| Tavern Musings |
| Summary: | Those up north discuss the topics of the day in a tavern. Michael makes appointments in his head. |
| Date: | Fevrier 12, 1866 |
| Related: | None |
| NPCs: | {$npc} |
| Players: |
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| Aequor - Mastings - Moldy Mug Tavern |
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The Moldy Mug is the heart of the village's social life, and now that the army has arrived it has become the heart of their social life as well. There is barely a time of day or night when the Moldy Mug's tables aren't full up and with yet more patrons standing while they drink. Nobles of course can find a seat, as can common born officers of the legion, but all others must fend for themselves where finding a table and a bite to eat are concerned. The warmth of the Mug's hearth is available for all, often accompanied with the savoury smells of whatever is roasting on the spit or whatever is being prepared in the kitchen beyond the bar. Drink is plentiful with ale and beer available as are some local drinks such as a strong sweet wine made from currents and a clear distilled drink that is stronger still. In addition to the drinks a few whores of questionable appearance and health mingle with the patrons with dubious pleasures on offer. The Mug is raucous but a tavern keeper keeps a keen eye out for trouble and the Prince's guards are close by in in the command center should things get out of hand. |
| Fevrier 12, 1866 |
The worst of the snow from the recent snowstorm had been cleared away, at least on the walking paths in Mastings and the encampments around.
The chill air outside makes not difference once in the Moldy Mug, warm from fires crackling in the hearths, and abuzz with rumor.
The Crown Prince had left. In the wake of the accusations over the King's assassination attempt (and that the king was still on the verge of death, from what was being said, and that the Queen was the one giving out orders); the Crown Prince had left Lord Sir Michael al'Callenta, heir to Murnord, in charge until his father the Duke arrives later in the week, and had departed back towards Lyioness int he company of several Blue Cavaliers and some of the Cardinal's guard.
Those rumors, of course, quite overpowered others that was circling the camps, the typical sorts of things— superstitious folk talking about goblyns mucking with the supplies, rumors about when the Aequorian army would next march on Kyrena's, rumors about when Kyrena's army would surely march down upon theirs—
…and of course, in any large gathering, the rumors about who was spending the night in whom's tent.
Lady Sir Nadine d'Cadri was actually, oddly, one of the subjects of that latter type of rumor. And for what it was worth, she did not seem overly concerned with that, though she and her brother were taking their ease in the Moldy Mug, seated at a table near one of the hearths and engaged in quiet, serious discussion. In short, being… well, d'Cadri.
"Enough, enough," Michael said with a laughter he did not feel in his voice as he regarded to two lordlings who had followed him from his quarters in the command hut to the inn. "I will hear your proposals on the morrow, leave word with Woodley and he will put you into the schedule." One of the men opens his mouth but Michael holds up a hand and the man closes it again. "Good," Michael smiled. "Tomorrow." Then with that he turns and descends the steps into the inn with a sigh. One help him his father could not get here soon enough.
Artos d'Acuto has taken to a table as he usually does, a book and cup of ale close by, sitting as he reads his book and quietly listens to the room around him. The arrival of the duke's son catches his attention, but he stays in his seat as he realizes that the man simply wants to be left alone for now, a sentiment he understands.
Stellan had ears, and quite a bit of idle time nowadays, when he wasn't training or being assigned chores by his knight - so he's been aware of the rumors and their growing prevalence. The ones circling the prince predictably worried him more than the others, and his absence wasn't encouraging.
Since the squire had arrived he's been staking out his own little corner in the Moldy Mug. It was much more hospitable than the tent he shared with his aunt. He even went as far as to occasionally leave a book or two on the table in a vain attempt to dissuade others from taking the seat - only to find his possessions on the floor when he returned more often than not. Not the most well thought-out strategy. Thankfully, tonight he was lucky and managed to find it unoccupied once he returned from practice.
The d'Cadris by the hearth were noticed, but he wasn't compelled to intrude on whatever conversation they were having. His eyes do rise from the letter he was reading when he hears Michael, mildly intrigued.
Michael takes himself to the bar and after greeting the barkeep with a tired sort of cheerfulness he takes his drink, mulled wine, and studies the bar. He can feel people watching him but it doesn't seem to faze him. Indeed spotting Stellan among those who look he raises his cup to his brother's squire and then starts over in that direction pausing as he goes to give a greeting to the Baron "Artos," he greets. "Come join young Stellan and I for a drink."
The squire blinks once, clearly not expecting the al'Callenta to come join him, but he shifts in case the young man needs room. He actually wasn't Gabriel's squire! … But several people had already openly thought as much, since the conclusion of the last tourney. "Longer day than usual?" He asks Michael conversationally. For his part, he had no mug of ale present, strangely enough.
Artos is part way through a page when he hears Michael call him over. Taking a second to finish and return the piece of scrap parchment he is using as a book mark to the page, the baron rises and takes his cup and book over to where the two young northerners are. "Sir Michael, Lord Stellan," Artos says politely, "I pray your day has gone well enough?" There is some sincerity in his tone.
Nadine glances up at the entrance of the current leader (until Duke Cesare arrives) of the Aequorian forces, and offers him a polite and respectful nod, but does not intrude, not yet at least. Sir Pepin, beside her, follows her gaze and offers a similar solemn nod. Neither seem to be drinking much, though that is their way, and when they return to their conversation, it is slightly apparent that the pair of d'Cadri are troubled over something.
"Very long and very dull," Michael assures Stellan as he joins him bumping cups. "Though such is command. I trust you're enjoying the freedom of squirehood?" he asks with a bit of a smile. Artos gets a nod. "Well enough," he answers even as he spots the d'Cadri. "Though do you know what has Nadine and her brother down? Given the rumours one of my knights told me I'd have thought she'd be a touch more cheerful," a pause. "Well, for a d'Cadri anyhow."
Stellan gives the baron a respectful nod in greeting when he joins them. "Good eve, your lordship. Sir Artos." He still isn't exactly sure which order the titles were supposed to go. He quirks a smile at Michael. "I suppose it squirehood isn't quite as stressful as knighthood, especially in times like these. I don't envy you," he admits. Blue eyes shift to regard the d'Cadri duo again, still passive. "I have no idea. We could venture to ask them…" The suggestion isn't whispered.
The older of the d'Cadri siblings claps her brother on the shoulder, squeezing it a bit. He looks embarrassed and yet relieved somehow, and they both relax. Whatever troubled their moods seems resolved— or at least, a course decided upon. They neither one have smiles, still their somber expressions, but that is hardly an oddity.
Pepin rises and makes his way towards the door, and Nadine rises as well, moving towards the table with Michael, Artos, and Stellan. "Lord Sir Michael, Baron Sir Artos. Squire." She greets them all seriously. "Is there room for another?"
Artos nods, "Thank the One." He raises a cup and shakes his head at the question of what's wrong. He would say more but the topic then rises with her brother and approaches them. With a finger pointed at a couple of seats adjacent to them, he says, "Lady Sir Nadine, Lord Sir Pepin, welcome! Unless the others have an issue, there is plenty of room for the two of you."
"Hmm seems they've solved the problem for us," Michael remarks to Stellan before he nods seconding the Baron's invitation to join them. "Yes, please join us. Though, if you don't mind me asking, what had you and your brother looking so glum?" he asks as he sits and nods for the others to do the same.
The d'Tremaine arcs a brow ever so slightly at Nadine, but he nods his own greeting. "Good evening, Lady Sir Nadine." He shifts again to allow yet more room for the lady knight, but lets Michael ask his question without further input. There wasn't much to add!
Nadine glances towards where her brother is almost to the door, then returns her attention to the table, sitting down in the offered chair. "We were discussing the Prince's situation," she says seriously. "It is concerning."
"I see," Artos says politely, taking a drink to buy him some time. He moves his book over a little so that it is farther away from the other drinks. "What are your thoughts on the matter?"
Michael turns as grim as a d'Cadri when the topic of the prince is brought up and he takes a deep pull from his mug. As Artos asks what was on his mind, he says nothing, just turns his eyes to Nadine and waits for her reply.
"His… history… and the recent troubles between the prince and His Majesty…" Nadine frowns. "One Above, I do not wish to think it possible, but what if he truly had a hand in the attempt on King Maris's life?" She doesn't look pleased at the thought.
The corners of Stellan's mouth turn downward, turning his neutral expression into a slight frown when Nadine asks the question he's heard more than once already. He casts a quick glance at the knights at the table, sensing this one was one those times when he should listen and not speak. He shifts uneasily where he sits and beckons a server over to order himself a mug of ale, instead.
"I do not believe that His Highness had anything to do with it," Artos says politely, "It does not seem like something he would do. Though I pray the One will let the truth be shown and justice handled accordingly."
"The One will see him justly judged," Michael says retreating behind his little used courtly mask, an expression of practiced neutrality that looks odd on the usually expressive face do the al'Callenta heir. "Though everyone brings up his past like a little bit of gambling and whoring would turn a man into a killer. Were that the case Four Corners would be full of nothing but corpses."
Nadine nods in agreement, to the former at least. "The One will see justice done," she murmurs.
Artos nods, "It is certainly out of our hands." A concession, "And yes, if whoring and gambling had such an effect then a there would be a good deal of early deaths in this world."
Stellan inwardly smirks at Michael's remark, but nods in agreement as well. "Aye, the One's will… will be done. And we will persevere." He takes a long drink from the ale he has procured. "Blizzards, bears, and all."
Nadine rises. "I apologize… this is not the time for such talk, I know. Morale will be affected further." She bows slightly. "If you will excuse me…" and she departs the same way her brother did.
"Exactly," Michael says with an emphatic nod to Artos. Though whatever else he might have said on the harmlessness of drinking and whoring is lost when Nadine takes her leave. "Of course, my regards to your brother, Sir," he bids the departing knight before he smiles at Stellan's remark. "Well who knows maybe if we just pen the barbarians up here long enough the blizzards and bears will deal with them for us."
"Farewell, Sir," Artos says to the departing knight. After another drink he makes a rare snarky comment after Michael remarks on the blizzards and bears, "Or we send whores and dice to them and let them destroy each other?" He takes another drink, "But yes, flames and crows take those bears and blizzards."
The squire chuckles lightly at Michael. "Ice bears would be better-equipped to deal with the blizzards. That may be more tactically sound than one would think." He leans back in his seat, relaxing now, and rubs his chin thoughtfully. "But I won't be approaching them again any time soon. I speak Bear very poorly."
Michael nods and drinks deep of his cup. "By the sound of it you were both on that thrice-damned hunt then?" he asks looking between Baron and Squire. He had been away then, and had only heard the tale second hand.
Artos nods to Stellan. When Michael asks, the baron pulls back the edge of his cloak to reveal the four scars on his neck where a bear had clawed him deeply, "Aye, and I came out of it better than most. Consider yourself fortunate that you were not there."
Stellan cringes when Artos reveals his scars, but doesn't move to reveal his own. Not because he didn't enjoy showing them off - it was simply inappropriate to shed one's clothing in the middle of a tavern, even if he may still be in better taste than some of the wenches milling about. "I went. Couldn't keep much food down afterwards due to my gut being split open." A pause. "The women seem to blame themselves for it." It still puzzles him.
Michael nods. "I already do count myself lucky on that score," he says solemnly looking at the scars. "If it was their suggestion we go then, then guilt is natural, undeserved, but natural. By the women, you mean Evelyn and Nadine?" he asks though for clarification.
"It is an undue blame to be put on them by themselves or others. We did not seek the bears out and aimed to find less dangerous game. Hunting always comes with a risk that you may bite off more than you can chew." Artos shrugs, "I hold no ill will towards them, just the bears. Thank the One we made it back alive."
"Aye," Stellan replies to Michael, with a nod. "I'm of the same mind as Sir Artos - but I understand what you mean. I simply hope it doesn't eat at them any more than it has to." He looks back to Artos now. "How is Lord Marcus doing now, by the way?" The most mauled of them all.
"Well I will speak with them on the matter…" Michael begins before he has to consider when he will have time. "At some point and try to ease their minds on it. But yes, the blame should lay with the bears."
"Marcus is not doing the best, but he took the worst beating of us." Artos says glumly, "Fortunately my nephew is a hardy man and I believe that while he will bear scars from this encounter, he should be able to function fully again at some point, I believe. Medicine is not something I am too well versed in."
Stellan nods again to Michael. "They may appeciate that." He tilts his head slightly. "Or dislike me for even bringing it up, should they discover I did so." He gives a rueful shrug, evidently not too bothered. He looks a mite relieved at the answer Artos gives him regarding Marcus's health. "He may be the toughest man I've come across yet, and I know some tough men. I was worried he may be incapacitated for good; I'm relieved that he isn't."
Michael makes a face. "Sorry to hear he was so badly hurt," he says befor taking another drink. "I should visit with him," he says adding him to his mental appointment list. "Though I did not think him so tough to look at him, but if he survived what he did and will fully recover then it proves looks can be deceiving."
"His father will be pleased to know he is doing well, all things considered," Artos notes and gives both Michael and Stellan a nod, "Yes he is, and a keen mind." He taps his head as he makes that point, "That does remind me that I want to send these barbarians back to their frozen hell so that I can return home in peace, while I have one daughter here, I would rather be with my family, as would my men."
"Neither did I, to be completely honest," Stellan admits. "But experience is the best teacher, they say." He's been in both battles where Marcus nearly bit the dust. "Perhaps trudging around in full maille isn't such an unwise thing to do after all." With the luck they've been having, anyway. "Aye, those bastards don't seem to want to let us return home any time soon."
Michael nods thoughtfully, though when the door opens and his servant Woodley appears he frowns before turning back to his companions. "Indeed they don't seem to be in any hurry to let us go home. At least, not yet, though One willing we shall find a way soon." Then, he finishes his drink and rises. "Seems I am needed but, please drink on my coin tonight and thank you for your company."
Stellan bows his head to Michael, yet again, but more respectfully. "Thank you, Lord General. Goodnight and take care." He still has ale to drink.
"Indeed, One help us." He raises his cup to the departing al'Callenta, "Farewell, sir. I should also find my way back to my quarters before we get hit with /another/ blizzard." Artos drains his cup and picks his book up, "Lord Stellan, enjoy the rest of your evening."
Stellan tips his head to Artos, as well, smiling. "I hope you enjoy your book, Your Lordship. Goodnight." And so the squire is left to quietly enjoy his drink.