Shadows in War: A Lore of Darkness Chronicle

While the men were discussing the best course of action, Adrysse sat and listened.

So far she had noted that the Chevalier was a major part in the assassination, they didn't know who the assassins were and the Faceless were only doing it for money and power and didn't fully understand the consequence of what would happen if the assassination succeeded; they were just greedy little **!!@! who didn't care.

The men were talking about staging an assassination, the element of surprise, catching the assassins, political justice and so on...

But what Adrysse wanted to know was how many Chevalier's were there in the kingdom. They couldn't be too common...

"How common are the Chevaliers? Couldn't the Lord just arrest all the Chevalier's out of suspicion of assassination, and interrogate them individually? And if one is missing then we could automatically assume that he is the one behind the assassination attempt, but still interrogate the others in case it’s a ruse..."

The priestess started thinking out loud.

"And couldn't we negotiate with William to pay the Faceless more money than they were originally offered... I'm sure that if it was money or his father's life, he would give us as much as we need. If we could just negotiate with the leader of the Faceless, we could double-cross the assassins. The Faceless would have information we need, and we could trade them money, a few false promises, and once we find out who the leader is, we could always turn him in after we get what we need..."

The only thing left was the actual assassination...

"The assassination though is a whole different kettle of fish... Whatever we decide to do, after what happened in the sewers, we have to assume we are being targeted or watched to a certain degree; they know what we look like. I'm going to have to go without my mask because it's too obvious. We are going to have to be careful and not be too obvious that we are on to them..."

But...

"What if we kidnap the Lord at the ball? Dress in black, hide our faces... Run in guns blazing; shoot a few shots into the roof, scare the citizens, and run off with the Lord. The assassins would be too busy putting their plan in place, they wouldn't be expecting another assassination or kidnapping. We take the Lord, get him someplace safe and get him to lay low for a few days..."

Eadwine stared blankly at Adrysse.

Merick hooted with laughter in surprise at Adrysse's comments and he applauded her audacity. "Well said Adrysse. If only more people were so willing to act decisively like you then this kingdom wouldn't be quite so f@#ked."

"Unfortunately it seems that no one else is willing to take such risks. Despite the kingdom almost being in civil war according to Wylliam, his dear old daddy doesn't want to piss off the King just yet. There's more than a few Chevaliers out there but I think there's only one Chevalier and his knights currently in Van'tese. If Lord Brightlen arrested him, that basically declares his refusal of the King and would kick off a civil war. I don't see why he doesn't but high society politics is bloody stupid."

Merick played with one of his dreadlocks before sitting back down on his bed. "You know, paying off the Faceless is a really good idea. It would probably stop the assassination, provided the Faceless kept their word, which from experience is no guarantee. The problem though is that we've killed a lot of Faceless already and the remaining goons are probably already inside the castle getting ready for tomorrow's ball. It might be too late to bribe them away from killing the Lord."

"The problem," Merick sighed, "with both your and Eadwine's assassination and kidnapping plans is that in any other situation they would work. I reckon that if Billy knows about the assassination then his dad almost certainly knows. The castle will be locked down tighter than a Dwarven bank and not only will there be regular guards but the Chevalier knights will also be just around the corner. Assaulting the castle would almost certainly get us killed and faking the assassination through other means will only label us as the culprits. I don't feel like being a fugitive in two cities, thank you very much."

"The Chevalier is the real bad guy. Even if we stop the Faceless, Irontrap McDickface and his merry shitheads will just try something again later. The Faceless are deniable killers and we haven't found anything aside from the knights in the sewers to finger the Chevalier as the true assassin."

Merick paused for a moment as he recalled something. "Hold on, how would the assassins know that we're onto them? You guys killed all of the Faceless in the sewers, right? If none of them got away, nobody can say that we specifically are hunting the assassins. So we should be fine, right?"

Thorgrim chuckled wryly "Well said Master Merric! More or less anyway. I wouldn't be so fast to list out our compatriots plans entirely however, they may have some merit. However we shouldn't stop brainstorming yet.."

The dwarf turned towards the young priestess "a staged kidnapping, with disguises and the lords permission could be a good way to throw a wrench in our foes plans, but they may just accept it and ignore it, use the opportunity to seize power..."

The dwarf again addressed the room "as for the assassins. All we know of then I that they are Wiley. Wiley enough to have found and captured our new Kobolt friend, and he claims to be an expert in this field to which we are quite green. Best we assume and plan for the worst, and hope for the best. On which note, the poor lass and her wee one will not be safe here without guard during this whole mess..."

Getting more and more frustrated, Eadwine tried to contain himself as he sat and listened. Merick and Adrysse had basically said the same thing as him, but each seemed to think that he hadn't!

This state of affairs continued until Merick started fiddling with the bag of Dust again...

"She is the only danger to herself," Eadwine said quickly to Thorgrim. "So long as she doesn't withdraw too badly or attempt to leave she will be fine."

"But hark; we have bigger fish to fry at the moment! The Faceless likely know that it was us who invaded their little operation, despite us leaving no survivors. Don't forget that they were working with Kreet, and he would have learned all about us from reading Adrysse' mind." It was unfortunate that the warlock had that ability.

"Kreet is a large imponderable in all of this. He will not want to reveal himself to the Chevalier if he isn't already in league with him, for fear of his business being shut down, yet he knows that we would have informed Sir Brightlen about it too." Eadwine stroked his bear and settled back against the wall. Maybe they could turn Kreet's powers to their advantage?
"Perhaps he could be induced to assist us, for a price; Kreet may be able to sense the intentions of possible assassins," offered Eadwine in a cautious voice. "It would be like playing with a loaded gun though... and we would each have to be in total agreement, else he would sense our crossed purposes."

Thorgrim nodded in affirmation. "Me thoughts exactly lad. Tho was hopeing not to think em too loud.. Ahh the point is probably moot."

The dwarf turned to the others "We don't know his motive, and that's our problem. The faceless knew enough to go to him for their drugs, so I wouldn't assume the Shovlers out of the loop. He may have been the one to give up the key. Question is, why did he help us? What's in this for him...? And what could be, what is his price to get him on our side?"

The Malted Ale brought on memories of a distant shore, of a dark haired human woman younger in years but greater in age than Torvus. Despite elves lack of a need to 'sleep' it seemed that it was habit that could be learnt, or at least imitated with the aid of ale.

Rousing from his mock slumber Torvus rose and weighed in.

"There's no need to asume that they know who we are, we waited till the knights left and killed everyone there. That doesn't mean they don't know that someone killed the faceless, that may not have been their final meeting... But of course it may have been, we may have cut off one of the heads of the faceless, we may have just learnt enough of one of their plots to help, we may be a completely unknown player on their pano, sorry board."

Torvus sat up and stretched. "We could kidnap the Lord, but that would shift the blame away from the shovel... ar-Ohtar, Royal Knight. Not the ideal option. There is also the possibility that if the Royal Kinght's plans are foiled that he may simply cease. Your war may seem ilya encompasien, everything?, but Edan politics are stronger than basic actions, sorry human politics. If the Royal Knight and the Aran, the King, were willing to go to war with the Sgiathatch, no Heru, Sgiathatch is dragon, Heru Lord. Either way, if they wanted war or conflict then they would make a reason and act on it, they want this quiet, or at least plausibly blamed on someone else."

Torvus rose and instinctively flexed his bow.

"We have little choice but to act on the information we have, to save the Heru, Lord, and foil the Sereg'wethrin, Assassin. So many new words. After that, maybe assassinate the Royal Knight and leave for the forrest, maybe leave the Edan to their politics, either way that is a choice for tomorrow."

Thorgrim began to strap up the blade of his axe with its cover, and scrutinised the polished blade and waxed leather for imperfections.

"Ye ain't wrong Lad" he conceded, both to the points on the mission and local language. "as for what we can expect, what is everyone's plan for the ball?"

"And the warlock?"

"The Warlock, from what little information we have, is likely a free agent and not a friend to the faceless. He worked with them to make the dust, probably for his own supply of it, but I very much doubt he would need them."

"He does after all have a very large and seemingly profitable business, and as far as we can tell hasn't been working with the faceless long. I'd bet he's self funded, I know if I could read minds I would be." Torvus finished with a grin.

"As for the ball, I'll play the servant and keep my eyes open, and try to stay near the Lord when the time comes. Unless there are better ideas of course."

Thorgrim pondered aloud... "The warlock is ultimately a local. From what I hear, if the taxing gets any worse, he will loose alot. He offers luxury's to the poor. They will come to try make money off gambling but will be bled dry rather fast." The dwarf shook his beard. "At the end of the day, id guess his side is whatever side looks like it will win, and then secure himself a profitable station. Either way its the lord who needs to make a deal, now that he knows of the warlock, one way or another."

The dwarf indicated the gear he was preparing "I'll join the dwarfish party. With Kettah back at the fort there's an open space in the Triumvirate."

He began to explain, oblivious if anyone was even still listening to his elder ramblings.

"Rather than this foolish monarchy the humans persist on using, Dwarshish governance is broken up into three groups. The Elders, Thegn, and Clan Warriors. The Elders consist of a council of all clan dwarves over ten score years, Age and its wisdom is held in high regard to my people. The Elders elect the Thegn, who is akin to your lord and serves the High King, tho we haven't had one of those to my knowledge for a long time. The Thegn stay in power until a vote is called by the elders, who act as council. The Thegn also elects a General, Leader of the Clan Warriors, who serves the Thane. If the Thane dies, their next in kin takes over only until the council elects a new Thegn, tho most of the time they simply make the next in line official, as the noble clans tend to educate their lads and lass' well for leadership."

Thorgrim trailed off, a deep contemplative mood overshadowing the old warrior...

Torvus grinned. "The elves just bicker about not being able to do what they want, then they leave and go join a bunch of crazy evil bastards who tell them what to do, except in strong elvish tradition some of them leave that group, all while bickering about being able to do what they want. Or so my father would have you believe, he might have been drunk at the time."

Pondering his options, Torvus flopped back onto the bed. "Never understood it myself, I go where I want, I hunt when I'm hungry, find a stream when I'm thirsty, I work when I want or when I need something I can't make or trade for... Seems I've found all the freedom the others wanted, and you know what? It wasn't hard to find."

Some freedom, Eadwine mused. Why would Torvus be here risking his neck for a cause he didn't believe in if he was really free?

The young scholar-cum-warrior was beginning to form a picture of his companions. Adrysse was powerful in some ways and fragile in others, Merick was nonchalent but genuine, and Thorgrim was brave but not an academic. And he, Eadwine, was desperate and trying to hide it behind a veneer of logic.

Logic. Logic.... How would Milburga approach this situation?
Step 1: identify your known and unknown variables.
Step 2: identity how to find the latter.
Step 3: implement a plan.
Step 4: continually re-adjust as necessary.

"Vincent is expecting someone to signal him by shoving someone in the audience during the Lord's address. Perhaps if we capture this person we can get more information from them. We don't have many other leads."

Snow began to fall once more as the last of the sun’s rays were engulfed by the seemingly endless grey tide of clouds. Now the panicked crowds had completely dispersed leaving only the warband, surrounded by a host of elusive veiled warriors and their assumed leader clad in back armour, flanked by two warrior women who, with the exception of hair colour and clothing, appeared to be twins. The Bastion’s yard was now littered with the arrow pinned corpses of the Chevelier’s men. Some slain by Thorgrim, Merick and Adrysse members of the warband operating in part under the direction of the House of Brightlen, the Governing house of the Brightwater lands.

The warband stood surrounded by the haunting slayers, draped in worn blackened grabs and leathers. Each had their face veiled beneath hood and scarf. The armour clad elf knelled by the headless corpse of the Chevelier Mydas, wiping his blade clean of blood and muck across the lifeless knight’s embroidered tunic.

The blade was bathed in an ambient glow that waved and flickered like dim celestial flames. The hilt was white gold and decorated with ivory and silver, its decorations simple and humble supporting the weapons true purpose. Set into the pummel was a small (but to those in the know) flawless diamond like gem, known as a dawn stone. There was no mistaking this blade; it was one of few relics preserved from the Old kingdoms known in the common tongue as the Dawn Star.  

The Armor clad elf rose to his feet, the warband bearing the awkward silence that only this menacing executioner could break. All stood and listened as the blade, a visual contradiction to its master’s visage, was returned to its sheath. With a distinguished click, the blade was returned and the iron elf spoke. His voice was disturbing, an audible manifestation of a foreboding terror, like rolling thunder in the distance. The iron elf made no eye contact, his gaze instead shifting between invisible details, each seemingly giving meaningful contributing to some sort of grand plan.

The iron elf’s voice reverberated at the core of all who listened, “Mandrakes, Sisters…. Secure the bastion…”

The haunting slayers peeled away swiftly, disappearing into the surrounding passages and halls of the bastion’s compound. The iron elf retrieved the blade of Mydas and appraised its form. Suddenly, his gaze lashed up and processed each of the warband before him before settling on Eadwine.

The elf’s gaze felt as much a weapon as the blade he had brandished earlier before beheading the tyrant knight. It was heavy, intense and focused, so much so that forced fear to boil to the surface of any it settled on. The elf stepped forward, and despite being of near equal height to all present, his demeanour towered above all others. Holding out the Blade of Mydas hilt first, the iron elf spoke once more.

“Take this blade to the Lord of Van’tese Ghenraen, and notify him that Mannah Roth of Dawn’s Hand has arrived”.

His voice once more rumbled like distant thunder, a harmonic oration that was as much an order as it was a potential threat if Eadwine failed to comply. Before any retort could be made, the elf’s voice lashed again, his gaze sweeping across the remaining members of the warband.
“Take the captives and remove yourselves from this place”

The iron elf began to move away, but his pace momentarily slowed as he passed Torvus, enough so that the elven bowmen could feel his worth holistically appraised. The gravity and intensity caused by their impromptu meeting with the Iron Elf notably lifted when his presence was no longer near. The warband, with the ten prisoners (which included Milburga), made their way out of the East Bastion’s square and into Van’tese. As they did the Bastion gates were lowered and banners were erected along the ramparts. The first was familiar to some of the warband, a stylised hand within an image of the sun, seen several times when apprising the war tables of Van’tese and Rocheford. The other was lesser known, immediately recognised by only Torvus. It was a silver depiction what is known as the Cursed Tree, the mandrake (The Iron Mandrakes).

At this moment the city watch arrived in force, thirty odd guardsmen came swiftly marching up the East Main. A woman, whose armour and regalia match those of the guards that she lead but denoting a higher station stepped forward.

Her voice was smooth but asserting, “I am Lieutenant Abagail Morsel, why are my streets consumed in terror! Answer or be detained until I am satisfied the disturbance has been dealt with and you are without guilt.”

Reminder:

Heraldry:

The Iron Elf:

After the shady elf lord made his leave, Thorgrim stuck to the back of the group as they left the newly claimed fortress.

After they exited the gate, as the lords men approached he commented to the Warband "Anyone else having sudden reservations 'bout whether were still the Hero's o' this Saga?"

Thorgrim nodded for Eadwine to step forward and make the address, he had been chosen as herald after all.

Eadwine knew that his head was on the block (or the gallows, as it were) if he handled this poorly. Still, he had been appointed by Roth, and the elf was much more frightening than the group in front.

"Lieutenant, ma'am. I am Eadwine son of Uguid of Auskell, member of the Band of Thorgrim and thrall of Lord Brightlen."

Eadwine adopted a formal tone, to better fit the role. He also hoped that this would prevent them from being delayed by the soldiers: he did not want to hold the Chevalier's blade for a moment longer than necessary.

He put out the blade, rested across both hands.

"This day I have been charged to deliver.this blade and a message to our Lord by Mannah Roth, the one who recently appeared by the Bastion, foiled the execution of political prisoners and slew the Chevalier Mydas. It is these events which 'consumed your streets in terrror'. Roth has now occupied the Bastion, and I bear his blade."

He ploughed on to stop the woman from interrupting, though he bowed slightly to indicate he meant no disrespect.

"Ma'am, may I suggest that we remove ourselves presently to Tudor Towers? Pray lead us there, that I may lay this blade at the Lord's feet and deliver my message. My companions and I will surely comply with your commands en route."

Covered in blood and smelling of stale sweat, urine and ale, he rose and looked Morsel in the eye as he waited for a response.

"Loo'tenent, William can vouch for our identities and trustworthyness, despite our appearance. Also, if you had designs on the Bastion then forget them; the speed, precision and efficiency of the takeover was impressive, and I say that because we weren't on the recieving end, would have been horrifying otherwise."

Suddenly aware of the possibility of violence Torvus slung his bow. "We will of course not argue with being detained and disarmed while you verify our claims."

Morsel briefly entertained the idea of actually detaining the warband, but reality quickly took hold. The Bastion Gates were close, and from its ramparts two new sigils flew, neither of which were displayed on any of the persons before her. The elf’s remarks regarding the attack as well as calling Wylliam forth to vouch for them further galvanised her decision to relax her authority over the warband.

She then took to apprising the blade presented before her. Without a doubt, it was Ghenrean and castle forged too. It was as much a weapon as it was a work of exquisite art, bearing the mark of the Ghenraen Crown and the House of Daverax engraved above its golden hilt. Despite its majestic tones, the blades form was menacing reflecting its former owners reputation as a warmonger despite his noble station. These warriors, as resourceful and as capable as they appeared, would not have been able to liberate such a weapon from the notorious Chevelier.

Morsel had arrived at her decision, her streets were in panic and the East Bastion had apparently traded a tyrant for a terrorist, one that most believed to be little more than a folk tale. Besides, the warband wished to travel to Tudor Towers. If their claims were false, that would be the last place they would willingly go to. Morsel met Eadwine's desperate yet determined gaze and step aside. With a sharp snap, she clicked her fingers, calling two of her corporals to attention.
To the first she delegated. "Corporal, take two men and the wagon, see to it that this company reaches their destination and are afforded their intended audience. Then report back immediately, these streets will return to order before dusk." After an exchange of salutes, Morsel barked at the remaining corporal. “See to it that these civilian captives are treated for any ailments and returned to their hearths safely.” Morsel then turned to the greater cohort, raising her voice for all in company to hear. "Secure the East Main! We have a new guest. Sargent! Take a detachment and calm the masses."

There was a collective acknowledgement sung in a chorus of ‘Aye Lieutenant’. The soldiers dispersed in a flurry of organised chaos. The warband was amongst it all, being ushered into a nearby wagon by their assigned entourage. As the cart made its was though the streets, they could here soldiers urging citizens to return home, and staying any rumours that Van’tese had come under siege.

Before long the carriage reached the main court yard of Tudor Towers, and moments after stopping the wagon’s doors were opened and the warband was released from its confines. The company was then stalled in the hall while the Corporal went to secure and audience. The adrenaline charged moments that past felt like an eternity, which ended abruptly when the Corporal emerged from the halls beyond the grand foyer of the Towers.

The group followed the soldiers down a castle wing they were unfamiliar with. Eventually they had come to another foyer standing before a number of cascading stair cased falling to the floor before them. At the centre of this stone caved waterfall were too huge wooden doors, a scene vaguely similar to the cathedral ritual chambers of Le’Ghentel. The soldiers moved forward, pealing one of the large oaken doors open before ushering the warband inside.


Beyond the threshold was a large circular room. Lining the central floor was an auditorium carved from stone and fitted with wooden seats and writing desks. Against the wall, raised higher than the seats of the encompassing theatre, was the lord’s chair atop a stage bearing the markings of the house Brightlen. Overlooking the Auditorium were balconies were observers were now taking seats. Not soon after, dignitaries from the ball that had happened the night before began to enter the auditorium and sit in what the warband assumed to be assigned seating. The hall’s audience swelled, with both observers and nobles.

The warband found they were standing in the centre of the hall with all eyes on them, eager with curious anticipation. The theatre was all but filled, echoing with the idle chatter and gossip of those present. However, it quickly regressed to a respectful silence as Lord Brightlen entered the room. The Warband also caught a glimpse of Wylliam taking a seat on one of the balconies above with Dorn by his side, his gaze settling on the group collectively and giving little more than a courteous nod before turning his attention to his father.

The Lord still standing addressed the cohort. “I am sure many of you are as curious as I am to know why a meeting has been called. I am sure we’ve all heard the bells and resulting rumours but I will have silence while those who have come, deliver the truth they bear.”

The Lord’s last words were deliberate and pronounced. His stare settled on the warband, unyielding, as he took his seat. The warband had the floor.

The Blade of Mydas:

Thorgrim had a few quiet words as the aristocrats of Van'tese filtered in, but joined everyone in silence as the Lord finally made his entrance. At the lords indication, Thorgrim Stepped forward, and introduced himself and his compatriots.

"Lord Brightwater, Lady's and Gentleman of Van'Tese. I am Commander Thorgrim Ceadiogchan of the Cristalforge Clan. Today my most Astute man, Master Eadwine LASTNAME has been chosen to bear witness to What has transpired this Day. Know that he speaks the Compelte Truth, which can be Corroborated not only by myself, But by No less than The Lady-Priestess Adrysse Gothard, Bearer of the Ardent Crest as well as a local Bannerman of yourself, Lord Brightlen."

If ever there were a time for pomp and grandeur, This was clearly it. Thorgrim took care in giving mention to all titles that may add weight to what Eadwine was about to say. His own recognition aside, Adrysse had made herself regoniseable at the ball.

Thorgrim also took note not to mention Meric by name or even indicate he was the mentioned Banner man, Or rather Former Bannerman turned Agent, Him and Torvus worked well in the shadows, as yesterdays events proved, Thorgrim was lament to remove that advantage from them. The Lord would know, and he was the only one that needed too...

"To the Assembled Court, I Present Master Eadwine, of the Van'tese College"

Eadwine stood tall and was surprised to find that, apart from a light sheen of sweat on his palms, he was quite composed. He stepped forward as Thorgrim indicated, and swept the entire assembly, making eye contact, before beginning.

"Lord Brightlen, just Lord of Brightwater, and his guests and retainers; ladies and gentlemen of the court." He bowed as he made greetings in the most formal manner he knew. "This morning at the tolling of the bells my companions and I made our way to the courtyard of the Bastion, where, unbeknownst to us, several political prisoners were due to be hanged by the orders if the Chevalier Mydas. Therefore we were present to witness the sudden onslaught of many hooded and masked warriors, who foiled the execution, and the subsequent destruction of many of the Chevalier's men. Furthermore, we bore witness to the conflict between the Chevalier and the leader of the mysterious warriors. This culminated in the slaying of Chevalier Mydas.."

Eadwine paused for a moment to let the mutters from the courtiers die down. The Lord had not made any discernible reaction.

"I was charged by this leader to deliver a token and a message to the Lord Brightlen."

At this, Eadwine revealed Mydas' sword, which he had kept swathed in a cloak borrowed from the Corporal. Light glinted from it as Eadwine held it upon his hands again.

"The token is this: the sword of Chevalier Mydas. And the message is this: Mannah Roth, downfall of Chevalier Mydas, has entered Van'Tese with the Dawn's Hand."

With that, Eadwine bowed his head and dropped to one knee, holding the sword before him.

Only once he was crouched did it occur to him to wonder whether Charlotte was in the stands.

The court erupted, the gravity of the mornings sudden events struck like hammer on nail, its blow precise and heavy. The tone of the court grew to one of concern and swelling fear. The chatter and objections began to grew wild before Lord Brightlen's still composure broke as his voice sounded above all others.
"I will have, order in my hall!" The court responding immediately to the Lord's demand fell silent.
Lord Brightlen sat for a moment, allowing the weight of silence to completely settle before speaking once more.
“It is obvious members of the court have views to share given the events that have transpired. Durand Roux of the Merchant Guild, what say you?”

An elderly gentlemen rose to his feet, dressed in fine ghenraen merchant garb. His polished cherry wood mask was framed by an intricately carved mane of oak leaves littered with acorn symbols. Leaning in part on an elegant cane, the man began to speak.

“This event will likely spark the very thing our lands were trying to avoid since the coronation and the subsequent decrees of King Gwain. If we do not make political amends quickly, this may escalate beyond our scope of control. We are at dire risk of Civil War…”

At the mention of this another voice sounded out in the grand chamber, interrupting the noble merchant’s speech. She spoke with confidence and conviction; many were surprised to find a young woman in decorated garb resembling a peacock. Her mask was matte silver and elegant frame reflecting the delicacy of lace, sculpted to vaguely resemble the form of a peacock’s tail.  It was the determined Miss Charlotte Cotillard, seizing her moment.

“We are already at civil war Lord Roux! The moment citizens lose faith in our crown and country and begin to speak words of treason openly on our streets is the exact moment we were at war. The actions of Sir Mydas on behalf of the Crown were little more than actions of extortion and murder. Make no mistake, Ladies and Gentlemen of the assembled court, we are already in the middle of a civil war.”
For the duration of her interjection, the University Chancellor Lo’Roche had been urging her to fall silent and apologise to the court. No sooner had Miss Charlotte finished the court had erupted into chaos once more. Noblemen, Merchant lords and Scholastic Advisors all argued the volatile point presented by the perceived radical. Lord Brightlen was forced to call the court to order once more.

“Order! I will have Order!” the court fell silent as it did before and Lord Brightlen proceeded to address the assembly. “I will  not suffer the ignorance of radicals in my court, especially those only afforded a seat by the authority and station held by those who accompany them. Banner men, remove Miss Cotillard from this assembly.”

The Banner men gestured for Charlotte to comply, with silent protest and seething anger to stepped from her position at the Chancellor’s side to the soldiers and was escorted from the hall.
   
As the echoing thud of stone and wood indicated the interruption had been dealt with, Lord Brightlen broke the obedient silence again. “I would ask for others to speak but I feel those who have, have presented the two extremes of the opinion based continuum regarding today’s events and by extension the state of our kingdom. However, while it is certainly a concern of this House, my efforts and attention are presently concerned with the Ogroid and Necrophage hordes running rampant across my lands slaughtering my people.” At this moment, the warband spotted Wylliam stand and leave the confines of his balcony. Their attention was called back to the lord as his address focused down on them. “These few who stand before me, few to none had any allegiance or cause to take up arms in defence of this land and its lord. Even now, in the wake of terror and at the dawn of battle against the denizens of evil, we find them willing and loyal. Qualities and service I would see rewarded.”

The lord stepped from his height aloft the hall’s stage down to the floor where the warband stood. He travelled first to Eadwine gripping the handle of the blade held out before him. Holding its tip to the ceiling, he basked in its majesty for a moment before his gaze lower to Eadwine and then on Merrick who stood nearby.

Talking over Eadwines shoulder, the lord addressed rugged mercenary Merrick. “My son informed me, that among those who acted in service to my Lordship there was one who had already taken up the mantle of my house, who then set it aside so he might better serve. Would such loyalty be possessed by you?”

Charlotte Cotillard:

Cotlllard Mask:

Brightlen Mask:

Merick shrugged nonchalantly at the Lord's attention and his face crinkled in a polite smile. He hoped it was polite as he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do in this situation. There were a lot of people looking at him at this moment and it was far more attention than he was comfortable with. He suddenly wished that he had a mask on to shield him from their stares.

"I suppose you could say that Lord," Merick scratched the back of his head, "although the others are far more loyal than I. Thorgrim was far more concerned about your wellbeing than I was and Billy had to strong arm and pull some tricks to excuse me from the Captain's service. I'll still serve as one of your Bannermen if you have the coin to pay me, Lord. My loyalty is as strong as your pockets are deep."

Merick showed his teeth in a faint smile and glanced at the others of the group in desperation. Sweet talking nobles was not something he was comfortable with.

Thorgrim could not help but smile proudly at Merrics refreshing bluntness and honesty amidst such a political scene. He had said completely the wrong thing, for himself at least, but the dwarf made a mental note to buy the lad a drink later...

The Lord apprised Merrick as he spoke and listen to what he had to say.

"Then perhaps a Mercenary you should remain, in any case I thank you for the role you have played."

The Lord glanced as two of his guards present in the room and gave a nod, an indication of a prior agreement. Then looked back at Eadwine still holding the blade of Mydas. He appreciated its craftsmanship again as he spoke.

"In the coming months many decisions will be made that will reshape this kingdom. It will be men and women wielding blades such as this in positions of power or opportunity who will make such decisions. Coin has and always will tempt the will of man Merrick, but those men are easily forgotten and the bond he holds dear are too often consumed by greed and the sins committed to quench its insatiable thirst.

For now, I shall do my part and serve you and your companions your next meal..." As the lord spoke the guards emerged from a side hall carrying a chest between them, placing it by the side of Lord Brightlen before the warband.

"it is my hope that this meal quenches the thirst for each of you so you might turn your gaze to greater aspirations, such as honour, truth and loyalty so the acts of greatness performed in the pursuit of such virtues is remembered and others may revere you making this kingdom a better place."

The Lord walked before each member of the warband touching each on the shoulder as he did to express his thanks beyond the coin he had presented.

"Torvus Wonderer, I have only met a few of your kind in my years. I have been told you act in favour of freedom and cherish the power of choice. May your wayward kin uplift you and follow your way that they might too achieve an enlightenment. I thankyou.

Lady Adrysse, wielder of the Adrent Crest and Vindicator of the House of Light. May your offerings always bring good fortune to those who accept the aid and wisdom it bares.  I thankyou.

Thorgrim of Clan Crystal forge. It was my son who convinced me to allow your kin refuge within my walls, but it is acts such as yours, ones of bravery and selflessness that make me regret my complacency. You and your people will always be welcome on my lands and within my halls."

Knowing he had already thanked Merrick Lord Brightlen stopped once more in front of Eadwine. "My father once told me that great weapons are heralds of history. Men are born, they go to war and then they die, but their weapons live on. They carry the memory of the deeds they were used to perform. This blade was wielded by a terrible man, one who used this blade to perform unspeakable acts. However, this blade bears the makings of Ghenrael and the Great house of Daverax that freed the Ghenraen people from their shackles. This blade was forged for greatness, not evil and sorrow, and I would see it used for its true purpose, to perform the deeds it was created for. Eadwine, you as your companions have been instrumental in days past. It is by the efforts of you and your companions that I am able to continue my work towards the preservation of my lands and this kingdom so my people may thrive. As a Ghenraen and a citizen of my city I would make an example of you and charge thee with a life mission. I would have you continue to act in truth, honour and love for your country and fellow man. Take up this blade, so you might perform deeds worthy of its make and become a Champion of Brightwater and the Ghenraen people."

The Lord now offered the blade to Eadwine. To all that now looked upon it, it seemed to have a new weight. Not one that was physical but one born of responsibility. The responsibility carried by the Champion of Brightwater a mantle now offered to Eadwine.