(1866-09-27) An Outing With A Viscount
An Outing With A Viscount
Summary: Having grown restless in the city of Firen, prior to the Queen's court, Henric decides it was a good opportunity to take his brother-in-law, Cassius, out for a ride and a spar.
Date: 1866-09-27
Related: Henric/Cassius related.
NPCs: {$npc}
Players:
Cassius  Henric  

Room Name
Room description
1866-09-27

The Cassomir manse in Firen had been a buzz lately with activity, with both Viscount and Viscountess in residence. The steward of the house, Nalkor, was considerably happy to have something to do as he kept the livered servants in line and personally attended to the Viscount on a daily basis.

Today, Nalkor was not happy. Nalkor was fretting. He had an anxious look to his face, one that was disagreeable to the Viscount mounting up on the dappled grey gelding called Keeper as he held the reins. The argument had been lost, an argument that had entailed keeping a proper escort with the Viscount to ensure the man’s safety. That look Nalkor wore had Henric ease forward in his saddle with a sigh as he reached for the reins passed to him, “Good Master Nalkor, if the One wanted me dead, it would’ve been seen too by now. If I’m to believe my wife, the One has a reason I remain.” The scarf around his neck tucked under the high leather neckline hid the truth of that sentiment, “We’ll be gone but a few short hours. We won’t make more than a mile or two beyond the walls of Firen. You have my permission to send out a search party if we fail to return before the sun sets.” The last seemed to at least appease the man, at least enough to release the reins and bows his head to the Viscount.

Henric turned Keeper toward the entrance of the Cassomir manse gate, nodding to Cassius to see if the squire had been ready for another outing. They both know the last one ended up with a certain degree of excitement. “I’m very much in need of this ride,” he admits in passing to Cassius as he increases pressure on the gelding to set the animal into a trot.

Cassius had had to field some nagging from Elaine about riding out with Henric again just -because- the last outing had been so eventful. But he’s eager to go, eager to prove himself to the Viscount and to learn from him. He’s dressed in nice clean clothes, with a protective leather vest over a white shirt, half-covered by a wide jacket. Even his boots are polished. He’s on his trusty mare who has accompanied him the length and breadth of the country it seems.

“I’m ready, cousin.” he says a bit formally, though his eyes shine with eager anticipating. “I’m looking forward to this…” His horse falls into a trot automatically when the gelding moves off and soon they’re off to a new adventure.

Elaine would protest, though she often did when it came to idiotic under takings that risked much for little gain - such as this ride was all about apparently. They would leave without a retinue, but they would also leave unmarked of what station they carried other than the small golden eagle crest on the breast of Henric's leathers. A group of armed men would catch more attention that two lowly noblemen on their way passed the gates and in the countryside. After all, in simple leathers they would appear a knight and a squire. The blade at Henric wore was valuable, however, which would mark him to the keen of eye as it settled on his back. The unusual black blade of Winterthorn would be carried with him, the symbol of his household's line.

"Keep up," Henric's words can be heard as he pushes the gelding to a swifter speed, loping down the long roadway that lead to the manse once they swept under the courtyard gates. The fact that he was going just with the squire indicated to some extent that he hoped trouble would find them, though it was unlikely this close to Firen with the Royal Lancers patrolling near the city.

Often, when in the saddle, Henric would become less tense, show some excitement, perhaps a smile. Today he was stern faced and troubled, not an unfamiliar expression to be found on him these days. He doesn't stop them until they've ridden out of the city, moving with a speed that would stretch the horse’s legs and exhilarate the men upon their saddles. Finally, some distance out, he reined in to pull the gelding to a walk.

There he looked over at Cassius as he readjusted in his seat, eyeing his brother thru marriage for a time before he asks, "What are your ambitions, Cassius?"

Cassius has been riding along happily, keeping up with Henric and simply enjoying the fact that he was out and about with the viscount he admires so much. That is until Henric reins the horse in and starts a conversation. Uh, serious man talk. “I…. uh… dunno…”, he stutters helplessly, “What do you mean with ambitions? Unless I find a way to get rid of my brothers without anyone being ever so slightly suspicious, I will never be a big nobleman like you. I’m just… nobody. The runt of the litter”, he remarks a little sourly and shrugs. “Guess my ambition is to be a knight… to do a few decent things… not get killed… deal with whatever wife my parents foist on me… spawn a litter myself… something like that.” Nope, he doesn’t sound like he’s going to light the world on fire - either in a good or bad sense. He clams up and looks sheepish, eyeing Henric from the side worriedly as if he fears more questions.

The grey gelding had a bounce to his step, apparently pleased to be out and stretching muscles. Henric leaned over to clap his hand against the warmed neck of the light charger, the animal's ears flicking back attentively. As Cassius takes his time to fumble with an answer, Henric regards the young man absentmindedly, turning them off the main road toward a much smaller path - rough and better used by those without carts behind them. "Big nobleman?" Henric reiterates with a scoffing disdain for the word, brow lifting at the squire's opinion of his self-worth - surprisingly ironic that. Yet he doesn't interrupt the Volstak now, letting him fulfil his question.

Once Cassius grows quiet, Henric states, "That sounds to me as if you would settle with your lot in life - that you aren't ambitious to achieve more than being the youngest son of a newly minted lord." The shod of the horse hooves over the rocky ground fills the brief pause before Henric continues, "I guess I was curious if you had thought beyond your spurs, such as testing to become a Royal Lancer or raising in station and rank through another military association." Then he shrugs, "It doesn't always require the death of your family to become distinguished."

Henric glances over at Cassius again, "I had the same attitude as you when I was younger, always marked in the shadows of my brother's achievements, and now by their memory. But I had ambitions. I knew the only way to get out of their shadow was to rise to the occasion." A beat, "I competed in tournaments, I took on commanding roles when presented…," he stretches his back muscles in the saddle, "Who we want to be is what keeps who we are now in check. To this day I still want to be as Jaren was, though I'll always be a mere echo, because who I am is vastly different than who he was. But what he was, I'll always aspire to it." He needs this, to talk about his brother, a small sullen frown settling on him. "You have a chance, Cassius, as a newly founded line of nobility to stand out, to pursue any goals that you may have. So if you wish to rise above your brothers, to be noticed, you must challenge yourself to do it. The Scouts Tourney," he considers Cassius, "Would be a good start for you. Consider your attendance sponsored by me if not your knight."

“Tourneys are fun.” Cassius replies, even before the offer of sponsorship has been made. When it comes, his eyes light up momentarily, though he tries his best to appear all cool and laid-back about it. “You would? That’s kind of you, Henric.” He takes his time accepting, though. In fact he seems to be pleased that his mare has decided that a particular green shrub by the roadside is worth nibbling on and he lets her enjoy her snack.

“I dunno.”, he tells the neck of his mare, avoiding Henric’s eyes, “You might regret it. I’ll probably suck. But I -have- trained a lot. Suppose I stand a chance at least with my bow and maybe even in the melee. Depends on who else is there…” His cheeks colour a little at something he’s just considering. Then he finally nudges his mare to leave the local plant life alone and start moving again. And smiles at Henric. “Alright. Thank you. Yes! I’ll do it and I’ll kick ass!”

Henric frowns at the notion that tourneys were fun. It was true. They -had- been fun when he was young, before he had to slaughter countless people with those very skills necessary to win a tournament. “They’re a safer environment to prove your mettle,” he offers, keeping his face forward as to not overwhelm Cassius completely by this offer. “I would stand with you in the melee ring if I had the time,” he notes, pained that he likely didn’t, “We’ll see how fortune favours my appearance there.” Being a Viscount sometimes meant that playing games, such as competing in a tourney, had to take a back seat to business.

He looks over his shoulder toward Cassius to see the lad having given his mare time to graze, noting gruffly, “You’ll give her bad habits.” He hasn’t stopped his own gelding from plodding forward, his body swaying lazily back and forth in the saddle with the grey’s gait. He listens with some wry amusement for the squire’s reply on the manner, “It doesn’t matter who is there. It matters how you handle yourself in the melee. If you can find yourself an alley or two, it definitely helps you manage to stand longer. Then if you play it smart, you could do well. It’s not like the battlefield. It’s more about strategy than staying alive by hacking the next guy to pieces.” He draws his one hand up and gives it a quick squeeze, flexing the fingers as if they cramped at the thought of all those lives he had taken. Then he nods, “Good. You should come out of the events knowing what you did well on and knowing where you need improvement. If I’m not participating, I’ll be watching.”

“She deserves a break as much as anyone.”, Cassius replies when Henric comments on him letting his horse enjoy some shrub. But now they are on their way again and his mind returns to the discussion of the impending tourney. “I don’t think you should stand in the melee with me anyway.”, he finally says quietly but firmly, “If we’re the last two standing, you’d be screwed, because you don’t want to let me win but you also don’t want to be beaten by a mere squire.” It’s all delivered very deadpan, though the corner of his mouth might twitch a little with amusement. “The short girl wanted to help improve on archery.”, he then half-changes the subject, “I’m not really good at it. But I figure I could try it all the same. Others may suck worse than me, you know?” He looks fairly hopeful at that.

“And what if she wants a break when you rely on her carrying you through a tough battle?” a brow lifts as his chin turns to greet Cassius’ reply with those cool green eyes, “It’s a bad habit. They can eat when you’re not mounted upon them and they aren’t working.” He insists on that, flicking his reins to reposition them in his hand as he rides them through the roadway through the forest. The decision that Cassius makes about the melee has him smirk, nodding his head, “There is logic behind that reasoning Cassius. I’ll take it into consideration.” He checks absently on his sword hilt as his legs readjust in the stirrups, “Huntress Siada?” The short girl. There weren’t many short girls who could work the bow as well as that girl could. “They could. Archery isn’t seen as a knightly pursuit, so less are inclined to study their entire lives to perfect the art of it.” He shrugs his shoulders, “But traditions often chain us to the past, when we need to be looking forward to the future.”

“Yea, Siada’s her name.”, Cassius replies and looks a bit sullen as her name is brought up. “Not sure if she’ll be at the contest. If she is, I needn’t bother entering. I don’t mind a bit of archery. Serves me well during hunting, innit?” His hand goes up to his neck, remembering how he had taken an arrow there during an earlier outing with Henric. But he seems fed up with the topic of the tourney (and even more so with Henric lecturing him on his horse), so he nudges his mare on to a bright trot across a green meadow. Only then does it occur to him to turn around ask: “where are we going anywhere? Are we just taking the air?”

“I would think she would be there,” he murmurs quietly, “The Viscountess Kaedon and I spoke once about matching our scouts against one another, Huntresses against the Snakes.” He shrugs his shoulders to it, nodding at the matter of hunting, checking his surroundings with an absent flick of his gaze. He watches as Cassius nudges his mare on and does the same to keep his gelding up with the squire, his question making Henric smirk, “I had thought to find a good place to spar. I could show you a thing or two…”

“That should be interesting.”, Cassius comments of the proposed match. They ride in silence for a while until the question is asked and the suggestion made. “Sparring? You and me?” Cassius looks both awed and excited by the prospect, though he tries to hide it behind a smirk. “Sure… want to see if you can still keep up with us young people?”, he teases and looks around for some even ground that would offer them a venue for sparring. “I didn’t bring a practise sword though… did you bring two? Or shall we just wrestle?”

Henric draws his shoulders up slowly in a way that suggested his general sense of apathy toward the tournament. He had no particular invitation from the Viscountess on the regard, though there had been some implication made at one point. Such talks amounted to nothing in the end. Maybe she thought him weak to back out of their arrangement? He shook his head from the thought as he kept riding, troubled nevertheless as his tightening features would suggest. Cassius breaks the silence by responding to his suggestion, which has the Viscount Knight regard Cassius with a cool gaze, "I want to see where you are in your training. Your knight, Sir Bertram, is a good fellow, but… I might have an edge on him when it comes to swordsmanship." A boast from the Cassomir, as well he should. He survived much to get where he was. "I brought some," Henric mentions with a jolt of his chin back behind him to indicate the saddle roll where the tips of the equipment stood out.

"Well, alright then!", Cassius replies happily, adding a rather cocky grin to that. "Just watch out, you might get your ass handed to you!" He might be rather optimistic about that but nonetheless he seems to be really looking forward to this.

Henric chuckles, "Such confidence in you Lord Volstak-" he uses the title to see how Cassius reacts while he directs his gelding off to the side. A good warhorse like Keeper was stands still when his reins fall to the ground. He isn't tied off anywhere but let to stand to graze on the remains of the autumn grasses, while Henric dismounts and goes to the bundle and frees the practice swords. "Here will do," while there was an opening in the trees, the ground wasn't level at all. There would be some hazards to tripping over a rock or a depression in the earth if one wasn't careful. He'll hand Cassius the hilt of one of the practice blades when the squire sees to his own horse. He's patient and will nod, "Let's keep this fair, tourney rules. No head shots. I wouldn't like to explain to your sister how my head got cut open… nor you, I shouldn't think."

Cassius doesn't seem to react to the use of the title at all… it's like water off a duck's back. He hops off his horse as well, knowing the mare wouldn't run off on her own while her companion was near. He remains silent as he tries to get into the zone for sparring and accepts the sword from Henric with a simple nod. "I'm ready", he finally just announces quietly, giving Henric an even look.

Henric lifts his brow at the steady look from Cassius, meeting that look with one of approval as he steps away from the horses. He started to roll that left shoulder, testing it. Anyone who knew the man's fighting form would realize the injury he had taken there last year, one that never healed right and has thus caused him trouble carrying a shield. He worked out his neck and did a few hamstring stretches, before his boots marked the turf he decided to start in. "Show me what you got then…" he turns, blade held easily in his right hand, stance flawless.

Cassius remains on his guard, not immediately attacking. Perhaps he's already learned as much. Circling Henric slowly, getting a measure of him as well as the ground they're on. Then he finally takes a quick leap forward, trying a straight attack for now.

Henric watched Cassius with a calculating eye as the squire prowled him in return, moving with a precise step to intercede that quick leap forward. The swiftness of his blade taking Cassius across the abdomen would have been enough on the battlefield to slice someone in two. With the wooden swords, wasters as they were, the strike would leave the squire painfully bruised if not immediately winded. He's surprised however by the counter attack which slams against his hand in a way that almost disarms him, but he holds on with an approving nod given. "He's taught you well…" going for the hand was as best as any man could do when disadvantaged. He gives the lad enough time to regain his breath when another attack comes at Cassius, a second smack against the other's breast is enough to leave the squire smarting. In return, that wooden blade of the squire's has swept across his own neck, leaving an immediate red patchwork where the waster hit.

Cassius winces in pain - why does everyone have it in for his nether regions? - But he grits his teeth and swings his sword wide in the hope to disarm Henric. While that doesn't succeed, at least he gets a nod from his teacher.

A second round of blows is traded, Henric's sword connecting to Cassius' chest, leaving him to groan. His own counter attack is weaker now, more an uncoordinated blow into Henric's general direction before he stumbles backwards and sits on his arse. "Fuck, that hurt."

"The real thing hurts worse," Henric says with an observation as he stands back, lowering his sword as he gives the kid a moment to collect his wits. "You only have seconds to make your sword swings count. Try to anticipate as best you can. I do appreciate the attempt to disarm me. With a real blade, you may have broken my hand with that swing." His hand goes up to his neck, rubbing it there, "You can't be finished though. Come on, up you go. Let's go again."

Cassius inhales deeply and gets to his feet again, rubbing the sore spot on his abdomen with a wry grin. "Can you try to not hit me right there again?", he asks with a somewhat sarcastic tone, "The girls of Firen will thank you." Then he grips his wooden sword tight again and readies for a second attack. Clearly he is now in a defensive stance, expecting Henric to make the first move.

"That is exactly where I'll try to hit you," Henric notes with his lips curling up in a wry grin, "The best place to hit after all is where your opponent doesn't want you to hit, due to injury or otherwise." Not that he meant to clip Cassius that low, the abdomen though was a tender area and the bowels wouldn't ever appreciate a hit taken there. Judging the defensive stance, Henric comes in smoothly, trying to beat the squire's sword. He doesn't. Though his own hit clangs off the other's chest plate, the broadsword swung at his own chest is distinctly done with more impact, sending Henric back a step with a grunt. His rolled his shoulder to throw off the sting that went with that blow, trying again. Because of Cassius' defensive movement, his blade goes high and catches against Cassius' neck armor, while Cassius lowers to pitch his blade at Henric's left leg. That has the Viscount sucking in a breath as his knee feels the full impact of that one. "Good. But had my reach been better, you would have risked your neck to go for a leg - that will not pay off in the battle field. Only attack the legs if you have the leverage of distance or a shield, to keep your opponent from your upper form." He'll wait before he goes in again. A further hit to Cassius' chest, creating a light crack of wood against metal brigandine. His own armor deflects the attempt on his own neck, which he tried to avoid but much too late. While the Viscount seems to switch between various styles of attacks, he becomes fluid with his sword, taking a hit to the leg to deliver a tremendous punch of his wooden blade into the squire's chest. "A leg wound is worth the chance at a finishing strike-" he advises as he's sure he devastated the Volstak with that last one.

Cassius is quite determined to not go down easily and he makes a good showing of trying to disable Henric by going for his legs now. To not much avail, but at least he manages to go another round or two until a heavy blow to his chest takes his breath away and he staggers backwards until he can lean against a tree. He wipes the sweat of his brow and grins lopsidedly. "Well… at least I gotcha, too."

Henric leans down to rub at his knee, where he was sure it was already swelling underneath his pant leg. The other leg was tender too where Cassius' blade scored a hit, though that landed on a fleshier part and wasn't as bad. "You did," Henric commends, "You've a good arm. A heavy hit too." He moves toward the pack of his horse and draws out a flask, taking a swig first before offering it over toward Cassius, "If you've still got some energy left, another round could do us both some good. I feel rusty for all the hours I've been spending in the office or stuck behind doors dealing with a myriad of political shit…"

Cassius gladly accepts the flask and takes a deep draught. He considers the proposition, then grins broadly. "You can't wait to be beaten by me, do you?", he teases. Even though he's lost two rounds now, he does feel fairly optimistic. He hands the flask back to Henric and moves one hand under the brigandine to check the wound on his chest. The hand he withdraws is bloody, but he decides to shrug it off for now. "Sure, I'm certainly not beaten yet.", he announces and picks up his sword once again.

Henric eyes the blood that is withdrawn when Cassius checks on his own wounds, prompting him to look down at his wooden sword as if it had grown lethal edges. "Your armor is flawed," he decides to say, "Or you're not wearing your padded jack underneath properly. You shouldn't be bleeding…" Perhaps he did hit the kid too hard but blood?! He grumbles, "Make sure when we get back you see yourself to a healer and more pointedly before Elaine becomes aware of it." He takes the flask back, has another swig, and returns it to the saddle pack, taking a moment to restage his footing as he turns to meet Cassius once more in a third bout.

"It's not much…", Cassius reassures him. He's pretty much used to being bloody somewhere, so it doesn't faze him much. He just rubs the bloody hand off on his pant leg, before gripping the sword and charging immediately for a surprise attack.

With energies flagging, it becomes clear in the third bout that both are moving with a little less precision than when they first began. Cassius' surprise attack is deflected but only enough not to take the full punch of Cassius' blade to the chest again. The clatter of wooden swords goes back and forth, parrying, some hits striking, most not doing as much damage as they otherwise could be. The spar was extending to considerable lengths. The sun was sure to have moved by the time any significant blows were traded. It's actually a particularly worthy duel. It was more realistic of what one would feel in the surge of battle, the tired muscles protesting movement, the aches and bruises making limbs react slower, the mind overcompensating and beginning to make mistakes. As it is, Henric seems far better off than the squire, ending the spar after yet another punch to the gut, dodging several of Cassius' last attempts with ease. His face is flushed and his hair is damp by the time the spar wraps up, his chest heaving for good pulls of air.

Cassius does not have the stamina to keep going over a longer stretch of time. When he is hit in the nether regions again, he winces and takes a big step back, while at the same time lifting a head. "Enough! Fuck you!", he gasps out between drawing heavy breaths of air. "Fuck, I'm fucked." It is not very eloquent perhaps but it comes from the bottom of his heart.

Henric's eyes seem to narrow at the use of 'Fuck You'… He steps up toward Cassius as the other is gathering himself, "Watch your tongue," He tilts his head to catch Cassius' gaze, "That… is not something becoming of a knight, let alone a squire." He grunts a little, disapproval firm in his voice, "There are times when you want to scream and yell at the top of your lungs at an opponent who has bested you in a tournament or in a spar such as this, but you have to rein that in, less it defeats you as much as the opponent's blade does."

The answer is oh so tempting, but Cassius manages to hold his tongue and simply nods, though he doesn't exactly look Henric in the eye when he does so. He rubs the sore spot on his chest again, then offers the wooden training sword back to his brother in law. "Well, that was fun, nonetheless.", he admits, "Next time I'll get you."

Henric lifts his brow, seeing the temptation barely clipped by the Volstak. When no retort comes, Henric simply nods and lets the warning stand. He may have to speak to Sir Bertram and see if he's run into similar problems with Cassius. He meanders back to his horse again after collecting the sparring swords, switching them out for the flask. He takes a good hearty drink of whiskey before turning it to the squire, "I look forward to the day that you can best me in a spar." Truly he did. He needed allies on his side that he could trust to watch his back when the time came for it.

Bertram would know that Cassius is given to colorful language picked up heaven knows where. He accepts the flask for one more swig, but hands it back rather quickly to return to his horse and climb into the saddle - a little slowly and clumsily, but his mare holds still and even encourages him with a gentle nudge with her nose. Finally he's sitting again and waits for Henric to catch up. "I think I need a bath now."

Henric is nevertheless, surprised that Cassius so quickly wishes to depart. This was the lad's chance to schmooze with the big guy as it were. Maybe the lad didn't take to being scolded. Had he ever taken well to being scolded? The thought amused him as he closed up the flask and turned back to Keeper. They had been out here a while as it were. He glanced up to the sky. The others would be fussing over them if they weren't to return soon. He mounts up, checks his gear, and nods once to Cassius, "It was good to get out of that stuffy city… We will have to do this again." He offers as he turns his gelding toward the direction they had ridden from. Time to face the music and get back at all the crap he never signed up for, as sixth child of seven.

"Yea we should… maybe we can stop by an inn for a meal before we return to the city…", he suggests eagerly. He would quite like to schmooze with the big guy but only when food and drink is involved, not being all achy in a forest on their own. But for now they guide their horses homewards.

"Sounds like a plan," Henric concurs easily enough, not eager to return to the stewards or his wife's nattering - well okay, she didn't natter at him much but she had reason to! His mouth turns up in a smirk as he nudges his gelding homeward.

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