored silk suit gifted to him by Lord Macron specially for the ball, figuring that such extravagant dress would draw unwanted attention in the tavern. In the mind of the prince, his basic traveling clothes were likely to elicit some doubt and suspicion. Looking at the prince for some idea of how to proceed, Marcel was unable to gather any useful insights. He had to give it to the boy, he had a strong pokerface.

In reaction to Owen’s question, Marcel took on a more sophisticated urbanite accent, enunciating his words in the fashion common to scholars and intellectuals. “Yes, the weather has been rather frightful, but I was thankfully able to avoid the worst of it.” He was careful to keep his expression appropriately reverent as he knelt before the prince.

“I can’t imagine the sort of trouble you and your companions have experienced, your highness. As a certified doctor I’d be honored to offer you assistance in any way I can.” Turning to Garl, Marcel presented his satchel for inspection, aware that digging through the bag himself might be interpreted as a potential threat.

“If you search there, you’ll find my credentials are all in order. Third in my class at North Hadrian University.” When forging the diploma, he’d felt that claiming to be top of his class might be too obvious. Second or third best, however, tended to attract less questions.

“You’ll also find a handwritten invitation from your blessed mother, Queen Adrienne herself.” He flashed his winning smile at Prince Owen. “Dr. Marcel Granveris, at your service. Representative of Lord Claude Macron of Sacre-Bois at tonight’s ball. If there’s still going to be a ball, that is.”

Interactions: Saavedra

 

[snowstormspawn]

~Queen Adrienne~

The queen’s expression became pensive as she listened to Maris speak, but eventually her eyes showed her full and complete understanding. She had enough insight on her own character to realize this was exactly what her enemies wanted – to rush into making a quick decision that would leave her and the royal guests vulnerable to attack. “Thank you for helping me see this situation with a different perspective. I am fairly certain my husband would say the same when he wakes,” she said, speaking softly as if she did not want the King to hear of the current situation under any circumstances. “I agree – a few well-equipped men and women should suffice, as they know how to navigate the terrain best. I will make sure they are provided with the most suitable fur coats, and they will ride our strongest horses. They may be pulling carriages out of the snow.”

Adrienne turned her head as the door of the room opened. She heard the guard shuffle, then stop as he realized the man whines had entered was hired to protect the crown. The queen listened to the man’s report, relieved to hear that the castle would be safe from a set of additional disastrous situations. The woman smiled softly as Vincent offered to join the rescue party that was to rescue the stranded guests. “I am glad that you would offer to help us,” she expressed. “Lady Maris, what say you? I know little of defense strategy, what little that the king allows me to be privy to. Would it be more suitable for Vincent to remain within the castle, or do you go agree?” Adrienne paused. “Well, actually – I suppose I have somebody who would have greater insight on the matter. The head of my guard. I will send him out as the leader of the mission – he knows the terrain better than anyone would, so his presence will be invaluable.” The queen turned to look towards the guard. “Guardsman, would you please have Sir Wymond briefed on this mission, and sent to give his council?”
“Yes, your majesty,” the guard replied, doing exactly as she had asked.
“Well, if you would excuse me – I must return to the ballroom to make my rounds and reassure the present guests that the castle has the resources to support them until the blizzard surpasses. Keeping potential panic to a minimum will allow us to focus on our rescue mission – keep their minds off things. “Sir Wymond is one of my most trusted guards. He has a wonderful understanding of my son as well. He remained in the castle for the time being to oversee the security of the event, but now that it has been established, he will be very useful out in the field.” The Queen presented a soft, uneasy smile. “I wish you all the best of luck. May the blizzard pass with haste.”
These were Adrienne’s last words before she departed from the room, her guard following after her, which left Vincent and Maris on their own inside the coat room.

Interactions & mentions
Saavedra Vestige quadraxis201

 

[kath1515]

-Duchess Elizabeth Beaumont- ​

Elizabeth worried with the skirts of her gown as her carriage pulled up to the castle gates. A snowstorm had begun to rage outside. Gazing outside her window, she watched the whipping wind blow large gusts of sparkling snow crystals through the trees. Worrying to herself, she wondered if the conditions would prevent other guests from making it to the ball, and more seriously if anyone would be hurt by the weather. She was snapped out of her thoughts as the carriage halted and the driver opened the door, letting in a flood of biting air. Although the fabric was heavy, her dress offered little protection from the blistering wind, causing her body to tremble and her cheeks to flush from the cold.

As quickly as possible, Elizabeth was shepherded out of the carriage and through the castle gates. Now firmly inside the torch-lit entryway, her pale purple gown, thankfully undamaged by the weather, was fluffed and rearranged by her lady-in-waiting. Taking a deep breath in, Elizabeth fought to end the shivers going through her body and the pink tinge covering her frozen face. A second breath allowed her to regain the composure befitting a lady of her status. Inhaling one final time before she entered the ballroom, she reminded herself of the reason for her presence at the ball; to secure an alliance or marriage that could save her family’s duchy. Finally, she glided through the ballroom doors and down the stairs as a herald announced her presence at the ball.

Surveying the ballroom itself seemed to confirm Elizabeth’s fears. She noticed the worried expressions that marred many of the guests’ faces, and the sparse collection of the guests themselves, scattered across the ballroom floor. Smile faltering, she wondered how many guests, and which ones, had gotten held up by the worsening storm outside. Looking across the ballroom floor again, she searched for Queen Adrienne, wondering if the Queen planned to make a statement and if there was nothing left to do but simply wait.

 

[Saavedra]

Owen often did not realize that he stared. Looking into an interlocutor´s eyes was normally considered a sign of sincerity, therefore Owen had to be considered the most truthful boy in the world. He was not distracted by the sounds of the patrons eating, drinking or talking, or by their glances in his direction. Some, overcome by curiosity, came down from the second floor to gather at the stairs and tried to spot him. Meanwhile, Owen´s mind was all set on finding out as much as he could about Marcel. He observed every gesture, every movement, guessing at what they might mean. For the time being, all he guessed was that Marcel had to be perfectly healthy and comfortable in this environment, which... was not that much of an intellectual feat, really.

The way he spoke drew his interest more, as well as his assertions that he was a doctor. When presented with the satchel, Garl stepped forward and gently touched and poked the outside from every angle before actually reaching into it and examining the contents. He stopped briefly when he found Marcel´s credentials, then extracted and extended them to read when Marcel encouraged him to do so. The knight read carefully before nodding with an eyebrow raised, perhaps impressed, perhaps exaggerating the gesture.

Owen glanced his way then, and again when he examined the invitation. Otherwise, he simply observed Marcel directly and listened to his words. It was, again, rather easy to tell that the healer had received some education. The University of Hadria would explain his proper manner of speaking, but Owen had received the sort of education that only a Royal could have access to, and he could not remember the name Granveris. For the time being, he assumed it was that of a lower noble, or even a pseudonym. If he was to attend the ball in lieu of Lord Macron of Sacre-Bois. there was a possibility that he was related by blood to the Lord. The possibility that Marcel was Lord Macron´s bastard son crossed his mind briefly, but he doubted even a minor lord would do something like that. Sending a bastard son to the Queen´s Annual Ball would have been like slapping her in front of the whole court. But then... the real question here was why the Lord was unable to go to the Ball.

The knight finished his inspection, rolling up the credentials and invitation with care and putting them back in the satchel before taking a step back and returning to his position. "Everything seems in order. And I can imagine a doctor of your stature being popular soon. I have not seen many blizzards like this, but when I have, they have brought colds and broken bones, and caused some delicate conditions to worsen."

Owen nodded. One of his young companions came with two mugs of warm wine, setting one by the Prince´s hand and another in front of the knight, before leaving. The young Royal took his gloves off and set them on the table, then took the mug into his hand, enjoying the warmth for a few moments before speaking again. "How fares Lord Macron? I fear that if you are coming in his stead, he is not well."

 

[Hellewise]

Cassandra Redfern

"Indeed," Cassandra heartily agreed with Blackwood's compliment as she laid a few loving pats upon the creature's nose. He stretched his neck forward to meet the palm of her hand with his head, and she found comfort in the familiar feeling of his short, smooth hair beneath her fingertips, even though it was still cold and damp from the snow.

The lingering silence which followed their exchange was unexpected and somewhat strange, but she found herself feeling grateful for the breather. In the air there were no chattered words, and she could focus on the steady breathing of her horse and the questioning snort he made as he shook his head, his mane whipping over his shoulders. He was a majestic beast - not the biggest or strongest horse in the world by any means, but majestic to her nonetheless. What Blackwood said rung true; he had served her well for a couple of years now, and their bond had only gone from strength to strength. He was her best friend, after all, far more reliable than the fellow man. With animals and pets there was only pure, unconditional love. With people, far too many terms had to be met before establishing any sort of connection, at least in her experience.

Having an awkward disposition at the best of times, Cassandra began to grow unsettled beneath Blackwood's gaze. She turned to look at him, expecting more conversation. Should she have said something? She didn't know what with or how to approach a new topic of interest. She was much too guarded of a person to openly chat away, even if she had to admit he was already proving to be one of the nicest people she'd had the grace of meeting.

Thankfully, he spoke again before she had a chance to spiral any further. Her ears pricked up at the mention of a change of clothes; she was freezing. Were clothes really provided here? Then again, if they were, what would they be? Would she be able to put her leather armour back on, place her sword and sheath at her waist? She would have to decide later when she saw what clothes were actually on offer.

"If you could show me to the accommodation, I would very much appreciate it," she eventually responded. "I'm not all that hungry at the moment. But afterwards, please don't feel as if you're obligated to hang around - I don't want to keep you from your business with the other guests."

He was right about one thing: Meridia was indeed a wealthy state, but as for her value? She wouldn't correct him, she decided, but she wasn't sure he had the correct idea about that. She was merely sent as a messenger because she was expendable; a sore thumb in society, battle-trained and hardy but not even knighted in full. One day, though. She'd make it.

"Tell me about the area of Blackwood. What's it like?"

Interactions:
startergomer

~~~
​

James Mercier

James was cursing to himself as he trudged through the snow towards the castle gates. Oh, it wasn't a problem for him to be battling the elements to get to where he needed to be - he was no stranger to that, having had to do it for the majority of his life - but the tailcoat, hat and shoes he was wearing had cost him a fortune, and now they were all but soaked through. Granted, it wasn't as if he'd bought the attire with his own money exactly, but it still hurt him to part ways with that amount of gold and see the purchased product ruined. How was he supposed to make a lasting impression on Hadria's elite when he entered the ball looking like a drowned rat?

It could be worse, he supposed. The carriage he had hitchhiked had only run aground a short ways from the castle, so the walking distance wasn't terrible; the weather was the only thing making the scenario such an ordeal. A storm like the present blizzard was practically unheard of - he only hoped that the Queen and her slaves - was that the right word to use? - had acts of goodwill and repayment to offer. While someone like James would never make such a fuss, he knew there would be all too many socialites out there with much to say, and his chosen alter ego for the evening, Jacques Marseilles, would be one of them.

When James eventually arrived at the entrance to the venue, head held high, the guard standing to attention barely paid him any attention and seemed far more interested in the goings-on within the castle walls. James cleared his throat.

"Invitation," the guard stated flatly, holding out his hand.

James reached into his breast-pocket and produced the precious piece of parchment with a triumphant smirk. True, he'd swindled it off some high gentleman during a recent scam, but he'd made sure to sign off the bottom with his alias in the most obnoxious, cursive script he could muster. He handed it over for inspection and folded his hands behind his back expectantly as the guard cocked an incredulous eyebrow.

"Jacques Marseilles?"

"The honourable Jacques Marseilles," James corrected him sharply, snatching back the parchment. "Are the rest of the guardsmen - nay, court - as uneducated as you in the aristocratic register?"

The guard didn't argue, and instead stepped aside to let him pass. James supposed he couldn't be bothered to get into it, which was fair enough; most higher-ups were used to getting their way simply by acting snooty. It seemed to be working so far.

"I'll kindly thank you for your cooperation," James stated breezily as he stepped past, "not that I should."

The ballroom was well-lit and vibrant with the warm glow of candlelight and the multicoloured array of the ladies' gowns. James tucked his invitation back into his pocket as he entered, scouting the room for anybody he might choose to approach. Nobody was catching his eye just yet - well, nobody except all the women, but that was a different story.

 

[startergomer]

Walter Blackwood
" " : External Dialogue
' ' : Internal Dialogue

"If you could show me to the accommodation, I would appreciate it..."

Sigh

'Whew, at least she doesn't want me to leave yet.' Indeed, Walter was feeling relieved, the rest of the message was received but the trepidation of feeling like she may have him leave or worse kick him out of her sight flowed out. She still wanted him around. At least for little longer. She mentioned leaving him to his business. Heh yeah. Business. Like finding the comfiest chair in the place.

"Well, can't let a request like that go unanswered no can I! Not when it comes to spreading the word about Blackwood province!" Walter said with a grin. Honestly, he never really tired of talking about his home. It was home after all, and there was always something going on. A pothole fixed here, a new crop there. Always work to do, but...

"But before I do that let me go over here real quick..." Walter walked over to his carriage and poked around for a second.

"It was around here somewhere.....Ah here it is!" Walter pulled out a small rock with some writing on it and came back.

"I got this back...oh what was it....two years ago during a particularly harsh winter. Snow was piled up to the waist! Anyway, I had saved up some money and decided to get this here number. Not sure who made it. but if you say the word 'Ignite' it will heat up your hands. Here. That'll keep you warm till we find you something. Now, let me just grab this...."

Walter reached over and grabbed the pitcher, and his cup. Thankfully it didn't take long to flag down a servant. However, after a quick glance at Cassandra as the servant drew near, it was clear that something could be done to alleviate the stress. "Excuse me! I need you to direct me to the quarters for the representative for Meridia."

"Of course, my Lord."

And with that they were on there way, after beginning to follow the directions given.

As he walked he talked about Blackwood province. Honestly, if you were at all interested in larger politics you Blackwood wouldn't even be worth a mention. Even before the plague, Blackwood was one of a number of small lands granted to knights who had served the king in a war, so far long forgotten it wasn't even worth mentioning. Located in a particularly fertile but distant part of the western reaches of the empire, with the closest neighbor worth mentioning being Westphalia, Blackwood province was not important. Not at all, but there was only one problem. Walter hadn't heard any of that.

"Well, I can't tell you much in the ways of industry, but Blackwood is known for its farming. We often trade with a few nearby provinces for goods and things but our wheat always comes in, wool is gathered. There's just nothing like seeing the sunrise over a field of ripening produce with the light hitting the crops just so and the herds grazing in the fields. It's serene.

I can also tell you that the merchants always leave satisfied. It's more than anyone could ask for really. Why, my father, don't let him hear this from you though, got a letter a year ago. Sent directly from the King! It was even signed and everything! It said, Dear Lord or Lady, thank you for continued support of the crown and your continued payment of taxes collected in this year of our Lord. In honor of the defeat of the plague, the King is sending Blackwood Province this letter of thanks for their support. The King values you greatly and thanks you again. Signed by the King! The King! Came with his royal seal and everything. You should have seen my father. Couldn't shut up about it for weeks. Ha you should have seen the faces of everybody. He had it framed and was busy showing it off to every yeoman from here to Hogborough. I remember Ol Porter came up on a two days trip to see the thing and was hogtied when he really saw it. Jaw dropped to the floor! Yeah, it was a good year. I was meaning to thank the king for that. We had the best recruitment for local guards in years! Anyway, here we are."

As Walter opened the door to the suite, his jaw dropped to the floor. Around the room, was a richly dressed room with silks, chairs, rugs, carpets, and all manner of finery. Obviously Walter had heard of rugs before, but seeing one in person....Wow. Brought a tear to the eyes seeing sheep's wool respected like that.

"Well gosh its been at least an hour since you've arrived right? We'd better find you some clothes quickly."

Walter began looking around for a close finding it quickly and opening to reveal.......nothing......what......


"Ummmm............."

What the in the blazes? Thankfully, at that moment a servant chose to enter the room and turned toward Walter "Ah, my lord. Welcome to your room. We have made assurances to provide for your every need. We've also ensured that you have ample room for whatever luggage you may carry. If it pleases you, I can have your luggage brought up,

"Excuse me. Just hold on a moment. Are you saying you don't provide clothes to your guests?"

"Umm, Sir? Could you repeat that?"

"I said, don't you provide clothes to your guests?"

"Ummmm yes, well. We just assumed..."

"Its a reasonable assumption but this woman here was caught without any of her......luggage.....due to the storm you see, so if you could kindly find someone to help her find some clothes?"

"Ah certainly sir. Apologies for your dilemma miss.."

"Oh and....here"

Walter handed over his coin pouch. "If she needs anything, just take whatever you need from here. Whatever it costs, whatever she wants. Alright?"

"Certainly sir, I'll be back shortly."

....

.....

The silence came back as the butler went. Cassandra was looking at him intensely. Probably mad that he let everybody assume he was the representative from Meridia. He honestly wasn't that good of an actor. Or much of a bluffer. Or a liar. Or really had any social experience at all. You Just had to be helpful. Just had to be nice...Now she's probably mad. She's still staring. God she's waiting for something. an explanation. I don't even know why I did that! What the hell was I thinking???? She wants me to leave. Yeah, still staring. Probably best. Best to leave. Before you mess this up more.

"Well, ummm, it was nice talking, but I....ahhhhh.....got to go. Leave you, to your........ business. ummmmmm, keep the change, umm see you around!"

His face was beet red as he made a hasty retreat back out of the door. He was power walking through the hall as fast as he could back to the Ballroom. 'Stupid, that was stupid. What was that? Did that follow any eitquite class? No! Stupid! Not smart! What was that?...'

These were the thoughts that occupied Walter's mind as he marched quickly into the ballroom face towards the floor and as luck would have it, right into a soaked noble with a hat, waistcoat, and shoes that from his view on the floor, looked quite expensive.

Interactions:
Violeteclipse

 

[Jolly Roger]

Marcel was relieved to see that the prince's knight seemed to trust him. He directed a solemn look at Garl. "Yes, a doctor may be in popular demand soon, although the prospect does not cheer me. Who knows how many poor travelers were caught unawares by this strange weather? If any of your party appears to be suffering ill effects from prolonged exposure to the cold, don't hesitate to show them to me for examination." One of the great things about being a healer, his mentor had told him once, was that you would find a home among all peoples of the world. From prince to pauper, no human was exempt from the frailties of the body.

He took a glance at Owen, watching as he removed his gloves and warmed himself with a mug of what appeared to be hot wine. Such large gloves for such small hands, Marcel noted with amusement. Perhaps this betrayed some hidden insecurities about his size? Judging by the plain red gambeson, the boy was military minded, valuing practicality above aesthetics. The prince's whole aura felt stoic and commanding, entirely at odds with Marcel's first impression of him. He would need to tread carefully; this royal was no fool like Lord Macron was.

In response to the prince's inquiry, Marcel stared dejectedly at the floor and shook his head in his best approximation of grief, his long blonde hair swaying back and forth. "Lord Macron regrets that he was unable to pay homage to the Queen, and hopes his actions will not be taken as a sign of disrespect. You see, over the last few months he has been suffering increasingly unbearable pain due to a degenerative sickness of the joints. As a very close confidante of the lord, I was chosen to take his place."

To be honest, the old man was still well enough that he could probably make it to the ball with the aid of some servants. However, as chief medical advisor to the estate of Sacre-Bois, Marcel had strongly cautioned against it, citing potential risk factors from the journey. It would be a pity if the Lord died so early, leaving Marcel without his prestigious job, along with the wonderful stipend and political benefits that came with it. As the lord spent most of his time numbing himself with the "milk of the poppy" supplied to him under doctor's orders, it wasn't too difficult to speak on his behalf on a number of key decisions, like lowering the export tax on medicinal goods for the region. The changes to local policy were helping Marcel's business flourish like never before, and he was determined to keep it that way for as long as possible.

Interactions: Saavedra

 

[Saavedra]

The Prince listened to the healer´s explanation, and took a sip from his wine as he did. Only then did his knight allow himself to drink.

The wine was comforting, rich and with a nice, warm scent. Owen felt better as he took another sip, taking his time to both taste the drink and consider Granveris´ information. The Prince thought it was unfortunate that Lord Macron could not go to the Ball, but given the terrible weather... perhaps it was a blessing in disguise. As much as a degenerative sickness could be, anyway. However, Owen had his doubts that even a covered carriage could make the trip safely to the castle. That opinion was punctuated by a small group of newcomers squeezing through the tavern door, then proceeding to shake snow off their garments, but this went unnoticed by the Prince. They could scarcely be heard over the voices and noises around them, not to mention their being seated at the back of the tavern, as far away from the door as possible, and with the hearth right beside them. The heat was starting to get to the Prince, but he was too preoccupied with evaluating the healer´s words.

There was a good reason to examine them closely.

Owen knew Macron was a minor lord. However, he still must have had better representatives to send than his personal doctor. Owen was not naturally inclined toward suspicion, but he found it curious that a sick person would send their healer away. "I am confident that their Majesties will forgive a sick man for not attending a ball. It saddens me to think of his pain. I trust he was left in good hands while you are away?"

Garl took his lips away from his mug´s rim, closing his eyes, and smiled to himself. In appearance, he was enjoying his drink. Inwardly, he thought his Prince had pointed out a very interesting contradiction. And unlike Owen, Garl was very much old and distrustful enough to put two and two together and conclude that it was very strange indeed.

 

[quadraxis201]

Vincent Hawthorne
​

Vincent listened to the queen as she spoke, then nodded with folded arms. "It's as I told Dame Maris-- with so few guests in attendance due to the onset weather, there might not be a Ball to attend. Considering this is the first time I've physically been inside this castle, even if there are... differences... between most humans and I, I don't want to see something like the Annual Ball wind up becoming a failure for the first time. There's also the matter of business, as you may understand. The payment the Lions are to receive at the conclusion of this job will definitely bolster our coffers, and perhaps, even, knowledge of the Black Lions' efficiency will spread to other parts of the land once their nobles see how well we can perform."

Once Queen Adrienne had mentioned dispatching the Head of the Royal Guard and made her leave in order to keep morale high, Vincent turned his head to look Maris in the eye. "I'll put it this way, I don't see it as a bad thing to work with others that aren't the Lions. I realize I should treat them like a second family, I know-- but disregarding the obvious 'changing into a wolf at will' bit, I'm quite different from all of them."

Vincent pinched the upper bridge of his nose in a gesture of minor frustration. "I don't doubt their combat abilities, but they're a bunch of... to put it as mildly as physically possible... brutes, from their accents to their drinking habits. I enjoy a drink every so often, but... I see the burliest ones of them downing cheap ale and mead after returning home from a contract like it's pump water. Even still, I've no intention of leaving them. Being a mercenary does pay fairly well, and it may very well be a good chance to show humans that my kind aren't all 'psychotic moon-bound monsters'. You have the other sort of wolf-shifters to thank for birthing that generalization upon humankind. Frankly, I don't even want to give them the satisfaction of mentioning what they are actually called out of concern that I'm going to vomit once the word passes my lips."

Gently shaking his head, Vincent added, "Sorry for going on like that... just needed to let out some frustration to someone. I suppose I should be a tiny bit more chipper than I am. It's the Ball, after all. Well... what happens to me at this juncture is indeed up to you. In either case, I will be content... I suppose."

Interactions:
snowstormspawn
Vestige

 

[snowstormspawn]

Sir Wymond had just stepped into the ballroom to take in the few guests who were already present at the event, and perhaps prepare for an address from the Queen. He was dressed in his standard royal-court event armor, fashioned from a silver metal with gilded edges, which showed that he was valued by the kingdom’s royalty. The kingdom’s sigil was engraved into his chest plate. Today there was no helmet on his head – the guests would see his freshly-shaven face, and his dirty blonde hair, which was beginning to sprout white from the intense amount of stress he had recently been under. Little did anyone know that there had been suspicion brewing long before the ball, that someone may have been planning something sinister. And though Hadria’s royal family was well-loved by many, the crown was not without its enemies, from which Wymond needed to defend it.

The man sighed slowly, his posture rigid and immensely formal as he moved along the edge of the ballroom. He recognized Princess Adelina – the daughter of Westfalia’s king, sipping wine at a feast table. He knew that year after year, the young woman was dragged along to the event in attempts to find her a suitor. Ans year after year, he would assign a member of the guard to keep a close eye on her, because she would almost certainly end up wine drunk and unable to hold her liquor. While Wymond himself did not trust the Westfalian royals, she and her relatives were familiar figures at the ball, and he was sure that the safe arrival of the three would be a heavy weight off her Majesty’s heart.

As he continued to make his rounds through the ballroom, the herald belted out another announcement, and Wymond stopped to stand at attention. His expression softened as the lady from Beaumont came into view. She was a new quest, from all he could recall – after all these days his memory was slipping – but since he had never seen her he was sure that she had only been compelled to attend for a specific diplomatic purpose. It was so much like a commoner of him to stare at the nobility, and when he caught himself, Wymond immediately turned his head away and continued on his path to the entrance of the castle. It just so happened that this path led him to walk directly past Elizabeth, and the Head of the Guard offered the lady a friendly smile as he passed.

He only walked a few steps further, when a fellow member of the guard flagged him down.
“Sir Wymond,” the man began. “Her Majesty has requested your council at once in the coat room by the entrance steps, concerning your presence on a rescue mission with a member of the Black Lions and Lady Maris.”
A puzzled look settled on Wymond’s face. “If her Majesty requests it,” he responded, heeding the request and immediately making his way to the arranged meeting place, of course, encountering the Queen herself as she headed in his direction.
Wymond took the formal bow, allowing Adrienne to speak first.
“Fortunate that you could come so soon. We have the help of two honorable foreigners, who wish to attend a rescue mission headed by you to retrieve my son and any stranded quests.”
Wymond held back an uneasy expression – he knew the Queen’s children quite well, and the thought of Prince Owen stranded in the blizzard was unnerving to say the least.
“I will not rest until they have been found and brought to safety,” Wymond replied. “You have my word.”
The Queen responded with a soft smile before continuing on her way to her address, the guards’ armor rattling as they escorted her to the herald’s station.
Wymond sprang back in motion once Adrienne was out of reach, slowly opening the door to the coat room, where he first laid eyes on Vincent and Maris. Both seemed strong – capable. If Adrienne entrusted them with escorting him on a small-team rescue mission, he would trust the Queen’s intuition and work with them in tandem.
“Greetings,” he began in his full, clearly understood voice, as he was unsure just how to address the man. “Sir Wymond Hargreaves of Hadria, Head of the Royal Guard,” he introduced himself to Vincent. “And Lady Maris, we have of course already met,” he added as he looked towards the woman. As she was a fellow defender of the kingdom, Wymond held nothing but respect for Maris, even though she was a woman. In any case, far more than he would have had for her brother.

Mentions (so many aaaaaa):
Vestige quadraxis201 kath1515

 

[Jolly Roger]

Marcel tensed as he heard the prince’s question. Was that a trace of skepticism that he heard in the boy’s words? Perhaps it was best to draw the focus of conversation away from his background. “Yes, no need to worry about that your highness, although I’m sure Lord Macron appreciates your concern. He’s in the charge of one of my well trained apprentices.”

He stood up and waved at one of the nearby servers to bring him a drink from the tray they were holding. After removing a mug and tipping generously from his pouch, he lifted his cup to the prince. “I’d like to propose a toast to the health of our Prince Owen. May he continue to grow in strength and wisdom as he leads our proud nation. Hurrah!” His exclamation sent a wave of similar cheers throughout the tavern. The usual cacophony of the bar patrons amplified by tenfold as everyone raised a glass in honor of the young ruler.

Tilting his head back, Marcel took a deep gulp of mulled wine and let out a contented sigh. Nothing like hot spiced wine to thaw a man’s bones. He directed an imploring look at the prince. “Your highness, it has occurred to me that we share the same goal: reaching the castle with due haste. Lord Macron has gifted me with four strong steeds; no doubt you have a considerable number yourself. If we combined our horsepower by attaching them to one carriage, I’m sure we could brave the icy drifts that lie ahead. What say you to this?” This approach was maybe a bit too forward, but Marcel figured nothing harmful could result from it. He waited expectantly for the prince’s answer.

Interactions: Saavedra

 

[GrieveWriter]

Skalden Cray and Cardinal Leopold
Mention/Interaction: snowstormspawn​

"Morkheart Page Sixty-Seven." Leopold said in Whildenese.

Striding slightly ahead of him, Paladin Cray looked back to him, "Your grace?"

The trek to the Castle had grown silent, with Skalden keeping a nigh-paranoid watch over there surroundings and the Cardinal becoming contemplative. After some time with the air around them dominated by the intensifying snowstorm around them, the Cardinal's words would've been lost on the Paladin if he hadn't been keeping an ear open in his direction. It took a moment afterwards for Skalden to think about what the Cardinal was trying to say before he turned his attention ahead and grunted.

"Word of Whilder, right?" he said, the harsh tones of the Whildenese language meshing with the whipping snow "The beginning of the chapters on the Great Frost, right?"

The Word of Whilder was essentially the Lokhen Church's Bible, with three main sections detailing the history of the Church's greatest prophets. The first section was Saint Whilder's recounting of the wars which raged between the initial tribes that lived within the Whilden territory in the long past. It told of the magical cataclysm that their fighting brought upon the land which destroyed many of them and forced the survivors into nomadic lifestyles. That section then transitioned into Saint Whilder's childhood back when he was still a mere mortal. The Second Section was the beginning of Whilder's quest for knowledge, splitting off from the Nomads to look beyond mere survival. Assembling a small cadre of Scholars, Whilder was eventually contacted by Lokh and given favor to continue this quest. The third section, lovingly labeled as the Ballad of the First High Lady, was about how Whilder's scholars built Whilden after the Saint's ascension. After which came their campaign against the army of raiders and marauders that had taken over the ancient tribal lands, their unification under the rising Lokhen Church and the First High Lady's crusade against ignorance.

The part that the Cardinal had brought up was in section two of the Word of Whilder, Morkheart. Seeing that Skalden was able to recognize it so easily, Leopold nodded before looking away, "The colds of the Great Frost wiped out many of the tribes, save for those whose curiosity managed to lead them beyond. Saint Whilder's method of cloth-work and fur-threading was legendary back then, able to ward off the harshest chills that nature could throw at the scholars. You know that during the reign of the Second High Lady, our clothiers were world renown."

"Hmph, until those same clothiers sold our textile methods across the land." Skalden scowled "That industry lead sure as hell didn't last long afterwards."

"Come now, we would've shared the knowledge freely eventually." Leopold wagged a finger at him "Lokh frowns upon the withholding of discoveries, knowledge is meant to be shared freely to all his creations and learned with equal gusto. Remember your Sacraments, brother."

Skalden sighed as he looked ahead again, "I know, Father. I merely weep for the strength the Church foregoes in the process. So much ignorance that could be cleansed."

"That is the self-sacrifice of the knowledgeable." Leopold shrugged with a chuckle "To forego the sacraments in the name of power would be an insult to our High Lady-"

"Heel!" Skalden suddenly pulled back the reigns, drawing a surprised whinny from his horse as it fought to slow down. His words cutting out immediately, Leopold hastened to do similar, making sure to pet his mount's head to calm it down as he slowed to a stop beside the Paladin.

Skalden leaned forward and glared at something in the distance, the Cardinal looking to him with a concern before following his gaze. Though his gaze was nowhere near as honed as the warrior's, he couldn't miss the procession travelling on horseback along a road in the distance.

"More guests lost to nature's wrath?" Leopold queried as Skalden reached back and laid a hand upon the large sword he had strapped to his back.

"Or perhaps those willing to pick at the remains left behind." He grumbled with cynical certainty "Waiting for it to weather us enough to-"

"Those garments... I'm fairly certain they're Mazamrian in origin." Leopold noted, leaning forward to try and get a better look "It doesn't look like its been stolen."

"A respectable guise I'm sure," Skalden looked to him "stay behind me and ready to flee, Father. Keep the lights of the castle within sight."

Leopold rolled his eyes and began trotting towards the road the procession traveled along, Skalden unlatched the top notch of his scabbard and hurried to trot ahead of the Cardinal as they approached the main road. As they drew closer, Leopold was able to recognize a very specific individual among the procession. It was one he hadn't seen in person before, but had seen enough paintings of during previous foreign tasks to recognize.

"That's the Emir of Mazamri." Leopold said to himself, drawing Skalden's attention.

"Who?" the Paladin asked, eyes darting from the Cardinal to the procession with caution. But he didn't get an answer, instead the Cardinal raised a hand and spoke out loud towards the procession. The harsh tones of the Whildenes Language were replaced immediately in a seamless transition of language befitting an Emissary such as Leopold.

"Prince Saric, is it?" Leopold said out loud with a tinge of humor, "Ah, glad to see we're not the only entourage to be weathered by these unfortunate winds. I would've felt quite embarrassed to be the only one late to the engagement."

"Father." Skalden said carefully, the casual greeting of the Cardinal proving far too risky for his tastes. He maintained his position between the Cardinal and the procession, one hand twitching as he prepped to draw his blade at a moment's notice.

"Ah, of course." Leopold nodded to him before turning back to the Prince and gesturing to himself "Cardinal Leopold of the Lokhen Church, this is what's left of my entourage, Paladin Cray. Mind my question, but would you know if this road to the Castle is clear ahead?"

"Your grace..." Cray looked to him with a shake of his head, mumbling in Whildenese "Your openness is both commendable and worrying, Father."

 

[snowstormspawn]

~Prince Saric~

Prince Saric had ridden through the cold for what felt like hours, but was only mere minutes. The Prince was well-acquainted with long rides on horse back through low visibility, but the bitter cold settling into his bones made this one slightly more difficult to endure. His eyes squinting to see the lights of the castle in the distance, the Prince had taken to mumbling to himself in an attempt to not forget the way he needed to steer his horse in order to reach Queen Adrienne’s palace.

“Halt your horses!” a man from the procession suddenly shouted in Mazimrise, as the silhouettes of two men on horseback appeared in the distance. Quiet metallic clangs could be heard as several men in Saric’s entourage pre-emptively drew their swords. The closer the men rode, the more visible their long black robes and gilded emblems became. To Saric, the garb of these men was quite familiar – almost immediately, he recognized that they were men of faith who would not be a threat to him or his entourage’s safety. The Prince raised his hand to dismiss the defensive action, and the men behind him obediently lowered their swords to their sides.

Saric kept his horse still as the two men approached, a blend of curiosity and relief in his eyes – the only visible part of his face that was visible as the Cardinal spoke. He found the Paladin’s cautious words amusing – unlike his father, Saric was far less of a tyrant when it came to how he was addressed, which happened to play a large part in him being invited to foreign celebrations, as opposed to the Emir. He was far less opposed to foreigners who misunderstood Mazamrise conventions – the young prince would never fault a person from a different region of the world for addressing him incorrectly.

It happened that the two holy men were far more familiar with him and his kingdom than he had originally presumed, and a smile crossed the Prince’s face when he was mentioned by name. Portraits of him had been painted all his life, but he was always flattered to hear that someone not from his own kingdom could recognize his likeness. Saric loosened the scarf wrapped around his head, making the rest of his face visible to the two traveling men. “The Lokhen Church, though not my own, shares many of my values – most importantly the never-ending quest for knowledge of the world,” Prince Saric explained. “I have studied many of its manuscripts in my studies of calligraphy,” he added with a warm smile, fondly remembering the days when he first learned the intricate art of writing and creating decorative capitals.

There was a slight frown on Saric’s face as the Cardinal mentioned having been separated from the remainder of his entourage. “I am a treasured friend of the Queen’s, and if I know her, she will be sending out a rescue party before long to find the rest of your men and what remains of the stranded guests.” He paused, looking up towards the castle, and recalculating the route to it in his mind. “Indeed. And if you would like, feel free to accompany me there," the Prince invited the duo. "I know my way around this region of Hadria quite well, and if I know what I know, it will not take even an hour for us to reach the castle.” Saric shrugged. “Besides, it may help us to endure the journey if we hold a lively conversation. After all, it is not every day that a royal from Mazamri meets a member of a church from a distant land."

GrieveWriter

 

[Vestige]

“While what he says may be true, there’s still hope the ball will be a success yet my Queen,” Maris bowed deeply at the waist when the Queen departed. “Thank you for your time your majesty.”

The Queen was barely gone when Vincent spoke again, Maris smiled behind her helm as he spoke about cooperation and his compatriots the Black Lions. They sounded like quite the entertaining bunch. The more he spoke the more she learned of him and what he was, she felt for him, she couldn’t begin to imagine what it must’ve been like growing up for him. It vaguely reminded her of times spent listening to her brother, how dissatisfied and trapped he felt. Her hidden smile slipped as a sour taste filled her mouth. Maris blinked, and pulled back to the present at Vincent’s apology and inclined her head.

“No apology necessary, I understand, or rather I can empathize and it's better to get those feelings out, even to a stranger.” She said softly, putting a little more emotion into her voice as her face was hidden. “At any rate I feel out of my depth often among my fellow knights, I may be one, but I’m still a woman and from Isenmont. Not the greatest combination—not to compare or contrast our respective troubles mind, but bah you know what I mean.”

A handful of generations back the Halloran family had been a clan originally from the rugged northern isle of Muirland before seeking to settle in what is now Isenmont. They swore fealty to current power that ruled the land at the that time before Hadria had been united, and being skilled warriors turned the tide in many a battle and were eventually given titles of nobility and the lands of Isenmont which they now largely retained through military service. The fiefdom was also isolated, and it wasn’t wholly uncommon for women to be in male dominated roles. Maris had grown up on her parent’s stories of heroic ancestors, both women and men who had led and fought many battles.

“At any rate I’m afraid whether you come along or not is no longer my decision. However, I believe it would be best if you came, with your keener senses leading the way we would find the prince and stranded guests all the quicker.” Maris said when they were alone again, she shifted from foot to foot, eager to be going. “But we shall see what Sir Wymond has to say. Ah speak of the devil, here he comes now.”

Maris dipped her head in a slight bow to Wymond as he joined them, suddenly the coat room felt more crowded with his added height inside. He was intelligent, hardworking, and good with a blade to just name a few quality traits. Naturally she respected him and his leadership skills. He also, from what she could tell interacting with him on occasion, didn’t judge her for her brother's actions, among other things.

“Good evening Sir Wymond, as you may already know, we’d like to help in the efforts to aid prince Owen and the stranded.” Maris said, cutting to the heart of it. “Vincent here has offered his services, I believe the benefit outweighs the risk and we should take him up on the offer, but you know the needs of this castle's defenses better than anyone. What do you say?”

Interactions:
quadraxis201 snowstormspawn

 

[quadraxis201]

Vincent Hawthorne​

Maris' explanation about how being a woman, much less a foreigner, made Vincent nod at the very least. "I do know what you mean, worry not. It is frankly very rare for people like me to be in Hadria, much less born here as I was, for the reasons I've already given, no doubt. To the far east lie the marshes of Illtharon, sometimes referred to as the 'Nightlands', named so because of the efforts of its first king, a powerful umbramancer, who placed an enchantment over the land. It is because of this enchantment that the moon shall forever shine its silver light upon Illtharon, leaving the sun banished from the sky. To us lycanthropes, and even the degenerate others, it is little short of a blessing. A land of our own, free from the belligerent humans that would demand our heads on pikes and our fur on their coats, not to mention the soothing sounds of crickets and frogs everywhere. If I ever do decide to retire, I aim to spend the rest of my days there. Mother did always tell me about how excited the young pups were when new scents came into the village she used to call home... why, they'd even let humans in if they showed themselves to be kind enough." Vincent uttered the last two sentences with what seemed like a genuine grin, or something a bit closer to one.

Vincent was snapped out of his ephemeral moment of joy and turned his attention to the doors when Sir Wymond made his appearance. After the Guard Captain introduced himself, Vincent did the same. "Vincent Hawthorne of the Black Lion Mercenary Group. Our presence was requested on the behalf of... well, someone. To be frank, their handwriting would suggest they're definitely an actual resident of the castle, but they apparently forgot to give a signature. I would think such things would be required before sending out a request like this, but... considering the scenario, the request was not written a joke. Their 'mere suspicion', as our mystery author put it, turned out to be quite correct. I was the only one who was dispatched for the task of helping to ensure the safety of everyone in attendance of the Ball, but given how Her Majesty's Guard, or most of it, anyway-- is already hard at work doing just that, I may very well be the only one who was actually needed."

Vincent adjusted himself a bit so he was in a slightly more formal bodily position for the Captain. "If you're organizing a rescue party, I would indeed like to participate. As the only lycanthrope of my brothers-in-arms, I believe I may prove to be a helpful asset on this endeavor. Of course, I'm not going to... ahem... 'change forms' right here and now-- wouldn't want anyone panicking over the sudden appearance of a large, black wolf in the Queen's castle when everyone's already on edge from the inclement weather and the delays it's bringing to the prospective guests, but when we're at a 'safe enough' distance from the eyes of the castle, I'll go right on ahead and 'do it', so to speak."

Interactions:
Vestige
snowstormspawn

 

[Saavedra]

The Prince let the drink warm him up as he listened to the healer´s explanation and watched him reach for another mug from a server. So the lord was in the hands of his apprentices? How interesting. If something happened to the lord, the apprentices would be in trouble, but the ultimate responsibility would still be his. If Owen was in his place, he would not have left the lord´s side, but perhaps Granveris had that much trust in his apprentices?

The healer´s loud toast interrupted his train of thought. It was sudden, and provoked a loud reaction from all around them that he did not enjoy very much. He sought a little bit of anonymity in his mug, while Garl raised an eyebrow. The Prince was overwhelmed by the sudden noises and all the attention, but Garl was a knight assigned to protect a member of the Royal Family. He was not so easily distracted, and made a note in his mind to report to the appropriate authorities as soon as the situation permitted. An unknown commoner, possibly with alchemical knowledge, with a great responsibility, being allowed to go to the ball instead of a sick lord? What an interesting story...

Meanwhile, the Prince´s attention was focused again on the healer. His proposed plan to reach the castle sounded perfect in Owen´s mind. A carriage and strong horses was the best possible solution to their current predicament... other than spending the night here in the tavern. Owen was tempted to do just that, seeing the terrible weather outside, but surely he was expected at the ball? Actually, the fact that he was not at the castle, given this weather, no doubt worried his family. He could imagine his mother, father and sister´s anxious frowns as they wondered if he was safe. There was even the possibility that they were sending someone to fetch him even now, which in this weather could be dangerous. No one should be out there, not when he was perfectly safe and comfortable here in the tavern.

The young Prince lowered his gaze to the now diminished wine in his hands. He was annoyed. He despised the idea that because he was so young, others may be placed in danger. He had four knights and two good friends with him, but that would still not be enough because he was a Prince of Hadria. Also, even though he was not what some may describe as sickly, he was rather thin and lacked the vigour other children his age possessed. Owen had resigned himself to this state of affairs long ago, choosing not to participate in some of the physical games his playmates often engaged in because he knew he would not perform well. However, he had never expected that factor to add to a problematic situation such as this. Would that weakness of his factor in his family´s worries? He suspected it would. Owen suspected that the combination of prince, very young and physically weak would lead his father and mother to order a sortie from the castle to search for him, and good subjects would be put in danger for no reason while he drank warm wine and sat comfortably by the fire.

That would not do when there was a better way.

Frustrated, and considering the idea for a long time, he finally took a decision. Though aware that it was perhaps his emotions and a bit of alcohol leading him forward, rather than a purely logical decision, he reasoned that it was better for him to be at the castle, safe and accounted for, than in here, where his absence would torture his family and possibly lead to someone´s death or injury.

After several minutes of silent consideration where his face betrayed no thoughts, his gaze rose from his drink. He finished it, and looked at Garl. "There must be a suitable carriage in the stables, and we should have enough gold to buy it."

The knight frowned, unsure. The Prince´s safety was paramount to him. He rubbed his bearded chin. He did not like the plan, and he disliked the fact that it had come from the healer even more. The way he looked at Granveris would have made a rock feel uneasy. However, the weather was not to be trusted either. Garl remembered a blizzard in his childhood bad enough to bury a tavern like the Hand Warmer up to the windows in the second floor, almost. He did not fancy their chances now. He was not seeing the establishment owners take precautions against that, and he did not like the idea of commandeering the tavern and all the patrons to keep the Prince safe. Commoners could not be trusted. The castle promised safety where this tavern did not if one took the human factor into account.

"Perhaps... if the blizzard gets worse, it would be better to be at the castle. It should be infinitely safer than here."

The Prince nodded, and that was it. Garl gestured for one of the other knights to approach and gave him his orders. While they waited, Owen realized that he was actually feeling hot. Next to the fire, and still in his thick clothes, he was beginning to sweat. He stood up and took a handkerchief to wipe his face clean, while Garl reached for the Prince´s gloves and coat. The boy addressed the healer. "I would rather wait by the door than cook here, and it may take some time to find us transport and buy it. If you have any business to deal with, it would be best to do it now."

Having said that, the Prince walked towards the front of the tavern while his knights and friends paid for the group´s consumptions. Naturally, Garl remained at his side. Already there were whispers among the patrons as they watched the Prince and his entourage prepare to leave. Though difficult to make out, it was obvious that very few thought it was a good idea for him to brave the weather.

 

[snowstormspawn]

~Sir Wymond~

Wymond already knew Vincent was a part of the Black Lions – while he did not appear very powerful, he knew that they were all capable and respectable in combat. It meant that Vincent most definitely had a trick or two up his sleeve, and may even have a supernatural power that made up for how he looked in terms of strength. Wymond frowned as Vincent mentioned the message he had received, and how the sender was unidentifiable. The guard sighed, a hand rising to touch his temple in an attempt to remember whether he had sent in that request without signing his own damned name. “Ah. It may have been myself who sent that letter, forgive me. In fact, it most probably was. These days, things have been quite hectic for the Guard. My mind is in the worst state that it has ever been – the battles I have fought are partially to blame. However I feel, and many others agree – there has been a fog over our minds, the residents of the castle,” he explained. “Hence the suspicion that dark forces are at play.” The guard cleared his throat. “Furthermore, I have identified traces of several threats to the crown’s safety, many of which have been too obscure to pinpoint and come from afar. And for all of these reasons, yes, I did request the presence of additional security for the event so hastily that I forgot to sign it.”

Wymond dragged a chair towards himself, taking a seat to listen to Vincent as he explained his condition – he had never met a lycanthrope in person, but he had heard stories, and from what he gathered a man in wolf form would be faster, more in tune with the natural environment, and more protected from the cold.

“If it brings our guests back to safety, you can shift into any form you like. But I agree it would be wiser to do it once we reach the castle’s walls,” Wymond stated. “That being said – yes, I say you join us. We can spare a horse, and I assume your powers have blessed you with superior tracking capabilities. I would be a fool to decline your participation, but then again, I did forget to sign my request. Would you happen to have it on your person? If you do, I would like to provide my signature and officiate the copy, to ensure you are aptly compensated should anything happen to me on this rescue mission.”

Vestige quadraxis201
__________________

~Queen Adrienne~
The Queen made her way back to the ballroom, her head held high – she concealed well her concerns and fears, but she only did this for her guests and the rest of her people. Before she reached the herald, the ballroom fell quiet – her presence was noticed with haste and the guests, including Princess Adelina, watched her with intent as she took her place at the top of the stairs that led into the ballroom. The herald belted out an instruction for the guests to gather around to hear the Queen’s address.

“Greetings, to all of you, my dearest friends and honored guests,” Adrienne began in the loudest tone that she could manage. “I have received word that nearly half of the guests who received their invitations have arrived, and I cannot express my gratitude for your safe and timely arrivals.” There was a short pause, before the Queen carried on. “Of course, you are only here because I willed it. And due to the dire circumstances, I have issued a decree to all my guards and servants. They shall see to it that all of you receive a comfortable sleeping place, and keep you fed for the duration of your stay. I expect none of you to begin your journey home until the snowstorm surpasses.”

There was a quiet murmur between the guests – the overall tone was definitely one of relief. Hadria was wealthy enough to keep large stores of food, and had not spent its whole supply on preparations for the feast. With harvest season near its end, there was enough grain and root vegetables to feed an army, and the blizzard could only be expected to last days, at most. The issue was that the guests and carriages would be snowed in – but the Queen was getting to that.

“I, as well as you, am concerned for the safety of our stranded guests. And therefore, I have appointed Sir Wymond, the Head of my Guard, to lead a rescue mission that will bring them to safety as soon as possible,” she stated. “Then as soon as the snow fall ceases, I will appoint any citizen of the kingdom who wishes to contribute to assist with shoveling snow so that our roads can be cleared and fit for travel once again.” Adrienne took a deep breath. “In the mean time – please help yourselves to the feast, and try to make the most of this evening. I’m certain that your journeys were difficult and long, and I would hate for you all to not enjoy your night, at least a little. I will return for an announcement if any new developments take place. Thank you.” As the Queen’s address ended, the crowd slowly dispersed, with a few of the guests approaching her on foot to greet her and ask their questions.

(Act fast – The first guest could be YOU!)

~Princess Adelina~

Adelina, second goblet of wine in hand, watched the Queen in sheer bewilderment as she gave her address. Her father and brother were, of course, watching too. Both seemed unhappy to be faced with the possibility of being stranded in the castle for days – they were accustomed to snow, being from Westfalia, and so they had a better idea of just how bad the state of the current state of the weather would be in the long run. Adelina realized that she had found herself standing next to another young woman, who had to be around her own age. With slightly darker hair, and a slightly different gown with fewer embellishments. She remembered from the herald’s last announcement that this was Duchess Elizabeth of Beaumont, the kingdom that Hadria separated Westfalia from. “Aren’t you just delighted, to find yourself here?” Adelina asked, quite boldly. It was like staring into a mirror – the princess could spot an unwilling guest from a mile away. Her guess? An arranged marriage was in the works. Adelina hoped the Duchess was not desperate enough to to mingle with her older brother – but to be on the safe side, she attempted to be as friendly as she could – with the sparse amount of guests, who knew if the young woman would end becoming up her sister in law. “Try the fine assortment of exotic wines. They help,” the Princess suggested, taking another sip from her goblet. It was unfortunate that Sir Wymond would be away on his rescue mission – she hoped he had appointed someone to keep her from tumbling off a balcony.

kath1515

 

[kath1515]

- Duchess Elizabeth -

Before Elizabeth could fully set foot into the ballroom, her path was crossed by a stern-looking man in royal court event armor. Elizabeth recognized the sigil on his chest plate. “Favored by the royal family”, she pondered, “he must be the Queen’s Head of Guard.” The man sent her a friendly smile (which she gratefully returned) before being pulled aside by a worried-looking guard just a few feet to the side of where she stood.

Averting her eyes from their conversation, it was unbefitting of a lady of her status to be eavesdropping, she began to move further into the ballroom. She spent the next short while moving from guest to guest, introducing herself and mingling amongst them. Not long after, she made her way over to the feast table, intending to find some sort of refreshment. Before she could get something to drink, Queen Adrienne began to make her way into the ballroom. Elizabeth and the rest of the room fell silent as the Queen began to speak.

In a loud voice, the Queen reassured guests that they would be provided a sleeping place, as well as food for however long the storm continued to rage outside. This filled Elizabeth with relief, she had worried about her accommodations for the night, as well as a tinge of frustration. Who knew how much longer the storm would be extending her stay at the ball? Pushing that down, she reminded herself that she was here for the good of her people and this would allow her more time to make necessary connections. The Queen followed that up with an announcement that the Head of Guard, Sir Wymond, would be organizing a rescue mission for stranded guests.

After the Queen’s speech ended, guests began to approach her with questions and greetings. Before Elizabeth could move to greet the Queen herself, her attention was called to the woman at her side. “Aren’t you just delighted, to find yourself here?”, asked the woman Elizabeth recognized as Princess Adelina. The Princess herself certainly looked far from delighted. Elizabeth could only hope she looked better herself. “Well, I….”, Elizabeth began to respond before the Princess smiled a knowing smile and said, “Try the assortment of exotic wines. They help.”. Deciding it couldn't hurt to have at least some, as long as she was careful about how much she drank, Elizabeth reached for a goblet sitting on the table and took a sip. “Thank you,” she said to the Princess. After another sip from her goblet and Elizabeth decided to make conversation with the Princess. Princess Adelina had a direct tie to the Queen, and more than that, she could provide an in with her older brother, not that Elizabeth was particularly fond of the idea of marrying him.

“Are you not enjoying the ball, Princess Adelina?”, asked Elizabeth, “Your gown is truly gorgeous.”. She hoped the Princess wasn’t able to see through her attempt at flattery. But if she was being honest with herself, the Princess was one of the only people here who looked to be enjoying the ball less than herself and was definitely seeing through it. “I suppose things haven’t been going nearly according to plan though, what with the storm,” Elizabeth continued, taking another sip from the goblet. “I expect all we can do is try to continue to enjoy the ball.”, Elizabeth finished.

snowstormspawn

 

[GrieveWriter]

Skalden Cray & Cardinal Leopold
Mentioned/Interacted: snowstormspawn
​

Skalden Cray watched in tense silence as Saric and Leopold conversed, hand still ready to go for his hilt at the slightest hint of danger. But it didn't come, instead the Prince rode off the Cardinal's mention of the other Lokhen forces they lost contact with. He mentioned that the Queen would undoubtedly send out a search party for them, that he'd be glad to hold a conversation while they made their way to the castle together. The offer did nothing to stifle Skalden's hesitation, but it seemed to absolutely delight the Cardinal. It was strange, an odd detail that the Paladin had noted about Leopold for some time now. Even while wearing the impassive Face of Lokh like so many members of the Church, it was as if his expressions were easy to read through his voice and mannerisms alone. Truly a people person if the Paladin had ever saw one.

"Well it's not as if I could find a better alternative, wouldn't you say?" Leopold chuckled as he gestured for Skalden to follow behind "A good chat like this should be plenty enough to get the old gears turning again."

Skalden didn't move as the procession continued towards the castle, his eyes locked to the Cardinal as he chatted away happily. With a sigh, the Paladin relaxed his hand and urged his horse to follow along with them. But even though he'd trust the Cardinal on this and hold his tongue, he didn't refit the upper latch on his sword's sheath. Just because they could trust the another one of the Queen's attendees didn't mean he had to trust the ominous surroundings that still seemed to emanate peril through every piece of the chilling winds.

"This celebration is actually the first foreign task I've been granted since the Plague was finally scrubbed from the Holy Lands." the Cardinal explained to Saric as he looked to the castle lights in the distance "It'd be good to find that all that time spent locked away under the watchful eyes of the Church hasn't caused my particular talents to rust."

"Plague was tough on everyone, Father." Skalden noted, head lowered as he followed behind "Lokh's wisdom helped us contain it quickly, but to have so many districts contaminated and under watch for so long... clean up efforts may very well take the rest of the year."

That wasn't even covering the full extent of the Plague's effects. Skalden may have been assigned to defending the church's prime locations throughout most of it, but enough of the Lokhen Knights spoke to one another for all under the Church's banner to know exactly how dire things became. Even the least important district that was affected still had a major impact on Whilden's economy. The Church and the High Lady's foresight for disasters meant that the nation itself wasn't at risk of collapse, like how some others were impacted, but it was more like things ground to a halt while attempts to counter the affliction were being implemented. For far too long, the Afflicted were locked away in the contaminated districts with the Lokhen Knights doing everything in their power to curb the spread. Resources were rationed for all, as there was no telling how long it would be before the kingdom's trade would recover.

There were tales of the less than devoted attempting to flee the districts, only to be curbed the Church's forces time and time again. They'd had their first riot in centuries grace their territories, if you could call it that. The Afflicted were less than effective at retaliating against the Lokhen Knights, but they'd managed to cause enough property damage to warrant suppression. And then there was the Edmund Incident, which still made Skalden growl under his mask whenever he thought about it.

"Yes yes, no need to remind me, my son." Leopold sighed before giving a shaky laugh "If anything the struggles of this venture have allowed me to generally put the recent strife in the back of my mind."

Unlike the knights and the people of Whilden, the high ranking members of the church had a far more mundane pressure laid on by the plague. As the most intelligent and renown scholars in all of Whilden, any members of the clergy who hadn't been afflicted worked day and night working on ways to counter the plague. Cardinal Leopold knew his medicine, but it wasn't his focus like many of his colleagues. Their lives became stringently regimented between conducting matters of the church and devising new concoctions both magical and alchemical. He adored the High Lady's Keep the same as he did many of the Church's grander holdings, but he was a foreign emissary for a reason. Being constrained to the same place for too long never did suit him, even before he'd risen through the ranks he'd been travelling across the kingdom plenty of times in order to follow Lokh's Will.

"Hmph, I can only imagine how the plague's stricken your people." Skalden turned his attention to Saric before nodding to the Cardinal "Unlike his grace, I've been keeping my eyes towards the homeland. Haven't been able to see how our distant neighbors have been dealing with-"

"Unnecessary." Leopold spoke in Whildenese as he glanced back to the Paladin, who silenced immediately while the Cardinal turned his attention back towards the castle in the distance "A lively chat shouldn't be tainted by the pains of recent years, my son. The winds are aiding in that already, the celebration should be at the forefront of our minds. The thoughts of warm beds and full bellies will surely empower us on the last legs of our approach."

 

[Hellewise]

Cassandra Redfern

Cassandra was left speechless after Blackwood's hasty retreat from the room. Their journey towards it had passed in a blur, during which she found herself immensely enjoying the stories he happily weaved about his hometown - she longed for such simplicity in life and the pleasures of small things - but once one of the castle servants had lead them to her chambers, his demeanour changed completely. She was grateful for the leading he foot he took in enquiring about the room and a possible change of clothes, but she couldn't grasp what had set him so on edge and prompted his swift departure before she could even attempt to ask what the matter was.

Ah, well, Cassandra thought, shaking herself free of any guilt that threatened to weigh her down.

Speaking of weights, she'd forgotten about the stone clasped in her palm. She lifted her hand and unclenched her fingers, revealing the smooth, engraved rock that Blackwood had handed hr moments before. It was a curious little gift - was it even a gift? She would attempt to return it at some point later on - or contraption anyway, and she'd never heard of such an enchanting object before, or even the concept behind it. She turned it around curiously between her fingers, studying the elaborate writing on it. Well, she might as well try...

"Ignite," she muttered, and her eyes widened in shock when the stone sure enough begun to give off a gentle orange glow and release heat, warming her palm. She dropped it in surprise, and when it clattered to the floor the orange light faded until it looked like an ordinary rock once more.

The servant returned as she was staring it down.

"Ma'am," he said, making his way over to the bed and dropping an armful of clothes into a messy pile on top of the covers. He took his leave as quickly as he had come in.

"Thank you," Cassandra called out pathetically, making her way over to the mound.

He hadn't held back. The choice was hardly disappointing; there dresses, robes, tunics, linens of all different colours. Somewhat overwhelmed, both by the clothing and the sheer grandeur of the room, Cassandra settled for a plain white tunic and some brown linen for her legs; it was baggy, but she tied it in at the waist with her belt and sword sheath for a closer fit, and it was comfortable and breathable on her skin, even when she fastened her leather armour back in place and slung her bow and quiver over her shoulders.

Well, she didn't exactly look the part for a guest at the ball, so she wouldn't be going down there any time soon. She was a knight - or as close as she could be to one without a formal title, of course - after all, and it was her duty to serve and protect, so that's what she would do.

On her way out of her chambers, she swiftly bent and retrieved Blackwood's stone, tucking it into the leather pouch at her waist, before starting a patrol route along the corridors.

~~~
​

James Mercier

James listened intently to Queen Adrienne's address, and had to admit that he was impressed. He hadn't been inside the castle walls for years, and even when he had served as a young boy he'd never had much contact with the royal family; seeing her in all her majesty was as enchanting to him as it would be to any pauper off the street, which, he supposed he was. The concern that rung in her voice as she talked about the stranded guests seemed real enough, even when on any other occasion the cynic within him would be calling it out as nothing but a front for good representation. However, Adrienne's disposition was telling of her kind and thoughtful nature, even it were reserved only for the elite.

He had to hold back a scoff at the comment about "citizens willing to help", though. Looking around the room, it was clear to see that none of these pompous folk with all their frills and laces would put themselves forward to lend a hand. Hell, even if he was under guise, he'd volunteer later on when the need arose; he was a cad, but he wasn't heartless. At least not that often.

As the queen's address drew to a close and the guests started to mingle again, a particular young looking dame caught James' eye, and he was just about to head her way when another figure slammed into his side and knocked the wind out of him.

James stumbled backwards, one palm flying out against the wall to steady himself and the other arm reflexively wrapping around his ribs in a vain attempt to numb the pain from the unexpected blow.

"God, where's the fire?!" He snapped at the stranger, muttering a few choice curses under his breath and momentarily dropping his front. "Watch where you're going!"

Whoops. Probably not exactly the reaction someone of nobility would have, at least not with such colourful language.

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[Jolly Roger]

Marcel carefully watched the prince’s reaction as he suggested his plan to him. There was a long pause in which the the boy was gathering his thoughts, clearly intrigued by the idea. As Owen peered into the cup nestled in his hands, Marcel observed his face briefly flicker through a number of conflicting emotions. He wondered what was motivating the boy; maybe the prince saw an opportunity to prove himself and his capabilities, in spite of his delicate frame.

No doubt a rescue party would arrive soon enough, but who knows how long that would take? On top of that, the queen would surely be quite grateful towards Marcel if he was the one who helped bring her son home safely.

When Marcel finally received approval, the healer bowed to show his gratitude. “I am so glad to see your highness agrees with my counsel. Let me prepare my luggage upstairs and I will meet you at the entrance shortly.”

As he ascended the stairwell to his lodgings, he noticed many of the bar patrons eying him warily. They probably saw him as some arrogant upstart or social climber, which he most definitely was. But he took no issue with such a label. After all, why should only those born with a silver spoon in their mouths have all the fun?

After hauling down his trunk, Marcel joined the prince at the door, looking around to count the other members of the group. Eight in all, including himself. One of the knights, the man who followed prince around like his personal dog, exuded a particularly hostile attitude. Fortunately, he wasn’t the one in charge of the decisions around here.

“I would offer Lord Macron’s carriage, your highness, but it would be far too tight a fit for all of us. Have you found any suitable arrangements yet?” Even from inside, Marcel could hear the howling of the wind above the raucous noise of the tavern. The sooner they arrived at the castle, the better.

Interactions: Saavedra

 

[snowstormspawn]

~Princess Adelina~

Princess Adelina shrugged softly, like the lady she was expected to present herself as. “I enjoy this event more than the others I have been forced through social obligations to attend. At least there’s food and wine, though the food won’t be at its best until Prince Saric arrives. He always brings the best desserts from his homeland – being so far, having them shipped to my small kingdom which has no coastline at all is close to impossible,” she mused. “Why thank you,” the princess responded to the compliment on her dress, despite realizing that it was simply said for politeness’ sake. “It was specifically tailored for this occasion, but I am quite pleased with every aspect, at least,” she explained. "Absolutely, I am so glad not to have been caught in the cold. And of course, your safe arrival was fortunate as well," Adelina added with a warm smile. She truly meant it - there was nothing better than being in the presence of someone who could relate to her plight while her friend was still.... somewhere out there. Were it not for their different dress, they might even appear from afar to be sisters.

After taking a glance towards the entrance to see whether any further guests were coming through, Adelina turned back to Elizabeth. “I hope that if you are here to make a match, you do not see me as competition," she whispered, the music in the ballroom masking the quiet conversation. "I have attended this ball for many years, and I doubt that I will come away from this one with a betrothal, despite the fact we might find ourselves trapped in the castle for days," she sighed. Adelina had always told herself that she would only commit to a marriage if the potential groom was extraordinarily special, and she had a feeling upon first meeting them that it was meant to be. Such a moment was scarce, and rarely if ever happened. She knew that Queen Adrienne was genuinely fond of her own husband, and that she had great privileges being that she was his wife, but that scenario was too ideal to be realistic.

Adelina was fond of many of the men in attendance at the ball, but then again, she could only picture them as good friends for the duration of her life. Elizabeth, however, may be able to find a match among them. "If you have any questions about any of the attendees, or you would like me to introduce you to someone in particular, I would be happy to do that. Many of the nobles are childhood friends of mine, and it would make my presence here worthwhile to be able to help someone else obtain what they need," she suggested with a softer smile, deciding that she would cap off her wine consumption then and there if she could be of use to her new acquaintance from Beaumont.

kath1515
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________

~Prince Saric~

Saric could feel the judgemental eyes of his entourage on him as he provided his friendly greetings. His culture, overall, could be suspicious of foreigners at times due to all of the attempted invasions and failed efforts to convert his people to the North Western religions. By contrast, Saric was far more open and friendly - the union of the King & Queen's former nations had resulted in a shift that reached as far as Mazamri, and he had attended the Queen's ball ever since he first reached eighteen years of age. Still, as their faces were hidden, he could acknowledge the possibility that these two men were criminals who had stolen the clothing off a Cardinal and Paladin who were now buried in the snow. Therefore, just to be on the safe side, the Prince recited a lesser known Lokhen verse from Morkheart. Halfway through, he pretended to have forgotten how it ended, asking "How does it go..." and allowing the Cardinal to fill in the rest.

As planned, the man answered correctly, and Saric was fully satisfied that the two men were truly men of faith, and felt comfortable to proceed with them towards the route to the castle. He fastened the scarf around his head again in order to keep his face protected, speaking louder as his voice was muffled by the fabric when he did speak. Saric listened curiously as Leopold told him of his experience with the plague in the Holy Lands, and then the following conversation between him and Skalden. He turned his head to look towards the Paladin when he spoke to him directly. There was a slight frown that formed on his face as he thought about the plague that had ravaged the land - only slightly, thanks to Mazamri's distance from the mainland of the continent. Saric recalled the castle being entirely quartered off to any guests, and how he was forced to remain indoors and not come in contact with many people due to his title and status. If anything had happened to his father, or to himself, the kingdom would have been thrown into complete peril.

The scars of the disease were so far-reaching that Saric had taken to sailing around the continent, rather than taking upon himself the difficult task of facing what had happened to his kingdom and its people. It was only recently that the young prince had fallen in love with his birthplace again. Though his experiences of Mazamri had been tarnished by the events, he recognized that it was where he truly belonged and was meant to rule. "The plagues were a very lonely time for me, and a very uncertain time for Mazamri," Saric stated. "I agree with your idea - this is one of these nights where you forget the hard times of the past and enjoy good food and company." The Prince paused for a moment, his eyes returning to the lights of the castle in the short distance that remained between them and the celebration. "What brings you and your companions to Queen Adrienne's celebration? Were you personally invited by the Queen herself, or is this more of a "foreign outreach" mission of sorts?" Saric asked, genuinely interested in what brought the men here. For all he knew of the high ranks of most world religions, the priests and many others did not imbibe. Many outright frowned upon celebration and revelry. From what Saric knew of the Church, they were not extensively preachy, though his lack of personal encounters with its members would be to blame if that were a misconception. "Perhaps more importantly, when did the weather begin to turn for you?" Saric added on to the thought. "I first noticed the ice and snowfall a mere mile from the shore. There was almost no transition to speak of. You may even think of the castle as sitting in the center of a silver platter - the storm is contained inside that domed lid."
GrieveWriter

 

[quadraxis201]

Vincent Hawthorne
​

Vincent listened to Sir Wymond's words and cocked and eyebrow when the Guard Captain mentioned he was the one who signed the request for help. "Oh, so it was you who made the request. Very well, then. At least I have some confirmation. As someone who's quite literally paid to fight anyone, be they human or not, I understand the toll that battles can take on one's mind, let alone the mass uncertainty that is presently looming overhead."

Wymond then explained the intel he had gathered thus far. "Right, that much I could gather, at least as far as the unknowns go. In any case, I would say you chose well." The Captain of Adrienne's Guard then mentioned how he would sign the request to officiate it, and Vincent gave a simple hand gesture. "Better late than never, I say."

Wymond then had more to say after he had listened to Vincent's preliminary description of himself, and once he had most definitely expressed his approval of having Vincent tag along, the lycanthrope shifted positions once again. "Well, for one thing, your acceptance of my presence is very much appreciated. Most other humans would simply turn me away and call me a 'half breed', a 'monstrous killer', or other such nonsense. My brothers-in-arms were frankly the same way when I started working with the Lions, actually-- approximately half of their talks with me involved some sort of asinine wolf joke or how worried they were that I was going to sink my fangs into their jugulars while they slept, and I could have sworn they tried to switch my bed out for a pet basket while I was off on a contract. They couldn't fool me, though. As for my tracking capabilities, you would be correct-- little escapes the keen nose of a wolf, even during a blizzard. My fur will also keep me warm amongst the frigid gales that will I'm sure will plague our efforts. With your knowledge of the lay of the land and my acute senses, I have few doubts we'll find success."

When Wymond asked if Vincent still had the parchment, he produced the piece of paper from under his coat and held it out towards him. "I certainly do-- it was that piece of parchment that stopped some of your soldiers from giving me looks while I performed my inspections, actually. Part of me was looking to get a signature for the request at some point anyway, if only for the sake of completion. If you want to give a quick sign-off, you're welcome to do so before we get this rescue underway. Time waits for no one, after all."

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[Vestige]

Maris made a mental note to ask Vincent more of Illtharon another time. It sounded like a remarkable, beautiful place the way he spoke of it. From her more leisurely days of study in her youth most information she’d had access to at the time on the place and its culture was deeply biased at worst and vague at best and therefore utterly useless.

Maris paced the length of the room while the two men spoke. She kept silent as Wymond saw the wisdom in Vincent joining them and of the threats and Vincent's reply. However Wymond’s earlier words kept repeating in her mind, had she experienced this phenomenon in her short time here or had it only affected the true residents of the castle?

She halted her pacing and kept vigil at the door, peering out at the guests who swarmed towards the queen after her announcement. She picked over Wymonds words in silent frustration. Dark ensorcelled forces, obscure threats, a fog of the mind, her thoughts tangled over the matter as she stopped near the door. She’d been aware of potential threats to the ball, but this uncanny stupor of thought was news to her, wasn’t it? Could it simply be stress from the anniversary preparations? Possibly, not everyone was as diligent as Wymond or pushed themselves past their limit like he obviously seemed to be judging from his cleaned up but clearly still worn appearance. Still, whatever the cause, it didn’t bode well to forget such a minor thing, or that Vincent had gotten through the gate without the request being officially signed. Maris scowled, how had she not noticed the lack of signature herself when he’d shown her? Had she just been distracted, or had it been something more? She grimaced, if it was the latter then she clearly needed a lecture on being more attentive just as much as some of the guards.

She pulled back from the door to look at Wymond and Vincent who were busy talking about getting the request officially signed. “You mentioned a mental fog… Has it just been a range of slip ups and a brief lapse in thought? There hasn’t been any instance of someone going minutes or heavens forbid hours through their day without memory of what they’ve done?” She hoped nothing like that had happened, but if the former was possible why wouldn't the later be? She’d heard many tales of magic and its many wonders and atrocities. Then again even magic of course had its limits and so did those who commanded it.

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[GrieveWriter]

Cardinal Leopold and Skalden Cray
Interacted/Mentioned: snowstormspawn​

"Under the touch of Lokh's Will, even the blind could see..."​

Leopold looked up as Saric brought up a verse of Morkheart, a particular tale about a Lokhen Preacher who saved dozens of scattered nomads from the maws of local beasts despite his blindness. But the Prince seemed to forget something, so Leopold was quick to take the opportunity. Raising a finger, he finished.

"For the gift of Knowledge is not see easily halted by the ailments of the mortal world."​

So humored he was by the sudden usage of such an overshadowed verse that he didn't notice the way that Skalden looked up at the two of them, his gaze eventually settling on their surroundings as the conversation picked up again. Cardinal Leopold nodded in solidarity as Saric voiced some of his own hardships during the plague, only for him to be relieved by his acknowledgment that it shouldn't dominate their discussion. Instead he found himself being questioned over the nature of his invitation, a topic which led the Cardinal to chuckle.

"Oh, it was addressed to the High Lady of the Lokhen Church, but she never takes on diplomatic missions. Its why she has emissaries like yours truly." Leopold explained "Queen Adrienne and the other rulers neighboring us have become quite accustomed to Our Lady's way doing things. If they ever needed to reach her personally the Citadel is usually ready to accept any-"

"Father!" Skalden piped up suddenly, causing the Cardinal to look back at him for a moment before sighing and turning back to Saric.

"I was just lucky enough to be chosen to represent the Church at a celebration of such renown for this nation." he concluded "Having a Cardinal of my caliber there to show Whilden's continued support towards its neighbors in times of healing does wonders for international relations."

Skalden wasn't keen on the Cardinal getting too loose-lipped, especially when it came to the Citadel and the High Lady. Her foresight and caution had allowed them to weather the plague better than most, so it was understandable why she kept the Citadel locked down for all intents and purposes despite the sickness being purged. If not for this celebration, Leopold would've still been stuck within the walls of the Citadel waiting for the High Lady's concerns to abate. The Citadel was always the High Lady's fortress of solitude for most parts, meetings with foreign rulers a rarity but accepted. But during the Plague there was no such allowances, she called in the Church's highest minds and locked them inside the Citadel with her while they sought a cure.

But then another question was posed, about the timing of the weather. Though Leopold sighed again, he wasn't able to speak before Skalden groaned in notable aggravation.

"Almost as soon as we left the Forsworn Mountains," he grumbled loudly before raising a hand to squeeze the bridge of his nose " It was so light at first, but the closer we drew to the castle it became more and more obstructive. If not for the avalanche dispersing our Knights, we might've decided to find somewhere else to hold till the weather cleared."

It was almost ironic, the Forsworn Mountains were rumored to be a nightmare to manuever by anything greater than a horse. The fact that the Citadel rested up there was a testament to the capabilities of those touched by Lokh's will. Yet for them, the journey down from there had been entirely pleasant. Of course, the Cardinal's carriage was on the small side and his entourage utilized only horses for their journey, so it wasn't as if they'd truly be able to put the rumors to the test. But once they'd left those notorious mountains, only then did the weather start to take a turn, only then did they got separated from their allies, only then did the carriage wind up up in a ditch.

Despite his hesitation, Skalden couldn't help but agree with the Prince, something about the weather's timing just seemed too inconvenient to be natural. It wasn't as if it was impossible for such a misfortune to be constructed.

"Hmph, if this snow is the result of some kind of foul play," Skalden's hands tightened on the reins "let Ignis take those responsible."

"No need for such harsh wishes, my son." Cardinal Leopold noted before looking forward "Besides, if anyone could be led to such a thing, they may have been cursed by him already."

If Lokh had blessed humanity with the ability to learn more than any other species in their world, Ignis was who had cursed far too many with Ignorance. To wish that demon's poison upon anyone was... unsightly to say the least. But the Cardinal could understand the Paladin's disdain, he'd known several of the warriors who they'd lost amidst the weather.