(1865-08-13) Leaving for the Wall
Leaving for the Wall
Summary: The men of House D'Armaz are preparing to leave for the wall but not before including another
Date: 8-14-2014
Related: Related Logs (If there aren't any, use None. Don't this entry leave blank. If there is a log, use full URLs, like http://eternalcrusade.wikidot.com/logtitle)
NPCs: {$npc}
Players:
Myrana  Nicolo  

Four Corners - Residential Area
The further one goes down the street they'll find that the quality of the houses improve greatly compared to those passed earlier, this being where the nobles and richer commoners have had their homes built. Many are surrounded by walls and the grounds only accessible via gates, some of which might also have some of the various houses' guards standing before them.
IC date of RP

Six men, armed with steal weaponry and their riding horses were packed for travel. Five were seated, ready to depart at a moment's notice just beyond the D'Armaz manor. Among them standing was Marcello with the reigns of two horses grasped in his hands. Nicolo held a map before him of the entire Kingdom while the pair conversed. "This road here." He indicates by a single tilt of his bearded chin. "Should bring the men to Alasce. Five days if they forgo all slumber."

The sound of hoofbeats, ponderous and measured on the fine gravel of the Armaz drive, might be lost in the general shuffling and shifting of six men and their horses. But it can't go unnoticed for too long, for while Marcello and Nicolo are going over the map, Myrana is leading the big dapple grey charger given to her by Duke Tarris out of the stables and down the wide drive. Soon she reaches the group of men and balks a little, seeing how official and well armed they are, and packed for travel.

Holding the reins of the rather too-big horse in one hand, she tightens the other around the rolled up letter she carries, and then continues to approach. Her dark hair is braided in twin plaits down her back, each as thick as a man's wrist, and she wears a riding habit of sombre maroon broadcloth.

Sensibly, no real sign of wealth can be seen about her person; her typical rainment of brocade and gold is nowhere to be seen. No tassled discs hang from her ears and no bracelets chime heavy at her wrists. Instead, amid her skirts there are a pair of hand canons in leather casements. But it would be hard to mistake her for anything but the daughter of a very wealthy man, for her skin is clear and soft, and her dark hair has the lustre of health and sheltered life.
"You got a letter too," she says, waitign for a lull in the map plans.
As a man of wealth even his travel attire was of fine leather materials. At the sound of his sibling's voice Nicolo raised his head, then Marcello. The other men of his personal guard and companions nodded their head in respect. "Yes I did Myra." While still holding the map the D'Armaz heir turned to Marcello briefly. "I'll be ready in an hour's time. Let them part to say their farewells then we'll meet outside the city. I need to ink a letter before we depart…. boy!" He shouted for the house servant, a young boy that was being groomed into eventually the role of steward. "Send for Angelus. I'll need some letters sent." The brown haired youth bobbed his head then darted off towards the markets where Angelus may be found. Possibly an inn. He was always on the go.

At last he turned to his sister while rolling up the map in his hands, "New horse?" Finally having a glance at her he noticed how dressed down she appeared. "Just what have you been up to?"

Myrana swallows, nodding. "He was a gift," she says, her hand moving as the horse tosses its head restlessly and jerking thereby on the reins. "The other day… I mean, the other night. When I was late for the feast after the Hammer Tourney; it was because I met a group of knights sent by her Majesty to collect me." Myrana looks down at the gravel. "She sent them to bring me to the Wall in Gendiel, where there is some trouble with the Icenalians." In the holsters at her hips are a pair of pistols, sure, but they aren't HERS, certainly, and she seems conscious of this. For all that she has dressed down, however, in some effort to lessen the dangers of the road and be less conspicuous, it would be impossible to mistake Myrana for anything but the daughter of a very wealthy man; her skin is too soft and clear. and her dark hair too thick and lustrous for a commoner. She has every mark of a sheltered life. "I have to meet them at the Hammer gate."

Nicolo listened as he always would and all his attention was devoted unto her. Marcello could keep an eye out for any strange behaviors for that was his purpose. "A gift?" He seemed to focus something so trivial as a gift. "From who? You have a horse." A fine one at that. But she'll also travel to the wall and the D'Armaz heir was already redesigning his plans. Before she could answer he said to his companion, "Marcello. Have the stable boy prepare another horse for my sister. She'll be riding with us."

"From Duke Tarris," says Myrana, a little surprised that her brother keys in on that and not on the queen ordering her to the war. But even as she answers him, she reflects that it -is- a little unusual; a charger is a rather unusual gift for a lady without military aspirations. The sidesaddle she had made for the big horse looks almost amusingly out of place on a creature bred for warfare. She brushes unconsciously at her skirts with her free hand, cheeks colouring as she thinks back to recieving the horse, and realizes she'd better explain.
"Its not what I thought at first; the duke wanted to apologize," she says. "For my injuries in his territory; I tried to refuse, but he insisted— but, but that's beside the point." She looks distraught. "Nicolo, aren't you bringing a hundred men with you from one of the mercenary companies?"

"They're outside the gates." He answers in between the personal of new arrangements being made with Marcello that included his sister. "Where's Antonio? See to it he stables this horse from Duke Tarris." Evidently Nicolo didn't approve of such a gift. The rolled map was slipped into a leather holder hanging from his saddle bag. Shortly after he approached his sibling and reached out for her hand, "I'm cautious of the man. If he truly wished to make amends he would have done so with father as well. Has he?"

Myrana flushes; but after a heartbeat she hands the reins of the horse quietly over to Marcello. "The saddlebag with the longer ties has my books," she says, unable to quite help herself. She won't argue with her brother, and she is never short with his men, but there are some things the young D'Armaz would be hard put to cope without.
When Nicolo approaches her she gives him a brief, questioning look, obviously a little stung. But she slips her hand into his and shakes her head, letting go of a breath that has her frustrations in it. "I… don't know," she admits. "As… far as I know," she adds, in a low voice. "Father doesn't know the extent of what happened." A shadow passes over her and she swallows reflexively, looking down again as a shudder goes through her and gooseflesh prickles up her arms and down her back. "I wrote to him from Duval once I could, but I was— It was too soon after what happened while I was in Lyionesse. And I wanted to worry him as little as possible." Her cool, small hand shakes a little. "I keep waking up having the same dream, of those arrows. I… I know her majesty has good reason for sending me to the front, Nico, b-but god! I wish I could just go home!"

Once Myrana had begun to grow upset over reminiscing her traumatic ordeal she would be found instantly embraced by her elder sibling for comfort. "Shhh." Nicolo murmured. "You know we wouldn't allow any harm to come to you." He started to say while stroking her back. "If he knew I doubt a 'horse' would be sufficient enough hmm?" The living eldest said while craning his down to peer at her face. "An insult truly. You were in danger and he gifts you with a horse… a horse. We'll see it stabled and get you stabled. We'll leave in an hour and you can ride with me. We'll take rest in Alasce before reaching the wall."

Myrana shudders hard and take a hitching breath, face pressed against the buttery leather of Nicolo's jerkin. One arm winds partially around to the back of her brother's shoulder as she regains her composure, but its still a moment before she nods and eases somewhat. "I know. I'm sorry Nicolo; I haven't been sleeping." She looks up, blue eyes dark with worry, and then casts a slanting glance toward the D'Armaz gate to the left hand side. "I don't think…I mean. I don't think it was meant as an insult, Nico. It wasn't his fault. If I had introduced myself when I came to Duval, instead of trying to lay low and wait for our ship to be repaired, I would not have been in the town at all, and nothing would have happened to me." She blinks and shakes her head to one side a little to get the bangs out of her face, without much success. "I didn't know that Duval was their holding; I was worried about being a compromise."

Myrana pauses, and then adds; "If it is an hour before we depart, I should send someone to let Sir D'Arran and the others know that we are coming."

Nicolo strokes the dark auburn crown of Myrana's head before correcting the position of one of the braids smashed between their forms. It's tugged at only to fall against her back. "We'll take rest soon. Some country air will do you good then." He does more than suggest. He gives a glance to Marcello then for just a moment. "Still. A horse." He emphasized once again. "But if you wish. I was just about to do that myself but perhaps by your hand they'll be more warmed to the idea of us seeking respite without invitation. After all, it is by the duty of the crown no?" Before he'll pull away the new heir laid a kiss onto the young woman's forehead. "There are some matters I should attend to before we depart."

Myrana nods, calmed considerably. Her worries seem a little ridiculous, in retrospect. She smiles at Nicolo, tired, but relieved. "I'll do that," she says, and bows her head for the kiss before departing with a wave to make certain that the company of knights know of their arrival.

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