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

[snowstormspawn]

Several weeks ago, you received an invitation to Queen Adrienne’s Annual Ball – the most important occasion of the year.
Whether you come from near or far, you are on the way there when an early winter storm begins, obscuring the roads and nearly trapping your carriage in its wake. This has never happened before during this time of year.

This is where our stories begin.



The Setting
The setting of the story will be a Medieval-esque, alternate universe version of Europe, circa 16th-17th century. The world (at this point, the main continent and the attached ones) has recovered from the devastating plagues, and looks forward to a new future. The location of the ball, the heart of the kingdom which stretches across most of the Western part of the continent, is approximately where modern France would be. There, Queen Adrienne resides with her family. The ball celebrates the occasion of both halves of the Kingdom being joined together as one, creating immense wealth and prosperity for the citizens. The grand ball has been celebrated for fifteen years at the time of this occasion. Intense Winter storms are not common during this time of the year, hence the planning for just at the end of Harvest Season.

~ Inside The Castle ~

The Ballroom



The Dining Hall



The Library



The Study



The Chapel

Spoiler: Map of Hadria & Surrounding Kingdoms

Rules & Things to Mind
1. Please try & write semi-detailed replies of at least two paragraphs (ten sentences). I don't want to create an excessive or strict length requirement - a short response can get the point across - but please do use your replies to describe the setting, include some exposition about your character, narrate their inner dialogue, etc. This will help the rest of the participants generate adequate responses!

2. While we love death, dramatics, characters getting too drunk for their own good and falling off of balconies, etc. etc. etc... Please do not murder anybody's character without their explicit permission to murder them, and try to remain within the constraints of reality when it comes to your character's abilities and actions.

3. Magic: When it comes to magic clairvoyance, fortune telling, a court wizard, and supernatural abnormalities (within limits, such as those tied to nature) are acceptable. There are some fantasy elements here, but it's preferred to keep things realistic (most everyone is human, etc.). If you have any questions about this, feel free to ask!

4. Character Communication: Feel free to create a character that comes from a foreign nation or kingdom. Most royals in this universe will have studied several world languages, especially those of nations they practice diplomacy with. How to show your character is speaking in a foreign language? State so, then italicize, use a blue or violet text color, etc. for the dialogue.

4. Additional rules will be added based on necessity, but I look forward to meeting all of your characters!

​

 

[startergomer]

Inner Dialogue: ' '
Spoken Dialogue: " "

As the oldest son of his family and the most apparent heir, it was important for Walter to begin making inroads to court politics in the capital. Despite his majority age coming and going, no major event required his presence until now when all the major and minor lords were called to the Queen's Ball. Walter had just last year taken over ruling the polity now that his father had passed the age where it was possible to rule and so Walter was sent off, much to his begrugement to the ball. Indeed if there was one thing he was begrudging it was the Royal Ball.

Oh sure Walter was very excited about the joining of two countries. It could only been good things in terms of economics. More customers for family wheat and produce after all. Not to mention the possible benefits and deals he that could come of this. His father had lectured him on no less.

However, the last time a noble interacted with him personally was 5 years ago when his father was paying off the last of some minor debts to finance some new roads. The noble had looked at Walter and sneered at the young boy. Some would most likely ignore such things, but Walter was never one to stick around where he wasn't wanted.

Now, that he was going to be going to a whole court full of them, he is quite confidant that other nobles won't be much different. All in all, he was currently cursing his fathers demands of getting there early to begin discussions sooner.

'Time doesn't wait for anyone he says. Early to bed early to rise he says. Just great. Now I'm a nobleman who isn't even in the inner circle or even of note at all, and now I'm amongst the few nobles who are near enough to the castle to get here on time before the storm hits who are definitely way outside of my circles. Ah well, nothing to do but wait it out. Even if practically no one is here. We still haven't even seen the Queen herself yet. Hmmmmm. More pressing business to attend to I suppose. Like sitting here in the back nursing this fine tea. Everyone here looks really important. Not the sort to be negotiating with me. Hopefully some of the other more down to earth nobles will show up soon enough. Then at least we can discuss harvest prices. Maybe get a good deal on flax. I thought the county over had a good showing this year........'

 

[quadraxis201]

Vincent Hawthorne
​

Vincent produced a sheet of parchment from the inside of his coat and re-read the text that had been rather neatly written on it:

"To the Black Lion Mercenaries:

It is on this most auspicious of occasions that I make a request.
The date of Her Majesty's Royal Ball is approaching, and call it a mere suspicion, but there seems to be an ominous feeling in the air this year.
My request is rather simple-- I ask that you send as many of your members as you deem necessary in order to ensure that Her Majesty's Ball is safe for all of the castle's visitors and its residents.
Complete this task, and you can be certain you will be paid handsomely for your efforts."
​

"So, 'a mere suspicion', hmm? Whoever wrote this note was evidently correct." Vincent put the parchment back away as he peered out of a nearby window and glanced up at the sky. "Those clouds do fit the bill, it would seem. They seem to imply... snowfall? At this time of year? That is either very unlucky timing, or some magic user really doesn't want the fifteenth anniversary of the Ball to occur." He shrugged to himself. "Oh, well. It's their neck under the guillotine if the latter winds up being true." Continuing down the hallway, Vincent scanned the area. /Not many visitors have shown up as of yet. I don't suppose the snow clouds have anything to do with that...?/ He thought to himself.

Shaking his head, the lycanthrope made his way towards the castle's entrance hall, where he would likely find other faces to speak with. Naturally, he expected there to be at least one human that would ask why someone who could be compared to a wolf in human skin was patrolling the halls of Queen Adrienne's castle as freely as they were, but Vincent didn't care-- he had a message he could show them. Whoever had written it, the clouds looming over the land were proof that they had not written it as a simple joke.

 

[Hellewise]

Cassandra Redfern

Cassandra's hands were raw by the time she arrived at the castle. She felt as though she had been gripping the reins on the horse beneath her for days, and the cold bite of the wind made the sensation all the worse. Not even the fur wrapped around her shoulders offered warmth anymore; she'd been outside too long, had been battling the elements to which she was so unaccustomed too recklessly.

When the gates opened seemingly of their own accord and welcomed her in, her breath escaped her in a visible puff of air. She'd made it. Her ride was finally over, and she could finally venture into the blissful warmth after getting her steed seen to.

The parchment strapped to her hip felt like it weighed a ton. The corners of the script had frozen along the journey, but the writing it bore was her lifeline; her ticket inside. The eloquent invitation that had been handed to her had been hastily scrawled upon by the nobility of Meridia: a lackluster attempt at an apology for their decline to the offer of friendship. Cassandra held some contempt for their carelessness on the matter, particularly after she was told that it was her responsibility to pass on the message.

No time for resentment, she thought to herself as she dismounted her horse. Inside.

The guards at the stable peered down their noses at her, though that was nothing new. She couldn't read their expressions fully; maybe some kind of morbid interest? A strange woman clutching a letter as if it were her last will and testament did make for quite the picture, she supposed.

They ushered her in with no real attention. She was vaguely aware of someone snatching the reins from her and leading away her horse, but then she was being lead inside by a party of individuals where the halls glowed orange by torchlight; and then they were gone as quickly as they had appeared, and she was alone in a scattered sea - or puddle, given how few she could see - of people.

 

[snowstormspawn]

~Queen Adrienne~

The queen was pacing back and forth, the heavy skirts of her pale cream-white dress the only thing that was slowing her down as her heart beat faster and faster in her chest. Glistening from head to toe, her nerves were beginning to frazzle - never once had she been so anxious in such fancy dress, aside from perhaps the day of her marriage to the King.
A messenger man in somewhat less fancy dress approached, taking a deep bow. "Your Majesty," he said, ripping the queen from her thoughts.
"Yes?" the woman asked in a hushed voice, close to a whisper.
"We have received favorable news that the ship from Mazamri has reached our port."
Adrienne breathed a deep sigh of relief, touching her hand to her collarbone. "That is wonderful news, Thomas. You've relieved me of much worry."

The woman took a short look around the ballroom from where she stood, beside the large viewing windows that overlooked the path up to the castle. The trees and hills in the distance were obscured by the ever-worsening snowfall, and the queen frowned at the thought of the guests from the Southern nation attempting to reach the top of the hill. "Any word from the rest of the guests?"
"Some of the nearby Lords and Ladies have arrived," Thomas replied. "The Princess of Meridia has declared her absence, and sent a messenger in her stead."
"Well, let it be ensured that even every messenger who arrives feels welcomed and receives a proper meal. I have no doubts about this having been quite a difficult journey," Adrienne stated. "And please, see to it that the maids have prepared the guests' chambers. I assume we will have more guests than usual remaining in the castle for the coming days. Anticipate that they may not be able to travel back to their homes for a while."
"Yes, your Majesty," Thomas responded, bowing once more before making his way towards the kitchens.

_______________________________

~Prince Saric~

The prince had remained below deck for the last stretch of the journey - finding the region of Hadria encapsulated in a heavy snowstorm, he retreated to the confines of his cabin and turned to planning how the castle could be reached under these conditions. Luckily, the royals of Mazamri employed only the most skilled sailors and ship captains for long journeys, and Saric's ship reached the ports of Hadria shortly before the time that he was expected.

The young man was dressed in a fully-bejeweled Sherwani, blue as the sea which he had crossed. In his cabin, he had wrapped himself in additional fabrics, which he typically only wore during sand storms in his homeland. Fortunately, due to the elevated nature of the occasion, Saric's hands were protected from the bitter cold with white gloves.
"How will we reach the castle?" The prince asked a nearby servant in his native language.
"The horses, prince," the servant replied.

Saric frowned as a set of the grey speckled steeds, complete with fancy reigns and saddles were led above deck. To him, they were precious animals - to subject them to such harsh weather seemed cruel, but under the circumstances it was necessary to at least attempt bringing them to a warm place, and he knew they would be well taken care of in queen Adrienne's castle.
"The gifits we bear - let us leave most of them on the ship, guarded, for now," the prince said. "Let us take what we can - the jewels and the fabric, lest they end up in a thief's hands." He would profusely apologize for not bringing all that was promised, but he knew that the queen would understand.

The servant nodded, shouting to the members of the crew the prince's instructions. Saric wrapped his scarf tighter around his neck, petting the side of his horse's neck before placing his foot in the stirrups and climbing into the saddle. A small group of women and men, those who would not stay to guard the ship, followed him on the backs of horses carrying gifts and supplies as he led his horse off the ship and onto the main road that would lead him to the castle. He could see it in the distance, a beacon of hope in the snow - he just hoped that they could make it.

 

[Vestige]

This can’t be right. Maris halted before an open window, and frowned at the steel grey bellied clouds and the drifting snow. She was no stranger to the cold and snow, growing up in the harsher mountains of Isenmont, but this chill had an unnatural bitterness to it that set her on edge. Not a good omen for a celebration of peace, Maris had hoped their fears for anything worse than the usual concerns had been unfounded. If that snow kept up she didn’t doubt for a second that there would be carriages stranded on the roads or worse on more treacherous paths. Chilled, and an unpleasant knot forming in her gut Maris shut the window and resumed her path down the corridor with a new destination in mind.

Maris did her best to keep out of the way of servants as they scurried around a battlefield of their own. Already some of the guests had arrived and she had planned to check on the gatehouse, and to ensure the hired mercenary was settled in and being shown the general layout along with problem spots within the castle that could be exploited. With the weather turned vicious, however, Maris sought to speak with the Queen, other things could wait. She bypassed the entrance hall from the knights building through a side corridor, aiming for the ballroom where the Queen was most likely to be. She turned a corner and saw an unfamiliar figure stalking through the hall towards her and the entrance hall behind.

From the way he carried himself, to the crest he bore, to other details that matched the description they were given of the man, he had to be the lycanthrope sellsword. Good timing, but what was he doing wandering around now? Honestly had no one bothered to direct him once he’d gotten here? Or had she been left out of the loop yet again? She unclenched her jaw, no matter, there were bigger things to worry about. Still she had to at least acknowledge him, even if only briefly, after all they’d be working together.

“Hello,” Maris said, her voice taking on a metallic echo through her helm. “You must be the one the Black Lions sent, Vincent Hawthorn correct? I’m Dame Maris Halloran. I trust the guards gave you details on the castle and your stay here already?”

 

[startergomer]

Walter Blackwood
Inner Dialogue: ' '
Spoken Dialogue: " "

The doors to the ball room opened. As a woman walked, no stumbled, into the room looking awfully pale. It wouldn't do to let her stand so cold. Sadly, most of the other nobles hadn't even stopped talking, a few giving her passing glances before esteeming her to be no greater noble. Honestly, one could only guess at the schemes being cooked up in these halls. Nonetheless, honor begets honor. So, Walter stood up and began moving toward the woman. As he walked closer, it was clear she was not dressed for a ball. With more riding gear than finery attached. 'It was a good thing, I got here early.' thought Walter. 'Wouldn't want these vultures catching me in my travel wear.' Walter had arrived in a carriage/wagon he had procured from his father which had been bought by Walter's grandfather. It was a rugged thing but very sturdy and maintained well. Sadly, the carriage only had room for minor luggage and two guards. He had traveled looking little better than a well to do farmer alongside a few casks of grain alcohol (mixed with local vittles) to present to the queen as a gift and some local fruits. A minor gift from a minor lord. Anything more fancy would cripple the locals. Nonetheless, he had arrived with some luggage in tow and was given the chance to change into what finer clothing he had. Honestly, he came across more as a well off merchant than a lord.

The plague had hit everyone's homes and his had been no different. Though the family was in much better shape due to good leadership and trust from the people when it became clear that the family would not be abandoning their holdings as some nobles had seen fit to do after news of the spread of plague. Nonetheless, years since the last breath of the plague had left Imperial lands, the economy of the country was just beginning to pick up past pre-plague levels. Especially after news of Prince Saerics travels.

Nonetheless, all these thoughts vanished as he reached the shivering woman looking skeptically at him. Honestly, who could blame her? "Ummm, my lady? I was wondering if you might want to come in? I can get you a seat near the fire? If you want you can get changed too, I think the servants are preparing rooms for us?"

'Ahh to much to much..Didn't come out right....I was never good at these kinds of things....' Walter hoped she wasn't some higher ranking noble who would squash him. He honestly didn't need that right now. Obviously, she would have attendants or something to help her get out of her travel clothes. Nonetheless, a little kindness never hurt anyone right?

Interactions:
Violeteclipse

(See AN on OOC Thread)

 

[quadraxis201]

Vincent Hawthorne
​

Vincent was continuing to survey the side hallway he was traveling down when he heard a female voice and stopped. In front of him was someone dressed in armor, introducing themselves as "Dame Maris Halloran". Vincent folded his arms with a frown as his emerald eyes made contact with Maris'. "That is correct, Dame Maris." He responded rather simply. "The Royal Guard has indeed mentioned both such things to me. I even have the request on parchment from its original sender. I am to ensure that the Ball is kept safe for everyone involved. Once the Ball has concluded, I will collect my payment and be on my way." Vincent flashed the parchment to Maris before continuing his statement. "I was simply performing a secondary search of the castle's interior. Her Majesty's Royal Guard are doing the same thing, I'm sure, but one cannot be too careful. The 15th anniversary of the Kingdom's union is no minor celebration. Sooner or later, someone is bound to come along and sabotage the whole affair, and..."

He paused for a moment, and looked briefly off to the side. "...it would seem something of that nature may very well be happening as of this moment. I'm certain you've seen what I have, right? The clouds which loom over the land like a horde of arctic dragons? It does not take a scholar to figure out there's something foul going on." With a soft exhale, Vincent unfolded his arms. "If there are so few guests attending because of the storm, there may very well not be a Ball. It would not be a surprise to me if they're marooned in the harsh snow. It was perhaps a stroke of fortune that the Lions sent me to attend the Ball, for so long as I am on contract, Her Majesty Queen Adrienne has my keen senses at her disposal. I'm well aware I may not be paid extra for going through such effort, but... I'm not heartless. I suppose time will tell what her plans are." Glancing back towards Maris, Vincent concluded, "If there's anything else you would wish to discuss, please tell me now, for I still need to finish my second search."

Interactions:
Vestige

 

[Vestige]

“Good, most of the guards I trust to do their jobs well, but there are one or two shirkers I don’t trust to get the job done right let alone thoroughly.” She glanced at the invitation, and nodded, so he was the type to take initiative then, good. “I’m relieved you seem to be on top of things.”

Maris followed his glance to the side, a nearby window offering a bleak view of outside. The sight of it and his mention of sabotage made her hiss a sigh that did nothing to ease the tension in her shoulders.

“I hate that you’re probably right. And yes, I am aware of the state of things. Barely recovered from the plagues and now this. Bad enough that it hinders the ball, I’m more concerned that it risks the safety of the guests let alone the havoc it’s wrought upon the harvest still left to be gathered.” She shook her head, her voice grim. “Truly it feels as if someone or something has it out for the kingdom.”

She was grateful and impressed to hear he would help out further regardless of added payment. From her experience it was unique for a sellsword to have such a generous trait. Made her wonder if such values were a standard of the Black Lions or just his own personal code.

“Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind, and no I’ve nothing to discuss further with you that can’t wait.” Then again, she hesitated, perhaps there was something he could give his input on. “I am, however, on my way to seek a word with her majesty on the situation and whether something can be done to aid the guests still en route. You’re welcome to join me or to continue your inspection. It's up to you.”

Invitation given and unwilling to waste further time, Maris sidestepped and swept past him. She led a quick paced path through winding, candlelit halls to the ballroom, passing the messenger Thomas on her way. At the beautifully carved ballroom doors she bid one of the royal guards standing outside to tell her majesty she requested to speak with her.

Hands clasped behind her back Maris settled in for a short wait, and spared a glance back to see if Vincent had followed her.

Interactions:
quadraxis201

 

[Hellewise]

Cassandra Redfern

The unexpected use of "my lady" as means to capture her attention was enough to make Cassandra bristle. She whipped round to fix the speaker with a glare as icy as the frost on the outside gates, her expression softening only slightly when she took in the full image of the stranger in front of her.

His clothes told a far more different story to that which his demeanour displayed. Cassandra wondered vaguely what reasons a nobleman would have to be so timid of heart and to speak with such a quiet voice. Why was he not standing with his chin pointed towards the heavens, sneering down at her with beady eyes?

Still, whoever he was, he told her the first she had heard about any rooms being prepared. Honestly, she wasn't entirely sure what she expected upon arrival, but to be thrust into the heart of the party without so much as a chance to wash her face was at the bottom of her list. A room of her own sounded much more inviting.

Cassandra forced her muscles to relax, lowering her shoulders as she met the stranger's gaze.

"Redfern," she corrected him. She wouldn't have any more of that 'my lady' nonsense - at least not from the sources she could control. She was willing to bet that she'd be hearing that particular address a lot more before the night drew to a close. "Cassandra Redfern, esquire."

She would watch him carefully for his initial reaction to her introduction. A person's gut-response to a situation was often more telling of a person than words could ever be. She'd also noticed that he mentioned changing out of her current attire; well, she wasn't exactly wearing the most formal of ensembles, but what else was there for a knight-in-waiting to do? She'd never been one for extravagant ballgowns, nor the pomp and circumstance of these regal affairs - all she'd departed from Meridia with was the creased invitation at her hip, the clothes and fur on her back and her few concealed weapons. Speaking of, she'd need to do something about those and get them off her person...

She became startlingly aware of the lingering silence that had befallen their interaction and quickly put a stop to the brigade that her thoughts had become, focusing her attention on the man once again.

"Are you a member of the court here?"

Interactions:
startergomer

 

[startergomer]

Walter Blackwood
Inner Dialogue: ' '
Spoken Dialogue: " "

'Ah fiddlesticks...misnamed someone. Setting ourselves up for a grand evening...Ok ok, think....an esquire....attendant to a knight I think? When was the last time we had a knight pass through...? a few years ago...more than 5 at least......What even is the correct address... my knight, sir, madam, miss, ahh read to much geography for titles, goes to show what staying up cramming noble titles will get you, first person you meet isn't a noble...'

"Are you a member of the court here?"

'Ah, and now its awkard. back on track, back on track, don't let the woman who can skewer you down...'

"Ehh, yes and no. I'm Lord Walter Blackwood..'hands at sides, bow at the correct angle, avert eyes for opposite sex, thank the Lord for those lessons mother paid for, rise slowly, hope she doesn't decide to kill, are we even supposed to formally greet esquires?'...hailing from the Blackwood province, in the west....its ummm in the name 'Oh yeah in the name...great moves boyo'.

"And I was wondering if I might assist you with.....whatever you might need to settle in? 'This'll be great help some people move some stuff, maybe unload some carriages, yeah...forget politics...nobody's here right now, Pa always said make yourself useful and if you can sit around bellyaching you can get some work done.'

"I'm sure the Lord your with will need help settling in?" 'on more familiar territory here, any ruler of a territory is a lord whether male or female unless they tell you to address them otherwise'. "It's quite the storm out there you know. Why I was just telling Jake...." 'wait, she wouldn't know jake or his aunts predilection for knowing the weather, or care about his hog jeffry. Got better stuff to do. Probably scouting it out for whoever she's guarding, bring it back'

*Ehem....I could get you something to drink as well? I'm not doing much right now.....'lingering again, wrap up with...ugh,....inspirational quote from a book, the ultimate hail mary' "And I will do whatever in my power to help those in need...." 'smile slightly, nothing too offensive, we haven't died yet' "Would you care for assistance?"

Interaction:
Violeteclipse

AN: note that he doesn't know that knights or esquires are supposed to be male.

 

[Hellewise]

Cassandra Redferm

"My Lord," Cassandra replied, bobbing her head forwards in a respectful nod. She debated whether or not to curtsey, but then she'd never quite learned to master the correct form; her posture was always all wrong, and her legs weren't currently draped in skirts, so it would hardly be proper. She opted to bow slightly instead, following the momentum of her head and bending forward at the waist.

She realised Lord Blackwood was rambling -or at least, seemingly speaking at more length than necessary - when she straightened up again, and had to bite back a grim smile. She'd never met a member of nobility who was so forthcoming before, nevermind so obviously consumed by their discomfort and anxiousness. She liked it, though; she appreciated the lack of facade on a character, and Blackwood's demeanour was as clear as day. There were no falsehoods here. There was just a man who felt just as much out of place as she did.

"I travelled alone," she stated bluntly in response to his offer. She couldn't blame him for assuming that she was merely hired company - that was her job, after all, and she looked the part too - but she couldn't get over the fact that it seemed so out of place for someone of his status to be so courteous and gracious in offering help.

"Meridia sent me in the princess' stead," she continued, "though I suppose it was just as well. Who knows what horrors could have befallen her royal highness in the sudden storm outside."

With that statement, she cast her gaze back towards the doorway through which she had entered, and watched the billions of snowflakes fall sporadically before settling like ashes on the ground.

"They took my horse - I don't know where." Cassandra met Blackwood's gaze again. "I'm afraid I'm very much out of my depth here; you'll have to forgive me. But a warming drink certainly wouldn't go amiss."

Interactions:
startergomer

 

[startergomer]

Walter Blackwood
Inner Dialogue: ' '
Spoken Dialogue: " "

It's an interesting thing. An old farmer friend Walter had known once said something that stuck with him. You can ask a man a million different ways but watch his eyes. When he looks back over that horizon, best be thinking of what he's lookin for.

It was apt. It was obvious when Cassandra looked back out at that storm she was looking in concern. Concern for her friend. And it was an odd thing that Cassandra seemed to be so endeared the princess. That she'd be glad it was her getting bushwacked by the wind instead. She certainly didn't look like anybody real important.

And now she's asking me for help....Only one thing to do really.

"Yes, Yes, no problem at all. I'm not exactly swimming smooth either. Why I was just at that table back there with some real warm tea. Kinda took the whole pitcher seeing as everyone was letting perfectly good mint go to waste. A shame really, costs a good ten gold where I'm from. Wouldn't be caught dead letting it get cold......" Walter drifted off and came back just as quickly. "Here you go, got you a glass as well. Oh wait..." 'whoops didn't even ask' "..I don't think I asked you what you wanted. My mother would kill me for my manners. Ehh though I'm not sure what other stuff they got over there. If you can give me a color and a consistency I can give it a shot..." 'real appetizing sounding, what color is it?, wow'

"Emm anyway. Before I get that, you don't need to worry at all miss. We'll track that horse of yours down real quick. Can't let a good animal get swept up and all. Took you this far didn't it? I'm sure we can track him down. A good horse always lands on its feet is what I say. And I think I know where the stables are, you know I've got my carriage parked there and all, more of a wagon really but it gets the job done. If that's alright with you though?"

If there was one thing farmers were good at it was consoling the sad. People liked to call them yarn spinners and people who talked with no point. But the people who lived knew it differently. In a world where every day could mean death, a good farmer knows when to spin a tale so thick you can't find your way back to the sadness you started out in. A true and trusted skill used many a times before and would be used for many a time in the future.

Interactions:
Violeteclipse

 

[Hellewise]

Cassandra Redfern

He was off again, and Cassandra found herself fighting back another smile. Strange. Not many people could elicit such a warm and positive reaction out of her, much less a complete stranger and somebody she just met; but this man practically glowed with boyish charm and naïvety. The atmosphere around him - the pleasant and kind air that surrounded him and hung languidly around his shoulders - was infectious. His genuineness was disarming.

Oh, she'd dealt with individuals of similar personalities before, but they were never real - they were always a mask, a veil that hid more sinister goings-on beneath the surface. They were designed and worn to manipulate and entrap less experienced folk than herself, and in her adolescence she'd fallen into that trap a few times and been forced to learn a few painful lessons whilst accepting the harsh reality of human nature. That was why the levels of cynicism within her had grown exponentially over the years, and why she was so cautious and distrusting of the common man now.

Yet here stood Blackwood, chatting away to her about how much he enjoyed tea and loved horses as if she was merely a childhood friend whom he hadn't seen in a while, and she was entirely comfortable to listen. She liked to think she was a good judge of character, and she hoped she'd be proven right about her initial impressions of him. She was happy to let him lead the conversation as well, as she'd never been much of a talker herself, and had never quite grown out of her shyness in social situations.

"Yes, please. I'm sure he's in no jeopardy, but there's no relationship quite like a rider and their horse. I just need to make sure he's settled. In the meantime, tea would be perfect," she readily agreed, pulling the fur shawl tighter around her shoulders. "I've never had the pleasure of sampling mint; it's far too exotic for someone of my stature. In fact, I haven't had any tea in... Well, years."

Cassandra cast her eyes forward to peer at one of the tables in the far corner where Blackwood had stated he had been drinking prior to her arrival. The pitcher was still there, surrounded by an array of delicate porcelain cups with intricate designs and floral embellishments. She couldn't help but wonder how silly she would look drinking from one of those vessels, but she supposed she didn't have a choice; it wasn't as if there was anybody she could ask to lend her a tankard. She vaguely remembered the first time her uncle had brought home some tea to sample when she was much younger, and that was the first and last time she'd tried it. Although her childish palate was no fan of the flavour, she couldn't complain about the way the hot liquid warmed her entire body and offered such comfort. She could certainly do with some of that now.

Interactions:
startergomer

 

[quadraxis201]

Vincent Hawthorne
​

"You would be surprised how skilled some assassins can be at sneaking their way into the most protected of dominions. I've seen instances, even, of the more flexible ones smuggling themselves in through supply crates. They can fool humans, sure, but the keen nose of a wolf sees right through that." Vincent responded to Maris when she mentioned some of the guardsmen being slackers. To Maris' comment about how Vincent seemed to be on top of things, he scoffed and said, "Well... someone has to be."

Vincent could only roll his eyes at Maris when she mentioned how it seemed like someone had a real grudge against the kingdom. "Sooner or later, every kingdom will have its share of enemies. You can please some, but you simply can't please everyone. It would be ideal if it were otherwise possible, but... no."

When Maris told him that she was on her way to speak with Queen Adrienne and wondered if Vincent would tag along, he gently shook his head. "Not now. I still have a job to do, and besides, there's always the chance the snowstorm could be a distraction for those already here, an appetizer before some main event, a 'calm before the storm', which... now that I think about it... is a rather ironic way of phrasing that. Hmm. Can't have opportunists sneaking in while everyone's attention is focused on the onset of a sudden blizzard, in any case. Should Her Majesty request my presence, come find me. I'll be on the castle's other side making sure we don't have 'uninvited guests', so to speak."

Once Maris continued on her way, Vincent did follow her for a short time and passed Thomas too, but quickly went a separate way from her as he resumed his patrol of the castle's interior.

Interactions:
Vestige
snowstormspawn (Potentially)

 

[startergomer]

Walter Blackwood
Inner Dialogue: ' '
Spoken Dialogue: " "

....


...


All activity ceased both in person and in the brain, as he began contemplating the enormity of what was said. The sheer scope. The audacity.....

"Years?!?!? That's far too long to go without tea! We must rectify this situation immediately!"

Walter darn near bolted (to others it would appear to be a swift walk) to the table and came back pitcher in one hand two teacups in other.

"Now, I wouldn't ever discount my mothers tea. But this...I don't know where they got this but this is....well....you really have to try it for yourself....I'll be honest I'm a changed man....Don't let my mother know though or she'll throw a fit. Here, I'll pour you a cup while we walk. And honestly sitting out in the open, I don't know where they find the gold but really have some respect you know? Last I heard mint was still a fairly rare plant, only certain provinces have it. Of course you didn't hear this from me, but my friend Jake you know Jake from earlier? Here's your cup by the way. I don't think they mind us taking the cups. Certainly didn't mind me absconding with the pitcher...Anyway, he was telling me he got wind of a shipment of the stuff headed straight through Oldtown....."

As they walked Walter eyes were roving. Sure, they were in a castle but you never know. His father always said that nobles hung from rafters, its how they got their gossip. Never good enough to just go up and talk to a man about his problems. Oh no. Couldn't do the decent thing and let him take the time out of his busy day to inform you of the gossip. You had to sneak around yourself. Didn't these people have any decency? If you want to know something, you do the honorable thing and go right up to the man and ask him straight out. Oh it may take a good half an hour before he gets to it but where's the fun in just getting the facts? Don't you need to know the whole story? It just doesn't sound as good hearing about Ol Ben's missing chickens without also hearing about how those nasty suckers always take off at the first sign of trouble. Can never trust scared chickens to stay in one place after all.

Anyhow, he had been yammering on a good while now and they were just about at the stable. By this point the pitcher was considerably emptier than when he had started, after all who drinks tea in cups? Anybody knows you gotta get a good glass to really warm the hands on a winters morn? So, as they walked, Walter was busy taking in cups of tea like shots from shot glasses. It also didn't help that Walter hadn't had anything to eat yet either and was basically running on tea at this point.

"....So then Bill turns to the noble and says Now look here, you may be smart and all but in this field, I'm the expert..HA! HA! Cause you know...standing in his corn....ahem you know what here we"

As they neared the stables, a guardsman stood by and eyed them up as they came closer. Walter was pretty sure he could see his carriage but he wasn't sure about the horse. Walter turned to Cassandra.

"Well here we are. I'm not sure what your horse looks like but I'll be right behind you. If anything nefarious happened to him, you best believe that they'll be getting a good what for! If that's alright with you of course? I can go in first if you think they won't treat you well, if you want."

Interactions
Violeteclipse

 

[Hellewise]

Cassandra Redfern

To say she was overwhelmed by Blackwood's sudden verbal onslaught would have been a massive understatement. The sudden silence she had been met with after her lengthy response - lengthy because she really did try, after all - made her wonder if she'd said something wrong. Well, apparently she had, because before she could say anything more, her company had darted off and returned before the dust had settled from his initial departure, triumphantly brandishing the very same tea they had been discussing.

Then, without so much as a 'thank you', one of the cups was thrust into her hands and Blackwood was ushering her out of the main hall and towards the stables.

There was a lot of information to process. Cassandra was trying as hard as she could to focus on what he was saying about the tea - about how ludicrous it was to leave tea stewing unattended and about the extravagance of mint, how expensive a herb it was... or something to that effect, at least - and also pay attention to her surroundings as they walked so that she could gain some of her bearings so as not to wander like a lost soul in the coming days, but to do both at the same time proved to be quite the challenge, even with her training behind her.

It astounded her how one person could talk so much and so freely, particularly to a total stranger. She supposed that was how friends were made, after all, but he spoke so much. To be honest, she couldn't have asked for a warmer welcome from anybody if she tried, and she doubted anyone else in the world would be able to provide one as half as good.

She didn't have a problem with the monologue by any means, and she would hasten to correct anybody who said otherwise as she considered herself a keen listener, but she found herself doing some impressive mental gymnastics just to keep up with Blackwood's train of thought.

In fact, the punchline of the joke went completely over her head, and the best she could offer was a meek, half-hearted smile in response to it.

She was grateful when they arrived at the stable entrance as it offered her the chance to regain her breath. She hadn't even had a sip of tea yet.

"That's quite alright," she said in a reassuring tone, declining Blackwood's offer as politely as she could. "I'm more than capable of handling myself."

Conversation etiquette and communicating through tone was not one of her strengths, despite her love of language; she preferred the unspoken word.

When the guard fixed her with same unfaltering, expectant gaze she deftly produced the same papers she had shown those at the castle gates. No words were exchanged between them, but he seemed appeased by her ticket of entry, and he stepped aside to make room for the two of them to pass through.

Cassandra strode into the stable and glanced around, noting how each horse that stood inside had been neatly confined into its own walled cubicle which was curiously signposted with information. After a brief scan she found her steed towards the left corner - 'Aramis, Meridia'. Funny how he'd been labelled without so much as a word from his owner.

"This is my palfrey, Aramis," she said to Blackwood as she approached the creature and gave him a brief once-over to check for anything out of the ordinary. He seemed happy enough. So far, Cassandra was most impressed by the efficiency she had been met with upon arrival, even if the guards gave her funny looks.

Interactions:
startergomer

 

[startergomer]

Walter Blackwood
Inner Dialogue: ' '
Spoken Dialogue: " "

"A lovely horse. I'm sure he's served you well. Mine certainly has anyway. My...oh what is it.....great grandfather I believe was in love with horses. I am to I suppose. Ride every day when I can."

Walter commented slowly, setting the pitcher down on a nearby stool and walked nearer to the horse. It was another thing to watch. Something his father had drilled in him from a young boy. Watch the horse and the human for they interact with each other. So he observed, as Cassandra got near the horse and petted its nose, he could see a lot about both at once. First, they trusted each other. The way the horse leaned into the hand, it was clear as day. The breathing was steady. Constant, not alarmed. Certainly not afraid of danger. If anything, mildly relieved. Like seeing your mother home after worrying she got caught in the summer rain. The slight upward grin of the lips, she likes the horse. Definitely ridden for a year or longer. The placement of the hand. Knows where the horse likes to be petted. Took the time to find that out. Fur is well trimmed, though worn from the snow. Obvious care.

It's a solemn moment between horse and rider not to be disturbed. Not many appreciate it, but when your barreling down a dirt road in the pitch black of night trying to reach your aunts house, the trust is vital. When fording a river, the need to trust the horses feet when choosing its next step. Vital. Not faked, certainly not. No, that's years of work right there.

Ahh, silence, it was moments like this Walter lived for. Say what you want about the man, but he wasn't actually much of a talker. Just as all good farmers know how to tell a yarn, so do to do they know the purpose of talking. Fixing something. When somethings broke you go out and fix it. If your neighbors cows got loose, you give him a piece of your mind for a good few minutes then apologize and offer to ride out with him to catch them. If your aunt's cousin died, you tell her how sorry you are and how much you appreciated him for a good hour.

It's the beats and flows of life. Words always served a purpose. All branches must be pruned of useless things if you want the tree to thrive. So, it was with a small grin, as he watched Cassandra pet the horse that he sighed in contentment, mission accomplished. What could have been a worry filled walk to the stable either in silence dreading what's to come. Or in discussion, talking about all the ways it could go wrong. Another path was chosen. One not many choose but is invaluable when your brothers niece is two hours away.

The only thing now was, What to do? Walter's grin snapped firm. He would have to go back. Back to that stuffy hall and sit there. Moping. Waiting. Didn't he come out here to do something? Stretch his legs? Maybe find some food in this place that wasn't oh what were they calling it 'orderves'. Yeah, food you don't have to squint to see. And now Cassandra would have to....Ahh now she's looking at him, sipping. Silence must have gone on too long, ahh what now?

"Emm well, since your horse is in good order...I can find you some food or something? Or maybe that room I was talking about earlier? The accommodations should be ready by now. I mean your the emissary from Meridia! That's gotta count for something. If I remember right its a fairly wealthy region after all. I'm sure they've put those taxes to good use eh? I'm sure we could find something for you. Get you out of those cold clothes. Don't want you catching frostbite! Emm though I'm sure your real busy with whatever business you've got to attend to, I can leave you here if its to much trouble. Don't mean to be a bother and all."

Interaction:
Violeteclipse

 

[snowstormspawn]

~Princess Adelina~

The carriage ride up to the queen's castle was a rocky one that Adelina had not enjoyed, and so much could be seen on the young princess' face. She wore her hair in a half-up, half-down style, playing with the two strands framing either side of her face as the carriage halted in front of the castle's gates. The king and prince's carriage was just before hers - as her gown was too large to allow for many other passengers, she and her lady in waiting had traveled separately. A long breath of air left the young woman, turning into a white cloud before her eyes from the cold. Although she dreaded the ball, the princess thanked her lucky stars to have arrived just as the weather had begun to take a turn. There was a sigh of relief as her carriage came back into motion, the Clydesdale horses pulling the Westfalian royal carriages into the courtyard.

Adelina was the first to leave her carriage, but the last Westfalian royal to make her way towards the castle. Her maid helped her with the skirts of her dress, a periwinkle blue gown with long, ruffled sleeves that were slightly puffed out at the shoulders, and elaborate ribbons Adelina hoped she would not trip over during the course of the evening. She followed behind the rest of the entourage through the torch-lit halls, actively avoiding making eye contact with her immediate relatives, a feat that was easily accomplished as they were focused straight ahead themselves. The small gathering of people within the ballroom, including the band of musicians, fell relatively silent as an announcer loudly tapped his staff, belting the full names and titles of Adelina's father, the prince, and finally, the princess herself. She could feel her face grow warmer and even
more pink as it was from the cold as the eyes of the attendees settled on her - but it meant that the worst part of the evening was over, and she immediately side-stepped the rest of her family, and made her way to the nearest feasting table in the hopes of finding some wine and fine chocolates to help her calm her nerves.

Spoiler: Forgot to mention what she's wearing.

But in periwinkle blue with slightly puffier sleeves at the shoulders.

~Queen Adrienne~
Adrienne was in a state of deep concern, not only over her guests, but also over her young son, whom she knew was out on the town with a handful of friends and some of the finest guards. He had been due to return to the event by now, but as there was still no sight of the young boy, the fear that he was stranded in the snowstorm settled in. Before long, another guard had flagged her down with news - not quite the news that she had looked forward to hearing, but still good news nonetheless. Lady Maris wanted to meet with her, to discuss what could be done in order to help the stranded guests. Perhaps this plan would also get her son back on her doorstep.

The queen gathered her skirts, following the guard to where he had left Maris standing, another guard trailing behind her. A door to the coat room in front of the ballroom was opened, and the queen stepped inside, stopping mere feet away from Maris as the guard stepped inside, and the door closed behind them. After the proper introductions, Adrienne's expression softened. "The guards tell me you seek to devise a rescue plan for the stranded guests," the Queen stated with a slight tilt of her head. "Though no one could have planned this, I find myself ravaged with guilt - had this event not taken place, none of this awful chaos would have happened." Adrienne had always been very focused on facts, never the kind to be gullible enough to fall for magical schemes, or parlor tricks. At this point, she was far too busy attempting to cope with her regret to begin assuming that the snowstorm was anything but a lapse in the weather. "We must do everything in our power to try and make this right. So please, do tell me whatever you believe will be helpful." The Queen sighed. "Perhaps the guards have already informed you of this, but, my own son is out there in the cold. He is under guard, and in the company of friends, and I am sure they are safe within a tavern at this moment. However, speaking as a mother, nothing is worse than not knowing the whereabouts of my little boy. And I will send as many horses and men as it takes to bring him and the stranded home."

Interactions: Vestige

 

[GrieveWriter]

Skalden Cray & Cardinal Leopold
​

He should've pulled back after the avalanche, waited to see if any of the other Lokhen Warriors managed to find their way back to the road. But Skalden Cray had been far too worried that their carriage would fall victim to a secondary avalanche, which would inevitably swallow up his charge as well. Such was the choice that the Lokhen Paladin made, to continue towards Hadria's capital with only him and Cardinal Leopold in their carriage. It worked at first, with them managing to close the distance to the capital significantly. It was only as they reached the outskirts of the capital that the relentless snow around them threw its brunt against them yet again, soon the carriage wound up in a ditch beside the road that had mostly been obscured by the snow.

Doubts and suspicions whirled through the Paladin's mind as he rooted through the wreckage of the carriage, taking only what they'd need to complete the last legs of their trek. Pocketing several pouches and a journal, he called up to the road in Whildenese "Father! Ready the steeds, we move soon!"

The horses had been spared being dragged into the ditch along with the carriage due to the Paladin's quick thinking, and right now served as their best means of reaching the Castle before the weather grew more intense. Despite the threat of their current scenario, Father Leopold had stabbed his staff into the snowy ground beside him so that he could he could use both hands to hold the heads of their horses close to his, "Relax, my friends. Stand resolute... and our venture will soon be over." he said as they whinnied and nuzzled against him "One more stretch, then rest will come for-"

"Father?"

Cardinal Leopold looked back as Skalden climbed out from the ditch with several bags slung over his shoulder, hanging beside the massive sword he had sheathed on his back, "Are they ready for the trek?"

Leopold chuckled, his humor showing through the impassive expression of his mask, "I got their saddles on first thing, Brother Cray." Leopold said with a tinge of humor in his voice "But I simply had to calm them as well. In weather such as this, a panicked steed is a grave concern that should be alleviated first and foremost."

Skalden watched for a moment before trudging forwards and beginning the work of strapping the pouches to the Horses' saddles, "As you say, Father."

Stepping back to allow him to work, Cardinal Leopold took his staff from the snow and leaned against it while staring up into the storm, "How ironic, viewing such a sight from the safety of the Monastery would be fascinating."

"Such weather merely demands more work to clean up after, Father." Skalden stated as he worked "More work for the Clergy and more work for the People."

"Even so, there is beauty in nature's wrath, let fear not cloud that truth." Leopold turned back to him "There's a reason that artists tend to favor such sights for references."

"They'll use anything for reference, whether it be a force of nature or a filthy wall." Skalden grumbled as he finished tightening the last rope and turned back to Leopold "Father, you should focus on conserving warmth in case the blizzard gets worst."

He drew closer before putting a hand on the Cardinal's shoulder and gesturing him towards one of the Horses, "Here, we'll move with haste."

Mounting the horse, the Cardinal glanced up to the lights of Hadria in the distance, and beyond that the Royal castle itself. It was the cause for this entire venture, an invitation from the Queen of a neighboring nation to attend a celebration of the kingdom's unity. As the Emissary of Whilden, recognized by the High Lady herself, Leopold was the obvious choice to attend. In spite of his defender's concerns, his focus was still squarely on the celebration itself, wondering how the other guests would attend if similar misfortune befell them. It would undoubtedly impact the event itself, something he will have to account for. Worst case scenario, his presence alone should be enough to convince the Queen that Whilden and the Lokhen Church saw the celebration with no small amount of respect.

"Father... its time." Skalden said as he finally climbed atop the other horse and gripped the reins while nodding towards their destination.

With only a nod and a smile, the Cardinal began following closely as the two continued their journey,

 

[Vestige]

Just as well, Maris thought having nothing more to add, as Vincent ultimately diverged from her path. He had a point about finishing his task and keeping an eye out for imposters. Superior senses or not though his eye roll and subsequent attitude had grated on her pride and nerves to the point of almost making her laugh. Of course every ruling power had its enemies, who didn’t understand that? But their level of ability and active aggression to undermine another power, especially—though a stretch it may be, Maris never ruled out any possibility—when and if their method was almost biblical, is what her point had been.

She shook her head, ah well. Misunderstandings aside, one thing was certain though it wouldn’t be a dull moment working with a lone wolf like him. She pulled her thoughts to the real problem at hand. First to secure the safety of those on the road, and then figure out just what in god’s name was going on.

The door opened suddenly followed by the rustle of heavy skirts, Maris stiffened into attention and naturally went through the motions of meeting with the Queen. Part of her felt she was overstepping a line in approaching her majesty so boldly, Isenmont wasn’t exactly considered the most favored or cultured of territories, but desperate times and all that. She felt for the Queen’s plight, more so in light of prince Owen being stranded as well.

“It is unfortunate timing, or rather perfect and very strange…” Maris shook her head, she was getting off topic. ”I’m sure his highness is well cared for, but I understand your feelings and rest assured we will get him safely back inside these walls soon.”

The words sounded trite and pretentious as soon as she said them, but she poured every bit of her conviction into them before diving further into the matter. “Your Majesty, the last thing I want to do is weaken castle security further in such a vulnerable moment, but in light of things especially with prince Owen, and other foreign royals and dignitaries out there. I propose one small patrol of no more than four be sent to search along the main road for prince Owen and any stragglers to help escort them back to the castle. Normally it would be best to wait out the storm, but from what I can see it will not be letting up anytime soon. It may even get worse and there’s no certainty that others will be as lucky as the young prince and be familiar enough with the area to find shelter.”

snowstormspawn

 

[Saavedra]

The Prince´s day had progressed kindly at first. The ride to the temple with two of his closest companions and four knights was short and easy. Three hours, perhaps, under a clear and cold sky. Owen had truly enjoyed that. The sight of green forests under a white blanket, the peasants running in and out of dark buildings, the merchants bringing their carts full of supplies to the castle or returning to their warehouses, the odd high-flying bird crossing the sky, the still chill seemingly floating in the air that could not pierce his thick coat. It all had an allure missing from other seasons. It was the world coming to a stand still and taking a deep, cool breath that it would release in Spring, changed into something outrageously warm and colorful.

The group passed the capital city, then the Hand Warmer, the best-known tavern in the area, and finally arrived at the temple. It was a ways off from the castle, and that was precisely the reason the Prince decided to visit that place of worship instead of simply attending the service at the castle´s chapel. There were matters that concerned his soul deeply, and he did not wish to trouble his own parents with them. It was too obvious that if he were to talk to the Royal Family´s religious attendants, they would betray his concerns to his parents. The secrets of the soul were not so secret if you were a prince. The head priest at the temple was a more trusty listener, known for taking his oaths seriously since the very day he became a man of the cloth. This had earned him some enemies and a less prestigious place in the clergy, but also Owen´s trust. The young prince had left his companions in the courtyard and talked with the old man in confidence. The man proved kind and insightful, agreeing even not to know Owen´s name if this was what he required.

When the Prince climbed onto his horse again with the help of his friends, he was more focused and somewhat wiser, and the old man remained ignorant as to his identity.

The day could have been a happy one, but the weather had worsened somewhat during the Prince´s talk with the head priest. On their way back, the wind had picked up quickly and in strength. Garl, the captain of the Blue Order and protector of the Prince on this day, had dutifully extended the Prince´s hood over his head and advised that they should hurry home. Dollan and Riff, Owen´s companions, agreed.

Dollan was two years older than Owen, whereas Riff was his same age. Both commoners, just the sons of butlers and maids, but they were also the ones who offered to go with Owen with no hesitation when he announced his plans. As trusty and reliable as Garlan, as far as he was concerned. That was more than enough loyal advice to sway the Prince´s opinion. One nod of his, and the horses trotted down the road.

But the wind grew in strength almost on cue. A few minutes later, and even without Owen´s orders, the group galloped. The Prince was not yet confident enough with such speed, and he held firmly onto his mount´s reins, leaning forward. The hood whipped back, and he had to half-close his eyes to see. The wind was now joined by snow, and Owen grew more alarmed. The massive and powerful animal under him was not a source of comfort, but added to his worries. In his imagination, it was all too easy for Owen to falter in holding the reins and perhaps being thrown off the animal, and who would notice now? Thick flakes hit his face, and he was reminded of his sister playfully pinching his cheeks. He suddenly felt a very real desire to be back at the castle, specially when the snow grew heavy and maliciously fast.

The Prince was truly scared now, too much to feel shame. He noticed the knights riding into formation, controlling their horses, positioning themselves into a square around Owen and his playmates, then closing the distance until the horses were almost touching each other. He thought he could hear Garl shouting orders, but then became distracted by a bright light ahead, in the blizzard. Small at first, but it grew as they approached it. The Hand Warmer, the best tavern in miles around and a very welcome sight. Owen guessed they would head for it, and he was right. Garl guided the group straight into the stables adjacent to the main building. It was all sturdy stone and resilient wood, and the sign clacking as it was thrown back and forth by the wind. Garl hurried to unseat the Prince and protect him with his cloak, with two other knights aiding Dollan and Riff, and the last one staying behind to secure the horses. It was a good thing the stable was large, spacious, and with doors to protect the animals from the blizzard.

A boy opened the door and shouted, something useless in such weather, but his frantic gesturing was perfectly understandable. He stepped aside as the knights and their charges entered.

And then, Owen´s experience of the world was wonderfully expanded.

The Hand Warmer was packed. The Prince and his companions were not the only ones caught outside by the snowstorm. Though the child was pale and shivering when he stepped inside, he was quickly distracted by the sights and smells of about a hundred people, perhaps more, who had taken refuge in the tavern. Garl gently pushed the Prince in, and the two of them looked around, for different reasons. The knight searched for a comfortable place for his prince, whereas Owen examined his surroundings just to satisfy his curiosity.

The tavern was two stories tall, cosy and well illuminated. There were lamps on the sturdy, round tables, glowing with a strength matched by the that of the voices of those who sat around them. A set of stairs on each side led to an open second floor, rather an extension of the ground floor than a separate one, which allowed those up there to look down on roughly half of the ground floor and the main door. A strange arrangement to Owen, who could see those on the second floor´s edge turning to look in his direction, resting their arms on the railing. There was a counter off to the side, where drinks were gathered before being distributed, and a large hearth where wood burned fiercely. He appreciated the atmosphere, but as more and more people turned to look in his direction, the boy began to feel self-conscious. The patrons were nearly all low-born, judging by the quality of their clothes, and here he was, with his knights and companions, dressed in a nearly new brown winter coat and red gambeson. The patrons were not peasants, he guessed as they pointed him out to each other, but probably all sorts of merchants, cart drivers, and others with work requiring them to be outside their homes or businesses for God knew what reasons. Six to ten huddled around every table, many others walking around or standing by the walls, nursing drinks or eating an early lunch. And, Owen soon realized, castle servants surprised at his presence.

"Your Highness!" A bearded man in a black cap exclaimed, sitting straight up at his table upon noticing him. Owen had no idea who he was, and wished that this state of affairs was mutual as curious eyes rose from other business to stare at him. Then, a few individuals got off their stools and knelt on the floor, which seemed to trigger a reaction that amused the Prince briefly. A ripple seemed to run through the tavern. The railing on the second floor soon began to hold the weight of dozens leaning over the edge to catch a glimpse of the young Royal. The shivering, pale, wet young Royal, he thought to himself.

"Good day, your Highness!" A woman approached in a hurry, the sleeves of her dress rolled up. Her clothing betrayed her status as worker in the tavern, and she must have been about thirty years old. She was clearly delighted at seeing him, but not cowed. Smiling, she knelt before him, but did not bow her head to the floor like many of the others. She looked him in the eyes, and he decided he liked that. "You honour us with your presence. Shall I clear a table for you near the fire? And perhaps serve you some food and drink?"

"We are seven." Owen replied, having seen all the tables were already occupied. He did not feel comfortable with imposing on his subjects. The very idea somehow offended him, that he should take away from them in such a night.

"It is no trouble, your Highness." The woman moved quickly towards the table closest to the huge, inviting hearth, and Owen noted with alarm that two old women sat at that table. He hoped she did not intend to have them stand up, but that was the unfortunate case. The Prince followed her as the silence about him began to recede. He did not see Garl walk after him, gesturing gently at the patrons to stand up and continue with their business. He did not notice them doing just that, and if he had, he would have welcomed it.

There were two mature men, a young man and woman, and the old women at the table. When one of the old women put her arm on the rough wooden surface, ready to push herself up to her feet, Owen gently rested his enormous glove on her small, wrinkled hand. They all stared, uncomprehending. Owen was terribly uncomfortable at the idea of giving orders to his elders, but he knew the difference between right and wrong, and ejecting them from their table like this was very much in the wrong. He cleared his throat, but in the end could only shake his head and look somewhat less pale. Garl came to his aid, smiling. A strong man in armor and cloak drew attention beautifully. He stood by his Prince and spoke respectfully, the difference in height somehow failing to make him look any more imposing than his lord. "I think his Highness would rather stand than inconvenience you, grandmother."

 

[Jolly Roger]

Marcel Granveris slammed his mug of ale upon the table with a hearty laugh, grey eyes twinkling victoriously. The cards he had laid out before him declared him a clear winner, yet again. "Good game. Care for another round?" he offered. Across from him sat his opponent, an old merchant whose face was contorted into a sneer.

"What devil's work is this?" cried the merchant, his long mustache quivering. "You've either been born under a lucky star, or you've been cheatin' me. And I got a pretty good notion of which is which." His shouts were nearly drowned out by the surrounding cacophony of the tavern.

Marcel did not let his grin falter for one moment as his bluff was called out. In one quick motion, he swept the pile of coins sitting next to the lantern at the center of the table into a leather pouch. "My friend, we've been playing with your deck, haven't we? I even allowed you to shuffle them. No way I could have changed around anything before the game started."

Of course, it was still entirely possible to have another replica deck hidden in one's back pocket, but Marcel conveniently left this possibility out. Someone of the upper middle class, like this merchant, would usually play with cards finely stamped with high quality illustrations, as was popular in the cities. It wasn't too hard to get one's hands on such items, if one was diligent enough. Besides, Marcel had noticed that the merchant's own cards had been marked in particular spots, imperceptible to all but the most observant eye. He had simply been the more skilled cheater, that was all.

The merchant sorted through the cards numerous times over, searching for some evidence of foul play but discovering none. Marcel always covered his tracks well. "Dirty, rotten scoundrel..." the man muttered under his breath, fuming as he stood up and disappeared into the crowd.

Marcel leaned his elbows on the table, enjoying the lively, cozy atmosphere of the Hand Warmer while sensing how much heavier his pouch now felt in his hands. This almost made up for missing the Queen's ball. Almost.

When the snows had begun to fall, an unusual sight for the end of Harvest Season, Marcel had started feeling apprehensive. He had decided to continue on undeterred but altered his course, directing his horses down paths that led through towns and other rest stops instead of traveling straight through the woods, which would have been the fastest way to reach the castle from Lord Macron's estate in Sacre-Bois. The lord had provided him with a fine carriage and strong steeds, as befitting the representative of a fiefdom, but Marcel had learned from previous traveling experience not to leave anything to chance. Perhaps he was born under a lucky star, he thought. This tavern had appeared just as the weather had started to worsen, a blessed respite from the biting cold.

A man in the far corner of the room suddenly exclaimed "Your Highness!", pulling Marcel from his thoughts and bringing the entire room to a standstill. A boy was being escorted to the fireplace, accompanied by four men in full armor and two other young gentlemen. It was clear by his luxurious fur coat (was that ermine?) that he was the focus of the group. The boy was surprisingly small and unimposing for an alleged prince, not so different from any other child under all of those fancy clothes.

Marcel watched in fascination at how uncomfortable the prince looked at the commoners who were kneeling down at his feet. You'd have thought a person of such high rank would have grown used to it by now. He was further amazed by how the prince insisted on letting the old women keep their seats. Up until now he'd assumed royals viewed those under them as mere extensions of their will, more like furniture than people. Perhaps it was all a matter of maintaining a certain public image? Ah, yes, he thought to himself, marvel at the benevolence of the House of Hadria. Where was that benevolence when all the land was falling violently ill with the plague, while the nobles fled to their hidey holes in the mountains and the country?

A realization struck Marcel. This was his ticket to the castle. If a prince didn't have the resources to make it through this cursed blizzard, nobody did. And if the boy really did have such a generous heart as it seemed...

"Excuse me, your highness." Marcel said, getting up with a bow. "There seems to be a vacated seat right here." He gestured toward the empty stool where the merchant sat just minutes before. "Of course, I'd also be willing to give up my own stool for one of your personal guard or entourage. I'm sure all of you must be terribly worn out from the storm."

Interactions: Saavedra

 

[Saavedra]

Garl and the Prince turned to look at the young man that offered them seats. From his clothing and accessories, Owen could tell he was some sort of wandering peddler, or perhaps a local merchant. Though surely he would be elsewhere in the latter case? In his own store, warehouse or home. Why stay in a tavern during the storm? Well... for a number of reasons, actually.

The Prince nodded at the old woman, released her arm as gently as he took it, and approached the healer´s table instead, followed closely by his knight. Though a number of patrons still watched, taking in the sight of their future king and his entourage, others had plates to finish and thirst to slake. Some standing patrons stepped out of the Prince´s way, making it exceedingly easy for him to move. Owen let himself slide onto the merchant´s seat, clearly tired and somewhat shaken still, not to mention wet from the snow. Though it had not gotten past his gambeson, the boy´s hair and face glistened. Garl stood by the table, at a point midway between his prince and the healer, seemingly relaxed and comfortable despite dripping water. However, his intent was obvious to anyone with eyes in their face and a brain in their head. He examined the man no less carefully than the Prince, though while Owen was curious and apparently looked for the truth in the man´s eyes, the knight took note of the way he sat, what he was wearing, and what he could possibly have under his clothing and in his satchels and pockets.

Not one word was said about Garl, or the second knight that took his position opposite him (again midway between Owen and Marcel), taking the healer´s stool. The rest walked away, probably to find their own table, unlikely as it was at the moment, or to find something to warm themselves.

Owen´s blue eyes stared into Marcel´s. The boy wondered who the man was and why he had offered the Prince a seat at his table. He wondered if the merchant intended to offer him something, or perhaps he wished to ask for something instead. The Prince attempted to guess what his wares could be, but that proved difficult. A satchel could contain anything small, but any of the horses, donkeys and asses Owen had seen in his stables could be carrying the man´s goods. The smells of food, alcohol and sweat coming from many sources in the tavern masked any that might come from Marcel. The Prince wracked his brains, trying to guess. Everything else became completely unimportant in the Prince´s mind. The water on him did not bother him, the shivering had subsided, and his skin was quickly recovering its colour. The impression he himself might give the man did not concern him, either. At ten years of age, sitting behind a sturdy wooden table, wrapped in thick clothing and wet from head to toe, the Prince seemed small and phyiscally unimpressive but for his delicate features and the quality of his garments. However, his blue eyes shined under his black hair, the lamp on the table reflecting on them like a twin spark. He also had that cool, stony expression of his, impossible to read, that tended to make people nervous when they addressed him. It did not help that he remained silent, even as he seemed a second away from saying something. It took nearly ten seconds before he finally spoke, his voice soft and quiet but also possessing the unmistakable tone of those whose authority was rarely challenged. His words came out sedate but perfectly enunciated. "I am Owen the Third, Prince of Hadria. I appreciate your kindness. Has this blizzard caused you trouble as well?"

 

[quadraxis201]

Vincent Hawthorne
​

True to his word, Vincent had resumed his second inspection of the castle, this time focusing on the other half. While going down another side hall, he eyed the windows in case some of the panes were coming loose, which was thankfully not the case. "Nobody's going to be punching through these... alright, good." His next order of business was the flooring-- even just one very small hole or crack meant an assailant could gradually flood a whole room with poison vapors through it-- not that Vincent couldn't tell when someone was in the process of doing such a thing way before any of the humans could. Vincent passed more of the Royal Guard as he went further in, and though some of them gave him strange looks despite being informed about how the lycanthrope was to help them, Vincent couldn't care less. "Kindly go about your business, and I'll go about mine." He told them. Vincent wondered if that lot even bothered to know the difference between his kind and a werewolf-- something that irked him to absolutely no end, and was part of the reason he wasn't the biggest fan of humans.

Upon a proper inspection, the floors of the hallway (and its accompanying rooms) seemed to be airtight, and this was confirmed with a couple of light stomps from Vincent's boots. "No gases leaking through that. At least we won't need to worry about anyone asphyxiating." He said to himself with a shrug. Vincent went around and did the same for every conceivable hallway and room he could find, and once his job was through, he dusted his hands off and placed them on his hips. "Everything looks accounted for... might as well return."

Vincent retraced his steps back to the ballroom, and noticed Maris speaking with the Queen, overhearing the possibility of mounting a search party. He bent down on one knee in the presence of royalty, and said, "Beg pardon for the interruption, but the windows on both sides of the castle are intact, and there's nowhere for airborne poison to seep in from the floor. I didn't find any evidence of toxins present in any of the rooms, either, my Queen." Standing back up, Vincent added, "If I may, I must express my concerns for the current predicament. With so many guests unable to appear, the Ball's fate is growing ever more uncertain. But, it is perhaps fortuitous that I am here. If you're gathering a rescue party, I believe it may behoove you to have me join in on that effort... if you would have me."

Interactions:
snowstormspawn
Vestige (Potentially)